... which shouldn't imply that this will become a weekly thing.
What to say, what to say... there is so much going on these days. First of all, Planet Houston Podcast is still going strong and will continue to do so for the near future. There will probably be a few more Tuesday evening broadcasts before it's all over, but the desire remains to keep doing it. Thanks to everyone who has and continues to offer support.
Also, I have to announce that I am now on Twitter. Yes, I gave into the darkness within, but it does seem to have its uses. If nothing else, it could provide more access for some of the other things I am working on.
And speaking of that, you may have noticed that I posted several excerpts from a former writing project of mine (items that all one of you commented on... grumble, grumble...). Well, I've been bouncing around the idea, and looking at this Lulu.com thing that a few people I know seem to be utilizing, and I've decided... why not? So sometime in the not so near future (probably early next year at the rate of progress I seem to move at), I will publish... something. Whether it's going to be a previous project, some new project, or some compilation of old items, I can't say. But at some point, I will need some support... the moral kind if not the financial kind.
So that's what I'm up to. Unfortunately, it means a somewhat major commitment for me, but the end result should be a pretty good thing. I hope. At least I can always say that I did it.
Showing posts with label Unfiltered. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Unfiltered. Show all posts
Monday, August 17, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Revisionist History: Part 2c
(The final chapter, wherein we actually go back to earlier in the story to see how Edith and Lake socialize and interact. They're really the best of friends, they are. Here in one of the opening stanzas, we get a look into the inner workings of what a clan meeting for the city's Hunter's Guild looks like. Although arguably, you probably wouldn't call this meeting typical...)
“Abernathy.”
“Here.”
“Anderson.”
“Here.”
“Andrews.”
“Present.”
Roll call. Arguably one of the single most annoying periods of time in the history of creation. It begins at childhood, and proceeds to be a nuisance until death. Or at least that’s how some would view it.
“Barnard.”
“Here.”
“Laraby.”
“Yeah, I’m here...”
“Kendricks”
“Here.”
“Montayo.”
“Uh, he’s dead.”
“Really. Cripes, that’s a shame. I already wired his pay for this week. That’s gonna be a pain to get recalled.” Edith Fortunado was always the first to display her own special brand of sympathy. If she remembered, she’d probably use part of the recalled wages to send a wreath or something else fitting. Roll call continued for the ragged bunch, missing names being skipped over and recalled again until the wary midget of a woman just couldn’t stand to do it anymore. “Aw, screw ‘em. Let’s get the meeting started. Any old business to resolve?”
Barnard was always the first to chime in like the teacher’s pet he most assuredly must have been throughout most of his life. He caught himself just short of raising his hand for attention before coughing it up, “Well, Montayo had that one thing you were supposed to look into, but uh ... well, he isn’t here.” His shoulders bobbed in a brief shrug before glancing back over his contact sheet.
Edith gritted her teeth at the smattering of murmurs and chuckles that protruded from the crew. If nothing else, she hated the lack of order that always presented itself during these meetings. Heck, she hated the meetings altogether. But they were a necessary evil if she wanted to keep the guild in a state that remotely resembled solvent. Not that she always cared about that, but like most people she appreciated when the lights and appliances worked. Edith waved a hand dismissively. “All right, pipe down you yahoos. Anything else?”
She took the momentary lapse of comments as reason enough to move on. “Okay, then. We can move on to new business. We’ve had a drop in our capture rate over the past quarter. This coincides, surprisingly enough, with an increase in our hunter injuries and fatalities. I don’t have to explain this to any of you, do I? Now I know there have been things going on in the guild, and far be it from me to get bent out of shape by a few of you bums getting put into the ground, but it’s affecting business. The bottom line is the bottom line, and right now we’re leaning more towards red no matter how you look at it.”
Edith gave her small play on words time to hit some of the slower witted members over the head a few times before continuing. “The important thing to remember is to be careful. I know half the city thinks that we’re expendable, but we are actually providing a service here. Contrary to popular belief, if we don’t do our jobs right, the city does suffer. But enough with the pep talk…” The woman had to resist the urge to smirk at the notion before continuing, “On to other business. We have a walkabout today.”
The statement drew more attention than any other one in the morning had. Just about every head in the assemblage perked up and directed its attention to the front. Even a few of the sleeping folks snapped awake at the word. It had been a while since there had been a walkabout in the guild. It had been long enough that some people had never encountered one in their entire career. For anyone familiar with the process, there was the usual mix of emotions flowing through the room. There was the standard order of idle curiosity. There was a sprinkle of novelty. But mostly, there was the fear. The horrible, all enclosing fear of the words that would next be spoken.
“I need a volunteer.” Edith timed the comment for the appropriate mix of drama and amusement. The amusement was mostly hers, of course, but there were a handful of people masochistic enough to find potential joy in the outcome. She brushed her hand in a dismissive fashion. “Aw, don’t cry, ya bunch of babies! I’m not stupid enough to expect any of you putzes to actually volunteer. In fact, I’ve come up with a method that’s more than fair. I think I’ll just consider the lucky victim to be the next person to walk through the door. Yep, that’ll do it. The very next person to walk through that door will be our lucky volunteer.”
There was a certain anticipation in her proclamation that had eluded some of the guild, but like a wave the realization of what was happening was starting to become apparent. A low-based murmuring linked itself to a pattern of individuals checking the clock that hung over the door. Anyone that checked saw that it was clearly twelve minutes after their meeting start time. Anyone with even a trace of sense knew that it was Wednesday. And everyone that knew a certain individual knew that by some manner of habit or heavenly decree, a certain member of their guild almost certainly showed up exactly thirteen minutes late for any Wednesday meeting. So it was with great revelry and a modicum of satisfaction that the group welcomed its tardy compatriot into the room.
Lake O’Bannon strolled into the room in matter of fact fashion. Neither his demeanor nor his appearance would indicate that he was in any rush to get inside. On the contrary, nothing that Lake did gave faintest hint that he was on the verge of either sneaking to his seat or apologizing for being late. It had already been well established that the time that Lake reported in on Wednesday was pretty much his own prerogative.
The popular theory was that Lake had some mystery rendezvous on Tuesday nights that kept him preoccupied, but his general lack of a good mood on Wednesday precluded them from associating him with the usual pleasantries that a “secret rendezvous” would entail. Others carried the popular theory that Lake had some early morning regimen on Wednesday that made him late, but again there were no outward signs that he was exhausted from workout, peaceful from meditation, or (as previously mentioned) in a pleasant mood from any other unsavory activity. A few guild members had bothered to attempt to track him on Wednesday morning to see just what the deal was. The few that remained intact long enough to report to anyone else brought the dismal news that Lake was late simply because he was, and it seemed to just be a matter of fate conspiring to make sure he was never on time on Wednesday. Whatever the reason, today it was bound to provide some much needed entertainment for the meeting.
Lake paused after entering the doorway, adjusting the cuff of his leather jacket as he mumbled something best left incoherent under his breath. It took him a handful of seconds to notice that something was out of sorts… more out of sorts than usual in the group. Too many people seemed pleased to see him. He had found in general practice that too many people happy to see him was rarely a good thing.
“Mr. O’Bannon. So lovely to see you today. And at such an appropriate time, too. “ Edith Fortunado grinned an impish smile that her lack of stature made appear even more so. A few of the guild members reflected the same mock enthusiasm that Edith did, and that was when Lake truly grasped how screwed he was.
Lake let a short huff of air slip out of his lips before starting his query. “What? Am I getting docked? Am I getting written up for that ganger I cracked last week? Am I getting docked for cracking that ganger last week? Am I getting cracked for docking that ganger last week?”
The room hung in silence for the reply of their leader. They knew this was just the opening volley in a classic exchange. Edith debated letting the noose tighten a little more before the big reveal, but decided that there was really no reason to drag it out too far. Besides, all of this pleasantry was wearing on her own nerves. Edith propped a hand against her podium. “I was just informing everyone about the walkabout we just acquired.”
Lake fought back a grimace at the mention of the word, a successful effort that he managed to bend into a small smirk. “Walkabout, huh? Haven’t we got enough crap floating around here without one of those making it worse?” Lake had absolutely no qualms about tossing a general insult out in a room of what should be his allies. Heaven knows they would be more than willing to do the same should the opportunity arise. Still, the comment seemed to raise the dander of at least a few of the assembled, many of whom showed their disapproval by shifting in their seats and glaring.
Edith coughed out a monosyllable of disapproval to the question. “Could be.” Edith had the same lack of regard as Lake did in the matter, but at least she had the pull to not be worried about reprisals, “But for better or worse, we’ve got one. And now that I have a volunteer for walkabout duty, I don’t have to worry about it all that much.
“Volunteer?” Lake’s smirk gathered a hint of actual amusement. “What poor fool would be insane enough to volunteer for walkabout du…” It was about that time that he managed to piece it all together. The pleasantries, the general joy he seemed to be bringing part of the room, the fact that he hadn’t been docked yet… there had to be a payoff somewhere for Edith, and there it was. His entire demeanor shifted to one of annoyance. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You are not shackling me with one of those... things for the week. I did my time two years ago and I was done. Find some other sucker with a death wish to do your dirty work for you.”
Edith’s tone took an abrupt shift of its own, “Now you wait just a minute! You think fair play applies in all guild matters? The truth is this has been coming for a long time. Breaking rules, not following protocols, damage tallies way beyond your class level allowance… and every time I try to call you on it, you have some half-cocked excuse or some convenient break of fortune that keeps my hands tied. You’ve slipped through more loopholes and backdoors than I can count, but not today, bucko! I’ve been waiting to screw you over for a long time now, and now you're gonna get what’s coming to you!”
For a brief moment, Lake seemed genuinely taken aback by Edith’s diatribe. His left eyebrow arched upward as he perused his employer’s face. His lips parted calmly as he carefully sorted out his response.
“Say… are you coming on to me?”
The smattering of chuckles from the audience was more than enough to break the tension for most of them. Some of the guild had gotten a bit restless in the brief pause that preceded Lake’s comment. A few foolish souls actually dared to assume it possible that Lake was honestly repentant and on the verge of apologizing for his past actions. They were more than pleased to see that that was not the case.
Edith Fortunado, on the other hand, was anything but amused. Her face began to flare an almost trademark shade of red, and it was abundantly clear to any of the guild members who had seen it occur before that it was not a blush of embarrassment.
“Do you think…” Edith fought to maintain anything that resembled civility as her temper railed against her better judgment, “… for one second… that I would ever… within the confines of my mind… “ Edith pointed towards Barnard, who flinched at the motion despite the lack of flames shooting from her fingertip, “… his mind… or within the very depths of hell itself even remotely consider coming onto you? In what bizarre freakshow of a world does my utter contempt and rage for you possibly translate into anything that even resembles attraction? You… you… you’re lucky I don’t leap off of here and throttle the life out you with my bare hands!” Her body began to slowly tremble, making some fear that she might actually leap from her podium in some kind of suicidal plunge at her contemptuous employee.
Lake, for his part, seemed unfazed by this new found rage. In fact his own demeanor had improved a good deal, though an apt observer could clearly see that he was by no means happy. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he mused aloud to no one in particular, “Well, I can’t say where it came from, exactly. It was just the wording there. ‘Half-cocked,’ ‘loophole,’ ‘backdoor.’ You know in some circles, even the word 'throttle'…”
Edith banged her fist on the top of her podium and pointed an aged finger at Lake. “All right! Not another word out of you! You’re taking the walkabout, and so help me if I hear anything other than rave reviews about your behavior, I'll bounce you out of here on your smug little backside!”
Lake clearly had something else to say on the matter, but he remained silent. Of his many social skills, the ability to know just how far he could push someone before he had crossed the point of no return was probably the most finely honed. It was clear he didn’t love this particular turn of events, but it was also clear that short of getting himself removed from the guild there wasn’t much else he could do to get out of this. With a certain sense of resignation, he turned and headed back towards the door he had so recently entered.
“And just where do you think you’re going, hot shot?” Edith queried to his back.
Lake didn’t bother to turn around, stopping as he reached the door. “In accordance with Article 4, Paragraph 8 of the Provisional Guild Agreement with the Free States, any member enacted into volunteer duty with a walkabout may, at their discretion, forgo standard guild protocols when interacting with said walkabout. Pursuant with this, I’m enacting a special preparatory meeting to prepare for said walkabout. This meeting, coincidentally enough, will force me to miss the rest of this one. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
As the door shut with Lake on the opposite side of it, Edith Fortunado quietly grinded her teeth together. “I am so docking him for cracking that ganger last week…”
...
(Now the one thing that occurs to me as I reviewed this was a rather obvious error I made in the storytelling. Because this is supposed to be the first time that you meet either Edith or Lake, and neither is particularly described in detail. That's a terrible throwback to the fact that I just didn't care about that particular detail when I started writing.
In fact, one of the things I have a bad habit of being deficient about is writing character and location details. If I'm not in the proper zone, I tend to skim over them and revisit them later, focusing more on advancing the story. But both do get described in more detail later, so I suppose I should just go back and drop some in here.)
“Abernathy.”
“Here.”
“Anderson.”
“Here.”
“Andrews.”
“Present.”
Roll call. Arguably one of the single most annoying periods of time in the history of creation. It begins at childhood, and proceeds to be a nuisance until death. Or at least that’s how some would view it.
“Barnard.”
“Here.”
“Laraby.”
“Yeah, I’m here...”
“Kendricks”
“Here.”
“Montayo.”
“Uh, he’s dead.”
“Really. Cripes, that’s a shame. I already wired his pay for this week. That’s gonna be a pain to get recalled.” Edith Fortunado was always the first to display her own special brand of sympathy. If she remembered, she’d probably use part of the recalled wages to send a wreath or something else fitting. Roll call continued for the ragged bunch, missing names being skipped over and recalled again until the wary midget of a woman just couldn’t stand to do it anymore. “Aw, screw ‘em. Let’s get the meeting started. Any old business to resolve?”
Barnard was always the first to chime in like the teacher’s pet he most assuredly must have been throughout most of his life. He caught himself just short of raising his hand for attention before coughing it up, “Well, Montayo had that one thing you were supposed to look into, but uh ... well, he isn’t here.” His shoulders bobbed in a brief shrug before glancing back over his contact sheet.
Edith gritted her teeth at the smattering of murmurs and chuckles that protruded from the crew. If nothing else, she hated the lack of order that always presented itself during these meetings. Heck, she hated the meetings altogether. But they were a necessary evil if she wanted to keep the guild in a state that remotely resembled solvent. Not that she always cared about that, but like most people she appreciated when the lights and appliances worked. Edith waved a hand dismissively. “All right, pipe down you yahoos. Anything else?”
She took the momentary lapse of comments as reason enough to move on. “Okay, then. We can move on to new business. We’ve had a drop in our capture rate over the past quarter. This coincides, surprisingly enough, with an increase in our hunter injuries and fatalities. I don’t have to explain this to any of you, do I? Now I know there have been things going on in the guild, and far be it from me to get bent out of shape by a few of you bums getting put into the ground, but it’s affecting business. The bottom line is the bottom line, and right now we’re leaning more towards red no matter how you look at it.”
Edith gave her small play on words time to hit some of the slower witted members over the head a few times before continuing. “The important thing to remember is to be careful. I know half the city thinks that we’re expendable, but we are actually providing a service here. Contrary to popular belief, if we don’t do our jobs right, the city does suffer. But enough with the pep talk…” The woman had to resist the urge to smirk at the notion before continuing, “On to other business. We have a walkabout today.”
The statement drew more attention than any other one in the morning had. Just about every head in the assemblage perked up and directed its attention to the front. Even a few of the sleeping folks snapped awake at the word. It had been a while since there had been a walkabout in the guild. It had been long enough that some people had never encountered one in their entire career. For anyone familiar with the process, there was the usual mix of emotions flowing through the room. There was the standard order of idle curiosity. There was a sprinkle of novelty. But mostly, there was the fear. The horrible, all enclosing fear of the words that would next be spoken.
“I need a volunteer.” Edith timed the comment for the appropriate mix of drama and amusement. The amusement was mostly hers, of course, but there were a handful of people masochistic enough to find potential joy in the outcome. She brushed her hand in a dismissive fashion. “Aw, don’t cry, ya bunch of babies! I’m not stupid enough to expect any of you putzes to actually volunteer. In fact, I’ve come up with a method that’s more than fair. I think I’ll just consider the lucky victim to be the next person to walk through the door. Yep, that’ll do it. The very next person to walk through that door will be our lucky volunteer.”
There was a certain anticipation in her proclamation that had eluded some of the guild, but like a wave the realization of what was happening was starting to become apparent. A low-based murmuring linked itself to a pattern of individuals checking the clock that hung over the door. Anyone that checked saw that it was clearly twelve minutes after their meeting start time. Anyone with even a trace of sense knew that it was Wednesday. And everyone that knew a certain individual knew that by some manner of habit or heavenly decree, a certain member of their guild almost certainly showed up exactly thirteen minutes late for any Wednesday meeting. So it was with great revelry and a modicum of satisfaction that the group welcomed its tardy compatriot into the room.
Lake O’Bannon strolled into the room in matter of fact fashion. Neither his demeanor nor his appearance would indicate that he was in any rush to get inside. On the contrary, nothing that Lake did gave faintest hint that he was on the verge of either sneaking to his seat or apologizing for being late. It had already been well established that the time that Lake reported in on Wednesday was pretty much his own prerogative.
The popular theory was that Lake had some mystery rendezvous on Tuesday nights that kept him preoccupied, but his general lack of a good mood on Wednesday precluded them from associating him with the usual pleasantries that a “secret rendezvous” would entail. Others carried the popular theory that Lake had some early morning regimen on Wednesday that made him late, but again there were no outward signs that he was exhausted from workout, peaceful from meditation, or (as previously mentioned) in a pleasant mood from any other unsavory activity. A few guild members had bothered to attempt to track him on Wednesday morning to see just what the deal was. The few that remained intact long enough to report to anyone else brought the dismal news that Lake was late simply because he was, and it seemed to just be a matter of fate conspiring to make sure he was never on time on Wednesday. Whatever the reason, today it was bound to provide some much needed entertainment for the meeting.
Lake paused after entering the doorway, adjusting the cuff of his leather jacket as he mumbled something best left incoherent under his breath. It took him a handful of seconds to notice that something was out of sorts… more out of sorts than usual in the group. Too many people seemed pleased to see him. He had found in general practice that too many people happy to see him was rarely a good thing.
“Mr. O’Bannon. So lovely to see you today. And at such an appropriate time, too. “ Edith Fortunado grinned an impish smile that her lack of stature made appear even more so. A few of the guild members reflected the same mock enthusiasm that Edith did, and that was when Lake truly grasped how screwed he was.
Lake let a short huff of air slip out of his lips before starting his query. “What? Am I getting docked? Am I getting written up for that ganger I cracked last week? Am I getting docked for cracking that ganger last week? Am I getting cracked for docking that ganger last week?”
The room hung in silence for the reply of their leader. They knew this was just the opening volley in a classic exchange. Edith debated letting the noose tighten a little more before the big reveal, but decided that there was really no reason to drag it out too far. Besides, all of this pleasantry was wearing on her own nerves. Edith propped a hand against her podium. “I was just informing everyone about the walkabout we just acquired.”
Lake fought back a grimace at the mention of the word, a successful effort that he managed to bend into a small smirk. “Walkabout, huh? Haven’t we got enough crap floating around here without one of those making it worse?” Lake had absolutely no qualms about tossing a general insult out in a room of what should be his allies. Heaven knows they would be more than willing to do the same should the opportunity arise. Still, the comment seemed to raise the dander of at least a few of the assembled, many of whom showed their disapproval by shifting in their seats and glaring.
Edith coughed out a monosyllable of disapproval to the question. “Could be.” Edith had the same lack of regard as Lake did in the matter, but at least she had the pull to not be worried about reprisals, “But for better or worse, we’ve got one. And now that I have a volunteer for walkabout duty, I don’t have to worry about it all that much.
“Volunteer?” Lake’s smirk gathered a hint of actual amusement. “What poor fool would be insane enough to volunteer for walkabout du…” It was about that time that he managed to piece it all together. The pleasantries, the general joy he seemed to be bringing part of the room, the fact that he hadn’t been docked yet… there had to be a payoff somewhere for Edith, and there it was. His entire demeanor shifted to one of annoyance. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You are not shackling me with one of those... things for the week. I did my time two years ago and I was done. Find some other sucker with a death wish to do your dirty work for you.”
Edith’s tone took an abrupt shift of its own, “Now you wait just a minute! You think fair play applies in all guild matters? The truth is this has been coming for a long time. Breaking rules, not following protocols, damage tallies way beyond your class level allowance… and every time I try to call you on it, you have some half-cocked excuse or some convenient break of fortune that keeps my hands tied. You’ve slipped through more loopholes and backdoors than I can count, but not today, bucko! I’ve been waiting to screw you over for a long time now, and now you're gonna get what’s coming to you!”
For a brief moment, Lake seemed genuinely taken aback by Edith’s diatribe. His left eyebrow arched upward as he perused his employer’s face. His lips parted calmly as he carefully sorted out his response.
“Say… are you coming on to me?”
The smattering of chuckles from the audience was more than enough to break the tension for most of them. Some of the guild had gotten a bit restless in the brief pause that preceded Lake’s comment. A few foolish souls actually dared to assume it possible that Lake was honestly repentant and on the verge of apologizing for his past actions. They were more than pleased to see that that was not the case.
Edith Fortunado, on the other hand, was anything but amused. Her face began to flare an almost trademark shade of red, and it was abundantly clear to any of the guild members who had seen it occur before that it was not a blush of embarrassment.
“Do you think…” Edith fought to maintain anything that resembled civility as her temper railed against her better judgment, “… for one second… that I would ever… within the confines of my mind… “ Edith pointed towards Barnard, who flinched at the motion despite the lack of flames shooting from her fingertip, “… his mind… or within the very depths of hell itself even remotely consider coming onto you? In what bizarre freakshow of a world does my utter contempt and rage for you possibly translate into anything that even resembles attraction? You… you… you’re lucky I don’t leap off of here and throttle the life out you with my bare hands!” Her body began to slowly tremble, making some fear that she might actually leap from her podium in some kind of suicidal plunge at her contemptuous employee.
Lake, for his part, seemed unfazed by this new found rage. In fact his own demeanor had improved a good deal, though an apt observer could clearly see that he was by no means happy. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he mused aloud to no one in particular, “Well, I can’t say where it came from, exactly. It was just the wording there. ‘Half-cocked,’ ‘loophole,’ ‘backdoor.’ You know in some circles, even the word 'throttle'…”
Edith banged her fist on the top of her podium and pointed an aged finger at Lake. “All right! Not another word out of you! You’re taking the walkabout, and so help me if I hear anything other than rave reviews about your behavior, I'll bounce you out of here on your smug little backside!”
Lake clearly had something else to say on the matter, but he remained silent. Of his many social skills, the ability to know just how far he could push someone before he had crossed the point of no return was probably the most finely honed. It was clear he didn’t love this particular turn of events, but it was also clear that short of getting himself removed from the guild there wasn’t much else he could do to get out of this. With a certain sense of resignation, he turned and headed back towards the door he had so recently entered.
“And just where do you think you’re going, hot shot?” Edith queried to his back.
Lake didn’t bother to turn around, stopping as he reached the door. “In accordance with Article 4, Paragraph 8 of the Provisional Guild Agreement with the Free States, any member enacted into volunteer duty with a walkabout may, at their discretion, forgo standard guild protocols when interacting with said walkabout. Pursuant with this, I’m enacting a special preparatory meeting to prepare for said walkabout. This meeting, coincidentally enough, will force me to miss the rest of this one. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
As the door shut with Lake on the opposite side of it, Edith Fortunado quietly grinded her teeth together. “I am so docking him for cracking that ganger last week…”
...
(Now the one thing that occurs to me as I reviewed this was a rather obvious error I made in the storytelling. Because this is supposed to be the first time that you meet either Edith or Lake, and neither is particularly described in detail. That's a terrible throwback to the fact that I just didn't care about that particular detail when I started writing.
In fact, one of the things I have a bad habit of being deficient about is writing character and location details. If I'm not in the proper zone, I tend to skim over them and revisit them later, focusing more on advancing the story. But both do get described in more detail later, so I suppose I should just go back and drop some in here.)
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Revisionist History: Part 2b
(This is the second part of an excerpt of the major huge deal writing project I took on last year. I went back to edit it, but was surprised at how solid the thing was untouched. I still touched it up a bit, though. When we last left our fateful pair, youthful Hunter newbie Dani Brightstar was taking a measure of abuse at the hands of clan sponsor Edith Fortunado. Of course, we have yet to hear Dani's side of things...)
"Mrs. Fortunado," Danielle tried to give her response a tone of civility. "I come from a long line of tribal people. I don't expect many people that live outside of that world to understand what it's like, and I'm sure that given your last comment you certainly wouldn’t fall into the category of the understanding type..."
"Now wait..." Edith started, but was stopped short by a brief hand raised by the still speaking Danielle.
"But what I would expect you to understand," Danielle continued, "Is that in that place, among my people, we have a certain set of beliefs. And among those is the belief that you're chosen for a task, but not necessarily the task that you choose. Now, I'm hardly the first one to say that I believe each and every thing that has been taught to me over the years..." She paused for a brief moment of self-reflection before continuing, "But I certainly do believe that the task that I was given was to come here and attempt to help out to the best of my ability. Frankly, if you didn't think it was at least worth the time to have me here, you could've refused my request like many others did."
"Hmmph..." Edith puffed on her tiny cigar, which now had become all but a useless flickering stub. If she was offended by the last part of Danielle's comment, she didn't show it. Instead, she just spat the nub of half dead leaves in her mouth into the trash can next to her desk and smiled. "Fair enough, lady." She leaned forward into her seat again, the elevated chair creaking slightly as she pressed her weight against the edge of the desk. "Now then, as far as your 'mentor' goes..."
The moment of relief that Danielle had was short lived. She had half expected to be tossed out of the office after the little speech she had made, but even after having gotten away with that, she was about to hear about her least favorite subject of the time. Unfortunately, there wasn't really much she could say about the man. The little that she knew about him had already been covered. He was a bit odd, and he had apparently ditched her. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but frown at the mention of him.
Edith noted the frown and responded with a short, gruff smirk of her own. "Listen, I'm not going to lie to you. Lake O'Bannon... well, the guy's not the cheeriest of sorts. And he's kind of rude at times. And inconsiderate. And he's just as likely to blow your head off as he is to shake your hand some days. And I realize that I'm not making much of a pitch for him right now, but hear me out....
"There's really only two things you need to know about Lake O'Bannon. The first thing is that it's all an act. The rudeness, the not seeming to care who lives or dies... It's all just a big show he puts on so he won't be bothered as much. Somewhere along the way, he figured out that that's how he can get by in life, so that's what he does. Deep down, he's really just a sensitive guy that wants to do the right thing. I know what I told the other guys, but I wouldn't have put you with him if I didn't think he would give you a fair shake."
"Some fair shake..." Danielle mumbled.
Edith smiled again. "Well, see... that's just the thing. You hang around him long enough, and you'll start to understand how he thinks. For example, he acts like he doesn't care about his job, but that doesn't mean that he'd go out of his way to do something that would get him fired. Especially when he could just half-step it and get away with it."
Danielle blinked. "I don't get what you mean."
Edith sighed softly. "Take this little 'test' he's giving you. He called it a 'test', didn't he?" She took Danielle's nod as confirmation and continued, "Now see, he probably laid out what seemed like an impossible task for you, but he knows full well that I'd chew him to pieces if he really did that, so he's probably already got an out. So no matter how impossible whatever he gave you to do might sound, they'll be some way to accomplish it."
Danielle went over it again in her head, thinking aloud, "I don't really think so. I mean, all he said was I had to find him in three hours..."
"Three hours? That's all he said?"
"Yeah, three hours. He said that I had three hours to find him, or else..." Danielle stopped as a thought slowly started to slip into her head. "That's not... that's not all he said."
"It's not, is it?"
"No. He said that pass or fail, I should meet him at Celestial Park at noon. In the food court." Danielle still felt like she was forgetting something, but she also felt like she was right on the verge of figuring something out.
Edith glanced at the ceiling for a second, then smirked as she leaned back in her chair. "I think this might be the most retarded thing he's ever pulled." She paused for moment to glance towards Danielle and offer, "No offense to you, mind you. I might have fallen for it, too, if I didn't have on a watch..."
"A watch..." Danielle parroted. It hadn't even occurred to her before that she wasn't wearing a timepiece. It wasn't the kind of thing that she'd find terribly useful with her tribe, and it hadn't occurred to her to purchase one before she got into town. Come to think of it, she hadn't really concerned herself with time at all until she was given a deadline by... Her face flushed as the last bit of realization sank it.
"Ah," Edith moaned. "I think you get it now, don't you?"
"I didn't even think about it... I never would have thought about it..." Danielle stammered. It hadn't once occurred to her to think about what time it was since she went past the checkpoint at the gate. Once the meeting location got moved to the Gold Harpy, she hadn't worried about being on time. And she had spent so much time running around and checking to see where Lake might have gone off to after he disappeared that by the time she thought to check on the time, it had been a good 10-15 minutes, at least. "Nine twenty..." She mumbled, almost to herself.
"What's that?" Edith asked, seeming to have a good idea of the answer already.
"All the running around I did... it was 9:20 before I checked what time it was. But I couldn't have been looking for more than 15 minutes or so..."
Edith chuckled. "If I had to guess, knowing the man like I do, he disappeared around 9:02."
"9:02..." Danielle repeated again. Which meant, she finally realized, that Lake never had any intention of her being able to find him. As ridiculous as it sounded, he had set the stage so that his "test" would end at 12:02, exactly two minutes after noon. If she had been paying attention, and if she had been patient, it would have occurred to her that all she had to do was meet him at the food court on time and she would "pass". Danielle stared at the floor as she mumbled, "But that's... that's just..."
"Crazy?" Edith shook her head. "Yeah, pretty much. But it's the kind of crap I'd expect from him. He's probably been there the whole time. If you quit, and I made a big fuss about it, he'd just point out how you could have figured it out if you had thought about it. Or if you had even had the guts to face him at the food court." She clucked her tongue a few times before adding, "Of course, the decision is yours now."
"Decision?"
"Yeah. Decision." Edith was the parrot this time. "You've managed to figure out what he was up to, but it's still up to you to figure out what to do about it. It's not like he can actually fail you over a lame stunt like this, but he is one of the people assigned to assess you. It’s probably in your best interest to show up at the food court on time. Assuming, that is, that you weren't just blowing smoke up my ass with all of that 'task I was given' crap before."
Danielle pressed her leg against the edge of her staff. If it hadn't before, it was bound to leave an impression when she finally went to stand up. She truly had meant every word she had said to Edith earlier. Danielle had her reasons for being here, and it wasn't part of her plan at all to give up. She could imagine that someone would look at her and think that she wasn't cut out for the job, but that didn't necessarily mean that she shouldn't do it. On top of that, she had felt more reassured than discouraged by the conversation she had here. She wasn't sure that was what Edith intended, but it made her feel better all the same.
"Yeah," Danielle said. "Yeah, I think I'll go there."
"Good," Edith replied. "Good for you. Now, you better haul butt over there. You don't have a lot of time to make it."
Danielle glanced at the clock on the wall, noting that there were roughly fifteen minutes left before noon. "Right," she uttered as she stood up and picked up her staff. She smiled and nodded politely as she turned to walk out of the room. She opened the door, then paused and turned back towards Edith. "What was the other thing?"
Edith, who had started to relax a hair as Danielle was leaving, perked up her eyebrows. "Huh? What that?"
Danielle turned on a heel so that she could better face Edith at the doorway. "You said before that there were two things I needed to know about Lake O'Bannon. The first was that the whole insensitive thing as an act. What's the second thing?"
"Oh, that." Edith smiled. "The second thing you need to know about Lake O'Bannon... is that he's a very good actor."
Danielle found herself inexplicably smiling after the comment. She turned to head out of the door.
"Brightstar?"
"Yes."
"Do yourself a favor and buy a watch, will ya?"
"Right. Right. Thanks."
...
(One of the things that I wanted to establish after having Dani take the brunt of first Lake's attitude, then Edith's is that Dani isn't exactly a pushover. Yes, her inclination is to approach new things timidly, but she's more than willing to stand her ground when need be. It doesn't hurt that Edith pushed a specific set of hot buttons for Dani, which inclined Dani to snap back a little.
As for Lake's little "test"... sure, it's actually a stupid trick, but it's the kind of thing that I'd be inclined to do in a roleplaying session to see if anyone was paying attention to detail. Dani in this unfortunately represents a large chunk of roleplayers who so readily dive into a task or challenge that they ignore the relevant details.
In this case, though, Edith tosses Dani a clue. This is, quite possibly the nicest thing you will ever see Edith do. She not only steers Dani in the right direction, but gives her a little insight into the nature of would-be mentor Lake O'Bannon. Not that said insight will necessarily help her.
It should be noted, though, that I consider Edith's "two things" comment to be a quintessential definition of Lake's character. That I let Edith say it is a testament to how well she knows the man, despite the fact that she would never admit any of that to him in public.
Which brings us back to Lake. Despite my love for one of my creations, he did need to step back at points in time in this story. And even though it was supposed to be his story, Dani ends up taking most of the spotlight. The story just worked better that way. But that doesn't mean that I won't get back to him very shortly...)
"Mrs. Fortunado," Danielle tried to give her response a tone of civility. "I come from a long line of tribal people. I don't expect many people that live outside of that world to understand what it's like, and I'm sure that given your last comment you certainly wouldn’t fall into the category of the understanding type..."
"Now wait..." Edith started, but was stopped short by a brief hand raised by the still speaking Danielle.
"But what I would expect you to understand," Danielle continued, "Is that in that place, among my people, we have a certain set of beliefs. And among those is the belief that you're chosen for a task, but not necessarily the task that you choose. Now, I'm hardly the first one to say that I believe each and every thing that has been taught to me over the years..." She paused for a brief moment of self-reflection before continuing, "But I certainly do believe that the task that I was given was to come here and attempt to help out to the best of my ability. Frankly, if you didn't think it was at least worth the time to have me here, you could've refused my request like many others did."
"Hmmph..." Edith puffed on her tiny cigar, which now had become all but a useless flickering stub. If she was offended by the last part of Danielle's comment, she didn't show it. Instead, she just spat the nub of half dead leaves in her mouth into the trash can next to her desk and smiled. "Fair enough, lady." She leaned forward into her seat again, the elevated chair creaking slightly as she pressed her weight against the edge of the desk. "Now then, as far as your 'mentor' goes..."
The moment of relief that Danielle had was short lived. She had half expected to be tossed out of the office after the little speech she had made, but even after having gotten away with that, she was about to hear about her least favorite subject of the time. Unfortunately, there wasn't really much she could say about the man. The little that she knew about him had already been covered. He was a bit odd, and he had apparently ditched her. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but frown at the mention of him.
Edith noted the frown and responded with a short, gruff smirk of her own. "Listen, I'm not going to lie to you. Lake O'Bannon... well, the guy's not the cheeriest of sorts. And he's kind of rude at times. And inconsiderate. And he's just as likely to blow your head off as he is to shake your hand some days. And I realize that I'm not making much of a pitch for him right now, but hear me out....
"There's really only two things you need to know about Lake O'Bannon. The first thing is that it's all an act. The rudeness, the not seeming to care who lives or dies... It's all just a big show he puts on so he won't be bothered as much. Somewhere along the way, he figured out that that's how he can get by in life, so that's what he does. Deep down, he's really just a sensitive guy that wants to do the right thing. I know what I told the other guys, but I wouldn't have put you with him if I didn't think he would give you a fair shake."
"Some fair shake..." Danielle mumbled.
Edith smiled again. "Well, see... that's just the thing. You hang around him long enough, and you'll start to understand how he thinks. For example, he acts like he doesn't care about his job, but that doesn't mean that he'd go out of his way to do something that would get him fired. Especially when he could just half-step it and get away with it."
Danielle blinked. "I don't get what you mean."
Edith sighed softly. "Take this little 'test' he's giving you. He called it a 'test', didn't he?" She took Danielle's nod as confirmation and continued, "Now see, he probably laid out what seemed like an impossible task for you, but he knows full well that I'd chew him to pieces if he really did that, so he's probably already got an out. So no matter how impossible whatever he gave you to do might sound, they'll be some way to accomplish it."
Danielle went over it again in her head, thinking aloud, "I don't really think so. I mean, all he said was I had to find him in three hours..."
"Three hours? That's all he said?"
"Yeah, three hours. He said that I had three hours to find him, or else..." Danielle stopped as a thought slowly started to slip into her head. "That's not... that's not all he said."
"It's not, is it?"
"No. He said that pass or fail, I should meet him at Celestial Park at noon. In the food court." Danielle still felt like she was forgetting something, but she also felt like she was right on the verge of figuring something out.
Edith glanced at the ceiling for a second, then smirked as she leaned back in her chair. "I think this might be the most retarded thing he's ever pulled." She paused for moment to glance towards Danielle and offer, "No offense to you, mind you. I might have fallen for it, too, if I didn't have on a watch..."
"A watch..." Danielle parroted. It hadn't even occurred to her before that she wasn't wearing a timepiece. It wasn't the kind of thing that she'd find terribly useful with her tribe, and it hadn't occurred to her to purchase one before she got into town. Come to think of it, she hadn't really concerned herself with time at all until she was given a deadline by... Her face flushed as the last bit of realization sank it.
"Ah," Edith moaned. "I think you get it now, don't you?"
"I didn't even think about it... I never would have thought about it..." Danielle stammered. It hadn't once occurred to her to think about what time it was since she went past the checkpoint at the gate. Once the meeting location got moved to the Gold Harpy, she hadn't worried about being on time. And she had spent so much time running around and checking to see where Lake might have gone off to after he disappeared that by the time she thought to check on the time, it had been a good 10-15 minutes, at least. "Nine twenty..." She mumbled, almost to herself.
"What's that?" Edith asked, seeming to have a good idea of the answer already.
"All the running around I did... it was 9:20 before I checked what time it was. But I couldn't have been looking for more than 15 minutes or so..."
Edith chuckled. "If I had to guess, knowing the man like I do, he disappeared around 9:02."
"9:02..." Danielle repeated again. Which meant, she finally realized, that Lake never had any intention of her being able to find him. As ridiculous as it sounded, he had set the stage so that his "test" would end at 12:02, exactly two minutes after noon. If she had been paying attention, and if she had been patient, it would have occurred to her that all she had to do was meet him at the food court on time and she would "pass". Danielle stared at the floor as she mumbled, "But that's... that's just..."
"Crazy?" Edith shook her head. "Yeah, pretty much. But it's the kind of crap I'd expect from him. He's probably been there the whole time. If you quit, and I made a big fuss about it, he'd just point out how you could have figured it out if you had thought about it. Or if you had even had the guts to face him at the food court." She clucked her tongue a few times before adding, "Of course, the decision is yours now."
"Decision?"
"Yeah. Decision." Edith was the parrot this time. "You've managed to figure out what he was up to, but it's still up to you to figure out what to do about it. It's not like he can actually fail you over a lame stunt like this, but he is one of the people assigned to assess you. It’s probably in your best interest to show up at the food court on time. Assuming, that is, that you weren't just blowing smoke up my ass with all of that 'task I was given' crap before."
Danielle pressed her leg against the edge of her staff. If it hadn't before, it was bound to leave an impression when she finally went to stand up. She truly had meant every word she had said to Edith earlier. Danielle had her reasons for being here, and it wasn't part of her plan at all to give up. She could imagine that someone would look at her and think that she wasn't cut out for the job, but that didn't necessarily mean that she shouldn't do it. On top of that, she had felt more reassured than discouraged by the conversation she had here. She wasn't sure that was what Edith intended, but it made her feel better all the same.
"Yeah," Danielle said. "Yeah, I think I'll go there."
"Good," Edith replied. "Good for you. Now, you better haul butt over there. You don't have a lot of time to make it."
Danielle glanced at the clock on the wall, noting that there were roughly fifteen minutes left before noon. "Right," she uttered as she stood up and picked up her staff. She smiled and nodded politely as she turned to walk out of the room. She opened the door, then paused and turned back towards Edith. "What was the other thing?"
Edith, who had started to relax a hair as Danielle was leaving, perked up her eyebrows. "Huh? What that?"
Danielle turned on a heel so that she could better face Edith at the doorway. "You said before that there were two things I needed to know about Lake O'Bannon. The first was that the whole insensitive thing as an act. What's the second thing?"
"Oh, that." Edith smiled. "The second thing you need to know about Lake O'Bannon... is that he's a very good actor."
Danielle found herself inexplicably smiling after the comment. She turned to head out of the door.
"Brightstar?"
"Yes."
"Do yourself a favor and buy a watch, will ya?"
"Right. Right. Thanks."
...
(One of the things that I wanted to establish after having Dani take the brunt of first Lake's attitude, then Edith's is that Dani isn't exactly a pushover. Yes, her inclination is to approach new things timidly, but she's more than willing to stand her ground when need be. It doesn't hurt that Edith pushed a specific set of hot buttons for Dani, which inclined Dani to snap back a little.
As for Lake's little "test"... sure, it's actually a stupid trick, but it's the kind of thing that I'd be inclined to do in a roleplaying session to see if anyone was paying attention to detail. Dani in this unfortunately represents a large chunk of roleplayers who so readily dive into a task or challenge that they ignore the relevant details.
In this case, though, Edith tosses Dani a clue. This is, quite possibly the nicest thing you will ever see Edith do. She not only steers Dani in the right direction, but gives her a little insight into the nature of would-be mentor Lake O'Bannon. Not that said insight will necessarily help her.
It should be noted, though, that I consider Edith's "two things" comment to be a quintessential definition of Lake's character. That I let Edith say it is a testament to how well she knows the man, despite the fact that she would never admit any of that to him in public.
Which brings us back to Lake. Despite my love for one of my creations, he did need to step back at points in time in this story. And even though it was supposed to be his story, Dani ends up taking most of the spotlight. The story just worked better that way. But that doesn't mean that I won't get back to him very shortly...)
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Unfiltered: Project Nano - Chapter 2
(After the overwhelming response to last week's installment (when I said read it in parts, I didn't mean to take a month... sheesh...) we continue with excerpts from my Nanowrimo project. In this installment, we meet Danielle Brightstar, the would-be sidekick who ends up more of protagonist than I expected her to. Behold the opus that is tentatively entitled: Enter the Walkabout...)
“You have to stand behind the line, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry?”
The man behind the counter made a pushing gesture with his hands. “Behind the line, ma’am. It’s for safety purposes.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Danielle took a small step back to accommodate the clerk, bumping into the person behind her in the process. She offered a quick apology to the disgruntled woman, who responded with a series of odd clicks from beneath her cloth-wrapped face. Danielle tried to play it off and focus on what was ahead of her: the city. It was an entirely new concept for her. She had heard the word and seen the pictures, but to actually be at the gates of one was a completely overwhelming feeling. She made a futile attempt at remaining calm as she waited behind the line for her chance to get her pass. In her mind she tried to convince herself that if she couldn’t keep it together long enough to get through the gates, she couldn’t possibly handle what was past them.
No. That’s not an option... She adamantly told herself. She had set out to prove that she could make this work, and it was the exact wrong time to start having doubts about it.
“Ma’am?”
“… Yes?”
“It’s your turn, ma’am.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Danielle bit the edge of her lip at having lost focus long enough to lose track of being next. She wasn’t even inside the city gates and she had already managed to irritate a man behind a glass and a female… she still wasn’t quite sure what the thing was behind her, except to glean that it was female. Or at least she thought it was. This would take some getting used to.
* * * * * * * * *
Having cleared the main gates, Danielle made her way out of the visitor’s center and into the city proper. If she had any prior knowledge of things like stadiums or coliseums, she might be inclined to compare the walkway with the entrance to one of those. As it was, she was more able to equate it with a clearing at the end of a forest trail. She would, naturally enough, have been disappointed had what met her at the end of the walkway been as simple as a field of lilies. Needless to say, she was not disappointed.
The confining nature of the visitor’s center only led to amplify the effect of being in the city’s open space. It was like letting out a big breath to be exposed to the open air again, and Danielle found herself stopping for a moment just to take it all in. The city spanned outward into streets and buildings of various sorts, the first ones being the obvious ones you’d expect to see at a city entrance. The main street (named appropriately enough Main Street) split the city in half as it ran in a straight-line north. Side streets led off to the east and west, as the wall’s curvature made the ones nearest to it simply fade into the distance. The vendors and the wares they had for sale were both varied, spanning from the mundane and practical to the flamboyant and bizarre.
Danielle fought the voice in the back of her head trying once again to convince her that this was a big mistake. She tugged awkwardly at the edge of her animal skin skirt as she watched the various individuals make their way into and out of the area. She had figured that with the city’s diverse cultural background she wouldn’t feel quite out of place in her tribal garb, but she couldn’t help but feel that way as she watched the way things moved about.
“Hey. Nice staff.”
Danielle heard the comment from behind her and turned her head to grasp what the source was. She almost expected the individual to be addressing someone else despite the fact that she was carrying a rather large wooden staff. She was so used to carrying it with her that half the time she barely remembered that she had it. Danielle regarded the man who had come up behind her with an odd expression. “I’m sor…" She stopped herself short of saying that same phrase for what felt like the one hundredth time and instead offered a gently spoken, "Excuse me?”
“I said, ‘Nice staff.’” The frail looking man darted his head around in an attempt to avoid eye contact. By his manner, he seemed worried about what he’d just said.
Danielle had noticed as she turned her head that the man had not been looking anywhere near the vicinity of her staff. In fact, his need to repeat himself seemed more an attempt to make her clear that he had said staff, although why he’d need to do so she wasn’t entirely sure. She couldn’t think of any words that sounded like staff that she might have confused with something lewd, but she didn’t have the largest vocabulary when it came to that particular dialogue. She decided to ignore the fact that the guy had been staring at her and focus more on the fact that he chose to speak. “Can I… help you with something?” Danielle offered as a safe avenue of conversation.
The man squirmed around the issue, his head continuing the same darty movement it had before. It only helped to emphasize his uncertainty. “Are you… Bright-Star?” He chanced to look her directly in the eye for a second before darting his gaze away again. “I asked the girl with a tail and the Amazon lady, but they weren’t Bright-Star. So, um… are you her?”
Danielle turned to face the man fully. Her staff, as it had many times before, pressed into the ground next to her as she planted her feet again. Her face pressed into a soft state of confusion as she replied, “I am. Did the Guild send you?”
“Guild?” The man treated the word like it was an obscenity. “I ain’t part of no stinkin’… uh…” He tried to adjust his tone along with his response. “No, no. I’m not with the Guild. Although the guy… you’re supposed to meet a… he said to… I…”
“Just relax,” Danielle interjected with the start of a smile. “So, Mr.…”
“Weasel. Not Mr.… They… just call me Weasel.”
She could at least see where he got the name. “So, uh, Weasel… someone sent you here, right?”
Weasel bobbed his head in a weak nod.
“And the person is connected with the Guild, right?”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
“Okay. So why did they want you to meet me here? I thought I was supposed to meet my Guild sponsor at the hall.”
“You are. You were. There was a change of plans.”
Danielle’s grip on her staff tightened a little. “Change of plans? What kind of change of plans?”
Weasel shifted a little as he noticed the slight change in the woman’s demeanor. Just when he looked like he was about to dart off, he began to blabber again, “O’Bannon. He said to tell you… change of plans… new meeting… since he’s not there… He’s supposed to…”
“Calm. Down.”
Weasel snapped to attention at the slow talk like it set off some kind of trigger in his head. He took a deep breath, then started over, “O’Bannon. He’s the guy that you were supposed to meet at the hall. He told me to find you and tell you to meet him somewhere else. Somewhere closer. More convenient. For him, anyway. Uh… but I wasn’t supposed to tell you that last part.” Weasel tried to play off his miscue with a weak chuckle.
Danielle surveyed the man cautiously. For all of the things he seemed to know, she really had no idea that anything he said was true. The guy had a nature that made you feel like he shouldn’t be trusted, but at the same time he didn’t seem to be all that dangerous, either. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being.
“All right. Where does he want me to meet him?”
(Yes, Danielle's entrance is deliberately designed to offset the initial dread felt by an entire clan's worth of hardened bounty hunters. Of course, maybe her presence in the city really is the beginning of something hazardous. Time will tell. Ooh, suspense...)
“You have to stand behind the line, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry?”
The man behind the counter made a pushing gesture with his hands. “Behind the line, ma’am. It’s for safety purposes.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Danielle took a small step back to accommodate the clerk, bumping into the person behind her in the process. She offered a quick apology to the disgruntled woman, who responded with a series of odd clicks from beneath her cloth-wrapped face. Danielle tried to play it off and focus on what was ahead of her: the city. It was an entirely new concept for her. She had heard the word and seen the pictures, but to actually be at the gates of one was a completely overwhelming feeling. She made a futile attempt at remaining calm as she waited behind the line for her chance to get her pass. In her mind she tried to convince herself that if she couldn’t keep it together long enough to get through the gates, she couldn’t possibly handle what was past them.
No. That’s not an option... She adamantly told herself. She had set out to prove that she could make this work, and it was the exact wrong time to start having doubts about it.
“Ma’am?”
“… Yes?”
“It’s your turn, ma’am.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Danielle bit the edge of her lip at having lost focus long enough to lose track of being next. She wasn’t even inside the city gates and she had already managed to irritate a man behind a glass and a female… she still wasn’t quite sure what the thing was behind her, except to glean that it was female. Or at least she thought it was. This would take some getting used to.
* * * * * * * * *
Having cleared the main gates, Danielle made her way out of the visitor’s center and into the city proper. If she had any prior knowledge of things like stadiums or coliseums, she might be inclined to compare the walkway with the entrance to one of those. As it was, she was more able to equate it with a clearing at the end of a forest trail. She would, naturally enough, have been disappointed had what met her at the end of the walkway been as simple as a field of lilies. Needless to say, she was not disappointed.
The confining nature of the visitor’s center only led to amplify the effect of being in the city’s open space. It was like letting out a big breath to be exposed to the open air again, and Danielle found herself stopping for a moment just to take it all in. The city spanned outward into streets and buildings of various sorts, the first ones being the obvious ones you’d expect to see at a city entrance. The main street (named appropriately enough Main Street) split the city in half as it ran in a straight-line north. Side streets led off to the east and west, as the wall’s curvature made the ones nearest to it simply fade into the distance. The vendors and the wares they had for sale were both varied, spanning from the mundane and practical to the flamboyant and bizarre.
Danielle fought the voice in the back of her head trying once again to convince her that this was a big mistake. She tugged awkwardly at the edge of her animal skin skirt as she watched the various individuals make their way into and out of the area. She had figured that with the city’s diverse cultural background she wouldn’t feel quite out of place in her tribal garb, but she couldn’t help but feel that way as she watched the way things moved about.
“Hey. Nice staff.”
Danielle heard the comment from behind her and turned her head to grasp what the source was. She almost expected the individual to be addressing someone else despite the fact that she was carrying a rather large wooden staff. She was so used to carrying it with her that half the time she barely remembered that she had it. Danielle regarded the man who had come up behind her with an odd expression. “I’m sor…" She stopped herself short of saying that same phrase for what felt like the one hundredth time and instead offered a gently spoken, "Excuse me?”
“I said, ‘Nice staff.’” The frail looking man darted his head around in an attempt to avoid eye contact. By his manner, he seemed worried about what he’d just said.
Danielle had noticed as she turned her head that the man had not been looking anywhere near the vicinity of her staff. In fact, his need to repeat himself seemed more an attempt to make her clear that he had said staff, although why he’d need to do so she wasn’t entirely sure. She couldn’t think of any words that sounded like staff that she might have confused with something lewd, but she didn’t have the largest vocabulary when it came to that particular dialogue. She decided to ignore the fact that the guy had been staring at her and focus more on the fact that he chose to speak. “Can I… help you with something?” Danielle offered as a safe avenue of conversation.
The man squirmed around the issue, his head continuing the same darty movement it had before. It only helped to emphasize his uncertainty. “Are you… Bright-Star?” He chanced to look her directly in the eye for a second before darting his gaze away again. “I asked the girl with a tail and the Amazon lady, but they weren’t Bright-Star. So, um… are you her?”
Danielle turned to face the man fully. Her staff, as it had many times before, pressed into the ground next to her as she planted her feet again. Her face pressed into a soft state of confusion as she replied, “I am. Did the Guild send you?”
“Guild?” The man treated the word like it was an obscenity. “I ain’t part of no stinkin’… uh…” He tried to adjust his tone along with his response. “No, no. I’m not with the Guild. Although the guy… you’re supposed to meet a… he said to… I…”
“Just relax,” Danielle interjected with the start of a smile. “So, Mr.…”
“Weasel. Not Mr.… They… just call me Weasel.”
She could at least see where he got the name. “So, uh, Weasel… someone sent you here, right?”
Weasel bobbed his head in a weak nod.
“And the person is connected with the Guild, right?”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
“Okay. So why did they want you to meet me here? I thought I was supposed to meet my Guild sponsor at the hall.”
“You are. You were. There was a change of plans.”
Danielle’s grip on her staff tightened a little. “Change of plans? What kind of change of plans?”
Weasel shifted a little as he noticed the slight change in the woman’s demeanor. Just when he looked like he was about to dart off, he began to blabber again, “O’Bannon. He said to tell you… change of plans… new meeting… since he’s not there… He’s supposed to…”
“Calm. Down.”
Weasel snapped to attention at the slow talk like it set off some kind of trigger in his head. He took a deep breath, then started over, “O’Bannon. He’s the guy that you were supposed to meet at the hall. He told me to find you and tell you to meet him somewhere else. Somewhere closer. More convenient. For him, anyway. Uh… but I wasn’t supposed to tell you that last part.” Weasel tried to play off his miscue with a weak chuckle.
Danielle surveyed the man cautiously. For all of the things he seemed to know, she really had no idea that anything he said was true. The guy had a nature that made you feel like he shouldn’t be trusted, but at the same time he didn’t seem to be all that dangerous, either. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being.
“All right. Where does he want me to meet him?”
(Yes, Danielle's entrance is deliberately designed to offset the initial dread felt by an entire clan's worth of hardened bounty hunters. Of course, maybe her presence in the city really is the beginning of something hazardous. Time will tell. Ooh, suspense...)
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Unfiltered: Project Nano - Chapter 1
(Now that I've got all of the nonsense of what might have been out of the way, back to what was. This is an excerpt from what I guess would chapter 1 of the project, a little ditty that I named "Roll Call". We enter the scene as Hunter Clan Sponsor Edith Fortunado brings her weekly meeting to a halt and resident Hunter Lake O'Bannon prepares to make drag it back to activity... the hard way.)
Edith gritted her teeth at the smattering of murmurs and chuckles that protruded from the crew. If nothing else, she hated the lack of order that always presented itself during these meetings. Heck, she hated the meetings altogether. But they were a necessary evil if she wanted to keep the guild in a state that remotely resembled solvent. Not that she always cared about that, but like most people she appreciated when the lights and appliances worked. Edith waved a hand dismissively. “All right, pipe down you yahoos. Anything else?”
She took the momentary lapse of comments as reason enough to move on. “Okay, then. We can move on to new business. We’ve had a drop in our capture rate over the past quarter. This coincides, surprisingly enough, with an increase in our hunter injuries and fatalities. I don’t have to explain this to any of you, do I? Now I know there have been things going on in the guild, and far be it from me to get bent out of shape by a few of you bums getting put into the ground, but it’s affecting business. The bottom line is the bottom line, and right now we’re leaning more towards red no matter how you look at it.”
Edith gave her small play on words time to hit some of the slower witted members over the head a few times before continuing. “The important thing to remember is to be careful. I know half the city thinks that we’re expendable, but we are actually providing a service here. Contrary to popular belief, if we don’t do our jobs right, the city does suffer. But enough with the pep talk…” The woman had to resist the urge to smirk at the notion before continuing, “On to other business. We have a walkabout today.”
The statement drew more attention than any other one in the morning had. Just about every head in the assemblage perked up and directed its attention to the front. Even a few of the sleeping folks snapped awake at the word. It had been a while since there had been a walkabout in the guild. It had been long enough that some people had never encountered one in their entire career. For anyone familiar with the process, there was the usual mix of emotions flowing through the room. There was the standard order of idle curiosity. There was a sprinkle of novelty. But mostly, there was the fear. The horrible, all enclosing fear of the words that would next be spoken.
“I need a volunteer.” Edith timed the comment for the appropriate mix of drama and amusement. The amusement was mostly hers, of course, but there were a handful of people masochistic enough to find potential joy in the outcome. She brushed her hand in a dismissive fashion. “Aw, don’t cry, ya bunch of babies! I’m not stupid enough to expect any of you putzes to actually volunteer. In fact, I’ve come up with a method that’s more than fair. I think I’ll just consider the lucky victim to be the next person to walk through the door. Yep, that’ll do it. The very next person to walk through that door will be our lucky volunteer.”
There was a certain anticipation in her proclamation that had eluded some of the guild, but like a wave the realization of what was happening was starting to become apparent. A low-based murmuring linked itself to a pattern of individuals checking the clock that hung over the door. Anyone that checked saw that it was clearly twelve minutes after their meeting start time. Anyone with even a trace of sense knew that it was Wednesday. And everyone that knew a certain individual knew that by some manner of habit or heavenly decree, a certain member of their guild almost certainly showed up exactly thirteen minutes late for any Wednesday meeting. So it was with great revelry and a modicum of satisfaction that the group welcomed its tardy compatriot into the room.
Lake O’Bannon strolled into the room in matter of fact fashion. Neither his demeanor nor his appearance would indicate that he was in any rush to get inside. On the contrary, nothing that Lake did gave faintest hint that he was on the verge of either sneaking to his seat or apologizing for being late. It had already been well established that the time that Lake reported in on Wednesday was pretty much his own prerogative.
The popular theory was that Lake had some mystery rendezvous on Tuesday nights that kept him preoccupied, but his general lack of a good mood on Wednesday precluded them from associating him with the usual pleasantries that a “secret rendezvous” would entail. Others carried the popular theory that Lake had some early morning regimen on Wednesday that made him late, but again there were no outward signs that he was exhausted from workout, peaceful from meditation, or (as previously mentioned) in a pleasant mood from any other unsavory activity. A few guild members had bothered to attempt to track him on Wednesday morning to see just what the deal was. The few that remained intact long enough to report to anyone else brought the dismal news that Lake was late simply because he was, and it seemed to just be a matter of fate conspiring to make sure he was never on time on Wednesday. Whatever the reason, today it was bound to provide some much needed entertainment for the meeting.
Lake paused after entering the doorway, adjusting the cuff of his leather jacket as he mumbled something best left incoherent under his breath. It took him a handful of seconds to notice that something was out of sorts… more out of sorts than usual in the group. Too many people seemed pleased to see him. He had found in general practice that too many people happy to see him was rarely a good thing.
“Mr. O’Bannon. So lovely to see you today. And at such an appropriate time, too. “ Edith Fortunado grinned an impish smile that her lack of stature made appear even more so. A few of the guild members reflected the same mock enthusiasm that Edith did, and that was when Lake truly grasped how screwed he was.
Lake let a short huff of air slip out of his lips before starting his query. “What? Am I getting docked? Am I getting written up for that ganger I cracked last week? Am I getting docked for cracking that ganger last week? Am I getting cracked for docking that ganger last week?”
The room hung in silence for the reply of their leader. They knew this was just the opening volley in a classic exchange. Edith debated letting the noose tighten a little more before the big reveal, but decided that there was really no reason to drag it out too far. Besides, all of this pleasantry was wearing on her own nerves. Edith propped a hand against her podium. “I was just informing everyone about the walkabout we just acquired.”
Lake fought back a grimace at the mention of the word, a successful effort that he managed to bend into a small smirk. “Walkabout, huh? Haven’t we got enough crap floating around here without one of those making it worse?” Lake had absolutely no qualms about tossing a general insult out in a room of what should be his allies. Heaven knows they would be more than willing to do the same should the opportunity arise. Still, the comment seemed to raise the dander of at least a few of the assembled, many of whom showed their disapproval by shifting in their seats and glaring.
Edith coughed out a monosyllable of disapproval to the question. “Could be.” Edith had the same lack of regard as Lake did in the matter, but at least she had the pull to not be worried about reprisals, “But for better or worse, we’ve got one. And now that I have a volunteer for walkabout duty, I don’t have to worry about it all that much.
“Volunteer?” Lake’s smirk gathered a hint of actual amusement. “What poor fool would be insane enough to volunteer for walkabout du…” It was about that time that he managed to piece it all together. The pleasantries, the general joy he seemed to be bringing part of the room, the fact that he hadn’t been docked yet… there had to be a payoff somewhere for Edith, and there it was. His entire demeanor shifted to one of annoyance. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You are not shackling me with one of those... things for the week. I did my time two years ago and I was done. Find some other sucker with a death wish to do your dirty work for you.”
Edith’s tone took an abrupt shift of its own, “Now you wait just a minute! You think fair play applies in all guild matters? The truth is this has been coming for a long time. Breaking rules, not following protocols, damage tallies way beyond your class level allowance… and every time I try to call you on it, you have some half-cocked excuse or some convenient break of fortune that keeps my hands tied. You’ve slipped through more loopholes and backdoors than I can count, but not today, bucko! I’ve been waiting to screw you over for a long time now, and now you're gonna get what’s coming to you!”
For a brief moment, Lake seemed genuinely taken aback by Edith’s diatribe. His left eyebrow arched upward as he perused his employer’s face. His lips parted calmly as he carefully sorted out his response.
“Say… are you coming on to me?”
The smattering of chuckles from the audience was more than enough to break the tension for most of them. Some of the guild had gotten a bit restless in the brief pause that preceded Lake’s comment. A few foolish souls actually dared to assume it possible that Lake was honestly repentant and on the verge of apologizing for his past actions. They were more than pleased to see that that was not the case.
Edith Fortunado, on the other hand, was anything but amused. Her face began to flare an almost trademark shade of red, and it was abundantly clear to any of the guild members who had seen it occur before that it was not a blush of embarrassment.
“Do you think…” Edith fought to maintain anything that resembled civility as her temper railed against her better judgment, “… for one second… that I would ever… within the confines of my mind… “ Edith pointed towards Barnard, who flinched at the motion despite the lack of flames shooting from her fingertip, “… his mind… or within the very depths of hell itself even remotely consider coming onto you? In what bizarre freakshow of a world does my utter contempt and rage for you possibly translate into anything that even resembles attraction? You… you… you’re lucky I don’t leap off of here and throttle the life out you with my bare hands!” Her body began slowly tremble, making some fear that she might actually leap from her podium in some kind of suicidal plunge at her contemptuous employee.
Lake, for his part, seemed unfazed by this newfound rage. In fact his own demeanor had improved a good deal, though an apt observer could clearly see that he was by no means happy. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he mused aloud to no one in particular, “Well, I can’t say where it came from, exactly. It was just the wording there. ‘Half-cocked,’ ‘loophole,’ ‘backdoor.’ You know in some circles, even the word 'throttle'…”
Edith banged her fist on the top of her podium and pointed an aged finger at Lake. “All right! Not another word out of you! You’re taking the walkabout, and so help me if I hear anything other than rave reviews about your behavior, I'll bounce you out of here on your smug little backside!”
Lake clearly had something else to say on the matter, but he remained silent. Of his many social skills, the ability to know just how far he could push someone before he had crossed the point of no return was probably the most finely honed. It was clear he didn’t love this particular turn of events, but it was also clear that short of getting himself removed from the guild there wasn’t much else he could do to get out of this. With a certain sense of resignation, he turned and headed back towards the door he had so recently entered.
“And just where do you think you’re going, hot shot?” Edith queried to his back.
Lake didn’t bother to turn around, stopping as he reached the door. “In accordance with Article 4, Paragraph 8 of the Provisional Guild Agreement with the Free States, any member enacted into volunteer duty with a walkabout may, at their discretion, forgo standard guild protocols when interacting with said walkabout. Pursuant with this, I’m enacting a special preparatory meeting to prepare for said walkabout. This meeting, coincidentally enough, will force me to miss the rest of this one. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
As the door shut with Lake on the opposite side of it, Edith Fortunado quietly grinded her teeth together. “I am so docking him for cracking that ganger last week…”
(Lengthy, sure, but I really like the entire exchange between the two. Besides, I haven't posted anything else all week. Read it in parts if you have to. Until next time, when I think I'll spend a little time breaking down some of the who, what, and why of the story elements...)
Edith gritted her teeth at the smattering of murmurs and chuckles that protruded from the crew. If nothing else, she hated the lack of order that always presented itself during these meetings. Heck, she hated the meetings altogether. But they were a necessary evil if she wanted to keep the guild in a state that remotely resembled solvent. Not that she always cared about that, but like most people she appreciated when the lights and appliances worked. Edith waved a hand dismissively. “All right, pipe down you yahoos. Anything else?”
She took the momentary lapse of comments as reason enough to move on. “Okay, then. We can move on to new business. We’ve had a drop in our capture rate over the past quarter. This coincides, surprisingly enough, with an increase in our hunter injuries and fatalities. I don’t have to explain this to any of you, do I? Now I know there have been things going on in the guild, and far be it from me to get bent out of shape by a few of you bums getting put into the ground, but it’s affecting business. The bottom line is the bottom line, and right now we’re leaning more towards red no matter how you look at it.”
Edith gave her small play on words time to hit some of the slower witted members over the head a few times before continuing. “The important thing to remember is to be careful. I know half the city thinks that we’re expendable, but we are actually providing a service here. Contrary to popular belief, if we don’t do our jobs right, the city does suffer. But enough with the pep talk…” The woman had to resist the urge to smirk at the notion before continuing, “On to other business. We have a walkabout today.”
The statement drew more attention than any other one in the morning had. Just about every head in the assemblage perked up and directed its attention to the front. Even a few of the sleeping folks snapped awake at the word. It had been a while since there had been a walkabout in the guild. It had been long enough that some people had never encountered one in their entire career. For anyone familiar with the process, there was the usual mix of emotions flowing through the room. There was the standard order of idle curiosity. There was a sprinkle of novelty. But mostly, there was the fear. The horrible, all enclosing fear of the words that would next be spoken.
“I need a volunteer.” Edith timed the comment for the appropriate mix of drama and amusement. The amusement was mostly hers, of course, but there were a handful of people masochistic enough to find potential joy in the outcome. She brushed her hand in a dismissive fashion. “Aw, don’t cry, ya bunch of babies! I’m not stupid enough to expect any of you putzes to actually volunteer. In fact, I’ve come up with a method that’s more than fair. I think I’ll just consider the lucky victim to be the next person to walk through the door. Yep, that’ll do it. The very next person to walk through that door will be our lucky volunteer.”
There was a certain anticipation in her proclamation that had eluded some of the guild, but like a wave the realization of what was happening was starting to become apparent. A low-based murmuring linked itself to a pattern of individuals checking the clock that hung over the door. Anyone that checked saw that it was clearly twelve minutes after their meeting start time. Anyone with even a trace of sense knew that it was Wednesday. And everyone that knew a certain individual knew that by some manner of habit or heavenly decree, a certain member of their guild almost certainly showed up exactly thirteen minutes late for any Wednesday meeting. So it was with great revelry and a modicum of satisfaction that the group welcomed its tardy compatriot into the room.
Lake O’Bannon strolled into the room in matter of fact fashion. Neither his demeanor nor his appearance would indicate that he was in any rush to get inside. On the contrary, nothing that Lake did gave faintest hint that he was on the verge of either sneaking to his seat or apologizing for being late. It had already been well established that the time that Lake reported in on Wednesday was pretty much his own prerogative.
The popular theory was that Lake had some mystery rendezvous on Tuesday nights that kept him preoccupied, but his general lack of a good mood on Wednesday precluded them from associating him with the usual pleasantries that a “secret rendezvous” would entail. Others carried the popular theory that Lake had some early morning regimen on Wednesday that made him late, but again there were no outward signs that he was exhausted from workout, peaceful from meditation, or (as previously mentioned) in a pleasant mood from any other unsavory activity. A few guild members had bothered to attempt to track him on Wednesday morning to see just what the deal was. The few that remained intact long enough to report to anyone else brought the dismal news that Lake was late simply because he was, and it seemed to just be a matter of fate conspiring to make sure he was never on time on Wednesday. Whatever the reason, today it was bound to provide some much needed entertainment for the meeting.
Lake paused after entering the doorway, adjusting the cuff of his leather jacket as he mumbled something best left incoherent under his breath. It took him a handful of seconds to notice that something was out of sorts… more out of sorts than usual in the group. Too many people seemed pleased to see him. He had found in general practice that too many people happy to see him was rarely a good thing.
“Mr. O’Bannon. So lovely to see you today. And at such an appropriate time, too. “ Edith Fortunado grinned an impish smile that her lack of stature made appear even more so. A few of the guild members reflected the same mock enthusiasm that Edith did, and that was when Lake truly grasped how screwed he was.
Lake let a short huff of air slip out of his lips before starting his query. “What? Am I getting docked? Am I getting written up for that ganger I cracked last week? Am I getting docked for cracking that ganger last week? Am I getting cracked for docking that ganger last week?”
The room hung in silence for the reply of their leader. They knew this was just the opening volley in a classic exchange. Edith debated letting the noose tighten a little more before the big reveal, but decided that there was really no reason to drag it out too far. Besides, all of this pleasantry was wearing on her own nerves. Edith propped a hand against her podium. “I was just informing everyone about the walkabout we just acquired.”
Lake fought back a grimace at the mention of the word, a successful effort that he managed to bend into a small smirk. “Walkabout, huh? Haven’t we got enough crap floating around here without one of those making it worse?” Lake had absolutely no qualms about tossing a general insult out in a room of what should be his allies. Heaven knows they would be more than willing to do the same should the opportunity arise. Still, the comment seemed to raise the dander of at least a few of the assembled, many of whom showed their disapproval by shifting in their seats and glaring.
Edith coughed out a monosyllable of disapproval to the question. “Could be.” Edith had the same lack of regard as Lake did in the matter, but at least she had the pull to not be worried about reprisals, “But for better or worse, we’ve got one. And now that I have a volunteer for walkabout duty, I don’t have to worry about it all that much.
“Volunteer?” Lake’s smirk gathered a hint of actual amusement. “What poor fool would be insane enough to volunteer for walkabout du…” It was about that time that he managed to piece it all together. The pleasantries, the general joy he seemed to be bringing part of the room, the fact that he hadn’t been docked yet… there had to be a payoff somewhere for Edith, and there it was. His entire demeanor shifted to one of annoyance. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You are not shackling me with one of those... things for the week. I did my time two years ago and I was done. Find some other sucker with a death wish to do your dirty work for you.”
Edith’s tone took an abrupt shift of its own, “Now you wait just a minute! You think fair play applies in all guild matters? The truth is this has been coming for a long time. Breaking rules, not following protocols, damage tallies way beyond your class level allowance… and every time I try to call you on it, you have some half-cocked excuse or some convenient break of fortune that keeps my hands tied. You’ve slipped through more loopholes and backdoors than I can count, but not today, bucko! I’ve been waiting to screw you over for a long time now, and now you're gonna get what’s coming to you!”
For a brief moment, Lake seemed genuinely taken aback by Edith’s diatribe. His left eyebrow arched upward as he perused his employer’s face. His lips parted calmly as he carefully sorted out his response.
“Say… are you coming on to me?”
The smattering of chuckles from the audience was more than enough to break the tension for most of them. Some of the guild had gotten a bit restless in the brief pause that preceded Lake’s comment. A few foolish souls actually dared to assume it possible that Lake was honestly repentant and on the verge of apologizing for his past actions. They were more than pleased to see that that was not the case.
Edith Fortunado, on the other hand, was anything but amused. Her face began to flare an almost trademark shade of red, and it was abundantly clear to any of the guild members who had seen it occur before that it was not a blush of embarrassment.
“Do you think…” Edith fought to maintain anything that resembled civility as her temper railed against her better judgment, “… for one second… that I would ever… within the confines of my mind… “ Edith pointed towards Barnard, who flinched at the motion despite the lack of flames shooting from her fingertip, “… his mind… or within the very depths of hell itself even remotely consider coming onto you? In what bizarre freakshow of a world does my utter contempt and rage for you possibly translate into anything that even resembles attraction? You… you… you’re lucky I don’t leap off of here and throttle the life out you with my bare hands!” Her body began slowly tremble, making some fear that she might actually leap from her podium in some kind of suicidal plunge at her contemptuous employee.
Lake, for his part, seemed unfazed by this newfound rage. In fact his own demeanor had improved a good deal, though an apt observer could clearly see that he was by no means happy. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he mused aloud to no one in particular, “Well, I can’t say where it came from, exactly. It was just the wording there. ‘Half-cocked,’ ‘loophole,’ ‘backdoor.’ You know in some circles, even the word 'throttle'…”
Edith banged her fist on the top of her podium and pointed an aged finger at Lake. “All right! Not another word out of you! You’re taking the walkabout, and so help me if I hear anything other than rave reviews about your behavior, I'll bounce you out of here on your smug little backside!”
Lake clearly had something else to say on the matter, but he remained silent. Of his many social skills, the ability to know just how far he could push someone before he had crossed the point of no return was probably the most finely honed. It was clear he didn’t love this particular turn of events, but it was also clear that short of getting himself removed from the guild there wasn’t much else he could do to get out of this. With a certain sense of resignation, he turned and headed back towards the door he had so recently entered.
“And just where do you think you’re going, hot shot?” Edith queried to his back.
Lake didn’t bother to turn around, stopping as he reached the door. “In accordance with Article 4, Paragraph 8 of the Provisional Guild Agreement with the Free States, any member enacted into volunteer duty with a walkabout may, at their discretion, forgo standard guild protocols when interacting with said walkabout. Pursuant with this, I’m enacting a special preparatory meeting to prepare for said walkabout. This meeting, coincidentally enough, will force me to miss the rest of this one. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
As the door shut with Lake on the opposite side of it, Edith Fortunado quietly grinded her teeth together. “I am so docking him for cracking that ganger last week…”
(Lengthy, sure, but I really like the entire exchange between the two. Besides, I haven't posted anything else all week. Read it in parts if you have to. Until next time, when I think I'll spend a little time breaking down some of the who, what, and why of the story elements...)
Monday, February 9, 2009
Unfiltered: The NaNo That Might Have Been
(You'll see plenty of the actual project before it's over, but here's part that you'll only see this much of. The reason? It's literally the majority of what I did the first few days of mu Nanowrimo project. This is the work I abandoned after the first few days, in part because I really wasnt sure where it was going to go. Anyway, enjoy...)
Chapter One
"Riley! Take out the trash, honey!"
Riley Waters grumbled to himself as he heard his mother's voice. He dragged himself form the sanity of his bed covers and wandered himself downstairs to the kitchen. He cursed himself for being angry at his mother the second he saw her strained face over the kitchen sink.
"What in the world could be stuck down there?" she quietly mused as she stared into the drain. "My god, is it some type of animal or something?" Her dark ponytail drifted out of the back of the cloth she had wrapped around her head. Her face, showing much more age than it should for a woman of her years, stressed itself into a series of premature wrinkles.
Riley sighed as he tried to force himself to look towards the trash can. Two firmly packed bags of trash waited for him at the end of his vision's journey, with another bag all but spilling out of the can. Riley grumbled quietly again before being startled by his mother's yell.
"Riley! Ri...!" his mother had started before realizing that he was already in the room. "Oh, dear. Dear? Can you take that out, please?"
"Where's Dudley?" Riley half mumbled the question from his lips. "It's his turn..."
"What?" His mother pursued. "Dudley? Oh, dear, I don't know. I'm sure he's around somewhere."
Riley pointed towards the trash bin with a finger. "It's Dudley's week to take out the trash. What's the point of having a chore wheel if he's not even going to .."
"Oh, Riley..." his mother interrupted him. "I know it's not fair, but I just..." She fought very hard to try and sound like she was being the reasonable person that she knew she wasn't. "I need the trash out of here, and this drain is acting up and... Could you just please do this for me right now?"
Riley wasn't a completely insensitive kid. He knew that life hadn't been entirely kind to his mother over the years. Having to take care of two children, boys no less, on her own wouldn't have been a picnic for anyone. Even though he knew her life was tough, even though he knew that he should be madder at his brother than at her, even though he knew that it wasn't nearly as big of a deal as he was making it out to be to take out the trash... he couldn't help but be aggravated.
Still, he could hear the strain in his mother's voice. He could see the stress in her face and the near defeat in her eyes. And while he wasn't sure exactly what the feeling was inside he got when he heard and saw it, he knew that it was a feeling he had learned he couldn't stand.
"Sure, Mom," Riley offered, trying his best to sound optimistic, "I can do it." Riley wandered over to the trash bin and grimaced. He really hadn't managed to appreciate just how terrible a mess it was. The odor was all but palpable once you managed to reach the can. No wonder she wanted this out, Riley thought. How did my brother manage to avoid this for two days straight? Riley decided to tackle the open bag first, partly because he believed that it might help alleviate part of the odor issue and partly because he figured that by doing that he could stop his mother's almost incessant need to throw items into the bag at the last possible moment.
Sealing the bag, Riley looked up and was surprised to see that his mother was nowhere in sight with a bowl or pot that needed scraping. Her attention remained drawn into the bottom of the drain she was trying with little success to open. He grabbed the first bag, most notably because it appeared it could burst open at any minute, and carefully made his way out the back door.
Riley cautiously carried the bag to the large, green cans in the back of the house, taking an extra moment or two to establish leverage before clomping the bag into the can. He dusted off his hands by brushing them together, even though he realized that there wasn’t much to come from it. His hands weren’t really dirty, but he had picked up the habit from his father, who had always done the same thing after finishing any task of great (or not so great) difficulty.
Riley stopped to look at the small brick house that he called his home. To say it wasn't much would be a bit of an understatement, but they had come to find a way to settle into it. Home. It wasn't really a concept he had even wrapped his head around in the past few years.
The first part of his task complete, Riley returned to the back door and made his way back inside. The two remaining bags sat waiting for him, and his mother was still perched over the kitchen sink drain. She was now taking a plunger to the pesky problem, seemingly oblivious to her son's return. No wonder she hadn't tried to cram anything else in, he thought. Riley glanced into the den, where the television was still on. The news program showed the local weather caster pulling one of his infamous gags. The middle-aged man was currently wearing a bathrobe and shower cap while standing in front of a green screen. The man was ducking and dodging as someone, presumably offscreen, threw what looked like balls of aluminum foil at him.
"And this is a reminder to all of our viewers out there..." The forecaster spoke through his bobbing and weaving. "A reminder that tonight is the last night of the meteor shower we've been having the past two nights... so make sure..." It was at this point that it became apparent that there were at least a few people throwing objects, as the number of foil balls had increased. "So make sure that you check it out if you get a chance..."
There were now a good many other objects being tossed around in the man's direction. Some balled up wads of paper, some tennis balls, and even a stapler passed narrowly by his head. Just at the moment when the poor man's distress seemed to reach its peak, the screen quickly flipped to an image of the news anchor trying his best to act like everything was normal. The hearty older man simply smiled and offered in his favorably relaxed tone, "Thanks, Stu. Good old Stu."
From somewhere offscreen, Stu could be heard screaming, "Ow! That's my spleen!"
(So that's it. There was some funky stuff at the beginning as a prologue, but it was truly babbling. Eventually, it was supposed to turn into a story about two brothers trapped on a strange planet and I think it might have gotten Lord of the Flies at one point... I never really have read that book, come to think of it. Anywho, I think there are a few all right moments in here, and I might at least re-use the weatherman scene in some future project. No part of the animal goes to waste...)
Chapter One
"Riley! Take out the trash, honey!"
Riley Waters grumbled to himself as he heard his mother's voice. He dragged himself form the sanity of his bed covers and wandered himself downstairs to the kitchen. He cursed himself for being angry at his mother the second he saw her strained face over the kitchen sink.
"What in the world could be stuck down there?" she quietly mused as she stared into the drain. "My god, is it some type of animal or something?" Her dark ponytail drifted out of the back of the cloth she had wrapped around her head. Her face, showing much more age than it should for a woman of her years, stressed itself into a series of premature wrinkles.
Riley sighed as he tried to force himself to look towards the trash can. Two firmly packed bags of trash waited for him at the end of his vision's journey, with another bag all but spilling out of the can. Riley grumbled quietly again before being startled by his mother's yell.
"Riley! Ri...!" his mother had started before realizing that he was already in the room. "Oh, dear. Dear? Can you take that out, please?"
"Where's Dudley?" Riley half mumbled the question from his lips. "It's his turn..."
"What?" His mother pursued. "Dudley? Oh, dear, I don't know. I'm sure he's around somewhere."
Riley pointed towards the trash bin with a finger. "It's Dudley's week to take out the trash. What's the point of having a chore wheel if he's not even going to .."
"Oh, Riley..." his mother interrupted him. "I know it's not fair, but I just..." She fought very hard to try and sound like she was being the reasonable person that she knew she wasn't. "I need the trash out of here, and this drain is acting up and... Could you just please do this for me right now?"
Riley wasn't a completely insensitive kid. He knew that life hadn't been entirely kind to his mother over the years. Having to take care of two children, boys no less, on her own wouldn't have been a picnic for anyone. Even though he knew her life was tough, even though he knew that he should be madder at his brother than at her, even though he knew that it wasn't nearly as big of a deal as he was making it out to be to take out the trash... he couldn't help but be aggravated.
Still, he could hear the strain in his mother's voice. He could see the stress in her face and the near defeat in her eyes. And while he wasn't sure exactly what the feeling was inside he got when he heard and saw it, he knew that it was a feeling he had learned he couldn't stand.
"Sure, Mom," Riley offered, trying his best to sound optimistic, "I can do it." Riley wandered over to the trash bin and grimaced. He really hadn't managed to appreciate just how terrible a mess it was. The odor was all but palpable once you managed to reach the can. No wonder she wanted this out, Riley thought. How did my brother manage to avoid this for two days straight? Riley decided to tackle the open bag first, partly because he believed that it might help alleviate part of the odor issue and partly because he figured that by doing that he could stop his mother's almost incessant need to throw items into the bag at the last possible moment.
Sealing the bag, Riley looked up and was surprised to see that his mother was nowhere in sight with a bowl or pot that needed scraping. Her attention remained drawn into the bottom of the drain she was trying with little success to open. He grabbed the first bag, most notably because it appeared it could burst open at any minute, and carefully made his way out the back door.
Riley cautiously carried the bag to the large, green cans in the back of the house, taking an extra moment or two to establish leverage before clomping the bag into the can. He dusted off his hands by brushing them together, even though he realized that there wasn’t much to come from it. His hands weren’t really dirty, but he had picked up the habit from his father, who had always done the same thing after finishing any task of great (or not so great) difficulty.
Riley stopped to look at the small brick house that he called his home. To say it wasn't much would be a bit of an understatement, but they had come to find a way to settle into it. Home. It wasn't really a concept he had even wrapped his head around in the past few years.
The first part of his task complete, Riley returned to the back door and made his way back inside. The two remaining bags sat waiting for him, and his mother was still perched over the kitchen sink drain. She was now taking a plunger to the pesky problem, seemingly oblivious to her son's return. No wonder she hadn't tried to cram anything else in, he thought. Riley glanced into the den, where the television was still on. The news program showed the local weather caster pulling one of his infamous gags. The middle-aged man was currently wearing a bathrobe and shower cap while standing in front of a green screen. The man was ducking and dodging as someone, presumably offscreen, threw what looked like balls of aluminum foil at him.
"And this is a reminder to all of our viewers out there..." The forecaster spoke through his bobbing and weaving. "A reminder that tonight is the last night of the meteor shower we've been having the past two nights... so make sure..." It was at this point that it became apparent that there were at least a few people throwing objects, as the number of foil balls had increased. "So make sure that you check it out if you get a chance..."
There were now a good many other objects being tossed around in the man's direction. Some balled up wads of paper, some tennis balls, and even a stapler passed narrowly by his head. Just at the moment when the poor man's distress seemed to reach its peak, the screen quickly flipped to an image of the news anchor trying his best to act like everything was normal. The hearty older man simply smiled and offered in his favorably relaxed tone, "Thanks, Stu. Good old Stu."
From somewhere offscreen, Stu could be heard screaming, "Ow! That's my spleen!"
(So that's it. There was some funky stuff at the beginning as a prologue, but it was truly babbling. Eventually, it was supposed to turn into a story about two brothers trapped on a strange planet and I think it might have gotten Lord of the Flies at one point... I never really have read that book, come to think of it. Anywho, I think there are a few all right moments in here, and I might at least re-use the weatherman scene in some future project. No part of the animal goes to waste...)
Friday, January 9, 2009
Unfiltered: What Makes a Black Panther Not a Black Panther?
Reviewing my flash drive like I did at the end of last year reminded me of one important thing. I tend to start many a dialogue and rant without ever properly finishing them up or polishing them off. There are many times I fully intend to do this and post messages, and other times that I decide that whatever I'm working on just isn't up to the standard. Then I realized that I don't have a standard, and the six people (yes, I think it's up to six now for no reason at all) can't care about it that much.
So I now present my new topic set called Unfiltered. A place where I can toss out incomplete or just plain blind ranting with no regrets. Here is part one of said topic, a rant related to upcoming changes in Marvel's Black Panther comic that I started years ago...
Okay, so earlier this week, I was breaking down my fake lineup of "Dark Avengers" when someone alerted me to the fact that Black Panther is getting the treatment in upcoming months. For those not on the uptake, Marvel has plans to replace the T'Challa we know and love with a woman. Of course, which woman is under the mask hasn't come up yet, but that would wreck the mystery.
Now honestly, I want to approach the issue with my unending fanboyism and shout, "Nooooooooo!" as loud as I can, but the truth is that it wouldn't change anything. Allow me to explain why.
For the better part of the past few years, Black Panther's solo title has been written by Reginald Hudlin. Hudlin has been writing a good deal of that book like garbage since he came on board. Not all of it, mind you, but a good deal of it.
But to really say that, I have to explain that BP has two dedicated fanbases. One is the old school comic head that cares about such geekish things as continuity and consistency in writing (those guys exist?), and the other is the group of people who could care less about those things and just likes seeing BP "handle his business". Mind you, it is possible to be a member of both groups.
The important part comes with understanding a subset of the latter group: brothers and sisters (and I don't mean a family connection there). I have run into a good number of black men and women who sincerely only follow Black Panther in his book and will love that he will occasionally go over the top on someone. Not that it should surprise you to learn that Black Panther has a black following, but I'm just pointing out that many of the readers and/or buyers of BP are not, ahem..."traditional comic readers". This is important because once you understand that, you'll realize that the core readership of the book doesn't necessarily care if T'Challa properly follows or falls into normal Marvel continuity. They are literally there to see BP do his thing and move on with their lives.
Having said that, I don't begrudge anyone in the latter group. If you just want to see BP be the baddest man on the block, that's fine. In fact, I'd argue that you're the target demographic for this the book to begin with. But for the old school comic heads (like myself), a lot of what happens in that book makes you go "WTF?" That's unfortunately where I end up more often than not (and one of the reasons I ended up dropping the title way back when).
The impetus on having quality work coming out of the title falls on two fronts. The first would be with Hudlin himself, who has made it clear that he doesn’t particularly care what anyone thinks of his book so long as people buy it. He gets this attitude from the second tier of responsibility in his company: the editorial department. In particular, he gets it from editor-in-chief Joe Quesada, who pushes a good many books with the concept “We don’t care if it makes you mad, so long as it makes us money.”
What you have to understand is that Quesada pushing the book goes exactly with what I've been saying. He will push the crap out of anything he thinks will sell issues, especially if he can stir up some buzz (positive or negative) about it. What Quesada doesn't do, however, is generally care if the book has any quality storytelling or not. And really, why should he, so long as he makes his money? He can piss off an old school head like me indefinitely with his book so long as he gets one new person to be interested enough to pick up the issue I drop.
The problem comes in when your hype starts to fade and you have to make a choice. Create new hype (which may or may not alienate your new, possibly more fickle reader with no guarantee that the old reader will come back) or maintain the status quo (which may bore your new reader and guarantee your old reader won't come back).
To draw a more relevant analogy, it's like trying to balance energizing your base with reaching out to independents. And I guess maybe I see Quesada as more of a McCain than an Obama.
...
Dang. I just put way too much thought into this.
(Ed. Note: As evidenced by the last comment, I clearly started writing this long before my moratorium on political commentary at the end of the year. Not that said moratorium is even remotely official or going to last. I just have a feeling…)
So I now present my new topic set called Unfiltered. A place where I can toss out incomplete or just plain blind ranting with no regrets. Here is part one of said topic, a rant related to upcoming changes in Marvel's Black Panther comic that I started years ago...
Okay, so earlier this week, I was breaking down my fake lineup of "Dark Avengers" when someone alerted me to the fact that Black Panther is getting the treatment in upcoming months. For those not on the uptake, Marvel has plans to replace the T'Challa we know and love with a woman. Of course, which woman is under the mask hasn't come up yet, but that would wreck the mystery.
Now honestly, I want to approach the issue with my unending fanboyism and shout, "Nooooooooo!" as loud as I can, but the truth is that it wouldn't change anything. Allow me to explain why.
For the better part of the past few years, Black Panther's solo title has been written by Reginald Hudlin. Hudlin has been writing a good deal of that book like garbage since he came on board. Not all of it, mind you, but a good deal of it.
But to really say that, I have to explain that BP has two dedicated fanbases. One is the old school comic head that cares about such geekish things as continuity and consistency in writing (those guys exist?), and the other is the group of people who could care less about those things and just likes seeing BP "handle his business". Mind you, it is possible to be a member of both groups.
The important part comes with understanding a subset of the latter group: brothers and sisters (and I don't mean a family connection there). I have run into a good number of black men and women who sincerely only follow Black Panther in his book and will love that he will occasionally go over the top on someone. Not that it should surprise you to learn that Black Panther has a black following, but I'm just pointing out that many of the readers and/or buyers of BP are not, ahem..."traditional comic readers". This is important because once you understand that, you'll realize that the core readership of the book doesn't necessarily care if T'Challa properly follows or falls into normal Marvel continuity. They are literally there to see BP do his thing and move on with their lives.
Having said that, I don't begrudge anyone in the latter group. If you just want to see BP be the baddest man on the block, that's fine. In fact, I'd argue that you're the target demographic for this the book to begin with. But for the old school comic heads (like myself), a lot of what happens in that book makes you go "WTF?" That's unfortunately where I end up more often than not (and one of the reasons I ended up dropping the title way back when).
The impetus on having quality work coming out of the title falls on two fronts. The first would be with Hudlin himself, who has made it clear that he doesn’t particularly care what anyone thinks of his book so long as people buy it. He gets this attitude from the second tier of responsibility in his company: the editorial department. In particular, he gets it from editor-in-chief Joe Quesada, who pushes a good many books with the concept “We don’t care if it makes you mad, so long as it makes us money.”
What you have to understand is that Quesada pushing the book goes exactly with what I've been saying. He will push the crap out of anything he thinks will sell issues, especially if he can stir up some buzz (positive or negative) about it. What Quesada doesn't do, however, is generally care if the book has any quality storytelling or not. And really, why should he, so long as he makes his money? He can piss off an old school head like me indefinitely with his book so long as he gets one new person to be interested enough to pick up the issue I drop.
The problem comes in when your hype starts to fade and you have to make a choice. Create new hype (which may or may not alienate your new, possibly more fickle reader with no guarantee that the old reader will come back) or maintain the status quo (which may bore your new reader and guarantee your old reader won't come back).
To draw a more relevant analogy, it's like trying to balance energizing your base with reaching out to independents. And I guess maybe I see Quesada as more of a McCain than an Obama.
...
Dang. I just put way too much thought into this.
(Ed. Note: As evidenced by the last comment, I clearly started writing this long before my moratorium on political commentary at the end of the year. Not that said moratorium is even remotely official or going to last. I just have a feeling…)
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