|
Post by Dmitri Pendragon on Jul 24, 2017 7:40:46 GMT
I'm alive, but I regret it. XD I shall get to it.
Write a scene where your characters teach an audience a skill that the characters know nothing about.
|
|
|
Post by Lylyss on Jul 25, 2017 5:19:46 GMT
Lol. Looking forward to reading yours!
Oh dear. :P *rubs hands together evilly* ________________________
"Who's ready to get fit?" piped the blond gym instructor. Hands on her hips, she grinned down at the crowd of chubby forty-somethings, waiting for a response that would never come. "Today we're going to be doing an extra special activity, which calls for some extra special fitness coaches! Everyone say hi to Nikandros and Kleio!" There was a muffled hello from the audience as the two new instructors stepped forward. Kleio, clad in hot-pink yoga pants and a matching sweatband, gave everyone a cheery wave. Nikandros stared at the tops of his New Balance shoes. "These two," continued the blonde gym lady, "will be leading us in a super intense round of Zumba!" Hips Don't Lie started playing over the loudspeaker. "Alright!" Kleio jumped forward. "Let's start by waving our arms like pigeons! Flap flap flap! The forty-somethings flapped in unison. "Think flappy thoughts! You're a majestic bird taking off into a sunset!" Nikandros, realizing that he was required to participate, waved his arms and mumbled encouragement. "Feel the burn." "Now let's add some jumpy motions! Come on, everybody! Flapping and jumping! Flapping and jumping!" Nikandros remained completely deadpan. The blond gym lady was breaking into a sweat. Over the loudspeaker, Shakira was yodeling something in Spanish, and Kleio ordered everyone to form a line. "Feel the conga like you come from Columbia!"
|
|
|
Post by Dmitri Pendragon on Jul 25, 2017 7:13:37 GMT
The toughest part was finding motivation, really.
“Excuse me,” said Marturell. “I’m not quite sure what this is.”
“That’s all right!” The shop assistant took the oddly shaped piece of material and shook it out. The mass of blue fabric unfolded into a garment with a wide waistband tapering into two thin trouser legs like a conjoined carrot. “These are the latest fashion, available in blue, black and electric green, with torn knees as an optional.”
“Torn knees?” Marturell glanced at Helany for support, who grinned wickedly at him.
The shop assistant shrugged, making her golden pigtails bounce. “Here. Try it on. Changing rooms out the back. You’ll be surprised at how comfortable it is.”
“Thanks.” Marturell returned his attention to the rack of clothes. “I’m looking for something slightly different.”
“A lot different,” said Helany. Marturell glared at her. She shrugged and pulled a winter coat from the rack, sniffed the wool lining, scowled and put it back.
“But don’t you want to be hip? Classy? With the flow?” The shop assistant pushed the item at Marturell. “You can’t be part of the young elite without these! And when the trends change, you’ll forever lose your chance, because wearing them will be irrelevant! This is your only chance to look like this, ever! And all yours for only fifteen dollars!”
“Dollars?” Marturell tipped his head toward Helany.
“Currency round here,” Helany said. “You remember the guy with liver spots at the foreign exchange?”
“And,” the shop assistant said, as if unaware of the conversation, “we even have a sale going.” She flipped a card on the rack around. It said, Clearance Sale! Buy One, Get One Free!
“I’m really not interested,” Marturell said. “I’m looking for something sensible. Like this.” He pulled a pair of trousers from the rack.
“Oh.” The shop assistant drooped. One pigtail unravelled, and she pushed the misshapen trousers into Marturell’s arms to fix it. “Well, I suppose we could—”
“Hey,” said Helany. “What’s the price of that one?” She pointed to the trousers Marturell had selected.
Marturell raised his eyebrows at the shop assistant, who patted her other pigtail to make sure it was still in place. “Uh, twenty dollars. Why?”
Marturell glanced at Helany. “Why?”
Helany shrugged and gestured to the Sale card. “How much do you want to pay?”
“All right.” Marturell swung both garments over one shoulder. “So can that be fifteen dollars?”
The shop assistant blinked and looked up. “Huh?”
Marturell tapped the Sale card and held up both items.
“Oh! Oh yes, of course! That will be fifteen dollars.”
Marturell dug his wallet out of his pocket, counted out a ten and a five, and passed them to the shop assistant. “Thank you. And I’ll just take these with me.” He glanced at Helany and narrowed his eyes.
“Oh, but you must absolutely try the skinny jeans on,” said the shop assistant, looking shocked. “You can’t always tell what size they are or you are, and you might not be able to fit—”
“I’m all right with that,” Marturell said. “I can have them altered if they—”
“No.” The shop assistant drew herself up. “You can’t alter them. As a matter of professional courtesy, I feel it my solemn duty to inform you that you need to try these items on beforehand. They’re made specifically, perfectly, set to a particular size and proportion, and you’ll destroy them if you alter them.”
“But,” said Marturell.
“But nothing! My father is a firm believer in skinny jeans, and he’ll have my head if I sell a pair to a customer without fully forewarning them!”
Marturell sighed and glanced at Helany.
Helany shrugged. “Is it worth five dollars?”
“Good thought,” Marturell said, and dug in his wallet for another five.
“You know,” Helany said, almost whimsically, “you can buy an extra coffee for five.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye.
Marturell growled under his breath and slapped the wallet closed. “You know I’m going to regret this.”
The shop assistant bounced on the balls of her feet and clapped her hands. "Oh, model them for us! Do!"
Helany shrugged again and grinned wickedly at Marturell. "Cof-fee…"
“Yes.” Marturell stalked toward the changing room. “I am most definitely regretting this.”
|
|
|
Post by Lylyss on Jul 25, 2017 8:36:16 GMT
Oh dear. xD Marturell in skinny jeans. The mental image is quite amusing.
D'you wanna go another round?
|
|
|
Post by Dmitri Pendragon on Jul 25, 2017 9:19:40 GMT
This is the first time I've written a character who likes coffee. Though it doesn't exist in current-era Duerin. I wrote a number of drafts before settling on that one, most of them being abandoned because I was unable to find some form of motivation for Marturell to try on skinny jeans. If you're up for the challenge. *cracks knuckles* Truth or Dare?
|
|
|
Post by Lylyss on Jul 25, 2017 23:03:18 GMT
Dare meh!
Would you like a Truth or a Dare?
|
|
|
Post by Dmitri Pendragon on Jul 26, 2017 8:31:12 GMT
I'll have a Dare too.
Write a scene where one of your characters reminisces favourably about a time, place or event that the other character remembers unfavourably.
|
|
|
Post by Lylyss on Jul 28, 2017 5:19:08 GMT
Lol. That's a good one--can't wait to get going on it. :D
Now for your Dare. Hmm... write a scene where your character throws away something important, and scrambles to get it back.
|
|
|
Post by Lylyss on Jul 28, 2017 10:24:34 GMT
My response to the Dare. >:D This is from Nikandros' POV. ______________
According to my father, we popped out of bed and ate breakfast in unison. Apparently I was excited to work. I wanted to see what Papa did all day. We tied our sandals in tandem and marched down the street, arm in arm, joining a larger throng of laborers who complimented Papa on his strapping son. “Handsome boy. Looks just like you!” What followed was a slapstick montage of my first day at the shipyard: dropping crates, slighting the foreman, running into the walls and spilling a bucket of tar. “Ka-BLOOSH!” Papa slapped his hands together for effect. “Black goop everywhere!” Kleio laughed, enthralled, as he described my struggle in the slippery mess. “You know…” I muttered. “That stuff was almost boiling.” Papa didn’t hear. He was describing our journey home, how we were exhausted but smiling, walking in lockstep through the twilit streets. Apparently I didn’t have much to say. Silent cameradery, my father called it. “There was no need to exchange opinions. We lived the same life now—what could he think that I hadn’t thought before?” That depends, Papa. Have you ever looked at yourself? Because as we walked, I stared at you. You stared at the sky. The sky filled your eyes with stars and clouds and moonshine, and that was when I knew you didn’t love me. You loved the idea of me. You were writing a story about a strapping lad, since that implied a strapping father—a boy so clumsy and unoriginal that he posed no threat to your genius. I’m not your character. I can hardly be called your son. But I’ll let you keep your story.
|
|
|
Word War
Nov 17, 2017 14:21:39 GMT
via mobile
Post by jliessa44 on Nov 17, 2017 14:21:39 GMT
Anyone up to do a word war?
|
|
|
Post by Lylyss on Dec 20, 2017 3:50:20 GMT
Truth or Dare, anyone?
|
|