● I will want to play a character 31 y.o. or older
● Photos or description only
● Relaxed about post length and frequency
● I will play any gender and sexuality
● Don't mind short term or long term or ditchers
● Expressions of interest should be posted or PMed
tab● Use the form if you don't know what to do
● P.S. I play Europeans/Aussies (no Google Translator)
●And if you're gonna downvote, tell me why =D
Post 2: ideas, Post 3: cravings & plots, Post 4: form, Post 5: info, Post 6: what I am/was up to
Post 8: prose samples, Post 9: poetry samples, Post 10: RP inspired prose samples
Because every single thread seems to have this, I'll add it on.
● Poetry, poetry, poetry
● One of the new plots
● The 'Enemy Superhero' plot tab● Looking to play B as a post-WWI or WWII German
Plots
Clichés! Get your clichés here! Hitmen, bodyguards, celebrities, soldiers! You want 'em, we got 'em.
●'Atonement' inspired: A was accused of a crime he didn't commit by his lover's jealous sister. Of low status, A was denied fair trial and found guilty. Between the prospect of prison and conscription for the looming war, he thought the war would be a better place to serve his sentence. The letters the lovers send are their only form of hope. [multi-setting, multi-style writing preferred]
●'The Boys' inspired: Superheroes are a multi-billion dollar enterprise. They dominate the celebrity news headlines, and all the power has gone to their heads. A never knew of the corrupt world of the superheroes until an unforgettable incident. When B appears with a proposition to join a team trying to put supes back in their place, will A accept their questionable tactics?
●'In Bruges' inspired: A, a novice hitman, has been told to keep their head down after a botched job. They are sent out of the country to wait until they get orders to come back. They end up meeting B, someone who on the surface looks well adjusted, but hides a secret just as bad as A's. Will their unlikely relationship help overcome their troubles? [alternatively, A could have been forced into early retirement]
●'Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy' inspired: Spy A disappeared several months ago and has since been accused by the agency of defecting. Spy B is an old friend/acquaintance/mentor, but what do they do when Spy A comes to them with an improbable story of finding proof that there is a mole in the agency and begging for help to expose them? [Both characters must be at least thirty]
●New:'Triage' inspired: A had seen some of the worst of humanity, covering stories from every corner of the globe about wars and massacres and suffering. After years, they have finally broken down under the weight of their experiences. B is the only person they have left to depend on, but opening up about their past will not only tear open old wounds, but create new ones. Can B's own suffering be eased by supporting A?
●Fame is a b***h: Anyone who slid their nose through the gutters knew A, and they knew not to ******** with him. Fresh out of prison, though, A is looking to get square. An offer presents itself through B's associate. B, a high flying celebrity, has broken down and needs some muscle to deal with the paparazzi. They are trying to rebuild themselves but their agent isn't helping, and A has another job offer, and you don't say no to the mob. [requires doubling or lots of NPCs]
●Silent decay: A has been dubbed the screenwriter of the decade. Their work has achieved critical acclaim from audiences and critics alike, deemed some of the greatest tragedies and stories of betrayal to have ever graced the screen. Publicly A has reacted to the praise with modesty and a silent pride, but alone, they are riddled with guilt. Behind the embellishments, the works are all autobiographical. When B, the subject of betrayal in their last work, confronts A about its real life similarities, A sees a chance for penance.
●Who failed who?: The courts are sick and tired of seeing A. The twenty-something year old has been in and out of prison every year since they were thirteen. This time they're looking at another two year stretch and A's ready for it. There's a change of plans when B (lawyer/psychologist/etc.) successfully argues for a diverted sentence. B knows there's more to A than being a crook, and all they need is a chance to prove it.
●You'll get used to it: A and B meet while on vacation. B has never been there before and already cannot stand their holiday destination. This was A's childhood home and they have returned seeking closure on part of their past. While A is trying to help B reconcile themselves with the locale, mainly to stop hearing their endless complaints, they come to find that B may hold the key to unlocking the answers they need.
●Enemy superhero: With the rise of a new supervillain, A (a superhero/cop) decides to try team up with the elusive superhero, B, a superhero who has become the symbol of the nation. B agrees to meet A, but how does A react when they find out B is a foreign national vilified by the rest of the country? [e.g. German post-WWII, Arab Muslim post-9/11]
●New:For the history books: Gealand, a former bastion of neo-liberalism in Western Europe, has perverted their system to the point of eliminating their middle class. The country has been split in two, divided by a literal wall between the suffering poverty of the working class and the plentiful luxuries of the elite. A rebellion is determined on undoing the injustices to the working class. Tomorrow is the big day for the rebels fighting along the Wall where the winner takes all. This is the day A and B share before their lives change forever.
●New:Our war: The height of German strength in WWII is now behind them. It is still much too early for the Allies to claim victory and the only goal on the front lines is still 'just another day more'. An offensive between the Allies and Axis left an Ally Major in the hands of a German Oberleutnant. Neither has any backup to call on, and the Oberleutnant is taking the Major deep behind enemy lines in search of support. Each hour is precious if the Major wants to convince his captor that they really aren't that different, and hopefully save both of their lives. [Feel free to tinker with the concept, just keep the general gist]
●'The Town I Love So Well' based: A returns home to find the town broken in the midst of war. Heartbroken by what's happened, they start protesting the invasion, becoming the town's hero. B is the commanding officer responsible for the troops. Upon seeing one of A's non-peaceful protests, he strikes an agreement that means the troops could leave in a week. But will both parties hold their end of the bargain?
●'About Today' based: A and B were siblings that parted on unfavourable terms. A is still tortured that they let B disappear from their life. B blames A for the what happened. Several years have passed and suddenly they are brought together again. A wants to rebuild their shattered relationship, but B is intent on only dealing with A professionally. Will A be able to help heal the rifts between them before B disappears from their life again?
●'Galway Girl' based: A is the celebrity everyone knows. Stunning and brilliant at what they do, you can't go anywhere without seeing their face. When they are set for the premier of their latest movie/next concert/etc. in another country, they decide to arrive early and do their best to blend in with the locals. While being a nobody, they meet B, the first person they have met in a while who doesn't just want their money or fame. [Short term]
●'The Thief' based: The recession has hit hard across the country. A has been getting by, which is all most people can do; B lost everything. Out of options, B is forced to find a way to stay afloat no matter what it takes. It was all a big mix up to find A at home as B rifled through what was supposed to be an empty house. Letting A see their face was another mistake, but money means everything.
It's up to you which role you want and what gender you want the character to be (unless otherwise noted). The plots are very flexible to change.
'Inspired' means you don't need to be familiar with the text. 'Based' requires you to listen to a song link above or google the lyrics.
My proposal:
A link to my samples/roleplay provided here.
The plot I am suggesting: must include 50-150 word overview of plot (no more, no less) or title of plot from my list above. If multiple offers, number each plot in order of prefrence. You can give me a longer spiel once I have expressed interest. Alternatively, I will visit the link.
My limits: any personal or group limits. These include: the age range you are willing to play, the rate you feel comfortable posting at, sensitivity to critique, etc.
My expectations: any expectations you have of me as a roleplayer.
P.S. Additional information or queries. Delete if not applicable.
[list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list]
[size=12][color=peru][b]Group/1x1[/b][/color][color=#5E2605] RP request[/color].[/size][size=6]
[/size][size=11]My proposal:
A link to my [color=peru]samples/roleplay[/color] provided [b][url=link]here[/url][/b].
The [b]plot[/b] I am suggesting: [color=peru]must include 50-150 word overview of plot (no more, no less) or title of plot from my list above. If multiple offers, number each plot in order of prefrence. You can give me a longer spiel once I have expressed interest. Alternatively, I will visit the link.[/color]
My limits: [color=peru]any personal or group limits. These include: the age range you are willing to play, the rate you feel comfortable posting at, sensitivity to critique, etc.[/color]
My expectations: [color=peru]any expectations you have of me as a roleplayer.[/color][size=4]
[/size]P.S. [color=peru]Additional information or queries. Delete if not applicable.[/color][/size][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list]
This is only meant to serve as a guide. If you do not wish to use it, that is your prerogative, however, if you do not articulate your request, I will probably ignore you. The primary information I am interested in is the second point of proposal.
●Hurricane season - A free verse RP about a unlikely encounter [7 samples - 67 stanzas]
●All Neon Like 2 - A mafia/kidnap RP [3 samples - 2000 words]
●Big Top - A generic circus RP [1 sample - 1000 words]
I work full time sitting behind a desk writing. I am currently redrafting a story I wrote last year. I go out whenever I can after work. I am told I may have a drinking problem. Don't hate on me if I don't reply regularly because of a combination of the above.
≈250 word sample - a nightmare world griffon - Feb. 2012
The introduction hadn't caught Butcher by surprise as it may have other shadows. The jolted interactions between creator and shadow had left little room for developing the more socially acceptable interactions of the human world. It was only an added hinderance that most refused outright to deal with their more true flesh and blood counterparts. Awkwardness, however, had no place in a griffon's repertoire.
Offering a too toothy grin, he responded to the gesture. "Butcher." Nothing more nothing less was uttered. It wasn't proper manners - or whatever they had that was close to manners in the shadow realm - to give out a first name. That was personal business that no other shadow had any right knowing on a first meeting. He would have to tell her that slight courtesy at some stage, before they bumped into anyone else, but that would hopefully be some time down the line.
"I bet you feel like a dream out of wonder." The expression seemed more appropriate than 'a nightmare out of shadow'. It was the small touches, Butcher told himself, that made all the difference. The Council had to appreciate the effort that he was putting into the assignment. He could have just stuck with the more common shadow expression, but he had chosen something nicer for Madison's benefit. "What do you say I help you sort out up from down?" That practice at niceties and politeness would hopefully pay off now. Madison had to like politeness, after all, he was pretty sure it was only his fellow creatures that rejected it.
≈500 word sample - a mad prophet - April 2012
‘No clue?’ How odd. Fifty percent of the floor was now accounted for, and Konrad was pretty sure that Maggie hadn’t mentioned having any guests. There was only one person left that could be the stranger’s friend. Kon still wasn’t wholly convinced with the idea, but it wasn’t like they had ever had a break-in before, or that they would have a break-in. He would definitely remember if he'd seen something like a break-in. That was up there with things like 'you're going to get mugged', or 'there's going to be a fire in the lobby' that he tended to tell people about.
Prepared to give a friendly hello in proper neighbourly fashion, he only managed a tiny wave before the stranger interrupt him. The anxiety on the man’s face, the tone of his voice, it all hurt Kon. He shouldn’t have read too much into it, but he always did. That was just the way he was. The guest-but-not-really-a-guest had been able to deal with Ajani, but it wasn’t until he had entered the picture that that anxiety level peaked. Was he really that intimidating? Was he – god forbid – scary?
Momentarily distracted by the sound of a stove kettle, only to remember that they didn’t have a stove kettle, he clicked back in when he heard ‘weird’. Konrad took offence to having his home designated as ‘weird’. The woman who had kept him as a pet prophet had ‘weird’ as one of the many words in her lexicon for describing him. But maybe he was just being too critical again. Perhaps their stranger was just really bad with words - he had been put a bit on the spot, after all. Humans couldn’t get into the apartment block, he knew that. The more he thought about it the more it made sense. The ‘weird’ was just different. The quizzical frown faded away to once again reveal Konrad's more natural and friendly demeanour.
Still trying to figure the stranger out, and why he knew him, he decided he might as well clarify. "A good weird or a bad weird? I think weird in an exotic way. See, we don’t have a poltergeist in the basement so we are most definitely not haunted weird, but exotic…" He took a pause, thinking, scratching at the two day old stubble on his chin, before becoming satisfied with his choice. "Definitely say exotic."
Seeing Maggie come onto the floor, he pushed open the door and took a step out into the corridor. Barefoot, just wearing tracksuit pants and a singlet, he still managed to look more dressed than the stranger – probably just thanks to the pants. Kon had no time for dignity, though, much too excited to be filling Maggie in on what was possibly the most exciting thing to happen all week. "He was chased by some gangsters or something. Can you believe it? Criminals in this part of town? It’s ridiculous." Noticing the bag, he put the solved mystery of the stranger on the second hand shelf in exchange for what Maggie had bought. "Did you go shopping? Did you get me anything?"
≈500 word sample - an undefeated gladiator - June 2012
After so many years, the arrival of the latest group of sheep to the slaughter should not have been of any interest to Don. Most times it wasn't, he would just wait for a report from a well bribed guard to warn him if there was a threat that he needed to deal with in case he couldn't spot one by himself. This lot, however, brought in outside of the six month interval, had his attention. So many at short notice meant he didn't know when the next report would come in. Some additional prep work would be needed, after all: it was better to be safe than sorry.
One of the new contestants had been deposited into the cell next to his. The average life expectancy of the poor sod who landed there was one game. If the High Powers wanted to get rid of someone quickly, they threw them in next to Don, regardless of their powers. If he didn't dispose of them personally on or off the field, someone else would. Don preferred the privacy, the others preferred not giving anyone the chance to team up with the Venatio's longest running attraction. Unfortunately for Don, however, most of the people who had graced the cell with their presence over the last few years were not unaccustomed to his brand of survival. The odd outspoken traitor he could deal with – just talkers, not fighters – but he hadn't been seeing many of those recently.
Ever since he had been brought onto Secundi Librum, there had been the suggestion that Don was another statistic of people who had gone mad from his powers. Don had never done anything to shake the superstition. As he planned what to do about the new predicament, the question of his sanity came up for its usual debate. He told himself that it wasn't madness, just coping. However, over the years, he had started to trust that voice in his head less and less.
Winston, the only thing he confided in, his cellmate, was again acting as a sounding board. It knew all his plans, all his secrets, his fears, his doubts. To Don, it wasn't an it, it was a he. It was a good listener, for starters, even if it liked to poke holes through Don's plans. It was definitely very good at that for something that couldn't talk. The once-yellow-now-grey-and-patched-brown bear had more of a soul and character than the people in the cells around him, who he would inevitably see submit to the ultimate rule of the Venatio: no one gets out alive.
"What do you think it was this time?" he asked in his usual hushed voice. As always for his conversations – or monologues, as the guards would be quick to correct, – he was lying on his bed, propped up against the wall, Winston sitting opposite him. The sorry looking toy matched the sorry looking room and its sorry looking owner. "No, it's not that. What would even make you say that? A brawl isn't enough for all this. Maybe they found a madhouse – we haven't seen once of those in a while... Of course I know that's unlikely! I was thinking out loud, wasn't I, you little git. But when was the last time you was outside these four walls, like? 'Tween you and me, I think I know a sight more 'bout the way this works... Honestly, though, you've got to admit, what's more likely? Your ******** brawl or some fella holing up a bunch of genetic remixes?"
≈900 word sample - a drunk superhero - Dec. 2012
A lop-sided grin fuelled by several drinks too many spread across the replicant's face. It had't thought the woman would humour it, but her flash of a smile put it at ease. After an agonising evening of being stuck with a crowd it had grown sick of, things were starting to look up. Not even her pointed remark could wipe the drunk grin off its face; "Too much at the beginning of a party might have you waking up in time to find your wallet missing and an escort number in your cell."
The noise of the party hid the chuckle as it looked back down at the scotch. The replicant let the comment slip under its breath, too drunk to keep it to itself; "You have no idea." It knew it wasn't worth anyone's while to explain what numbers were or weren't in Eaman's phone. No one there needed to know that his last two girlfriends had been in the business – that was something Eaman had never even told Henry. Everyone had their suspicions, after all, there were pimps who knew fewer working girls than he did. His co-workers didn't believe he wasn't losing most of his pay packet to them, let alone people who didn't understand his job or his dedication.
It offered no resistance as the Blue Butterfly led them to the balcony. Sculling the rest of the scotch, the replicant was past worrying about the repercussions of another drink. When the opportunity presented itself in the short walk to the balcony, it swapped glasses with a distracted patron, stealing it from the tray of an equally distracted waiter. The Butterfly's steady pace ensured they were out of sight before anyone noticed.
Stepping out onto the balcony was a breath of fresh air the replicant desperately needed. Away from the music and noise and temptation for yet another glass, the dissatisfaction with the party was put on the back burner. With vague interest it listened to the woman while patting down its pockets searching for a pack of smokes. The fresh air would still be there after a cigarette and who knew when the chance would come again that night.
The replicant realised it had left her question hanging for a moment too long as its hand rested on its pants pocket, lost as to where all its things had gone, forgetting that they had never left its host. Embarrassment was now long gone and it went on as though nothing had happened. Ignoring her warning, it threw it back at her as a joke. "How can I tell you the truth without letting you get into the cracks? You know these people, how can I be sure you don't know me? Maybe you know that I'm just like every other one of your 'viper' mates out there. We couldn't be having that now could we?" The hint of a laugh once again tinged the replicant's voice. "Ah, but, you know, I had a very bad role model," it finished, the self-appreciating laugh still there.
The replicant dismissed the search for the cigarettes completely as it took another sip of the drink, keeping its eyes on the Butterfly. The blue eyes that stared back at it from behind the mask were still sharp. She was holding up for the night, not drunk or drugged. There was nothing the replicant had done to deserve clear-minded company, but it didn't think she was just an intoxicated illusion. There was too much searching going on in that little head of hers through those much too sharp eyes. That wouldn't be something it came up with, and against its better judgement, it fed that want with the information to sate its hunger.
It threw up its arms as if to say what could it possibly do. "It's never been hard to liquor me up at a big party like this. The bar just tips over. Your viper pit shouldn't be blamed for that blue. No reason to worry, though: I'm at least… three times more interesting when I'm drunk. They have done you – and everyone else – a very big favour." Was it true? Maybe; the replicant didn't know for sure. When Eaman had been back in England, he and Jamie would be some of the first to do a line of vodka shots when they went out, pretending that they had more of an excuse than their step-father or that he was a good enough excuse. All the people who avoided them everywhere else would suddenly talk to them. Whether that was the alcohol or the setting, Eaman had never worked out, but for the first test away from home soil, it felt a lot more like the alcohol.
The grin softened from amusement to warmth as it finally pulled back on the antics. It rested the glass on the balustrade, as much to support the glass as to steady the slight wobble. "So, love, is that enough to pay for my next lesson? Or are you going to grade me on my performance until I hit enough points to get something more out of you? If you open a tab, I'm sure I'll have enough to pay you back."
≈1K word sample - a rich b*****d with induced powers - May 2012
As Mark would tell you, nine out of ten club goers agree: a party isn't a party until the ever charming, ever delectable Mister Davies gets involved. There really is no point arguing. Even if there isn't anyone around to agree with him, he will pay someone to contribute to the statistic.
It isn't easy being the son of a billionaire. All the parties, the public gatherings, the exclusive dinners, they are nearly impossible to keep up with. Still, Mark takes it in his stride and has made it his life goal to be the best host and guest that anyone could expect. His pursuit has been fully encouraged by his parents and older brother, Elijah. The mockery Mark makes out of himself in public is a heavy burden to bear, casually tossed aside by claiming it on some deep seeded mental condition, and it is a billion times – eleven point four billion times, to be exact – better than letting him sit in for a boardroom meeting. The ruddy nosed, bloodshot eyed face of the youngest Davies wasn't appreciated when it came to business.
Recently, however, the senior Mister Davies had tried for a change in his youngest son's behaviour. After the success of the trial by long time associate Mister Quinn on his uncouth boy, Mister Davies decided to try his luck as well, and even if it didn't succeed, he couldn't appear to be be the poorer man by excluding his boy from the most expensive accessory on the market. Anything that happened in the end would be of benefit to everyone. Even if Mark remained stubbornly raiding the pants of anyone who wouldn't run away, at least he may begin to understand some of the repercussions of his actions.
So far, as the Davies were disappointed to learn, Mark was the same. Well, that wasn't entirely true. With the vigour offered from DPT, he could stay out longer, party harder, and greet the doctors at the hospital as often as twice a night. If he was getting any smarter, it was only in finding more harebrained schemes while out on the piss. Mister Davies was finding money fleeing his bank account faster than he could keep track. There was little pleasure in knowing that the schemes were working for once and Mark's account was for the first time running in the black; he wanted Mark interested in his business.
Mark, on the other hand, couldn't be more pleased with how things had turned out. To say he had been jealous when Ash, Best Friend & Confidant™, had told him the news about his DPT supply would have been an understatement. That night, Mark, with all his years of wisdom, had gone out and gotten very drunk, very high, very ********, and very nearly dead. All the jealousy had gone away once his dear father had decided to be the better man and give in to the public pressure that demanded either Elijah or himself, or both, be given the same treatment. Elijah would have been offended at the offer, so Mark knew it would only ever be him.
Sitting in the car with his Best Friend & Confidant™, Mark didn't understand how he could ever be jealous of him. They were a team – part of the same whole. To lose Ash would be like losing part of himself. And if he didn't have Ash, who would he go with on those nights when he didn't try see how many parties he could crash in a night? Then, as he often admitted to Ash in the slurred tones of a man who was pissed – not drunk, there is a very fine line between pissed and drunk, the line being when you can no longer walk over it – a pissed Mark knew he would rather have Ash as his mate than all the Best Friend & Confidants™ that his money could buy.
As his brother had once teased him, there was something very homoerotic about two men spending several hours alone together, with a great deal of time spent sitting in a car. Mark had never biten back at Elijah's taunt, merely invited the top male strippers and escorts to his brother's thirtieth birthday party. Revenge was bitter and sweet and cost effective, and Mark still didn't mind spending his time with Ash. Perhaps Elijah would have understood them better if he knew what they did, or perhaps not. The lad only seemed to enjoy Mark's misfortune.
Asher and Mark had watched time slip away as they searched for their latest sport. It wasn't as easy as people would think, their little game, but patience was a virtue, and it was probably the only one Mark had. He had almost jumped out of his seat when Ash had nudged him. It was about time. And Asher had beaten him again. Rubbing it in with the powers; Mark couldn't wait for his turn.
"My dear boy, you are too good at this." Leaning in for a closer look, the devilish grin that spread across his face looked like he had just won a no rules trip to the Playboy Mansion. Actually, he hadn't looked that thrilled when his father had given him that gift for his eighteenth, this was always much, much better. Mark would give up any trip for the little shenanigans he pulled off with his Best Friend & Confidant™ on nights like this. "Really, you do put me to shame."
As the dishevelled boy moved further into the light, he sparked an odd series of memories in Mark's mind. Swiss cheese had started to use Mark's memory as a metaphor for describing how many holes it had, but he had managed to find one solid string of thought. "Hey, don't you think he reminds you of – Christ, what was his name? – Vick from high school? Yeah, Vomitous Vick. He made a brilliant arse-licker, shame his head didn't make a good toilet brush. I really thought it would work. He's become a consultant for some politician now, last I heard. Once an arse-licker, always an arse-licker."
Well, they had lost a lot of time already. There was no use shooting the breeze when they had found the sport. Pulling out a Zippo lighter from his pocket – the same Zippo lighter that had managed to burn down the third most popular club in the city last week – Mark was ready to begin. It was only a bit of harmful fun. Harmless fun was a waste of time, everyone could do that. "It's your find. After you." Mark gesture at the boy, the move to go. Because if Asher didn't make the first move soon, Mark would stop being such a gentleman about it.
≈2K word sample - a fresh parolee - May 2011
“Walk around? Well, not going to fight with you there. Meeting the little guy?" Dyna shrugged, not really in one mind to come up with an answer that would give the best advice. "That’s your call. I would. But I am not you.” Obviously, Dyna’s ties with his family were too strong to brush them off. They were all in the same boat: crime was a family tradition, not an example of a rotten egg. That wasn't Jay's situation.
“What are you making?” Jay's question wasn't something Dyna hadn't expected. It brought back some memories, but he was hardly surprised that someone was asking him what he was making, it would feel weird if the question hadn't popped up.
“I’m thinking,” he held up the couple of apples he'd pulled out of the fridge, “my lazyman’s version of apple pikelets.” It was a simple dish that his Da had been fond of. He’d been making them since he’d been allowed to use the stove. Like so much of his life, it had a lot to do with his family and his Gran making sure all her boys were well taken care of. He enjoyed the rewards for his effort whatever he was working on. He didn’t bother asking if Jay would want some when he saw him poking his head into the fridge. It was always easier to cook for two or more.
“Pikelets all round.” That possibly came out a bit more enthusiastically than he had hoped. If just about any other of their former fellow inmates had been there, Dyna would have been worried that a crooked look would be the least of his problems. Jay, however, didn't strike him as one of the 'blokes'. For a long time, he had suspected Jay of being a poof and even now he still wasn't shaken on the idea. As far as Dyna was concerned, there were still a lot of blanks about Jay and a lot more things about him would make sense if his suspicions were true.
Rather than let Jay see what was going through his head, Dyna stuck into his work, pealing and coring the first apple as Jay walked away. His knife work was good thanks to his work in the prison's kitchen, but he wasn't fast. If he’d gone about stealing cars like that, he would never have been tagged with his nickname.
“Would you believe me, if I would tell you that man just robbed the poor old lady?” The tone of Jay's voice as he asked the question sounded almost anxious. Dyna knew it was probably only like that in his head, but he worried about the man. Living for years in what was essentially the world's arsehole when nothing meant you deserved to be there did strange things to a person. Even though he was concerned about what was going on with his friend, the scowl on his face had more to do with the intense concentration he was giving to not cutting himself, rather to any of the other thoughts going through his head.
“Don’t know about this place but,” he jabbed the knife towards Jay while still fiddling with the apple, “if you keep looking out that, you’re going to get your head done in, eh?” Never taking his eyes away from his work, he went back to cutting it up. “You’ve done time with guys like that; you notice these things more. That's the way it is. And after a while you'll see that that guy who took the bag needs that cash just as much as your little old lady does.”
He glanced at the mobile as it chimed for the second time since he'd come back. There he was in the middle of trying to cool off any of Jay's unnecessary anxieties and the damn phone was going off. Everyone else seemed fine with the things, but Dyna still remembered the fat phone that was used as just that: a phone. The connection would drop and half of the owners still thought text messages were a cop out to a real conversation. That was what he remembered. While he was doing time, the only thing that he had kept up to date with was cars and security systems, and some of that had been difficult to get his head around without having anything to get his hands on.
The interruption wouldn't have bugged him that much if Jay hadn't decided to go over and check the messages. Dyna stopped everything when Jay read out what he'd been sent. The entire conversation had suddenly boiled down to that one detail. Digging into family matters was not something Dyna had done. One of the easiest ways to get into trouble was to ask questions, so he had never asked about the distinct lack of visitors for Jay. His actions were bold, not his words. Coming up with a response to whether or not he should meet his little brother had been easy because the kid had been the one to make first contact. Now that there were more details involved, coming up with something that was a balance between what Jay would want to hear and what the best thing to do would be made the entire situation a lot harder. He played with the knife and bit his tongue, but didn’t offer an answer.
"Happy Valentine's D-" Bambina’s entrance was as good a diversion as any for why he hadn't made a move to give his idea on the matter. The best thing that he could think of was ‘do what your gut tells ya’, and he still felt he didn’t know Jay well enough to get away with saying that without being king hit. Ignoring Bambi's idle banter - well, completely blocking it out - would not cost him that level of pain.
Unfortunately, with Bambina's arrival brought about a different unwelcome turn of events. Being kicked out of the kitchen was not a novel experience, just an inconvenient one, especially when he was already started. As long as he could remember, his little sister had always thought herself the better cook. He didn’t complain. Women were a problem, and they were only more of a problem when you argued; That was a life lesson he owed to Mister Mascapone as much as to all the female relatives he had to deal with.
He found a place for himself in the doorframe - a somewhat tight fit given his imposing height and wide shoulders, especially when he had his arms crossed across his chest. He watched Jay get shooed out of the kitchen-demon's way, or, more accurately, looked in their general direction while he still frowned at the thought of how to best answer Jay's question.
It was probably a good thing that he had started off frowning or he was sure his sister would have realised the disheartened look he gave the pancake mix she pulled out of the cupboard. Pancake mix, as though it would be painstakingly long to just make it from scratch and saving himself from the preservatives that he'd been forced to shove down his gullet for years. He'd thought his partial freedom would at least be joined with something free and edible.
Resigning himself to the thought of more preprocessed food after years of it, he listened to Bambina’s interpretation of the situation. She was a smart girl, he had always known that, and sound advice seemed to be her speciality… most of the time. Giving credit to everything she said was a recipe for disaster, and he started the reasoning for that with her decision to kick him out of the kitchen.
He nodded at Mars when she came down. There was something about the woman that bugged him. Female offenders in general gave him a bad feeling. He knew what to expect from a guy who’d been given twenty-five to life; women were an entire different ballgame. They rarely threw a punch and were impossible to read. Working with someone like that made Dyna wary. Personally, he would have preferred if Jay had settled on another guy they'd met in the boob.
"They've got a point." With both the girls backing up what he had thought, he had more confidence to give his opinion on the matter. His voice sounded a lot more sure of himself than he felt in giving the advice. "You have a right to know whatever's going on. They're still blood and if you've got someone ready to talk, you're set for whenever you want to tap back into that."
"And you're texting him right? So it couldn't be too bad of something to ask in a text message."
'No s**t?' He had to stop himself from stating his surprise that texting was still not seen as a medium for communicating important messages. The amazement showed on his face by a half raised eyebrow, but that was all. With the almost complete change to text, he had been starting to worry that the old style etiquette was dying off. Dyna wasn’t one who could talk much about etiquette, but he knew the basic things like the value of a face to face encounter.
For the second time he had heard something said about Valentine's Day, but it still hadn’t sunk in. The other half of the message, however, that was something he couldn’t shake. “New phone? What the hell happened to your old one?” he said incredulously. Dyna was sure he’d seen her using a relatively new phone only the day before. The little wreck he had had been donated to him by his current employer. It was a flip open phone that had been pushed around in a draw for the past three or four years, and he had no idea how long it had been used before that. There were blank lines across the screen where the pixels had died and the ringtone would probably put a church mouse to shame, but he didn’t see the reason why he needed much more. Swapping mobiles like they were cheap accessories was definitely something Dyna was not accustomed to.
Having had quite enough of having to think about mobiles or figuring out worthwhile advice for Jay, Dyna decided to throw another discussion point into the ring. The lines instantly faded from his forehead and an easy smile was all it took for him to look less like a criminal. "Don't know what you've got planned, but we -" he gave a brief nod towards Jay "- are thinking of havin' a walk 'round town. You know, get used to the place and that." He would probably split from Jay the moment he got on the street, leaving the man to take care of his business and to give himself time to get to better acquaint himself with the ins-and-outs of the town. the roads were Dyna's friend, but he needed to befriend them first.
She was suspicious, as I had feared.
Her face left no doubt, but her voice was the same.
The hostile voice had lost its sharp edge,
But now she thought me a liar,
instead of a wasteful nuisance.
'OfcourseIcan'tbreatheunderwaterhere,'
I thought to say to her.
'Thereishardlywatertobreatheatall.'
She would not take it well,
I fear. tabToo harsh.
Her hand came forward,
Long, slender fingers trying to help.
Dirt and grit spoiled
What was otherwise perfect skin.
I had never seen one up close;
Human, hand or skin.
They were more alike up close
Than I had ever believed.
Before, I had seen her move
So gracefully on two legs,
As any fish in the sea.
Despite her frown, tab or perhaps because of it.
I stared at her waving hand.
Just as graceful as everything else.
This was an offer to help,
But now I had to tell her,
That she had gotten it wrong.
What could I say?
The first words between merman
And man in so many years.
How could I explain what
They had never seen?
If she would just again be
The soft, gentle girl,
It wouldn't be as hard to say:
"Ineedyoutohelpmegetbacktothesea."
Desperate, lost:
It had to show.
Behind my eyes,
That was all.
≈2K word sample - a broke father fighting for his job - Sept. 2012
The work had been no more tedious, straining or difficult than usual, the only difference was JJ. A two second lapse in concentration – not lost in thought as usual, but lost in a deep, never-ending pit of nothing – was unforgivable. For a couple of seconds, he had just switched off, and because of that gaff he had swapped the noisy factory floor for the foreman's office. The end of day report would show a slump in production from the moment of the incident until enough people were satisfied that they had heard a rumour about what happened that they believed in.
JJ had only been in the office a handful of times since he had started his employment, this time would mark his first formal reprimand. The lights, which always shone too brightly and so harshly that they managed to break a barrier into another form of artificiality, took away any warmth in the room. The patched faux leather chairs, comfortable despite their relative antiquity; the desk decorated more with pictures of the foreman's family than any occupational presence; and the occasional item that belonged on the factory floor that had been brought into the office to suggest the foreman had any familiarity with what he supervised: it was there to put people's minds at ease. All of HR's best efforts to soften the harsh blows that would be delivered in that room were doomed to fail as long as they left the neon lights overhead. Every now and again, one of them would flicker – always over the guest's seat; the lighting never letting anyone forget it. JJ had counted how many times it had gone out since he had been brought in: they'd just gone on three.
"Look, John –" Bernard, the foreman, always called him John: 'Jan' stuck in his throat worse than a cat's hairball "– I don't know what to do here. This… I really don't like having you in here. It's as difficult for you as it is for me."
Other bosses worked up the fake sympathy, using the same words Bernard did, pretending they cared for even one moment what the outcome of the situation would be. JJ would have been the first to interrupt if he thought he was being brought into a choreographed melodrama, but he knew Bernard meant every ill chosen word. His colleagues hated the textbook dialogue that sounded like he was reading straight from the middle management manual. JJ couldn't explain to them that that was the man the foreman was. To explain his conviction, he would need to explain why, and 'gut feeling' wouldn't suffice. Neither would telling them that he knew because he had felt it through a fleeting moment of contact, leaving the intense remorse imprinted in the back of his mind.
The monologue was let to continue into its seventh minute as JJ sat silently. Bernard was animated and vocal enough for the both of them, his eyes darting around the room, from the window to the holophone, the datapad, his photos, to JJ. Several times Bernard had tried to work with his datapad only to give up. Once or twice, the foreman had even committed himself to a small march around the room, trying to get somewhere, never finding himself too far from where he had begun.
"Senior management needs me to make a decision on this." The crux of the matter, so the small chip on his desk was most worthy of Bernard's attention. "We can't just let you off without anything being done. Think of what would happen if the media got wind of it. You almost took off Kaiten's arm – his whole livelihood. They'd shut this entire place down. We'd have a formal inquiry, no work for weeks – maybe months. No one could take that, John. You've got to understand what position that puts me in." It didn't even take half a nod before he continued. "I've already spoken with the my boss and he told me that our hands are tied on this one. It's not something I want to tell you."
For the first time since JJ had been brought into the office, the torrent of words became more than a disagreeable sound. From being a million miles away, he was back in the foreman's office with those few words: 'It's not something I want to tell you'.
"What?" His voice almost broke in the single syllable. Never at a loss for words, his dry mouth struggled to put together the plea he had been dreading. Bernard's typically anxious face was unreadable as JJ searched for a shred of hope. It had been a mistake, a slip. They knew he was better than that. He was their best worker on the floor. Hiring anyone from the outside would cost them almost twice as much. There were a dozen reasons he could give the foreman to not pass down the sentence, but the only thoughts that pulled together were: "Please, Boss. I need this job."
"You think I haven't noticed?" JJ had never asked for anything, much less begged, and Bernard couldn't stand to listen to it. The longer JJ's beseeching stare followed him, the tighter his collar felt around his neck, and no amount of tugging managed to ease the pressure. "Fourteen years you've been here, working more overtime in the last month than most of the youngsters down there will do their entire lives, and you think I didn't notice?"
Neither took any pleasure in extending the agony, but Bernard was incapable of composing himself. There was too much distance between them for JJ to simply find the answer in the foreman's mind. As Bernard stood to do another lap of the room, JJ felt a panic he had never known before worm its way through his body. It filled him so completely it became immobilising. A million phrases were at the tip of his tongue, things from nightmares and some things he had never even dreamt saying, but his mind was blank. How had he let this happen?
The night before had been a race against the clock to beat curfew. Walkers shouldn't have worried about it and JJ knew he could beat the system, his kids on the other hand would only be safe once they were off the streets. Stephan had claimed the ride home, sleeping through the journey on JJ's back, while Ola, insisting that her older brother needed the rest more than she did, jogged to keep up with them. It was stupid and dangerous, a stunt that his cousin insisted he would never attempt if he was thinking straight – she was right – and still he did it every night. After a twelve hour shift at work and two hours with the rebels, not knowing where they drew the line between trying to punish him for his betrayal and putting his talents to good use, JJ was aching and exhausted. There was no comfort in seeing the monolithic block they called home, knowing that there was another ten storeys of stairs to navigate before reaching the front door, Stephan feeling heavier and heavier on his back, and Ola only staying on her feet thanks to her grip of his hand. By the eighth flight of stairs a thought had possessed him that had made him realise the true toll the past few weeks had had on him. There was nothing he wanted more than to take the next day off, sleep in and give some time to the kids. That night, as he had lain awake in bed, too tired to sleep, he had crunched the numbers. There was no room in the budget for a day off. If they didn't want to lose anymore than they had already, he couldn't lose another hour, let alone twelve.
All those calculations became trivial as he stared into the empty seat.
Behind him, Bernard, sweating like it was his job on the line, handed down JJ's fate. The words felt heavy as he spoke them, sagging in the air, turning the room from cosy to constricting. For once not even the flickering light could hold audience for its oppression. "This place can't stand to lose you any more than you can stand to lose it. I put your case to them, John. You've got your job. But we're putting you on leave – at least two weeks. We'll need a medical from a doctor saying you're fit to work before we can put you back on the floor."
JJ didn't know if the choked sound he made was so bitter and broken and loud because he imagined it so, or if it was just as obvious to Bernard. Two weeks wasn't bad. In two weeks, they'd lose the power and the hot water, but there was enough to put food on the table. More than two weeks, though? They may as well have fired him altogether. The only consolation JJ would have walking out of that office was knowing that he was no closer to stopping the storm that was set to hit in a handful of days, and if it did, it wouldn't matter how much money he had. The chaos would wash over the city, tearing it to shreds. That thought that had haunted him as he lay awake at night more than money would seem as a saving grace.
The feeling of a hand on his shoulder was the only thing that stopped him from shaking. He hadn't even noticed the tremors until then. His attention had gone to that little chip on the table that Bernard had been worrying just moments ago. JJ's whole world was in that little scratch. It had been there when he had been a young twenty-something year old, his head full of ideas that he could change something, just interested in finding anywhere that would pay him for showing up. It had been there when he had met Annelize lost on the factory floor and directed her up to the office. It had been there when he had revised his conditions so he could have flexible working hours for the kids. It was still there now. The broken and refracted light in the dark cavity had been there as long as JJ could remember. An odd fancy struck him that he didn't think the size of the chip had ever changed, despite Bernard's best attempts, so what could possibly have caused it in the first place? Some part of his mind knew he didn't care, that it was a distraction, but he refused to let go of it. The moment he stopped thinking about the oddities of the imperfection, he would have to listen to Bernard, and then he would have to acknowledge that he had no idea what he was going to do.
His thoughts would have been allowed to tumble further, closer to the void, but his fractured universe was obscured by the datapad. JJ didn't know how long he had been lost in his thoughts. Bernard had gone back to his chair and the sweat had stopped building up on his forehead. He could have been talking for a good few minutes since JJ had heard him last. With the verdict finally out, Bernard had even pulled himself together enough to see the matter to the end, no longer guilt-stricken with every reaction.
Once again Bernard pushed the datapad a bit closer towards him, forcing his gaze back down to the small screen. The endless lines of text had the right shape for a contract."Just sign it," the foreman said. There was a hint of a whine in his voice. "It's fair and equitable. Exactly what I told you. You'll hear from us when we can have you back and not a day later. I promise."
'I promise.' JJ wanted to believe him. The datapad felt as hard to lift as the MLS tracks he made. It was as much good to him as the Rosetta Stone and Bernard knew it. There was nothing he could do but stare at the document. "How am I going to get through two weeks, or however long you're going to keep me out there?" The sleeve of his jacket had slipped down his hand, revealing the bracelet Ola had given him. A gentle, unforgiving reminder. "What am I going to tell my kids?"
≈300 word sample - a familiar stranger making amends - Nov. 2012
Six months ago, Archer had forgotten this address, the café on the corner, the thirty minute cross-city drive weaving out of oneway streets. When the roads became a labyrinthian mess, he thought he could leave the new memories behind. The two week romance would not be marred by a definite goodbye, or insults, or tears. He had walked away from something perfect.
He was breaking his golden rule for the first time: he came back.
The rain had not stopped for days. Roads turned to rivers, accidents and breakdowns brought traffic to a crawl; Gutters overflowed, determined pedestrians battled under black umbrellas to continue about their business, and children out of school disturbed the network of puddles. This was home. Safe in a rundown sedan, Archer could watch the city he had forgotten – Everything moving, and behind it the black timber door, a gold '34' gleaming defiantly in the gloom.
This is what he had been looking for. After weeks of searching, he had found it again, still standing, still real; A memory of a memory of a lifetime ago. It had been an immaterial thing: a townhouse in a void, delicate fingers wrapped around the edge of the door to let him in. It had been a dream. The golden rule was begging him to go. He couldn't destroy perfection with the truth. If he stepped out of the car, the last innocent thing he had to hold onto would be broken.
This wasn't cowardice – he wasn't hiding. The more he repeated it, the less he believed it. He had come searching for atonement. Forgiveness was too much to ask for. Not now. But at least he could atone for this… if only he could walk up to the door.
≈400 word sample - a senator embroiled in a crime - Feb. 2013
On days like this, the Birrie echoed back its history, the wafting smell of sewerage heavy and relentless just at nose height. Sid knew he had won more than a few voters in the July elections by pledging further attempts to clean up the iconic river. Standing in the stench, watching the rainwater gush under the railing into the swollen river below, he knew that he would have to win those voters back with something else if he wanted their support in another four years. The Birrie by his electorate – his home – would even on days like this still glitter in every stray beam of sunlight it could find. The new social conscience wasn’t interested in Riverview, though. The rich social left had done their bit up north and had set their sights further. They were getting their hands dirty trying to fix the whole city, from Brighton’s heart to the outskirts. As much as Sid hated to say it, Mickey Silverman had inspired a lot of good. Now the idol was gone, the Birrie still smelt like s**t when the torrential rains hit, and he was standing right in the middle of it.
The cold and wet seeped through his sock and Sidney finally decided to take cover out of the rain. With the police lingering with their frustratingly meticulous analysis of all potential crime scenes, it was best not to do anything too incriminating. The detectives who had visited him had been courteous, a Dectetive Sergeant Neal and O’Brien playing everything by the book. Except that they weren’t. They were both deep in the political sphere, tripping over themselves to make a good impression and reassure him that he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and that they would do anything they could to make sure he wasn’t disturbed further during the course of the investigation. It would be a lot harder for them to promise him that if he was going to stay much longer in eyeshot of the red and blue. Even if there were only forensics on the other side of the river, he didn’t want them thinking he was anything more than a grieved bystander to a horrible crime. He wouldn’t be able to come back, not until all the hullabaloo had died down, and in a way he couldn’t describe, that offered him the first sigh of relief in hours.
