Author Topic: The Forum's Scriptorium  (Read 108752 times)

Róisín

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #315 on: April 20, 2020, 12:01:45 AM »
Yastreb, clever little story.

And Keep Looking, that is resonant and heartbreaking. I take it Taye was your friend?
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Keep Looking

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #316 on: April 20, 2020, 12:07:15 AM »
Yes, she was.
I write poetry sometimes.

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Jitter

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #317 on: April 20, 2020, 01:08:12 AM »
Oh Emily Rose, that is... terrible and lovely. The final part especially is touching. Now we remember something of her too <3
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Yastreb

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #318 on: April 20, 2020, 01:59:40 AM »
Keep Looking, I can't improve on what Jitter and Roisin have said, save this; it's been said, "To live in the hearts of those we loved is truly not to die." With you, she is well remembered. Be blessed.
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Yastreb

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #319 on: April 21, 2020, 05:24:32 AM »
I'm not as a rule much given to song-writing, but for my fiction project (the Dragonhost Saga) I felt the urge come on to compose a song, and when the right tune came along (discovered during a YouTube search for inspirational music), it came together.

***

The Dragon Will Rise (The Song of Dawn and Dusk)

Vizhand Kardz’rana (Lusvar’ey Nashand Yersha)

Signs in the earth, signs in the skies
We know in our hearts the Dragon will rise
Life in its breath, in its very eyes
We know in our hearts the Dragon will rise

No death, no decay, no weakness, no lies
We know in our hearts the Dragon will rise
Life is eternal, hope never dies
We know in our hearts the Dragon will rise

***

Here is the tune - Marcus Warner's Octavia.

[/size]
"Life is all we are. Life is what defines us. In the end, Life is the answer."

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Róisín

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #320 on: April 21, 2020, 05:29:43 AM »
I liked that song when you first showed me. Even better with music!
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Yastreb

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #321 on: April 23, 2020, 01:30:44 AM »
There was a challenge to write about animals, choosing from a list that I can't recall much of, save that it included wombats and ducks. I chose to write about a duck, but not your usual waterbird...

LIKE A DUCK TO WATER

I inherited the Duck from my dad. It was basic green back then, but I couldn’t get Daffy out of my head. You know, Daffy Duck? From Loony Tunes? “No-one fools this little black duck”? Yeah, that duck! And that’s why it’s black.

Dad owned a lot like it, but I prefer the Duck. It can go over any terrain, you see. No, not mountains or tropical jungles. Yeah, yeah, I know you’re trying to be clever, but hey, you know what I mean. Not extreme terrain, OK? I mean open ground, rough ground, hilly country, marshland, that sort of thing, and of course it takes like a duck to water. Ha, ha, it is to laugh. I knock myself out!

Yeah, it costs a lot to maintain. You can find spare parts via heritage groups and maybe eBay (as a last resort). I do know some people who could put together some components in a pinch.

Sorry, what? No, that’s not real, just a mock-up! Seriously, you think I could own a thirty-calibre machine gun? All the other accessories are genuine, though.

Oh, why do I call it a Duck? Everyone did back then. The official US Army designation for an amphibious jeep is DUKW (don’t ask me why), and of course everyone ended up calling it a Duck!
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RanVor

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #322 on: April 23, 2020, 07:47:01 AM »
Okay, I'm moving it here from the video game thread because I believe here is where it should be, and if you haven't seen it yet now you have an opportunity (assuming it's even worth seeing, some say it is and I'm not gonna argue because they probably know better). So, here's my poem, enjoy if you wish.

A Darkest Dungeon poem, because whatever, might as well go full-on obsessive over it

A Hamlet by the seashore cold
A squalid, godforsaken hold
Sits in the shade of Manor old
And welcomes heroes brave and bold

They came to this decaying shell
To scour places dark and fell
Slay beasts that in deep shadows dwell
And save the world from eldritch hell

The evils the late lord awoke
Await beneath the house baroque
The bravest hearts with terror choke
And many a sane mind they broke

The heroes brave, the heroes bold
Shall feel the reaper’s fingers cold
And with the dying breath behold
The gleam of so coveted gold

Yet still they come with wrathful might
On places darkest set their sight
To seek the riches and good fight
In fickle torch’s fading light

Jitter

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #323 on: April 23, 2020, 09:46:26 AM »
Ran, yes, it's definitely worth posting here! Like I said in the comments, well done!
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Yastreb

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #324 on: April 23, 2020, 10:03:07 AM »
And here's a poem with visual rhyme only.

The King became consumed by wrath
He roared his anger in the bath
"That churl committed such a slander!
"Why should he be free to wander?"
 
"Your royal wish is my command,"
Said the feared Lord Firebrand
"The King's good name is shining pure
This the realm must know for sure!"

He fell beneath that cruel sword
Slumping down without a word
Blood pooled on the new-sown sward
No more songs from this dead bard
"Life is all we are. Life is what defines us. In the end, Life is the answer."

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Yastreb

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #325 on: April 25, 2020, 09:03:45 PM »
This one's from a writing challenge, and the subject was "Food."

THE VALUE OF PIE

The roadhouse was nearly empty.
Three business types – two men and a woman, classic suits – were crowded around one laptop, while on the far side of the restaurant area a heavily-built trucker, almost a parody of the type, was on his second hamburger, and Melissa didn’t like the way he looked at her, or the way he had tried to pat her on the ass when she brought him his food.
A black Humvee drew up and slotted neatly into a parking spot. Melissa hurried to turn up the coffee urn as the occupants got out; a woman and a girl, and for an instant, she found herself wondering what the odds were on a fashion model walking into the roadhouse.
The woman was maybe thirty at most, slender and athletic, with blonde hair in a neat ponytail and fine-cut features half shrouded by big-frame sunglasses; but she was dressed down, in faded denim jacket and cargo pants and what looked like hiking boots. The girl was perhaps ten or eleven, but otherwise almost a carbon copy, with the same clothing – except for runners instead of boots. The trucker gave a loud wolf whistle as the pair came to the counter, but they did not react.
“Hi there. What’ll it be?” Melissa asked.
The woman scanned the menu board and said, “Steak sandwich for me – plain – and coffee, please. Black, no sugar. And a bowl of chocolate ice cream. Tanya?”
“Toasted ham and cheese sandwich and coffee, like mama’s, and apple pie and cream, please,” the girl replied promptly.
“Coming right up,” said Melissa, pouring two cups of coffee as the pair sat at the counter. They both had strong accents, like Russians in the movies. Melissa headed for the kitchen to give Billy the order, wondering as she did if she could get a discreet snap, maybe post it on Instagram. Those two were heading west, for Las Vegas or Los Angeles, there could be a story behind that…
But she couldn’t find her cell phone.

The business trio paid up and left. The trucker had slowed right down with his hamburger, and kept leering at the woman. The pair ate almost primly, with small precise bites of their sandwiches, and saying nothing.
Melissa had not found her cell, and curiosity finally won out. “You folks going far?”
“Los Angeles,” the woman replied. “Opportunities… you understand.” She finished her sandwich and wiped her hands delicately with the serviette. “You can’t let them pass you by.”
“Right…”
Tanya said, “I’m done, mama. Can I have my pie?”
“Surely,” the woman replied. “I have to use the restroom. I’ll be back soon.”
But when Melissa returned with the pie, Tanya had gone to the magazine rack. She had ignored the teen mags and was looking at, of all things, Guns and Ammo.

The phone rang.
“Hi mom. Sure… yeah, six should be fine if Bella’s on time, and she’s usually good for that…” She glanced around and saw the trucker sitting down at the counter. With a smirk he began to eat Tanya’s pie.
“Uh, sorry, I’ll have to call you back.” She hung up and called out, “Sir, what are you doing?”
Tanya turned round from the rack. She carefully replaced the magazine and walked back to the counter. “That’s my pie, mister.”
The trucker took another spoonful and said, “Didn’t see you eatin’ it, kiddo. It’s mine now. What you gonna do?”
Melissa stayed by the phone. It wouldn’t be the first time she had dialled 911.
“I’ll tell my mama.” Tanya’s voice was oddly calm. “And then you’ll be sorry.”
He laughed out loud. “What can she do? Catwalk me to death?”

He was still laughing when the woman returned.
Chto proiskhodit?” she said almost immediately.
Etot chelovek ukral moy pir,” Tanya replied without looking round.
Eto tak?” The woman walked up to the trucker. “Stoyat' yasno.”
Tanya backed away.
“You are taking food from a child.” The woman’s voice was flat, as if stating a fact, not making an accusation.
“She weren’t eatin’ it.” The trucker looked her up and down. “Kid thinks a lot of you, honey. Says I’ll be sorry.”
“You have a choice,” she said, as if he had not responded. “Apologise to my daughter, and walk away, or crawl from here on your belly. Choose wisely.”
The trucker bellowed with laughter. “Well, I ain’t doin’ either, missy! Huh? What you gonna do?”
There was a pause, no more than a second.
“This.”
She hooked one foot around one leg of the stool and wrenched it away.
There was a crack as his forehead hit the counter, and he sprawled on the floor as the stool rattled away into a corner.
Melissa froze. The woman’s expression had not shifted, and Tanya was smiling.
“Uh, uh, uh,” the trucker gasped. Blood was seeping from his nose. “Uh, you…” He swore a string of pungent obscenities.
“Don’t try to stand!” the woman snapped, and kicked him in the knee. He cried out and dropped down flat. “Get out.”
Melissa watched as the trucker forced his way towards the door. Thoughts of movies she had binge-watched with Brett last week filled her mind – ones with tough heroines, like Atomic Blonde and that one with J-Law, Red Sparrow. Deadly Russian blondes didn’t walk into truck stops and casually beat up people…
The woman walked back to the counter. “I’ll have my ice-cream now, and another pie for Tanya, please.”
Melissa saw the trucker clumsily stand up and then lurch across the forecourt to his rig.
“Yes ma’am.”

Sonja peeled off the notes, and then looked at the display on the register. “That’s not enough. There should be two pies.”
The girl looked startled. “You only had one.”
“I won’t leave you out of pocket.”
With seeming reluctance, the girl added a second pie, and reached for change.
“Don’t worry about it.”

As they walked back to the Humvee, Tanya said, “His truck is still there, mama.”
“I know.”
“He’s angry. He might come after us.”
Sonja opened the passenger door.
“Then he’ll find out he’s bitten off more than he can chew.”
"Life is all we are. Life is what defines us. In the end, Life is the answer."

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Róisín

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #326 on: April 25, 2020, 11:30:51 PM »
Falling about laughing here.
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Yastreb

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #327 on: April 26, 2020, 05:05:08 AM »
Glad to be making you laugh, Roisin, though it wasn't really intended as humour (more deadpan wit in this case). The characters of Sonja and Tanya are drawn from a concept for a vigilante couple who seek out to punish the worst of criminals. It's a dark concept and would likely not be suitable for this forum.

I wrote a followup leading directly on from The Value of Pie; here it is.

RIGHT OF WAY

A family sedan was pulling into the truck stop as Sonja turned the Humvee onto the highway. The sun was low and the sky was darkening.
Tanya looked back and said quietly, "He turned on his lights, mama. He's coming after us."
Sonja opened the compartment between the front seats and reached in. “Satnav, dushka. Get a terrain map of the road ahead.”
As Tanya powered up a laptop, her mother placed a Colt Python in a pocket of her cargo pants and checked the wing mirror.
“He’s following. Quickly, now.”
Tanya said nothing for some seconds as she fussed around with the laptop, and then said, “It’s all open plain like this for… five or six kays, and then there’s a patch of very rough ground… oh, let’s see… two or three kays, it’s like we’re above ground.”
Sonja nodded. “Three minutes, maybe four, he’ll make his move, where we can’t just drive off the road to avoid him. He could just try to run us off, but no, I think he will use a gun. A pistol or sawn-off most likely.” She smiled, and it did not reach her eyes. “Men like him will use a gun, nine times out of ten. Strap yourself in and get ready, dushka. Either way, I’ll need your help.”

Jack Turner gripped the steering wheel hard and edged closer and closer to the Humvee, and his thoughts would have surprised no-one who knew him.
LEOs and Corrections Officers had summed him up as an anti-social personality type, with poor behaviour control and a high score on the Psychopath Checklist.
Others who had met him had been more succinct – a thug with a foul mouth, a bad attitude, and a hair-trigger temper.
He had served time for violence against women, mainly after being scorned or put down; but this time he had been physically humiliated by a woman.
“Never goin’ to give you up, goin’ to hunt you down, goin’ to bust your ass, and kill you,” Turner crooned through teeth clenched with rage.
The sawn-off over and under lay on the seat next to him. It was loaded with heavy shot, equal to twelve .38 rounds in a single shell, and it would turn the woman who had hurt him into a bloody mist. Her karate would not save her from that.
He wound down the side window. He had thought it out. Pull alongside, draw up so that he had a forty-five degree angle on the driver’s side with the barrel braced in the corner of the window; one shot for the woman, and one for the brat if he could get the chance. Even if the woman had a gun, she couldn’t get a shot without leaning out to aim, and that made for an easier target.
“Meat on the table,” he said with a savage smile.

They entered the rough terrain. Sonja checked the rear view mirror.
“He’s moving up. Get ready.”
She drew the Colt Python and switched it to her left hand, taking the door handle in her right.
“Ready, mama!” said Tanya.
A last check of the mirror. He was drawing closer…
Not going for the rear tyre; he’s going for me. You made your choice. You chose badly. Again.

Turner was taking first pressure on the trigger when the Humvee’s door suddenly swung open and he saw the woman’s face, and the left arm extended, pointing at him…
He saw the muzzle flash.
The jacketed hollow point round caught him on the upper jaw. His head snapped back, his arms jerking spasmodically as the mushrooming bullet tore through his brain.
The shotgun dropped back inside the cabin, firing into the door as the steering wheel swung to the left, dragged by Turner’s dying grasp, and the truck and its load jack-knifed into a screeching skid.
Konchaht!” Sonja snapped, swinging back inside to grab the wheel from Tanya and hit the gas at the same time as she let the revolver fall to the floor. The acceleration caused the door to swing back, clearing the rear view mirror back into line, and she saw the truck and trailer tilting crazily as they skidded, and then they hit the edge of the highway and rolled over and out of sight. There were three crashes, and then a final crunching sound like a roar.
“You got him good, mama,” Tanya said. There was no gloating in her voice.
Sonja nodded and pulled the door firmly closed. “Well done, my little warrior.” She leaned over to kiss Tanya on the forehead.
“What’s going to happen?” Tanya glanced down at the satnav map. “When they find the wreck…”
Sonja smiled comfortingly. “No-one will find it before tomorrow, and it will be some time before anyone reports it, and some time more before they realise he was shot.” She picked up the Colt Python. "Shame. It’s not likely they could ever link the bullet to this gun, but we can’t take the risk. No matter. Once we are finished in Vegas, we may need a whole new armoury. Let’s see what’s on offer then.”
"Life is all we are. Life is what defines us. In the end, Life is the answer."

Ruler of Bartolomeu de Gusmão Airport.

thegreyarea

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #328 on: April 26, 2020, 02:21:40 PM »
Yastreb, you keep feeding us with excellent pieces! We're getting too used to it! :) I'd love to see the rest of Sonja and Tanya's story. If you think it's too dark (or too long) to be posted here, you could join Archive Of Our Own (https://archiveofourown.org/) like many of us and give just the links. :)
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Róisín

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #329 on: April 26, 2020, 09:46:29 PM »
Second that, Grey. I have known Yastreb for many years, and have proofread a fair bit of his writing, and have good hopes for him as a novelist.

Yastreb, I think you do both action and dark humour well.
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