“So, now we’re here. How do we get in?” I said, noting the assortment of digital weapons and the imposing wall.
“Give me two seconds,” the dwarf answered. A massive catapult materialized and I raised my eyebrow in confusion.
“Why a catapult? Are we going to lay virtual siege to the place?” I asked, snorting in disbelief.
I chose an entire paragraph, my favorite paragraph that I wrote today...perhaps my favorite...I'm not really sure, it was kind of the first that I read...but I liked it so I figured I would post it for you. I would greatly appreciate criticism.
"He turned around, carefully looking about his room as he stepped forward, carefully sliding his hand against the silken embroidery of his couch. He wore a designer onyx suit, that seemed to gleam in the soft glow of the room as he allowed himself to fall downward to the nurturing comfort of the soft couch below. Crossing his right leg over his left thigh as he laid back, relaxing his head against the comfortable couch cushions, carefully taking in the ambiance of the massive apartment. The furniture had calming colors, yet each and every aspect of the room clung to the slight tinge of modernity."
Criticism? Here's the weakest point I see: "relaxing his head against the comfortable couch cushions,"
While the alliteration might seem good, the frequency of use of the word "couch" is distracting. This is the best place to drop the count that I can see, because what other cushions are on a couch?
Also, a question that may be answered by context but seems off to me here: "He turned around, carefully looking about his room..." He's turning, but stepping forward? To me - and this one is just me, I know - "turning around" means turning 180. So I see this person looking at the room, then turning around to the couch...and somehow stepping forward. The next sentence suggests the opposite, that of him facing the couch (why? Missing context, I'm guessing) then turning to the room (which makes sense given my interpretation). Simply turning (without "around" ) gives me more of a panoramic mental image.
I'd also replace the second "carefully" with "gently" or some similar word.
You don't need the comma after "designer onyx suit" <- Sorry, grammatical nitpicking. xp Alternatively, I think you could replace "that" with "which" and keep the comma if you're attached to it.
"Crossing his right leg over his left thigh as he laid back, relaxing his head against the comfortable couch cushions, carefully taking in the ambiance of the massive apartment."
Read that isolated from the rest.
It does a good job conveying the scene, but...(saw it coming, did ya?) it's three sentence fragments. I think a simple "he relaxed" would fix it, but that may not be how you want to.
I also think you can rephrase the last sentence to be stronger. "The furniture's calming colors brought forth each and every aspect of the room as it clung to a slight tinge of modernity." Except that isn't what you mean, and the word "it" there isn't clear as to whether the room or the furniture is the antecedent.
Aha, figured it out. The word "yet" is out of place there, a harsh sound juxtapositioned next to the soft sounds of a room that seeks to sooth.
Here's the rewrite with my criticisms:
"He turned, carefully looking about his room as he stepped forward, gently sliding his hand against the silken embroidery of his couch. He wore a designer onyx suit that seemed to gleam in the soft glow of the room as he allowed himself to fall downward to the nurturing comfort of the soft couch below. Crossing his right leg over his left thigh as he laid back, he relaxed his head against the comfortable cushions, carefully taking in the ambiance of the massive apartment. The furniture's calming colors brought forth each and every aspect of the room as it clung to the slight tinge of modernity."
That being said, your imagery is solid and well written to the point I have a mental image of the guy (and the room) without you even describing him (or the rest of the room). Kudos.
If I could remember a scene/portion/description off the top of my head that I wanted help on, I'd post it for return fire, but unfortunately, I can't. So, I'll do it when I get to another one.
Then the head chef, one of those bears of men who looked even more fearsome with a knife but hadn’t seemed to notice, butted in. “S’cuse me ladies.” If you were standing around in his kitchen chatting, you were a lady by his definition, no matter what the anatomy.
I'm not actually at my computer right now, and mine doesn't want to connect to the internet, but it's something like this:
"My sister used to make paper dolls for the girls and boys in our villages. The children would eventually lose them, or drop them, and they would fly away. Sometimes out of the village and they'd never see them again, but sometimes Lynette would find them stuck in a door or a window and give them back to the child."
It was a boy talking to a girl named Charlotte, who has a disease, and she tells him it's possible she only has two years to live. I just really liked the quote, and he goes on to tell her that her hope in living through her disease is like a paper doll and it could fly away, but it could also come back.
“What were you saying about Chase?”
She asked with a mischievous smile on her face. Cassandra, who obviously had been zoned out in the thought of the moment, shrank back against the chair she had been sitting in. Savannah looked over to where he was sitting, and growled.
“No one here is ever allowed to like that no good boy. You hear me?”
It was a joke, of course, but the others gave a nod and salute, in unison. Their routine was perfect by now; after all, they had been perfecting it for a good long time. It was now the funniest inside joke that any of them could think of, and so, seconds later, all of the girls were crumpled down on the table, laughing as hard as they ever had. It was a sight to see.
Toman froze; several paces away, amid the trees, stood a creature. It was roughly wolf-like in shape, but there would be no mistaking the creature for a wolf. It was revolting to look at; its flesh, what there was of it, was yellow-grey and rotting. Its skin crawled with maggots, worms, and insects, so that even when the creature stood still, as it did now, the creature seemed to writhe with motion. That skin that wasn’t rotting or broken was as bad as the rest; it was covered in hives and rashes, lesions and sores. Pus leaked from angry boils, and from one of the beast’s otherwise empty eye sockets. Toman could smell it from where he stood – the stench of sickness, of rotting, and of death. The stench caught in his throat and almost made him gag. The creature was plague incarnate.
"When I saw her, I knew I had to be with her. When she spoke, I knew I was in love with her. That's how love worked back then. Keep that in mind the next time you want get 'laid' with no strings attach."
I've grown really attached to Benny, one of my main characters.
Our loyalties made us who we are, as different as fire and ice. It is easy in thought: when one reigns the other must stay in submission, bowing to the hands of trust that should have always existed between the two of us. It never did, though. Tricking and scheming, it’s how you work and it will probably always be your trademark; one that is unbroken even by the softest of kisses I place upon your skin.
But you don’t care to try, do you? For you’re stubborn and your decision is final. You discard me to impress those who should not matter and try to find something better within a woman because it is safe. Yet still I lie beside you when the desire of your heart wins, for but a few hours, and I stay because I do not care that you are a selfish b*****d.
from a different story:
She has always shined so brightly, carrying the weight of everyone’s problems effortlessly and then, all too suddenly, before anyone realises it, she is dashing down in such a speed that you wonder just how much she’s really hurting. She is tumbling down a spiral case of emotions and she’s falling all too quickly. He can’t save her.
So she crashes, and she is alone and weak and doesn’t shine anymore. She has lost her glow. She’s finally reaching the bottom, finally worn out.
Her face distorts into a grimace of upright dolor. She twists her fingers within her snapping hair while choking back endless sobs, nearly suffocating on them as she tries not to make a sound. The tears continue to invade her privacy, they paint her ready for the war of self-destructive thoughts.
okay. here my main character is still without a name. . .
last ones from another I worked on today, because its my favorite story right now:
As soon as he even felt the hand hover near him again his head snapped up and his eyes flashed dangerously. “******** touch me again and I will rip off your fingers, one by ******** one,” he hissed into the blond’s face. That was really something he didn’t want to see. His little nap had him drifting in an endless galor of pleasure, which this man was not part of. “You have exactly two seconds to explain your situation before I decide that you’ve had enough oxygen for today.”
“Why don’t you both just go ******** yourselves somewhere in Hell?! I am sure you two would enjoy, and deserve, the wonderful attention given to you there. Honestly, I’m already marked as a damn slave and if I have to add a stamp of a murderer onto my forehead I wouldn’t mind doing so right about now,” he snarled.
“I’m going to draw a bath for you,” the blond said.PersonaUno didn’t react at first and by the time he was ready to refuse the offer, the man had already let go of him and the sound of water hitting porcelain swept through the stillness. He’d woken up so many times during his weeks spent there, wishing to just be through with it all and the harsh words, bullying and beatings he’d taken were nothing compared to the honest gentleness that was given to him now. They never went as deep. There was always a way to ignore them, overlook them even, but the sheer honesty to the other man's touch was something completely different. Something he’d forgotten. His heart skipped, ached with the knowledge that there actually was someone who didn’t see him just as a particle of dust stuck to some oversized blue marble.
because a grown man giving another grown man a bath is totally fine.
I have to say that I had a bizarre dream last night (I suppose it was a nightmare, though my memory of it is hazy) involving a very wicked looking dog, and I think it was because I was on this thread that evening and read this entry. The dream actually inspired me and gave me an idea of a short story of sorts. There's nothing resembling your plague incarnate character, so don't worry about me stealing your ideas; I just wanted to let you know that you gave me some inadvertent inspiration.
Now, as for my quote of the day...
Let's see.I didn't get to write as long as I wanted, so the scene I really have in my head isn't down yet, but here goes:
Spread as wide as he was tall, an assortment of logs, dried grasses, and other debris formed a knee-high tinder. Atop it, he could just distinguish the shapes of books. Their familiar forms were quickly lost as they curled and withered into fuel for flames blazing past the heads of the gathered crowd. On several sides, council members hurled new additions to the burn, protected by rows of supporters who held off anyone wishing to stop their task. Heavy blasts of ember and smoke repeatedly obscured the scene before billowing skyward.
A constant clang of metal, oddly primitive in sound, escaped between the cracks of the walls, and echoed when it could not, creating a symphony so horrid as to discourage anything from appearing alive, or, if it had to look that way, healthy.
'I'm sorry.' She said, ignoring the sudden terror in his eyes; he'd been so strange about things earlier she'd have to wait for his actual reaction to what she had to say. 'I've been terribly remiss. My name is Juniper DeSoto. I am honored by your acquaintance.' She said her name carefully, pronouncing the hard sounds of the 'proper' enunciation with only a little difficulty, clipping the consonants and swallowing the vowels the way Karienians did. He was staring at her, eyes bugging out with what was either confusion or terror.
'I.. You can call me Twelve.' It was no stranger than her own name, so she gave him another flat smile.
'Certainly.' And he was staring again, but relaxing, as if he'd expected a different reaction from her and wasn't sure if he should be grateful or scared that she hadn't provided it.
Yay for culture clash. Twelve is an alias, but Juniper can't tell, because she's not even speaking her L1, and she was named after a plant, and her father's second daughter was named after a building, and why shouldn't someone be named after a number?