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 Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 5:36 pm
 There is a surprising twist of events down in Saltaire...
The staff of Royalty Bound was so taken with Luafien's dream Prince so the DjuKing Fairy has come down to bless Mitzi with what she wished for. Maximilian was quite taken with the beautiful toymaker himself and scrapped the pre-made hyla wrightorum pin, of x*y genotype, in an instant. Unfortunately, that pin now has no owner, and since we promised one winner per contest, do you know what that means (asides from no runner-ups)??▶ ▶ ▶A surprise flatsale event. This one will last a little shorter (seven days to be precise), but this prompt is a little easier and doesn't rely on any knowledge of characters (though it would be a good idea to have some knowledge of the staff before you enter our world). We reckon it's a pretty easy, flexible writing contest. No excuses this time!
❖ For anyone new to Royalty Bound, most of the information you need on Saltaire can be located here.
❖ Try to include a little bit of the foreword in your prompt--The more descriptive you are before meeting the kid, the more opportunity you have to show off your character and persuade us into picking you for the winner!
❖ Make sure your character comes from one of the allied countries.
❖ Five seconds of spell-checking using MS Word costs you nothing, so do it. Try not to spell the names of Staff or landmarks in the World incorrectly.
❖ Some sort of creative and yet somewhat pointlessly excessive inventions like Percy the Passing Bus Sign (see Max's first roleplay post for more details) will make the world feel more real and funner for us to read; feel free to go all out in the creativity department! Just no floating cars or we kill you.
❖ Word to the wise, we wouldn't recommend your character absolutely abhor looking after the orphan. Why would we give you a Prince if your character would hate looking after one? xD
This prompt is purely hypothetical. You will receive the Prince at egg stage and grow him as you wish. His personality need not apply to him, but your character you use for the entry must be the same as the one you will be playing with in our world.Foreword[color=white] Poverty is something you see every day on the streets of Saltaire. The MOTHERLAND had written off all charity cases that came to them, releasing public statements such as "Cancerous growths demand food; but, as far as we know, they have never been cured by getting it". So it does not surprise you at all when you see a young boy, probably no older than eleven, huddled against the side of a building, drawing tattered clothing tightly around himself to protect himself from the cold. Strangely enough, you notice that he doesn't shy away from the pouring rain that's coming down. On the contrary, it seems to be the only part of the dreary day that he's enjoying. Taking a second out of that busy schedule of yours--perhaps you were on the way to a conference, a date, or even a funeral--you look closer and notice that his basking in the rain isn't the only thing unusual about him. Green skin with intricate patterns across his bare face and forearms, wide, slitted eyes and webbed feet--what is this creature??
Not long ago, you heard about possible rejected experiments set loose from Rheinfels, but you never expected something like this to become a reality. Word travels fast, and you quickly piece together that this boy can only be a part of Maximilian's "royal" project..
The poor thing looks rather cold and hungry. Why are you just standing there??
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 5:37 pm
Dju's verdict: This one is my favourite entry out of the entries Lolla has given us. I like the idea that it's almost like Sweeting INVENTED bread-making by hand, it's a clever concept lol I can see some sort of borderline obsession with 'ugliness' in all of her characters though which leads me to think that she isn't a very flexible roleplayer. I also noticed that the majority of the time he's doing nothing but making bread and thinking about his life, and yet there's only a very small description put in about the meeting with the Prince or what he did after he met him. Should put relative emphasis and effort/length on the more important parts of your story, Lolla! Especially when the entry is relatively short, it's not the right time to go on about his history and add the meeting as an almost afterthought. Otherwise, a good entry, writing is pretty much flawless, good description though a little repetitive at times, and metaphors are nice. Just need to prioritize information a bit more.
King's Verdict: I can agree with Dju about overly focusing on back stories in an entry. For example I have a lot of Adelle's history in her bio and not so much in the RP entries that I make. Its okay to have a little bit of a background to help readers understand why some choices are made by the character, but the MAIN characters behind this shop are really the frogs and there needs to be a reasonable balance between the two especially at the current stage the prompt frog is in. If it were an egg or tadpole in the prompt though, I could see room for this but I don't think that when given a fully RPable character, he (the frog) should not be left out. After their embrace I would've liked to have seen some interaction. Of course nobody would hold the RPer responsible to any specific actions (since this is a prompt that is entirely fictional to the shop) so it would be safe to at least come up with some sort of hypothetical story to match. I will also agree though that I prefer this entry to the past ones and continue to applaud Lolla's writing skills. ^^
lolla lee lou
ooc;; I like this character and entry a lot better. -crosses fingers-
bic;;
General Sweeting tore a corner off of a fresh bag of standard government issued white flour, sixty percent flour, forty percent chemical filler, and poured a liberal amount onto the scratched surface of the old polycellulomicronic table. The durable substance, developed in the last thirty years to produce lower levels of toxins than other commonly used plastics, had once been colored to mimic wood. He placed his immaculately cleaned, though large and scarred hands in the hill of flour, spreading it across his work surface. Ezekiel Sweeting had politely declined treatment or removal of his scars. They crossed his body, his trophies of war. Each one held a story, and more often than not, fond memories of fraternity, pride, and the fulfillment of fighting for a cause. One such scar tore across the back of his hand, tracing a jagged line over his knuckles. He’d stitched the wound himself with antibacterial auto-liquidizing thread. He’d done a poor job, and the scar was ugly. It always brought a smile to his lips. It was a rite of passage, a mark of independence as a warrior. At only forty-three years of age, his glory days were passed, but he was not bitter. His quiet life in Saltaire pleased him, and the cold and foggy peace soothed the soldier‘s soul.
The water was heated over the hydroelectrically powered stove and the yeast was meticulously measured by a brass device that appeared somewhat like a metronome, the needle moving in time with rhythmic clicks of a central cog. A slight smile graced Ezekiel’s strong features as he carefully poured the boiling liquid little by little into a massive steel mixing bowl. The sides grew hot, but his calloused hands did not feel it. The baker chuckled softly, remembering his wife’s gentle teasing about his heavy hands. Magdalene was long dead, but not forgotten. It was no longer painful to think of her, and doing so filled him with a comfortable warmth. Her death had been quick and easy, unlike so many other civilian casualties. Ezekiel knew that he’d been lucky in that he’d had a body to bury. So many of his tormented comrades had never known the final resting places of their loved ones. Magdalene’s grave lay in a little crippled garden of dead and brown flowers, blending into the hopeless landscape of Saltaire.
Ezekiel poured the yeast and flour into the half-filled bowl and carefully ground salt into the mix. Despite the shortage of sugar, he always managed to procure ingredients of tolerable quality, and sifted in the day’s ration of sweetener. A lock of Ezekiel’s prematurely gray hair fell in front of his milky gray eyes, and he tossed his head to restore his vision. He rolled the sleeves of his brown button-up shirt, revealing strong arms, well prepared for one hundred strokes of a spoon through the thick dough. Once blended and thickened, the decorated general scraped the bowl’s contents onto the floured polycellulomicronic table for kneading. He took his time, never rushing. The dough was to be caressed and molded, not battered and crushed. Of course, there were fully mechanical ways of making bread. The general had begun his career that way, acquiring more and more tools to ease his workload. Then his workers became obsolete; most were laid off. After a time, he found himself generally alone in his bakery, surrounded by the whirr of machines, but no chime of human laughter. More and more of his former employees became destitute. Several years passed before he experienced any sort of epiphany. When he did, however, it was dramatic. Men were rehired, and machines cast out. No longer would he replace the livelihoods of hardworking citizens was unfeeling robots.
Another problem arose. Could bread be made without machines? The ingredients would be the same, but how could they be processed? Ezekiel failed many times, but eventually stumbled across a revolutionary method of turning the dough by hand, letting it rise by itself, and baking it for longer times at lower heat in the hydroelectric ovens. Admittedly, his products tasted the same, and required expensive manpower. To him, it was worth it. He had a fortune to last a lifetime, buried under the floorboards, sewn into his pillows, and hidden behind clock faces. Profit was not his top concern.
Ezekiel wiped the sweat from his brow, heat radiating from the ovens, crackling as they occasionally emitted static. He rubbed his neck, chin, and cheeks, needing a shave rather desperately. He contemplated doing so in the fifteen minutes that the dough would need to rise, but decided against it. He left the warmth of the kitchen for the chill of the stairwell, untying his frayed white apron as he descended to the first floor, which served as the shop itself. The tattered sign read ‘closed,’ and he locked the door behind him as he stepped onto the cement porch, cracks filled with hardy, cold-resistant weeds. Raindrops fell heavily, rolling down from the heavens onto the dirt and grime of the street. The homeless huddled under benches and bridges, but a young boy made no effort to move from the driving precipitation. Ezekiel tipped his head to the side, gruff face intently watching the child. With a heavy heart, he recognized him as a so-called frog prince, the amphibious mutants that wealthy socialites were snapping up like diamonds and champagne. This creature, however, appeared to have been rejected by the greedy scientist Maximilian for some reason or another. The child’s green face was thin, and he shivered gently.
The general was not a man of pity, but the alien creature tugged at his heartstrings. With a resigned sigh, he reentered his shop, taking a small, stale roll from the display case. It was hard as stone, but as Ezekiel departed anew to the dismal street, the massive raindrops softened the bread. He approached the young boy slowly, then squatted to put himself at eye level with him. Silently, he extended the roll to him, and at first, received only a blank stare. Tentatively, a webbed hand emerged from the boy’s torn sleeve and grasped it weakly. Ezekiel nodded, as if to reassure him, and the frog began to nibble listlessly at the crusty roll. The boy’s eyes softened, and he smiled a trembling thanks to his benefactor. The baker rose to his feet and placed strong hand on the fragile shoulder of the child, leading him into the shop. It was warm and homey, still clinging to the original feminine touches that his wife had left the building with. Ezekiel sat the little prince at a table, draping a blanket over his shaking shoulders.
The baker decided that he would clothe him, let him stay for the night, and then send him on his way. He turned, prepared to return to his work in the kitchen. He heard a pathetic sob from behind him; the boy was so ill and fragile. When had Ezekiel become so unfeeling? How could he return this innocent child to the street? Once upon a time, he’d wanted a child of his own. Once upon a time, he’d smiled at every child he’d seen, kissed the forehead of each baby that passed by him in it’s mother’s arms. Now, a quivering, cold, and starving young boy sat before him, slow tears rolling down his cheeks, and Ezekiel intended to cast him away. Embarrassed by the apparent callousness of his heart, he returned to the child.
“Do you have nowhere to go?” General Sweeting’s dark baritone voice cut though the silence. The frog prince shook his head slowly, dejectedly. Ezekiel drew a deep breath, his final decision made. He wouldn’t leave this little creature to die in a filthy alley.
“I could use an extra hand around the bakery. You’ll work for three hot meals a day and a bed of your own.” He said gruffly, more of a command than a suggestion. The boy looked confused, his wide, watery eyes cast up at the imposing figure. Ezekiel softened his gaze, nodded to him, as if making a promise to the boy. A promise that he would not leave him. A promise that he would love him and care for him, as if he were his own son.
As thin, damp arms encircled his waist, the baker knew that it was a promise that he would keep.
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 5:37 pm
Dju's verdict: "Steampunk-esque"... that word is a little awkward. It's almost as though you're trying to say "futuristic" but don't want to make it too obvious for the reader. I'd describe the clothing next time instead of calling it "Romanesque" or "Steampunkesque" or "Victorian" etc etc because some people might have no clue what you're on about. Also, the introduction supremely confused me because first it sounded like he was already outside and then it sounded like he was just leaving? As well as this, Shen seems surprisingly nonplussed about the frog-creature's appearance--I mean, would you be so calm and nonchalant if you saw a boy with green skin and webbed fingers sitting in front of you? The description is almost added like an afterthought. I really like the self-made invention of organic clothing though, good job! I like the description of the time they spent together, I'm sure the Prince really felt like he was at home smile
King's Verdict: I would be cautious with the word "steampunk" nowadays, it seems like all you see being said when people just want to refer to brass and bronze. Anyways, on to the real crit- Not... too much wrong really, again I'm a little confused by Shen xD I cant help imagining an old side-character of mine that makes me really charmed by Shen, but there's parts where I'm just completely.. confused by what he's trying to feel? Like.. I remember the first entry there was confusion over his emotion. I don't think there's so much of that here as there is a lack of expected emotion. Like Dju said, Id be expecting him to like WOAH LOL WHUT over the frog on the streets instead of acting casual about it, but I can imagine the chances of him not even able to tell in the dark? Idk. It would be like.. a being-there kind of thing. ANYWAYS, what I like most about this entry is the interaction and the length of such. The characterizing of the frog is well done, I think that's something you'd have a good handle on whenever you end up owning one. =]
Kanove
The rain continued to fall day-after-day as the barren streets were held victim to minor flooding. The sky even remained dark and the difference between day-time and night-time had become minimal at best, if there was even a difference. Shen walked cautiously under his umbrella as he crossed through empty alleys, barren streets, and in and out of various buildings. He was making his rounds as usual as a house doctor in Saltaire. His medical advice was sought after more than ever since he had begun visiting his client’s homes.
Pulling the coat tight around him, the doctor’s mind threaded through his thoughts and employed itself in a memory that stuck out from the other day. Shen had been employed by a rather rich neighbor of his, a kind and elderly man, to check up on those living in the sewers. They were people of common descent who- more often than not- had found themselves tossed out of their homes. Shen had reluctantly accepted the appointment by trade of a valuable collectible the man possessed.
Shen took special care of the men, women, and children stranded in the sewers of Saltaire, by request of his client. They were barely clothed, cold, and normally drenched in the endless rain that surrounded the city. Many children were on the brink of death, often too ill to survive. However rare, the kind donations of the citizens were what kept many of them alive.
Leaving his house dressed in a long ankle-length coat that was buttoned up to fit snugly around his various layers of steampunk-esque clothing the doctor smiled when he saw his reflection in the mirror. A nicely fit hat on his head, his perfectly shaped glasses, and golden pocket watch all fit his rather earthly-colored looking apparel. Walking along the rainy streets the doctor held an old fashioned black umbrella shortly above his head and a black doctors bag in his right hand.
Pushing up his glasses, Shen knelt down near a figure he had been observing from a distance only moments before from the roadside. Lifting the hat off his head, in hopes of looking more approachable, Shen tried to near the drenched boy. The boy only took a few steps back in fear- hiding in the shadows. His body had grown thin and cold. ‘He needs to get out of this rain, but it doesn’t seem as if it is harming him.’ Shen thought to himself.
Laying down the umbrella that had been covering him, Shen reached into his bag with both hands in hopes of finding something that might appease the boy and draw him closer. Finding a piece of bread in the bag, Shen extended his hand slowly. “Would you like a piece?” he asked cautiously.
The boy only nodded and scooted further away. Shen frowned and took a bite of the piece of bread himself before it turned soggy in the falling rain. As the rain fell Shen held his posture well and stayed by the boy for the time being; his hair and clothes had become soaked in the rushing sewer water, but he knew leaving this boy out here was unacceptable.
“Can you tell me your name?” he asked.
The boy nodded and stared back at Shen. He didn’t seem to approve of the other, and Shen was beginning to feel the same about the boy. However, he wouldn’t give up on his client. Not when such an impoverished person was laying waste in the sewers. “Come with me; let me get you out of the cold. I can give you food and shelter if you wish?” Shen offered. His mind hadn’t thought over any repercussions, even if this boy was a trouble maker, Shen would still house him from this dreadful weather.
This time when he extended a friendly hand, the boy came closer, very slowly. Shen managed to keep his body still until the slimy hand touched his own. Even if the boy didn’t look human- that wouldn’t stop him. “Come, let us go to my residence.” He whispered as his free hand gathered his belongings and pulled them up to his side.
The amphibious boy only followed Shen to his doorstep. In fact, the boy refused to walk as an equal and instead he followed a few feet back- even after a few insisting attempts by Shen to get him to join in step.
No, the boy was following the social order a little too well, and at his age it looked as if he was beginning to only know that. If he was human, his slender, hungry appearance and open exposure to freezing rain didn’t show it. In fact, Shen was beginning to think otherwise as they entered the elongated roadside house that Shen occupied. The boy felt familiar, the vibe around him was one Shen had felt before. Oddly enough, just like before the boy was drawn to any form of water. ‘This just gets weirder and weirder.’
“Mu Lan, can you please start a warm bath for me,” he asked the welcoming maid, “for the boy.” He corrected himself and wandered into another room as Mu Lan took the boy upstairs to the bathing room, whereupon Shen had spent many a night drowned in warm water as he studied.
- - -
As Shen’s figure vanished into the library to look for something he desired to examine, Mu Lan took the boy carefully by the hand and guided him up the marble staircase. Both of them were silent until they reached the bathing room where Mu Lan proceeded to talk the quiet patient to death.
Mu Lan was a kind woman, her figure was thin and her hair neatly pulled back out of her face. Her hands had known years of service to the Shen family, but many of them had treated her kindly and respectfully so in return she had grown up to have the appearance of a brilliant and vibrant individual. Normally high-spirited she is one of the few individuals Shen surrounds himself with to avoid the dreadful past.
She kept chatting until the bath was filled with warm, steaming, bubbly water. “Do you have a name?” she asked as she reached into the pool for something.
The boy nodded again as he stood next to her. He understood the social order here, Mu Lan and he were equals and upon that he knew he could talk to her- if only he knew how. The boy only stared at his surroundings and observed them. Mu Lan felt as if he didn’t know how to speak so her conversations slowly became on-sided or they only began to require nods of the head in response.
The boy didn’t seem to mind however.
“Can we get your clothes off so you can get into the bath?” Mu Lan asked with a wide grin stretching across her face. She was happily enjoying this encounter, whether or not the boy was- was unknown.
As the boy struggled to climb into the sunken tub his body was covered in warm water, barely above room temperature, but good enough to sooth the aching bones and frozen joints he had gathered in the freezing rain. “I bet that feels good, now would you like any toys?” Mu Lan asked.
The boy smiled and within moments his company was filled with floating rubber ducks, spinning boat-toys, and a few other randomly shaped objects which continued to occupy his time as Mu Lan observed him. The only noise which came out of the boy’s mouth was laughter, which he quickly ceased. Reluctantly perhaps, Mu Lan kept encouraging him to make noise, to speak, to yell, to laugh.
Finally, he did so and in pure enjoyment and thrill he spun around the large tub and swam around a bit before he dove under water for a period of time. Mu Lan herself didn’t notice the length of time that had passed by when he jumped up from the water in a thrill of endless laughter she joined in. The chorus of laughter continued for a few minutes until the two of them settled down and exhausted they both plopped where they resided.
“I take it you love the water?” Mu Lan asked rhetorically. It was obvious, and a nod from the boy only helped to solidify her guesses. She knew what Shen was looking up.
- - -
Shen pulled the hat off his head that he had been cradling ever since the two figures had crawled out of the sewers. He had known something was amiss after the boy had touched his skin and it left a slimy residue. Pulling out a folder from the standing maple desk he reached in and retrieved an opened letter which had been since almost discarded a few times.
It was a letter from Maximilian Y he had only received shortly beforehand in account to babysitting a rather troublesome ‘experiment’. However, the noted boy had shown up, and Shen’s day had revolved around the mysterious Tibalt but in return for his services he received nothing. Since that day his mind had continued to think about the letter and the mysterious ‘Princeling’. It was a mysterious piece of parchment and when he had tried tracking it he had found it led to a dead-end and so he was left clueless to just whom he was supposed to babysit.
If this boy had something to do with this letter, or with the mysterious Maximilian Y, Shen would be severely impressed. These rumored experiments had been causing uproars throughout the town and lately they were showing up more and more, though it felt as if anyone not involved directly with this mysterious man was left out of the trouble of dealing with one.
Shen was interested, but his mind hadn’t bothered with the thought of it for a while now and he felt as if this boy was coming back to tell him something- just what exactly, he had no clue. Reading over the mysterious letter again he only nodded; mind full of questions he chose to lay it down on the desk. Sighing Shen dismissed the thoughts and maneuvered through a pile of books and hung up the drenched trench coat and wet hat on the coat rack by the door before he listened carefully to the house.
This boy, experiment or not, was abandoned, and the way he was acting earlier had showed it. Pushing the glasses up his nose he stared out the window for a moment before a yawn escaped his mouth. ‘I don’t like having to play day-care for a man who can’t seem to keep track of his experiments. I don’t mind the company but enough is enough.’ Shen thought to himself as his eyes scanned his back yard.
Noise from the kitchen corridors could be heard but a chorus of laughter was echoing from upstairs and as Shen smiled he moved back to his desk and put away the letter before making a quick change and gliding up the stairs. Reaching the top, Shen listened and heard noise coming from the bathing room, so he only shook his head and wandered down the hall till he reached the rather wide room covered in bubbles.
His eyes stared at Mu Lan who was crouched beside the elongated bath tub having a one-sided conversation with the floating boy. He truly was an experiment. His skin was glossy, his eyes were pure in color, and the now-obvious radiant skin tone all seemed to prove what Shen had guessed to be true. This boy was one of Maximilian Y’s rather ‘unique’ experiments.
The moment Mu Lan had noticed Shen’s presence, the boy did too and he sank away in the water. His body hovered farther and farther away until Shen neared Mu Lan. The boy noticed how Mu Lan didn’t shy away when Shen entered. Cautiously he approached the two whispering people until he was at their heels in the warm bath water, realizing that Shen wasn’t someone he had to fear.
“Do you know his name?” asked Shen quietly.
“No, but I don’t quite mind. He responds well to ‘friend’.” Mu Lan replied with a smile as the boy drew closer.
Shen turned his head and smiled at the bubble covered boy. His body was practically reflecting the glowing candle light around the room. Shen was amazed by the phenomenon but he ignored his beating desire to test anything as he offered a hand to the boy, who accepted it reluctantly this time.
As a smile covered everyone’s faces they left the bathing room and soon enough Shen found some extra clothes which were quickly mended to fit the boy: an old t-shirt and vest, plus a nice pair of pants. All were lined with a material which held water in small amounts- a material Shen had planned to use in his greenhouse but quickly offered the boy.
The silent prince beamed as he stared into the mirror and turning around he smiled back at Shen. The boy seemed happy, so Shen took the prince by the hand he led him downstairs into the dining room where Mu Lan was quickly setting the table for dinner. “Set up a plate for yourself and our prince here,” Shen ordered as they walked into the room.
They all took their seats moments later, ate, and were dismissed in silence. Shen felt as if there was nothing to say; the boy was eating very little so he figured he had more of a unique diet- more amphibious. So he took the boy to the greenhouse, leading him back through the familiar hallways to the double glass doors at the end of a dark hall.
The greenhouse was lit up with a few lights but for the most part it was dark. “You hang out here for a few moments, I’m going to go get something for the both of us.” Shen nodded his head and turned around the corner. His footsteps quickly vanished into the distance and the prince turned his head slowly as he stared into the greenhouse.
He pushed the doors open carefully and peeked through, looking around. Silently he stepped inside and wandered about before he found himself some entertainment in one of the ponds at the far end of the greenhouse.
However, when Shen returned with a tray of cookies for them to enjoy, figuring the boy had grown full on flies and everything else that lurked in this second-floor greenhouse, the boy wasn’t anywhere in sight. “Are you here?” he asked. Silence was his answer and carefully he maneuvered through the greenhouse till he found the pond where the boy had been playing.
The window behind it was wide open and nothing of the boy was left. He was gone- leaving Shen alone again. Sighing Shen set himself down in a chair and closed his eyes, leaning his head back in distress. “As long as he is happy, I am. He knows where I live now.”
Pulling up a sugar cookie Shen took a small bite out of it and fell asleep in the chair, to tired from the day’s activities to return to his own bed.
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Posted: Thu Jan 21, 2010 5:18 pm
Dju's verdict: Plays like a novel, these are my favorite kind of entries. The "wandering gene" was a very nice linking theme to open up the entry (very clever in my opinion). There might have been a touch too many names you were introducing (I was kinda confused to who Caitlin was)--you don't wanna confuse the reader or overwhelm them with so much information! Reading over it again, it starts to sound a little like a biography so you wanna be careful with that for next time. Asides from a few awkward sentences here and there, the introduction to the boy was very sweet (n.b. "drug" isn't the right word you want though XD) and the ending was adorable--good job!
King's Verdict: Wow, I really liked this entry. Intro.. meh, I skimmed parts here and there but the paragraphs to follow had a richness to them that I almost literally forgot that I was going to critique the intro LOL. Loved the frog portrayal a lot. You didn't make him too like.. dear diary emo woe is me but like.. implied the misery we would expect him to feel and then the joy of being "rescued" without it being too abrupt. -applauds-
Adona Benedicta
The Callaghan family was large and loud. It might've been a fun experience to grow up in, had Saoirse Callaghan not been the middle-child in a family of five girls and two boys. Her parents worked hard to support the children, and those who were older were gone by the time Saoirse was thirteen. Her eldest brother, Thomas Callaghan, had joined the military. Her eldest sister, Caoimhe, by opposition had married young and moved to Northern Ireland with her husband. As far as Saoirse knew, they were happy and fertile.
Her second oldest brother, the sweetheart Michael, had married and cheated and cheated again. Her mother called it a Wandering gene they shared. At the time, Saoirse just thought she was making excuses, but by the time Saoirse was old enough to understand, she, too, had been bitten by the Wandering gene. Hers at least wasn't about cheating on a spouse. While the eldest three had moved on with their lives, it left Saoirse to tend to her aging mother and her younger siblings. Caitlin was a sweet child, smart for her age and quick to learn.
Saoirse was looking forward to hearing word of Caitlin's engagement from Ireland. It would be a beautiful ceremony, she was certain. And the twins, bless their hearts, had taken to working with their mother to make ends meet. Even knowing how well the Callaghan clan was doing without her, Saoirse still felt guilty for leaving. Her mother had sworn to her that it would do no good to dwell, and she felt no regrets, but... Well. Living on one's own wasn't something she was accustomed to.
When she decided to move, her mother had been right there with her. She knew only that staying in Ireland held no prospects for her. She wanted to travel far and wide like her dear Thomas in the military, see what was out there to be seen. Her mother had offered her a slew of places to go where family would be easily accessed, but in the end, she knew she didn't want that. She wanted to be far from her family, but even that decision didn't narrow things down.
In the end, much like her mother had done when her father had insisted on moving out of Dublin and to a smaller town, she simply found a map and a dart and threw. Fate lured her to Former England, and luck led her to Saltaire. It was small, and rural, and relatively quiet. The military did not trample through the town as often as they would do to a large city, and it gave Saoirse the privacy she needed. But even in such a small town, the effects of poverty could be seen.
With the meager earnings she had, Saoirse had ventured from the safety of her small hovel of a house in search of bread. It still baffled her even months after moving to Saltaire that she was forced to buy bread instead of baking it, but the ingredients and energy spent baking bread could just as easily be used to buy a loaf and use the saved time to work. It was breaking her spirit, bit by bit, but she was becoming used to it. She bound her brilliant red hair back with a worn-down rag and pulled on two of her thicker coats, then ventured out into the cold.
The walk to the grocer was long and without incident. The cold weather didn't bother her so much as the length of the walk, but on she trudged. Upon arriving at a bus stop, she had debated on paying to take the vehicle to the grocers, but it would cut into her food funds and she'd rather walk and have food then ride and go without. It was on this walk that she watched the people around her, huddled together for warmth and hiding inside buildings to get out of the cold. She walked onward, unaware of the dwindling people on the streets. It was from a distance that she spotted someone sitting on the sidewalk, huddled against a building and hiding from the wind. Her heart ached for the poor boy, and as she came closer, her mind resolved to immediately feed this boy. If that was all she could do for him, at least it would be something.
"Excuse me-"
She trailed off upon seeing the boy's... unique traits. His skin was a bright shade of green, not unlike a leaf in the springtime and certainly not 'green' with sickness. It was right and truly green! And those intricate markings, covering his face and arms and everywhere else, she was sure. Saoirse stepped back with a hand to her mouth, green eyes growing wide. "Oh. I'm..." She trailed off again, staring at the boy. What was this strange creature?
Belatedly, the rumors she'd heard while stitching together a coat for one of her neighbors came to mind. Those 'royal projects' of Maximilian's. Were there truth to those fairytales after all? She scoffed a little. Next thing she'd hear, the good Fairy King would be prancing around come springtime. Skeptical as she was of the rumors, the Irish woman couldn't deny fact: This little... creature was cold and hungry, just like everyone else in the village of Saltaire. She steeled her reserve (what was so different about him anyway? his skin? how superficial!) and stepped closer, holding out a hand. "You must be freezing out here, love." She smiled quietly.
The amphibious boy peered up at her with his big, wide eyes, and frowned slowly. "It's not so bad," he replied dumbly, lowering his eyes to the woman's outstretched hand. He tried to smile a little, reaching out with his own webbed hand. "It's been worse."
"Aye, it has," agreed Saoirse, squeezing the hand and trying not to balk at the webbing between his fingers. "And I imagine you're hungry, hm?" She pulled him up. "Come on, then. Let's get you something to eat." She smiled encouragingly at the boy, looking down at him and clicking her tongue. "When was the last time you had a good meal?"
"I don't remember," the boy muttered, looking over at her with a frown. "I-I don't have any money, ma'am..." He trailed off, looking away. The broken expression on his face was something Saoirse felt in her heart. It was ridiculous, feeling so much for a poor boy after only a few words.
"I've got enough for both of us." She replied with a snort, shrugging off her outer coat and draping it around him. "Come on, then." Saoirse took the boy's webbed hand yet again, and walked onward. Buying the groceries was a simply enough task, although the poor grocer boy had stared something awful at the green-faced child Saoirse drug around like her own.
When they left the grocery store, the expression on the little Prince's face was pretty easy to read: He was waiting for her to leave him, or perhaps give him a bit of bread and send him on his way. Instead, Saoirse simply waved him off and kept dragging him on. Past the corner they'd met on, past the bus stop... "Where are we going, ma'am?" He ventured finally, swallowing. Was she taking him to the police, o-or to the military?
"Home." Saoirse said simply. It was only one word, but it was spoken warmly and fondly. Saoirse had fought hard to find her home, and she had it now. It wasn't large by any means, perhaps it would hold the two of them comfortably but no more at all. The Prince blinked at her, and followed after her quickly. This woman was taking him home?
When they arrived to the small hovel Saoirse called a house, she turned to face the Prince before they went inside. "Do you have a home, boy?" He shook his head. "Any family? Friends? Someone to stay with?" Another headshake. Saoirse nodded shortly, as if those two answers had made everything much clearer. "You'll stay here as long as you like. You'll need to help around the house, do the chores, but you have a home here now, and food on the table." Saoirse smiled. "Do you like the sound of that?"
The Prince watched her closely, frowning, and nodded slowly. "Yes, ma'am." He mumbled, giving her a shy half-smile.
"Good." Saoirse grinned, and opened the door. "My name's Saoirse Callaghan. You needn't call me ma'am all the time." She looked over, tilting her head and eying him. "What's your name, love?"
The Prince blinked, and frowned. "I haven't got one, ma'am." At least, not one he could remember or chose to. Saoirse nodded a little, and smiled at him.
"Well, we'll figure that out later." She promised, ushering him inside. "Come on, let's eat." They sat down at the tiny dining table, and broke bread. For the first time, Saoirse felt like she was home with someone to take care of. And the little Prince, who Saoirse had later named Nicolas... He was home, too.
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Posted: Thu Jan 21, 2010 5:19 pm
King's Verdict: Lots of background, but impeccable as a whole. I.. honestly can't say anything really bad about it and Im curious as to how Natalya would interact with the NPC's in a different setting xD (since this is a fictitious prompt)
Dju's verdict: I fell in love with this entry. After the previous entry we were not expecting to see another excellent one following straight after it but this made us pleasantly surprised. Impeccable grammar and spelling, interestingly written, and I barely noticed how much background information you put into it wink I would love to see Natalya interacting with Max in a different setting, I'm sure he would get a super huge crush on her razz
d o m i n o - c h i l d
Natalya's eyes flickered open and glanced around the room. She was encased in a transparent -- we could call it bubble, I suppose -- bubble of air that encircled every part of her body and rendered her incapable of moving. A flash of annoyance crossed her face as she realized it was over time, and she tried to stretch, the elastic material around her moving itself to be compatible with her body movements. Reaching blindly around the enclosed space, Natalya's fingers finally pushed the red button, and the almost suffocating material disentangled itself from her, dropping the woman down onto the soft queen-sized bed that had lay invitingly below her. She rubbed her hand to her head in obvious discomfort, placed herself upright, and called for Alexandra, one of the many employees of her residence. For being somewhat annoyed by the complex English names each had, she gave each of them a name that was somewhat familiar to her Russian heritage.
Immediately, a holographic figure appeared -- that of an older lady perhaps in her thirties. Natalya sighed and turned to the image, pushing her annoyed face to make it seem even more obvious.
"Alexandra, did I not say I wanted to be awoken in 30 minutes? And you turn it into one hour!" A refined and yet slightly worn Russian accent found itself into her voice, but overall she had the impeccable and well practiced speech of a person who had learned English for quite a while.
The older woman bowed, her face turned up in embarrassment. It was highly unlikely for any of the holographic services these days to malfunction, and with this problem, Ms. Roslyakova would most likely dispose of her and anything related immediately, as the woman took only the best, be it machine or reality.
"My deepest apologies, Ms. Roslyakova. I intended to wake you at the designated time, but my systems malfunctioned."
Natalya's eyes narrowed and even the holographic image knew that she had replied wrongly. Excuses were not taken lightly by the girl -- either you were wrong or you were right, and if you couldn't admit that you were wrong or you gave any excuses, you were not fit to become part of her staff.
"You may leave. Please contact your company immediately -- I would like to terminate my contract with them as soon as possible."
The image nodded, and Natalya could see the older woman's flushed face. The image immediately flickered to nothing, and it was if nothing had ever touched the thick carpet floor. 'Serves her right', she thought, annoyed at the lack of punctuality that had been shown. Obviously, she had had a once more unsuccessful search for the perfect holographic image company. If the Russian woman were a genius that specified in technology, perhaps she could have invented her own device, but in this case she was the Albert Einstein of textiles and fabrics, and when it came to practical technology she had little to no experience and usually had her many scientists help her fix it up at one point.
When finally she was on her own again, she made her way to a mirror and examined her eyes, looking for a difference in the color or the shape. A picture of her former self found itself posted onto the golden gilded mirror, and she leered at it, noticing the small differences here and there. A sharper nose, brighter eyes, and paler skin, as well as a finer texture to her hair. The machine had worked, but not anything close to its full potential. The girl mentally noted that in her head, ready to retrieve it when the time came. And saying so, she fell back onto her bed, tinkering with the charms on her bracelet as she wondered what to do.
After her father and her had become rich from both their separate industries, life had become easy. Yerik Roslyakov had made his fortune back when he lived in Russia -- he became a weapons developer, and soon became a famous one at that. And Natalya? As a simple explanation, despite the fact that he had led her to drugs, she loved her fiancé ... and then he eloped with another woman on the day of their wedding day. She died inside, as they say, and she never did heal. It was different from having your 'boyfriend' break up with you. This was reality -- this was her fiancé abandoning her at their wedding. It was embarrassing and she had loved him. Perhaps that is what woke her up, because from then on she realized that she needed to go for her real dreams. And that ... was fashion. Natalya moved to Saltaire, and made a new living there as a model. Her frosty Russian refinery was regarded as perfect for the modeling industry, and she soon became a local celebrity. When she turned 22, she decided to start up her own fashion industry and made her own label, Nat Ros, which was one of the first things she really put her heart into, something that somehow made it next there to the ancient designer labels -- Louis Vuitton, Armanio, Balenciaga. And yet, by the time she turned 25, she was bored.
Suddenly, a knock sounded on her door, and she blinked as she wandered out of her pondering before saying softly, "Come in." The door opened and a Russian man with ruffled blonde hair made his way into the room. A smile lit up Natalya's face and she stood up immediately. "What is the problem, Sergei?"
The Russian man was in fact a human android, something that her father had attempted to make as a robot soldier, but had never succeeded with. In turn, he gave it to his daughter, altering the robot's surface to make it much more appealing. In truth, she was the only real person that lived in this house as the chefs and maids only came in during the times that they had to. Natalya didn't like ... people. They and their emotions were too complex for her, and ever since her marriage fiasco, she'd mostly thought to stay away from her friends and family. That wasn’t to say she was antisocial, she just preferred to be alone. Unlike the other employees in the house, this android was treated with respect -- for he had a Russian accent and Russian linguistics -- as well as a Russian feel that she always needed for her homesickness, something that even though she had lived for ten years in Saltaire, she could never get rid of.
"Mr. Smirnov is here to see you, Ms. Roslyakova. After, you have a press conference to attend at 1 o' clock about your newest line." His soft accented voice was soothing to her frazzled nerves from firing one of her attendants, and Natalya stood up nodding as Sergei left the room.
She darted to her closet, which in retrospect was quite large, and stood in front of the mirror.
"Good morning, Ms. Roslyakova. Could you please place your hand on the palm reader so we can test your DNA for a match?" The robotic voice came from the speaker at the top of her wardrobe and Natalya immediately put her hand onto the palm reader, wanting to get the lot over with.
"Match made. Ms. Roslyakova, could you please tell us your occasion so I can determine the perfect outfit?"
"Press conference for my new line." She spoke clearly and slowly into the microphone next to the mirror, and within a few seconds a holographic image of her had appeared in front of the mirror, modeling one of the outfits that had never made it onto the runway. Rejects were common in this industry, and usually Natalya threw them away, but this; it looked good.
"Is this satisfactory, Ms. Roslyakova?"
"Of course, N.A.T.mind, as it always is." She immediately made her way through the closet, flipping through clothes as the girl finally drew out the outfit desired. N.A.T.mind had been her greatest creation ever, and though she hadn't done any of the actual work to make it, she had designed it and ... tried to help the scientists working for her. They were working on it so that the machine would be able to actually fetch the clothes, but Natalya found that she preferred getting it herself. She would most definitely keep the older version.
Walking out of the closet with a quick thank you, she turned to one of the body-length mirrors by her bed and scrutinized the outfit once again. As she slipped the elegant sapphire blue turtle neck on, as well as an ivory skirt and a pair of cerulean tights, she knew that N.A.T.mind had made the right choice. The machine had incorporated her unique style as well as business wear into the formula, and in saying that she looked nothing short of sexy.
Smiling, she made her way to her cosmetics drawer, and took out white eyeshadow and eyeliner. There was no need for a machine to suggest what she do when it came to makeup, for she knew anything there was to it (though that wasn’t to say she didn’t know anything about clothes). Brushing on the eyeshadow in layers, she also applied the eye liner so it was almost impossible to see, but still made that subtle effect. Stepping away from the mirror, Natalya looked at herself in a sort of half delight. The men would fall today, and that was not only just going to be Marcovic Smirnov. Ever since her incident, she'd held little respect for any males, and regarded them with a sort of contempt -- led them on, played with their hearts, and eventually threw them away. Even so, Natalya was not cruel; she just hung onto the past with a ferocity that was almost solid to touch.
Turning around in the mirror, the woman decided to complete the outfit with large beaded white necklace and two earrings to match, she was absolutely ready to go, grabbing one of her specially designed white clutches originally for her collection on the way. Perhaps that was one of the ups to being a designer. You did get to keep your own designs (and all the failures as well) and actually wear them. In fact, Natalya loved to make herself clothes instead of buying them, for she found that store bought clothes never did express her individuality.
Finally and reluctantly, the Russian woman decided to make her way down to where Mr. Smirnov was waiting. She wasn't really looking forward to the event, as the man in his late thirties never did seem all that interested in the matters at hand -- unless they consisted of something in the bra of her shirt. But then again, he was Russian and speaking in Russian was always a great relief to her.
As she descended the spiral staircase, she found the man waiting for her in anticipation and hugged him in a way that could only be described as platonic. There was no doubt that he was an attractive man, but Natalya had found her interest in men seriously depleted ever since her failed engagement attempt. Of course, men's interest in her was a completely different subject, one she preferred not to approach, as it would only lead to unpleasant memories and annoying conversations.
"Natalya! You are looking absolutely ravishing today. May I ask of the event?" His voice was smooth, and unlike Natalya, his tones and accents were completely void of any Russian.
"Markovic, I am attending a press conference in half an hour. Love, you know the consequences when you're late for something. They yell. Could I cut this otherwise pleasant meeting somewhat short? The machine did fine, though one of my former employees timed the thirty minutes wrongly and it turned out differently than it was supposed to." With annoyance, Natalya forced a somewhat puppy-dog like face onto her elegant features, but she knew he would cave. Always would. He was just a man.
With a flourish of his hand, Smirnov replied with vigor, smiling with dazzlingly white teeth. "Of course. Though I must say, they would never yell at you. I'd just like to inquire as to where the differences are? If we are to make this invention work Natalya, you must understand we will be richer than rich. Not to mention that I will be featured in the history books. Would you please try it again, my dear?"
Markovic Smirnov was a cosmetic surgeon. To put it more straightforward, he was a facial cosmetic surgeon. His life revolved around finding easier and safer ways of changing the features of a human face, and he succeeded quite well in that. Natalya herself had no interest in it. However, when the man came to Natalya with a proposition and an invention like something she'd never seen before, Natalya could not refuse the offer. It was something along the lines of a facial feature changer. You were able to type in what you wanted -- for example, to change the color of your eyes, the shape of your face -- with one click, it was done. Natalya had offered to play her part as the model and had received quite the deal in return -- how many ever she wanted of these machines when they came out, she could have. It worked in having a skintight bubble wrapped around the body. The 'bubble' material was made of microscopic needles, which surveyed the body and pierced it, entering the DNA lines. And in saying so, it literally changed the form of one's DNA, and in retrospect, it literally changed how you looked permanently or just for a while unless you decided to deactivate the entire program. Natalya personally found it fascinating and the deal she would receive was more than just satisfactory.
"My eyes are just slight bit brighter, my nose is sharper, and I have paler skin and fairer hair. I think it could have reached a fuller potential if the acting time had been right though. And of course, dear Markovic. I'll start the experiment again the minute I make my way home from this tiring meeting. And speaking of so, I must get going right now. If you'll excuse me? I’ll have one of the employees lead you out, Sergei is waiting." She batted her eyelashes and made her way towards the door, where Sergei was already waiting in the car. Flustered, Markovic Smirnov nodded but looked irritated at Sergei, and Natalya laughed a fluttering laugh. "Darling, he's just an android."
As she boarded the car, Natalya relaxed. Perhaps one of her safe places was her treasured CVOX122, a gorgeous car that she hadn't changed, but had been kept in pristine condition for two years, which for her was quite the long time. The few people that had found themselves in the car were ... very few and they were most likely going to be kicked out soon. She didn't like people in her private spaces, though Sergei was an obvious exception from 'people'. He was probably her best friend, however pathetic that sounded.
"Sergei, take the shortcut please?"
Natalya had lived long enough in Saltaire to know almost every nook and cranny of the place, and Sergei also knew quite well what she was talking about as well. The 'shortcut' made its way into a different part of the town, more rural and poorer. But it was always empty, there never was any traffic, and there was less of the irritating haze that covered the town streets. Or in this case, the drip of rain from a thunderstorm earlier.
As the car cruised along, she noticed something on one of the stone walls. Or perhaps it was someone. It was a strange occurrence to be noticed by Natalya Roslyakova, that was to be sure, and if you were, there obviously was going to be something special about you. There was something special about this figure sitting next to one of the drains that dripped water continuously, she knew. Wiping the condensation from the window hurriedly, Natalya stared out of the glass like a child, scrutinizing at the hunched figure leaning against the wall.
It shouldn't have been anything particularly eye grabbing, but the woman found herself reaching for Sergei's shoulder and asking him to stop in a strange urgency that she couldn't quite define. Then she opened the car door, and stepped out gingerly in her strappy heels, grabbing an overcoat as she did. The sight she had regarded as something 'special' was nothing but a young beggar boy hardly at the age of eleven. Perhaps it had been his strangely colored, almost green blonde hair that had attracted her attention -- or maybe it was his position; the boy looked up to the sky as if he was enjoying the rain, something she found highly strange. But then again, this was a beggar boy … nothing more. Natalya almost turned around and walked straight back into her warm car before noticing the stripes. He had stripes on his face, patterned stripes that curled around two bright green eyes that now stared at her inquisitively. And now that she looked closer, Natalya could see green skin, webbed fingers and webbed toes, and the same pretty patterns under his ragged clothes. He was beautiful, and she breathed in awe. She was stupid. She was ignorant.
This was one of the experiments.
Though she had been away on a business trip for the two parties that Professor X and Y had held, she knew quite well from all her fellow socialites the exact reasons and rumors that had occurred while she had gone. Professor Maximilian X had apparently been playing in his lab with biogenetics, and had created something nobody had ever heard of before: a frog 'prince'. Perhaps she was wrong, but there was a half-Russian girl, Tali Novikov that had received one of these … things as well. And as the time had passed, Natalya had been displeased that she hadn't had the chance to offer anything she had for the fascinating creatures everyone gushed about. Perhaps it was the fact that she was scared of becoming pregnant, scared of becoming married, but Natalya was deeply frightened of ever having children. She couldn't adopt children either, because anything remotely childlike froze her for reasons unknown. Perhaps it was that she thought about what it would be like if her former fiancé and her had really gotten married. Natalya had had this feeling from the start that perhaps if she'd gotten a Prince she could take care of a child and … learn to love again.
Natalya took a few steps forward, her usual confidence almost completely drained. This child was having a huge affect on her, something that had never happened before because she usually had the big affect on others. The boy's closed eyes then opened, staring into hers again, and then he pointed at the sky.
"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live there? In the sky?" His voice was pure and naturally curious, and for a sudden moment, Natalya felt the need to sit next to him. And so she did. The huge overcoat she had grabbed from within her spacious car was the only thing that got dirty as she sat down next to the little Frog Prince and stared up at the sky as well.
"When I was young I wanted to fly in the sky with the stars," She remarked quietly. This was a tale she'd told no others -- there were times when she had tried to fly but never could. It had been one of her childhood dreams that she'd gotten rid of when she expelled marriage and relationships from her mind.
"I want to go up there too. Sometimes I wonder whether there is a huge lake up there waiting for me to dip and dive within it." He solemnly said, curling his arms over his legs as he hunched over.
Natalya touched the boy's shoulder gently as she sighed, "The sky is unhappy as well, child. It's crying. This is not regular water, you see. These are the tears of someone important up there." She paused for a second, finally turning a head to him and looking him in the eye. "What is your name?"
The boy nodded, looking down from the captivating sky and to Natalya. "Perhaps so. I don't know what my name is. They never gave me one at the lab. I was called 006, and I was supposed to be given away at one of the Uncle Max's events. But he didn't choose me. They didn't choose me. They threw me away for another one." He looked away again, burying his head under his arms.
Natalya's heart broke. How could he … how could this Professor be so cold hearted? She felt horrible now, as if she wanted to personally kill this Professor Max for all the horrible memories he'd bestowed upon this child. For god's sake, he didn't have a name, and he was only 10 or 11! Natalya swallowed, and smiled at the prince. And suddenly feeling something completely motherly and something completely unlike her, she slowly wrapped her arms around the Frog Prince gingerly, and gave probably one of his first hugs ever.
As she pulled away, Natalya knew she had to do something. "I can give you a name, if you want. I can give you a home, darling."
He squinted at Natalya, almost seeming suspicious. There was no doubt that she'd been uncharacteristically kind to him, but he hadn't experienced a kindness like this in a long time -- perhaps forever. He wanted desperately to go, but he knew that he couldn't. "I can't. I'm sorry. I can only survive with water, and the only place I can find water is here."
Natalya ... for a second, she almost laughed. It was perhaps one of the funniest things she had heard from a child, and the radiant smile that lit up her face shocked the boy as he stuck his tongue out at what the problem was.
"Love, I have all the water you would need. I can make water -- I can give you an ocean if that's what you wanted. We have things in common, young one. I have no friends, and neither do you. But we can become friends, don't you see? ... I can make you happy. And you … you can make me happy." Words spilled from her mouth, and suddenly Natalya wondered whether or not they even made sense.
"I don't know." The little Prince said, staring straight forward. His mind was already made. He wanted to have some fun; he didn't want to stay on the streets for the rest of his life. He wanted to become part of a family, like the rest of the Princes had. He wanted to live a normal life.
Natalya stood up, dusting the imaginary dust off of her expensive coat. It would be useless now. But having a Frog Prince would be worth all of her expensive coats, all of her clothing in fact. In saying so, she held out a hand to the little boy. Staring at it for perhaps a few seconds, he finally put his hand into hers and stood up. With a radiant smile, Natalya’s spirits soared. It already seemed as if her heart had been unfrozen by this Frog Prince, and she just couldn’t stop smiling, for he was adorable and sweet. In saying so, she and the little boy walked into the car together, and Natalya led him onto the car, and introduced him to Sergei.
"Sergei, this is a little boy you will be seeing around the house quite a bit. And little one, this is Sergei, my butler for all purposes. Sergei, could I have a towel?"
He nodded and opened one of the compartments in the car. They had had everything restocked, and he took two towels and handed them to Natalya. Perhaps that was the best thing about Sergei; he never asked questions or tried to object, he just agreed. She proceeded in wiping the boy's wet head off and smiling at him again ... and then stared at her watch in horror.
"Oh s**t. Sergei, quickly get to the Conference Room. I'm late." With a rev of the engine, the car started, sending an electric twing through the little boy's system. He'd never been on a car before, and it was ... fascinating. He loved it. And strangely, the little boy knew he'd made the right choice in coming onto the car with the lady.
--
The crowd waited, some with assorted cameras in their hands. It was unlikely for Natalya Roslyakova to be late, and it had even been quoted from her, 'I despise being late and I despite people that are late." Quite a crowd had formed to watch her unveil her new collection -- it proved that even in these times people still had the money and the interest to engage in fashion. Her legendary label had been going on for quite some time, and even when others had died out such as Gucci and Balenciaga, Nat Ros would still go on.
Suddenly, a car zoomed towards the front of the building. It was white, it was sleek, it was Natalya Roslyakova. A cheer went out from the crowd, as others waited with wallets in hand. No doubt they hoped to buy the clothes she was wearing right off of her. But as her legendary butler, Sergei, opened the door to the car they were in, the crowd froze for a second, staring at the person ... creature ... boy that followed the Russian beauty out. Now, everyone knew of her aversion to children -- not an aversion perhaps, but a fear? But this one was different. He had the features of an ... an amphibian, and finally the crowd looked at the creature and saw ... one of Professor Maximilian's "royal" Princes. A collective gasp ran through the crowd, the richer ones in the front taking frantic pictures as they stared at the beautiful boy.
And then Natalya herself spoke quietly.
"I would like everyone to meet my little boy, Aleksandr."
Natalya knew that this Maximilian would most likely annihilate her for introducing one of his ‘kept under secret’ pets. In truth, she didn’t care. If Maximilian could try to kill a child by sending him onto the streets, then a complete unmasking of his project would put the b*****d in his place.
Because, as far as she was concerned, Maximilian X could go to hell.
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Posted: Fri Jan 22, 2010 7:18 am
Dju's verdict: The first paragraph is a little bit awkward. It makes it sound like you don't really know what poverty is or what that metaphor stands for. I also don't see how shunning the poor would do anything good to their reputation but anyways, the metaphor liked to Saltaire being a tumor was quite clever. I like this entry because it makes me laugh a bit, Dexter's reaction is hilarious, though I can't shake off the awkward phrases that you put here and there--they make the story stop flowing and I have to re-read the sentence just to make sure I know what you're trying to say. "Yolanda Vogue" XD *snort*
I also don't get the ending part where it's obvious the boy has been cast out and yet instead of just taking him home with Dexter, he insists on taking him to Rheinfels to announce that he's taking the boy? If Max abandoned him, that probably suggests that he didn't want him anymore so why would Dexter visit and give him the opportunity to try and extort Dexter?? Doesn't make sense, looks like the ending was tacked on for lols.
King's Verdict: I actually liked this entry a little better than the last one, Dexter seemed to fit into Saltaire a lot better than I imagined him last time. I like the crowdly reaction to the boy, and then Dexter's overall feeling about the boy. Only probs would be the short ending and what Dju said about it being weird to want to go back to Rheinfels. I would've liked to have seen what Dexter would've done after apprehending the boy but other than that, I'm more comfortable with this guy now than I was in the initial entry.
Carhop Calvalier
The town of Saltaire had long known the curse of poverty, almost embracing it thanks to the MOTHERLAND. Urchins crowded back alleys, forgotten war veterans fought over crusts in the streets, and mothers trying to feed their starving children offered their bodies for food. All these people had been turned away by the MOTHERLAND, saying that “food can’t cure cancer.” That was how the MOTHERLAND saw anything that could cause harm to it or its reputation; cancer. Saltaire was the biggest tumor of them all.
“Jesus crap, it’s bloody cold.” The drug dealer pulled his fur line coated more snuggly around his body, doing the same with his scarf of navy and sapphire blues. His pants were of a similar hue, as were his shoes and gloves. His apparel brought out his striking blue eyes, light circles under them tracing a map to his pointed nose, which pointed to his frowning lips that in turn drew attention to the beauty mark at the beginning of his chin. The man was named Dexter, and he looked nothing like a drug dealer. It was Sunday, the day he took off from his dealings.
The reason he was out? He had a date with his flavor of the week turned girlfriend going on six months, the Irish Czechoslovakian fashion model Yolanda Vogue. They were going to meet at some prissy little café tucked away into a nook formed by a back alley and a market that specialized in unexposed fruits- fruit that was grown in indoor green houses and never exposed to radiation. Yolanda and he had gone to the café before; Dexter liked the hot chocolate and rum drink they had there. The café had a little music section as well, selling many indie-genre holo-Ds. A holo-D was an upgrade of the ancient CD, a device that had somehow remained alive until recently. The holo-D was a disk that, when put into a player, projected images of the band playing a song into the user’s mind. The MOTHERLAND took credit for the invention of course, though Dexter had heard from a few credible sources that the Enemy’s scientists had actually come up with the nifty little device. He never heard from those sources again though.
Pitter-patter.
“Son of a mutated monkey…” Dexter shoved his hands into his coat pockets, wishing he had brought a hat or umbrella with him. The rain in Saltaire was never light, nor was it ever clean. Sparse traces of acidic bio-toxins that made the clouds the ghastly green they were came down with the rain. The rain never hurt anyone in a major way, the toxins couldn’t get through clothing, and if any drops did hit one’s face, it only stung for a moment. It was still annoying, however, and only made the harsh cold of nuclear winter even worse. Luckily, he could see the café now, picking up his pace in response so as to reach the heated shelter, and his girlfriend, faster.
He bumped into others that were making their way towards shelters, most of them dressed in rags and tatters. The poor of Saltaire - a majority of them were his customers. Dexter almost pitied them, before remembering that it was their own fault for being addicted, and they could afford food and other necessities if they weren’t morphine shooting idiots. A few seemed to recognize him, but they kept their mouths shut when Dexter shot a sharp look at them.
The rest of those in the walkway he didn’t recognize, but one in particular caught his interest. A boy of around eleven was just standing there, pulling his rags tightly around his body as he looked up into the sky, a sad grin spreading across his face. His face, Dexter noticed, was stranger than his actions. It was…green? An effect of radiation mutation in the womb, Dexter assumed. But if that were the case, then why were there intricate patterns making little highways on his face? He’d never heard of DNA mutation that caused markings that looked oddly like a frog’s patterns. Hold on…did he have slits for pupils? What in the name of God was this child? Dexter looked the strange being up and down, and was surprised to see him barefoot. His feet were webbed, like a fro- was that a tail?!
Dexter slapped himself, quite hard. If this was a dream, it was time to wake up now. What in the name of all that was Holy was a frog boy doing in the streets? The things cost a small fortune, more than five years’ worth of salary! And to think that someone would just throw one out on the streets like this…
“Oh look at the abomination!” “I hear Maximilian from Rheinfels kicked him out.” “He must be a failed one.” Whispers along those lines came from the fine folk who crowded the walkway, stopping along their way to shelter- as Dexter had- to poke fun at the poor creature. Gossips giggled madly at the Princeling’s misfortune, but he was completely oblivious to it. He just stood there, looking at the crying sky with that sorrow filled grin.
Dexter’s sense of justice -long thought dead- reared its head for a rare moment of righteous action. There was one thing Dexter believed to be pure; children. Seeing a child mistreated in such a way put a fire in his belly and quickness to his steps, as he grabbed the child by the hand, and dragged him in the direction of the café. Dexter had formulated a plan; he would explain the situation to Yolanda, get in her car, drive to Rheinfels, and give that d**k of a scientist what for. If the MOTHERLAND had Child Protective Services like the Enemy did, Dexter would have them on Maximilian in a flash; but he would have to settle for taking giving him a talking to.
“Mister, where are you taking me?”
“I’m telling Maximilian you belong to me now.”
“But Maximilian won’t allow it without payment.”
“Maximilian can eat toe cheese.”
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Posted: Fri Jan 22, 2010 5:31 pm
King's Verdict: Uuuuhusghugjfks First persooooon xDD I know, I know, god forbid anyone use a legitimate sort of perspective but do I LOATHE first person. This entry felt and looked quite short although we were warned about it, but it could have been this short and still brimming with content. I can only describe my feelings towards this entry as I guess poetic? It feels like a journal entry or a set of dialogue between characters.. I don't know how to describe it I guess, I'm pretty sure its just cause its in first person. However, I don't get a very good sense of the character and feel dismayed that I don't learn his name until the second to last paragraph. Also the interaction with the Princeling is questionably vague. I almost want to take the drivers seat for this angelic person and give them some sort of fatal flaw cause I'm sadistic and mean like that, Still, its a good try and is an excellent form of writing.
Dju's verdict: I'm not quite sure how to critique this entry since it's so different from everything we've seen in the past. We linked the Library, which hosts the winning entries from past contests, and told people to look through role plays to get a good grasp on the shop. Your entry was very poetic, but it lacked the description and interaction we were looking for. A third-person entry would have probably brought out your skills as a writer better, so try to keep that in mind in the future. Overall it was very creative, I just don't know how to judge it with the others.
DeMoNtAiNtEd
Hopefully I at least got the setup of this right... :3
And by all means, do enjoy the read, even if it is a bit brief.
--
Such ill weather these days, always so dark, so wet, so drab, and lifeless. These poorly kept walkways and streets are hard on my knees, I am an old relic of time- I cannot be expected to thrive in these little ventures anymore. I'm no longer as young as I once was. The glories of youth, how quickly they can pass one by. Much like anything alive out here, the buildings are pitch, hard to see with these wretched, failing eyes of mine. If I, am to be expected to continue on with this branch of unmentionable business, then they had best send a means of transportation to come fetch me then. I am too old for this, and the wet and the chill of this will likely be the death of me.
And who shall they look to then to continue on? Hah! I would swim in the polluted lakes for the thrill of it should they find any soul as capable as I with which to replace me!
But oh this weather! It shall be the death of-
My my my... would you look at that poor, drab little thing? Having caught my attentions so thoroughly, distracting me from a task, a journey, a job, or even a trek I had once been on the verge of completing... I know not, for I can no longer recall, so striking you are, small boy-child. Dressed in scraps, looking half starved, as if you have not eaten in days. And yet, and yet the delicate little waif manages to cherish the cold waters that rain down upon you. Leaning into the crystalline droplets, upturning your face, bearing a smooth, flushed cheek to the abandoned heavens to catch their tears upon your glorious flesh...
And his flesh! An oh-so-amorous shade of fine, shining green skin the little waif wears so enticingly! How the curiousness of his coloring so reminds me of my homelands, the rolling hills and winding roads I shall forever carry within my heart. The delicate boy-creature has enamored me so thoroughly, has delightfully stricken me by his exotic features and youthful innocence despite his lackluster state of current being!
Oh steady! Steady there my old friends, these hands of mine are far from the ages of my notorious prime, farther still from the firm, youthful physique I had once donned. Approach the nymph carefully! For you are an old man now, and must have a care in these darkened days. No longer the rugged and tempered warrior who attracted many a swooning heart and worship for heroism found through the eyes of a young babe, nor the rebellious daredevil adolescent who drew rumors, giggles and murmurings of awe and envy.
But oh the delicate frogling child- oh the small fragile boy in need of me! You do not know it yet, but you will. You will need me as I have need of you and your divine being!
"Take my hand my little fae-child, I shall help you." I speak to you, words soft as petals as my palms sweat and heart pumps furiously beneath the rattling cage of bone. I implore you my dear boy, how I implore you! Take my hand and accept all that I have to offer!
Yes, yes look upon me so with your curious eyes! With your tiny form and young, naive mind- accept me! Come to me and all that I possess shall be given unto you my young, wondrous little child of mine heart!
Your hand is small and wet, slick upon mine as you accept me- Connor Ó Cearrnaigh, your old but ever loyal guardian! So delicate, so fragile, and so full of youthful innocence my dear, dear boy-child... How I shall protect you from all and keep you safe between these two arms of mine!
How darling you are, my lively little frog- my small tadpole of affections. Oh my precious thing, so hungry you are! Shame upon me and mine for not tending to your needs sooner! "Come now my little one, let us fill that growling belly I hear beneath these rains." Come, come, let us ferry you away as we depart this weather, this dark, and abandoned place in which I found you, my treasure- my light in the shadows of my blackened soul. How I shall care for you my princeling, and in return, how you shall care for me...
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Posted: Fri Jan 22, 2010 7:38 pm
Dju's verdict: This entry feels very rushed to me. It's riddled with quite a number of careless errors throughout, and in the first paragraph alone (i.e. "making the female's walk rather funny sight to see"--a rather funny sight, instead maybe?). Also, when you're so vague about the introduction of characters in the first paragraph (i.e. this man, that woman, another woman, etc), you'd better link them correctly in the second paragraph or you'll leave your readers confused. (Btw, did you mean "snapped" instead of "snipped", because someone "snipping" their words doesn't make sense.)
Anyways, I'm getting sidetracked; the introduction part was a little too long and made me question what the point of it all was but the meeting with the Princeling was very sweet.. apart from when you said something about his shoe being a puke bucket xD; Remembering frog physiology, I doubt his foot is anywhere near small enough or normally-shaped enough to fit any shoe. All in all, the entry looks a bit like a rough draft to me and needs some polishing up and reminding that we're living in the 32nd Century wink
King's verdict: I see a lot of grammatical errors throughout this piece scattered about. Uhm.. I.. its the botanist entry? I couldn't tell from the beginning at all, I thought this was going to be another fashionista or royal family from the initial start. Hopefully I don't sound too mean when I say that I probably prefer the entry before this one from you. To be positive though, I liked the general form, and if the content had been a little more comprehensive I would've been able to follow it more. -nod-
hanging gallow
Entry round three: Iyou Sanjivani
The rain pattered against the window as the man with the small clinched vest quickly changed the settings on the window from the dark drizzly day outside to a rather cheerful feature of rolling hills with a light glaze of sun bouncing across them. With a snap of his fingers the spare set of lights from the ceiling turned on as the woman emerged from the dressing room into a large octane room. The large bunches of purple like silk pooled at the bottom causing the dress to feel rather heavy making the female’s walk rather funny sight to see. Another woman, in a rather plain plaid pattern dress, made her way across picking up the silk train in hopes of avoiding another tear in the half put together gown.
“Stand up straight Iyou,” a woman nestled in a high back white chair snipped. Her British accent lightly lingered in the air as her sharp blue eyes gave the impression of a rather daunting Pinscher Doberman. She wore a dark red dress that accented all of her features with a rather elegant shawl over her shoulders held with the most delicate pin. Her daughter gave her a half sympathetic in hopes of her mother understanding it wasn’t all of her doing, but even that was rather overlooked as her mother waved her off. She never seemed to understand much of anything other than what she wanted to see or hear.
“Ivan you have completely out done yourself this time,” the woman replied as she clasped her hands together as she bounced out of the chair.
“Madam Sanjivani yours words are far too generous we are hardly done yet!” The man replied as he started to pull a pincushion out of a rather ornate draw to the side. He out of everyone in the room knew where every piece of equipment was in his rather outlandish seamstress studio.
“She will be the eye of Kornbluh’s party next week! Ooooohhhh I can’t wait!” Madam Sanjivani ’s shrieking voice shrilling into her daughter’s ear as she neatly gave her a squeeze around the shoulders. At first glance they could have easily been mistaken as sisters however one had a slight edge of age appearing across her face. Their perfect hourglass like figures, long curls, and cat like eyes gave them all the features of being a mirror match, well that was except for Iyou’s coloring being like that of her fathers. Satin black hair, amber colored eyes, and dark tanned skin that made even her own mother’s skin pale as snow yet Iyou adored those features more so than the body her mother had gifted her.
For weeks on end her mother had been planning small tea parties, events, social gatherings anything for an excuse for Iyou to meet others in the social realm of the high society that surrounded the Saltaire. As for Iyou she hated it, she hated going anywhere near large groups of people full of bacteria, she hated having to leave her home into the invest germ like world of the outside and even more she hated having to leave her work of botany for such frivolous things. Her mother had merely brushed aside the idea of Iyou refusing all marriage proposals and insisted that she would when the best bidder came along…
“OW!” She cried as a pin suck into her side.
“Well Iyou if you weren’t moving so much maybe you wouldn’t get stuck,” her mother replied with a half smirk plastered on her face as the man with the pins gave a chuckle. Geez, sure her pain is everyone pleasure today, it was already bad enough her mother had to guilt trip her into the pouring rain (though later it digressed to a sheer ultimatum). Now she has to suffer at the hands of some man as her skin sent shivers across her body. Just the thought of human contact was unbearable to the suffering mysophobia let alone remembering that she would have to go back out into the muddy raining world again.
“And we are done, now please dear try not to tear the dress taking it off. “ The man with the pins replied as he nodded to the woman in the plaid dress.
Shaking her head Iyou headed into the smaller room along with woman holding on to the trail of her dress. Trying to wiggle out her out without sticking herself with another pin her ears could hear the voice of her mother through the door. Something about birthing hips and wanting lots of grandchildren, in which in Iyou’s world would never happen that would involve being far too close to some sort of male being of her mother’s choosing. The woman helping her to get out of the dress gave her a rather sympathetic look as she Iyou rolled her eyes. The day they replaced seamstresses with actually mechanical machines seemed all too far away from her. Quickly pulling on the jeans, button up white blouse and pulling the stripped vest Iyou quickly made her way out of the changing room as the other woman left with the gaudy dress.
Her mother was still chatting away with Ivan about another dress that she was looking into getting for herself, something about matching a new set of jewels that she was getting custom for her. Ignoring the ongoing chatter Iyou made her way to the window like panels the small mechanical screens continued to move the ongoing cheerful scene, it was nothing more than a mere trick set up by the large computer like screens. It was common for most of the high end stores these days to replace them on their windows to block out the rotting land that lay out before them. Pushing the button the screens disappeared showing the rain now pouring even heavily than before. Great even more puddles to threatening to seep their way into her boots. Another threatening deathtrap of a bus hissed by as a small figure caught the Iyou’s eye.
It was a boy no more than the age of eleven sitting on the ground next to Sam’s Tubbybottoms and Cleaning Needs. His clothes were rather worse for wear as he seemed to shiver a bit from the chilling breeze as the rain started to flow slanted. Something seemed odd about him like he almost enjoyed being in the rain as everyone else seemed to run by huddled underneath the large contraptions of umbrellas doing whatever they possible could do to avoid getting wet. Iyou bit her lip as she stared at the boy, his hands held out as he tried to catch the rain to create a puddle in his hands. His greenhands….. ouch she had bit hard enough for the iron taste of blood to start seeping into her mouth. She had made up her mind as she quickly grabbed her own umbrella from the closet she headed out into the rain her mother’s voice trailing after her.
God it was pouring heavier than she thought and there was always the option of abandoning the idea but her gut told her otherwise. Her curiosity was edging her on wanting to know who and why it was located here of all places especially alone on the street. Looking both ways to cross the street and at all cost to avoid being hit by one of the rattle deathtraps Iyou stepped out giving a rather grimace look as her foot sunk into a puddle. She could feel the damp mud move into her shoe and squirm around a shiver followed up her spin as she could feel a hiss escape from her lips this better be worth the trouble. Getting closer to the boy she noticed the brilliant blue eyes that neatly fitted around beautiful markings that continued all the way to the tips of his webbed like fingers. She had heard of something like this an experiment created by the Professor Maximilian, they were priceless only a very few only elites had managed to get their hands on them. So why was he here?
“Hello….” Her voice sounded but the boy didn’t seem to hear, to him she was like everyone else passing by on the street pockets full of cash and little care to those who didn’t. Ignoring how soak her jeans started to become she squatted down meeting his eyes. His look was that of a nasty glare as if he had stepped into something disgusting. It came as no surprise that he wouldn’t trust her; most of those who lived in the street had little to do with people like her. Grabbing a kerchief from her pocket and wrapping her hand around it she held out her hand to him.
“Hi…..” He stared at it as the rain started to fill the cloth with water.
“I know you don’t trust me but… I know what you are and….” Her voice beginning to trail off as the boy held up his hand.
“I don’t care to know what I am lady,” the boy replied his voice rather hoarse with sound. “My only care at this moment is the next time I am going to be able to eat and where I am going to end up sleeping tonight and hopefully not behind the bar again.” Last time he tried that his only shoe ended up as a puke bucket the scent never left it.
“But you something special something amazingly created!” Iyou was fumbling over her words searching to find exactly what to say, children were never her forte most of the time they scared her. Their grubby little hands always running around touching things picking up things and so forth, you could never tell where it had been.
“If I’m so special why am I here then?” He said as he looked around, “no one wants me.”
“I do,” Iyou responded giving the boy a promising smile, “I know you don’t trust me now but I can give you somewhere to sleep and food to eat.”
“Can I eat anything? Like chocolate I’ve never tasted chocolate but the scent from the bakery makes my mouth water…. But why would you do it?” His eyes watching her curiously, even free food and a free home for one night was like heaven on earth to a child. He could always run away right?
“I need someone to follow in my footsteps I don’t have children and I doubt that I will ever have any. Plus it gets my mother off my back about the lack of grandchild,” she said with a painful chuckled. Though Iyou doubted that a frog like child was anything her mother had in mind for a grandchild.
“Can I leave whenever I want… and what do I need to do?” He continued more and more it seemed a little too much to be true.
“You can leave whenever you want though I hope you don’t. I am botanists and I need time to dedicate my work and someone who well in the least keep my families’ name going. You can do whatever you want, you can leave you can stay, you can even ask for anything you want that we can buy.” She didn’t want to scare the kid into thinking he would actually have to learn botany he could at least learn to be somewhat part of the family or so forth.
“Really… you promise,” his eyes with a rather eager look to them as he leaned forward, “cross you heart and hope to die if you break it!”
Iyou held her hand to her chest, “I cross my heart and hope to die if I would every break a promise to you.”
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Posted: Fri Jan 22, 2010 11:36 pm
Dju's verdict: The full stops are the first thing I noticed-- you seem to be half-forming sentences with all the stopping and starting--the semi colon is your friend! "The relatively short man decked out in an elegant yet colorful outfit that seemed to stand in conflict with that of his hair."--It's not really a complete sentence, it looks like a fragment of one. But you might have been spending too long describing his coat anyways--even though it was a pretty cool coat XD (Quality over quantity, it's a terrible coincidence that the high-quality ones just happen to be longer for past winners, but heed them no mind, just to what they're writing inside it).
Your inventions are so awesome though and we wanna see more of them biggrin It's exactly how I'd think of Saltaire, with its pointless little inventions all around the place; great job x3 I love your character this time around too, though his meeting with the boy was just about the weirdest, most nonchalant thing ever, even if your character was somewhat delusional--those feet are hard to miss there! XD
King's verdict: First of all I like the mood coat idea. Maybe not like.. would EVER wear it but its kinda cute (fashion based on weather and mood would make seasonal wear a breeze!). It gets kinda tacky though that it changes instantaneously. LOL Sorry I'm critiquing a gadget xD -fail-. I feel like the interaction with the boy would be more.. uh fashion-focused and perky/happy AFTER he's pulled in to a place to stay rather than have this flamboyant (if you will) reaction on the street. Still, pretty average entry, doesn't scream bad grammar to me or anything. I like the portrayal of the frog a bit and the interaction post initial meeting was fairly believable =] This entry has hidden potential, I'd like to see other entries with this character.
Shiningamisgirl
Name: Ríordán Fítheal
Pronounced: REE-ur-dawn FEE-hul
Age: 27
Height 5'7
He hales from: Ireland (Though technically hes a Polish/Irish mix)
Occupation: Architect/Interior Home Design
Though Riordan has a obsession passion for fashion, all of his outfits tailor made to suit his unique color loving style.
Mah wealth: He gets his money from mommy. Who married wealthy and was widowed young. How wonderful of daddy to have left them so much in the will.
Vibrant red and green hair whipped about in the wind, bangs cropped in such a way as to obscure parts of the wearers face, most of it only half bound up into a spiraling ponytail . The rest set loose and running wild spilled down over his slim shoulders. A few strands caught up neatly into thin braids, bound with multicolor beads and threaded ribbons. The relatively short man decked out in an elegant yet colorful outfit that seemed to stand in conflict with that of his hair. A deep red overcoat, nearly black it was so dark in color, flecked with brilliant embroidery about the hems and seams and cuffs that managed most of the man beneath its slender weight. Zigging stars and zagging circles that truly made no sense in pattern adorned the rest of the coat. All the shapes seeming to change from the start of the coat to the tail of it, completely nonsensical as far as design ascetics went. Even more strange was the color, an off shade of blue-green, almost a teal. Though seeing as it was a 'mood coat' the colors of the embroidery would be sure to change throughout the day depending on the particular mood of the wearer.
If the man wearing such vibrant clothing thought he stood out amongst the rest of the passerby's on this dreary day, he didn't seem to much care. Head tipped back and eyes glued to the sky, sheltered from the rain if not the wind beneath a wide, hovering translucent umbrella. The contraption defying gravity via means of tiny electric propellers at it's points, and a set of heavy weights in its center to counter balance, and thus keep it from spinning off wildly into the stratosphere. A small tether line clipped between it and the collar of Ríordán's shirt to help further guide the ingenious little contraption. Ríordán was watching as much as listening to the rain that pitter pattered down upon it and slid off to land just outside his step. The dark oval sunglasses he wore shimmering eerily as his head dipped forwards again, eyes once more on the scenery around him, and the path he was walking. After all it wouldn't do to get lost so early on in the day, especially not in this particular part on the city...
Gray, pale gray, speckled gray, dark gray, light gray, blue gray.. A thousand and one different shades of gray making up the dreary day, that most 'ordinary' and uncultured folk would have described as simply black and white. The clouds hung low, not fluffy, but fat and heavy like a certain uncle who always tended to over eat at holiday feasts, and who also always ended up bloated and puking by the end of the night. Either as a case of too much food, or wine and beers, or wine and beer and food.. Or..once, wine and beer and cat litter, which while truly hilarious was very unfortunate for his upholstery. His poor innocent furniture had suffered for the gluttons mistake.
The long scale of gray coloring shifted before his vision into a slightly more violet hue, and then into shades of rosemary pink, and back into deep indigo's. The colors before his eyes changing with the flow of his thoughts, the more they wandered the more beautiful or ugly everything else before his eyes became. It was all wonderfully entertaining as a visual effect, which was why Ríordán truly adored this particular pair of 'Colorz' glasses. Though he owned many this pair was by far his favorite as they always lightened his mood, and brightened otherwise drab days. Which really..sadly..tended to be most days here.
The color spectrum of the glasses would always flicker depending on what crossed in front of their view, whether it was living or moving or a non-life form. Sky, buildings, roads all solid shades of colors, shifting from one to the next and generally drifting along without provocation. Animals and people varied, a blue and pink woman with an orange purse, a rainbow dog, a diamond cat. A red polka-dotted car, followed closely behind by a much slower beige one.
Another chartreuse purse dog, a loud pink recyk bin 'Conserve today! Don't let your E-vironment slip away!' , a green and yellow boy..
Ríordán paused mid stride, not because of the color nor because of any heartfelt caring towards the poor and their rabble. They were always cold and hungry always dirty, sitting or huddling somewhere that would make them look ever more poor and needy. A bit like a box of wet kittens, so sad that you just had to take one home. No, he paused only because of the sight of the boy's state of dress..Even for poor people he seemed out of place. Tatters were so out, holes and patches were in, after all even the hideously poor in Saltaire had some sense of fashion, but this thing! Well Ríordán just couldn't allow this.
The embroidery of his jacket dimming to a dull sheet-rock-white as he casually approached the badly dressed boy. "Ahh..you poor thing...well all of you really, but still sometimes the sight makes me want to groan. Even in the world of the misbegotten and downtrodden there is some sense of design, and yet you clearly choose to ignore it. Tsk tsk, and shame upon you!" Roirdan scolded lightly, pushing his glasses up over the bridge of his nose to snugly settle them on top of his head. Really he rather fancied himself a bit of a fashionista, and therefore his knowledge on such subjects was invaluable..whether or not the person with whom he was speaking had means to afford any type of 'fashion'.
"Ugh..It's even worse in true color. Though...oh..Oh!" his gold and emerald eyes widened for a moment as he took a second look at the boy, wondering if maybe his fantastically prismatic glasses had somehow interfered with his normal state of vision. Though everything else was the color it should have been, the boy before him was not. "Well, even if you don't seem to know how to dress, at least your skin has some sense about it"
The boy before him simply seemed to blink, slitted golden black eyes shifting between the sky and Roirdan, as if coming out of a daze and just realizing that he was being spoken to. His head tilted in the most interesting of manners, surveying him with an unsure look.
Roirdan didn't seem to need any permission to come closer, or really just didn't care much, so fixated on the unusual coloring and patterns that he ignored the frog boys warning glare. "Absolutely stunning actually, such a wonderful color too, green and black always compliment well. Though if I had your skin I would have changed the spots for stripes, their more slimming you know? No, I'm sure you wouldn't, ah well!" unbidden roirdan knelt down and snagged the frog boy by his wrist, ignoring the gasping and tugging as he ran his fingers over his small hand, marveling even more at what he held as he snagged the boys ankle next, nearly unbalancing him while he caught a better look.
"Webbed! Absolutely ingenious, and so smooth, slimy, slick. Delicious, you know that would make a wonderful rain slicker. The color is nice too..maybe webbed trimmings, oh and moths eyes patterns! Eh..could you quit squirming for a moment." the gold and green eyes riveted on the frog princeling changed from their previous gold and green shades to startling orange and powder blue, the intricately designed contact lenses set to change color's at ten minute intervals. Naturally Roirdan could set them to whatever color he liked, but some days he just felt the need to let things run as they pleased. "Thank you!" Roirdan chimed sweetly when the boy finally held still and quit fidgeting about, really it wasn't as if he was hurting him any! Heavens no, he just wanted a better look was all. "Absolutely magnificent, but still your clothing is lack. Come on now lets get you up off the ground, up up up!" he ushered the boy to his feet, and had to snag him by the shoulders again to keep him from running of. Something about the frog boy struck him as familiar, now whom had he heard the story from? Not his uncle or his mother..maybe someone he'd done a design for..
Though he'd been sure they were all just groundless rumors, over indulged tales of creation to get the rich folk all in a twitter. "Again, I implore you hold still, really your such a fidgety thing. Now letsee..how to fix your look" shrugging off his coat in an easy motion, the buttons and zippers seeming to undo themselves as their owner removed the article of clothing. Quickly draping his multicolored mood coat over the lanky boys shoulders "There we are, its much to big for you sadly, but still it does a world of good don't you think? No, you probably don't do you.." Roirdan found himself sighing, half wondering if the boy could speak at all, again though it was none of his business, and really they probably had nothing to talk about with each other. "You know little ehmn, urchin, I do believe your missed somewhere. Though I could be quite mistaken I think it best to get you home and do some searching eh. Wouldn't that be nice hmmnn, out of this dreary day and this rain to somewhere nice and dry and colorful!" he nodded swiftly, making sure both of his hands were securely on the boys shoulders as he pulled him further under the umbrella and began to lead him alone "Yes yes, colorful and cheery and bright! You'll adore it, well I adore it and so I know you'll absolutely adore it, really who wouldn't enjoy my home decor. I'll tell you who, silly people, that's who, and sadly little green urchin there are far to many silly people in this world for my liking. Far far to many"
Roirdan continued to ramble on to the rather silent trudging boy all the way back to his home. The large oaken doors greeting them with a gentle chime and a bright red I.D beam "State yourself please"
"It's mee Doris my love, come on and open up. Its rather dreadful out today"
"Identification accepted, welcome home your highness..."
"See isn't that wonderful, I programed Doris to be oh so pleasant, don't you just love her voice! Ah..no, you wouldn't would you?" Roirdan frowned slightly at the boys silent awe, not truly awe but just a stony curious silence that seemed to permeate his personality, though the bright sky blue color of the coats embroidery suggested that the boys mood was much more lively then was being outwardly expressed.
The oaken doors finally swinging open with a click, swinging back and allowing entrance.Shutting stealthily behind the pair as they entered into the home. The doors while on the outside had been a warm brown color, were on the inside a strange mix of cherry red and mahogany coloring. Peppered with metallic lacing, set out in intricate designs that suggested tree limbs and leaves, all in copper and bronze.
"Welcome to my wonderful abode! Now, you make yourself cozy while I dash off to make a quick phone call, I can't imagine it'll be to hard to track down your owner. Honestly it would have been nice if you'd had a collar or something, but nooo people are so rude these days. Letting their precious things wander about with naught a care in the world, sad sad sad.." he shook his head gently, a forlorn expression on his face as he quickly crossed over the tile floors, calling out to his 'travelphon'. A rickety skittering table that held upon it various vid and personal cell phones. "Now what on earth was his name...ah maybe I'll just look up the company! Much much easier.." Roirdan voice still rather loud, though the halls designed as they were carried no echo's.
The frog boy found himself quite alone in the next few moments, trapped inside the home that would not allow him to exit without some type of silly voice command. His eyes falling sadly to his feet as he decided he may as well follow after the eccentric man. The same golden black eyes lighting up as the floor seemed to come alive beneath his feet. For every step he took, and now realized the same had happened with Roirdan, the tiles beneath his feet would light up into the most beautiful mosaic patterns. Full of colors and shapes often found in in the stained glass windows of churches. Every different tile held a different picture, a new pattern, a various array of soft and elegant colors, pastels and sunset hues.
He found himself lost in joy for a moment, simply playing with the lively floor, hopping about from tile to tile as he choose to explore some more. Just to see if mayhaps the entire home was tiled like this!
He took one off turn and then another, feet and eyes leading him through a green room and then into a pale butterscotch yellow one which somehow turned out to be the kitchen. The walls here decorated with moving picture frames, full of fire places and shimmering candles of all sizes and colors. The flat screen holographic images casting more gentle colors on the butterscotch walls.
Really there were just so many things, a sensory overloading bucket full of things! Though out of all the things there were to center his attention on, the large sink in the middle of the room caught his attention the most. Porcelain pale and oval shaped, a deep basin for holding and washing all sorts of dishware. Instead of a regular faucet there was a maiden carying a large vase in both hands, looking like a Greek goddess carved out of marble. Sink..water..happiness! The froglet really didn't have to think twice as he immediately dashed to the sink, shrugging off the heavy too warm coat and clambering up onto the counter top. Searching for the quickest way to get the water going.. No handles, knobs, motion censors. The boy nearly groaned, waving his hands all about the sink as he searched. Green fingers passing over the maidens face and pulling away sharply when she moved. The statuette fixture seeming to come alive, stone eyes blinking into a clear sea-foam color. The statue bending at the waist, her vase filling and soon overflowing with clear cold water.
The frog child rejoiced and quickly climbed into the sink, sitting awkwardly half on the counter and submerging as much of himself as he could within the quickly filling basin.
"You wont believe it little urchin! I finally got a hold of your owner, such a sour man..Anyways, he seemed extremely glad to know that you'd been found, nice and safe. Actually he'll be on his way over rather Ahhh!! My floor!" 'Splish' Roirdan only noticed the flooded floor when he stepped in it, the distinctive splash of leather meeting water, wide red and green eyes watching as more water flowed over the counters to cascade down over drawers and cabinets, all landing with a happy wet splosh across the stone hewn floor.
The frog boy seeming oblivious to the mans distress, greeting him with only a gleeful grin as he splashed about.
"Ahh! No no no no! Out, goodness heavens, you don't..gah who raised you? Fish? Wolves! One does not bathe in the sink, especially not one so filthy, and one does not flood their hosts home!" the coat Roirdan knew was ruined, the floor thank the gods quite salvageable. Slipping across the water to snag up the thin frog boy, hoisting him out of the sink and setting him on the floor. Dashing over to one of the walls and opening up a small key panel, his fingers pressing a sequence of colorful buttons before a loud 'Bzzztt' was heard. The faucet shutting off and the floor's sucking loudly, draining the water through the porus absorbent system built within them. Not truly stone, but only made to look like them, really a uniquely hard sponge. "Thank the gods..absorbent floors eh? But oh my coat..and ooh you! Your soaked!" he'd been soaked before, and Roirdan had hoped hed stay dry.."Really if your going to get yourself wet then you do it properly, in a bathroom..no more precisely in a tub. Say it with me now 'T-u-b' No, you wont will you?" he wanted to groan, but instead quickly ushered the boy from the room and left the floor to do its work.
"Now this, this is a bathroom, and this is a tub, you see" the bathroom was a thousand shades of blue, decked from one end to the other in sea decor. Waves and fish and seashells set into the walls and sinks and floors. The tub was deep and large like a jacuzzi, set into the ground so that one simply had to step down into it. Surrounding the tub, resembling very much the maiden in the sink, were large mermaids. The one to the right a bright green, the one to left a delicate shade of peach. And set high in the wall above the pair, holding not a vase but a rod with a sunflower head attached to it. This ones tail filled with bright red and gold scales.
"Let me explain, ech..here strip out of..well no you wont..Cant we just change you into something else? Nothing would be better then what your wearing at this point" Roirdan huffed and nudged the prince towards the tub once the boy had finished stripping out of his ragged clothing. "The green one is cold water, the peach one is hot. You clap to turn them on, if you want warm water then you turn them both on." And these thankfully, unlike his sink maiden, were set to know how much water the tub could hold, so that they would not be in danger of overflowing. "The high red mermaid is for showering purposes, hee hee, wonderful set up isn't it? I designed it myself you know, and one simply has to adore mythical creatures" he shrugged as the urchin stepped in, watching with amusement as he played with the on/off function for a bit, seeming to rather enjoy the quick efficiency with which they operated. "You settle in, enjoy yourself, I'm sure this Y character will be here soon. I'm actually rather eager to meet him, not that I've heard much but that's all the more reason to meet him! Someone of his standing, and there being so little information. Haah I suppose you can say that I'm a glutton when it comes to gossip and facts...You wont though will you? Tsk, silent little urchin.." but for now the prince was content to soak and play, and Roirdan surprisingly content to sit silently and observe the rather fascinating creature. Who's skin was truly the best outfit anyone could wear...well..maybe if the spots were stripes, but still! Quite magnificent indeed.
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Posted: Fri Jan 22, 2010 11:40 pm
Dju's verdict: I love this entry! It made me laugh a good half a dozen times, because the way he portrayed the prince was so perfect in temperament to what you'd expect an actual outcast to behave like. Perfect (and so is the grammar and spelling I might add--we shall overlook that added "L" in Max's name for now > 3> ). Even though the Princeling doesn't have a set personality, you captured him exactly as I'd expect he would be like in the first place (if that makes sense). It was very clever of you to also pick up on the fact that Maximilian freezes unwanted experiments wink Kudos!
I have nooo idea why you'd go to the labs though xD I would have kept him and smothered him and everything >>
Love his occupation, love how you portrayed the character this time (my favorite out of your entries so far!), but you SHOULD have described what this neural-interface computer does a little clearer (since you, Toho, are the inventor of it wink ) Again, this has to be an entry somewhere in the top five for me *whines*. This judging is getting really difficult.
King's verdict: Uh.. LOL I must admit I was instantly hooked by this intro, I just.. Idk, I'm reminded of Burn after Reading now and I loled xDDD I... I wanna like.. I wonder if he had done an entry Adelle/Max/both were featured in, I would find that insanely ironic and perfect for a continuous story in the shop. ANYWAYS.. getting off-topic. The dialogue was great, it got a little jumpy spacing wise when they switched off but I suppose thats normal of dialogue. Idk. But yea, very good portrayal of the Princey and Karlis has definitely caught my attention this time around. I think you should continue with what you've got cause its definitely working! =]
Tohopekaliga
It was a dark and stormy night. The kind of night you might expect to find a deranged scientist attempting to wake a monster, or when mystics might be calling forth undead armies to ravenge the earth. A night of absolute blackness, punctuated by coarse, rain-streaked moments of absolute bright.
It was though this night that Carlton strode confidently down a side-street, intent upon his target. After only a few minutes of search, he spotted the mark--an older man hunched down under a raincoat, waiting for a contact that would never arrive. With a small smile, Carlton raised his silenced pistol out of his coat, took aim, and...
There was a boy. No, that's not right...Stop recording! Kārlis sighed. It was, in fact, mid-afternoon. The weather was fairly close to the narrative he had just started silently dictating into his neural-interface computer...but there the similarities ended. Kārlis was a spy of sorts, sure. But he didn't carry a gun, and did not think he would not be able to handle one properly if he did.
He was no James Bond, that's for sure. He was rather plain--average looking, if somewhat lean. He wasn't well muscled, he wasn't very dashing, and the rain was not helping the condition of his cropped dark brown hair's sex appeal. Not that he was trying for it. To further add to his differences with the likes of a Bond-style spy, he didn't have any cool titles, nor did he work for some inscrutable sounding organization like MI6 or the KGB. Nope, he was just a "historian." Which was true, to a point. While he had digital copies of pretty much every book of history from the "Motherland," plus those not accepted by the "Motherland," his history was really current events. All of them. Especially ones behind closed doors.
There was a reason he stopped his narrative as he was walking along. What was it? Oh, right... He blinked, realizing that he'd been distracted by the sight of a child standing in the rain, off to the side. Kārlis did his best to avoid the places where street urchins like that one resided, because he had trouble not stopping to give them things...and it didn't due for a "State Official" to be doing things like that. So, he just kept it out of sight.
But this one...he gave Kārlis pause, far more so than usual. The boy was greenish. That was the first thing that struck him. The second was that he appeared to be happy to be rained on, in spite of the cold. He slowed his step quite a bit, and directed his full attention on the boy. He had fascinating patterns on his skin, which clearly had an unusual texture to it. Further, his fingers were webbed, and his bare feet were...unusual. Not to mention he seemed to have a bit of a tail sticking out of his rags. I know what this is, Kārlis thought to himself once he'd taken in the details. He's one of those 'frog prince' boys...but what's he doing out here?
A moment's consideration, and then Kārlis decided to approach this boy in his ragged clothes, which looked especially pitiful next to Kārlis' brand new overcoat that he was putting to use this day. He'd gotten it in exchange for some "historical" services rendered to a clothier, and it was a fair deal.
He came up to the boy and squatted down so that Kārlis would be at the proper eye level with him. "Hello," he said in his best non-threatening tone. "My name is Kārlis Zariņš," he told the boy. "Where is your family?"
The boy stared at him for nearly a full 10 seconds before answering, apparently having decided that Kārlis wasn't an immediate threat. "Dunno," he answered simply.
"Okay," Kārlis replied carefully. "Well...we should get you out of this cold rain," he told the boy, and looked around with an eye for where he could take the child without making a scene.
"I like the rain," the boy protested in a small, somewhat weak tone. "But...it is really cold..."
I wonder if he's cold blooded, Kārlis thought to himself before answering, "Well, we'll have to get you out of the rain to warm you up...c'mon, there's a little cafe around the corner that has hot tea." He gestured in the appropriate direction.
"They don't let me in," came the reply after a second. "Say they don't want urchins in 'dere." He shrugged.
"Oh," Kārlis replied, and considered. Grimacing at how dirty his brand new coat was about to get, he took it off and put it over the boy. "Well, there. Now you have a proper gentleman's coat. C'mon."
The boy didn't say anything, although he did slip his arms into the sleves that were far too long for him. As he walked along behind Kārlis, the bottom edge dragged along the ground a bit, which definitely did not please Kārlis...but it was a worthy cause, he figured.
Once seated inside the little cafe, in which the proprietor gave him the stink eye for bringing inside her shop such a 'nasty little boy' (though she didn't protest), Kārlis ordered some English tea for both of them. With that out of the way, he asked kindly, "What's your name?"
"AJ." He clearly wasn't one for words...not right now, anyway.
"Okay, AJ. Nice to meet you," Kārlis replied carefully. "Did you come from Professor Maximillian's, uhm...labs?" God, that sounds like a terrible question, he thought to himself.
"Yeah," AJ replied quietly, also giving a little nod. At that point, they were brought a couple of tea cups and a pot of tea, which Kārlis poored into the glasses, and then put the cream & sugar in front of the boy, who mixed in quite a bit of both before burning his tongue on the tea. "Ow!" he winced and pulled away...and then tried again, more carefully.
"Okay," Kārlis continued, sipping his tea (with nothing added) slowly. "Should you go back there?" He didn't figure it would be a bad idea for the boy to return to where he came from...but then why would he be wandering around the street in rags?
"Maybe," was the very definitive response from AJ.
Kārlis sighed, expecting such a noncommittal answer. "Okay, then...what were you doing out in the streets like that?" He tried to sound non-judgmental...but he wasn't too sure he got the tone right.
The look he got further cemented that lack of confidence in his tone. "Just 'cause," AJ answered. Kārlis just looked at him in silence for a little while, both of them sipping tea...although it was evident AJ was trying to drink as much of it as fast as possible without burning himself.
Kārlis let the silence go on for a while...until AJ ran out of tea in his cup, and Kārlis refilled it. "And what would you do if you went back to the labs?" he asked in a carefully innocent tone.
AJ took the time to put more cream & sugar in his tea before answering with a question. "Can we have some food? I'm hungry..." He sipped again, the tea was still very hot, of course.
"Certainly," Kārlis answered, and flagged down the server to whom he gave an order of a couple of small sandwiches. With that out of the way, he repeated his previous question. "What would you do if you went back to the labs?"
"Uhm," AJ sounded distracted, and seemed interested in pretty much everything else around...except Kārlis. The cafe was a simple place, so their sandwiches arrived then, and AJ wasted no time in attacking his. With little bits of bread flicking out of his mouth, he finally answered. "They'd Fweeze meh." The tone was matter-of-fact, if somewhat distorted by food.
"Freeze?" Kārlis asked, surprised. "As in...cryogenic stasis?" That's not what he was expecting, but it made an insane sort of sense...and also explained the boy standing in the streets, not wanting to be frozen.
"Iunno," was the food-distorted reply. "Cryajambic...yah," He nodded, and half his sandwich was already gone. "Sumfin like dat." The server considerately brought them a couple of glasses of water...which was good, because AJ picked that up right away, too. He was making quite the mess...but then he was just a boy, and a hungry one at that.
"Huh," Kārlis answered this revelation with a thoughtful scowl, and more slowly ate his sandwich. "Where do you sleep at night?" he asked.
"I haff a bosh," AJ replied, mouth full of sandwich.
"A...box?" Kārlis prompted.
"Ya, a," AJ swallowed all the food in his mouth for once. "A box. It's down," he took another bite. "Dat alley dere."
Kārlis shook his head slightly. Certainly, he was aware of terrible conditions for homeless children...but there was little he could do about it. But here was one, a very unique one (which was possibly more important), and he could do something about it. "Okay," he said after finishing half his sandwich and placing the other half on AJ's plate (he'd consumed his whole sandwich already). "How's this sound? You can stay in my Flat for now. I'll find you some reasonable clothes, and tomorrow, I'll go talk to Maximillian."
AJ had a slightly worried look, so Kārlis added, "Without you. We'll discuss this 'freezing' thing you mentioned, and I'll see what I can do."
"I don' like the cold," AJ said plainly. "Freezing is really cold."
"Yes, well," Kārlis replied, "Clearly, then, we can't have you getting frozen. But I'm sure Maximilian is concerned about you." Truly, he wasn't certain, the man seemed to care for nothing but money...but that was not something that needed to be said. "So, it would be best, at the very least, to let him know that you are okay."
AJ thought for a bit, and finished the rest of the food. "Okay," he said finally, after he'd swallowed all of it, and had some more water...and tea. "I'd like to be warm while I sleep again." He nodded as emphasis.
"Excellent," Kārlis replied with a smile. "Once I pay the check here, let's see if we can't find you some clothes that aren't torn or too big, hmm?"
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Posted: Fri Jan 22, 2010 11:51 pm
Dju's verdict: This entry was a little rushed, I believe. Understandable, I suppose, as it was submitted ten minutes before the contest end, but "Grabbing s stylus, she began" made me believe that this entry needed some proofreading before submitting--Psht, everyone shouldn't have rushed so much! Nice inventions though, she seems really techno-savvy! In this contest, we just wanted people to express and have fun expressing their creativity (in the 32nd Century, almost anything is possible after all!!) and this is exactly what you've done. However, the rushing really did not help you-- "Marisol walked at a fast pace before swatting at a fly. It seemed the usual unnatural insect population had come down lately to something more… natural for lack of another word. It was an interesting shade of gray like it always was when one stepped out of one’s house." Woah, are we talking about a gray fly here or the sky?? XD You just needed a bit more proofreading to make sure that everything made sense (I find that reading aloud usually helps), and then this entry would be much better. The meeting with the Prince was unique--who'da thought he'd be such a trouble maker??--but then what came afterward was a little too played out to look genuine xD It was suddenly action drama and then sweet family genre when she pulled him into her house. As the paragraphs started to disappear, I could tell that you were rushing to get it done razz Yeah, it would have worked out better for you if you hadn't rushed so much <3
King's verdict: The start is good ^^ I think I would like Marisol as a character tbh. Definitely dug the chase scene there it was a new meeting compared to the general entry we received and I think it established a good (even if it would be considered awkward for the two) relationship starter. (Pardon my fail grammar) Ending was solid, felt juuuuuust a tad short but the meeting was fluid enough that I feel satisfied with how the two interact. After reading through it I'm a little more assured about her position in whatever company she works for so I'm also happy about that. (I had a little confusion at first for some reason but its really late anyways so that would explain it xD I can safely assume shes a CEO or something of the like, manager, dept chair or something for this plant-processing... plant? LOL SEE WHAT I DID THERE) It is a plant plant right? :'D Also just to sum it up I think that the entry was formed well, not too much I can rip on so... good job!
Kurluu
Marisol let out an exasperated breath as her secretary, Locke, pinged over a few more documents for her to attach her signature to. She kept her features schooled in a stern face as Locke spoke to her over the video broadcast to the right of the Touchscreen glass monitor. She tapped the right broadcasting bar, momentarily interrupting the flow of light across the screen and turning her secretary pink for a moment. Marisol looked back up at the screen, facing the pinpoint camera once more.
“This is all very interesting; Locke, but I would like a report on the research of the Minsk laboratory. Rumors have reached me of the work they are currently doing on radioactive materials.”
“As is your wish, Ms. Torres, I will have it within the hour.” The brunet man nodded as he bit his lip in a nervous habit.
“When I am finished with this, I expect you to send them back to central processing. I seem to remember, you… ah... forgot last time, Locke.”
She raised an eyebrow with her hands interlocked beneath her chin. At this the man nodded too quickly and swallowed, making her wonder why she had picked the twitchy man anyways. Marisol could see him shuffling around various programs on the touchscreen glass with a flick of his fingers as he got to work sorting mail. She grinned as she realized how fun it was to scare the man. The copper haired woman then frowned, returning to her neutral expression of discontent, before disconnecting from her secretary’s visual chat. A few manipulations with her fingertips and Mari had opened the first of about thirty documents she had to approve. She could have Locke do it but the Chilean woman took too much pride in knowing what was going on in her branches of Assai Pharmaceuticals to just have him forge her signature. Grabbing s stylus, she began scribing her looping signature over the documents and assigning the virtual identification codes that verified her approval or disapproval of the document in front of her.
She sat in the clean and minimalist space with pale grey walls and pale marbled floor. The room looked sickly with the lack of color, in fact the only things not monochrome in the well-sized office were Marisol herself, whatever displayed on the screen at the moment, whatever scenery was showing through the wall of windows behind her, and a single lab-grown orange rose. Even the books on the shelves across the room were sorted in various shades of black and white. Though contrary to the belief of most of the department heads and laboratory heads beneath her, her office was not in the Assai head quarters. In fact she had bought a house in a small village called Saltaire where she now resided. It was far from her home country and not in any climate she was used to, but in an odd way the isolation made her attached to this place. To be fair, the nearest lab was one a few miles off to the south, but at least they didn’t know she was here and she did not have to see their faces. Marisol would have actually liked to tour a laboratory once again, but all the people hid things and acted with measured movements and voices. Sometimes she wished she was more curvaceous so that the techs would hold beauty over brains and she could see things they normally kept away.
The tanned woman sighed exasperatedly as she scribbled her name one last time for today. She tossed the stylus across the screen table, it clacking before a section of the table opened and caught it so she could find it in her drawer later. Marisol exited a few applications, pinged the documents to Locke through their shared server, and then powered down the touchscreen glass table. She leaned back in her comfortable chair that looked like a spine of a much larger animal. It was the best of office chairs that weren’t basically beds on swivels. Marisol relaxed for a few moments on the seat before getting up and stretching. The woman brushed the blue-dyed strands from out of her face and walked across the tiled floor which was now lighting up in different iridescent colors where ever she walked. As she reached the door, the twenty nine year old slid open a formerly unnoticeable panel, pressing a small red button inside. The alludiom metal slid down over the windows in its nice gray-blue sheen. A smile graced her face as she exited the sliding door and activated the series of physical and electronic locks. She descended down her slim staircase which was hidden in a corner by a linen closet. Her home was outfitted interestingly: the walls changed color on her whim, as did the furniture woven with or out of tiny fiber optic cables; though most of the time it was kept in a soothing array of brown shades to keep a sense of normality and keep suspicion low.
Marisol was happy now, being finally out of the office and away from most her pressures. She knew she had to keep a business-like façade there but didn’t want to. Her grandmother was pushing for her to be the next in line to the company because she considered Mari’s father, her own son to be a kiss-a**. He just wasn’t as harsh as her when it came to the business world. Dominga was too attached to her work to see much else though her son was always there for his children on holidays and a constant presence in their lives. The line of thinking made Marisol frown, so she shook it from her thoughts and went outside to instead concentrate on the chilly evening air in England. The cold cleared her thoughts and she was reminded her that she was out of FF3300 tomatoes after spotting the same shade of red on an awning. They were Mari’s favorite kind along with being the only type she got and she had been so looking forward to making pasta. The normally curly haired Chilean headed back inside and browsed the rotating closet until she got to her favorite nondescript coat. She donned this along with a ragged scarf before heading out.
The air pinched her cheeks as she exited her home and embraced Saltaire’s weather. She blew out a visible breath before walking down the seamless sidewalks and toward the grocery. It would still be open at dusk though it was a few streets away so she’d have to hurry. Marisol walked at a fast pace before swatting at a fly. It seemed the usual unnatural insect population had come down lately to something more… natural for lack of another word. It was an interesting shade of gray like it always was when one stepped out of one’s house. Tonight it was more blue-green-gray and held an aura of expectation; like something was going to happen. Marisol pulled the scarf higher up on her face and slowed down. She passed Percy who was still glowing a bit too brightly on the left side with a girl in a blue tarp sleeping and using his base as a pillow. The directory AI waved at her and she waved back before putting her scarf on the sleeping girl. The red-brown haired woman smiled and continued on her way.
The click of her shoes was all that way audible as she walked. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, leaving Mari expecting rustles to be more obvious but she could hear nothing. She shuddered once from the cold and soon reached the storefront. The twenty nine year old ushered herself inside the brightly light building, grabbing a bag, and heading immediately for the vegetable section. Grabbing about ten tomatoes, she took refuge in the comforting noises of the market place for a moment. Then click click click again and she was in front of the youth operating the cashier. She smiled politely up at him as he rang it up and exchanged the fruit for money. Marisol nodded and headed outside once more, tomatoes in hand. Walking for a minute, she stopped as she noted that the wind had started up again, making her turn sharply around when she heard a noise. Pausing, nothing revealed itself but as she felt safe again the woman found one of her tomatoes missing. The ripe red fruit had rolled down the alleyway, so she made to go pick it up when a box nearby moved. She paused in her steps and the cardboard shifted again. Mari swiped up the fruit and then flicked up the box with her free hand. Whatever was inside had immediately curled up into a ball, giving her a view of a back covered in smooth looking navy material. The copper haired woman leaned to get a better look, but the boy shifted with her glance.
“Hello?” She spoke, receiving no response and not entirely expecting one the first time. The boy seemed to be about eleven or twelve from what she could estimate by size and had mussed up brunet hair.
“Are you okay?” Marisol spoke to the boy again, leaning over his slim frame once more. In a flash of motion a limb reached out, pilfered her bag, and the boy flipped up, running. She took note of his strange green skin as she chased the boy for her stolen tomatoes. Whoever the kid was, he was fast. She saw how thin he was and was surprised at the gratuitous amount of speed. The chase went on for a bit before the kid got caught in a dead end. Marisol leapt and tackled the green skinned kid before he could do anything else. He wriggled under her weight with fear wide eyes and weakening strength. She stayed atop until he calmed, then moving aside and placing her hands restrictively on his chest.
“Kid, kid. Clam up and calm yourself. I am not prone to hurting children.” She sighed finally noticing the necklace the bore wore, the odd texture of his skin, his feet, his skin color, and eyes. Now her eyes widened.
“Ar-are you a frog?” She sputtered and a fragment of familiarity about the question came to mind.
“Ye-yes.” He stuttered and begged in return. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”
“I just told you I wouldn’t. I’ll forgive you for stealing as well. Though only on one condition.”
“…What?”
“I make you dinner. You’re skinny. My mother would be mad if I didn’t stuff you up.” She poked him with emphasis as she snatched his frog foot necklace with the odd indent. He didn’t take notice as he blinked twice and cast his eyes to the ground. Marisol then let the kid up and dangled the necklace. “Plus you’ll get this back.”
At this he looked truly shocked and scared, making Mari believe the item was important to the odd boy. She stuffed it in a pocket and picked up the half-smashed bag of tomatoes, though luckily squished in the bag.
“Pre-made sauce.” She muttered as the kid stood up and nodded in acquiesce. “Follow me, then.”
Marisol started down the street once more. Like others, she wasn’t really prone to random acts of charity; well often random acts. Though this odd boy had brought to mind something interesting she had heard a bit ago. She had forgotten whatever it was only remember her own label of interesting, which was no help in sparking up memory at all. Other than that, no child, no matter how odd… and green… didn’t deserve to be on the streets. Though the Regional Conductor woman didn’t see them around her neighborhood very often, she knew they were there. Orphans with no one to care for them, developing the cruel points of childhood defense; Marisol had heard somewhere in harsh environments that children would have no problem killing over food. She shuddered at the thought before taking a deeper glance back at her guest-prisoner type compilation. His skin was a leaf green of which she had seen in a photo archive of an ancient forest known only as the Amazon, with spots of a crispy brown, and deeper green. His skin was smooth looking even with the grime and mussed up hair pointing in every direction, much like she imagined an exploded laser synth speaker would look like. The most startling feature were the boy’s deep brown eyes outlined in a lighter brown. Mari blinked a few times before looking away, they had finally arrived at her house. Beckoning the child closer, she began to trace an odd pattern on the doorway before it slid open with a soft swish. The woman led the way in, ushering in the weird frog boy, uncaring of the dirt smearing on her carpet.
“Well come in and sit down, boy. I already promised not to hurt you.” She paused a moment. “Well that is unless my cooking kills, which has been disproven by several people, I assure you.
“Bu-But your carpeting.” The crispy leaf colored boy spoke. Well, Mari thought, he certainly seems to care too much about décor. She wondered where he had come from, a rival lab to one of hers, perhaps? Before returning to the current situation.
“I don’t mind, really. All easy enough to clean. Sit at the table in the next room.” She instructed, the boy doing so with a frown still gracing his features.
Marisol chopped and juiced the tomatoes in a cooking style all her own, simmering it in a pot with a few Italian spices. The water was set to boil and she moved to the table where the kid she brought home was carefully trying to remove his jacket trim from ironically, the wiring for her laser synth speakers. The woman moved to help him before noticing a strange protrusion from his arse. A.. tail? Was her thought before doing a weird conflagration between a snap and a point.
“I remember the gossip now! You’re one of those princes.” She slipped the jacket off and continued to rant. “The project done by that Maximilan guy I’ve heard about.”
The kid nodded, shocked at the excited flailing.
“Oh, I’ve wondered what you’d look like. My staff has nowhere near the creativity to make a complex creature such as yourself… They don’t even let me see the real work in the labs, bastards.” She continued in the line of rambling before giving him his necklace back and apologizing. “I’m sorry for spazzing in front of you, just that I have heard a lot. Do you have a name so I can stop calling you boy or kid or something?”
“Chess.” The boy said after a moment of pondering and staring at a chessboard in the corner.
“Wonderful~” She twirled. “You know we really have to take you to see Maximal… Maximilian. I’m sure he’d want to know where you have gone.”
“You know the way back?” The ki-Chess sounded painfully hopeful and smiled a bit when she nodded with sincerity. He then stood still a moment before putting his guards back up. It seemed to Marisol that her excitement had gotten him to put his walls down. The water hissed suddenly and she jumped, running back into the kitchen.
“But first we eat!” She turned down the pot before tossing the dried noodles in, stirring the sauce, and then heading back to the frog-boy. “How’d you get lost anyways?” Marisol spoke excitedly. Chess responded to this and brightened up unknowingly once more.
“You see..” He began to explain as she listened and the pasta cooked.
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Posted: Fri Jan 22, 2010 11:53 pm
Dju's verdict: This is a very.. harmonious entry, but at the same time, it almost feels like it belongs in a children's book (which isn't necessarily a bad thing). You've taken a very unique angle with your entry; HOWEVER--By the sounds of whose perspective its in, it's almost as if the child is going to end up the owner and not the father. We don't know barely enough about her father to form a judgment on why he would fit in with this world. If you shifted the perspective a bit or somehow.. i don't know HOW, but if you explained through the child what she sees her father worrying about/thinking about/etc in terms of the Prince they meet, THEN this entry would have been tough to beat. The writing, in terms of spelling and grammar, is flawless, and it has excellent flow throughout, as well as a few witty moments here and there. But my unfamiliarity with the actual owner (whom I assume would be the father) is something that brings you down. Another thing that this entry sorely missed was any technology references--it just seems like an ordinary 20th-century's day to me--we want you to be swallowed up by our world!! : D Please don't hesitate to enter next time, you're so so close and we love the idea of an actual family adopting a Prince instead of just the odd loner here or there.
King's verdict: HJFSFJ I ******** LOVE multi-character entries. Like.. MAIN characters not just butlers and servants and robots but other high-end-noble-etc humans. When I read Dju's crit before the entry I was excited to read about this family. It didn't feel too childbookish, I mean, I guess with Molly's perspective being the main focus a lot it could. I DEEPLY. DEEPLY applaud you for not having the mother dead already and the child and father emoing over it throughout the entry. Granted Ive no clue of your further intentions for the mother I'm just glad that it wasn't the deep terrible sad truth behind the story. A mute prince (mute to human speak) would... actually be kinda interesting. KINDA CLICHE if not done right but it sounds like you know what you're doing anyways. Going to double up what Dju said about ownership but I myself would quickly assume that the father would take ownership of the boy anyways so just a little more focus on that is all. =] In conclusion, pretty good entry, good plot, good, sensible interaction, would've liked to have seen more than just the introductory meeting but I think it would be impossible for anyone to not guess at least the general idea of what would go on when he was brought home. =] -thumbs up-
ladyumbra
“Papa will there be worms tomorrow?” As Molly posed her question the young girl hopped into a small, still forming puddle on her half of the sidewalk. Dirty, grey water with small black bits of grit splashed up a few inches from the force, some of it splattered onto the tops of her silver rubber boots as it fell back to the Earth. A walk to the pharmacy in what was less than pleasant weather for most; to Molly was a chance to play on sidewalks otherwise a tad too busy, grimy and dusty to be enjoyable normally.
“Perhaps,” Her father, several steps behind her and out of splashing range, replied evenly, his voice gave no false hope and offered no reason to be excited.
Molly knew it was because you didn’t see worms as much anymore, or so she’d been told, but then again she didn’t see a lot of any animals unless she went looking for them.
“It’s raining,” she pointed out as if the fact that millions of fat sparkling water droplets had slipped loose from the cloud blanketed sky had escaped her father’s notice. “Worms come out after the rain,” the words were said with great authority. Molly was young and small but she did know that the only time she ever saw fat, wriggly, pink and brown worms was after it had rained.
“Sometimes there are worms Molly and you are not to go out looking for them.”
Molly looked back over her shoulder and up into the steely blue eyes of her Papa, it looked like he was being serious today. The coppery haired young girl loved all things great and small and often turned her room into a temporary shelter for whatever unfortunate creatures she came across. Her Papa usually didn’t like this, stating that wild things belonged outside and nature would decide who got better and who didn’t. Of course then he’d hug her and smile and saying nothing else about it unless it had been more than week or she was feeding her stowaway more than scraps. Sometimes, her Papa was confusing.
They passed by the old faux red brick school building where her Papa taught. Molly longed for the day when she would attend school even if the building in question was past it’s prime and it’s poorly tended lawn was more thorny scraggly weeds than grass. Though as she looked at the currently empty and dark windowed school Molly thought about how very different her Papa’s work made him.
When he talked about work or was just getting home he seemed older and more tired. Molly would hide near the parlor doorway and listen to him tell her Mama about how students today didn’t want to learn, they wanted to go off and be soldiers because that was where the glory and money was if there was another war. He’d growl about not being able to teach true history that could be analyzed and still promote the Motherland, while Mama rubbed his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Her Papa worked hard but work didn’t seem to make him very happy.
It was only after dinner and on weekends that Molly’s Papa was the jovial man who read her stories and had indoor picnics with her while talking softly with Mama about “better times.”
The wet, hacking cough of a passing sallow skinned old woman cloaked in a drenched tattered shawl reminded Molly of why she and Papa were going to the pharmacy in the first place. Any cheer at puddle jumping and the possibility of worms she’d had was quickly washed away. Her Mama had a cough and fever, and they were supposed to pick up medicine for her. Molly didn’t normally go out for little errands like this but her Mama had wanted quiet to rest in for a bit and Molly’d been too fidgety today to stay inside and be still.
Though she didn’t know if it was true Molly blamed her mother’s current sickness on the reason she was no longer going to have a brother. She had been so excited for him forever ago when her Mama and Papa had told her she would have one and now it wasn’t going to happen. Molly still wasn’t exactly sure why, she only knew he was gone to heaven and no one was allowed to talk about because it made Mama cry. With nothing and no one else to blame Molly chose the sickness as her main culprit.
As a more somber mood overtook Molly the girl became quiet and fell back into step directly beside her Papa. No smiles crossed her face as little holographic shop keeps waved and tried to lure her inside and she didn’t even argue when he asked her to wait outside the Pharmacy so it wasn’t as crowded. Instead Molly leaned against the side of the building under an awning and stared into another shallow puddle formed from it’s runoff.
A plump, pale face sprinkled liberally with freckles stared back at her, her reflection’s light blue eyes stared back into her own as she looked at coppery red curls of hair that peeked out from under the hood of her raincoat. She looked a lot like her Papa, everyone said so and Molly agreed. Though his nose was a bit crooked and his hair darker than hers. Still, when she looked at herself Molly saw her Papa’s eyes and his freckles and she was pretty sure they smiled the same, though she had her mama’s dimples. Of course she could only see her reflection for a few seconds at a time before new streams of rain fell off the awning and into the water causing it to ripple and distort.
Over the sound of the rain slapping onto the sidewalk, street and awning Molly heard a unfamiliar, low, almost hoarse sound and jerked her head up suddenly to see what had made it. The girl had not expected to see a raggedly dressed child plastered against the side of an old, concrete building across the street. Or, moreover, while a random waif might be in such place and state she had never seen one quite like this before. Of course she’d also been taught to ignore the poor because there was nothing that could be done for them now. Her Mama and Papa explained that if you helped one you must help them all and that was simply not possible
Molly stepped forward to the edge of the curb to get a better look at the shivering child who seemed to be basking, head tilted up, in the rain despite being cold. The boy, for though he had a soft, sort of girly face, Molly was sure he was male, had rich green skin with black and almost elegant looking markings on his face as well as his forearms. It reminded Molly of her when her Mama put on special makeup for “important occasions” which usually lead to her going to bed early.
She wanted to go over and talk to the boy, to ask how he could have special makeup if he was so poor as to be only wearing what looked like patched castoff rags. Molly herself had never understood being poor because as her Papa said she’d been born with a whole silver cutlery set in her mouth. This was because her Mama’s family had been ‘rolling in it’ which was a weird way of saying they were rich. Molly had never really wanted for anything in her life and those worse off than her were subject of great curiosity.
Before Molly could make up her mind to cross the street without permission her father exited the store, a small plastic case under one arm. Immediately she grabbed the other and gave it a jarring shake while pointing across the street. “Papa, look he’s funny.” Her voice was low as not to alert other passersby, not that anyone else seemed to be paying the boy any attention.
“Molly, don’t be rude.” Her Papa chastised her then turned reluctantly look at who had captured her attention so.
“Papa you’re not supposed to stare, it’s rude,” Molly scolded in return as she watched him let his jaw hang open just a little while looking through the slowly ceasing rain at the shivering boy. He was a bit bigger than her but was crouched down to appear small and he seemed to be almost playing in the water pooling around him.
As her own curiosity got the better of her, especially since she was now almost sure the boy had slitted eyes, Molly darted across the slick, puddle laden street, though she had the sense to look both ways for vehicles first.
Clearly startled by the sudden motion and attention the boy leapt to his feet and backed away. He opened his mouth but instead of words it was an odd almost metallic sounding serious of croaks that came out.
That combined with what Molly could now see were clearly long toed webbed feet, again rather elegant, told the girl enough to know finally what she was dealing with. This was no regular lost child or mutated orphan trying to eke out a simple existence in the mountain ringed town of Saltaire. This was one of those magical experimental frog princes she’d heard her mother talking about with Miss Claudia. Molly didn’t know much about them but she knew that they were frogs and also people at the same time and very very expensive.
Before her father could catch her and the older child could get further away she stretched out her arm and offered her hand to the frog boy. “Hi, I’m Molly, what’s your name?” Molly hoped if she seemed friendly enough she’d stop scaring the magical prince and also not attract the attention of anyone else who might want him.
The slick skinned boy paused and tilted his head as if considering the question then issued another short burst of low croaks.
Molly giggled then looked over her shoulder at her father who’d finally caught up to her. “Papa he doesn’t know how to talk right we have to take him home so you can teach him.” This was someone who needed him and couldn’t run away and be a soldier.
“No, your mother-“ He began.
“Mama still wants a boy” Molly countered as she cut him off and turned so she could better look between her Papa and the boy. “He’s a special boy,” She gestured to the long, translucent fin topped appendage half hidden behind the boy’s left leg. “He’s got a tail.” She wondered if it wagged when he was happy.
Hand still outstretched Molly shuffled closer to web-footed the boy who’s name she could not understand. “ Come here” she commanded with all the authority a girl of nearly six could have on a magical boy who was likely twice her age. “I’m taking you home.”
As the green skinned, long toed boy came closer accepting her offer Molly smiled. Her Mama might be sick but the magic frog prince would make her happy again and it was she who had found him.
Notes: I know the princes can speak but I was amused by the idea of making him mute to the human tongue for the prompt as if he were truly a reject and I’d read and heard their call was somewhat metallic sounding. I also know the princes aren’t magical but Molly doesn’t quite understand that. Her father would of course be the official guardian.
* I would totally accept the challenge of a non speaking prince that had to learn some form of sign language to communicate.
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Posted: Fri Jan 22, 2010 11:54 pm
Dju's verdict: I like that this entry is the only entry which basically is devoid of all and any biography, but you have to keep in mind that this is a stand-alone entry--we don't go to your quest to look for extra information, we don't backread your other entries--This task should be seen as a "short story" and as such, you need a bit more background on Rochelle. What does she do? Who is she?
Also, again I'm surprised at both your characters' rather mild reaction to him. He's a mutant! A hybrid, the likes of which your character has probably never seen before! Most people would shriek and run for the hills, and Rochelle notices that he's green and continues looking him over for injuries while Na'ima invites him happily inside XD Which also brings me to the point that while he was rather hostile towards her at the start, he warmed up enough to climb into her bed no less? P:
I really do like this entry though--more than your previous ones. Rochelle is very personable and your writing is funny; you would have gotten into our top five only if you had made the world less 21st Century. Also need to pay more attention to stuff that happens in Saltaire; if you had read even one of Max's journal entries, you would have known that he refuses to give them names so "Jalen" would have probably been named Double-oh-five instead. Would have been nice to see you include a little bit of knowledge that isn't obvious learned from only reading The Coronation.
Psssst. Frogs love insects; insects are pure meat XD
(This seems like a huge critique but I'm sure I'm not the only one who wants to see you grow into this place as smoothly as possible <3 We critique because we love)
King's verdict: Hmm. I must say that first off, Rochelle is an aesthetically interesting and likable character and so is her family. <3 Now, I noticed this and Dju got on to you for it (just a little LOL not like OH GOD ALMIGHTY YOU ARE DUMB THEY EAT MEAT XDD) , But I feel like I'm somewhat to blame for this. I remember that I had told people that I would've expected that frogs didn't like meat, but I'm certainly not a biology major and probably should've left Dju to take care of that question when it was asked. Anyways, apart from that crit, I will definitely agree with him that.. this was perhaps my favorite of your entries. What I will disagree with though is the reaction crit I think? Idk. Its such a... different thing for each of the characters I've "met" so far. I don't think Rochelle's reaction was NEARLY as casual as some of the other entries and that there's no real need for total SHOCK reaction in EVERY entry especially for those who supposedly had gone to Max's parties and have a "general idea of him and his project." But yea, I think her mental reaction was fine. I personally would not WTF EW at someone that appeared mutant that would be super unclassy and rude anyways xD Of course this is fiction but still. Anyways, you're doing great, your writing is painless to read and I liked it, no need to make any drastic changes to character at this point. (On a side note I probably need to go back read about Rochelle cause I don't know as to how rich she is from this entry but I'm pretty sure you had told us before at some point?)
thecatsred
“Rocky, why don’t’cha just stay inside today?” Na’ima said as she let the drape she held fall back into place, covering the kitchen window. She turned slightly to watch as Rochelle attached her running leg. “It’s rainin’,” she tried again, though it would not help.
“Ma,” Rochelle started, looking up briefly. “You know I always go jogging on Wednesdays. I’m not gonna let a little rain stop me, no sir. Plus,” She hopped up out of the chair and walked over to her mother with a smile. “it’s not all that cold out there today, and the rain ain’t bad. I’m like a fish!” she announced happily, moving her hands up to her face and making a motion that was intended to simulate gills. “I like the water, glub glub.” Na’ima rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest grumpily, not at all liking the idea of her danger prone daughter out running in the rain, but she no longer protested.
Rochelle knew that meant her mother had finally given in, so she smiled and gave her flustered mother a quick peck on the cheek before going to the door. She stepped out slowly, smelling that distinct icy smell the winter often carried with it. Coupled with the scent of the rain, this afternoon, at least according to Rochelle, was one to be cherished, as snow generally dominated all winter. She tilted her head back for a moment and just watched as the rain fell down steadily. Some of it got into her eyes, but she relished in the feeling of the cool droplets on her skin.
A shuddering breath and a low sigh later, Rochelle was heading off down the side of the road, which was all but deserted at this time of day. Most people were still at work, making their way in the world without as much as a thought to what was happening around them. Though a few people still littered the sidewalks; clinging to their significant other to escape the cold. Today, Rochelle wanted to try out a new route she had planned the night before for a change of scenery. Running the same path every week had gotten monotonous and she felt it was time for a change. She turned at a corner store advertising a new medicine of some sort with bright, blinking lights that would be an epileptic’s worst nightmare, but she ignored it, her breath coming out in white puffs in front of her and drifting off to the side. It was colder than she expected, and she began to have second thoughts about taking a new, and considerably longer, route, but she stubbornly shook these thoughts out of her head and kept on running.
The clouds overhead started to turn an angry dark purple, looming over Rochelle with a threat of a heavy downpour. She slowed at a corner and wiped the wet streaks from her face, clearing her vision as she inspected the roads for any traffic. Just before she was about to start across, she heard a shuffling noise above the sound of the rain hitting the pavement. Stalling, she backed up a few paces and leaned her ear towards a nearby alley, listening intently. There were no sounds for the first few minutes, but then, a faint noise. It sounded like a light sniffling, or a gurgling, perhaps; she couldn’t be sure.
Like they always say about humans being dangerously curious, Rochelle was no exception. She quickly looked around before taking a few steps into the dimly lit alleyway. Once her eyes adjusted, she could make out the form of a figure hunched over and huddling against a wall. On the side opposite the figure, an awning from the building hung out a few feet, shielding that side of the alley from the relentless rain. She paused briefly to wonder why somebody would willingly avoid shelter from the rain before she realized she was being a hypocrite. “Um, excuse me, are…um, are you okay?” she asked tentatively, her light voice hardly audible over the rain drops, which in the past few minutes had managed to get fatter and hit harder. She took a few steps forward, her hand outstretched slightly. “Do you need some help? Are you okay?” she asked again, though this time with a bit more strength in her words.
Finally Rochelle got to the person who was still crouched over and huddled against the wall. She tentatively touched the stranger’s shoulder, not knowing what to think, and certainly not expecting what happened after that. The figure turned toward her suddenly, flashing bright, almost animalistic eyes her way, and she immediately realized this was a child. He was obviously still very young, no older than eleven and covered in rags. Her motherly instincts immediately went into overdrive and she barely had time to register that his skin was green before she reached out to him and pulled him into her arms, gently of course. Surprisingly enough to Rochelle, the boy did not resist her, and instead, snuggled into her belly willingly.
Once her thoughts caught up with her again, Rochelle carefully moved the boy back a bit to study his face. Yes, he was definitely green; there was no doubt about that. She gave him an once-over, checking the boy for any injuries or something that could give her clues to where he came from. When she bent down to see if he had shoes, she nearly gasped in shock. This boy had webbed feet! It was then that she realized she had gotten in way over her head, since now he was looking at Rochelle expectantly, almost as if he was waiting for some sort of instruction. She swallowed thickly and looked behind her quickly. That distant feeling of guilt was washing over her, like she was doing something illegal and dangerous, and frankly, it was exhilarating. “So,” she said suddenly, looking down at the amphibious boy in front of her. “do you have a name?” The boy nodded, looking up at her blankly. She sighed. “Would you like to tell me your name, hun?” He shook his head no. Well, this was going wonderfully.
Perhaps if Rochelle came from a different angle. “Do you have a home?” No. “Why don’t you have a home?” A careless shrug. “Are you hungry?” The boy’s eyes lit up and his lips parted in a small smile, revealing white, obviously human teeth. He nodded enthusiastically and attached himself to her waist again. “Alright then, hun, can you follow me back to my house? I can give you some food there, okay?” She looked down at him in askance, and he simply nodded into her belly.
The walk home was more than awkward. Rochelle kept looking over her shoulder to make sure she was not followed, or if anything was out of the ordinary. She had realized earlier that this boy was one from that blonde’s experiments. Max something. It had already been a few months since she had seen him, but she remembered distinctly that she did not care for the man at all. She shivered at the memory of that night and the boy at her side scooted a little closer to her, as if he had picked up on her discomfort. So this is what he had been up to, apparently. While they walked, Rochelle glanced at her new found friend with interest. He had humanoid features and very beautiful markings. His eyes were abnormally large, even for one of his age, but that just served to make him appear all the more adorable and innocent. She found herself growing progressively more fond of him the longer she watched him. Eventually she turned back to her street, the boy still attached at her hip, and walked up to her house warily. What would her mother think of him?
The front door flew open before Rochelle had a chance to prepare herself. Na’ima stood in the doorway with an alarmingly placid expression. This made her pause, but the boy did not seem to mind Rochelle’s mother and instead looked up at her carefully, engaging in some sort of pseudo-staring contest. Na’ima let a smile cross her face. “Don’t just stand there like a dumb animal, bring ‘im inside.” Na’ima chided, stepping aside to allow the two of them entrance. She watched the green boy critically as he walked up the steps and began to wander around the living room quizzically.
He picked up and rearranged the pillows resting on the couch, crouched down and turned over a corner of the throw rug, and inspected some decorative candles on the coffee table with a childish look of glee on his face. Rochelle looked at her mother in question. “He’s quite a find, Rocky.” she mentioned abruptly. “I suppose you got your little prince anyway, didn’t ya?” She nudged her daughter almost playfully and made her way back to the kitchen, where she busied herself with gathering ingredients for a salad.
Rochelle looked at the boy solemnly and left him to his business in the living room. “Ma, we can’t keep him here. What if he escaped? They’ll think we stole him or something! We have to bring him back.”
Na’ima frowned, a head of lettuce in one hand and some cherry tomatoes in the other. “We will do nothing of the sort.” She pointed a tomato at her daughter accusingly. “You found him, he is rightfully yours now. Especially since, judgin’ by the looks of ‘im, he’s been on the streets and fendin’ for himself for quite a while. If they wanted to, they ought‘ve found him by now. Finder’s keepers, Rocky.”
Rochelle was about to argue with her mother on the dangers of keeping the boy in her house when suddenly a tiny yet forceful voice sounded from the entrance of the kitchen. “I am not an object, ma’am. Please do not refer to me like I am one.” He had a pillow pressed against his chest as he said this, his eyes flicking between the lettuce and Na’ima a few times. Then, as suddenly as he appeared, he turned towards Rochelle. “And you told me you had food here. When may I eat?” he asked, pointing at the food items in Na’ima’s hands.
“Um, Ma, make him a salad, too. You eat salad, right?” Rochelle asked carefully, mildly stunned that the boy could actually talk. She thought him mute up until a few moments ago.
He shrugged. “As long as there are no meats in it, I suppose.” He inched further into the kitchen, coming to watch Rochelle’s mother silently prepare his food with the pillow still held tightly in his arms.
Rochelle looked down at him and touched his shoulder, only to pull her hand back quickly. “Oh, you’re soaked! We should get you into some dry clothes, c’mon.” She started to head up the stairs when she noticed the faint look of horror on the boy’s face.
“I am fine wet, thank you. I would rather stay here,” he told her, backing away a little.
Rochelle paused, furrowing her brow. “Well then, I’ll just…go get changed myself, I guess. I’ll be right back,” she said as disappeared up the stairs.
Na’ima finally came out of her stupor and turned to the boy with a bowl of fresh salad, which she handed to him proudly. “So, do you have a name?” she asked while he snatched the bowl from her hands and ate greedily.
He nodded with a mouth full of food. “I do.” he confirmed once he had effectively polished off the salad. He then quieted, returning to his comfortable staring once again.
Na’ima took a seat across from him at the table. “What is it?” she asked him, returning his blank stares with ones of her own. Around this time, Rochelle returned to the kitchen with her normal prosthetic on and a comfortable pair of capris and a t-shirt.
“What’cha guys doing?” she asked, looking between the two with a confused and worried expression on her face.
Rochelle’s mother spoke up, though never took her eyes off the boy. “I asked him his name. He hasn’t told me yet.”
“He refused to tell me, too.” Rochelle mentioned, turning to face him.
“I do not see why learning my name is of such importance.” he mumbled, looking down at the pillow in his lap warily. He picked at the tassels sewn into the fabric, unraveling them slowly and deliberately, but neither of the women seemed to take notice of this distruction.
“We don’t want to have to refer to you as ‘boy’,” Rochelle explained, settling in by standing off to one hip with her hands out in front of her.
Her mother sat back in her chair and crossed her arms again. “I’m Na’ima, and this is my daughter Rochelle,” she started. “There. We introduced ourselves, now it’s only common curtsey to do the same.” She has a smug expression on her face, since she knew quite well the boy would no be able to ignore her question now. He appeared far too polite to deny her his name.
The boy glanced up with a slight frown, but sighed and muttered out, “My name is Jalen.” His webbed feet dangled over the edge of the chair in which he sat grumpily. He had been swinging them back and forth, and now took to pushing at the edge of a table leg with his toes instead.
Rochelle looked down at the boy with a smile on her face, “Jalen is a nice name.” She decided, nodding happily. Interesting choice of name on the scientist’s part…
“I agree.” Na’ima slapped her hands down on the table, startling Jalen. “Now!” She announced suddenly, standing up from her spot and pointing at the clock on the wall nearby. “It’s gettin’ late, Rocky. Show Jalen here to the guest bedroom. I’m sure he’s gotta be tired.” She waved to the boy and gave him a smile as she wandered off to the living room.
Rochelle smiled as well, moving to pat Jalen’s shoulder and made a motion for him to follow her up the stairs. He did so after an instant of hesitation, still toting that pillow around for whatever reason. “Do you want a bath?” she asked him once they reached the door to the guest room.
“I would like that.” Jalen mumbled, looking up at her with that faint smile he had earlier. Something about that smile just melted Rochelle’s heart. It was so completely human, the expression, and it helped her to finally understand why so many people wanted a prince of their own. They were not simply free labor, or the next new fad (regardless of what some people might say). They each had their own personalities, their own complexities, and Rochelle found she would very much like to coddle this boy in front of her who stared up at her with such large, adorable eyes. She cupped his shoulder and pointed to a door at the end of the hall.
“Alrighty then. Follow me.” Rochelle led him into her own room, which was equipped with a special handicapped-friendly environment. And as such, there was no door to her bathroom. It was merely an opening that showed a sink, a rather large mirror, a toilet to the side of that, and in the corner, nearly out of sight, was the shower-tub combo. Jalen looked up at her in question, but he said nothing.
“Would you like me to leave…?” Rochelle asked, wondering just how these amphibious types bathed. Did they going about the task as a human would? She thought it amusing to picture little Jalen swimming about her particularly spacious tub and ended up stifling a giggle. That would probably scare the poor boy into thinking she was up to something of particularly bad taste.
Jalen seemed to consider her question a moment; his little pink tongue coming out to swipe at his drying lips. After some heavy chin-tapping he finally shook his head no. “I can warm up with my clothes on. I know you would rather not leave me by myself,” he said. Rochelle nodded at the last comment, which was entirely the truth. She went into the little cove and started the bath, asking him to check the temperature he wanted it at. Once the bath was filled, the rest of the bath time passed without incident.
Occasionally Jalen would get this vicious twinkle in his eye and splash Rochelle with a bit of his water, but she only giggled and splashed him back. They had fallen into a comfortable silence then, until Jalen decided he was warm, and subsequently wet, enough for now. He did not mind Rochelle’s insistence that he at least pat himself off a bit before he shuffled across the carpet, dripping all the way to the guest room.
Rochelle presented him with his bed for the night and smiled to herself at the happy and relieved look that passed over his face at the sight of it. “Well, I trust you can settle in yourself, yeah? I’ll be heading off to bed now myself, so if you need me I’ll be just next door. G’night, Jalen.” Rochelle whispered, wiggling her fingers at him from the doorway. Jalen waved back at her as she left to get ready for bed and climbed into his own. The sheets immediately soaked through, but he took no mind of it. It was just nice to have a bed to sleep in for once. He snuggled farther down into the bed and buried himself in the cloth sleepily.
A few hours had passed, and Rochelle was sound asleep by now, warm and comfy in her own bed, and completely unaware that Jalen had snuck in her room, silently making his way to her bed. He reached over the side and gently shook her shoulder. “Hmm?” she asked groggily, her mind still filled with sleep as she registered the boy standing beside her. “What is it?”
“I cannot sleep. My bed is too cold,” Jalen explained, his age clearly showing from the obvious pout on his face. “Would it be alright if I slept with you?” he asked innocently, almost like a plea. Rochelle had a hard time not reaching out and pulling him into a hug; instead, she nodded and scooted over, making room for him. He was small and easily fit right alongside Rochelle in her bed and placed that pillow from earlier under his head once he was settled. When he turned and snuggled against her a few minutes later, she found that he was indeed cold, and also still rather damp, but she did not care. She merely smiled to herself and held him closer.
“Sleep well, my little prince.” Rochelle whispered, finally allowing slumber to take her once more.
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Posted: Sat Jan 23, 2010 12:04 am
Dju's verdict: I really like how this entry is written. It's so short and yet it's blooming with potential--you remind me of the author Lewis Carroll, you possess some sort of similarity to his writing style and it's really quite endearing. The only part of your entry that I think holds you back is that you barely submitted it to begin with--you almost missed out on the deadline there! (Hehe, Moj boze--My God xD Surprised that I know that AREN'T YOU razz )
The ending was disappointingly short--you made most of the story a biography for your character and then (you can really notice this as the paragraphs start depleting in length XDD) you shortened it up during the end. I would have loved to see more interaction between them two, what Dimitrov thought about meeting such an odd creature and what his plans are for afterward. You're a great writer, but next time don't rush so much!
King's verdict: Omgggg where did the good read gooo? D= Why was it cut so short, I was really getting into the intro. Like, Im serious, I was excited to get an older male character who was serious but not arid and dry. The length of the into was immaculate, it was easy to read through and got the point across. I'm well aware now of who Dimitrov is, just without all the details that we need not right now. In any case, if it was a prelude it would be right on the mark. I'm excited to hear more from this character and the sort of interaction that you would portray from a prince in detail. Keep it up~
Tsukiora
Today was one of those days where the only saving grace of the weather was that it was just warm enough to stave off snow. Vagabonds and the destitute huddle on street corners, gloomy shop fronts darkened the avenue, and an icy rain pattered down mercilessly. It was a chill Dimitrov could feel in his bones as he paced down the streets of Saltaire, looking with concern at the bleak faces of the beggars. Enough water managed to assault his inadequate footwear that Dimitrov walked across the cobbles with a chorus from his sole. He now thoroughly regretted the dilapidated state of his boots, each of which somewhere donned an unfashionably large hole. He hadn’t the time to invest in a new pair, and he’d had these for nearly two years. It was not always so for Dimitrov. Once, he had anything he could ask for. While not exactly a mansion, he had owned a large dwelling, all the commodities he could ask for, pets, and a family. His son had fallen ill and Dimitrov Wolenty sold nearly everything he possessed to pay the doctor’s fees. In the years before the war such things had been nearly unheard of, but when his son passed away his wife, Alice, spent her days grieving.
They had lived in Warsaw at the time but Dimitrov made the move to the small English town where his brother lived in the hopes that it would console Alice in her grief. Dimitrov himself became so absorbed in his work that he was rarely home. While this was a horrible habit for his wife, who needed all the companionship that her faithful husband could give, it had turned out for the better. He discovered a cheap, efficient way to purify water and his younger brother, Cyryl, had gone to lengths to convince Dimitrov to seek a government contract and start a company. This endeavor proved fruitful and even now Wolenty reaped the benefits. He and his wife were better off now then when their son was still smiling and in their arms, financially at least. Everything else was shot to hell, and this particular hell was a cold one. Dimitrov shivered, though not from the chill, but drew his coat around him nonetheless, chemically treated faux leather and fur into which ribbon like heating cables were woven and emanated warmth.
Pacing the streets was one of Dimitrov’s few respites from his heavy repertoire of work. He looked after the interests of the three year old company Wolenty had founded, assisted his secretary in keeping the books, was forever on call for the half a dozen other branches of his company which had popped up in places where clean drinking water was in high demand. He finalized and approved any marketing alterations presented by his board, and spent his evenings breeding his own army of better, faster, stronger microbes for use in the purification process and today- Today was his day off. One day a week which he spent a variety of ways, and today he was spending it in the rain and, apparently, to acquire a new set of boots, the only particularly deplorable part of his attire. As melancholy eyes placidly scanned the streets one particularly young drifter caught his eye. The homeless child was so absolutely unremarkable that the fact itself caught his eye. Dimitrov slowed his walk and spared a second glance for the hooded young figure and it occurred to him that the child actually looked to be enjoying the rain. Where the rest of the city waste suffered the presence of rain with the absence of a roof, the youth seemed to be taking sole comfort from the wetness of the frigid England day. Stopping altogether Dimitrov gazed further at the being on the wayside of the edifice and was surprised to see what looked to be green skin. While Dimitrov quickly dubbed this quite a curious occurrence indeed, he was not entirely startled to recognize the child as looking quite like the descriptions of the failed Rheinfels children that had been cast off to the street like so much rubbish and yet, here was one of them. Those so-called frog princes of Maximilian’s which were rumored to set one’s pockets back to the stone age and one of those costly boys was on the curb like they weren’t worth a even a second’s notice. Dimitrov hazarded an approach and took a few long strides before he stood above the young prince.
“Mój Boże, you must be cold out here.” Dimitrov addressed the malnourished frog child and an inhumanly patterned face looked into the driving rain at the sound of Wolenty’s voice. Alien eyes stared up unblinkingly at the young man who towered over him.
“I s’pose,” The boy spouted without preamble, regarding Dimitrov thoughtfully.
“You’re one of Maximilian’s boys, aren’t you?” The elder inquired in an effort to verify his suspicions and was assented with a reluctant nod.
“Sukces ma wieju ojców, porazka jest sierota.” He muttered grimly, it was a polish phrase that meant something like: A success has many fathers, a failure is an orphan. The boy tilted his head as a manner of questioning at the clipped polish the adult spoke.“Nevermind,” Dimitrov smiled. “Come with me, we’ll figure something out and get you warmed up.” The prince regarded Dimitrov suspiciously for a moment, but stood to follow the elder nonetheless.
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There is a surprising twist of events down in Saltaire...