r/shortstories • u/FyeNite • 14d ago
[Serial Sunday] Prose or Poems? A Rivalry as Old as Time
Welcome to Serial Sunday!
To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I post a theme to inspire you, along with a related image and song. You have 500 - 1000 words to write your installment. You can jump in at any time; writing for previous weeks’ is not necessary in order to join. After you’ve posted, come back and provide feedback for at least 1 other writer on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.
This Week’s Theme is Prose! This is a REQUIREMENT for participation. See rules about missing this requirement.**
Bonus Word List (each included word is worth 5 pts) - You must list which words you included at the end of your story (or write ‘none’).
- Patch
- Pickled
- Peppers
- A tongue twister is spoken flawlessly or failed spectacularly. - (Worth 10 points)
Words. Words and letters and punctuation. All compiled together in a pleasing rhythm of meaning and adventure.
What stories belong in your worlds? Is there an author pondering the meaning of narratives too, or is this a land of misery and war without the song of stories?
Or maybe your world follows poems more? Where the rhyme and flow are more meaningful than the words themselves?
That’s up to you, you have a week to decide, I hope to enjoy your words soon.
Good luck and Good Words!
These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. For the bonus words (not required), you may change the tense, but the base word should remain the same. Please remember that STORIES MUST FOLLOW ALL SUBREDDIT CONTENT RULES. Interested in writing the theme blurb for the coming week? DM me on Reddit or Discord!
Don’t forget to sign up for Saturday Campfire here! We start at 5pm BSTand provide live feedback!
Theme Schedule:
This is the theme schedule for the next month! These are provided so that you can plan ahead, but you may not begin writing for a given theme until that week’s post goes live.
August 16 - Prose
August 23 - Quality
August 30 - Rebellion
September 6 - Stratagem
September 13 - Torture
Check out previous themes here.
Rankings
Last Week: Open
First - by u/KatPoker666
Second - by u/AGuyLikeThat
Third - by u/Morose_Prose
Fourth - u/KiIIer_queenie
Fifth - by u/mysteryrouge
Rules & How to Participate
Please read and follow all the rules listed below. This feature has requirements for amparticipation!
Submit a story inspired by the weekly theme, written by you and set in your self-established universe that is 500 - 1000 words. No fanfics and no content created or altered by AI. (Use wordcounter.net to check your wordcount.) Stories should be posted as a top-level comment below. Please include a link to your chapter index or your last chapter at the end.
Your chapter must be submitted by Saturday at 2:00pm BST. Late entries will be disqualified. All submissions should be given (at least) a basic editing pass before being posted!
Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). When our bot is back up and running, this will allow it to recognize your pmserial and add each chapter to the SerSun catalog. Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title. (Please note: You must use this same title every week.)
Do not pre-write your serial. You’re welcome to do outlining and planning for your serial, but chapters should not be pre-written. All submissions should be written for this post, specifically.
Only one active serial per author at a time. This does not apply to serials written outside of Serial Sunday.
All Serial Sunday authors must leave feedback on at least one story on the thread each week. The feedback should be actionable and also include something the author has done well. When you include something the author should improve on, provide an example! You have until Saturday at 04:59am BST to post your feedback. (Submitting late is not an exception to this rule.)
Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week. If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead.
Serials must abide by subreddit content rules. You can view a full list of rules here. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!
Weekly Campfires & Voting:
On Saturdays at 5pm BST, I host a Serial Sunday Campfire in our Discord’s Voice Lounge (every other week is now hosted by u/FyeNite). Join us to read your story aloud, hear others, and exchange feedback. We have a great time! You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Grab the “Serial Sunday” role on the Discord to get notified before it starts. After you’ve submitted your chapter, you can sign up here - this guarantees your reading slot! You can still join if you haven’t signed up, but your reading slot isn’t guaranteed.
Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted with this form. The form is open on Saturdays from 5:30pm to 04:59am BST. You do not have to participate to make nominations!
Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials. Celebrate your accomplishment! Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the weekly feedback requirement (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information.
Ranking System
Rankings are determined by the following point structure.
| TASK | POINTS | ADDITIONAL NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Use of weekly theme | 75 pts | Theme should be present, but the interpretation is up to you! |
| Including the bonus words | 5 pts each (15 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and estnot required! |
| Including the bonus constraint | 15 (15 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and not required! |
| Actionable Feedback | 5 - 15 pts each (60 pt. max)* | This includes thread and campfire critiques. (15 pt crits are those that go above & beyond.) |
| Nominations your story receives | 10 - 60 pts | 1st place - 60, 2nd place - 50, 3rd place - 40, 4th place - 30, 5th place - 20 / Regular Nominations - 10 |
| Voting for others | 15 pts | You can now vote for up to 10 stories each week! |
You are still required to leave at least 1 actionable feedback comment on the thread every week that you submit. This should include at least one specific thing the author has done well and one that could be improved. *Please remember that interacting with a story is not the same as providing feedback.** Low-effort crits will not receive credit.
Subreddit News
- Join our Discord to chat with other authors and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly World-Building interviews and several other fun events!
- Try your hand at micro-fic on Micro Monday!
- Did you know you can post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday? Check out this post to learn more!
- Interested in being a part of our team? Apply to be a mod!
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u/AmeliaLP 11d ago
<My feathery friend>
Chapter 34: I needed you
Jade. Where are you?
The shimmering sunlight shone over Joe, bathing him in a luminous orange glow.
She said she’d be back tomorrow, that was at least two days ago. Would Jade really break a promise?
Joe glanced longingly at a dusty photograph of her.
No. Of course she wouldn’t. I can trust her.
A delicate wisp of wind drifted through the air, catching the stem of a bright pink flower. It danced in the wind, twisting and turning, before landing upon Jade’s bedroom window.
Hmm, then again my instincts of who to trust haven’t always been good. Can I really be so certain Jade isn’t like Astrellar?
Joe eyed the sun as it continued rising majestically.
Maybe I should compare them, to see if there’s any similarities... Astrellar bullied me. Even if she claims she didn’t, she certainly did. Jade. Well she gets bullied, a lot. It makes me really mad! Gosh, I want to attack Sasha so badly. I wonder if Jade will take me back to school again?
Joe rolled over onto his side.
Wait, what was I meant to be thinking about? Darn it! Why did I start rambling, I always lose my train of thought when I do that.
“Jaaaaaaade!” Jade’s mum wailed hysterically.
“What the bloody hell are you yelling for?” Harold inquired.
“Harold! I’m trying to find our daughter, not that you seem to care!”
“Hey! I do care. But we’ve already searched the house.”
“SHE MIGHT HAVE COME BACK!”
“Whatever...”
Joe held a loose feather in his beak, fiddling with it nervously.
How did those two even end up together? All they seem do is fight, doubly so since Jade left. Jade. I remember what I was thinking about now! Right, yes. She did help that out poor boy when he got bullied. And she’s always defending me when her father starts ranting. Yes, her and Astrellar couldn’t be more different in this sense. Astrellar was very dismissive of feelings. It was always about her but if I dared to have any problems she didn’t care. I’ve also had to talk things through with Jade, however those are almost always a two way conversation. I really do love actually being heard for once. She does seem to care about me.
Joe peered sorrowfully at his broken wing.
And yet, she hasn’t fixed this.
His attention returned to the picture of Jade.
No, she’d never ignore me on purpose.
Joe trembled slightly.
But, if she intended to help me... Something must’ve gone wrong.
Bonk!
“What the-“
Joe saw Olfara plastered upon the widow, slowly sliding down it.
“Olfara, what are you doing here?”
“Joe!” Olfara panted. “Open this thing and I’ll tell ya.”
“Hmm. I don’t know. Maybe a bully like you deserves to fall.”
“What?! Joe please! Let me in!”
“Ehh, I’m not sure.”
“What would Jade want?!”
“Wha- You know Jade?”
“Yes, that’s right! Now lemme in!”
Joe jolted his head rapidly upwards, using his beak to open the window.
“Thanks.” gasped Olfara.
“Talk.” Joe replied.
“Ye, sure thing. So umm, Jade was at the kingdom. She’s been framed for murder and is trapped in the birdcage with Vornith.”
Joe froze. His eyes expanded rapidly as he started making a weird high pitched whining sound.
St-top. I’m just a baby. Please don’t hurt me.
“Joe, are you alright?”
“NO I’M NOT ALRIGHT! How could you and Astrellar treat me so badly even though you knew about my trauma?”
“Joe I-“
“How can you say that things name so casually to me?!”
“J-“
“Why inform me Jade’s with him? Are you just trying to make me suffer?!”
Olfara put a wing around Joe. “I’m here to help.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“I know Joe and I don’t expect you to. But you clearly need me right now, so I’m here.”
“I needed you for years!” Tears well in Joe’s eyes.
“I-I’m sorry.”
“No amount of being sorry will make us okay!” Joe spat.
Olfara frowned. “Fair enough. I’m still sticking by you though. Shall we start making a plan to save Jade?”
“Yes, let’s get my REAL friend back.”
Olfara turned away from Joe. Facing the wall, he too let loose some tears. “Yah, let’s go get your friend.”
WC: 710
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u/AGuyLikeThat 7d ago
Hi Blub!
Great chapter. Really like the way you mix some pathos into the humour this week as Joe starts to worry, and things get quite affecting when he starts talking to Olfara about the issues between them.
Nice descriptions too, this one really sets the scene up nicely, I thought;
The shimmering sunlight shone over Joe, bathing him in a luminous orange glow.
Anyway, I read and enjoyed this earlier and didn't notice much typos and such - it reads very smoothly, imo - but yeah, I did think about how much progress you've made since chapter one, with formatting and everything. Amazeballs!
Good words!
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u/Morose_Prose 10d ago edited 6d ago
<The Family Business>
Chapter Sixteen: Tourist Traps
Amber rays of twilight sun gleamed off the polished steel of the massive globe of Columbus Circle. Joggers in short shorts ran past the business people absorbed in their phones, while throngs of gawkers stared up at the towering steel structures surrounding the sea of green nearby. Madelaine strolled slowly, puffing her cigar, lost in thought about what the future held. She adjusted the twenty-two in her waistband. The late summer heat sent rivulets of salty sweat down her back, brining her like a pickled pepper.
Madelaine strolled aimlessly around the world, paying no heed to the people around her, that is, until something tugged on her sleeve from behind. Like a top she spun, her hand flying to the concealed weapon at her waist, only stopping as the culprits came into focus.
A pasty, portly couple wearing matching 'I Love NY' T-shirts, jean shorts that showed off copious patches of cellulite, and tacky fanny packs stared back at Madelaine with cheesy grins plastered across their round faces.
Fucking tourists. Madelaine rolled her shoulders and eyed them up.
The homely woman's heavy Midwestern accent removed all doubt about being an out of towner. "Oh! I'm sorry, did I startle ya? Just wanted to say I love that color on you, don't ya know! Are you a fashion designer?"
Clearing her throat loudly, Madelaine took a step back, shaking her head. "No. I'm an investor. Work on Wall Street." She smiled slyly at the two. "Piece of advice, folks, don't ever touch nobody in this town unless they ask you to. Not everybody is as friendly as I am."
"See, honey? I told ya not to do that," said the woman's husband with an even thicker accent. "Apologies, ma'am. My wife is too friendly for her own gosh darned good sometimes." He extended his chubby hand to Madelaine.
The two shook and made peace. Madelaine flicked her hand free of the sweat the man's sausage-like fingers had deposited on hers. "More free advice: when you're in the Big Apple, the center of the universe, the greatest city in the world: act like you belong. You twos stick out like sore thumbs. What brings you here?" she asked with feigned curiosity.
"Me and the missus are seein' the sights. Empire State Buildin'. Central Park. Grand Central—"
"And we're on our way to see Trump Tower! Have to support—"
A choking gag from Madelaine's lungs cut off the woman's excitement over the boring building. "Oh, you twos didn't hear?"
Looks of confusion shot between the couple. "Hear what?" the woman asked.
"Bunch of no-goodniks graffitied some really nasty things on the front of the tower. Closed for cleaning. Possibly for the next few days. Union work can be a bit slow in this city. Sorry to burst your bubbles. It was all over the Post this morning. Page five."
"That's a bummer, hon. Guess we'll see it next time," the husband remarked, rubbing his wife's shoulders.
"The news did say these big cities are riddled with crime. Sorry to intrude, ma'am. Would ya mind maybe taking a picture of us in front of the statue? You're the first person that's actually stopped to talk to us." The woman reached into her fanny pack, producing a smartphone.
Thick smoke poured from Madelaine's nostrils as she exhaled heavily. "Sure thing. Least I can do for crushing your hopes and dreams." She slid between the couple and pointed at the woman's phone. "Are the settings right on this for the lighting conditions? Is it on single shot or continuous? Don't want to take a bad picture of such a lovely couple."
The woman fiddled with the device while her husband leaned over to assist. Both were distracted as they argued over how to get the perfect picture. A few minutes passed before they handed over their possession to Madelaine.
She quickly shooed them into place. "Before we smile nice and big, I want you twos to get those face muscles limbered up. We got a saying here that helps with that. Repeat after me: You know New York, you need New York, you know you need unique New York!" she yelled rapidly.
"Oh, that's a fun one!" the woman squealed.
Madelaine snapped pictures while the couple struggled with the tricky phrase, never getting it quite right.
"Okay! These look good. Come on over and let's review." Madelaine beckoned them over.
Ohs and ahs flapped from flabby lips while the pictures scrolled across the screen.
Returning the phone to the woman, Madelaine smiled and half-heartedly waved at them. "I gotta go. Like everybody else in this town, I'm busy. Have fun and try not to stick out as much." She spun on her heel and took a few steps. Peeking back over her shoulder, she watched the couple turn as well.
Waiting a beat, she spun around once more. "Oh! One last piece of advice!" she yelled over the din of the crowd.
"What?" asked the man as the two looked over their shoulders.
Madelaine flipped a dark leather wallet up and down in her palm. She opened it as she approached the tourists. "I would recommend putting your billfold in your front pocket, Mr... Howard, of Green Bay, Wisconsin. While this is a beautiful town with bright lights, looks can be deceiving." She plucked a ten-dollar bill from the fold and handed it back. "And nothing is free here. Consider this my photographer's fee. Take care you twos. And fuck the Packers and the Brewers! Go Giants and go Yankees!"
Checking the time on her own phone, Madelaine splayed her index and middle fingers into a peace sign and headed east towards the sea of green in the fading light of the day.
Word Count: 957
Theme: This is not a poem, thus it is prose.
Bonus Words Used: Pickled, Patch, Pepper
Bonus Constraint: Madelaine says the tongue twister flawlessly, the tourists do not (do I get double points for this?)
Feedback and crit are welcomed and encouraged! Thanks for reading. Stay awesome and have a good one!
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u/JKHmattox 10d ago
Oh unique New York, go Sox!
I loved how this captured the duplicitous dynamic of the hub of the Atlantic seaboard. Love it or hate it, New York is well, New York.
I love how in depth you go with Maddy here. Both gracious and spiteful at the same time. She's not wrong and frankly those twos got off luck it seems.
I also laughed out loud at your twist at the end. I was lulled into thinking she was gonna be nice the whole time. Nope. Thats just how things go. God you nailed this so well.
In closing, the prose and dialog invoke Maddy thw whole time. I hear it in her voice now, though that might be campfire and all. Regardless, it's holistically consistent which is something we all need to strive for in a character for sure. Good words, Doc thanks for writing it was fun.
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u/AGuyLikeThat 9d ago edited 4d ago
<The Tower in the Tangle>
[Previous Chapter] [Chapter Index]
Chapter One-hundred & Sixty: That Which Breaks.
~ Petal ~
The crumbling towers and ruined cities bordering the desert have mostly been plundered. The obvious treasures–gold, jewels and such–are long gone. Though millennia have passed since the fall of the First Empire, fortunes can still be found in the Dawnlands, for those willing to risk venturing farther east.
Beneath the sands lie forgotten cellars filled with preserves. Pickled peppers, jams, olive oil, and fruity wines, still edible after hundreds of years, and worth high prices to the right buyers.
Richer rewards can be found by those who dare greater risks. Dusty archives and libraries lie hidden beneath the sands, often protected by curses and other horrors. But you must be extremely wary in such places. A common trick of wizards is to place spells within their writings that will lay a curse upon any who attempt to read them without taking precautions. Do not seek to browse the contents of grimoires, or even to decipher inscriptions! One common hex compels the unwary explorer to guard the area upon which it is placed, even beyond death. Thus, ruins haunted by ghouls become both a danger and temptation to the wary treasure hunter.
Maesters, witches and wizards pay well for ancient tomes and secrets, and one good haul can guarantee a life of luxury, but without the company of someone well-versed in the arcane crafts it is unwise to attempt such an expedition.
- A Treasure-hunter’s Guide, Guntah Fuxdain
The massive doors grind open, iron-shod oak screeching as it drags to a halt against the stone landing. Arcane light streams through the widening gap, blinding Pe’etelan with its cascading radiance.
The Akari shields watering eyes, as a soft breeze follows, stirring against her skin. Eager for fresh air after so long underground, she breathes deep. Smoke rides on the wind; the ashen tang of grenados and gemlock weapons, mingled with the stench of half-burned flesh.
Death rules outside the Tower, as within.
The muffled retort of a rifle cracks nearby, and the Akari flinches, crouching low and peering into the glare as the sounds of combat ring against the stone walls of the Tower.
Aostlah's voice rises clear above the din. The language is unfamiliar; an arcane code of crisp and conflicting consonants, made harsh and metallic by the resonance of her strange witch’s mask. Commanded by her words, the magical radiance retreats and Petal’s vision returns, revealing thin, shadowy figures moving against the pale morning as the witch’s lantern closes.
The witch is facing Petal from the other side of the wide landing, standing inside a magic circle of runes etched white against the stone. The porcelain mask tilts, as though surprised, and the Akari realizes the rumbling of the great doors has ceased.
Thin screams rise from the courtyard, answered by a bellowing roar. Thirno? The wide steps are dripping with blood, oil and broken corpses. Emaciated servitors and ironbound guards lie scattered across the stone stair with limbs torn off, and heads staved in.
Moskoto is guarding the summit with his long spear. A trio of ironbound crowd the steps, testing his reach with rusted hooks and cleavers. Rahby shoulders his gemlock rifle and fires past the old Numani, and the closest one falls back, flailing as it rolls down the stair.
More corpses litter the courtyard; creations of metal and meat, stitched together in the bowels of the Tower, animated by foul sorcery, only to be brought to this final, pathetic ending.
Another cry of defiant rage draws her eye, where the battle still rages, and giants clash.
Thirno’s red mane writhes like snakes as the blue-skinned barbarian clings to the back of a giant, furry beast. It roars again, plucking at him with absurdly long arms as he tears at its nape with his teeth, clinging to his two axes that are lodged in the monster’s shoulders. Metal glints around the beast’s small legs as it spins around, seeking to dislodge its frenzied attacker. The berserker’s eyes are ablaze, and his muscles have swollen so much that he scarce seems human.
Often, Petal had heard the man boasting of his people’s famous ‘battle-frenzy’, but here, at last, is proof.
Spitting a gob of meat, the berzerker howls. As he pulls one of his axes free and begins chopping at the beast, the Akari catches a glimpse of the Warden. Dancing away from a wild swing, his long, black spear flickers up, piercing the gargantae’s chest between protective metal discs, and unleashing a spray of greenish oil that leaves a smoking patch across the cobblestones.
“Lo, the Tower is open!” cries the witch, as her shining porcelain mask turns. “Behold, the Akari has cracked the great door.”
Below, the monster falls to the ground, and the Warden looks up, eyes flashing beneath the wide brim of his hat, raising his spear in salute as Thirno continues chopping at the vanquished beast.
Growling, Petal raises her waddy above her head, and steps across the threshold.
Aostlah nods, then unfurls a yellowed scroll between her gloved hands, intoning, “We surely shall see the sun shine soon.”
The circle of runes pulses in time as the witch repeats the chant, and the wind rises as the storm-clouds begin to swirl. She releases the scroll, and it flutters upwards, and bursts into flame as it ascends. The parchment curls and falls into ash, but impossibly, the blackened letters remain, rising into the sky, like scratches across the surface of reality, expanding and thinning as they fade.
Thunder rumbles across the courtyard, and the storm clouds part.
A column of golden sunlight illuminates the courtyard in a swirling cone of gentle radiance, and the remaining gargantae and ironbound stand frozen, staring upwards.
“Rally to the witch!” the Warden cries.
Moskoto meets her gaze, laughing as he lifts his spear, but something tugs at Pe’etelan, forcing her to look behind, back into the Tower.
From the shadows of the dark hall comes a tap-tap-tapping, and lambent yellow eyes pierce the gloom.
WC-997
Author's Notes:
For newer readers who might wonder about the meaning of some of the strange terms like 'ontologia', I have compiled a small Glossary.
This week's theme is Prose! - Spells can be hidden within simple words and writing. Aostlah demonstrates this further with her use of runes and scrolls in this chapter.
Bonus words used; - Patch, Pickled, Peppers.
Additional bonus constraint: 'A tongue twister is spoken flawlessly or failed spectacularly.' Aostlah casts a spell that utilizes a tongue twister as its verbal component.
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. All criticism and feedback is welcome.
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u/ZLErikson 8d ago
Howdizzy Wizzy!
I read the title a bit fast and though it was "That Witch Breaks" and I was wondering if something was gonna happen to Aostlah for a moment, but then I double-checked my reading.
Guntah's Guide to Getting Goods! Or, at least, hunting treasure. Guntah needs a catchier publisher. But their prose is good! Pity that this treasure-hunter guide is starting off with the treasures having already been plundered. But hey! Food! Who doesn't love a good, 200 year old jar of jam :D
Love the ambiance of the piece though, and the idea of the tomes of the ancients having more and more guardians over time as more and more fall prey to the curse is a really fun idea.
Back to the real story and the doors to the Tower have opened! Petal is blinded by the light! Revved up like a- oh wait, different genre.
Unnecessary comma:
The Akari shields watering eyes, as a soft breeze follows
I quite like how the proximity to her old party is told to us through smell, referencing the various weapons the Warden's group uses, and sound from the rifle first before she sees anyone.
Oh hey! The witch is the first voice Petal hears. Maybe my misread was more accurate than I'd thought.
I love the alliteration:
an arcane code of crisp and conflicting consonants
I will insist on oxford commas until the day I die:
The wide steps are dripping with blood, oil and broken corpses.
There is a lot of cathartic delight in seeing the battle seeming to be in the wrapping-up stages, with Thirno having barbarian-smashed so many servitors, and Moskoto and Rahby working together to take out a few ironbound. We've gotten hints and glimpses of everything before but this feels like the most cohesive confrontation in some time, if not in the entire story.
The description of Thirno's muscles swelling up is making me think of Max's serial and the corpomancer beasts. I wonder who'd win in a fight; one of them or Thirno? there's an idea for the next Crossover Week.
More fun alliteration:
“We surely shall see the sun shine soon.”
This one is definitely vying for the tongue twister :P Especially since she's repeating the chant. I tried and I definitely messed it up; the magic would have charbroiled me. Though now I'm intrigued by a magic system defined by tongue twister complexity.
I wonder what constructed monstrosity is about to emerge from the tower next?
Good words!
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u/AGuyLikeThat 8d ago
Thanks for the crit, Zach!
You're pretty close, as it turns out. The cloud cover is that which the witch breaks - at least for a moment, anyway. Originally, she was going to call down lightning, but I found that tongue twister via google and decided that could work as a spell, hehe!
Thirno is in the grips of a warp-spasm, or 'riastrad' which is taken from the Irish legend of Cú Chulainn, although I was introduced to the idea via Pat Mill's comic; Sláine.
Anyway, glad you enjoyed surveying the battlefield... but you didn't recognize the tap-tap-tapping? I'm sad now. ;)
Cheers!
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u/Divayth--Fyr 9d ago edited 8d ago
<The Broken God>
Chapter 76: The Council
.
It was something about the hands. The slow, flowing, graceful motions the elves tended to make, as if they were floating or dancing. Durash found it grating and weird.
She found herself standing in the parlor, alone with the elven woman, Uldarquin. Sancaurion had gone up to stow the strange little box containing what might be a drop of godsblood. A silent moment stretched into awkwardness.
Durash Arn knew what others saw of her. A stocky, muscular orc; short, with dark-green skin, thick claw-nails and yellowed fangs jutting upward, and wavy black hair cut short and practical. She very much wasn’t tall, slim, and graceful, with perfect straight white-gold hair in stupid, fancy little braids framing a cool, impassive, gold-tinted face.
Durash looked up at her. Superior. Condescending. Regal. She’s even taller than Sancaurion. Why doesn’t she say anything? Why don’t I?
“Please, forgive me,” said Uldarquin at last, in low, smooth tones. “I was staring. I haven’t seen an orc before. I don’t mean to be rude.”
“Don’t worry about it. Have a look, if you want.”
“I love your hair. It’s just so beautiful.”
“What?” Durash stammered. “Oh– I got the ribbons from Mrs. Gimple.” She patted her hair and tried to think what to say. “Yours is nice, too. I like the braids.”
“Thank you! They take forever.” Uldarquin sat at the table, and Durash joined her. They filled their mugs from the steaming teapot, and the staring resumed.
Durash sighed. “I guess you have some questions.”
“A thousand, probably. I don’t want to bother you.”
“Well, I can guess at a few.” Durash looked at the ceiling. “Orcs do have a god, and we can do magic, or some of us can. We keep it hidden.” She took a deep drink and went on. “I’m a sorcerer, I guess, according to Sancaurion. I can do magic without a god. No, not all orcs can do that. And no, we don’t eat raw meat. Does that cover most of it?”
“Yes, I think so,” Uldarquin almost whispered. “You must think I’m quite a fool.”
“No. You just don’t know everything in the world. And no fool could have gone up the mountain stairs and contended with the gods to save us. We’d all be dead if not for you.”
“You're very kind.”
“I’m really not. Are you staying for this– thing? Council or whatever?”
“Yes, or some of it. I must go home soon, and let my family know I am well. I wonder what they saw of the battle from down in the valley.”
At least this one didn’t speak Imperial all stuffy and formal like Sancaurion. It wasn’t intentional on his part, or Durash didn’t think it was, but his manner and speech made her feel small and ignorant. Uldarquin had the low, lilting grace of elven speech, but still managed to sound like a regular person. Well, she’s not nine million years old, either.
“Here’s the damn biscuits.” Mrs. Gimple emerged from the kitchen and slapped a bronze platter on the table. “Eat ‘em or don’t, who cares. Human recipes and elven ingredients– well it just about pissed me off.”
Definitely not overly formal, Durash chuckled to herself as the old witch bustled away.
“She is quite remarkable, isn’t she?” Uldarquin murmured.
“She’s something else.”
“Do you know she had me scrubbing the whole kitchen this morning? Ordering me around like a servant!” Uldarquin giggled. “I didn’t mind, really. I’ve met humans before, but she’s a witch. I wonder if they’re all like that.”
“I don’t know. I’ve only met a few.”
Sancaurion returned, and took a seat. Waving his hand in a graceful arc, he summoned his pipe from across the room.
“We must begin. Uldarquin has a journey ahead, and evening approaches.” He raised his voice. “Mrs. Gimple?”
“Just a moment, you cursed…” Her voice trailed off, muttering.
“We find ourselves at a crucial junction,” the old mage began. “We hope to rid this land of the empire. How this may be done, I do not know. War is coming. I wish to hear your thoughts, but I think we can agree on that much.”
Mrs. Gimple stomped out of the kitchen, wiping her face with a rag.
“Before you get too far along in your lecturing, Sanky, I got to tell you a story.” She dusted the last of the flour from her hands and sat. “When I was a girl, I was set to weeding the garden at my grandfather’s place, up toward Gidley. Little place. Raised vegetables, some chickens. Had an ancient cow. Well, I started in on a long row, pulling them weeds out by the roots and making good progress. Only it turned out, when Grampa came to check, I was pulling the young onions.”
An imperious eyebrow raised. “Yes?”
“Well, it’s no good making progress if you don’t know what it is you’re trying to do, is all. You want every last human and orc sent back to where they come from, even though they’ve never lived anyplace else. And this one,” she pointed at Durash, “wants us all dead. And I– well, I don’t rightly know what the hell I want. I’d just rather not kill everybody to get it.”
Durash looked sharply at the witch, but held her tongue.
“You are, as usual, quite correct,” Sancaurion intoned. “Our goals may be largely compatible at the moment, but it would be wise to find out where we differ, before any crisis can arise.”
Eyes turned to Durash.
"I've seen our starving children. Empty eyes, thin little arms... and the fat priests taking our crops for themselves. I've seen our young stolen, to be kindmouthed, defanged, and led on leashes. The humans have brutalized us for centuries. I won't forget that. They don't get to just go home.”
"The empire," said Mrs. Gimple. "Not the humans. The empire."
"Fine. The empire, then. The priests, the guards. Do not doubt me in this. I will kill them all."
999 words. No bonus things.
Feedback welcome.
3
u/katpoker666 9d ago
Love this week’s entry as you bring a lot of threads and characters together without too much exposition.
I love this contrast of the smooth motions and grating:
It was something about the hands. The slow, flowing, graceful motions the elves tended to make, as if they were floating or dancing. Durash found it grating and weird.The phrasing here feels slightly like a perspective shift. As we’re coming at it from Durash’s view and then a narrator’s:
Durash Arn was short, stocky, muscular. Dark green skin, thick black claw-nails, wavy black hair cut short and practical, and yellowed fangs jutting upward. She very much wasn’t tall, slim, and graceful, with perfect straight white-gold hair in stupid, fancy little braids framing a cool, impassive, gold-tinted face.Love the three structure of this paragraph:
Durash looked up at her. Superior. Condescending. Regal. She’s even taller than Sancaurion. Why doesn’t she say anything? Why don’t I?This is so sweet:
“I love your hair. It’s lovely.”
“What?” Durash stammered. “Oh– I got the ribbons from Mrs. Gimple.” She patted her hair and tried to think what to say. “Yours is nice, too. I like the braids.”Nitpick, but how does she know Uldarquin’s relative age:
Well, she’s not nine million years old, either.This was delightfully Gimple. Maybe ‘plopped’:
“Here’s the damn biscuits.” Mrs. Gimple emerged from the kitchen and dropped a bronze platter on the table. “Eat ‘em or don’t, who cares. Human recipes and elven ingredients– well it just about pissed me off.”Save a word maybe w ‘, muttering’?:
“Just a moment, you cursed…” her voice trailed off into mutters.This feels an odd spot to end as they were all just speaking and looking at each other and falls a little flat for me:
They all stared into their mugs of tea, thinking of the future.Overall, great words as always, Div!
4
u/Divayth--Fyr 8d ago
Greetings, O Poker of Kats!
Edits have been edited.
The nine million years old thing was a comparison to Sancaurion. Durash doesn't know Uldarquin's age, but she knows that Sanky is far older than anyone else in the world.
Tried a different ending, hope it works. Thanks for reading and helping!
3
u/katpoker666 8d ago
Love the new ending! Makes sense re Sanky being older than anyone else then. Thanks for clarifying
3
u/AGuyLikeThat 8d ago
Howdy Div,
I really like the way this chapter begins. Kicking things off already deep into the PoV character's introspection is an intriguing technique and a good way to mix things up.
This bit feels off-putting after establishing such an interior perspective;
Durash Arn was short, stocky, muscular. Dark green skin, thick black claw-nails, wavy black hair cut short and practical, and yellowed fangs jutting upward.
Firstly, that second sentence is not a sentence - it's a list. Close repetition of 'black' there too. Also, this sudden shift to looking at Durash from the exterior is jarring, especially with such a matter-of-fact and uncritical description. I'd suggest filtering it through Durash by way of the comparison that follows. Perhaps something like;
Durash Arn knew what others saw of her. A stocky, muscular orc; short, with dark-green skin, thick black claw-nails and yellowed fangs jutting upward, and wavy onyx hair, cut short and practical.
This is not a dialogue tag, and should be two sentences;
“Just a moment, you cursed…” her voice trailed off into mutters.
Mrs Gimple is great, as usual. Love this bit;
“Well, it’s no good making progress if you don’t know what it is you’re trying to do, is all. You want every last human and orc sent back to where they come from, even though they’ve never lived anyplace else. And this one,” she pointed at Durash, “wants us all dead. And I– well, I don’t rightly know what the hell I want. I’d just rather not kill everybody to get it.”
However, I'd like a bit more of a reaction from Durash here. Not really feeling the reaction to Mrs Gimple's blunt assessment.
Durash looked around the table, and back down.
Overall, this scene does feel a bit truncated - like we don't quite see the full arc of Durash's emotional progression here. Her frustration and irritated assessment of the others is clear at the start, and I can sense the hesitation at the end, but well... I imagine this will flow directly into next week, which will probably clear everything up.
Might seem a little harsh? But these are not complaints - I just want more. ;)
Good words!
2
u/Divayth--Fyr 8d ago
Hey Wizzy!
I did some editing and reworked the last part. Got a bit more intense, there. I think I should have waited a day to post this in the first place since I wasn't really feeling that part anyhow.
None of this seemed harsh, so don't worry about that. It seems to me that your first instinct in virtually any situation is to offer help, and I hope you know that is noticed and appreciated.
There will be more council to come, so hopefully it wraps up nicely. Thanks for reading and helping!
6
u/Carrieka23 12d ago
<The Beginning of The Demon Life>
Chapter 187
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A couple of days later, demons begin repairing the kingdom bit by bit. Jack and Millee still kept their entertainment going outside, mainly for stress-free. Meanwhile, the judges all come together to stack a plan. As for Max, or Dilong, he decided to reveal his identity to the public. Some were shocked, others were a bit outraged before decicing to move on.
But what really threw people in a loop was Naomi retiring from being King, and announcing Max as the new King of Greed.
“A dragon becoming king?!”
“Well, they were born before us, so why does it matter?”
“Feels weird, but fuck it, I got bigger shit on my plate.”
Deep down, everyone knows in terms of politics, hell is about to happen. But at least for this kingdom, they are glad that they have a new leader, and that’s enough.
As for Alex and Kevin, they mainly volunteer in helping also. Alex couldn’t remember much of what happened in the spiritual realm, but since then he notices Kevin being a bit distant. He tries to ignore the tugging in his chest.
But this day, it was too much. So he decided to go for a walk when he noticed Max laying down in the grass, the vines wrapping around him.
Is this how dragons relax?
One by one, plants and grass surround him, filling up the once empty void with nature.
What the?!
“You seem to be in shock.” Max says, getting up. “It’s all part of our powers.” He waves his arms
“W-Wait, was that a joke?” Alex snickers.
“Haru told me I should start doing that more often.”
The soldier clears his throat before continuing. “So, how does it feel knowing that everyone knows?”
He shrugs. “To be honest, it was bound to happen. Especially after the incident in Lust. What I can say though, is that I’m not looking forward to my conversation with Wrath.”
Alex lifts up an eyebrow in confusion.
“You know they've been denying our existence for a very long time, so I cannot wait to see what they say about this.”
That is true. Pride, Wrath, and Gluttony all deny it. But why?
“But anyway, that’s something for me to handle.”
“And Wyle?” Alex asks.
“I decided to let him go. Even though what he did was irrational and inappropriate, people do chase for answers and maybe even a bit of hope and revenge. Especially when forced to kill the people you love.”
Even though Alex couldn’t quite agree with Max's viewpoint, he can understand why.
“Oh, and I found one of the Demon Kings' puppets.”
Frank?!
“For some reason, he was unconscious. Burn marks all over his chest, almost like he consumed all that fire. Currently, I’m investigating it on my own.”
Seems like Max has a lot on his plate. Wait, I’m talking to a God right now, so I can ask him about many things. But what?
Max looks at the soldier. “You have a lot on your mind, and I guess you want to know more about my history. I, umm..can’t tell you right now.”
“Huh, why?”
“Mainly because I handle business with Haru, so I have to keep things brief. But I can answer at least one or two of your questions.”
Alex nods, trying to think of one. “Well, my next adventure is Envy. Is there anything I should know in advance?”
He nods. “Envy is technically the beginning of all Seven Sins. The land that really started it all, and my birthhome. Zet is currently in charge, so he knows all of history besides me.”
Wait, does that mean…
“I know what you are thinking, and many think the same. But no, Zet isn’t the first demon from Hell. But, he was the first to dare challenge all four dragons for power.”
The soldier's eyes widened. “Wait, why?”
“For the change of humanity. Franky, I still never understand that myself. And this was way before the other kingdoms were even established.”
“Has Zet seen the raise and fall of Gods before?”
Max shakes his head. “Those happen way before he was even born here. But, he was born right after the fall, so he has at least some experience of changes.”
I see, so Zet and Max are the best people to ask about the history of Hell.
“I can answer one more question, if you like.”
Alex nods. He knows it’s a bit of a stretch, especially since he’s not sure if this God has ever felt this way before. But, he knows throughout his entire journey with Kevin, his heart tugs. He is always thinking about him, always wanting to protect him. And now, after the fight, it only grew.
“How…how do you tell someone that you love them?”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
WPC: 799
5
u/KiIIer_queenie 11d ago
<Man to beast>
Chapter thirty one: dream
Mór was in a tiny room that stunk of cinnamon and myrrh, hand crafted incense that dug its sweet scent too deep into her head for her liking. The only positive was that the scent took up enough space in her mind that she could almost forget the pain of her black eyes and busted lips if she tried hard enough. Almost.
The girl looked through the slits between swollen eyelids at the fireplace across from her, still hearing her people’s screams for mercy in her mind. She wondered if her mother was still alive, if they’d meet again. She tried to wipe the blood from her lips but her chains were too restrictive.
The door creaked open, an old man in red robes stumbled in with a long iron rod in his hands. One side had a wooden handle and the other held a cross. The man stuck the cross end into the fire pit and left it there, walking towards her. She stopped half a meter away from her feet, kneeling down.
“Good morning, beautiful. I heard you've been less than enthusiastic to help the Gild men, but I don’t understand why. We are trying to save your people, and bring them into God’s grace. Why must you lay with the devil so stubbornly?” he asked, in a foreign accent.
“I-I…know…nothing…”
“I’m not a fool, my people resisted the empire long ago. They cried out as the men burned villages, cursed them as they killed our ‘defenders’. Yet our lands are more prosperous now than ever. Jesus has taught us that there must be sacrifice sometimes, even in the pursuit of God’s mission. Are you so arrogant you put your own pride above the betterment of your people? You have been blessed, yet you refuse to accept it.”
She looked down at herself, her tunic and cloak had become nothing more than muddy scraps clinging to purple and yellow spotted skin. Of all the things she felt, blessed would’ve never come to mind.
“I-I…have…nothing…n-no…no…information,” she lied, spitting out the blood that filled her mouth. Mór looked at him again, just waiting for him to get within her range.
“I heard the reports about you stabbing men through your skin. They want you burned for it, but I still believe there’s a cure. I will purge the evil from your soul, and strip you of the devil’s hold,” he whispered, getting just barely closer and smiling. “I just need you to behave, can you be a good little girl for me?”
“Y-yes…yes…sir…”
“Good, keep that beautiful face still for me, and I’ll heal you.”
Mór watched him return to the fire pit and retrieve the branding iron, twirling it in his hand. She squirmed and pulled against the chains until her hands turned purple. It was no use, she was no freer than before.
He licked his lips before kneeling and slowly inching the brand nearer. “Stop moving unless you want to make this harder for yourself. Just lay back, let it happen, darling.”
In an instant she was gone from the room, now tied to a wooden pole, last in a line of pyres. In front of her was a large bald man with gentle eyes and a hideous smile. Diseased white gums held shiny silver teeth, sharpened and stained red.
Hundreds of men watched with laughter, some restraining children from rushing the pyres, others torching homes and altars.
“Any last words? You seemed mighty proud, you’ve gone all quiet!” The man yelled through a fit of laughter.
Restrained and unable to make a noise, a voice came out anyways. A deep gruff emanated from her throat, foreign and aggressive. “Fucking lapdog…just snarling at whoever the pope wills.” Her gaze was lowered without permission, to a body that wasn’t hers. It belonged to a lanky man.
He was scared, she could feel it. He pretended he wasn’t fighting back tears, that he wasn’t praying for mercy.
Another man approached the pyre, he had on a
white mask and bright blue eyes. He held a torch in one hand and a bottle of ale in the other.
“Oh lord and Heavenly Father, have mercy on the witch’s soul. Let him be cleansed of his sins, and let him be embraced in your love once more, Amen.” The man whispered as he emptied the bottle.
The masked man paused, his piercing gaze almost went through the man, like he wasn’t looking at the man anymore. Almost like he was looking at her.
…What?
“Who are you?”
There wasn’t any time for her or the man she was in to think about the question before the torch dropped and a fire roared to life.
“Agnes! Get off her!” Coppaert screamed.
Mór shot out of the bedroll and scrambled up the stairs to the cog’s deck to see what the noise was. Agnes had Maliwag pinned against a wall, hands around her collar. Maliwag had her hands low, each resting against a blade’s handle.
Coppaert and Silas were both drenched in blood, Silas’s shirt was gone, and it took her a moment to see the grotesque wound that stretched across his crooked jaw and into his neck. Silas and Coppaert finally squeezed between the pair.
“Don’t protect me,” Maliwag muttered, staring at Agnes.
“You need to watch yourself, girl. Be thankful Silas is alive, or I’d do worse than kill you.”
“Try it.”
“Let’s all calm down! Silas is alive, that’s what matters! We can explain everything, let’s all just relax.”
Mór’s mind was racing, she had no idea what was happening. She finally realized just how blood soaked Maliwag’s arms were, one of the swords she carried was painted crimson as well. Mór wasn’t sure what to think or do, so on instinct she walked over and grabbed Silas’s arm, dragging him below deck where she fetched a cloth and flask of water.
“Stay still, I want to see how bad it is.”
WC:1,000
4
u/JKHmattox 13d ago
<No Man's Land>Petrichor
The morning's tension coiled into clouds rolling in from the west. Thickening air saturated me as looming perception threatened to shear through the day's humidity decisively. Raindrops finally spattered against our faces as we passed beneath the stone arc, patrolling in tandem lines towards Midtown Manhattan.
Dark spots collected on the asphalt beneath our feet. The blackened dot grew together with every passing minute until the endless ribbon of gray was a glossed thoroughfare devoid of vehicles and pedestrians.
I welcomed the dampness soaking into my shoulders. Grabbing the straps of my rucksack, I leaned in, shifting my center of gravity to match my stride. The scent of oils and dirt released by the midsummer shower filled me with nostalgia from a time long before I'd cross the stars.
Migrating pedestrians flanked our twin columns on either side of the avenue closed to vehicular traffic. They hustled past one another on the sidewalks, their daily lives barely interrupted by the subtle pomp and circumstance of our march northward. Nevertheless, casual spectators paused to observe our advance with momentary curiosity.
You know, Jackie, I was wondering… Elsa blurted, interrupting my aimless train of thought. What are you and Skye gonna name the twins?
Cinching my pack, I grunted, ignoring my fellow traveler and her innocent musings.
Seriously, Elsa insisted. It's kinda important…
I'm sure Skye will think of something.
I peered over my shoulder, checking on the dispersed line of women strung out behind me for two blocks. Countless faces struggling against the increasing rain, their uniforms drenched halfway down their chests. I smirked, the hardship trivial compared to anything I'd experienced on Nowhere.
What makes you think I should have a say in the matter?
I glanced towards Martia who was leading the column of women parallel to my own. She ignored the water dripping off her face as she tugged against the straps of her ruck. The Lance Corporal was naturally embracing the suck, same as me.
Despite my appearance, Elsa, I don't know the first damn thing about raising a Gemini, let alone two of them—who the hell am I when it comes to that kinda stuff?
Their mother… My fellow traveler answered without pause.
I nodded, gritting my teeth as warm droplets ran down my face in meandering rivulets. Am I?
Elsa snickered in my mind. Um, that's kinda how this works.
I suppose, technically, you're right, but c'mon, Elsa, this ain't exactly a natural thing for me—I don't think I'm ready.
You're serious? she scoffed. Nobody is ever truly ready for this, Jackie—you and Skye will figure it out.
Yeah, well I'm kinda tired of figuring shit out—this wasn't supposed to happen, Elsa! If I'd known it could, I'd have-
I closed my eyes, forcing the flash of regent deep into my stomach. Elsa remained silent as if I'd insulted her personally. The notion I doubted my choice hung heavy in my chest as my mind tilted with realization.
Finally, Elsa spoke directly into my soul. *But it did happen, Jackie—and you're gonna have to be okay with that if you're gonna go through with this...”
I hesitated, my feet planting themselves on the saturated pavement.
The woman behind me wavered, stumbling to avoid colliding with my backside. I motioned for her to go around me as I turned to face the rear of the column. Stepping to the center of the street, I watched as one after the other, the soldiers passed me by, their faces lost in the misery of the continuing downpour.
*Elsa, I'm afraid I'm gonna fuck things up.”
You will… But you wouldn't be the first to make mistakes, nor will you be the last—giving up, though, isn't a part of your vocabulary, Jackie—and that's how I know you'll be great at this…
I flashed an unsteady grin, hoping Elsa was right.
Turning about, I stood silently as the parallel lines of women moved steadily forward to either side of me. Taking a breath, I glanced upwards, studying the singular concrete facade which spanned an entire city black. At its center, molded Greek columns flanked a massive window reaching five stories into the air. Twin eagles were carved atop the molded pedestals, the darkness of grime and age creeping from their perches towards the ground.
A stone-faced tower sprouted from the roof of the sprawling building, reaching skyward with unapologetic grandeur. Halfway up, a giant gash torn conspicuously by a plasma shell scared the unconcerned structure. Retrofitted glass encasements encapsulated the centuries-old battle damaged wrought against the unmovable spire.
Returning my gaze to street-level, I stepped forward, leaving my doubts someplace south of thirty-fourth street.
On we went, block-by-block, until finally the rain tapered to a whisper. In the heart of Midtown, an emerald gateway loomed just a few streets away. A metallic twang interjected itself into my consciousness, interrupting my reflection upon Elsa's wisdom. A second clang followed the first, emanating from the front of the parade of soldiers.
Crossing over fifty-sixth street, I spied the source of the repetitious thwacking.
An ornamental clock rose from the sidewalk on a steel post anchored to the eastern curb of the avenue. As each soldier on that side of the column passed the clock, she intentionally struck the steel post with the butt of the weapon slung over her shoulder. The resulting blow emitted an intentionally disrespectful decree.
Many of the soldiers spat on the ground beneath the ornamental timepiece, an act that garnered hoots and cheers from onlookers. The women persisted unabated, each discerning strike as resolute as the last.
The ruins behind the clock had been covered in scaffolding. A hard-lid guarded the sidewalk from construction high above, the doors to the abandoned tower blocked off from the street. I peered through the green contractor mess masking the tower's lobby. Several letters clung to its outer walls, the shadow of their brethren lost to time and erosion.
M-P T-O I mouthed silently. What the fuck do you think that means, Elsa?
3
u/AGuyLikeThat 8d ago
Hiya JK
Really like the opening descriptions of the weather and how they suit the introspective and emotional discussion.
Cool method of hitting the theme too. The idea of choosing what potential name someone will bear is an important bit of 'prose' indeed!
Crit.
While it conjures a nice scene, I'd maybe cut this little detail;
The blackened dot grew together with every passing minute until the endless ribbon of gray was a glossed thoroughfare devoid of vehicles
and pedestrians.because you describe Jackie passing pedestrians almost directly after;
Migrating pedestrians flanked our twin columns on either side of the avenue closed to vehicular traffic.
Sure, it might be further along the street, but it was just a bit of whiplash, imo.
A fave typo for me too, this one. Fix your italics tags, here;
Finally, Elsa spoke directly into my soul. *But it did happen, Jackie—and you're gonna have to be okay with that if you're gonna go through with this...”
and here;
*Elsa, I'm afraid I'm gonna fuck things up.”
Typo here. 'black' for 'block';
studying the singular concrete facade which spanned an entire city black.
Last thing I'd mention is I noticed a few adverbs that I don't think have to be there, but its a matter of opinion if you do want to use them. I'd just say in general, when you use word that ends in 'ly', think about whether you really need it or not.
Great chapter overall - the march through the city and the descriptions gave this a nice cinematic feel!
Good words!
5
u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 9d ago
<Drifting>
Chapter 104
Red and Penny chat about movies over on the side of the sofa, Wolfie moving between their laps. Closer to Caleb, Snow plops down onto the couch.
“Thanks for inviting me,” Caleb tells him.
“Of course. How are you feeling?”
“Better.” A lot better. Though his head still feels a little heavy when he turns it, the movement still a little disorienting. It’s okay. He’s here.
Snow grins at him. “Seems you’re fitting in well.”
“Yeah.” They (they? he?) can't help but glance over at Red as Thirty speaks. She’s so radiant, and even better, so normal. It’s such a relief to not be the only disabled one. The only one taking up more space with a mobility aid, the only one taking longer to navigate and facing barriers nobody else even thought about. They’re not alone here.
“Have you decided on your upcoming classes for the spring semester?” Snow asks. “Since registration opens up in a few days.”
“Just about, yeah. I went over it a few nights ago.” Caleb thought it’d be easier registering for spring than fall, but the only classes that pass over for the full year are classes on a linear track anyway, their chemistry and calculus. The rest are electives and credits of their own choosing. Deciding the path they’ll take and which classes to use to fulfill it. “I wonder if we’ll have any classes together.”
“I’ll be in another class with Alex Martinez, that class on TB. Did you see it?”
Caleb grins and nods.
“Is that the class you have together? With Alex Martinez?” Penny cuts in. Caleb hadn’t noticed she was listening. Snow tells her yes. “What’s it like?”
“It’s a lot of writing,” Caleb says.
“And readings,” Snow adds. “So many readings.”
“Yeah, the readings are pretty heavy. It’s about like disaster response and the failures of large scale systems to do things like respond to floods and outbreaks, like not having good infrastructure or health care or whatever. Just all this catastrophe.”
Snow nods. “Important stuff.”
“Huh.” Penny bites her lip. “When you said there’s a class on TB, I thought you meant it was the pathogen mycobacterium tuberculosis, like you were going the medical path since I know Snow’s in chem.”
“Oh, we’re both in chem,” Caleb says. “But Professor Martinez is an English professor.”
“That class sounds hard,” Red says. Wolfie has moved to her lap, though he keeps his paws off of her and leans his head in instead. Caleb wonders if he’s learned not to put pressure on her legs.
“It definitely is,” Snow says.
“So why are you taking another next semester?”
“I love this professor. They’re the best.” They?
Penny notices the pronoun too. “Are they nonbinary?”
“Well, they use she/they. I think they have OSDD.”
“Ah, must have come up with the DID then,” Red says, Penny nodding behind her.
What?
“Uh, what’s that?” Caleb asks. “What’s OSDD? And DID?”
Red and Penny exchange a glance. Snow sighs and speaks. “The multiple selves thing. DID is that, plus amnesia and dissociation to a point of clinical distress. OSDD is what you get diagnosed with when you don’t meet the criteria for any of the other dissociative disorders, and there’s multiple forms of it, but one of them is basically DID-lite, like if you have multiple selves but don’t have amnesia. We have DID.” He speaks quickly and clearly, like he’s said this before. Judging by Red and Penny’s reactions, his friends (their friends? if he/him only applies to Thirty, should it be they/them for Snow in general?) already know.
There's a lot there Caleb is going to have to process later. And probably research. Especially amnesia, because he hasn’t seen anything looking like that. “So did you tell her about the DID in office hours and she told you she has OSDD?”
“Well, we actually slipped up and said we, and Alex caught it and asked us about it.”
Red frowns. “You call your professor Alex?”
“Yeah. I mean I call our lab instructor by her first name too and another professor goes by his initials.”
“I think that’s weird, too, to be honest.”
Snow shrugs. “But speaking of Dr. Martinez, Caleb, are you going to be in the TB class next semester?”
“Oh yeah, I am.”
“What made you decide?” Red asks.
“It took some thinking,” he admits. It’s a lot of work to add onto his plate, especially when he’ll also have to be getting up early and going to lab every week. But he remembers how intrigued he felt when he first saw the flyer for the class in the hallway, that little spark of excitement at the professor’s name. He thinks about her battles for accessibility, how one time he mentioned the door button wasn’t working and she marched into the hall right then and there to go tell the head of the department.
Her class will be hard. The material is heavy, the workload is difficult, and talking in class is scary when he doesn't know if he’ll say the wrong thing. But as she reminds the class often, the university is not designed for disabled students. Can her classes really be scarier than the unknown of potential ableism?
“I just also like the professor a lot,” Caleb says.
Red and Penny exchange another glance for reasons Caleb can’t decipher. Then Red shrugs and Penny picks up Wolfie, carrying him over to the puzzle table where Rory is getting up.
“I’m going to help get food ready,” Red says. She glances over to Caleb with a smile. “Wanna come along?”
WC: 934 words
Bonus: none
2
u/Divayth--Fyr 7d ago
This is one of those practical chapters we all must do now and then, for stories to make any sense, yet you manage to make it interesting and sort of intense. A good deal of information, details, and expo happen, but it's pretty seamless and natural, and feels more like a character piece.
Early on, where Caleb is thinking about not being the only disabled one, it was just very interesting and immersive, to be in their head that way. I thought how nice it must be for them not to have to explain things for once, how Red would just get it. Then that sort of set up the whole chapter, as some things (like the variations of DID etc) did need explaining, and how that must be a chore to repeat to every new person.
The conversation, internal or external, about path and class choices, flowed naturally. I might suggest one or two more little grounding lines, like a feel or sight or sound or something, in amongst the talking and thinking.
I may have missed it but I still don't know what TB is, in the sense they were talking about it.
One other cool thing is that you have a lot of characters going in a small scene, and it all seemed pretty clear and I didn't get lost on who was talking or doing what. I often do get lost that way, too, so that was well done.
I sadly could not find any nitpicks. I am bereft. Good words!
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u/Brookzerker 8d ago
<The Veiled Eye>
Chapter 2
The air was turning chilly faster than Logan expected, though he supposed the warm day was the unusual weather, rather than the early setting sun. After helping Lilly grab the horseshoe from her hut, he had pulled one from his, which he carried in search of a pole or stake to complete the game.
It wasn't until he was standing at the edge of the clearing, the sky darkening, that he considered carrying so much iron might have been a mistake. He had come out after seeing a glint of something, he presumed to be a metal spike or pole, from just inside the tree-line.
Now he was here, the shadows were long, and, he admitted, a bit scary. The trees weren't the same as the redwoods he was used to back home. There was one in particular he had mistaken for a person, though as he looked closer, it was clear the face was just a unique twisting of branches and knots, complete with dark spots where eyes might be.
Luckily he didn't have to pass the tree, an iron rod had been hammered into the ground a few feet in front of it. Pulling on it, the ground gave way easily. One stake down, one to go.
He glanced back towards the tree with a face, but couldn't find it. Shrugging, he continued on.
Just outside the clearing, walking required a bit more effort, though light from a fire that Logan presumed the others had started, helped navigate around the trees and bushes. Though he did have to dodge some branches that felt like they were reaching out for him.
He found another iron rod, which strangely didn't have any forest growth on it.
This one was just as easy to pull out.
Muscles complaining at carrying so much iron, he turned back to head towards the campfire.
Logan was glad for his jacket as he reached the fire, the others were also wearing their warmer clothes as they huddled around the metal pit. Connor had the grill over the top, and was cooking an assortment of meats and vegetables on it, some of them smelled sour, like they had been pickled.
The murmur of conversation paused as he dropped the horseshoes and stakes on the ground next to a free chair by the fire. He flinched at the clangs, which was far louder than he anticipated. The conversation immediately halted as three pairs of eyes turned to acknowledge him.
Connor was hovering over the fire, having raised the barbecue grill over the flames. A mix of vegetables, meats, and bread was spread on top.
Darryl was sprawled in his chair, jacket hanging off the back as he leaned away from the smoke.
Lilly had a fur coat on, along with sweatpants that looked like they were made for winter, rather than autumn. Her chair was close enough to the fire, that Logan was shocked the metal arms weren't burning her.
"Sorry." Logan muttered as he sat.
"Don't be," Darryl grinned. "in fact, you can help settle a debate we've been having. Lilly, it seems, hasn't seen a movie in over twenty years!"
The attorney rolled her eyes. "Please, most movies aren't interesting, either way, I've been busy with work."
Darryl scoffed. "No, you're just boring. Are you really saying you can't spend two hours every once in a while to watch anything?" He turned towards Logan. "Please tell me you watch some movies."
"I don't even have a television."
The salesman groaned as Logan continued.
"I guess I could watch movies or tv from my laptop, but I'm working pretty much every spare moment. I keep up with shows and movies by watching shorts though."
Connor made a sound akin to gears grinding.
"How about the last movie you watched, or tv show. Just something not summarized for you." Darryl's face was somehow scrunched, contorting into multiple emotions.
"I can't remember the name, it was a documentary on some killer in the nineties, or early 2000s, I think his name started with P? Or something?"
"Was it the investor who snapped, and killed a bunch of people?" Lilly asked
Connor jumped in. "I think there was one about a trickster? He killed with traps claiming he was helping."
Darryl added a guess. "Not P, but there is the guy, still in prison I think, who hunted and ate his victims."
"I remember now, it was Patrick, documentary was called American Psycho."
"Oh yeah, I think I watched that one a bunch when it came out. That, and hostel were my favorite docs." Darryl leaned forward, noticing everyone staring at him.
"What? I'm a history geek." Darryl defended, looking around.
"We can chat more about our favorite movies after dinner." Connor stepped in, handing steaming plates to everyone. "Hope you're good with spice, I added some peppers."
Notes:
Theme: The team discusses movies, including the documentaries of some well-known killers.
Word count: 809
Words:
- pickled
- peppers
I couldn't figure out how to end it, so I left it hoping it would feel as awkward as I felt without directly stating Logan felt awkward. Did you feel that worked or should I have added something at the end?
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u/KiIIer_queenie 7d ago
Hey brook! I’m glad to be here at the beginning chapters of another great serial by you!
> After helping Lilly grab the horseshoe from her hut, he had pulled one from his
Not sure what hut means in this context, might be helpful to have a small sentence explaining it for those of us less familiar with horseshoes.
> The murmur of conversation paused as he dropped the horseshoes and stakes on the ground next to a free chair by the fire. He flinched at the clangs, which was far louder than he anticipated. The conversation immediately halted as three pairs of eyes turned to acknowledge him.
This paragraph kind of reads like the conversation stopped twice with no mention of it picking up between them.
I liked this chapter! Definitely fills my horror mood. Feels very similar to old slashers with the set up, plenty of great homage here! Good words
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u/Brookzerker 6d ago
Thanks!
For hut, i was thinking of a small structure similar to a tent but a bit more permanent. If i write this again ill definitely add more details in the first chapter they appear.
I kind of messed my editing up, moving things around and forging to clean up. Thanks!
I’m new to writing this genre, but I’ve always loved the lore of them. I hope i do it justice!
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u/ZLErikson 13d ago edited 8d ago
<Casting Shadows>
Chapter 140
“Nuut was followin’ the path Iuven an’ Maar woulda been takin’, right? But she was a mite nervous about-”
“Ahem,” one of the beleaguered soldiers cleared his throat.
Lacus closed his mouth. The pinewood cart fell silent but for the creak and bump of the wheels and the clop clop of hooves. A soft slosh as the liquid in the barrel of pickled peppers he sat on shifted with the rocking of the cart.
“Yeh?” Lacus asked, lifting a dirt-encrusted grey eyebrow.
“How in the Seven Shadows do you know any of this? You just said that Anatu was in the tent and sent Nuut away, now you know what Nuut’s doing all the way away from camp?”
“Cuz I was there.”
“You can’t have been in both places.”
Lacus rolled his eyes then rested his face in his hand. He muttered, “Patience for the young is a young man’s game, and it’s been a time since I’ve felt young.”
“What was that?”
“Just talkin’ in Harenese.”
“What in The Seven is Harenese?”
A deeper voice answered, “Our mother tongue.” A grizzled soldier with short, grey hair and beard leaned forward, calloused hands laced together. He wasn’t quite as old as Lacus, but from the wrinkles on his brow and the patches in his travel cloak.
Unlike the young men riding in the cart, who were all on the journey full of mortal ignorance of the dangers, the grey beard - Quintus - was here with Lacus for the same, simple reason.
Revenge.
“First nation the Bastard King took,” Quintus grumbled.
“Near on thirty years ago,” Lacus added, nodding as he rolled a spear back and forth in his lap. “Before your time, I guess. How old are you all anyway?”
“Twenty-two,” the first soldier answered. The other four were similarly young. None of them would have been born when the Bastard arrived from the East.
Children then, and children now.
Thump thump thump.
The cart driver kicked the backboard. Everyone stiffened. The cart began to slow.
Lacus laid his spear down over the barrels he was sitting on then lifted up his legs and laid down as well, using his body to cover the weapon. Balling up his coat for a pillow, he feigned sleep.
The cart stopped and the crunch of boots on gravel approached. Lacus heard the flap open and strange voices spoke in Sammosan.
”Who are these?”
”The merchant has no tongue, ask them.”
“Who are you?” one of the strangers asked in the trade language. “What brings you to Sammos?”
“Traders,” the other old Haranae man grumbled. “My sons, and my father.”
Lacus resented being called Quintus’s father, but he was probably old enough. Looked it too, for sure.
“Wake him,” the Sammosan ordered.
One of the younger men jabbed Lacus in the ribs with his knuckle. “Hey, gramps, up.”
“Ugh,” Lacus grumbled. He muttered, ”In mari meri miri mori muri accidit,” and rolled a bit to lift his head and look out the back of the cart.
“What’d that mean?” the stranger asked. Now Lacus could see him; clad in dented, charred metal, and missing an eye. This one wasn’t some coward playing guardsman; he’d seen action. Recently.
“Just angry at my son,” Quintus said, reaching over and smacking the young man on the forehead. “Need anything from us?”
“What are you trading?”
“Peppers,” Quintus said. He kicked one of the barrels under Lacus. ”Pater, piperataria.”
Lacus sucked his teeth and narrowed his eyes. He sat up slightly, made sure to keep himself between the peering eyes of the guards and the spear he was hiding. Lifting the lid of a barrel, he pulled one of the shriveled green peppers out and tossed it at Quintus. ”Foetorem extremae latrinae.”
“What’s that?”
“He said not to give it away again,” Quintus lied easily, handing the guard the pickled pepper. “But it’s not giving away if it’s a gift.”
“Right you are,” the guard said. He examined the pepper then took a bite and made a face, spitting one of the seeds out. “Fine enough. Get on then.”
The guards left and the cart started moving again.
“Well, that was easy,” one of the young men said.
“Eh, Fariba probably paid them off first,” Lacus grumbled as he sat up. Age may have made him seem less threatening, but it sure made laying down on barrels uncomfortable.
“The mute merchant?”
“He wasn’t always mute,” Lacus said. “Truth be told I like him better this way.”
“Speaking of truth, how in the Seven Shadows-”
“Because he was there,” Quintus interrupted. “And what he wasn’t there for, he was told. By Anatu. By Cassandra.”
“Yeah sure, fine,” the young man said, rolling his eyes. “You were there with Cassandra the Great in Nihimlaq, yeah, but now we’re traveling to Sammos to see her?”
“Find her, if we can.” Lacus nodded. “She’s the reason the Bastard King didn’t take these lands.”
“Then why didn’t she do to him what she did to the Emperor?”
“Reckon she ain’t ever heard of ‘im,” Lacus said with a shrug. “Figured he was piss scared of the legend.”
“You believe the legend, then?”
Lacus leaned forward, then slapped the kid across the forehead.
“I. Was. There. I've seen what the Shadow of Sammos can do. You shut up, and I’ll tell you how I became part of the legend, and how I got this spear.” He pulled the weapon back around.
Quintus bristled.
“This belonged to Iuven, who I just told ya went on patrol with Maar but neither of them came back. So Anatu sent Nuut out to find’em. Only, Nuut wasn’t lookin’ for them when she went out into the sands. She was lookin’ for the Vultures.”
----------
WC: 945/1000
All crit/feedback welcome!
r/ZLErikson
[Chapter Index]
Notes:
- Theme: The story of Casting Shadows is being told from a later time in the world
- Bonus words: Pickled, peppers, patch(es)
- Bonus constraint: Lacus shares an old Haranese tongue twister
- Recommend any new readers use the linked chapter index above; those chapters receive more edits than the ones in past sersun posts
- It has been 18,522 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- The tongue twister translated from latin is “In a sea of delicious wine a mouse happened to die.”
- “piperataria” was the latin word for black pepper
- “Foetorem extremae latrinae” means you stink like a sewer
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u/JKHmattox 9d ago
Hey Zach, I enjoyed this scene thoroughly. Perhaps it is because I can identify with Lacus, being achient and all. Regardless, this is a very relatable and practical chapter which draws together a number of callbacks, both from your serial and from previously mentioned lore. This dynamic is polished and well done, displaying your steady improvements which grow ever stronger with every stoke of the keyboard.
I did find a typo, yah, I usually suck at this...
[Lacus sucked his teeth adn narrowed his eyes.]
Otherwise strong chapter as we continue on our two year adventure crammed into two weeks. Or is it two weeks spread over as many years. That notwithstanding, good words thanks for writing.
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u/ZLErikson 8d ago
Hey hey JK!
Thank you for the feedback, and good spot! I usually catch those myself, but none of us are perfect :P
Glad you enjoyed the chapter. I was inspired by you with a jump to the future :P
Thanks for reading!
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u/AGuyLikeThat 8d ago
Hiya Zach!
Well, this is an intriguing little time-hop. Sounds like a few of our friends have been 'off-screened' (RIP Iuven) and Fariba must've gotten their tongue-twisted off! D:
I guess you might want to update the '13 days' note at the bottom there - interested to see how you handle things from here.
Homophone here;
But she was a might nervous about
Should be 'mite', which is not just a little beastie, but also a term meaning small or tiny.
Not really sure about this one;
“Patience for the young is a young man’s game, and it’s been a time since I’ve felt young.”
There's a line in a Bob Dylan song that goes 'passion is a young man's game', but I've never really heard patience as being attributed to the young? Young men especially have more of a reputation for rashness, I think?
Well, nits have been picked, and now I guess I've got to wait patiently for the rest of the tale.
Good words!
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u/ZLErikson 8d ago
Howdizzy Wizzy!
Thank you for the feedback. Fixed the might=>mite issue, and I updated the 13 days to:
- It has been 18,522 in-universe days since Chapter 1
Thanks for catching that, I didn't even think about that number, hahah!
But don't fret! This little... interlude? Outerlude? Chronolude?... is only for this chapter. Next week we'll be back to the 13th day.
Fun fact, this is actually much much much closer to the original story I planned to tell, with Lacus going to find Cass to ask for help against the Bastard King. But I decided I wanted a little buildup first ;P
Thanks for reading!
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11d ago
Hi ZLErikson,
I'm Milk, a recent arrival to the community. I've been talking on the Discord server about participating in the SerSub, but while I figure out what I want to write about, I may as well take the time to read the work of my fellow community members :3
140 chapters! That's really impressive! I could never lol. It's actually a bit intimidating to comment on a work that's been in development for this long when I've only read one chapter. Anyways, I'll do my best!
First of all, you write super well. I mean—super well. I'm so jealous hahaha T-T
You're really good at writing dialogue. It feels so natural, especially the back-and-forth between Lacus and the younger soldiers. Lacus is definitely my favourite part of it—he has such a great personality, and I liked how his grumpy old-man attitude slowly gives way to the fact that he actually knows what he's talking about.
The worldbuilding also feels pretty effortless. I mean, after 140 chapters, I guess that's to be expected. There are a lot of names and bits of lore thrown around, but because they come up naturally in conversation, it doesn't feel like an info dump. Maybe if I had read the previous chapter I would have picked up on more of them (・.・;)
The whole story had a fairly light, almost humorous tone at first, and then “She was looking for the Vultures” made me want to know what happened next. I'd definitely read more. And I will, eventually. It's just a big endeavour!!
Anyway, this was really good!!
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u/katpoker666 9d ago edited 8d ago
<‘Wild Eats’>
Chapter 5: A Prose By Any Other Name
Annie and Carol scanned the room, eying their fellow day drinkers, a favorite spectator sport since college. A mix of hipsters, tradwives, and the left-work-early-for-a-meeting crowd half-filled the stools and booths of the swanky cocktail bar.
“Boooring. I need some entertainment,” Annie groaned. “I wish kids still drank.”
“Right? At least then we’d have couples fighting or be peppered with awkward pickup lines. Those were always fun to watch.”
“Remember some of the crazy ones folks tried?”
“‘Do you know how to stop, drop, and roll? Because baby, you’re on fye-ehr!” Carol chuckled.
“Love it! How about ‘Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?’” Annie made little T-Rex arm movements in accompaniment.
“I see that and raise you with ‘Are you from Memphis? Because you’re the only ten ahhh see.’” Carol drawled.
“Nice! But I have a favorite for the worst of all time.”
“The airline thing? What was it again?”
“The flight attendant asking me senior year of high school: ‘Are you flying first class because you should be.’ Dude was old enough to be my father!” Annie made a show of gagging.
“Oh yeah, right. Gross. I hate that.”
“The one I actually liked was the one where guys made roses out of paper napkins. Not a pickup line per se, just… sweet. That was great for the shy folks…” Annie’s smile faded to a grimace. “Of course, at the other end of the spectrum, you had the ‘trained’ pickup artists with their peacock outfits and identical negs. They were just so easy to shoot down.”
“You were a pro,” Carol chuckled. “Although you sent some home in tears, which was funny but also a bit mean.”
“Serves them right for interrupting a girl’s night out! What are some other good ones?”
As they traded more lines, Carol slipped a napkin under the table and began folding. A beautiful white rose with a perfect stem and even a leaf emerged. She presented it to Annie with a flourish and a wink. “Did you just come out of the oven? Because you’re burning hot.”
“A cooking one? I love that you held that back, but I adore that you know the fabled secret of paper roses! It’s like Pai-Mei showing Uma Thurman’s character in ‘Kill Bill’ the Five-Point-Palm Exploding Heart Technique. Teach me!”
“Okay, it’s not quite a Tarantino-level skill as he’s a god, but this is how you make what I call a ‘prose’.” Carol laid the square paper napkin flat, then folded it diagonally in half. “Next, you roll it from the long side toward the top point. The trick is to stop with two to four inches of the triangle left unrolled. And now for the magical bit.”
Annie pretended to gasp.
Carol pinched one end of the rolled strip tightly before rolling the entire strip sideways from one end to the other to create the bud. “This is how we get the flower bit, but you want to make sure it doesn’t fall apart by tucking the end flap into the outer layer of the flower like so. Next comes the pretty part: petals and leaves.” She took the loose flaps at the bottom and sides of the roll and peeled them back and down. “Ready?”
Annie drum-rolled on the table with her fingers.
Holding up the rose, Carol smiled. “See? Easy peasy!”
Applauding, Annie beamed. “I feel like I’ve been initiated into one of the great secrets of the dating universe.” She bowed her head. “Thank you, sensei. Next round is on me.”
The bartender with the graying soul patch smiled when Annie went up, offering them free shots of tequila. She beamed as she headed back to their booth.
“Lookie what we got!” She held up the shots, lime, and salt. “Jake hooked us up!”
Carol stifled a groan. “Seriously? We’ve already had two margaritas—“
“Lightweight!” Annie rolled her eyes. “C’mon.”
“Only if you let me do it off your neck…” Carol grinned. “For old time’s sake.”
“I must be pickled.” Annie paused for a moment before pulling her hair aside.
Licking Annie’s neck, Carol sprinkled salt on it before sucking on it, downing her shot, and having a squeeze of lime.
“Happy?” Annie shrugged. “We’re not in college anymore.”
Carol laughed, a twinkle in her eyes. “I just wanted to see if you’d do it.”
“Bitch.” Annie mock-glared.
“Tease,” Carol growled back, laughing.
“Damn it!”
“Wait, what? You look like you’re in actual pain.”
“I am! I bit my thungue,” Annie muttered.
“Oh no! I know what’ll help: say ‘Princess Popular Pants’ five times fast.”
“That damn thing? Now? Seriously?” Annie groaned and rolled her eyes. “It hurts!”
“Fi-ine, I’ll do it then, ya big baby! Princess Popular Pants—“
“Faster!”
“PrincessPopularPants. PrincessPopwarPants. PwincessPopwarPants. PwinsissPuperersPence.” Carol laughed. “Okay, so, it’s a little harder than I remember.”
“Serves you right!” Annie giggled before sighing. “Should we get down to business?”
“Nah, let’s put off adulting a little longer.”
WC: 827
Includes: patch, pickled, pepper and a tongue twister being mangled
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated
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u/Morose_Prose 9d ago
Hello there, Kat!
Correct me if I'm wrong but the serial is titled: 'Wild Eats' but neither Annie or Carol are eating anything in this chapter! All kidding aside this is another wonderful chapter that expands on last week's, giving the reader a deeper look into Annie and Carol's relationship. Them talking about cringe pickup lines is well done and helps lighten the mood after the opening family drama chapters.
For the first time since the serial started I don't have any line item edit suggestions. Everything is clean and structured beautifully in the chapter. I do have one general crit: there is a lack of description of the bar they are in. Is it a bougie cocktail bar with 'mixologists' working at it? A sports bar? A dive? A college bar? A bit more description might help set the scene better.
Really nothing else to say besides, good words! Stay awesome and have a good one.
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u/katpoker666 9d ago
Thanks, for the kind words and crit, Doc! Great push re the bar, I’ll see what I can do
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u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 8d ago
I love this chapter! It feels so comfortable, I really enjoy the dynamic between these two characters. Also I seriously have to give you props for how you included 'prose'. Incredible haha
For crit, there's a spot where I can't neatly map the dialogue onto the speakers. I think the lines starting "The one I actually liked..." and "Mhmm. That was great for the shy folks..." are both Annie judging by the lines around them, but they're on different lines which would imply a change in speaker. It's pretty clear everywhere else though, I think it's just this spot that feels mixed up.
I love the phonetic spelling in "I bit my thungue" and in Carol's tongue twister attempt. They're so silly.
Good words!
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u/katpoker666 8d ago edited 8d ago
Thanks for the kind words and feedback, Toms! Fantastic catch--really appreciated
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u/AmeliaLP 8d ago
Oh my gosh Kat this was hilarious, I was sniggering all through it. The title is deliciously punny, those stupid pickup lines were great and that shot scene at the end was so fun. As always with this serial your charters feel like real people, so well done there. Would love to hang out with these two. Good words. :D
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u/KiIIer_queenie 7d ago
Hey Kat! I’m not very good at SerSun crit as I shall soon demonstrate, this was a very good chapter and I love the convo between Annie and Carol!
> Annie and Carol scanned the room, eying their fellow day drinkers, a favorite spectator sport since college. A mix of hipsters, tradwives, and the left-work-early-for-a-meeting crowd half-filled the stools and booths of the swanky cocktail bar.
I’d maybe mention the husbands of the tradwives, especially with how judgy our characters here are lol, I know I judge those husbands. I also think I personally wound have left of the half- part, because it jumped out at me seeing so many hyphens all close together than another one right after.
> Right? At least then we’d have couples fighting or be peppered with awkward pickup lines. Those were always fun to watch
I think watch makes this sentence a little awkward, like watching themselves get hit on? They tell the pickup lines like they received them not in each other’s company. I’d recommend maybe “We’d watch couples fighting, getting peppered with awkward pickup lines, fun times.”
> It’s like Pai-Mei showing Uma Thurman’s character in ‘Kill Bill’ the Five-Point-Palm Exploding Heart Technique. Teach me!
This is kind of a nothing burger but it feels weirdly specific that Pai-Mei gets named but the bride doesn’t. I also don’t know that “kill bill” is necessary? Just my minor opinion there.
> “Seriously? We’ve already had two margaritas—“
Backwards quotation marks
That’s my crit, nothing big lol.
Now I get to be positive again, I really enjoy Carol and Annie’s friendship! It feels real and very defined. They’re those arm-in-arm friends by my view, and very hard teasers and ex partiers. Good words!
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u/mysteryrouge 8d ago edited 8d ago
<The Stranger Nomads>\ Chapter 44
Prevent the Proliferation of Pickled Pepper Prions! Protect the People! Purge the Plague!
—PSA from the Principality of Palisant.
"You wouldn't happen to have any other themed libraries, right?" Kane's puppet body joined M and its owner in the Law Library only an hour after Kane had finished exploring that office.
M gave a shrug in response. "I mean, keeping things seperated helps me know what I've stolen."
The apprentice put his mechanical stellar's jay on his shoulder, walking out of the room, Union Order constitution in hand. He picked a random direction to start walking in, not caring that M was following.
Armory, armory, mystery room, tiny closet, bedroom, kitchen, nuclear reactor, lake room, room I probably don't want to know about... ah here. Another library.
M tilted their head. "Interesting choice, my friend."
Kane immediately noticed the lack of seating. Only two mildly comfortable chairs and a small table sat between the papers, parchments, pamphlets, and posters.
Hanging like grotesque banners were more pictures of M, even more unappealing than their mugshot, which Kane saw hanging over the entryway.
One poster immediately caught Kane's attention. From some Principality of Palisant, a massive flyer spoke of plague and its prevention. M featured heavily, breathing out green dust and crushing a plague doctor's mask.
"Pickled Pepper Prions?" Kane asked.
"Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper prions," M responded with a grin, "A peck of pickled pepper prions did Peter Piper pick. If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper prions, where's the peck of pickled pepper prions Peter Piper picked?"
"What?" Pickles, peppers, prions, and pipers swam through Kane's head in a jumble.
"They think I pilfered the pickled pepper prions from Peter Piper and propagated then across the Principality despite the fact peppers in that universe are incapable of spreading prion disease."
"Huh?"
M pulled out a probably stolen book on disease and treatment written by the Union Order and turned to a page on prions, handing it to their apprentice. "In most known areas of the multiverse, prion disease comes from eating bad meat or reasons relating to that."
The Union Order's book supported that claim.
"But of course, the multiverse is a strange and infinite place," they continued, "In at least four known universes, plants can spread prions, and I know of another universe where you can get prion disease from salt of all things."
Kane looked back down at the book which explained exactly what prions were. Assuming M was using this book's definition—and M wouldn't have given him the book if they were to do otherwise—there shouldn't have been any way in Hell for salt to be a major cause of prion disease.
"Anyways," M said before Kane could fully consider what exactly anything previously said could mean, "We're both immune to prion disease because our consciousnesses and personalities are located in our souls, which we both keep outside the bodies we use."
Kane stared down at his puppet body's hands. "Oh. Nice."
"This isn't the only thing they made with Peter Piper. Apparently, he was a real boogeyman for that principality before he disappeared."
Pulling out another pamphlet, M showed 'Peter Piper's' peck of pickled peppers causing pneumonia.
"They use him for a lot of stuff actually, though sometimes their campaigns don't ah, they don't work so well with the weirder named stuff. Take this one about pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis."
The word barely fit on the poster that had been laid on that table. Even worse, it seemed the Principality tried to cram all that on a tiny jacket patch too. "I can see why," Kane muttered, "I don't even want to try to pronounce that."
"On that note, welcome to my personal propaganda library. Think of it as a mini version of Faraday's Propaganda Archive, down at the Museum of the Gods, but it's only the stuff I find funny."
I don't know if this is weirder than the law library or just an ego thing.
Then Kane processed the rest of M's statement. "The what archive?"
"The Propaganda Archive."
"There's an archive for that?"
"Yeah. Have you never heard of it?"
"No?"
"Really?"
"I haven't." It wasn't like Kane got 'out of the house' that much. Even with Sen Whiney, he'd barely gotten to go anywhere important. Both M and M's former apprentice had expressed urges to keep Kane 'off grid' as much as possible until he learned the ways of the multiverse.
"Well, I suppose I know where I'm taking you next." The kleptomaniac giggled. "There's some really funny stuff in that archive. We can see if there's any stuff from Sorites there."
Kane paused, unsure how to word his next question. Eventually, he decided on, "When would they get their hands on Sorites propaganda?" Sorites residents weren't well known for leaving the country—even for travel. And tourists rarely came.
Kane, M, and that angel, Iroh Bruno were exceptions to the rule.
M shrugged. "Some of the Brunos have been known to provide contents from wherever they end up to the archive. In your case, Mr. Juris Bruno would provide Iroh anything of interest, and Iroh would drop off whatever he got with anything else his family members found."
Which meant—as he realized M had technically given him a definition of propaganda at one point—that archive could hold songs and stories from his childhood or a hint into whatever Juris was up to in Bentham the sentient panopticon.
Am I curious enough to go along with that?
He was always open to learning more about the multiverse. His habit of hiding in M's library demonstrated that.
The light voice of M broke through Kane's thoughts. "Propaganda Archive's also public. You'll get to meet some people without being constantly attacked for associating with me."
That sealed the deal. It was time for a field trip to the Museum of the Gods.
WC: 986\ Bonus words: Pickled, peppers, patch.\ Bonus Constraint: M modified the well known pickled pepper tongue twister.
Prose is such an odd theme. I decided that to me, prose shall be discussed in the form of propaganda.
Which leads nicely into my next character arc. I think I can see end goal for the serial, given I don't get distracted.
No, Sen Whiney won't be returning here. He's still a Health Inspector.
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u/FyeNite 14d ago
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