Forums » Writing Workshop » Read Thread

@WouldntItBeNice
?@Kiel_Farren
@MasonJarGuzzi
@Tim36D
?@EbonVasilis  (if that's how you spell it)
@anyoneelseImissed

~~~

Hi guys, and welcome to my art giveaway and writing prompt contest-thingy! This is week one out of a possible six, to make sure everyone has a chance at earning one at the end of the week. This is how it'll go:

Every day there will be a writing prompt. You have 12 hours to complete this (ex: 8:30 AM to 8:30 PM). I will distribute points according to the appropriate length, quality, and plot of your short story/literature work. I will post a poll on who has how many points by the end of the day. At the end of the week, whoever has the most points is the winner and gets to request a piece. I may accept and do what they want or decline and let them offer something else. I'm not the best artist, guys.

Alright. Let's do this thing.

Writing Prompt:
Have a favorite character? Great! Now kill them.
 

Blackbeard's Bane

The scent of fire, smoke and blood swirl in the breeze. And a glorious midday sun hangs high in the sky. So much for the end coming in a hurricane of storming rain and seawater.

Blackbeard's men swing their ship around to our port side, grappling hooks in hand, ready to board. I never thought I would see Queen Anne's Revenge with my own eyes, truly a frigate worthy of a pirate god. Our swift little 16 cannon brig pales in comparison to the 40 cannon menace. But the Briar Rose learned that herself: dead in the water, masts cracked and toppled over, the hull punched full of holes and glowing with burning coals.

"Do we beg for parley?" asks Malkalack. A strange lad, we found him marooned on a tiny island off the coast of South America, cradling the corpse of a domesticated capybara. He never did tell me of his past, and now I suppose I'll never know. Young but loyal, he clutches his cutlass in a wavering hand, ready to die by his Captain's side should the command be given.

"No," says Steve. "He showed his colors before firing, and we didn't stand down. There'll be no quarter for us. Better to die with a sword in your hand than helpless upon the rack."

A dread silence descends upon the crew, and they all look to me.

I face the crew and draw my hanger, thrusting the blade at our approaching doom. "If Blackbeard wants to lay claim to this shell of a ship. If he wants to steal the lives of its crew and drink the rum of its proud men. If he wants to send us all to hell beneath the fiery glare of the midday sun. Then he damn well better be prepared to bleed for it!"

A heartbeat of silence.

If steel could cut air like living flesh, then a downpour of crimson blood would spill upon my deck. Steve and Malkalack jam their blades into the sky, screaming the raging war cry of men who know they are about to die but still refuse to roll over like dead dogs floating in the swaying of this wretched sea. The remainder of the crew follows their lead.

The crew scatters across the deck, axes and swords in hand, prepared to fight to the last man. Queen Anne's Revenge nears, and I can see Blackbeard scowling on the deck through my spyglass. The infamous four pistols hang strapped across his chest and the burning fuses smolder among his whiskers.

"He's just a man," says Steve. "He'll bleed as well as any other."

I nod. "You've been a good friend, Steve. And as good a quartermaster as any man who ever lived. I'm only sorry I couldn't be the rival you wanted me to be. You're mockery has always been just to damned endearing. But how about one final wager. The man who kills the dread pirate lord wins the day, eh?"

Steve spits into his free hand, grips mine and pulls me tight. "You're fucking on... bitch."

"And you, Malkalack, have served as fine a cabin boy as any upon the sea. I'm sorry it'll end this way."

With false hope and the foolish vigor of a child, he says, "Aye. We'll die someday. But not today."

The first grappling hooks land, and Blackbeard's crew heave and haul the ships together. Men jump and swing and scream as they board our ship, fire in their eyes and death in their hearts. Steel clashes against steel, and the copper metallic scent of fresh blood overpowers the smoke in the air. And I charge into the thick of the fighting, mind locked upon the goal of a walking dead man's final stand.

A boarding axe cleaves toward my face. Too slow. I sidestep and bury my hanger into the meat of the man's neck. With the sick crunch of snapping bones, I wrench the blade free. Another man comes. And my flintlock blows the fool away, opening holes throughout his chest. He collapses to the deck in a heap and mess of stringy flesh.

Splinters dig into my cheek as my face crashes into the rail. My hanger soars from my hand. A splash, and I know she sinks into the depths of the sea. On my knees, confused and dazed, sharp biting pain plagues my calf. The stink of foul breath hits my nostrils. And I feel the weight of a dying man against my back. I throw an elbow, connect with a jaw and shrug the bastard back. The spent flintlock twirls in my hand. And I bash in the man's skull.

Through bleary eyes, stained by blood, I see Malkalack cut down by Blackbeard himself. The dread pirate howls a hideous roar of diseased laughter as he twists his boot deep into the dying boy's ribs. But even as he screams in the throes of agony, the boy refuses to leave this world like a meek little sheep. A boot-knife flashes in his hand. The sharp metal dives into the back of Blackbeard's knee. And Malkalack twists. Cruel vengeance in his final breath.

Blackbeard crumples down to a knee. He grabs Malkalack's head and rams his fingers into his eye sockets, squeezing and crushing the boy's head against the deck until the screams die and fade away.

Steve weaves through the fighting like a pit viper through the grass. His boot collides with Blackbeard's jaw, and the dread pirate lands flat on his back.

A man blocks my path. He charges, buckler raised in front, sporting a curved scimitar of the eastern pirates. I backpedal and drop to ground in a vain effort to buy time. Fire streams through my shoulder as the scimitar lays into the meat of my skin until it crunches against the collarbone. The shield hammers into my face. And the metal spike rips the flesh from my cheek. The tip rides up my face, through my nose, sinks and gouges into my left eye. But the smell of powder hangs heavy in the air, and I heave the corpse off my chest.

Struggling to my feet, left arm limp and spewing blood at the shoulder joint, vision a dark haze of blood and smoke, I draw my third and final flintlock.

But the fighting stops. All eyes fall upon the severed head, waved and floated around from as high up the broken mast as Steve could climb. "I told you I was better than you, Bucky! Blackbeard's dead. See! Here's his head." An ill shade of crimson drenches Steve's lower left guts. The wound of a man living on borrowed time. But none other than me take note.

"Lay down your arms, dogs!" I scream at the top of my lungs, a great burden in my crippled state. "Or face the wrath of Blackbeard's Bane. He fights with God's own hand, and the might of the lord'll send you all to an eternal grave in a sea of roiling fire. Lay down your arms, dogs! And live to see your wives and children. Or just live to fuck another cunt if that's all you want. Lay down your arms, dogs! Or the forsaken bastards of the Briar Rose will be the last damned thing in the waking world you ever fucking see!"

The godless heathen grins with gleeful madness, still flaunting the dread pirate lord's head as the stunned survivors of Blackbeard's crew surrender. Steve and I catch each other in the eye, both knowing we're about to die, but the look says, 'Aye, we won, ain't it true. Goodbye my friend and maybe see you on the Other Side.'

Going down killing Blackbeard with Bucky and Malk? That's a fairly good way to go out, all things considered. Yay, give Bucky the prize!

I thought you would approve. @Malkalack

Absolutely. Although more accurately, I would've wept, smeared feces over myself and begged for mercy.

Amazing work as always, Buckineer. 

Hey, AYT? Do you want feedback left to a different thread or do you care?

Let's just leave it here. I mean, no harm no foul.

Alright, I just don't want to have to deal with a bunch of "No, don't reply! I needed to edit! Argh!" messages. :P

Solution: Just write it out fully before posting.

Yay! Steve solved it.

Pfft, that's crazy talk. 

(I will be sad if no one replies with the reference I just thought of.)

Drip... drip... drip...

He was darkness, and his beloved was the light.

That was simply a fact, there was no denying that it was true. He had nothing to say in his own defense when the one he adored called him monster, called him demon, claimed him deaf to the human heart. Every effort made in the pursuit of change, in his attempts to be worthy of the radiant soul that he worshipped with the fervor of a devout acolyte was useless. Hopeless.

Drip... drip... drip...

It was true, he had done terrible things. Oh, but didn't it matter why? Wasn't saving the lives of the people he cared for enough reason to dirty his already unworthy hands? No. No, it didn't matter how good the intentions were that paved the road to his personal hell.

It wasn't about his actions now, no. The dark creature knew this, knew he could not dispel the fear that haunted his sweet one's eyes whenever his presence was felt. It was the lot of all monsters to be frightening, it was the fate of all demons to be cast into the depths. Yes, he was simply evil, it didn't matter what he tried to be.  

Drip... drip...

Red and black were the only colors left in his world now. Black like the shadows around him, black like his darkening vision. Black like his withered heart, no matter how desperate he was to be a hero, to be someone the object of his affections, of his undying adoration would look up to and care for.

Red like the anger in his enemies' faces, red like the tearful eyes of his precious light, red like the heart that was beating slower with every torturous second, red like his blood that oozed steadily from the knife wounds that covered him, from the gashes and split-lip, and from the unseen tears and breaks inside of him. Red like the puddle of that blood growing in front of him, mixing with the dirt on the stone floor beneath him.

Drip... drip...

'Will you forgive me now? Is this enough penance for what I am that you will at least think one kind word of me, dearest light?' No. No, he knew better. As his body gave out the last of his strength, as the wounds that he took for his beloved finally overwhelmed him and he took his final breath, he knew better. There was no hope, not for him. Demons don't go to heaven, monsters don't get forgiveness.

Death was only a bridge, a beginning for the next course of torture, but from this one, there would be no reprieve. Even worse, the one thing--the one person who had ever brought him any joy in his existence would go on without him, leaving his corpse in the dust of the past, walking on into the day. He would fade away into the night.   

Drip...

Because he was darkness, and his beloved was the light.  


(A/N: Nope, not telling you who this is, but anyone who knows the fandom it stems from will recognize him.)

It sounds biblical.

EDIT: Not just saying that because of the explicit demons & heaven references.

... Not even remotely. xD (The origin, I mean.) Also, the person in question is actually human, this is all his perception of what happened, and he's wrong--not that it matters 'cuz the end result was death.

I think Bucky's prompt is better than yours. Sorry.

Ok? I didn't ask you, and you're not judging this. :P Also, if you're going to criticize, maybe say something a bit more productive rather than something totally useless?

I fucking hate you, and so does everyone else. Sorry. 

Adding sorry to the end of a blatant insult doesn't make it less of a blatant insult. 

I fucking hate you too.

Raven, I'm glad you liked my story, but honestly, that has to be one of the rudest ways possible to express that sentiment. Please be respectful of everyone's work.

I suck with words. Whoops, my bad.

That is both beautiful and one of the most assholeish moves I've ever seen. Rather then reply to Bucky's piece and say something like "This is the best piece! Good job!" you go to Kiel's and say "It's not as good as Bucky's!"

Yep. xD He could've just praised Bucky, he chose specifically to insult me, lol... 

He walks through his house. It's very English. It has none of the life... the ruggedness of what he once knew. He steps outside for a moment. It's a perfect day to ride. He goes back in. His home... no, this home is much cooler than where he wished to be. He finds it much too... civilized. They call it civilized, but he doesn't. The ones he once knew would have laughed at this place. Yes, they would call it barbaric. The English call it civilized. He smirks.

He gets something to drink. He doesn't drink tea... Most of the time he doesn't. He normally would choose to drink coffee. This is one of the few things found on both worlds. Though, England took the idea from what he once knew. He drinks the coffee. It delights him. For a moment, he can feel sand at his fingertips...

He finishes. He's going to go take a ride. He goes to his bedroom to get the proper clothes for this. Clothes were simpler in the land he once knew. There, they wore the same garments for riding, rest, and walking. Here, there are so many specific outfits to wear. He finishes when he puts on the goggles. He would've never had to have worn these. It was much slower back there. Speed was by camel. Anything faster was of Europe. He wonders if those he once knew would have liked goggles in the sandstorms... No, they have no need for those.

He goes outside and gets on his motorcycle. He starts the engines. For a moment, he remembers that horrible, wonderful moment. He was in a car, an English car. His driver passed camels and their riders. That’s what he left. Then, they passed a motorcycle driving to the city. He wished that he could have kept the different tribes, factions organized.

He drives the motorcycle. The wind rushes past his face like the sands of the desert. Both brutalize his skin, but he doesn’t let it bother him. He’s better than that. He increases the speed. There’s no need to be idle. The idle aren’t the ones to win battles. He has won many battles, but he lost himself. He’d much rather have it be this way, with the land he loves free, than having himself but with English domination over all of those lands. If only all could have been free.

He increases the speed again. He’s soaring down the country roads. These soft roads are paved. He used to sail on roads of sand with a fleet. He and that fleet were a terror to the enemy. They slaughtered many. It was… it was necessary. Yes, it was, though he wishes his bloodlust could have been extinguished. For moments, he was the true barbarian. Those he once knew were not. They often killed, but they often killed with honor.

He increases the speed even more. He must put all of his focus into maneuvering the motorcycle. He has a great deal of focus. He used it for greatness in the war. He could plan unthinkable strategies or unfathomable ideas. Then, he’d make them work. Yes, what he did worked.

Two boys are in his lane. They're coming directly towards him. Without thinking, he swerves the bike. Unlike the two boys dead in the land so far away, he succeeded here. They will be fine. He loses control of the bike. It goes off the road. He crashes into bushes, but he doesn’t let the pain bother him. He’s about to die. He smiles. He’s a man of no world… neither this one nor the other one. He helped one with a war of dominance and the other with a war of existence. He smiles. He dies... a hero... he supposes.

 

(Though this man was very much real at one point, I wrote based off of the movie-version of him. I wonder who knows who I wrote of.)

T. E. Lawrence?

Yup. :)

Lawrence of Arabia!

Scores so far:

DAY ONE WEEK ONE 

Bucky: 4

WouldntItBeNice: 3

Kiel_Farren: 4

EbonVasilis: 0

Tim36D: 0

MasonJarGuzzi: 0

These are the scores for today. The maximum number of points given is four.

 

Hey, at this rate, I'm easily going to get third place. I do hope that the others eventually participate as well.

WAIT

DO I NOT GET ANY NOW BECAUSE I WAS LATE

Y

YOU HAD A FULL 12 HOURS TO WRITE TIM

TAG WAS BURIED YOU THROATY WITCH

I MOST LIKELY DON'T LIVE IN THE SAME TIMEZONE AS YOU, AYT

I DON'T HAVE THE SAME FREETIME

WIE U NO GIVE US 24 HOURS!?

WIE NO!?

IT'S SUMMER YOU DOLT YOU HAVE FREE TIME

NOTE FOR ME

BUCKY AND KIEL MANAGED TO FINISH AND YET YOU DIDN'T POST AT ALL!

LOUD NOISES!

STEVE NOISES

OH, I SEE WHATS GOING ON HERE

I HAVE THINGS TO DO DURING THE SUMMER, AYT

BECAUSE I'M NOT A CHILD

I HAD SHIT TO DO AS WELL

WELL THEN

I POSTED A NEW PROMPT

YOU BETTER GET CRACKA-LACKIN'

TEXAS STYLE

WAT YOURE CHEATING ON CLAW, THEN RAVEN, THEN STEVE!!!!!????

I MEANT GET STARTED

GEEZ

YOU PERVERT

I WAS NEVER WITH STEVE!

IM WATCHING

Well, this got uncomfortable fast. Good job, Mason.

MY PLEASURE

It's not even uncomfortable, it's...despicable. 

... ouch?

I honestly can't.....

MASON

GET YOUR THICK SKULL OVER HERE;

APOLOGIZE

FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOOOU

Hang on, what's scores out of?

Clarify the question. 

Did Bucky get four out of five, four stars, four out of ten...?

Four is the maximum amount of points available to give. So 4/4. 

Ah, thank you.

"The maximum number of points given is four." (It was said in the post.)

Don't act like I'm meant to be intelligent, Kiel. I don't read things. I'm on a WRITING site, not a READING site.

Thank you

So I was actually really busy today. I'll try and do it tomorrow though

I LOST MY PROGRESS

BECAUSE POSTING ON CHROME MOBILE SUCKS

SO HERE'S AN EXCERPT

KIA

An Excerpt from a much longer work by Tim

---------------------------------------------

 

"SHIT, WE'RE PINNED!" Lieutenant Hendrix shouts over the blaster fire. "WHEN'S EXFIL?"

"5!" Captain Justice shouts back. "WE JUST HAVE TO HOLD UNTIL THEN!"

"I don't think Jenkins is going to last that long!" Lieutenant Boyd says to the captain during a lapse in the barrage.

"WHAT?!" Private Jenkins says as he sits straight up, but slumps back to the wall in pain.

"Hey, stay down. You're in pretty bad." Boyd says as she tends back to his wound.

"So, what's the plan, Captain?" Private Redding says as she fires off a volley towards the Greys.

Just as The Captain is about to reply, he's hailed by Command.

"Delta 5, do you read?" The Commander asks.

Captain Justice holds his fingers to his ear and replies, "This is Delta 1, I repeat, this is Delta-Lead. What's the hold up? Where's the VTOL?"

"We can't land, Delta. The zone's too hot. The closest we could get is maybe 75 meters, but that's pushing it." The Commander says coldly.

 

The world stops.

There's no way that they could run 75+ meters in under 30 seconds, especially with one man wounded, let alone without being shot.

They couldn't hold out, though. Enemy reinforcements could be here any second.

There was no way out of this. Somebody was going to die.

The only question was if it was going to be one man or the entire squadron.

 

"Delta, do you copy? I repeat, we cannot land for long." The Commander says, snapping The Captain back into reality.

"Don't worry, Command. Just get here." Captain Justice said. "I'll buy you some time."

"Understood. Command out."

The Captain turns to his team.

"Okay, here's the plan. Once the VTOL gets here, run like hell towards it. Give Jenkins some stims." He says.

The group is silent, until Redding says, "Captain, no offense, but that is the stupidest fucking idea I've ever heard. We'll be swiss cheese!"

Another volley flies over their heads.

"DON'T WORRY, WE'LL HAVE COVERING FIRE!" Captain Justice shouts over the volley. "I HAVE NEVER LED ANY OF YOU ASTRAY! I'VE LED OVER 200 SUCCESSFUL MISSIONS, AND EACH TIME, ALL OF MY MEN HAVE COME BACK ALIVE! I'M ASKING YOU ALL TO TRUST ME ON THIS ONE!" He looks at each of his squadmates before saying "NOW... WHO'S WITH ME?!"

"SIR YES SIR!" The Deltas reply, just as the VTOL appears in the sky and lets off a few missiles and a spray of gunfire.

"LET'S DO THIS! GO GO GO GO!" The Captain shouts. The Deltas let out a battle cry as they puncture through the weakened flank towards the VTOL. Hendrix is the first to board and, of course, the first to look back.

The Captain wasn't with them.

"Wait, where's the Captain?!" He says. He gets his answer from a shout of defiance back toward the small, roofless, destroyed building that they were just hunkered down in. A lone man, The Captain, is firing off large, inaccurate volleys towards the main force.

"Shit, he's still out there!" Jenkins says as he collapses into a seat on the VTOL.

"We have to go back for him. We have to go back!" Hendrix says as he makes his way off, but is stopped by Boyd.

"Don't you see?! He's doing this for us!" She says. "We have to go, NOW!"

"No! NO! LEOOOOOON!" Hendrix shouts, struggling against Boyd, and now Redding, holding him back. Jenkins, weakly, hits the ramp button on the wall next to him.

"LEOOOOOOOOOON!"

The Captain turns, out of ammo, and smiles at Hendrix and the Deltas as the Alien Reinforcements arrive, ships just out of lightspeed.

 

The ramp closes, and that's the last anyone sees of Captain Leon Justice.

 

(This is a reference as well, but a much clearer one than Kiel's. No offense.)

OH NOES!  Tag was buried. ;_;

I 'm......I'm sad.

 

Writing Prompt:
Write a story about A Hero's Journey.
 

Raymond walks along the road, his eyes scanning the horizon for the undead. His mind is finally beginning to go. Thoughts are muddled, memories faded, consciousness fading. He continues walking, focusing on nothing but movement. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left… fuck, he needs a smoke. He would saw off his own arm for a smoke, but he hadn’t been able to have one since Maybrooks. 

Fucking Maybrooks. 

He remembered it clearly. Lying in a puddle of his own blood. Brooks, loveable Brooks with the voice of an angel, had had his throat bitten out. Ciara, with the beautiful blue eyes, had them clawed out. The O’Riley twins were dragged into a mob of rotting hands and bloody teeth when the floor collapsed in. It had just been him, running for his life through a dead city, screaming for help, until he collapsed in his own blood in a long-abandoned store. Hundreds of miles… so much pain… all to get to the Evacuation Zone. The military had all but withdrew from Guam back to the Mainland, and everyone had died in a desperate attempt to get to the military’s last holdout… it was all for nothing. Ray had lain in his own blood, lamented the death of his last and only friends, and decided that he’d go out on his own terms. He’d taken out his rifle, put the barrel against his chin, placed his finger on the trigger and…

Crying.

He heard it, loud and crystal clear. The young crying of a baby. He had slung his rifle over his back and investigated. There, on the highest shelf in a wardrobe, with two freshly torn apart parents outside, their bodies propped up against the doors in one final act of love towards their child. Ray had done a lot of bad things, but he wasn’t leaving a baby to die in a closet. Making a sling from his short, he took the baby, and took it into his slung. He had picked up his rifle, and began walking. He had promised himself he wouldn’t stop walking until he reached the evacuation zone. 

Now, here he was, on the side of the road, just walking. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot… Ray kept walking, before looking up and staring ahead as the horizon as it came back into focus, its blurring falling away to reveal in the distance several fortified buildings, surrounded by a large wall of fences, cars and other hastily prepared barricades. Proudly flying side by side, the US flag and Guam flag. The evacuation zone. Ray stumbled forward, struggling not to collapse. He kept walking, keeping his eyes set on the fort, a hand reaching back to the makeshift baby carrier to squeeze the little baby’s hand. She out a gurgle that reverberated strength throughout his core. She giggled, and Ray took a deep breath and broke into a jog. He was almost there. He had almost made it.

“Hello!” he screamed. “Is anyone there? I need help!”

He saw the shapes of people move inside, his vision blurry. The strength went from his legs and he collapsed, skidding to his knees, before falling on his hands. The baby burst into tears, as Ray watched soldiers approaching.

“Thank god…” Raymond gasped.

“Sir, put your hands in the air and drop your weapon!” one of the soldiers shouted. “Are you infected? Is the baby alright?”

“Take the kid. She’s not infected. Get her out of here,” Ray said, coughing up blood onto himself.

“Sir, drop…!”

Ramond’s arm stretched forward, as he struggled not to puke at the sight of his pus-encrusted bite mark, surrounded by a crust of blood and bile. He grabbed his rifle, raising it to point at his head.

“Sir!”

“Just help the kid,” Ray said, resting his forehead on the barrel.

Ray grasped at the trigger, his fingers resting on it.

“Just help the kid…” Ray muttered

He had made it. Hundreds of miles… so much pain… it was all worth it.

His fingers pressed down on the trigger. 

O.O

Don't pull my heartstrings, man, that might've just earned you extra points

;-;

A high bar, I had to scour my brain for subject matter that could compete.

I'd really like an apple right now. It's been... weeks I suppose since I had one. As a kid, I always used to eat apples. Hell, I lived on an apple orchard. I loved seeing the apple blossoms. I missed them this year... and last year. An apple sounds really good to me.

The artillery fire... not so much. I hate the constant barrage of explosion after explosion hitting the earth. Occasionally, I hear the screams of men when it hits a trench. They scream for their mothers when dying. I won't. My mother died from influenza a few months ago. That was hard.

I sneeze again. I have some sort of flu, but I really don't give a damn. If they won't shoot me, a disease might as well. I want to get out of here. The rest of my original squad has. Many were taken by a disease. Others left through bullets. A few got out when they were hit by artillery. Another might be in that lifeless stretch of land between these two trenches. I don't know for sure what happened to him. Either way, boys are all what's left. They're new. Most of them are a year or so younger than me, but I'm so much older.

The bombardment has stopped. All becomes deathly silent for a moment, but I know it’ll be for only that moment. I check that my rifle is loaded. Ha, I never expected to be holding one of these. I never hunted as a boy, yet I could have killed dozens already. I’m about to kill more. I hope not, but my country wants me to. If we lose the war, then our country will be in ruins. The others, the aggressors… they will devour us like wolves. All we did was defend our ally to the South. I don’t understand how we’re still fighting.

The other side is yelling. I peek over the side of the trench. Their climbing out of their trenches like demons erupting from the gates of Hell. I pray to God. I always do that. Lots of us will be seeing him soon anyway. Our machine guns fire. Droves upon droves of men are mowed down only for three more to take his place. I fire my rifle at the horde. I can’t tell if I shoot anybody. I think I did.

They’re getting closer. A few of them explode. A few of them are shot. Possibly thousands are dead in this worthless offensive. I double-check that I my bayonet is at the end of my rifle. I hate using it. When I shoot the enemy, they die far away. When I stab my enemy, they look into my eyes as they die. I think they’re going to push us back. Some of the boys run away. I stay.

The wall of men collide with us. I stab one. Another comes. We stab each other. My left arm now hurts. It’s also wet, very wet with my own blood. It only hurts. I can’t feel much from that arm. The butt of a rifle hits my head. I finally get to rest.

I awake. I see bodies. The blood is fresh. I must have been out for only a little while. None of my comrades around me are alive. The enemy is. There’s a few of them. They must have pushed us very far back. I wonder if they reached our homeland. No, that’s too far away for now. I grin through my pain. I can feel the pain now… I’m getting out of this war. I’ll be a prisoner. That sounds nice. I’ll get a warm bed. I’ll get meals throughout the day. My feet won’t be drenched in water and mud. I’ll be clean. I drop my weapon.

I stand up. My balance is wobbly. I half-run, half-tumble to the enemy soldiers. I call out to them that I surrender. I'll be free.

One of the enemy boys' eyes show fear. He shoots me. I feel great pain. That boy yells to another, "That damn Hun attacked me!" I don't understand what he said... I don't understand what happened. I don't understand the war or why I'm not going home. I do understand one thing. I'm free of this war. I'm free.

This....this is quality work.

@Tim36D
@MasonJarGuzzi
@EbonVasilis
@Bucky
@Kiel_Farren

You don't have long...

Just do 24 hours or I quit. This doesn't work.

That could be the whiniest, bitchiest reply I have ever heard. Kids have had tantrums with more class.

I don't think I can play anymore.

Meat and Potatoes

Billy stood with his back flat against the wall. Sweat beaded on his skin as the midday sun roasted him with all its fiery fury. They wouldn't even let him sit on the ground. But he knew things would only worsen if he complained, so he resolved to just serve his time. Still, he a had a long way to go until his sentence was up.

Another ten full minutes.

Watching the other kids play basketball, kickball and tag just felt like torture while he stood there, baking in the early September heat. How could teachers be so cruel?

Miss Beaver caught him passing love notes to Suzy during a math lesson on long division. Billy knew Suzy batted in the majors, while he would be lucky to stick with a AA club, but his big brother George told him sometimes a man has to act bold. And George went to Junior High, so if he said something, it just had to be true. Too bad Suzy never got the third note. Billy thought that one would win her over for sure.

Pa always used to talk about being a man too. Well, before he went off to the war and didn't come back, anyway. One night the week before he left, he sat Billy on his knee in the den and said, "Billy, you're growing up right before my eyes. It seems like just the other day you were crawling across the floor with a diaper trailing along behind... I'll be going away for awhile, and I can't say when I'll be back. But no matter what happens, I want you to promise me that you'll always fight for what's right, even when it's hard. And the right thing, well, it's rarely ever the easy path to go down. But that's what being a man is all about. Do you understand what I'm saying, son?"

"I think so Pa," Billy said, though he wasn't so sure he really did. Billy thought there was a lot wrong with some of his classmates. But Pa always said that picking fights with his classmates would be a surefire way to get his ass fanned at home. Heck, Jimmy Summerland ate his own boogers! And if that wasn't wrong, Billy didn't know what was.

So Billy stood against the wall, musing through some of the jumbled thoughts in his head. Miss Beaver and Mr. Kyle stood over by the tether-ball pole, chatting it up. Billy caught Miss Beaver's eyes and she gave him a teacher's stare, probably just trying to ward off any potential bad behavior. But George told Billy all about those looks, so he didn't mind them all that much.

With five minutes left to serve, Billy tried entertaining himself by watching the kickball game, having given up on figuring out what it really meant to be a man, for now. And then something happened that just fused a few wires in his brain.

Lindsay Harris probably would have flown under the radar if he had a proper boy's name. But his parents must have been awful cruel, or else they just didn't know what a real boy's name was. Big, mean Tommy Larsen lead the pack of kids that ridiculed Lindsay, but since Lindsay kept quiet and to himself, he avoided most of the abuse that the other weird kids received.

But Lindsay didn't fly under the radar that day, not when he tagged Tommy out as he labored for home plate.

First, the kids started cheering Lindsay. Heck, he just won his team the game. And naturally, Tommy's team gave him a good ribbing for earning the last out, the pudgy lad just didn't have the gas in the tank to pull off a home run. But George always said that kids like Tommy Larsen just don't take well to being the butt of a joke. And like always, what George said proved to be true.

Tommy rallied the kids to his side, taking pot shots at Lindsay's name. And maybe on most days that would have been the end of it.

But Lindsay must have been feeling mighty good that day, with the adrenaline flowing and the ego boost and all. And he didn't back down... not at first. He threw back a few fat wisecracks. And the kids started swaying back to his side. Up until Tommy shoved the nearest kid laughing at him to the ground.

Tommy marched right up to Lindsay, got right in his face and threw every name in the book at him. Heck, Tommy used some names that Billy didn't even know. He'd have to ask George later. And just like that everyone rounded back to Tommy's side. He was winning after all, and that's just the nature of how these things go. Heck, George said so, so of course it was true. And they all joined in the group taunt.

Lindsay tried sulking away, but George wasn't about to let him slink off into shadows this time. He grabbed him round the arm and threw him to the ground, spit on his face even.

Miss Beaver and Mr. Kyle stood to far away to hear, and the layout of the school kept them from seeing Lindsay on the ground by home plate. They'd never be any the wiser unless Lindsay said something later. After all, everybody knew what happened to snitches.

Billy had two minutes and change left on his sentence, but he knew what he had to do. He marched right away from that wall, standing tall, just like he imagined George or Pa would have done.

Miss Beaver saw him and started hollering, "Billy Erb, you get back on that wall this instant!"

But Billy paid her no mind. He had a mission. Still, he felt every pair of eyes on the playground fall on him as he made that long march over to the kickball field. A great weight got dropped shoulders, making every step a slog through thick mud. But now Billy understood what Pa said. He wanted to make him proud. And that kept him trudging on.

"You help Lindsay to his feet and apologize to him right now, Tommy Larsen!" Billy kept marching forward as he shouted. "You're nothing but a big, fat spoiled sack of cow shit. And everybody knows it! Yeah, I said it!"

A collective gasp went up around the playground.

Tommy stared with a dullard's simplicity for a moment. But when it came time to fight or flee, Tommy elected he'd be best suited to take up the fight. "And if I don't?" Tommy spat on Lindsay again.

Billy didn't say another word. He marched straight up to Tommy and clocked him right in the schnoze. Blood started pouring out in a big crimson fountain. Tommy wound up with a big clumsy swing, but Billy ducked right underneath and tackled the big lug to the ground. Sitting on top of his chest, Billy battered Tommy's ears until the big boy blubbered like a baby girl.

And then Billy got up and helped Lindsay to his feet. He had made his point, pounding on Tommy Larsen's big fat head wouldn't do anyone anymore good.

Tears in his eyes, Lindsay smiled, a rare treat. "No one's ever stood up for me before... thanks, Billy."

Billy slapped Lindsay on the back. "No problem, pal. I''m sorry I couldn't get him to apologize to ya." Then he turned to the rest of the class. "I don't have a mind to lose any more recess after this. So if any of you got a mind to pick on Lindsay again, well, you can just come and meet me up by ol' Daniel Hawthorne's orchard, and I'll fix you straight too, ya hear?"

No one said a word. They just hung their heads in shame. That was the first time anyone ever bothered to stand up to Tommy Larsen when he started getting real mean.

Just before Miss Beaver and Mr. Kyle could grab hold of him, Billy started heading back to the wall on his own. "Yeah, yeah, I know Miss Beaver. But sometimes a man's got to do the right thing, even if it's hard. Maybe especially so. That's what Pa used to tell me. And I'd do it again too. So I'll serve my time. And gladly so."

But Billy didn't stand alone against that wall. Lindsay Harris and two other boys, Harry Graham and Frank Jones kept him company, following right behind. Because they knew the merit of what Billy did, and a man with that kind of mettle makes a damn fine friend. By the end of it, over half the class stood alongside Billy on that wall.

And that's how Billy became a man.

BUCKY

Y U SO GOOD

Glad you enjoyed it.

The ache in my arms has subsided, to just dull flashes as we trudge along. Trudge. What a word to use. Falling forwards, with the feet just getting into position in time, in time for the next trudge-step.

"We're the lucky ones."

The trudge stops, and restarts as a stomp at the voice of him. A grunt, but the hint is not taken.

"But we're nearly back now, and we can do the right thing."

Every bloody kilometer. The only sound for some time are our footsteps, and the rattle of the cart as it is pushed along. The anger and shame flare up again, at the same question.

"Glad you got out as well. Did you see what happened?"

Evidently the grunt network is broken in Sam. Clearing out some dust, I respond flatly "No."

Another kilometer. The final leg is approaching. So are we. So is my tether. But this time....

"If you'd have gotten there sooner, Jake might've gotten out of it. Where were you?"

The dull ache has moved from my arms, walked up the shoulders and is nestled in my jaw. Just a little further. We're too exposed out here still, and maybe a distraction will get him off this track.

"Where I was supposed to be. That's what I do, stand where I say I do."

The truth issues out of my mouth, and slithers into the air, but changes meaning. I wasn't. I wasn't, and hadn't, and didn't.

"A damn shame then. A shame and it's never going to be right, how it happened."

He can't even say it, it's still raw and bleeding. Will that ever heal? No, not in a lifetime. Somethings don't fit the mould, and you have to throw it away. Life become Before This, and After This. AT day 1 it is. Just to shut him up,

"Yyyup."

He seems to take the hint.

Finally, the horizon becomes stunningly familiar, it's the last corner. Sam, as always, good, reliable, dependable Sam, takes 4 steps past the gate, then swings back abashedly to open it for me. The wheels rattle over the cattle grid, nearly getting stuck. Nod of thanks as he lifts the front, but it's an empty one. Be poignant if there was a river to cross, something symbolic. But I'm too damned tired to care anymore. The jaw is aching constantly now.

"I'll talk to his wife, tell her what happened. It's not your fault you weren't where he needed you, when he needed you".

A final clatter from the wheels, as I drag and push the cart up onto the porch, it has certainly done it's duty and then some. Idly ponder where this fits into the lifecycle of a normal shopping cart, from construction to packaged up and sold to a super market, pushed around over asphalt a few months and finally a peaceful resting place in the nearest river, after a charged night witnessing teen drinking and giving rides to their dumb arses through a park. But, that's just a distraction from him. I turn and face the man who I thought knew me. Who I thought I knew.

 

"Bullshit"

 

His face froze in the moment, then returned to life, a translucent mask of confusion. “What? What do you mean?"

I could feel the venom flowing in my mouth. Thick, rancorous, vile. Spitting on the floor in the hope of dislodging it, but only saliva expelled. Enough, it must come out before it corrodes my skull.

"I was where I was supposed to be all right. I sat, and watched, and saw what I needed to see."

I can see his face crumbling, as the veneer fades. Now, what's beneath it? My mind casts back to what I saw, Jake standing at the bottom of the hill, his own confusion painted over his face and looking up at Sam. The chill that froze me to the bone as I saw them both of them flanked by blackshirts, and how the chill penetrated my soul, when I noticed the difference in where the guns were pointing. The wisps of words that floated through the branches, only the banal formality of them coming through. A routine everyday occurrence for them, as my heart bled out on the same dirt that they slouched on.

"I saw what you did, I've seen enough the last week to know exactly what you did, and even got the why. Talk to his wife? Sure thing. Tell her how he looked as they pushed him against that tree. Tell her how he looked at YOU, as he lay on the ground gutshot. Tell her that, and see what your family does to you."

 

There. The mask is fallen away. There’s not a noble reason behind his betrayal, not a glimmer of righteousness to his idea. Just lust and pride. Pride over his own flesh, damn it. His foot steps onto the porch with a creak of floorboards, echoing the creak in his voice.

“You knew. All the way back, all through that running, and hiding, and sleeping in that yacht. You knew, and said nothing. Why.”

It’s not even a question, it’s a tactic. Good, dependable Sam, always going rock. Another quieter creak.

“Because I wasn’t about to drag your dead body back all this way.”

A blink, and another creak. Ahh, he wasn’t expecting that, and he’s rattled some. Another push.

“Do you think they’ll swap your body for his? Or at least where it’s lying? If you're sorta dead, sorta alive, how do you think they'd prefer you to be for them?”

And the hits keep coming. Another creak. So close. I can feel his heat. I idly shift my weight to the left, and see his entire stance stiffen, then relax as no attack is forthcoming.

“But what gets me, is why you didn’t crush two birds instead of one. Had plenty of chanc-!”

 

I break off, as he breaks into a rush and then breaks through the floor. Always been a bit crappy this porch, and he’s helped repair it often enough to know. Dependable Sam. His startled drop through with one foot leaves a nice wide triangle. I take my size 10’s and apply them to his hypotenuse. He’d been loud before, but now there’s not just tone in the alarm, but real volume and pain too. Fend off some weak flail and dance in with a knee to the chin. He slumps forwards, coughing horribly and semi-conscious. Raising his head and butting it onto the floor solves the semi part of that.

Now, with the adrenaline back under control, the what fades away, needing to change into the what now. AT. The day that a rat bastard gutted a friend and wore his face for a while.

***

(Remarkably to write this,  for some reason)

(A/N: I'm not happy with this one, but it's the best I could do today.)

It had been two months. Two months since Violetta had set out from the Sunset Gate of Celestial City. It wasn't as if she missed the city, though. She had lived at the ivory tower since she'd first learned to crawl, once they had discovered her power for summoning. The ladies who cared for her there had been her family, the halls, rooms, and steps of the tower were her world. Now, though... now the world outside needed protection, and to that end, she'd said goodbye to everything she had ever known--except, of course, for a small handful of friends.

Bella, her first friend, had of course been the first to join her. Bella was an orphan, raised by the tower's keepers, who had grown into a competent huntress. Her keen eyes and steady hand at the strings of her bow had been of great use thus far.

Wolfe, a warrior monk charged with defending the tower and Violetta, had been the second. He was energetic, if not perhaps the brightest member of their team. He was one of the few boys Violetta had ever had contact with, considering the tower's keepers and white mages were predominantly female... though she did know one male white mage rather well.

He had been the third to join them, Ryouta. He was a timid, pale, quiet boy. Close in age to Violetta. Vi had been quite surprised when he insisted on joining, knowing the risk they were taking, but she was grateful. His healing magic had saved them on several occasions, and yesterday had been no different. The poisonous fangs that had torn her flesh from the monstrous Greater Cave Spider had nearly been the end of her.

Of course, it could've crushed her skull in that very moment, if not for him. She shyly glanced across the crackling bonfire to the hooded and cloaked youth. She could make out one of his blonde bangs in the light, as well as the angle of his chin and faint curve of his lips which tilted up slightly when he noticed her staring. It still surprised her sometimes that he could see through the thick cloth blindfold that shielded his eyes from the firelight. The truth, of course, was that he could not have seen her without it.

Kage was unlucky enough to be one of the Blighted, after all. Touched by the power of the Shade, unable to live directly in light. His eyes needed the dark or he would truly go blind, and yet he coped. Made it a strength instead of a weakness. He didn't really need his eyes to fight after his training, but back in the cave, he'd been more comfortable than any of them. He'd led them through it with little peril--barring the gigantic spider, anyway, but that wasn't his fault, and he'd dealt the killing blow.  

She thought back to when they'd met. It had been on the first week of her journey. Her city elders had insisted on her seeking out further aid, and he was the best that the mercenary academy had to offer. Initially, she'd been nervous around him. He always kept his face hidden without saying why, he spoke little, rarely about his own thoughts, and he fought with passion.

After a month of wondering, she'd worked up the courage to ask him about it all, one moonless night. He took her away from the camp, away from comforting flames, and showed her his face. It was handsome, his dignified features and sharp eyes surprised her. Surely that wasn't something to hide, but then he explained. They spoke for a while, and he confessed that he was comfortable in the dark, but he was alone. He was used to being alone, fighting for himself, for his mission, but they were a group of friends. The camaraderie was nice, but unfamiliar, and he didn't feel right making any attempt to cut in.

'But I want to be your friend,' she'd admitted that then. They spoke more in the following days, grew close, but only when away from the group. Last night, though... last night hadn't been just about friendship. It had been about the deeper feelings that had bloomed between them. She blushed at the memory of her first kiss and her gaze drifted away from him.

'This wasn't supposed to happen. Summoners have a higher calling. In three days, we'll arrive at the Earth Scar. Even if things go well, even if we win the fight, I--' He knew little about her powers. Didn't know how dangerous they could be to use. Didn't know falling for her was risky, foolish, and yet... she couldn't find the words to tell him. What if he pulled away, distanced himself to prevent the pain, regretted their kiss, or the words he said?

'I'm sorry. It's selfish of me, but... I've never felt this way before, and... I'd like to know what love is at least once before I--'

"Hey, Vi? You okay?" Wolfe asked, concerned.

"Yeah, I guess I'm just a little tired." She forced a brilliant smile, determined to make it one that everyone would buy. 'I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I don't want you to mourn me as long as I'm still alive.' "We should probably turn in for the night."

"Sounds good," Bella agreed. Ryouta nodded. Kage remained silent, and something in his silence made her feel as if he doubted. As if it was only a matter of time. Then again, wasn't everything? 'Seventy-two hours to go.' 

 Slosh, the sounds of gurgling and wet flesh splatter against the cold, marble ground. A lifeless, barely attached head is dragged up the stone stairs. The red, sickening scent of blood squeezes out. A shadowed and unseen figure is seen grasping the body, and throws it to the ground. Reaching for a crimson blade, the figure then impales the all-ready overkill body.

 Silently, the figure sheathes the blade back. He strolls up the stairs until he reaches the top of the flight. He grabs the chained doors, shakes them once, then twice, then on a third time he brakes them with his bare fists. The huge bronze doors screech open and the moonlight filters through into the darkness. 

The figure clicks a button on his helmet, and a light projects from it. The figure is now properly illuminated, he wears a steel suit with an astronaut-type style. The figure sees through a glass screen, and it seems to be peering straight into the darkness. He starts walking down into the abyss, and sees destroyed bookshelves, broken lanterns, and slaughtered corpses. 

Suddenly, a demonic voice can be heard and the metal guy falls to his knees. Red energy wisps around his fists and torso, sending fear and hatred into his skeleton. The figure doesn't flinch, but suddenly he can feel a strange and hard clawing on his cheek. Looking sideways, the man sees a skeleton hand wiggling through an armor hole in the suit. 

"What the fuck?" He tries to move his hand to swat the ungodly arm away. The red energy binds the metal figure to the floor. More bone claws reach up from an unseen hole in the ground, grabbing the man with them.

And he falls into darkness.

A light appears in the darkness. He is so close. He steps, but feels a sharp piercing feeling through his spine. 

Another step.

A final step.

So close.

Yet he falls.

Farther.

Forever.

His journey ends now.

Or maybe.....never.

 

So... what's the scores? 

I have a life, so I'm gonna post it here shortly. Sorry for the inconvenience. 

BEHOLD! CHANGE OF PLANS!

There's been a time change! 24 hours! The new deadline is 10:30 AM of tomorrow morning.

I can't loose competitiors..

Bah.

Boo.

WEEK ONE DAY TWO

WouldntItBeNice: 7
Kiel_Farren: 8
MasonJarGuzzi: 3 (I'm letting you still have your points)
EbonVasilis: 0
Bucky: 7
Tim36D: 3 (Mason gifted his points to you)
iavatus: 4
Stevewhateverthenumbersare: 4

I thinks I'm done...

... Didn't I say that I couldn't play anymore??? 9.9

Yea, but Mason gifted his points to you so you got added points even though you left. I'm keeping you on there so you're technically still a competitor until next week. 

Is there another prompt, or am I once again missing something?

Am I going to set up another prompt? Then, yes. In a minute.

Sadly, I'm going to have to withdraw from the contest. 

A'ight, you'll still be up in the roster until next week.

Writing Prompt:
Create a fictional universe from scratch revolving around dolphins.
 

Well.

This'll be hard.

Are we expected to write a story with a lot of infodumps, or what?

Yep.

You betcha!

Hmm. Just write something according to the prompt. Do whatever you deem necessary to squeeze some art out of me!

Well... alrighty then. I guess I'll dance along the line of telling too little and giving an unclear picture, and giving a massive infodump on dolphins. Well, I'm sure giving my protagonist an adorable name.

... Damn. Specifically dolphins? Not even demi-humans that are part dolphin?

If it has dolphins in it, I'm game!

Tempted to do a shark and dolphin "Romeo and Juliet" spin for this one--(don't ask me why I keep leaning toward romance, I don't know, could be I have the next site contest on the brain)--but I probably won't. xD

Hey, romance is fun!

The day of lights had pros, and it had cons.

Snorkie skimmed along the water, jumping into the air with bursts of speed and gliding peacefully along the water before diving again. He kept diving, deeper and deeper, scoring himself another Cod each time.  As he jumped out of the water again, he saw the odd shapes in the distance, standing right above the edge of the water. They once blinked and made noises as the creatures inside moved around. Now, they were calm and silent, undistracting and not annoying. That was a pro.

Snorkie swam towards them. His stomach wasn't sated with cod. He wanted one of the many treats that the strange shapes held, and Snorkie was willing to take the risks. He swam closer and closer, as the bad fog came into view.The green and black fog was always near the strange shapes nowadays. It used to be clear, and the air was good. It covered all the land, but thankfully, not the sea. Still, it hurt when Snorkie made trips to the strange shapes. Now, it made Snorkie lungs hurt and his head feel fuzzy. That was a con. 

Still, there was food. Snorkie continued darting towards them, taking longer and longer dives to avoid having to gulp down the noxious fog. His stomach ached, so he swam quickly like a bullet spiralling through the air. He quickly reached the shores. The floaters were there, all tied to the shores. They used to charge across the water, forcing Snorkie to dart out of the way, tangling his brothers and sisters in the weird ropes, taking the Cod from Snorkie's mouth. Now, the floaters stayed tied to the land. That was a pro. 

Snorkie swam along the coast, watching. In the early days after the day of lights, there was a lot of food. The creatures' ended up in the water in vast quantities, the life gone but the meat good. Sadly, everything from the seals to the scallops had gotten a bite of them, and now it was rare that one would find it's way in the water. Despite the odds not being in his favor, Snorkie was lucky. He saw a delicious meal floating in the water. It was fresh, the flood still dripping in the water. Small enough, barely over three feet in length and much less in width, but that was more than enough meat for Snorkie. Yes, these delicious gifts of meat were most definitely another pro.

Once Snorkie had had his fill, he left the meat, so some other scavengers could have their fill. He swam along the water, happy and carefree as he sped away from the land, where the air was clean and the strange shapes cast no shadows. He sped along the water, the water glistening under the warm sunbeams... before it stopped. Snorkie watched as once more, the sun was taken. The black masses that danced with the clouds above, and now, another one took the sun. Quickly the water turned black as shadows took over the world. The world turned dark, and Snorkie swam in the black water, waiting. Less than a minute later, the black mass had shifted out of view and the sun was given back. Once more, the water glistened and the world glowed. The shadows were an inconvenience, but a small one. Still, that was a con.

Snorkie continued swimming, warmed up once more by the golden beams given to him by the sun. Then, the noise. The horrible buzzing noise. It happened all of a sudden. In seconds, a pillar had formed. The water was pulled from the seas, up towards the skies. Up towards the black masses. Snorkie watched as the blue pillars surged upwards. He sped along the coast. His gaze drifted towards the shining, nearby beaches. Snorkie had noticed they were growing bigger, the oceans losing their claims on the land as the waves lapped lower and lower. His eyes lingered on the water line for a minute, wondering how low it would go. He hoped it would stop soon. His dives were getting shallower and shallower, his ocean and his home, the ocean, the beautiful big blue, growing less and less powerful. Snorkie stared at the blue pillars of water with a vague sense of sadness. This was most definitely a con.

Yes, the day of lights had pros, and it had cons.

 

Well, I tried. I really tried. But... dolphins. Props if you get the reference.

Reminds me of Steven Universe.

Good.

Never watched it, but maybe. Really, I just wanted to have dead children being eaten to destroy what joy you through you'd wring for me for picking dolphins as a prompt.

Uh, thank you?

You're welcome! Tomorrow I might go Cannibalism or Ritualistic Self-Mutiliation. You know, keep it fresh.

New idea for a prompt!

I feel I'm either going to be very happy with this newly inspired prompt, or very, very disappointed.

Thanks for pressuring me!

You should be VERY pressured. I am putting ALL the pressure solely on you.

I enjoyed this. What was the reference?

Snorkie... talk... man.

Did you seriously fucking do a reference towards Simpsons "Attack of the Dolphins?" Did you just watch that to give you an idea? XD.

No, I didn't watch it, but it was a good episode.

I remember it on Treehouse of Terror. Eh, same thing.

Treehouse of Horror, Mason! GAWD!

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=6eCqJG_w7IY

Grandfather Shark was dead. He stood, er, floated there in silence. The great shark was in the middle of his speech - and he died. The animals put their heads down in honor. But they knew what would happen. The Aim-ploi-eeys would just come the next day to make them work for the flesh-lings. They start to swim back to their stations, but suddenly a short squeak stopped them.

"Brothers!" A small bottle nose dolphin calls, "We will stand for Grandfather Shark! We will complete his dream for him. His death will not be in vain."

"Snowball, but how will we make our own law? The Aimploieeys will get us before we can revolt."

The bottle nose turns to the bulky dolphin who just spoke. 

"Well, we must try. For....for Shark!"

The crowd of animals shifts. One octopus starts to nod his head. Then a crowd of dolphins. Then the entire assortment! 

"Hail Snowball!" They all yell.

"Tomorrow we take over the park! Ready the dolphin corps!"

Dolphins and other sea creatures get together and stay busy all night. The next day, when the Aimploieeys start unlocking the great big metal door, the animals get to business. The Dolphins infiltrate the waterways, the starfish wait in ambush, and the octopuses gather supplies from the gift shops. 

Snowball sits there, watching his plans unfold. "For...Shark. We will have a free world. Muahaha, but with me in charge."

The fleshlings begin to walk through the metal doors. They are coming to do their disgusting watching of the animals. But not today. Suddenly, a young fleshling gets too close to a small pond. YANK, a dolphin brings him under. YANK, goes another. A female fleshling screams for her young. A knife impales her. The people run in havoc and chaos, but the animals have this under control. Soon enough the Aimploieeys come in, armed with small lightning sticks. A dolphin jumps midair onto one, and clamps its teeth onto the fleshling's head. 

More fall.

And now Sea World is theirs.

Well, at least it's Snowball's.

Whelp, I just made a Sea World Animal Farm.

What the hell is a starfish going to do to a human? Also, if the shark is the grandfath... Jesus, Mason. You're a sick, creepy dude.

It was a quick writing. You do get the Animal Farm thing, though, right?

Not a lot of Communism for Animal Farm. Seems more classic Animal Takeover.

ITS SNOWBALL THOUGH.

Nevermind.

Meh. Snowball was a douche based on a badass who fucked everyone, took a pickaxe to the head and beat up his attacker. Huge downgrade.

WOAH. 

Mason.

I like it, but the sheer disgusting-ness might've downcast ya.

Just sayin'.

What's disgusting about it?

Meh. Snowball was a douche based on a badass who fucked everyone, took a pickaxe to the head and beat up his attacker. Huge downgrade.

I repeat my question.

Douche based on a badass who fucked everyone, took a pickaxe to the head and beat up his attacker

>_> You really sure you don't want a feedback thread?

Yknow what, I do now.

Pffh! Wait to bring rules to the table! Lame!

I repeat my question.

I mean, the violence. Dolphins, starfish, and octopi mutilating humans like cannibals at a brony convention makes me kind of sick inside.

Ah sure, that was par the course. Nothing wrong with a bit of violence.

Well, my new goal for tomorrow is to write something that scars AYT    

Well, great.

Just give me a good prompt. Something I can make horrifying. Please.

Yeah, sure, like I'd conform to the wishes of a competitor.

I don't choose favorites, Steve.

(I can't tell if this is worse or better than that stupid video game story I wrote for Quiller's prompts, but at least it's done.)

The ocean-covered planet of Carpe Piscem would have likely been a strange place to an outsider. The great waters are divided into kingdoms, just as the depths are divided into shelves and trenches.

Nai`a, the kingdom of the dolphins, which had existed in self-contained peace for several centuries, is a temperate place that was built close to the surface. Theirs is a world close to the rays of their sun and the layer of air above the waters. The climate and subsequent vast coral reefs are filled with life, ensuring a well-fed and contented population.

Their key deities, Hau'oli and Kahiau, encouraged the pursuit of personal happiness and the happiness of the kingdom as a whole, showing generosity toward one's family and friends, while allowing indulgence for one's self.

This way of life was enough to bring them joy for many years ... until the neighboring kingdom of Mano, a place of the darker depths, grew jealous of their thriving civilization and attacked. The shark soldiers' arrival was met first with panic, but though they were fierce, they came in small numbers and underestimated their quarry's ability to rally to protect their once peaceful home.

Being an intelligent race, the dolphins fortified their home and began work on a weapon of mass destruction, a last resort to ensure the survival of their race, intended to wipe out their opposition. As the army of the shark kingdom continued their assault, many lives were taken or left in shambles.

One such life was Finnia, a starving shark pup abandoned amidst the wreckage of the south reef. Grizzled dolphin general and respected scientist, Lord Delphinus, finds himself unable to kill the little shark in spite of his avid work on the weapon of her would-be demise.

He instead takes her in as the child his wife had never been able to have. In his resolution to hide and raise her, he finds himself doubting his convictions. When Finnia suddenly falls gravely ill, he is forced to make a choice, and face risking life and fin for his former enemy. 

Meanwhile, King Adolfin's beautiful daughter, Princess Kaikamahine and the shark King Niho's son, Prince Kane, met on a moonless night and fell in love. Desperate to stop her lover from being killed at any cost, Kaikamahine stole the completed weapon and swam for her lover's life, into the land of the orcas.

With a final assault planned on the Dolphin castle, time grows short for our heroes. Can they survive? Will love conquer all? (Will any of you laugh at the ridiculous names here even though the silliness behind them is obstructed by them being Hawaiian?!)

Only tide and time will tell.

You let out a few clicks. It's a call to your pod... a pod... any pod. It has been dozens of seasonal cycles since you've seen one. Where did your pod go? I does not compute in your head. They were always there with you. Then, they were gone. You never even found a mate. There's no legacy for you.

You continue swimming by the tall rocks. The rocks and sand can leave your world and go into the Great Dry. Aliens live... lived there. You were always afraid of the deep ocean. You don't know why. For a while, you thought that your pod went there, but they never returned to the tall rocks. Before, they always returned. Then, you thought that your pod died, but you so no other pods. Why did they all vanish?

You poke you head above the water. Your face feels the Great Dry. You used to see the flying fish swimming above you or resting on the water. Now, they are gone. They are gone like the pods... Why?

You swim through the water again. You're hungry, but you don't want to eat. Your mother told you that dolphins who don't eat die. That sounds pretty nice to you now. Maybe, you'll find your pod in the Ocean of Death. This world is already death. The only living things are the fish and the plants. You can eat, nothing can eat you, but no dolphin is there to share it with you.

Why?

You call out. You hear a reply. Overjoyed, you call again. "Here I am!" you say. It replies, "Here I am!" Your heart sinks. It was your own echo. You are desperate. Even a pup can tell it's own echo. You didn't.

You swim to the Alien's Land. There, aliens used to live. The Big Yellow had only moved a little when you arrive. This place used to be deadly and full of raining food. Now, it's just like everything else. It's empty.

The aliens used to catch fish, sharks, and dolphins in their giant maw. Their body parts would fall into the water. You'd eat them except for the dolphin. The alien's Moving Rocks would go above you. You can still remember their deafening sound. Now, everything is quiet. The aliens went to wherever your fellow dolphins went. They're gone.

Why are you still here? For a while, you thought that you were here for a purpose. That was until you realized that there was no purpose. You have nobody to protect. You have nobody to love. You have nobody to fight. You just... swim, eat, and sleep. Nothing more.

You keep on swimming. You wish for noise. A click from somebody. Even the loud Moving Rocks would be welcome. The silence... it's deafening. Only fish and the waves... that's it. Fish... Why couldn't you be a fish? They live in their schools. They have somebody to be with... But, they're to stupid to realize it, for they are fish. Fish only swim and eat. They can't think. You can think, but you have nobody to be with. How is that fair?

Maybe... maybe you should just end it. You could swim to the sand that reaches the Great Dry... The dolphins who did became stuck in the Great Dry. They would die on the beach. Funny, you need the Great Dry to breath, but being surrounded by it kills. That's what you're going to do.

You get closer and closer... A thoughtless desire inside tells you to turn back. You ignore it. Faster, faster... You can see it. You're almost there... No!

You turn back. You fight against the waves. They try to push you back to the Great Dry. You swim with all your might. When you gain distance, it pushes you back. Your muscles burn in pain. They tell you to rest. No, you must live. You fight for what seems like forever. Then, you escape. You get into the safe waters once again. Your body screams for rest, but you don't listen. You need to find a pod.

You swim up the coast. Maybe... maybe they're up there. Yes, maybe they are at the cold waters where you grew up as a young pup. You swim tired but hopeful.

You let out a few clicks. It's a call to your pod... a pod... any pod.

DAY 3 (this was so hard to judge!)

WouldntItBeNice: 11
Kiel_Farren: 12
MasonJarGuzzi: 5
EbonVasilis: 0 (discontinued)
Bucky: 7 (didn't participate)
Tim36D: 3 (Discontinued)
iavatus: 4 (didn't participate)
Stevewhateverthenumbersare: 7
 

What's the prompt. 

And it's 24833.

She'll never learn.

#numberracist.

#Stevemageddon.

What's the prompt.

@At_Your_Throat

FUUUU--

Oh. I'll post one later. 

It's not that hard, just post it now.

Does it really take a lot of planning? I can literally think of like a hundred instantly.

Calm down, you two. She'll get to it. And don't you both have work to do for the contest? (To beta and to write respectively.)

I try to avoid being rational. It's far too bland. Plus, I need to sleep soon, and I have plans tomorrow.

Nobody says they're ready.

Oh, Kiel, Kiel, Kiel... don't be ridiculous. I'm never going to finish that project. I'm already sick of writing it. Earlier today, I wrote an attempted minor rape scene. In a school storygame. My mind needs time to rest, ideally by writing about a brutal cannibalistic murder-incest scene for the prompt.

I'm beta reading so I have other things on CYS to get around to reading. I don't even think either of my writers have linked me yet :P

You're supposed to contact them and ask about schedules / when they're ready. (Or vice versa.)

Writing Prompt (Now due Saturday!):
Write a story about opposites.
 

I scan for the man constantly. Like a ghost, he appears at the various windows. His gun is always pressed against the civilian's head. I can't see either of them right now. I can see the other hostages. In the middle of the convenience store, are the other hostages. They were placed for all to see... The cameras, the hostile, and us... we can see the terror on their faces. He claims that the box sitting nest to them has a bomb. Were pretty sure that's a lie, but we can't afford to be wrong.

I double check my position. It's stable, and it has a good view. I take my eye off of the scope and look around. Nobody's seem him for minutes. We're getting worried. Where is he?

I could have shot him already. Hell, most of us could have, but both my fellow officers and the bastard know that we can't. He's got connections in high places. We'll have to take him alive at all cost. I think that's all in theory though. The other snipers and I are a good testament to that... I hope.

There he is. He's looking through the window. His pistol is pressed to the girl's head. I have a daughter. She sometimes comes to this store. That could be her. God, why can't I shoot him?

"The target is at the window at the East side." I communicate.
"We got eyes on him as well." Somebody else says.
I say, "Clear shot. Can I engage?"
"Negative." says the commander of this operation.

The bastard slinks away from the window. The girl is still crying. I have sworn to protect these people. He is threatening them. Why can't I shoot?

"Permission to shoot if target is clear, Sir." I ask.
"Negative. Do not engage." He replies. He's far away at the front of the building. A negotiator is up there. Words don't seem to do anything in this situation. This man is... sick. He's a cancer on society. It's my sworn duty to remove him. I'll take a life to save many. Why can't I shoot?

Somebody says through our communications, "Target is at the West side door. He's yelling about politics." Crap, he's fanatical.
"Lost visual on target." says somebody else.

A news helicopter flies overhead. It lands. More people get out. The reporters are in harms way, but they come. In a sense, they're like us. We go into harms way to save lives. They go into harms way to report. The entire country could be watching us. Damn.

I see him at our East side window. Somebody else reports it. I can see the girl bleeding. There's a nasty cut on her head.

I say, "The hostage is harmed. She's bleeding."
"Don't engage."

Am I the only one with sanity? I need to save her. They say I can't. He wants to harm the hostages. I can stop him.

My crosshairs are aiming at his forehead. There's no breeze, no obstruction. My position is stable. I've never missed a target before. Hell, even the range is pretty short.

He hides again. He has the eyes of a madman. I relax my breathing. He should die. I'll do it.

"Target at South side of building." says a sniper. I can both the man and the hostage.
""He's yelling about making a point. He demands to have cameras on him."

He still has the pistol to the back of her head. My crosshairs are over the center of his head. His arm moves. He slides it into his pocket.

There could be a detonator for the bomb in there. He's willing to murder. Nobody else is willing to do this. I am. Oh please, let this work.

I pull back on the trigger. My rifle fires.

Roy stood on the water tower, his rifle in one arm and a pair of binoculars in the other. He stared out in the distance, watching the horizon for any sign of incoming bandits or returning scouts and scavengers. The once bountiful fields of green, with potatoes and squash and carrots growing in massive numbers were now barren. He peered through his binoculars, and saw another dust storm rolling in. 

“Roy! It’s dinner time!” Ma Tucker shouted.

Ah, good. Roy was starving. James said they were having meat tonight. That would fill his belly.

“Coming, Ma!” he shouted.

Roy walked to the edge of the watchtower and quickly climbed down the ladder. Duke, his golden retriever, lay by the end of the ladder. He patted the dog on the head, and smiled.

“Come on, boy! Dinner time!”

Roy walked towards the dilapidated farm house, boarded up in a desperate attempt to keep out the dust. His other family members walked towards the farmhouse as well, coming back from scavenging missions, pitiful attempts at farming or guard duty at the wall that had been hastily constructed around the farm. Roy sighed, staring at the falling sun, remembering the good old days before the bomb dropped.

“Roy! Dinner time!” Ma Tucker shouted.

Roy turned around eagerly, pocketing the keys to his tractor and turning from the growing, bright green fields. They’d definitely be making a hefty profit this year.

“Coming, Ma!” he shouted.

He walked along his family members, all sweaty from a long day’s work, but happy that the day was done. He saw the beautiful, painted farmhouse, that had cost Pa Tucker hundreds of thousands of dollars to build. With a backdrop of green fields, it looked picturesque. Roy walked along, heading quickly inside.

He pushed open the door, and walked into the dining room. No matter what, Ma Tucker would still try her hardest to make a lovely looking dining room. The tablecloth, stained and dirty, was laid across the large oak table, the fine china, most cracked or partially broken, candles spread around the room in a pathetic attempt to illuminate the room. Roy took a seat near the head of the table, and watched as his other family members piled in. First were the children, eager and cheerful, piling in. They looked grubbier then ever, wearing dirty clothes and covered in a solid layer of dirt from playing or helping out around the farm. Then there were the adults, tired but still pleasant, wearing an assortment of leather, metal plates, bandannas, goggles and sunglasses, all to defend them from the dust or the constant bandit attacks. They all took their seats, and waited for Pa Tucker to arrive with the food.

Roy walked along, heading quickly inside. He pushed open the door, and walked into the dining room. Even after thousands of family dinners, Ma Tucker still tried her hardest to make the room shine. The beautiful white tablecloth was laid across the table with a beautiful golden trim stitched into it, the fine china was laid out, polished and with intricate detail at the fringes, the shining silver chandelier hanging over the table and brightening the room with dozens of light bulbs. Roy took a seat, and watched as his family came in. The children rushed in first, all wearing fancy clothes like shirts, pretty dresses and polished shoes, much of which was already dirty from playing, much to the chagrin of their parents. Right after came the older family members, wearing fine suits and ties, collared shirts and colorful dresses. Ma Tucker was always insisted that they dress nice for Sunday dinner. The family took their seats, and waited for the dinner. 

Soon, Pa Tucker came in, carrying a long object rolled up in tarp over his shoulder with help from James. He grabbed the carving knife, and slowly cut the tarp away, laying the object on the ground at the end of the table. The family waited in eery silence, until Pa Tucker and James grabbed the tarp and yanked it away, revealing the man.
The man, just out of his twenties, lay panicked and terrified, tears covering his cheeks as he screamed into his gag. He was in a blood-stained shirt and his underwear, his leg missing at the knee with blood-covered bandages wrapped around the stump.

Pa Tucker appeared, wearing a black suit with his favourite chequered bow tie. He grinned cheerfully, carrying a silver platter. He smiled, placing the platter on the table. He pulled the top off, revealing a massive turkey. You immediately smell it, pure ectasy, and your mouth waters. It lookst truly delicious. 

Pa took the knife and cut free the gag, allowing the man to let out a scream of terror.

“Please, I didn’t hurt anyone! Please, let me go! I wanna go home!” the man cried desperately.

“We can’t do that, my boy,” Pa Tucker said sadly.

“Where am I? What happened? What do you want? I don’t have anything!” he begged.

“We found you lying in a pool of your own blood. You’d fell off the top of the bank, and hurt your leg. We tried to help. I swear on my childrens’ lives, I did. We had to amputate the leg, but it got infected.”

“OK, OK! Thank you! I feel fine! If you could just let me go…”

“We can’t do that. The wound’s pretty bad. You’re not going to make it, son. There’s nothing we can do. We need to be pragmatic. We need to be resourceful.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I want to go home!”

“I wish that was possible. I’ll be frank. The children aren’t being fed properly. They’re not getting the right nutrients from canned soup. We need meat.”

The man’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what was happening.

“We ain’t bad people, son. We tried to help. But you’re a goner. By doing this, your death will help feed my boys. I hope you understand.”

“Get away from me! Get the fuck away from me, you monsters!” he screamed, trying to get away, but James held him down.

“We’re really not bad people. We didn’t want to go down this path. I swear to you, we don’t hunt down innocent people like some god-forsaken bandits. That’s how we started, actually. Bandits had raided our food stores, and we were left with three of their bodies after repelling an attack. I had to do some bad things so my kids could survive. I still have to.”

“No! No you don’t! I can help you find food! I’ll join you!”

“That infection’s going to spread. You’ll be dead in a few days. I should now, my little Joy is a doctor. If there was any hope, we’d help you, but there’s not, and we need to eat.”

“Please, help me! Don’t let him do this! I have a little girl! She’s barely a year old! Please!” the man said, turning to the other family members. 

“I ain’t going to slaughter you out back like a pig. I ain’t gonna let my family stay ignorant of what’s going on. I want them to see this. I want them to understand the sacrifices that need to be made to survive. The sacrifices you’ll make. I’m sorry.”

Pa Tucker grabbed the wood chopping axe that rests against the fireplace, and raises it in the air.

“No! Please! For god’s sake! I have a wife and child who need me! I can’t! I…”

Pa Tucker swung the axe, and their was a thump as the axe hit the flood. There’s a moment of silence. Mary, Annabelle and Susan stand, grabbing carving knifes from the center of the table, and slowly get to work with their dreadful task with grim determination, stripping the corpse of all meat as Joe lights a fire for the spit to be put over in the fireplace.

Ma Tucker grins, showing her pearly white teeth, and cuts through the turkey. She quickly drives the knife through the delicious bird, cutting large pieces of turkey off the bird and slapping it onto plates.

“Alright, who’d like to lead the prayer?” she asks.

“Nuts to that! We’ve had a long day, let’s just dig in!” Pa smiles.

You chuckle at his comment, as Ma gently slaps him in the arm.

“Oh, George! You’ll end up straight to hell for behaviour like that!” she jokes.

“I hope I cook as well as the bird does,” he jokes, and everyone at the table laughs.

Joe pulls off off another slab of cooked meat and grabs a plate, putting it down. You’re given your plate, a large piece of juicy, sizzling meat sitting next to a measly scraping of cornmeal. You grab your cutlery, and quickly dig in. The meat is succulent and sweet, its taste refreshing your palette that had grown dull on servings of rice and water. You chow it down eagerly, devouring the meat in less than a minute. Pa Tucker grins at you, ordering Joe to slap another piece down in front of you.

“You need the energy, boy. You’re on scavenging duty tomorrow,” he says.

“Thanks, Pa,” you smile.

You’re given another piece of meat, and you eagerly dig in, as the joy returns to the family and they begin a cheerful conversation as they dig in. Just another Sunday dinner.

You quickly begin devouring the succulent turkey, loving the delicious bird as you stuff it down your throat.

“Eat up, everyone! Tucker boys need a lot of protein!” Pa smiles, as he impales a piece of turkey with his fork.

Bertie runs down the stairs, panting.

“Hey, Pa! Tv’s going on about something important! They say the threat level’s at an all time high, because someone attacked a Chinese ship!”

The room goes quiet as they look as Pa, who raises a hand to silence Bertie.

“Shut that racket up, Bertie. The TV’s always predicting doomsday. That’s how they get viewers. Didn’t you hear the call for dinner? Come on, sit down and have something to eat.”

Bertie nods, and takes a seat. You finish your turkey, and Ma notices your empty plate. You’re given another piece of meat, and you eagerly dig in, as the joy returns to the family and they begin a cheerful conversation as they dig in. Just another Sunday dinner.

 

"I still don't understand why you saved me." Venatus muttered as he re-wrapped his wounds and sat back against a cave wall to let his full stomach rest. The large, black-scaled, gold-striped, and red-eyed dragon across from him only grunted softly and moved his head to nuzzle it deeper into its nest. He was fairly certain that gesture was dragon for 'shut the hell up, I'm trying to sleep.'

Venatus remained quiet after that, reflecting on the events that led him here. His own stubbornness was more to blame than anything else. An orphaned child, born sickly and small, he should've died long ago. He was taken in by an old dragoon, one of the knights sworn to protect his kingdom from all the creatures like the very one sleeping near him.

He had been inspired by his father-figure's courage and kindness. It had been a tough road to go from a skinny, scrawny boy into a half-way decent soldier, but he did it. Training day in and day out, fighting harder than anyone he knew to make something of himself, and he only barely scraped by, but eventually he joined their ranks. Venatus could never forget that day, the day he made his oath before the king to serve him and his people.

Not just because he finally felt he'd become a man that his adoptive father could be proud of... but also because his father died that very night, overcome by an illness that had crippled him for two years prior. It was bittersweet, seeing his only family pass away with a smile.

Venatus had struggled to find meaning in his lonely life after that, and chose to focus on his ideals. That had worked, for a time. The grim satisfaction of slaying, of the blood on his hands symbolizing the safety of his people, it had been enough--until he realized that his comrades did not share his noble goal. The captain of the dragoons stirred up discontent among the ranks, intent on overthrowing their king.

Venatus had protested--which was why they had captured him, beat him, stripped him of his armor, bound and gagged him, and then carted him off to the border of the valley of dragons.

When he was pushed off a cliff, he saw a pair of waiting jaws below, and he could feel death's fast approach... only to be snatched away by the claws of a black dragon. It roared indignantly, spitting fire at the men on the cliff, and hauled Venatus away before they could retaliate.

He had expected, once back at its cave on the outskirts of the valley, that he would be quietly devoured. Instead, the dragon had calmly bit off his ropes and let him go. He was too stunned and still too scared to move for a long time, but the dragon did not seem to care one way or the other. It flew off without another noise, leaving him alone.

Venatus should've left--would've, in fact, but he did not know where to go and he found himself curious about the creature. What made it act this way? He chose to explore the cave further, beyond the large entrance and the dragon's nest. When he reached the deeper parts, he was stunned to find a room furnished much like a human's house. The furniture was a bit crude, but functional, and there were quite a few furs and other things made from past kills, but there was no sign of an actual human--dead or alive. He did find a bed, some simple clothes, and bandages, the latter two he took advantage of.

He went back to the entrance, contemplating leaving again, but found that the dragon had just returned.  To his surprise, it had a pair of cooked-if a bit charred on the outside--sheep in it claws and teeth. It tossed one in Venatus' general direction and settled into its nest to eat the other.  "First you save me, now you're feeding me? Why?" He received no answer then, same as his later question, but that brought him back to the present.  

'Would you have killed me if you knew how many of your kind I've helped destroy? Even if you can't guess, surely you know I'm human. My race has killed thousands of your kin. Doesn't that anger you?' Obviously not, as he could hear the dragon snoring softly now. Shaking his head in confusion, he stood and made his way to the back of the cave to sleep. Maybe things would make sense in the morning. It was getting late.

---

Venatus woke up that night and found, to his shock, that he was not alone in the strange bed. A woman--a very beautiful woman, at that, with hair the shade of the night sky and tanned skin--lay beside him. She was close to his height, which wasn't saying much considering he had always been rather short, and was clad in a simple fur tunic which didn't come close in modesty to the clothes of the noblewomen in town.

He gasped when he noticed a pair of curled up, scaley wings on her back. Black wings. Her eyes snapped open at the sound. 'Red...' "What... and who are you?"

She smiled faintly at him and she drew herself up lazily. "I think you already have a fair idea of the first answer, human, but, I am not quite the same kind as the beasts you've come to know. As for the second, in your tongue? My name is Ciara. Pardon me for holding off on a proper introduction, but my manners are a bit rusty. After all, it isn't every day I have a dragoon for a guest."

His eyes widened. "You... you knew?"

Her expression twisted a bit into one of sadness and mild disgust, but there was still a hint of amusement from the question. "Naturally. Your skin stinks. It's been stained with the blood of my kin more than once, and only those men smell like death the way you do."

"Then why help me?"       

She brought herself to a full sitting position and her wings wrapped around her protectively. Her eyes clouded over with memory and she heaved a heavy sigh. "It's a very long story..."

"Would you tell me anyway?" Venatus asked, surprised to hear his own pleading tone, but he couldn't contain his interest. He had to learn more about her, he had to know why.

Ciara's lips curved into another smile. "Very well."

(And I'm stopping there, because this could get obscenely long if I don't. Dragon and Dragon Slayer / hunter and prey / loyal soldiers and corrupt commanding offices, hopefully that suffices enough as a show of opposites.)

SCORES FOR END OF WEEK PROMPT!

WouldntItBeNice: 14
Kiel_Farren: 16
MasonJarGuzzi: 5 (did not participate)
EbonVasilis: 0 (discontinued)
Bucky: 7 (didn't participate)
Tim36D: 3 (Discontinued)
iavatus: 4 (didn't participate)
Stevewhateverthenumbersare: 11

Kiel won 1st, WIBN got 2nd, and Steve got 3rd!

Make your requests!
 

I love how there's literally only three of us left.

Makes me sad :(

#IWasCheated

#ImSorry

It's ok.

Just kinda hurt my feels.

Awww

*hug*

Hope you enjoyed that thing I drew, I just finished inking it so I'll send a pic later

I deeeeeed.

Thanks.

Good because I got lead all over my fingers .-.

@Kiel_Farren