Xanthus

Awesome. That's exactly the type of critique I was hoping for. I agree, the last sentence is unneeded. I'll delete it from my copy. Thanks!

It is finished, erm, content wise anyway. If it was not yet finished, it would be tweaked but not extended. There are hints throughout the story, and I don't think they're buried tooooo deeply, but maybe that's a fair criticism. What does everyone think? Is the subtext a little too buried for tastes around here? Thanks for the reply.

Hi all, here's the first story I've posted in many blue-moons. It was written about a month ago roughly between 4am and 6am when I couldn't sleep. It might be finished, or might be a work in progress. I haven't decided yet. This story is almost completely dialogue driven, which isn't my usual style, but I think it works. I look forward to hearing what you all think, and please, don't pull any critical punches. BTW, anybody know how to represent a [tab] to start a paragraph in this messageboard system? I'm writing it in here with tabs, but it doesn't seem to recognise them in the final post. Oh well, that's a minor thing. The edit I made a few hours after posting was to correct some grammatical issues which jumped out at me from the last two paragraphs. It's called "A Few Minutes of Silence". “Come up here, I'd like to talk to you,” the girl called from her balcony. “In a while.” “What are you doing down there anyway?” “Thinking.” “Thinking about what?” “Lots of things.” “What are you thinking about right now?” “Right now?” “Yes, right now. You aren't still thinking about yesterday, are you?” “No, I'm thinking about other things.” “Well, what are you thinking about?” “The trees.” “Which trees?” The man on the beach opened his eyes, raised his right hand and pointed across the bay. “Those trees. They're beautiful, aren't they?” He closed his eyes again and leaned back against his rock. The sound of a door swinging to a close floated softly down to the man on the beach. * * * * * A few minutes later, the girl called again, “Are you still thinking about the trees?” “Yes, the trees.” “Well, what about them?” “What do you mean, what about them?” “You've been thinking all this time about trees. Haven't you figured anything out about them yet?” “I haven't been thinking about trees the entire time.” “Well, what have you been thinking about then?” “Lots of things.” “You were thinking about yesterday again, weren't you?” “No, other things.” “Like what?” “Like how nice and peacefully quiet it is out here.” For several seconds a peaceful quiet settled over the bay like a heavy wool blanket. “Come back in, please?” “I'll be up soon.” Echoing down to the rocks came the wooden sound of a door pulled shut. * * * * * The silence was again broken a short time after. “Please come in?” “Please let me think.” “All you want to do lately is lay on the beach and think. You leave me with nothing to do but sit up here all by my self, and it's driving me crazy. I want to talk to you.” “We can talk in a few minutes.” “When?” “When I'm done thinking.” “When will that be?” “As soon as I have enough peace and quiet to finish.” “Come in. There will be plenty of time to think later.” “Not yet.” “You can think inside if you want. Just come up here with me?” “I need peace and quiet to think.” “I won't say a word. Just let me sit next to you?” “It isn't quiet in there. The fire crackles.” “I'm asking you to come in.” “I'm asking you to let me think.” “Please be reasonable.” “Is it not reasonable to think when I have issues demanding thought?” “Like the trees?” “Yes, and other things.” “Like yesterday?” “No, that's in the past.” “Yeah right.” “Yesterday is in the past, my thoughts are in the present, and this conversation could just as easily be in the future.” “Look, I want you to come back up here. Will you do that for me?” “Of course I will, in a few minutes.” “Come up now.” “No.” “Please?” “No.” “For me?” “In a few minutes.” “Fine.” * * * * * For the next half hour, the beautiful silence was broken only once by a brief and barely heard sound. It was the sound of a penny dropped carelessly to the ground. It was not the type of sound which would disturb the man on the beach, except to turn his thoughts briefly to curiosity before they resumed wandering. Satisfied with his half hour of quiet, he opened his eyes. “I'm finished. I'll be right up. We can talk now.” No answer came in reply. “Hello?” Nothing. The man turned his gaze from the trees across the bay, and looked back up towards his house. The front door was wide open. His thoughts raced back to the sound which had briefly broken the silence. He remembered how curious it had made him; curious, but not curious enough to distract him from other thoughts. Why was the door open? It was cold outside by the ocean and warm with the fire inside. She wouldn't leave the door open, would she? What was that sound anyway? He ran through all the possibilities in his mind. The church bell? No, it wasn't dinner time, not a Sunday, and not a holiday. Could it have been a sound from inside the house? No, it was a small sound. It didn't have enough weight to pass through solid walls. Maybe the sound was made by an animal? But how could an animal have made such a metallic sound? Gulls like shiny objects. Maybe a seagull picked something up and dropped it onto the rocky beach? A nail? There was a new house being built across the bay. Yes, that must be it. Something small and metal had been dropped onto the beach by a seagull. The whole story seemed unlikely, but what else would drop something metal onto the beach? Suddenly, there was a change in the expression painted across the face of the man on the beach. It was the look of a man who had just learned his mother was dead after years suffering from a painful disease. It was the look of a man realising he wouldn't be able to keep up with his debts, after having been fired from a job he hated. It was a look imbued with a sense of relief, but drowned in a sea of grief and fear. It was the look of a man who no longer believed his story of a seagull. There was another explanation for the sound.

Happy Birthday!

Mmmm.. do you have to be an international traveller to stay there for a couple of nights? Sounds wonderful. Wonderful descriptive poem of an obviously wonderful place. Makes me feel like I'm there with ya.

Dead already, eh? Oh well, not so bad... I'm spending enough time working on my t5p script lately to not especially want to have to take the time to keep up with the game anyway. Was looking forward to fleshing out that character and addings some dimention though...

Javier comes stumbling out of his room, a turkey drumstick in one hand and a stein in the other. "Mornin already? Wha happended to night?" he asks, his breath stinking of booze. "Okay people, we need to work and find the killer guy," he adds, not noticing the sluthing going on all about him. On his way into the room, Javier trips on the edge of the carpet. He manages to recover only grabbing onto Serena in desperation, and spilling his beer all over her in the process. The drunk straightens himself up, pats his now extruding belly with his drumstick-hand, belches loudly in Serena's face, and then passes out on top of her. OOC: I'll vote, once Javier here picks up his wits a bit. Also, I'm aware that Javier was just described as seeming more composed... after a bit of thought, I decided to continue down the original direction I had intended for the character. Him seeming composed would require me completely changing the little picture of his personality I have built in my mind.

Argh... and then atop being late, in my haste misreading the first post of the topic.... Will do better mates, sorry.

The door bursts open and a figure clad in torn, sweat-soaked clothing lumbers in. "I... I... made it? Is this the party?" The other guests look up, expressions of grief on their faces, "Yes, it is," one of them manages, "but we've had a murder... Hmm, where were you when this party started? Why haven't we seen any of you yet." "Erm, murder?" asks the newcomer, suddenly rethinking his arival at this party. "I, uh, got dumped in the desert! I've had to find my way here with no water, no food. Just look at me! I'm a mess!" "Well then, welcome, I guess." says the accusing guest, not sure what to make of this newcomer. The stranger looks relieved. "Thank you. My name is Javier, now, um... where's the kitchen?" The others all point the way towards the kitchen, and Javier takes off, eyes wild with hunger.

Oops! I didn't learn that the game had started until late last night... *Xanthus runs to post*

Okay, 24 and 48 hours sounds about right. I'm in!

I'm in if it's not too every day posting intensive... Monday and Tuesday I work way too long to do any creative writing... what do you guys think?

The familiar stranger barrels up to the kissing booth, two red roses in his teeth. He reaches in his pocket as he arrives, and pulls out 10 gold coins. Setting the coins upon the table and draws himsel close to Ayshela. The rogue hands one rose to Ayshela and sets the other down on the table. "Please accept this rose as a token of my affection. It's beauty pales in comparison to your own, but in my haste, it was the best could find." Then he kisses the stunning Ayshela with more passion then she has ever experienced. Her knees buckle and she falls backwards, only to have Xanthus catch her and kiss her all the more passionately. After what seems like an eternity, he gently sets her down upon a chair and turns towards Zool. "And this, my dear Zool, is for you." Xanthus says as he hands Zool the other red rose. Then before Zool can figure out what's happening, the rogue kisses him full on the lips, although perhaps without as much passion as he had shown towards Ayshela. Xanthus lets go of Zool, and says, "Now I've got to go. You know, rampaging almost dragons on my tail and all." He turns and sprints out of the room, in the opposite direction from where he entered. The coins upon the table disapear just as he leaves.

That sounds like my home town, London Ontario... though it's a city of almost 350k, it pretends to be about 30k. The wost things about only having 19 seats are that at one point in the night, the NDP was leading in 25, and that right near the end, everyone was reporting they had won 21. Oh well, three very good things that happened for the NDP were Jack Layton winning (and a huge "whew" on that, because he was losing much of the night), Bill Siksay keeping Svend Robinson's seat, and the fabulous return of Ed Broadbent. All in all, not a terrible result. I was mildly pleased by the lack of Conservative result, though I felt it was clear going in that the Conservatives had lost, based on the uniform sharp downward trends in the last minute polls. However, I didn't expect it to be quite that much of a shift, especially in Ontario. I was also mildly disapointed at the NDP's lack of preformance, though I had a sinking feeling that it would happen before the election. I heard a fair number of people say they'd vote LIberal instead of NDP for that reason when I was out canvassing, and that's in what must now be the strongest NDP riding in the country. I stayed optamistiic though, so it was still a disapointment.

The room watches, silently, as the massive oak door falls from it's frame, Scantavia brothers leaping aside to avoid being crushed. The strange man who broke into the Pen several days ago streaks through the now open doorway, right in between the stunned brothers. Seconds later an almost dragon speeds through the same doorway in hot persuit. The stranger runs straight through the middle of the room, pausing only to shout "Count me in!" before he disapears through the door on the other side of the room, and into the hallway.