Five-Point Speed-Writing: Week 6

Started - have my concept - but only got a few sentences down so far due to heavy traffic. Sorry to be late!

It was midsummer, just after dusk in the desert city of O'Tikcl.

Free spirit, ladies' man, lecturer, and published author Pau Fitzmoon, infamous for his first-hand articles on interspecies mating, had just been forcibly retired at the point of a mega-blaster held by a green, three-tentacled hand.

His lovely half-naked companion had been hauled away, screaming as a horde of relatives (hers, not his) streamed in; smashing furniture and leaving trails of pulsating slime over the thillgor-fur rug. Their feelings of rage apparently unsatiated, several of the intruders ripped off the velvet drapes (which had been left open to frame the romantic fiery sunset), and defecated on them systematically.

His cleaning lady would probably quit. Again.

The home invasion was not exactly a shock to Mr. Fitzmoon. He'd received death threats ever since he began his pioneering research into the possibilities of sexual congress between humans and the Vraga many years ago. Then, as the planet opened up for the immigration of more and more non-human species, his work became truly prolific.

However, he had been sure that his security system was state of the art and, to tell the truth, was shocked that his current prospective in-laws had been able to bypass the alarms.

"Not with my daughter, you don't," snarled his captor (or words to that effect, if one had the Universal language implant—which, of course, had been a necessity for Fitzmoon from the start). "As of now, you are definitely retired, you loathsome cheese-eating substandard life form! We will be hauling your deformed carcass to the deep desert for the pleasure of the wurms!"

Pau swallowed hard and opened his mouth to try to talk his way out of this situation, as he had done so often in the past. He wanted to explain that the young woman in question was not just more research, but that that he had actually proposed marriage and she had accepted. Before he could get the first word out, something heavy hit him from behind and everything went black.

He woke up slowly with an aching head and feeling terribly listless. He tried to stretch and found he was bound and hanging upside-down, suspended by his feet. He twisted and turned with no feeling of anxiety, trying to ascertain the situation. Apparently, he was wrapped in firecrackers. And whatever they had fed him left him rather numb to the world. He wasn't sure if this was a good thing or bad.

Though his emotions were tamped down, his mind still worked. There was something pertinent about firecrackers that he was trying to remember.

Ah, yes. Firecrackers were known to attract the great wurms that dwelt in the deep outer desert. It was too bad he wouldn't have a chance to watch and report on the ritual. It would have made an excellent addition to his book in progress. However, he just couldn't work up any degree of feeling about it, or about the blood rushing to his head. This was some drug they had him on!

As Pau gently twisted and swayed from a tent pole, he heard people approaching and their voices babbling across each other.

"I bid three buckets!" roared a deep angry voice. Ah, that sounded like the chief of the Ilgi. It was only last year, he had ended a rocky romance with the chief's son, an athletic young man with the tail (and some of the other proclivities) of a stallion.

"Four!" squeaked out another voice. Hmm, that sounded very much like the Magu crime boss he had crossed paths with (so to speak) when he soared off with his tiny wife in the winter, escaping from his casino in their individual jet packs.

"Three hundred buckets!" screamed a woman's voice; aged, shrill, and dominant. A voice he knew very well and had reason to fear.

Oh dear god, no!

Suddenly his listlessness began to shrivel and acute fear struck his very soul. Three hundred buckets of universal credits! It was a fortune. Would anyone be reckless enough to outbid her?

He waited for a savior, but there were no further contenders.

As something sawed through his bonds, and he thumped to the ground, he saw his other would-be captors backing away from the wrathful figure of an ancient woman in a non-descript dress and sensible shoes.

He rolled over on his back and looked up. Noting the grim smile that played over her thin lips and the piercing, knowing eyes, he bit back a whimper.

"Uh. Hi, mom," he offered weakly.

Life as he knew it was over.

(I always hate to follow @Ravenfrost ... such great stuff above))

Dallas Blackman was the pen name of Walter Smith, an unassuming mild tempered guy, that no one on his block realized was a best selling action adventure author. He lived in a small house, the same one he'd lived in before he ever had a best seller and even drove the same old beat up car. He liked that things never changed. he had a lot of money in the bank, but he didn't spend it. It just sat there.

He was getting up there though and at the urging of his publisher was retiring since he was getting a bit listless in his writing and didn't seem to have that same fire he once had. He'd finished his last book, a western of all things and had the sudden yearning to actually see the desert he'd just lovingly written about first hand. He packed a bag and hired a private jet, because his dislike of crowds hadn't changed any and the thought of a commercial flight gave him a panic attack. He arrived at the small airport in Midland, Texas and stepped out of the small plane onto the tarmac. It was arid and dusty and hot, just as he'd expected even if it was a little less primitive than his book. He made his way inside and hired the only cab available to take him the fifty miles to the cabin he'd bought out in the middle of the Permian Basin. He paid the driver and tipped him well and then settled his few things inside before sitting on the porch to enjoy the waning of the day.

He was just listening to the coyotes and realizing there were no other sounds of civilization here, and that it was very much as his hero Jackson Mitchell would have experienced. That was until some kids, who didn't realize the cabin had been purchased set off some fireworks right next to where he was sitting quietly in the dark.

Walter jumped off the rocker and almost fell off the porch. He saw three figures running away, but there was one firecracker right next to him that was shooting out sparks. He grabbed the only thing he saw, a bucket, and shoved it over the thing and scrambled up onto the porch again. he was almost to his feet when the bucket took off up into the air and the firework went off under it, making what looked like a spotlight shine straight down onto a curled saguaro cactus like some alien invasion.

He sat on the rocker and huffed. "Aliens in a western..." he said aloud, "Naw..that would never sell."