5 Word Challenge! Layne's Version #1!

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Layne, Aug 6, 2012.

  1. So, I'm taking over Octo's 5-word challenges. I was supposed to do one last week and forgot. Oopsies. Join me in forgetting last week went by and let's focus on this one instead! Ta-da!

    -attempts to make this piratey themed-


    Okay I'm pretty sure you all know the basic idea but in case you don't:
    I'm going to list five words. Use them in a post that you post in this thread. It can be whatever you want. A short story, a random post with a new character, a random post with an old character.. Whatever. BUT. It has to be a new post. Meaning make it right now, not rummage around to find one that fits, you cheating tards.

    The more words you use, the more love you get!

    1. Deflagrate -
    verb: To burn, especially suddenly and violently.
    2. Requisition - noun: A demand made.
    3. Varlet - noun: A knavish person; Scoundrel.
    4. Pother - noun: A heated discussion, debate, or argument.
    5. Corsair - noun: It means a pirate, you twit!

    Good luck ;D

  2. "To hell with your potherin'! Requisition me that Gov'mint varlet, or by all the gods of the corsairs I will deflagrate your pathetic little colony!"
  3. A requisition had been made by the local varlets and corsairs after a long pother between the mass of them. A shipment of oil had been ordered to deflagrate the harbour after they left. After all, one doesn't double cross pirates.

  4. The town was in tatters.
    Or, more accurately, completely and utterly destroyed.
    Excuse me. Allow me to start at the beginning.

    It was a dark night, with the palest sliver of moon hanging precariously in the sky. The sea reflected a weak glimmer of its crescent; Spanish, French, English, Portuguese, and ships of any and every other nationality silhouetted against the bay's pale light. One small, uninteresting craft drifted in from the sea on the slow breath of the night.
    Along the seaside were built rows and rows of ramshackle wooden buildings, overshadowed by the ancient stone fort about which they crowded, like filthy varlets about a prominent cultural monument. The stone had first been laid by the Aztecs, taken by the Conquistadores early on in Spain's lust for the gold of the Americas. It had become a lucrative port, and naturally the town had grown around it. These days, however, it was no longer the honorable city it had once been.
    Not too many years before me, but enough that my father, corsair and adventurer he was, had not recalled himself just when it had been requisitioned by the Pirate Council, as it was. I hear it had been quite the pother between the diplomats and the captains. It had ended when the city was forcibly taken by the Council in an act of war. Luckily, fire had not come into style as the weapon of choice for rampaging pirates.
    I digress.

    The night outside was dark. I sat in the Sea Troll Tavern with my mates, looking to take on some new crew, when it happened. A particularly well-dressed drunkard barged in through the door, brandishing a blazing torch. In an act of unspeakable idiocy, he threw it upon the bar and began shouting in a language I did not understand. Perhaps it was Russian - the torch took no heed of his noise and promptly knocked over several drinks and a bowl of olive oil. The bar became a conflagration within the space of several breaths, and the efforts of the owner to douse the flames did nothing to quell them. My mates and I, we left through the back. There was a great commotion, and I thought us lucky we had not been trampled in the rush. We fled, I must sheepishly admit, toward the stone fortress and away from the water. It turned out that we had been wise in doing so at the time.
    The entire building, we could see once we reached the outer wall, was up in flames. They licked at the rooves and walls of the buildings just next to it, and soon the entire strip along that road deflagrated. The fire drove most out to the sea - to the sharks, and the rocks, and the waves.
    We who had made it inward, past all things that could catch, recovered the next day with the choking smoke and ash still in our lungs. I was one of the first to reach the parapets to see out above the city.
    It was no longer a city. It was something you might imagine some level of Hell must look like. Broken lines of charred ruins were evident, where blocks of residences and businesses had once thrived. The stench of burned flesh drove toward us on the sea wind, and with it wafted bits of ash from the night before, still floating on updrafts of heated air. Even the docks had not been saved - well, most of them. The boats nearest land had here and there been ruined, even sunk or disabled, by the blaze. My father's vessel, the Harpy, was mercifully left intact. My mates and I left for next port when we could.

    And so was the greatest pirate capitol in history destroyed, but for one idiot's burning torch.
  5. 1. Deflagrate - verb: To burn, especially suddenly and violently.
    2. Requisition - noun: A demand made.
    3. Varlet - noun: A knavish person; Scoundrel.

    O,Fathom me this.
    The Corsair are on the rise, 'gain.
    O'er a pother on the rum.
  6. [That was hit too early. Dx Noooooo!]
  7. O, fathom me this.
    The Corsair is on the rampage 'gain.
    O'er the pother of rum and gin!
    How the varlet scuttles and scams!
    The requisition of deflagrate upon the town!

    [This was my post. Dx OR close to it before my computer messed up badly.]
  8. For an hour now the corsair had pothered, and threatened to deflagrate, the puny Imperial ship with a storm of cannon fire. Yet still the plump, old Imperial general requisitioned young J'saad on why he was so interested in their haul. A final, breathless insult met the buccaneer.

    "You damned varlet! To the belly of Lady Inidree with you!"

    Totally half asleep while doing this challenge.
  9. 1. Deflagrate: To burn, especially suddenly and violently.
    2. Requisition: A demand made.
    3. Varlet: A knavish person; Scoundrel.
    4. Pother: A heated discussion, debate, or argument.
    5. Corsair: It means a pirate, you twit!

    The varlet combed his scraggly beard with a rusty iron hook replacing his hand, which his idiot daughter who was simply too young to comprehend the responsibilities entailed by his prodigious sea rep had recently painted bright pink with large purple hearts while he slept (which he had subsequently scratched out with his other hooked hand as best as he could, which was practically not at all; he'd known those oil paints were a bad idea) and frowned deeply. Insufferable daughter aside, his evil plan was experiencing some serious complications.

    A true corsair
    , Triplehook Saltbottom Scurvy placed enormous pride in his swashbuckling hair, his one true love and the only one true love of many in his life that had never disappointed or left him, and it had certainly never birthed such inelegant and insidiously cruel as well as probably latently homicidal a creature as his before-before-last mistake. The luminous, glow-in-the-dark purple hearts loomed in his vision once more and he sniffed to himself. Once again he tenderly raked through his beard again, as he always did when he was thinking hard.

    "Capt'n!" came a shout.

    Trip turned stiffly, grumpy at having been disturbed.
    "What is it now?

    "Sir! It's your evil plan, Sir! One of our minions is compromising our attack plan, Sir!" cried the moronic messenger, clearly in great dismay.

    "What?!" roared Trip. "Hand me my revolver!"

    "But, Sir, it's y–"

    "No buts, you misbegotten weather-bitten unchin-snouted codpiece! Hand me my revolver!" roared Triplehook.

    "Sir! Yes, Sir!" came the stammering reply, and the weapon was quickly tied to his hook in dramatic green ribbon which clashed unfortunately with the surrounding decorations.

    It only added to Trip's all-consuming rage as he stormed to the middle of the deck.
    "Who dares sabotage this operation?" he bellowed, cocking his gun.

    "'Tis I!" came a sweet, high-pitched squeak of a voice from starboard side, echoing like thunder from the sky. "Come and meet your doom, you fobbling dismal-dreaming miscreant!"

    "Fie!" howled Triplehook, and he turned furiously to face the rosy-cheeked girl who stood glaring at him insolently. "What have you done now, you dissembling fool-born malt-worm?!"

    "Fool-born indeed!"
    squeaked the impertinent blonde pestilence. "How dare you speak thus to your dear daughter? I will not tolerate these insults any longer! And to demonstrate my point I've thrown your stupid ale into the angry sea to rot there for eternity!"

    Triplehook fell to his knees with reckless abandon. "You warped earth-vexing blind-worm! You crusty botch of nature! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!!"

    "Enough!" shrieked his accursed daughter. "Enough with this pothering! There is one bottle of ale left and I shall let it face the doom of his brothers unless my demands are met!"

    Triplehook struggled to his feet, face boiling red and about to explode at any moment.
    "I have a gun!" he bellowed, waving it back and forth in the air, hoping against hope that this odiferous toad-spotted goat kid would finally see reason and end this madness.

    "And I," she squealed, "have a cannon!" Trip's jaw dropped open in horror as he saw the gaping mouth of the enormous iron weapon facing him, the girl's hand on the fuse, the other holding aloft the bottle of ale, extended over the churning sea.

    "Fine," gasped Triplehook hoarsely. "Name me your requisitions and we can barg–"

    "Bargain?!" spluttered the girl. "Sell your face for five pence and it'd be a bargain!"

    Trip clenched his teeth furiously.
    "Name me your requisitions and be done with it!" he bawled.

    "Very well," came the imperious reply. "I demand opportunities and facilities to develop physically, mentally, morally, spiritually and socially in a healthy and normal manner and in conditions of freedom and dignity!! I demand the benefits of social security! I demand the entitlement to grow and develop in health! I demand the right to adequate nutrition, housing, recreation and medical services! I demand love and understanding for the full and harmonious development of my personality! I demand caring and responsible parents and an atmosphere of affection and of moral and material security! I demand education to promote my general culture and enable me, on a basis of equal opportunity, to develop my abilities, my individual judgment, and my sense of moral and social responsibility so that I may become a useful member of society! I demand protection against all forms of neglect, cruelty and exploitation! I demand inadmission to employment before an appropriate minimum age; in no case should I be caused or permitted to engage in any occupation or employment which would prejudice my health or education, or interfere with my physical, mental or moral–"


    "You – you can stop it right there," said Michelle nervously, clearing her throat self-consciously and casting another glance at the frozen video of the red-faced blonde girl, screaming, beside the cannon, one arm bearing the ale bottle like the Statue of Liberty her torch.

    "So, when will it be airing?" said Zander proudly.

    "Erm," said Michelle. "I'm not sure it's really … sending the appropriate message, exactly. I mean, I think it's very interesting how you compare the lifestyle of a privateer operating along the southern coast of the Mediterranean in the 17th century to the atmosphere of an abusive household … but … the tone … is … uh … well…"

    "You think it's too negative," said Zander gloomily, then became eager again. "But if you just watch to the end of the video, it actually gets really awesome, she actually does end up exploding the cannon and it–"

    "Oh," said Michelle, shocked. "No, Zander, I don't – I really don't – I think that is sending the wrong message. The – it's all very dark already, you see, with the … the dysfunctional fraternal relationship, how they are, er, threatening each other with revolvers and cannons. I–"

    "But can't you just watch to the end, Michelle, please?" Zander begged. "It gets really good!"

    "Zander," said Michelle as gently as she could, "I wrote you that list of demands for child rights myself so that you could incorporate it into the screenplay. I know what she's going to say."

    Zander looked very unhappy. "Fine," he said glumly. "I'll work on it. I thought it was perfect."

    Michelle sighe
    d inwardly and projected a broad smile on the outside. "Great!" she said, getting up to leave. Just before she walked through the door, she looked back with a thoughtful expression and asked, "Why is his name Triplehook, though?"

    Zander broke into a grin. "Because he has two hands and one–"

    Michelle broke in with a scowl. "Ugh, really, Zander. Change that, please, not all of the committee members are sixteen-year-old American males." She walked out of the meeting room in a huff.

    Zander shrugged, still grinning, and turned back to the video. He fast-forwarded about thirty minutes and then hit
    again, wide-eyed with anticipation.


    "–to be brought up in a spirit of understanding, tolerance, friendship among peoples, peace and universal brotherhood, and in full consciousness that my energy and talents should be devoted to the service of my fellow homo sapiens sapiens!" shrieked the girl. "Now will you meet the demands, you logger-headed hasty-witted sponge, you violator of my inalienable rights, you fly-bitten swag-bellied joithead!"

    "NEVER!" bellowed Doub, brandishing his revolver and pointing it right at her.

    . : { B O O M } : .

    Darkness consumed Doub's world, and he awoke to see small particles of ash floating about him in the air. Mumbling incoherently, he instinctively moved his hook to his beard to tenderly rake through it – and the cold iron hit his neck. His eyes flew open and he stared into the gaping maw of the cannon. Roaring with indignation, he rushed towards one side of it and frantically appraised himself in the polished surface – and screamed.

    In fact, one of his crew was a famous bard in hiding, and thus was born The Corsair's Lament for His Deflagrated Hair.

    . : { F I N } : .



    . : { P.S. END CHILD ABUSE } : .


    Zander smiled proudly to himself as the credits rolled past. Michelle was just a politician, she had no idea how to send a message that'd stick.

  10. 1. Deflagrate: To burn, especially suddenly and violently.
    2. Requisition: A demand made.
    3. Varlet: A knavish person; Scoundrel.
    4. Pother: A heated discussion, debate, or argument.
    5. Corsair: It means a pirate, you twit!

    Like a wilted flower amongst the acres of ashes and bodies she stared out at sea furious tears burning down her cheeks only to cut lines of pale white skin across her neck like all too real scars. "Vincent!" She screamed the sea answering her with whispered words of mockery. The pin prick of a sailing vessel was sailing over the horizon. "You varlet!" She screamed again sobs wracking her body as she sank down in the thick mounds of ash, her hands fisting in her onyx hair, rocking her body back and forth. My dear girl, you really do have to watch who you love, I make this requisition not only as your friend, but also your mind, please stop falling for rouges, especially rouges who deflagrate your town out of some misguided affair.
    The young woman stared up at the sky small hiccups slipping from her mouth. Perhaps if she looked at the sky, she could pretend that he was there, looking down at her from his perch near the wheel of the ship as they had their customary daily pother.
    What did you expect silly girl? her mind whispered again sadly, What did you think would become of a girl who loved a Corsair?
  11. -An’ya grasped the ropes of the ship tightly in her in her hand as she elegantly swung down to the ground right in front of the rival crew, her face giving off a smirk of cheek and Varlet nature. She knew this was a poor choice and footing on her behalf but she did very much enjoy the feeling of pissing off other crews. She removed her captains hat from her head and quickly flicked her hair out of her face to look at the rival captain eye to eye-
    Well isn’t this a big change of event brother. I figured you of all people would leave my ship to continue its course without distraction. I must let out a requisition that you leave me to my travels.

    -The male pirate looked to her with a matching smile. He wasn’t one for letting his little sister move a long unchallenged. Though he certainly wasn’t in the mood for her to start such a pathetic pother with him.-
    An’ya, I know you want to travel and find new places but the seas aren’t a safe place for such a young lady. You may think you have enough experience to title yourself Corsair but my little sister, you are far from it.

    -An’ya walked slowly over to her brother and put her hand softly on his cheek and smiled.-
    Well my dear brother if you don’t agree with my dreams and wishes, then my dear. Do me a favour and deflagrate in hell you pathetic excuse for a brother!
    -She then swiped her hand across his cheek and slapped him. She looked at him with great anger and then walked away-
    My crew shall fight stronger than any army assembled before us. Good luck defeating us my brother.
    -She then spat on the ground just in front of him, grabbed a rope and swung over the water to her ship next to the other ship.-
    Prepare to attack my friends! Today we fight for freedom!