Writing Explorations (formerly Plot Practice): Week 38, Humble Beginnings

The Mood is Write

Mom-de-Plume
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Invitation Status
  1. Looking for partners
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per day
  2. Multiple posts per week
Online Availability
It varies wildly.
Writing Levels
  1. Advanced
  2. Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Nonbinary
  3. Primarily Prefer Female
Genres
I'm open to a wide range of genres. Obscenely wide. It's harder for me to list all I do like than all I don't like.

My favorite settings are fantasy combined with something else, multiverse, post-apoc, historical (mixed with something else), and futuristic. I'm not limited to those, but it's a good start.

My favorite genres include mystery, adventure, action, drama, tragedy (must be mixed with something else and kept balanced), romance (again must be mixed, and more.

I'm happy to include elements of slice-of-life and romance, but doing them on their own doesn't hold my interest indefinitely.
[warning=yellow]
Sorry to spook you guys with the scary exclamation point just to the left, but I have an announcement: because this exercise has become something I did not expect when I began it, I'm changing the name. How I run it and when I post will remain the same, but I'm taking the current name for use in an upcoming series of exercises that will be posted to RP Mechanics once I finish planning them out.

The introductory paragraphs before the prompts will be changed to suit what this exercise has become, and how I've come to view it as well. As stated before, it will still deliver fun prompts and bonus opportunities, and you can always use what you post for whatever you wish! You retain full ownership of your own writing, as always.
[/warning]

Formerly called Plot Practice, these Writing Explorations are a chance for users to explore new concepts and practice the art of raising two fingers to Writer's Block while screaming obscenities to fickle muses: to rebel against the idea that a person requires a mythical force inside them to make new and amazing things.

No. Listen well, users: there is no being inside you waiting to be let out. You are the writer, and in this exercise, you are given a place to push not only against Writer's Block, but also against the forces of stagnation. Feel trapped in your genre? Explore a new one! Stuck with a singular archetype? Do something else! In this thread, you will not be critiqued, and I will read every entry. Should you wish it, I will happily offer my thoughts, but I will not comb looking for fixes: this isn't the place: this place is for safely trying new things and indulging a love for writing.

Shake the bars of your cell block and roar, writers!

[fieldbox=How do I take part?]Curious about how this works? Good! Look over the offered themes and prompts and the bonus rounds, then think about them. Then, take your thoughts and get writing. You can write to one or more (or none) of the prompts, the theme in the thread title, the bonuses: hell, you can even cast aside all of what I offer if you get a different idea.

The whole point is "get writing!"[/fieldbox]

Themes:
  1. Pet + Monster
  2. Prince Charmless
  3. "I'm not who I was."

Bonus Rounds:
  • Someone has very low confidence, but acts cocky.
  • The greatest evil in prophecy or history is not.
  • Someone thinks the main plot is uninteresting, and is more worried about the state of their facial hair.
  • The focal character has some symptoms of Synesthesia.
  • "What are you doing with that measuring tape? Stop touching me!"
 
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A Humble Beginning?

I hate modern civilization, but most times there’s no getting around it.

I rolled over in the much-too-large bed and grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand, checking messages, since it was already one o’clock in the afternoon and anyone that woke up in the mornings (instead of going to sleep at 5:00 a.m. like I did) would be impatiently waiting for a reply. Not that I ever really needed to sleep, but it was a bad habit I picked up after a few centuries of mingling among humans.

I irately scanned my texts and emails, evaluating priorities. There was a tersely coded message from Belzuit which I immediately accessed. Another mutual acquaintance, one more “monster,” had slid into torpor. As so many of us had done. Belzuit had taken care of the arrangements. They would be protected.

It was safer (as he and I knew) not to reply at length. I tapped out a brief thank you in a dead language and powered off the phone, while I stared out the window morosely, momentarily hating the sunlight.

I appreciated that Belzuit remained the caretaker of our kind. And so. Now the humans had one less monster in their world. And yet, although I couldn’t say they feared us needlessly, we were not what we once were. For their world shaped us – we did not shape their world. It was our nature to respond to the tides of human fears and desires. They had become more of an enemy to themselves now, then we ever would be.

My mood darkened. I felt a lightning flash of anger and quelled it.

Humankind had forgotten my existence. Which was fine with me. I shrugged off my silk nightgown and began getting dressed.

My younger cousins had been called Sirens. As some Flemish Jesuit once wrote: “voice and sight alike deal destruction and death.” That was a bit rude. And over the top. My cousins had the family gift for inducing bodily sensations in a mortal using only their voice. (Today, their talents might scientifically be described as the ability to produce auditory-tactile synesthesia.) Also, an extraordinarily sympathetic viewer might feel their touch from afar.

My beautiful cousins weren’t monsters. They weren’t even murderers – not intentionally. They liked to sing. They loved the sea. Since they were sensual creatures and adored men--well. There were results when they sang. But it’s not entirely their fault that sailors sought to draw near and then felt the need for a dip in the cold embrace of the ocean. It's not like the girls clomped out for a stroll by the sea, saying, "ho ho ho - we're going to kill us some sailors today, eh?" There was no such intent.

My gifts were more powerful and more deadly. I didn’t need to sing. One word said a certain way and with the proper intent could reach into a mortal any way that I chose. I could have been a healer. But instead people chose to fear me, seeing me as a monster, or they tried to own me, as a weapon to wield. To kill their own kind.

And there was a time when I was such a monster. But I’m not proud of those days and they haunt me still.

Thus, I was glad to be forgotten, but not to be alone. I felt like the last dinosaur. How much longer would I go on before Belzuit had the task of shutting me away? No! I refused to think like that.

Battling my low spirits, I accepted a cup of coffee from my majordomo, Anatolios, and set out to indulge myself in another bad, human-induced habit: shopping. I abandoned looking at clothes when some over-enthusiastic teenage clerk sneaked up on me in an exclusive boutique and started babbling about some custom-made items that would look fabulous on me.

"What are you doing with that measuring tape? Stop touching me!" I snapped, exchanging glances with the proprietor of the store, who came rushing over to rescue me. I brushed off their apologies graciously and decided a new piece of jewelry would be the thing to cheer me up, instead.

One topaz ring (set with grey diamonds) later, I walked out of the 5th​ Avenue store feeling weary. Advanced civilization, advanced technology, and they didn’t have one-tenth of the artistic flair of the ancient Babylonians. It was depressing.

As I sped down the street at my usual pace, I didn’t notice the tug on my leather jacket at first. And when I did . . . .

I bared my teeth in a snarl. “What the hell!? Hands off, freak!

“You’re one to talk,” the tall, white-haired stranger pouted.

I could scarcely believe my ears. Was this jerk suicidal? Implying I was a freak, was he? But of course, he couldn’t know how right he was. Could he?

I was deciding whether to belt him or simply give him a mild shove to the sidewalk and move on, when he held up his hands in a pacifying gesture.

“Sorry, sorry,” the young man apologized without any tone of real contrition. “You won me just now.”

“Huh?” I glared at the well-dressed crazy person while busy shoppers parted irately around us. “I – did - what?!”

“You were the 100,000th​ customer! Special prize!” He waved his hand, indicating the jewelry store I had just walked out of. “I’m yours! You don’t like men? That’s fine. Consider me a pet, if you will.” There was something of the “other” about him. Something very off.

I grabbed him by the collar and roughly pulled him into the relative privacy of an alley. “You’re a man – like I’m a … goldfish! Who put you up to this?”

“No one,” he squeaked. “I told you -- I’m a prize!” I relaxed my grip enough so I could push him back against the wall and stare at him. He anxiously patted his mustaches.

I might have let him go and considered him the usual off-kilter street guy except he had revealed too much. A freak? Me? Any regular human would have simply observed a tall female, of medium complexion, average attractive looks, grey eyes and dark blonde hair -- not one of mankind’s most enduring nightmares (albeit now forgotten).

But Prince Charming here. Hmmm. What was he and who had sent him? Over the centuries that I’d been hunted, I had eluded the most clever of predators. This creature wasn’t going anywhere until I had elicited every last piece of information out of him.

I might have pitied him if I was nicer.

“Fine,” I snapped. “Come with me, Prize, and make yourself useful.” I thrust my shopping bags into his arms.

“Actually, my name’s Benjamin,” he volunteered, as I flagged down a cab (I hate calling attention to myself by using a chauffeur) and stuffed him into it.

“Your name is Benjamin, like my name is Natalie Portman,” I sneered.

He looked at me blankly. “Should I call you Natalie or Miss Portman?” he inquired without flippancy. Which confirmed my guess that he was not a human male of this time period.

I shrugged and peeled off my leather gloves. “You’ll be calling for your mother in a few minutes, so it really doesn’t matter, Prize.”

He seemed to have no idea of what I meant and started making cocky small talk in the way a man does when he is confident that he’s attractive, erudite, and witty, but Prize was none of those things. Okay, to be fair, he was attractive enough for a mortal, but that wasn’t saying much. Besides, he wore his humanity like a new suit of clothes.

I was very interested in finding out who his tailor was.

So I turned my head and stared at the window mutely, watching his reflection for any hostile moves, while Prize kept babbling, eventually sounding more and more unsure of himself. He didn’t reach for a weapon but it did drive me crazy the way he kept rubbing his ears like they had just been installed and touching his moustaches as if for confirmation they were still attached.

I couldn’t wait to get him into handcuffs, just so he would stop fidgeting.

I flipped open my cell and punched in a coded message to alert my staff, then snapped it shut. When we reached the modestly attractive (yet obscenely expensive) row of old townhouses near Sutton Place overlooking the East River, Anatolios and Max were ready and waiting. As soon as Prize walked in the door, carrying my packages, he was marched down to the cellar. I almost felt sorry for him.

Wait!” he shouted as they strapped him to the big chair.

“We just want to have a chat,” grinned Max evilly.

The intruder’s eyes widened. “No really, wait, wait, wait!” he implored. “Have you checked your email lately?” He directed his panicked gaze towards me.

I held a hand up to the boys, telling them to hold off and I bit my lip while I checked my blasted emails.

“Well, shit,” I thought to myself. Belzuit had remembered my birthday. How embarrassing. He should have known that I don’t like to check messages. He’d probably find the current situation amusing.

“Damn him,” I muttered to myself, half-heartedly. My guys looked up at me in disappointment. They could sense the fun was over.

“Let him go,” I instructed, shooting a mortified glance towards our prisoner.

Anatolios dusted off his hands and huffed. “I have a soufflé in the oven. If that will be all?”

I rolled my eyes at him and he took himself off with dignity, climbing the stairs with a speed that put the lie to his age.

Max had freed “Benjamin” from the chair, but was still standing by. “I can stay if you want, Miss,” Max offered. I could tell he was really put out by the change of mood.

“No, that’s okay, Max,” I sighed. “Just a little misunderstanding. What don’t you take the rest of the day off and tomorrow, too?”

Max’s eyes widened, then crinkled.

“Go!” I snapped. “And stop thinking so hard!”

He saluted me impudently and raced upstairs. I could hear the door slam.

“Noisy bugger,” I grumbled, embarrassed I’d have to look this poor guy in the eye. “Why didn’t you tell me that Belzuit sent you?” I peeked a glance at my ex-captive. He was actually smiling. Perhaps he was feeble-minded.

“Hmm. He said it should be a surprise,” offered my mystery guest, standing up and brushing himself off. "I was just playing. I'm sorry if I frightened you."

“I take it your name isn’t Benjamin,” I half-inquired, half-stated. “You can go if you want to. I’m very sorry you were handled roughly. Or you can stay for dinner and let us make it up to you.”

“I take it your name isn’t Natalie,” he replied as if teasing me. “And I don’t mind a little rough handling. As long as you’re doing the handling from now on.”

He dropped his human disguise with a cocky grin. The irritating mustaches went away and his true self was revealed, as his tails softly waved. Damn Belzuit. He knew I was a fool for fox-eared immortals with pretty eyes. Now what?
 
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  • Nice Execution!
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