Writing Explorations: Week 67, Elizabethan

[The Mood is Write]

My Writing Explorations series of exercises 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 unless you request it. Should you wish it, I will happily offer my thoughts on how it might be improved, 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 of writing.

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

[fieldbox=How do I take part?]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]

Prompts:

1. "Do not upset the boss."
2. Someone is keeping a secret. That secret could mean the grave of not only that person, but everyone they love. The punishment is unknown, but the rule she broke has a logical reason for existing.
3. Once the dust had settled, the antagonist walked among the bodies, closing their eyes and remembering them. Why?
4. The world is full of broken people. This one drinks her pain away, although they cannot get drunk. Tell their story.

Bonus Rounds:

• Write in a random genre.
• She crashed through the doors of the police station and slammed her hands against the steel counter. "Give me back my daughter!"
• How's the meeting?"
  "I want to stab everyone."
  "Don't get blood on your dress. We have dinner reservations at seven."
  "Love you for enabling me."
  "Love you too."
• "There are no heroes without villains, and there are both in each of us. Just do keep in mind, the ones wearing the scary black robes tend to be villains in stories."
• "Think before you speak," she hissed, "The last person who didn't lost more than his tongue."
• A character has burn scars on their arms and hands, and a slice-like burn scar on one side of their neck. They claim the neck scar is from a bullet and the arm and hand scars are from cuffs. They say the cuffs and bullet were silver.
• She'd always had a weak spot for men with facial hair, especially the ones that smelled of cigars and heroism.

 

[Inkubus]

Bless you. I'm going to write a thing for this. I'll drop it here when I'm done.

 

[Lurcolm]

Silence.

Not even the birds sang to help the sheer amount of morbidity that inhabited the room the March Hare sat in, tending to his devices.

The six-foot tall man wore a pitch black overcoat, weighted down by tools and gadgets. The prosthetic limbs on his right side glowed with the energy of the arcane crystals drip-feeding their magical essence to move the gears. His original prosthetics long since ruined.

In the cramped room, an office used to inhabit the place. There was a secret little room you could run away to, with a bed and everything, too.

A shame, it's all fucked up beyond repair.

The mementoes she had kept by herself was a combination of ash and slag. The doors simply didn't exist anymore, the windows had little bits of glass slag in the corners, wherever it still stood anyways.

The secret little nook that was, was no more: Collapsed and ruined beyond repair, like everything else.

No shadows burned against the wall, though. Just his Geiger counter ticking away and telling the March Hare it's a very bad idea to be here.

But that's why he had that big green crystal strapped to his back: To absorb all the lethal radiation so he didn't have to.

The only thing new was the bodies covering the floor. Blood stained teal as the last bits of fluid leaked out of bodies that no longer had a pulse. He could smell their bowels and bladders emptying themselves as well, having lost the strength of etiquette and shame that had kept them shut, even through sleep.

He had hoped that something had survived the blast, something that would give him an indication to where they ran.

The Unifiers thought of people like the March Hare, poking through places they shouldn't be poking. Nothing a few elemental shots from a power crystal revolver didn't fix. The new ice crystal was loaded in the cylinder, thrumming with new life as he held the revolver tightly in his right hand.

The March Hare took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

"Hey... Pops?"

The March Hare turned to look at the two figures peeking out the edge of the open hole that led into the place, something they learned to do after they scared the shit out of their old man and he nearly killed them.

"Yeah, Vincent?" He asked, addressing the heavily built, goat-horned demon-kin. His deep brown eyes and thick mane of brown hair both on his head and face glinted from unwashed grease

"Didn't find anything. Neither did Livius." Vincent stated, nudging his head to his taller, but not nearly as muscled, half-brother.

Livius gave a slow nod, his eight eyes glinting red in the sunlight. His chitin plating adorned with various gold painted carvings and symbols to set him apart from his kin. His six arms hung loosely at his sides as he spoke "Everything in this region is ruined beyond repair, Father. My interrogations proved equally as fruitless."

The March Hare sighed, nodding to himself "They don't tell these moofs shit, now do they?"

Both his sons nodded dully.

The March Hare took a deep breath, shaking himself clear as he walked out of her former office "We're headed back home, Boys. Restock on supplies before we head back out here."

Both gave a nod and agreed, walking on either side of him as they walked back to the hidden pantry they set up the portal generator in.

"Who's turn is it to guess the Universe?" the March Hare asked, glancing at either side to his sons

"I believe it is mine, Father." Livius stated, giving a nod

"Alright then, We're gonna be quick, so I want you to type in the coordinates as we eat."

"Of course, Father."

"We're gonna find them. I know we are" the March Hare told himself as they walked.

"Damn right we are!" Vincent declared, punching his fist into his other palm.

The March Hare smiled. It's amazing how easily they could bring up his spirit.

 

[Turtle of Doom]

The ball happened around her like she was not even a part of it, but rather a puppet on a string. Lucia watched herself be led onto the dance floor, she watched herself dance with partner after partner, and she watched herself die. She watched everybody die.

Bodies lie strewn across the floor. Everybody having just collapsed. Everybody save one person.

Jessica stepped over the body of her dance partner, the bright purple scar on her neck glared garishly in the dimming light of the ballroom. Her eyes were narrowed, though the expression on her face was seemingly serene. Lucia stared in horror for several long breaths. How could her friend be so calm after such a calamity? She wanted to scream and fight, but no matter how hard she struggled she couldn't move from her position in the corner of the room. It was as though some invisible force field was keeping her in place.

Kneeling to the floor, Jessica's vibrant red dress spilled across the marble tile like blood. Her hand moved to cup Joshua's face, the scars on her hand burning and scorching his flesh as though she was still on fire.

"Why do you do such horrid things?" Lucia screamed, though her voice did not even reach her own ears, let alone anybody else's.

Jessica's face lifted. She stared directly at her before raising a finger to her lips and quietly shushing her. "Patience, dear Lucia. You shall have your turn."

Turning her face back to poor Joshua's body she began to… reminisce. "My dearest, Joshua. You were always such a brute when we were children. Picking on all of the girls, and insisting that you were just teasing. How you terrorized my childhood. You deserve your death, and you deserve the pain brought with it." Joshua's skin erupted in flames and she rose, not bothering to look toward Lucia again.

"Hell beast!" Lucia struggled to get her arms free. She had to stop whatever was happening, and Jessica would eventually get to her body too.

Jessica danced around the corpses. Stepping of Timothy Porter, and Elizabeth duPont making her way across the room towards where the chaperones had gathered. Her own mother and father lay in a heap on top of one another. Their limbs limp and their skin turning pasty grey.

"Oh, darling parents," she fawned, collapsing on top of them as if she were truly upset. Lucia knew better. She knew in her heart of hearts that Jessica was responsible for everyone's death. "Oh how you loved me in life. Too bad mother's a harlot, and father you were nothing."

Lifting herself from their bodies she set about the task of untangling them and gently laying them next to one another. When she was done, the bodies were holding hands as though they had truly been a loving couple.

"Oh, daddy-darling, I wish you had known. How you did not is beyond my comprehension, but if you had just shown some hint of intelligence perhaps you could have been spared." She stroked her father's clean-shaven face." You know, mother always had a weak spot for men with facial hair, especially ones that smelled of cigars and heroism. Perhaps if you had grown a beard you could have faked the rest and you would still be alive tonight. Alas, it was not in the stars."

For a moment, Jessica looked truly upset and Lucia felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. What had happened that brought this on their celebration. This was Jessica's party; it was the night she was introduced into society as a woman, and now everybody who was anybody in society laid dead at her feet.

Lucia managed to wiggle her fingers. She was getting somewhere. The feeling came back in her arm too. It was like she'd been asleep on it for a long time. She couldn't draw anymore attention to herself, but would being quiet do that? She'd been so vocal so far, that Jessica would probably take her silence to mean she was up to something.

Lucia's gaze scanned the room looking for her body. It wasn't too far from where Jessica was, still talking to her parents. It was then she saw her fingers actually moving. It wasn't just her spirit; her body was moving with her. Relief and hope flooded her thoughts. Now if she could just get Jessica away from her...

"Jessica. You do not have to do this. Please." Jessica's eyes moved from the smoldering faces of her parents to Lucia's. The fire in her eyes causing Lucia to suck in a deep breath. "They are your parents. They have sheltered you, and brought you up. They have thrown this party just for you. They are proud that you are theirs, and you do not have to hurt them."

"I do." She said, her voice devoid of the emotion it had held as she spoke to her parents' lifeless forms. "I cannot upset the boss, and you need to be quiet while I work. How are you here, anyway?"

She rose and turned to Lucia. Her gaze focused on the other woman's spirit as she moved across the floor. The smooth motion of her dress across the marble made it seem like she was floating. "You should not be here, Lucia. You should be gone, like the rest of them. Waiting in purgatory for their judgement."

"I have been here all night, Jessica. Do not think to tell me that you had nothing to do with it. I was here, watching. I had no choice. I have seen everything. Just know there are no heroes without villains, and there are both in each of us. You have the potential to change this around. You can be the hero here instead of the villain. Look at you, in your pretty dress. This debut was amazing. The best of the season, and instead of being known for that you would rather be known for death and destruction that you have rained down upon your guests."

"I would rather not be known at all!"

"Is that the problem then? Why you're doing this?" The feeling began to creep back into Lucia's legs and across the ballroom she could see her body twitching. She knew as soon as she was free she would be able to go back as long as she had a body to go back to.

"Why I do this is not your concern, you foolish girl!"

"It is my concern though. I am in this room! My darling brother, is in this room. My mother is here. We all came to celebrate you and this is how you treat us. It is very much my concern."

Jessica growled and spun away from Lucia, picking her way across the room. Carefully examining the faces of all that she passed she finally stopped next to Lucia's body. She fell to her knees next to the girl and positioned herself so she could also see Lucia's spirit. "It is not your concern," Jessica said as though she was scolding a child.

Her hand came down on Lucia's arm hard. A scorching inferno rushed through her body, and her spirit. Lucia screamed, crying out and trying desperately to put out the flames, but she still wasn't moving very well.

The fire felt like it was burning her from within. It hit the very depths of her soul. Shrieks of agony erupted from her blistering lips and finally the weight bearing down on her was lifted. Her spirit thrashed, rolling across the floor toward her body as if drawn in by a vacuum. Before she made it though Jessica removed her hand and there was nought left but a pile of ash.

The shock mingled with the pain, but she didn't have time to process it. Before she knew it the world started fading. The last thing Lucia would ever see was Jessica's serene expression standing over the pile of ashes that used to be her body.

 

[Inkubus]

Hard eyes stared at their prey as he struggled in the trap the villagers had laid in the forest edge, near the pastures. His frosted breath could be seen in the torch light. He didn't blame them for wanting to protect their sheep. No, he blamed himself for not seeing it fast enough to stop. His quarry had sailed right over it, but he had caught an ankle on a vine, and tripped right into it. Naturally. Years of running in the woods, and tracking and killing monsters, and he falls on his face like an idiot.

Fresh scrapes on his cheek and hands stung as they rubbed against the net that hung from a giant old oak tree, but the pain was easy enough to ignore as the young man stared back at the men around him. They knew the strange beast in their net, whether they would admit it or not. He could see the miller's gangly son Willem, the torchlight making him look ghoulish as he stared. Deitrich could read his minimal thoughts easily. This was the village elder's son, Deitrich. He had gone missing several years ago, and thought to be killed by the were-beasts that haunted the woodlands around their home.

Even then, folks had whispered about the boy with shocking grey and black hair that looked like a wolf's pelt, and his golden eyes. He was too strong. The boy could lift a frightened sheep out of a crevice in the hillside without breaking a sweat. He was too fast. The weird, changling child could carry a message for help to the village across the mountains in less than two days. He was too attractive. Fathers had to struggle to keep their daughters from speaking to- or throwing themselves at- the boy at every opportunity. While no one had seen any sign of him being a werewolf....they knew he was too different from them. Nothing he could do for them would ease their troubled minds, he knew. Deitrich had tried anything he could think of. Offers to help repair a roof, or hunt for the entire village, or help with planting- they were all rejected.

Now, he was returned from the dead at a time when their flocks were being slaughtered regularly by monsters in the forest. Men watching the trap had seen two beings racing through the forest, faster than anything they'd ever seen in their dull, sheltered lives. Deitrich knew they wouldn't listen to reason. They were too afraid of him. Even when he was obviously wearing the clothing of a man- a leather jacket, a finely embroidered shirt that barely covered his chest and the armor plate over his heart, and heavy canvas pants tucked into laced up boots. His belt was heavily loaded with ammo, and two pistols were strapped to his thighs. Perhaps his clothing was not as warm as it should have been for late autumn, since he rarely felt the cold when he was running. That was a bad habit from the past that had always disturbed the villagers.

"Should we tell the Elder about this? I mean, he is his-" The old weaver quavered.

"No. This...thing...was never related to him. His son died already! Whatever we do, we should leave him out of it!" The village headman growled, annoyed yet again that the Elder still had more influence than he did.

Deitrich could easily have shot the men, armed only with farm implements and torches as they were. But as cowardly and superstitious as they were, they were part of his childhood home. He might have sighed, if the situation weren't so tense. The younger men wanted to kill him outright, while the older men wished to put him through a trial. A witch trial. As they bickered, the young man glanced around to the shadows under the trees. Whatever they did, they had best hurry. It was getting colder, and it would snow soon.

Leaves crunched and branches snapped as the villagers milled around, arguing. Deitrich winced, wondering how they could stand to make such a racket. Suddenly, there was a loud knocking sound, and the villagers all turned to see the Elder standing there in his worn tunic, pants, and long vest. His long, scruffy beard, and stern face were a welcome sight for the hunter. Although, he couldn't help feeling a pang of pain at how old his father looked. His 'death' had been hard on the man. The Elder looked him over for a moment, before turning to the villagers.

"Did I not tell you he would return? He is Her son! He's no witch, you fools. Now get him down, and get back to the village before-" The village headman cut him off with a bark of laughter.

"Her? That old legend? I knew it! You are going mad. Once we've dealt with this....stranger..." his voice gave away the lie that he did not recognize Deitrich. There was too much hatred for him to be speaking about a person he knew nothing about, "...then we shall see about you. A mad Elder should be put out of his misery, before the whole village suffers!" Snowflakes drifted down around the villagers, as most of them looked away from two men uncomfortably. The headman's plump, sneering face looked more monstrous than anything found in the forest, Deitrich thought.

The Elder looked at the headman with sadness in his pale blue eyes. He shook his head slightly, and reached out to catch a falling snowflake. Deitrich knew that he wasn't concerned with the man's spiteful words. He was only sad that the real suffering would be caused by men who would never listen, never question the headman's opinions, and never return home. She would not allow them to harm the man she loved, or the son she had given him.

Screams rang out in the dark, making the Elder sigh. Deitrich looked away from the men, and his father. The two men knew what was attacking in the shadows of the trees. The villagers had taken too long to decide his fate. Now, they would meet theirs, at the fangs and claws of the Goddess who claimed this forest and those in it as hers. Deitrich's mother. The Snow Wolf.

Son of a bitch.