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bjornwilde) wrote2014-06-26 07:16 am
bjornwilde) wrote2014-06-26 07:16 am
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OK, here go my 200 words, but first let me point you towards a great book I've been listening to, The Diviners by Libba Bray (flash-based main site or Goodreads). I'd be tempted to describe it as The Great Gatsby as an urban fantasy but I've never actually read The Great Gatsby nor seen the movie. Set in the early 1920s, the author does a great job of bringing that world to life with snappy lingo, bits of historical info and personages (and not just the big names or events, but little ones as well), and well developed characters, from many different walks of life. The dialog is done well enough I can easily picture this as a classic black and white movie. The fantasy element is low thus far, primarily expressed through rare psychic abilities (though most ever main character seems to have them in one form or another) and the ghost of a serial killer who is brought back to kill again. The audiobook is well performed if you go that route.
Hank had been listening to Allison Blaire's latest album--specially pressed to vinyl for him--when they came. The album was a techno/opera fusion that put a little shimmy into his hips as he poured a glass of brandy. The things Allison could do with her voice nearly brought tears to his eyes and the aria she was currently transcending was no exception. As it carried him, he nearly missed the flash of headlights through his front window but it is hard to miss four separate pairs, especially when they are angled directly at your front window.
The seed of fear recent events had planted in him sprung to life and he called out, "Ada, pause playback." The music immediately froze as the house's dominate A.I. complied. "Hypatia, Turning, I need you." He continued, waking the others.
"Hypatia, Alexandria protocols I am afraid," he directed, once the hologram of an ancient Greek woman appeared. Data immediately began transferring to the Xavier school's mainframe and sheets of titanium locked down over his books; precious knowledge guarded.
"Turning, in 120 seconds, Keep Calm and Carry On," he directed and the holographic man in a suit from the 1930s nodded his head before disappearing.
Next, a woman, looking much like Felicia Day, appeared wearing full Spartan armor from the Halo franchise. "I am ready, Hank."
Taken aback, Hank could only blink at her.
"Tick, tock, Dr. McCoy."
"Ada," Hank replied finding his voice. "While I appreciate the thought, they won't be fooled. I want you to keep the other A.I.s safe. Transfer to the Xavier mainframe if you must, but you three must continue."
"But..."
"No. You must! I'm going out there."
"What? No, that is unwise."
"I must. I fear if I do not, they will simply find another. If I go out there, I can talk to them. Quiet their anger."
"I'm going with you."
Hank smiled at her. "Very noble my dear but I must insist. Hamlet protocols. Forward my messages to Mystique, Storm, and the school, just in case." Ada scowled at him but was forced to comply. As she faded, he tried calling Mystique directly. Outside, truck doors were slamming and Hank couldn't help but wonder if they had pitchforks and torches. Mystique failed to pick up the phone but he got her voicemail. "Mystique, this is Hank. I fear I am about to do something very stupid but I wanted what may be my last words to you to be that I have loved you since that day in the wind tunnel. I hope you find peace and...." He managed before the phone line was cut off. Jammers, damn.
Sighing, Hank put the phone down and heading to the front door. At least the dataline was shielded and encrypted, the A.I.s would be fine and could still escape.
"Good evening," he called out to his lynch mob. "May I help you with something?" But they weren't interested in talking. They rushed him and while he did his best to not go quietly into the night, he was sorely out numbered.
He came to as they were tying chains to his wrists. Groggily, he looked up and saw that the other ends of the chains were attached to the hitch of a pickup. Their intentions quite clear, Hank looked about, focusing on a nearby man, and said, "How now, my three inch friend."
The man standing over him turned with a confused look on his face.
What were they teaching in school these days? Hank thought before clarifying, "I am insulting you. I am saying you have a small penis."
The man scowled and spat at Hank.
"Which is likely a good thing," Hank continued, quite encouraged by the man's response, "for it makes the likelihood of your genes continuing even smaller. That means no woman will likely want to spend enough time with you to even allow you the attempt to father children. Are I being clear?"
In answer, the man swung his boot back and aimed a kick at Hank's face, which would have likely broken his nose had Hank not turned his head just right. As consciousness faded again, Hank was glad he would not be present for their planned entertainment. Dying by being dragged at high speeds behind a truck was not something he wished to experience. He also saw his house completely locked down. Turning had done his work and now Hank could die in peace, knowing his work would not be looted.
Okay, that was longer than I thought it would be and yet it still feels like it could stand to be fleshed out more. Warnings for non-graphic lynching and Shakespearian gallows humor.
Hank had been listening to Allison Blaire's latest album--specially pressed to vinyl for him--when they came. The album was a techno/opera fusion that put a little shimmy into his hips as he poured a glass of brandy. The things Allison could do with her voice nearly brought tears to his eyes and the aria she was currently transcending was no exception. As it carried him, he nearly missed the flash of headlights through his front window but it is hard to miss four separate pairs, especially when they are angled directly at your front window.
The seed of fear recent events had planted in him sprung to life and he called out, "Ada, pause playback." The music immediately froze as the house's dominate A.I. complied. "Hypatia, Turning, I need you." He continued, waking the others.
"Hypatia, Alexandria protocols I am afraid," he directed, once the hologram of an ancient Greek woman appeared. Data immediately began transferring to the Xavier school's mainframe and sheets of titanium locked down over his books; precious knowledge guarded.
"Turning, in 120 seconds, Keep Calm and Carry On," he directed and the holographic man in a suit from the 1930s nodded his head before disappearing.
Next, a woman, looking much like Felicia Day, appeared wearing full Spartan armor from the Halo franchise. "I am ready, Hank."
Taken aback, Hank could only blink at her.
"Tick, tock, Dr. McCoy."
"Ada," Hank replied finding his voice. "While I appreciate the thought, they won't be fooled. I want you to keep the other A.I.s safe. Transfer to the Xavier mainframe if you must, but you three must continue."
"But..."
"No. You must! I'm going out there."
"What? No, that is unwise."
"I must. I fear if I do not, they will simply find another. If I go out there, I can talk to them. Quiet their anger."
"I'm going with you."
Hank smiled at her. "Very noble my dear but I must insist. Hamlet protocols. Forward my messages to Mystique, Storm, and the school, just in case." Ada scowled at him but was forced to comply. As she faded, he tried calling Mystique directly. Outside, truck doors were slamming and Hank couldn't help but wonder if they had pitchforks and torches. Mystique failed to pick up the phone but he got her voicemail. "Mystique, this is Hank. I fear I am about to do something very stupid but I wanted what may be my last words to you to be that I have loved you since that day in the wind tunnel. I hope you find peace and...." He managed before the phone line was cut off. Jammers, damn.
Sighing, Hank put the phone down and heading to the front door. At least the dataline was shielded and encrypted, the A.I.s would be fine and could still escape.
"Good evening," he called out to his lynch mob. "May I help you with something?" But they weren't interested in talking. They rushed him and while he did his best to not go quietly into the night, he was sorely out numbered.
He came to as they were tying chains to his wrists. Groggily, he looked up and saw that the other ends of the chains were attached to the hitch of a pickup. Their intentions quite clear, Hank looked about, focusing on a nearby man, and said, "How now, my three inch friend."
The man standing over him turned with a confused look on his face.
What were they teaching in school these days? Hank thought before clarifying, "I am insulting you. I am saying you have a small penis."
The man scowled and spat at Hank.
"Which is likely a good thing," Hank continued, quite encouraged by the man's response, "for it makes the likelihood of your genes continuing even smaller. That means no woman will likely want to spend enough time with you to even allow you the attempt to father children. Are I being clear?"
In answer, the man swung his boot back and aimed a kick at Hank's face, which would have likely broken his nose had Hank not turned his head just right. As consciousness faded again, Hank was glad he would not be present for their planned entertainment. Dying by being dragged at high speeds behind a truck was not something he wished to experience. He also saw his house completely locked down. Turning had done his work and now Hank could die in peace, knowing his work would not be looted.
Okay, that was longer than I thought it would be and yet it still feels like it could stand to be fleshed out more. Warnings for non-graphic lynching and Shakespearian gallows humor.