Posts
Damyanti and Stuart H. Nager
originated this whole thing; Lisa and JC were invited to join them after the concept was done.
JC was the last to join in, as she was on her honeymoon and it took awhile for her to connect.
They DID contribute, but they did not create the blogfest nor the idea of Renaissance.
That was already established: stories done within the same mythical town, RENAISSANCE.
{Sorry for the earlier misunderstanding. Oh, so there's no misunderstanding again -- I am not competing for the prizes. Like Victor Standish, I race for the pure joy of it.}
http://jc-martin.com/fighterwriter/2011/09/rule-of-three-blogfest-1st-set-of-prompts/
I especially find it interesting since all of my novels exist in the same mythic universe, too.
And so to join in the festivities with my 600 word entry, I have selected THREE of my heroes --
originated this whole thing; Lisa and JC were invited to join them after the concept was done.
JC was the last to join in, as she was on her honeymoon and it took awhile for her to connect.
They DID contribute, but they did not create the blogfest nor the idea of Renaissance.
That was already established: stories done within the same mythical town, RENAISSANCE.
{Sorry for the earlier misunderstanding. Oh, so there's no misunderstanding again -- I am not competing for the prizes. Like Victor Standish, I race for the pure joy of it.}
http://jc-martin.com/fighterwriter/2011/09/rule-of-three-blogfest-1st-set-of-prompts/
I especially find it interesting since all of my novels exist in the same mythic universe, too.
And so to join in the festivities with my 600 word entry, I have selected THREE of my heroes --
Ouch! All right, Alice : two heroes and One HEROINE to fend for themselves in the eerie community of RENAISSANCE.
"This is Renaissance?,” said Victor Standish, his face puckering as if he had bitten into a pickle.
He had a point. I had brought us to the woods bordering the Country Club, a modest monument to the greed and prejudice of the White Man only a little less large than a football field. I made a pickle-face myself.
White Man?
I had been spending too much time with my Apache blood-brother, Elu. I eyed the black mists curling and creaming in the night air like an unspoken fear trying to form itself on the edge of consciousness. A trick of the polluted air, the moon of blood leered down upon its reflection on the black waters of the bordering lake.
That same moon struck fire from the silver trimming to Alice Wentworth’s black Gothic Lolita dress. “It does not seem proper to slip unnoticed into the ballroom.”
I smiled. Alice might be a ghoul, but she was a prim and proper Victorian ghoul. Victor winked at her.
“It’ll be fun.”
She frowned like a disapproving librarian. “Of course to you it will be fun. It is underhanded and sly.”
He laughed, “That’s me, all right.”
He looked puzzled up at me. “Captain Sam, why couldn’t we travel by bus here?”
I nodded to the west, “ The Schiavona Desert is that way, home of the native affrit.”
Victor went pale. “Merde.”
Alice whispered, “Who are the affrit?”
“Demons,” he whispered back.
Alice strangely long fingers went to her mouth. “Oh, my!”
Victor pointed east. “There?”
“A once-lush forest, the Culdee.”
Victor swallowed hard. “Once?”
“A meteor slammed into it. An Old One was slumbering in its center.”
I met Victor’s widening eyes. “The impact awakened it.”
Victor waved a shaky hand. “Bus rides are too bumpy anyway.”
Alice quavered, “What he said.”
While they were distracted, I folded space like a tablecloth. My head went light. The marrow in my bones became acid. But we were inside without being molested by any … surprises.
I had brought us to a modest drawing room the size of Missouri. Rubies and diamonds sparkled on ivory throats and wrists like drippings from the sea. The graceless noise of the latest pop music was interlaced with the rise and fall of empty conversation and brittle laughter.
I looked at the ebb and tide of desire upon wealth, greed upon opportunity. The social elite milling through the room seemed to be talking against a darkness that pressed in on them or pressed to escape from within.
“This part of Renaissance used to be a ghost town,” I said low.
Victor eyed a portly businessman slipping off his wedding ring as he approached a girl hardly old enough to be a cheerleader with a dress just as short.
“It’s plain to see decency sure died here.”
A voice sneered to my left, “It is only the superficial qualities that entice. Man’s deeper nature always is rancid in some fashion. Isn’t that right, Captain McCord?”
I turned to the Mayor with no desire to argue morality with a creature without any. “Tell our hostess that we’re here.”
Alice frowned, “We were invited specifically?”
Victor winked at her. “Could you say that last word again. Your British accent makes it sound so sexy.”
She sighed, “For once forget your hormones. This is obviously a trap if we were asked for with the good Captain.”
A velvet voice without any hint of humanity laughed, “Oh, how good of you three to come so meekly to your deaths.”
Alice squeaked, “Maija.”
Victor groaned, “Alice, I hate it when you’re right.”
***
"This is Renaissance?,” said Victor Standish, his face puckering as if he had bitten into a pickle.
He had a point. I had brought us to the woods bordering the Country Club, a modest monument to the greed and prejudice of the White Man only a little less large than a football field. I made a pickle-face myself.
White Man?
I had been spending too much time with my Apache blood-brother, Elu. I eyed the black mists curling and creaming in the night air like an unspoken fear trying to form itself on the edge of consciousness. A trick of the polluted air, the moon of blood leered down upon its reflection on the black waters of the bordering lake.
That same moon struck fire from the silver trimming to Alice Wentworth’s black Gothic Lolita dress. “It does not seem proper to slip unnoticed into the ballroom.”
I smiled. Alice might be a ghoul, but she was a prim and proper Victorian ghoul. Victor winked at her.
“It’ll be fun.”
She frowned like a disapproving librarian. “Of course to you it will be fun. It is underhanded and sly.”
He laughed, “That’s me, all right.”
He looked puzzled up at me. “Captain Sam, why couldn’t we travel by bus here?”
I nodded to the west, “ The Schiavona Desert is that way, home of the native affrit.”
Victor went pale. “Merde.”
Alice whispered, “Who are the affrit?”
“Demons,” he whispered back.
Alice strangely long fingers went to her mouth. “Oh, my!”
Victor pointed east. “There?”
“A once-lush forest, the Culdee.”
Victor swallowed hard. “Once?”
“A meteor slammed into it. An Old One was slumbering in its center.”
I met Victor’s widening eyes. “The impact awakened it.”
Victor waved a shaky hand. “Bus rides are too bumpy anyway.”
Alice quavered, “What he said.”
While they were distracted, I folded space like a tablecloth. My head went light. The marrow in my bones became acid. But we were inside without being molested by any … surprises.
I had brought us to a modest drawing room the size of Missouri. Rubies and diamonds sparkled on ivory throats and wrists like drippings from the sea. The graceless noise of the latest pop music was interlaced with the rise and fall of empty conversation and brittle laughter.
I looked at the ebb and tide of desire upon wealth, greed upon opportunity. The social elite milling through the room seemed to be talking against a darkness that pressed in on them or pressed to escape from within.
“This part of Renaissance used to be a ghost town,” I said low.
Victor eyed a portly businessman slipping off his wedding ring as he approached a girl hardly old enough to be a cheerleader with a dress just as short.
“It’s plain to see decency sure died here.”
A voice sneered to my left, “It is only the superficial qualities that entice. Man’s deeper nature always is rancid in some fashion. Isn’t that right, Captain McCord?”
I turned to the Mayor with no desire to argue morality with a creature without any. “Tell our hostess that we’re here.”
Alice frowned, “We were invited specifically?”
Victor winked at her. “Could you say that last word again. Your British accent makes it sound so sexy.”
She sighed, “For once forget your hormones. This is obviously a trap if we were asked for with the good Captain.”
A velvet voice without any hint of humanity laughed, “Oh, how good of you three to come so meekly to your deaths.”
Alice squeaked, “Maija.”
Victor groaned, “Alice, I hate it when you’re right.”
***
