Topic: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Character back stories up to 400 words.

Most sims are set in September 2519 currently (except for An Baile Ur), so for most people it'll be a case of where your character was and what were they doing two years or so ago, (around the date of Unification Day maybe, though not necessarily).

Any player with a character in the Firefly sims can post here.  smile

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Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Very interesting. I have written a background story for my character August Solitaire that dates back to around that time. It's bigger than 400 words, so I'm going to cut it down and post it here.

http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a281/hollyzuzu/6bd9dace-1d9f-469e-b069-b872b1d826dd_zpswfifvw2x.jpg

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Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

I'll work on something. Shouldn't be too difficult, even for me.

Why did Suzy fall out of the swing?  Because she had no arms.
Knock, knock. Who's there?
Not Suzy

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Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Mischa Brendel wrote:

Very interesting. I have written a background story for my character August Solitaire that dates back to around that time. It's bigger than 400 words, so I'm going to cut it down and post it here.


Excellent, looking forward to it.

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Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Irykyl wrote:

I'll work on something. Shouldn't be too difficult, even for me.

smile

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Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Expect mine in the next couple of days.

Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Silent Hunter wrote:

Expect mine in the next couple of days.

Great. Which character, Silent? Or more than one?

There is no limit on how many players can post.  smile

Deb

Oh, and mine to follow shortly as Alfred woke me up at 5am this morning and I had two hours to kill before I got ready for work!

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Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Dr. Shane Howard, currently a passenger on The Jericho. 399 words!  wink

May 30th 2517

Washington Memorial Hospital, Londinium.


The attending was on holiday, so at 8am Shane briefed the trauma team at morning conference. Following a quiet night with only two admissions, the meeting mainly involved updates on cases, imaging, surgeries and plans for patients. Residency was proving to be exactly what she’d expected: questioning decisions, following protocol, diagnostic studies, operating procedures, liaison with interns, students, nurses and support staff, talking to families. It was also proving to be exactly what she needed, consisting of an 80 hour week as standard.

Her pager went off within minutes of the conference closing, as she stood reviewing a patient she’d stabilized the night before. As always, new trauma had to take precedence.

“48yoM multiple GSW to chest T98 P110 R: 18 SaO2: 95. Intubated by AC.”

The team waited in the trauma room in gowns, shoe covers, sterile gloves. The students seemed keenest, their face masks hanging round their necks at the ready, trauma scissors and forms in hand. The Alliance Care transporter was one minute out, and she asked an intern to relay the notes.

“48 year old year-old male with multiple gun shot wounds to the chest with a temperature of 98F, heart rate of 110 beats per minute, respiratory rate of 18 breaths per minute with 95% oxygen saturation. Intubated by AC personnel.”

Maybe she’d check the tube herself, or ask a student to do so as another cut off the clothes. Sometimes, she’d undertake an emergency procedure immediately, enter the thorax or abdomen. Perhaps she’d open the chest and ribs, hold them apart with instruments until she could see the heart beating and know that life went on, regardless of trauma. It wasn’t the students that were the most keen, but Shane herself, though she never showed it in her frosty bedside manner.

Thirty seconds out. Sometimes she thought about Christophe, but she’d learned not to feel it. She sometimes wondered where he’d taken himself off to on sabbatical three months earlier, whether he ever thought of her still, or when he’d come back, but she pushed the longing back down, consistently, and eventually it stayed down. All she let herself feel now was the job, its surges and needs, its arcs and moments, the timbre of surgery, the immediacy of vicarious incongruent injury.

Trauma; she welcomed it, and filled the space he’d left with all it was.

--------

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Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

I'll be posting with Jelena Markov.

Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Jelena Markov

Jelena liked scantily clad women and, Club Kitty, the most prestigious nightclub on Greenleaf Skyplex usually had plenty of them. During the night.

Unfortunately, for Jelena, it was 6am and they had all left. The floor of the burlesque club was littered with discarded food, drink and a lady's thong. Jelena wondered who had discarded that.

Jelena was not a stripper. She had worn outfits in her MMA career that might have given that impression, but her current role here was as part of security. Some people liked to touch as well as look and the Completely Sexy Investigators had caused the team she was 2IC of to bundle seven of them out of the club. Not to mention five others for offences ranging from drug taking to public urination.

The management had taken over this club a year earlier, when it had been a cage fight club and were trying to make it more classy. Jelena felt they had merely changed it from a streetwalker to a call girl. Still, it was a job.

As she walked through the club back to the changing rooms, the rumours circulating about the club started to surface in her mind. Something about some loans in Sihnon that payments were being missed on.

She opened the door to the ladies’ area. Three attractive young women, the Completely Sexy Investigators who had performed tonight, were dressing - their everyday clothes were far more concealing then what they wore on stage. Jelena tried to avoid staring at the blonde one and started to undo the security webbing that she’d worn for the last ten hours straight. She pulled at the straps, when a voice came over the speakers in the changing room.

“Could all staff please report to the dance floor immediately”.

That was not the usual sort of statement that came through the speakers, that was for sure. After removing her webbing, Jelena followed the others to the floor. The thirty or so staff and regular performers of the club were standing by the main stage, where the manager was standing.

Dressed in his usual leather jacket, a pair of suited businessmen were standing by the ornamental swing. The manager was not looking happy.

“Good morning everyone”, he said, “I would like to thank you all for your great service, but I am afraid that I have some bad news”.

It was true.

Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Cool! I would be interested in exploring all that further with regards to how Phantasm fits in.

Meanwhile, here's Christophe Bellamy:

May 30th 2517

Christophe opened sleep-encrusted eyes, rubbed his fists into them, and looked around. He was in a four foot bed in a two star hotel in Rishi on one of the moons of Ariel. Rishi, but not the good part. He was a few blocks away from the opera house; the streets were narrower, the casinos smaller and the nightclubs dodgier. He'd seen the place advertised in a magazine while at an axonopathy conference on Ariel in January but hadn't ever imagined at the time that he'd actually come here. He'd still been with Shane then, at least theoretically, though her betrayal was imminent by then. She must have had it all planned out, probably since that night at the log cabin. And he’d thought things were getting better.

He grimaced. His overwhelming emotion this morning, though, was regret. They'd had some good times - she'd breathed life back into the desiccated husk he felt he'd been becoming, and now - he stifled a sob - it was over and they'd never get it back. She'd gone up against him, shamed him in front of his peers in her childish power play - his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. Regret gave way to anger so easily.

He gazed up at the discoloured ceiling. The room was quite spartan, tarnished, and there were stains on the bed.

One, a coffee stain, Christophe had added last night under the influence of several alcoholic beverages. There were others, too, which he wasn’t sure were there before, and then there were some he knew he'd seen when he first got here. One was a particularly worrying shade of brown. He shifted upright and collected his cigarettes. He put one between his lips and lit it, finally turning to look at the woman next to him. Fu? That was her name. She was less attractive than he remembered her being, but she was alright. She stirred.

He held his cigarette in his left hand and breathed out a sigh. Maybe it was time to go further out. Perhaps Kaleidoscope? Kalidasa? Georgia? He took his cortex from the nightstand and began browsing. Three Hills was cheap, he'd never been there before, and there were excursions to Conrad, which he'd always wanted to see, especially from the air.

“Baisez-le,” he muttered, and booked it. He took a long drag on his cigarette, and exhaled through his nose.


(Appendix: "Baisez-le" is vulgar, like the English "f*** it")

Last edited by Ash Leighton Plom (2013-01-16 22:32:56)

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Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Okay, here is my story. Without the title it is exactly 400 words (coincidence)

The story is about August Solitaire, who at that time still went by the name of Eugène Beauregard. It is actually a (sort of) prequel to another story I wrote for him.

Anyway, here it is:


The Letter



Eugène Beauregard opened the letter he had just received and started reading:



Lieutenant Beauregard,

You are hereby ordered to report at Headquarters tomorrow morning, 10.00 hours to Colonel Gale in her office.

Signed,

Major Brestle. 42nd Infantry.


Short, clear and not giving anything away. Still, Eugène knew exactly what this was about. The Alliance wanted to eliminate him. He had expected this as soon as the word got out that a peace had been signed between the Alliance and the Independents. He was a special officer, covert ops and had completed many successful operations for his employer, missions that the Alliance would rather not be publicly linked to. And now that his services were no longer necessary, Eugène had become a liability. He didn’t blame the Alliance: he would have done the same.

What did annoy him however was how easy they thought they could get rid of him. Did they really expect him not to see through this? He doubted it. He got up from the chair in his quarters, which mainly consisted of a bunk, a desk and the chair and unlocked and opened the door to the hallway to step outside. He took a cigarillo from his breast pocket and lit it, using the smoking as an excuse to look around. Within seconds he had identified to soldiers who he had never seen before. Spies, to make sure he wouldn’t make a run for it. So the Alliance wasn’t that stupid after all; good.

Eugène finished his cigarillo and headed back into his quarters, closing and locking the door behind him. So, this was his last night in the service of the Alliance. He knew this day would come, but he had expected it not to come this soon. Judging by the resistance the Independents had put up from day one, he had thought they wouldn’t surrender at all but instead would have fought until the end. A fight they would surely have lost, but not without the war dragging on a whole lot longer.
It wasn’t a big problem; it simply meant that Eugène would have to take on the trade of bounty hunter a bit sooner. But first he’d have to change his name and face. Oh, and kill his superiors of course.

Yup, tomorrow would be a busy day. Eugène took off his boots and clothes and settled into bed. He fell asleep quickly.

Last edited by Mischa Brendel (2013-01-25 10:09:25)

http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a281/hollyzuzu/6bd9dace-1d9f-469e-b069-b872b1d826dd_zpswfifvw2x.jpg

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Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

May 30th 2517

“Right there…” The old man declared, pausing long enough to lean off towards his right and spit tobacco juice into the brush. He wiped his mouth across the already dirty sleeve of his tattered coat. His scarred hand pointed a finger at the center of the target as he continued, “Right there, in the middle. Ya got to aim straight and hit what ya aimmin’ at.”

The old man was John West, captain of The Plymouth. And in reality he really was not all that old, but his rugged appearance seemed to add years to his age. His face, what showed of it, carried that hard, weathered look one would have found on the old Sailors from Earth that was… complete with a salt and peppering of his beard, with a majority of salt. Of course none of that mattered very much to anyone who came across him, or to any of his crew. And that was what Ayla Seton just happened to be. Crew. It had taken her a good number of years to get him to agree, but finally he was teaching her how to handle a gun, how to shoot.

To Ayla, it had taken what seemed like forever to get Captain West to agree to teach her, and then even longer to get him to actually follow through with the promise. He was the best shot on the ship, which made him the one she wanted doling out the instructions. And now that is where they sat, or rather, stood. West standing off to her right rattling off instructions and the like.

“I see, Cap’n….I see” She agreed. Ayla had the shotgun situated just the way he had told her – more than once. The butt nestled in the crook of her shoulder, a small hand gripping the barrel, and a finger gently resting alongside the trigger while she took aim. She was not just placating the older man, she was a determined girl. One that had her mind set. And it was set on being able to aim, shoot straight, and hit the target.

She pulled the trigger, the butt of the gun kicking back into her shoulder, leaving a little sting in its wake. But surprisingly, before she had even lowered the gun, taking care to point the barrel to the ground, they both heard the tiny ping the round made from hitting the stack of metal cans. Ayla couldn’t suppress the grin that lit up her face…nor the laugh after she saw the captains.

Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Mischa Brendel wrote:

Okay, here is my story. Without the title it is exactly 400 words (coincidence)

The story is about August Solitaire, who at that time still went by the name of Eugène Beauregard. It is actually a (sort of) prequel to another story I wrote for him.

-snip-

...Yup, tomorrow would be a busy day. Eugène took off his boots and clothes and settled into bed. He fell asleep quickly.

Just wanted to say, I really liked this a lot, and the only reason I haven't put a thumbs up to it is because by my reckoning it can't be set on May 30th 2517 as it seems to be set just at the end of the war or very soon afterwards, thus late May 2511. I might be wrong, but I'd understood the challenge was to write a bit of backstory set two or so years ago, rather than about 8 years ago. Otherwise, I thought this was absolutely riveting! :-)

Ash

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Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Darn, I missed this. I so wanted to participate, but I'm still not caught up in all my sims yet. sad

Maybe I'll add something later anyway! big_smile

http://www.phoenix-rp.com/img/pips/4.png http://oi60.tinypic.com/5otabo.jpg

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Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

You could always enter the February contest. Deb, how do you feel about taking this site-wide?

- GC

Re: JANUARY WRITING CHALLENGE "May 30th 2517"

Silent Hunter wrote:

You could always enter the February contest. Deb, how do you feel about taking this site-wide?

- GC

Not really confident with that. Perhaps area GMs could do this?

Meanwhile February's Firefly challenge coming up...

Absolutely LOVE the writings above. What a lot of talent we have here.  smile

Deb

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