Friday December 9th, 2011

The exercise:

Four lines of prose about: the brigand.

I'm all set to go to the market tomorrow morning. I think. It's been almost a month and a half since the last time I did this, so I'm feeling pretty out of practice.

Hopefully I don't forget anything too important.


As the newest recruit to the group, it was Eddie's job to bring the stage coach to a halt. Which was a rather hazardous position, considering the driver could just decide to shoot him and carry on rather than risk bringing his precious cargo to a standstill. And all while his cohorts kept themselves safely hidden behind rocks, trees, and bushes.

But, even as he donned his disguise, he still wasn't sure that was enough justification for dressing up like a buxom barmaid.


Anonymous said...

The Brigand

Stealthily a head peered around from the rocks that hid him, his face masked, only the eyeholes revealing the blue orbs beneath.
All was silent, bar the occasional flicker of a dry leaf stirring in the summer breeze, and then suddenly there came a banging and crashing sound like that of a drawbridge clanging home on a moat.
He jumped out from his hiding place and yelled, “Aha! Unhand your cargo, wench, or I’ll shoot ye straight as a musket ball can travel!”
The woman turned in fright and nearly dropped her wares but recovered long enough to place the items carefully on the ground, saying, “You unruly brigand, how dare you try to steal from me!” to which he boldy returned in his six year old voice, “Thanks for the milk and cookies, mum!”

Greg said...

Ah, I hope the indoor markets are a little warmer than the outdoor ones! I remember visiting one in Moncton and I felt a little sorry for the people near the doors, as they kept getting all the cold blasts of air as everyone came in and went out.
I bet you forget your scales :-P
Hah! You made me laugh with your fourth line! I can picture the scene as though it were from... How the Best was won ;-)

The Brigand
Miss Snippet glared at the five year old, who was wriggling in his wet pants.
"It's called 'Show and Tell'," she said severely, "Not Shoot and Run. What possessed you to persuade a brigand to come into school with you?"
"He's my brother, miss," said the small child nervously as blood dripped from his pants to the floor.

Cathryn Leigh said...

Okay I have to say I like Writebright's the best. Probably because I could see my own children doing that to me. Gosh, they will be hell when they start conspiring against us in a few years. But anyway... :}

The Brigand

Clean shaven and well dressed the lad strode into the Traveling Tavern. His eyes swept the place as if he owned it and alighted upon the prettiest maid. Sliding on to a bench at an empty table he watched her like a cat till she drew near.

"What can I get you sir?" she asked, not really seeing him.

"A pint of your finest Ale," the lad smiled as he placed a string of pearls upon the table.

The maid looked down and tried to snatch them but he held to one end.

"Why you," she spluttered as she looked into his face, "You Brigand! Those are my mother's pearls!"

“Yes they are,” the lad’s eyes twinkled with mischief, “and I thought they would make a good exchange for a pint of your finest ale.”

Anonymous said...

CL, you're not wrong:)

Marc said...

Writebite - hah, too cute :)

Greg - turns out, all I forget was the calculator. Didn't really need it though, and I usually do the math in my head anyway.

Well, that wasn't the pant wetting I initially suspected!

Elor - I rather like the brashness of your brigand!