Is this prompt a hint as to where you're hiding out at Christmas? In a cosy ski chalet overlooking a private ski run, where your latest target will be practising for double diamond slopes before a well-placed sniper's bullet ends a reign of terror? I'm off to Kiev today for work, back on Sunday. I might be erratic with posting as a result, but hopefully I'll be able to catch up on New Year's Day in that case :) Carcosa knows no winter, and it's late summer/early autumn in Lord's Derby's London at the moment, so we'll have to visit elsewhere for today's prompt. And apparently it's just a little too long to fit in with my comments :(
The ski chalet "Why do you have all the marshmallows?" War's voice was husky, he sounded like he should be advertising whiskey. There was silence for a few seconds, and then Pestilence said, "He's talking to you, bro. Fam." "Don't start that," said War immediately. He set his cup of hot chocolate down on a pretty side table; all reddish mahogany wood and the anguished fretting of a journeyman carpenter. "I want a proper, social evening. Not linguistic filler, not plagues of mice and cockroaches, and no unexpected avalanches." Everyone looked over to the stove where Death was pouring the last of the chocolate into his cup. "I always expect avalanches," he said. "We're in a ski chalet after all. It wouldn't make sense to expect them in our Easter cottage, would it?" War snorted. "I still want to know why you have all the marshmallows," he said. Famine sighed. "Habit," he said. "They've pretty much soaked up all the chocolate now though, so unless you want to squeeze it out...." He stood up and backed away from War, who looked like they'd have no problem doing that at all. "You're starting a conflict," said Death mildly. He set the pan in the sink. "Who's doing the washing up this year?" "Sorry," said War. "I guess old habits do die hard." "You," said Pestilence. "There's only you and Fam can do it. If War tries it the knives and spoons gang up on the forks and we come down to a battle royale in the cutlery drawer, and if I try it everyone in the village gets cholera or dysentery." "It was bilharzia last year," said Famine, who was watching War for any sudden, marshmallow-ensnaring movements. "That puzzled the CDC. I did it the year before though, so it's your turn, boss." "Don't call him that," said War. "It gives him ideas." Death smiled peacefully, in a way that was often the very last thing people saw, and looked at the pan in the sink. For a moment nothing changed, then mould grew at a frenzied speed over the pan, consuming all the organic material. A moment later it died and turned into dust, which spiralled lazily in the air and disappeared. Death set the newly clean pan on the stove-top. "Water is just as effective," said Pestilence. "You're just jealous," said Death. "Now, what games are playing this evening? I have to pop out at 11 and deal with some children, but we've got hours before then." "I'm good," said War. "It's still Christmas, most of the action I'm looking after is on hiatus. I've sent Che over to check on the Guerillas, so I'm expecting a quiet evening." "Che?" said Death. "Che Guerilla," said War. "He's got a pet chihuahua." "Plagues are all good," said Pestilence. "And Fam's got a busy year ahead, so a break'll do him good for an evening." Famine nodded. "Oh good," said Death. "Monopoly?" Three cushions hit him around the torso and he chuckled, a hollow, echoing sound. "Not with the guy to whom everything comes in the end," said Pestilence. "We're not falling for that one again. How about exploding kittens?" There was a general assent, and as Pestilence got the cards out, War hauled a sack in from the hall. "What the...?" Pestilence stared at War. "You know it's a card game, right?" War blushed. "It's fine," said Death. "I'll take them down to the children at 11."
Welcome Tumnio! It's always a delight to see new writers taking their first, hesitant footsteps, and yours are certainly hesitant. If you put less on the page we'd probably not be able to call them footsteps at all, perhaps only toe prints. Or maybe footsteps from especially deformed feet. But it's surely the thought that counts! I'm intrigued that you draw parallels in so few words (so few letters even!) between interview questions and a ski chalet. I had to sit and think for a considerable amount of time before I felt I really understood where you were coming from, so my first piece of (constructive!) criticism would have to be that if your reader has to forget to eat for a day-and-a-half in order to understand your message then you're probably not writing enough. Help your reader out; a feast of words is a great way to prepare for a feast of food. Gamsat was ultimately the clue I needed: this is obviously a made-up word referencing both Ganesh, the Remover of Obstacles in Indian mythology, and the Telluride ski resort (because sat is obviously a misspelling of salt, referencing Tellurium's ability to form halide salts). Now, adding salt around a ski chalet will likely destabilise the snow in the area causing it to avalanche away, thus removing obstacles in the path of the avalanche, so this is a very clever construction and you should be proud of yourself. But I stand by my claim that you could have helped us get there a little faster yourself. So clearly you're intending us to think about answers to the interview questions "What would you do if you found yourself facing an avalanche?" and "What is the most efficient way to start an avalanche above a small Colorado town?" which, sadly, made me wonder instead exactly who you work for that these are appropriate questions. Which then caused me to do some googling. And then to report you to the FBI. So, I hope you have a happy new year, Tumnio! I hear that federal prisons are not very cheerful, but I'm sure, with your wit and imagination, you can change that!
Greg - I believe this prompt was inspired by plans to go to the nearest ski hill to do some snowshoeing. But, you know, your guess is pretty good too :)
I hope travel went as smoothly as travel can go.
God, these four are so much fun together. Thank you for bringing them back. And putting them in this setting!
Also: I was just introduced to Exploding Kittens the other day when some friends invited me over to play games. I am... not surprised that you already knew about it.
You never fail to impress me with how much fun you can have with spammers, though this one is especially brilliant considering how little you had to work with.
4 comments:
Is this prompt a hint as to where you're hiding out at Christmas? In a cosy ski chalet overlooking a private ski run, where your latest target will be practising for double diamond slopes before a well-placed sniper's bullet ends a reign of terror?
I'm off to Kiev today for work, back on Sunday. I might be erratic with posting as a result, but hopefully I'll be able to catch up on New Year's Day in that case :)
Carcosa knows no winter, and it's late summer/early autumn in Lord's Derby's London at the moment, so we'll have to visit elsewhere for today's prompt. And apparently it's just a little too long to fit in with my comments :(
The ski chalet
"Why do you have all the marshmallows?" War's voice was husky, he sounded like he should be advertising whiskey. There was silence for a few seconds, and then Pestilence said,
"He's talking to you, bro. Fam."
"Don't start that," said War immediately. He set his cup of hot chocolate down on a pretty side table; all reddish mahogany wood and the anguished fretting of a journeyman carpenter. "I want a proper, social evening. Not linguistic filler, not plagues of mice and cockroaches, and no unexpected avalanches."
Everyone looked over to the stove where Death was pouring the last of the chocolate into his cup. "I always expect avalanches," he said. "We're in a ski chalet after all. It wouldn't make sense to expect them in our Easter cottage, would it?"
War snorted. "I still want to know why you have all the marshmallows," he said.
Famine sighed. "Habit," he said. "They've pretty much soaked up all the chocolate now though, so unless you want to squeeze it out...." He stood up and backed away from War, who looked like they'd have no problem doing that at all.
"You're starting a conflict," said Death mildly. He set the pan in the sink. "Who's doing the washing up this year?"
"Sorry," said War. "I guess old habits do die hard."
"You," said Pestilence. "There's only you and Fam can do it. If War tries it the knives and spoons gang up on the forks and we come down to a battle royale in the cutlery drawer, and if I try it everyone in the village gets cholera or dysentery."
"It was bilharzia last year," said Famine, who was watching War for any sudden, marshmallow-ensnaring movements. "That puzzled the CDC. I did it the year before though, so it's your turn, boss."
"Don't call him that," said War. "It gives him ideas."
Death smiled peacefully, in a way that was often the very last thing people saw, and looked at the pan in the sink. For a moment nothing changed, then mould grew at a frenzied speed over the pan, consuming all the organic material. A moment later it died and turned into dust, which spiralled lazily in the air and disappeared. Death set the newly clean pan on the stove-top.
"Water is just as effective," said Pestilence.
"You're just jealous," said Death. "Now, what games are playing this evening? I have to pop out at 11 and deal with some children, but we've got hours before then."
"I'm good," said War. "It's still Christmas, most of the action I'm looking after is on hiatus. I've sent Che over to check on the Guerillas, so I'm expecting a quiet evening."
"Che?" said Death.
"Che Guerilla," said War. "He's got a pet chihuahua."
"Plagues are all good," said Pestilence. "And Fam's got a busy year ahead, so a break'll do him good for an evening." Famine nodded.
"Oh good," said Death. "Monopoly?"
Three cushions hit him around the torso and he chuckled, a hollow, echoing sound. "Not with the guy to whom everything comes in the end," said Pestilence. "We're not falling for that one again. How about exploding kittens?"
There was a general assent, and as Pestilence got the cards out, War hauled a sack in from the hall.
"What the...?" Pestilence stared at War. "You know it's a card game, right?"
War blushed.
"It's fine," said Death. "I'll take them down to the children at 11."
Welcome Tumnio! It's always a delight to see new writers taking their first, hesitant footsteps, and yours are certainly hesitant. If you put less on the page we'd probably not be able to call them footsteps at all, perhaps only toe prints. Or maybe footsteps from especially deformed feet. But it's surely the thought that counts!
I'm intrigued that you draw parallels in so few words (so few letters even!) between interview questions and a ski chalet. I had to sit and think for a considerable amount of time before I felt I really understood where you were coming from, so my first piece of (constructive!) criticism would have to be that if your reader has to forget to eat for a day-and-a-half in order to understand your message then you're probably not writing enough. Help your reader out; a feast of words is a great way to prepare for a feast of food.
Gamsat was ultimately the clue I needed: this is obviously a made-up word referencing both Ganesh, the Remover of Obstacles in Indian mythology, and the Telluride ski resort (because sat is obviously a misspelling of salt, referencing Tellurium's ability to form halide salts). Now, adding salt around a ski chalet will likely destabilise the snow in the area causing it to avalanche away, thus removing obstacles in the path of the avalanche, so this is a very clever construction and you should be proud of yourself. But I stand by my claim that you could have helped us get there a little faster yourself.
So clearly you're intending us to think about answers to the interview questions "What would you do if you found yourself facing an avalanche?" and "What is the most efficient way to start an avalanche above a small Colorado town?" which, sadly, made me wonder instead exactly who you work for that these are appropriate questions. Which then caused me to do some googling. And then to report you to the FBI.
So, I hope you have a happy new year, Tumnio! I hear that federal prisons are not very cheerful, but I'm sure, with your wit and imagination, you can change that!
Greg - I believe this prompt was inspired by plans to go to the nearest ski hill to do some snowshoeing. But, you know, your guess is pretty good too :)
I hope travel went as smoothly as travel can go.
God, these four are so much fun together. Thank you for bringing them back. And putting them in this setting!
Also: I was just introduced to Exploding Kittens the other day when some friends invited me over to play games. I am... not surprised that you already knew about it.
You never fail to impress me with how much fun you can have with spammers, though this one is especially brilliant considering how little you had to work with.
Post a Comment