I had intended to continue with Lord Derby today, but that prompt really demands a specific character to come back, doesn't it?
All-consuming "It's pickle-ball," said Death. "I find it relaxing." He was sat on the bleachers at the back of the Community Centre, dressed in clean black jeans, a neatly ripped black t-shirt and a black-bandanna and looked like a teenager who couldn't decide if he wanted to be a heavy-metal fan or an investment banker. Spoiling the image only slightly was the bright-pink nerf gun just underneath his left hand. On the court in front of him two elderly ladies, both rather heavyset, knocked a perforated plastic ball back and forth using brightly coloured paddles, keeping score rather more enthusiastically than they were actually playing. "I don't get it," said Pestilence, studying the game intently. "I'm sure the fat one has claimed three points so far when she's only scored one." "Dish, sis," said Famine, who was lying on the bleachers a little way away from Death. "Which one's the hippo?" "It is a little hard to tell," said Death. It was difficult to be sure with him, but there might have been notes of agreement in his deep, echoing voice. "The one with the green paddle then," said Pestilence. "See, her score's just jumped another two points and all she did is show her knickers." "Maybe she's flirting with the umpire?" Pestilence snorted. "Where's War, anyway?" he said. "I thought this was supposed to be a team-building type gig, and he's not here." "He's in the building," said Death. Everything he said sounded calm, but there was a sense that he meant it this time. "Let me see...." He concentrated and for a moment even Pestilence and Famine squirmed as it felt like some immense agency was evaluating them from far away. On the court the pickle-ballers halted play and shuddered. "Kiddy play-area," said Death, and the sensation of being scrutinised evaporated like frost under morning sunshine. "We should probably go and join him." "I'm watching the game," said Pestilence. "It gets to you. It's all consuming after a while." Death picked up the nerf-gun and shot the lady with the green paddle, who collapsed to the ground noiselessly. Her opponent looked blankly at the corpse. "I'm all-consuming," said Death. "Famine is ravenous, and you are ubiquitous. Let's go." "Spoilsport," muttered Pestilence.
They arrived at the kiddy play area to find a large ball pit enclosed in a bright orange cargo net. In the middle of the pit were some foam walls and a roof creating a tiny network of huts. War was sitting at a formica-topped table sipping a latte and watching idly as a squad of children armed with butter-knives and forks tried to sneak under the balls without giving away their position. Inside the foam huts a small child could be see sat, brooding, guarded by two small girls holding rolling pins. "Guess the movie," said Death, with a hint of a chuckle in his sonorous voice. "Clueless," said Famine. "This is all so plastic and fake, yet there's a gritty reality just poking through." "Apocalypse Now," said War.
Greg - hah, I was not thinking of these guys when I choose this prompt, but I'm glad that you did when you saw it :D
Holy crap, the image of these three watching pickleball from the bleachers as you've described them is the greatest thing ever. If I was even remotely artistic I would make a drawing of it and hang it up... um, somewhere the kids couldn't see it. I love it.
Also the reaction to Death searching the building. And him shooting the player with the nerf gun. And War with the kids in the play area.
2 comments:
I had intended to continue with Lord Derby today, but that prompt really demands a specific character to come back, doesn't it?
All-consuming
"It's pickle-ball," said Death. "I find it relaxing." He was sat on the bleachers at the back of the Community Centre, dressed in clean black jeans, a neatly ripped black t-shirt and a black-bandanna and looked like a teenager who couldn't decide if he wanted to be a heavy-metal fan or an investment banker. Spoiling the image only slightly was the bright-pink nerf gun just underneath his left hand. On the court in front of him two elderly ladies, both rather heavyset, knocked a perforated plastic ball back and forth using brightly coloured paddles, keeping score rather more enthusiastically than they were actually playing.
"I don't get it," said Pestilence, studying the game intently. "I'm sure the fat one has claimed three points so far when she's only scored one."
"Dish, sis," said Famine, who was lying on the bleachers a little way away from Death. "Which one's the hippo?"
"It is a little hard to tell," said Death. It was difficult to be sure with him, but there might have been notes of agreement in his deep, echoing voice.
"The one with the green paddle then," said Pestilence. "See, her score's just jumped another two points and all she did is show her knickers."
"Maybe she's flirting with the umpire?"
Pestilence snorted. "Where's War, anyway?" he said. "I thought this was supposed to be a team-building type gig, and he's not here."
"He's in the building," said Death. Everything he said sounded calm, but there was a sense that he meant it this time. "Let me see...." He concentrated and for a moment even Pestilence and Famine squirmed as it felt like some immense agency was evaluating them from far away. On the court the pickle-ballers halted play and shuddered. "Kiddy play-area," said Death, and the sensation of being scrutinised evaporated like frost under morning sunshine. "We should probably go and join him."
"I'm watching the game," said Pestilence. "It gets to you. It's all consuming after a while."
Death picked up the nerf-gun and shot the lady with the green paddle, who collapsed to the ground noiselessly. Her opponent looked blankly at the corpse.
"I'm all-consuming," said Death. "Famine is ravenous, and you are ubiquitous. Let's go."
"Spoilsport," muttered Pestilence.
They arrived at the kiddy play area to find a large ball pit enclosed in a bright orange cargo net. In the middle of the pit were some foam walls and a roof creating a tiny network of huts. War was sitting at a formica-topped table sipping a latte and watching idly as a squad of children armed with butter-knives and forks tried to sneak under the balls without giving away their position. Inside the foam huts a small child could be see sat, brooding, guarded by two small girls holding rolling pins.
"Guess the movie," said Death, with a hint of a chuckle in his sonorous voice.
"Clueless," said Famine. "This is all so plastic and fake, yet there's a gritty reality just poking through."
"Apocalypse Now," said War.
Greg - hah, I was not thinking of these guys when I choose this prompt, but I'm glad that you did when you saw it :D
Holy crap, the image of these three watching pickleball from the bleachers as you've described them is the greatest thing ever. If I was even remotely artistic I would make a drawing of it and hang it up... um, somewhere the kids couldn't see it. I love it.
Also the reaction to Death searching the building. And him shooting the player with the nerf gun. And War with the kids in the play area.
It's all so delightful :D
Post a Comment