Daily writing prompts from June 9th, 2008 to December 31st, 2022
Thursday May 9th, 2019
The exercise: Write about: havoc. This would have been a good day for our next revisitation, but I'm refusing to move on until I add to the last one. So... hopefully that will happen before Sunday.
Well, it will be nice to see what you add to the House of Mercy, so I have no problems with waiting :) I guess it's the Dream Kingdom next, which had a tidier ending than most of its predecessors, so that could be interesting to try and continue!
Havoc "I never thought you'd keep chihuahuas," said Pestilence. He was sitting in a leather recliner in a spacious living room, eating a sandwich. The far wall was entirely a TV screen, easily 240" and better resolution than was currently available in retail. The viridian carpet had a pile so deep that the chihuahuas looked permanently irritated as they had to leap from one spot to another to see where they were going. To his left Famine was swinging gently in a hammock suspended from the ceiling, and two dapper servants were setting out ice-cold glasses, beers and cocktails on a glass table. Out beyond the French windows, in a garden that looked manicured, Death was using butterflies for target practice and E. Kevin Gway was asleep in a white patio chair clutching a bottle of Absinthe to his chest. "I get them from a breeder," said War. He wasn't currently visible but his voice boomed like the surf all around them. "Lady Agatha. She trains them to herd hippopotamuses." "So?" Pestilence looked at the little dogs, and realised they were looking at his sandwich. He pulled a rasher of bacon from it and dropped it, and found himself astonished by the speed at which the pack leader reacted: she'd seized it from mid-air before it could hit the ground. "Dish sis," said Famine, sounding sleepy. "I can always tell when you're holding back the tea. Gimme the Lapsong Souchang, not the PG Tips." "If I have to be bound by the Geneva Convention," said War, booming slightly more loudly, "shouldn't there be something governing him?" "He's asking what you're not telling us," said Pestilence. He dropped another rasher of bacon, experimentally, and watched, fascinated as another chihuahua leapt from a standing start and caught it neatly in sparklingly sharp teeth. "I normally charge for translation services, by the way." "If you don't bill me I won't set the chihuahuas on you. Deal?" "Hah. Deal." "I let them train with the hellhounds," said War. "They're quick learners." "The chihuahuas?" "The hellhounds." "Where do you get the hellhounds from, sis?" "Why is he calling me sis?" War's voice drifted from booming to petulant; he sounded like a small boy being told to share his favourite toy with a rarely-seen cousin. "Short for ISIS," lied Pestilence. "Oh, hah, I didn't know that had come up on the radar yet. That's not really me, I've outsourced most of that to Mo. I think it's just a fad." "Mohammed?" "Maureen. She's from Penticton or Osoyoos, somewhere up where it's too cold to hold for half the year, and too hot to handle for the other half. She's a bit... odd, if you ask me, but she knows how to run a jihad. She says she learned from running Community Services at the Town Hall." "Nice," said Pestilence. "So how do the dogs work then?" "Control words," said War. "Say the right ones and they go off like guided missiles." "Havoc," said Death pleasantly from the door. Behind him, Kevin screamed and tried to crawl under his chair. "Cry 'Havoc' and let slip the dogs of war."
Greg - yeah, I'm looking forward to having another visit to our Dream Kingdom characters.
Oh man, I've missed having all four of these guys in one scene together. They're good paired up, but all four are just on another level. I can only imagine how much fun you have writing these :)
2 comments:
Well, it will be nice to see what you add to the House of Mercy, so I have no problems with waiting :) I guess it's the Dream Kingdom next, which had a tidier ending than most of its predecessors, so that could be interesting to try and continue!
Havoc
"I never thought you'd keep chihuahuas," said Pestilence. He was sitting in a leather recliner in a spacious living room, eating a sandwich. The far wall was entirely a TV screen, easily 240" and better resolution than was currently available in retail. The viridian carpet had a pile so deep that the chihuahuas looked permanently irritated as they had to leap from one spot to another to see where they were going. To his left Famine was swinging gently in a hammock suspended from the ceiling, and two dapper servants were setting out ice-cold glasses, beers and cocktails on a glass table. Out beyond the French windows, in a garden that looked manicured, Death was using butterflies for target practice and E. Kevin Gway was asleep in a white patio chair clutching a bottle of Absinthe to his chest.
"I get them from a breeder," said War. He wasn't currently visible but his voice boomed like the surf all around them. "Lady Agatha. She trains them to herd hippopotamuses."
"So?" Pestilence looked at the little dogs, and realised they were looking at his sandwich. He pulled a rasher of bacon from it and dropped it, and found himself astonished by the speed at which the pack leader reacted: she'd seized it from mid-air before it could hit the ground.
"Dish sis," said Famine, sounding sleepy. "I can always tell when you're holding back the tea. Gimme the Lapsong Souchang, not the PG Tips."
"If I have to be bound by the Geneva Convention," said War, booming slightly more loudly, "shouldn't there be something governing him?"
"He's asking what you're not telling us," said Pestilence. He dropped another rasher of bacon, experimentally, and watched, fascinated as another chihuahua leapt from a standing start and caught it neatly in sparklingly sharp teeth. "I normally charge for translation services, by the way."
"If you don't bill me I won't set the chihuahuas on you. Deal?"
"Hah. Deal."
"I let them train with the hellhounds," said War. "They're quick learners."
"The chihuahuas?"
"The hellhounds."
"Where do you get the hellhounds from, sis?"
"Why is he calling me sis?" War's voice drifted from booming to petulant; he sounded like a small boy being told to share his favourite toy with a rarely-seen cousin.
"Short for ISIS," lied Pestilence.
"Oh, hah, I didn't know that had come up on the radar yet. That's not really me, I've outsourced most of that to Mo. I think it's just a fad."
"Mohammed?"
"Maureen. She's from Penticton or Osoyoos, somewhere up where it's too cold to hold for half the year, and too hot to handle for the other half. She's a bit... odd, if you ask me, but she knows how to run a jihad. She says she learned from running Community Services at the Town Hall."
"Nice," said Pestilence. "So how do the dogs work then?"
"Control words," said War. "Say the right ones and they go off like guided missiles."
"Havoc," said Death pleasantly from the door. Behind him, Kevin screamed and tried to crawl under his chair. "Cry 'Havoc' and let slip the dogs of war."
Greg - yeah, I'm looking forward to having another visit to our Dream Kingdom characters.
Oh man, I've missed having all four of these guys in one scene together. They're good paired up, but all four are just on another level. I can only imagine how much fun you have writing these :)
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