Your prompts are definitely random at the moment -- are they keywords that your handler is using to tell you where to go next? And you're responding with success/fail messages?
Falsetto "That's German!" squeaked Mary, her voice lifting practically to the rafters as she pointed a shaking finger at SITZKRIEG. The Big Red Book was duly brought around again and sitzkrieg affirmed as being in there, having been adopted into English from German. There was an icy silence broken only as Penelope laid down FALSE on the S of sitzkrieg, each tile striking the board like a gunshot. "OTT," murmered Theresa, setting down three tiles, "which gives FALSETTO, of course."
Pipsqueak was what they called him. It was a very interesting sort of nickname seeing as how the man before me was built like a mountain, with thick hairy arms crossed over a chest barely contained in his dress blues. I was beginning to wonder if the oxymoronic name was a jest created by the other guys in the bar, something to keep the smiles on their faces while they were away at war, until the man opened his mouth. “May I buy you a drink?” he said in the voice of a little boy, his nickname suddenly making all the sense in the world.
3 comments:
Your prompts are definitely random at the moment -- are they keywords that your handler is using to tell you where to go next? And you're responding with success/fail messages?
Falsetto
"That's German!" squeaked Mary, her voice lifting practically to the rafters as she pointed a shaking finger at SITZKRIEG. The Big Red Book was duly brought around again and sitzkrieg affirmed as being in there, having been adopted into English from German. There was an icy silence broken only as Penelope laid down FALSE on the S of sitzkrieg, each tile striking the board like a gunshot.
"OTT," murmered Theresa, setting down three tiles, "which gives FALSETTO, of course."
Pipsqueak was what they called him. It was a very interesting sort of nickname seeing as how the man before me was built like a mountain, with thick hairy arms crossed over a chest barely contained in his dress blues. I was beginning to wonder if the oxymoronic name was a jest created by the other guys in the bar, something to keep the smiles on their faces while they were away at war, until the man opened his mouth.
“May I buy you a drink?” he said in the voice of a little boy, his nickname suddenly making all the sense in the world.
Greg - I do manage some true randomness, now and then :)
Hah. Still so good. Love the gunshot tiles.
Ivy - hahaha, nicely done. Also: I would think it wise to accept his offer.
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