Early, whistles and script... you've auditioned and obtained a role in the Penticton Christmas pantomime, and the auditions were early this year on account of no-one having time to learn their lines last year?
The script The caves were interesting: they varied in size and while the rock was largely brown, it was sometimes wet and sometimes dry. Here and there veins of other colours ran through it, mostly varieties of quartz. Gold glittered here and there, though War glanced at it once and sniffed dismissively. “Iron pyrites,” he said. “Fool’s gold.” “Seems appropriate somehow,” said Famine. They headed downwards whenever they had a choice of direction, and Scuffles trailed a hand along the wall closest to him whenever he had the chance. War glared at him once, and Scuffles smiled back. “It’s easier to feel where they’re fighting,” he said. “It’s like the rock amplifies it.” Finally the rock changed substantially from brown to green; cubic crystals slabbing the walls and roof, and a swirling Mandelbrot like pattern sweeping over the floor like a frozen tide. “Malachite,” said Famine. “I think we’re nearly there.” “Did the people trying to wake the Infanta come this way?” asked Pestilence. He’d been quiet for most of the walk, keeping an eye on Hilda who was weeing on anything that looked like it might need owning. He was secretly impressed with how much her bladder seemed to store. “It’s been a nice walk and everything but… humans get impatient. Quickly.” “No,” said Famine. “There’s another entrance, round the front I suppose, that’s a bit grander and has all the artwork – statues, flowery writing in arcane script, candles as fat as my waist, places for sacrifice. This is… let’s say we’re the tradesmen. Better off not seen, for all we’re necessary. What?” War gestured. “As fat as your waist?” Scuffles sniggered. “The tradesmen’s entrance,” he said. “Mercy’s tradesmen’s entrance.” “Thank-you,” said Pestilence. “Just the image I wanted before we have to go and deal with people trying to reincarnate the Infanta. Where do we go now?” Famine looked around, but Scuffles lifted an arm and pointed at what looked like a solid rock wall where the malachite darkened to black. “There,” he said. “I can almost see it: there’s a big cave next to us, and we’re near the top. It goes down and has been carved into a cylinder. There are six or seven people down there and they’re the ones who are arguing.” “Nice,” said War. “So do we have to walk through the walls?” Pestilence had walked over, and then disappeared. His head popped back out of nowhere. “No,” he said. “There’s a passage here. Plus a guard. He’s… deliquescing a bit, try not to kick him. He startled me and I gave him galloping Ebola before I thought about it.”
This is one of the best entries yet, I'd say. The whole thing is great, and that ending... 'He startled me and I gave him galloping Ebola before I thought about it'.... good lord. I laughed out loud at that.
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Early, whistles and script... you've auditioned and obtained a role in the Penticton Christmas pantomime, and the auditions were early this year on account of no-one having time to learn their lines last year?
The script
The caves were interesting: they varied in size and while the rock was largely brown, it was sometimes wet and sometimes dry. Here and there veins of other colours ran through it, mostly varieties of quartz. Gold glittered here and there, though War glanced at it once and sniffed dismissively.
“Iron pyrites,” he said. “Fool’s gold.”
“Seems appropriate somehow,” said Famine.
They headed downwards whenever they had a choice of direction, and Scuffles trailed a hand along the wall closest to him whenever he had the chance. War glared at him once, and Scuffles smiled back. “It’s easier to feel where they’re fighting,” he said. “It’s like the rock amplifies it.”
Finally the rock changed substantially from brown to green; cubic crystals slabbing the walls and roof, and a swirling Mandelbrot like pattern sweeping over the floor like a frozen tide.
“Malachite,” said Famine. “I think we’re nearly there.”
“Did the people trying to wake the Infanta come this way?” asked Pestilence. He’d been quiet for most of the walk, keeping an eye on Hilda who was weeing on anything that looked like it might need owning. He was secretly impressed with how much her bladder seemed to store. “It’s been a nice walk and everything but… humans get impatient. Quickly.”
“No,” said Famine. “There’s another entrance, round the front I suppose, that’s a bit grander and has all the artwork – statues, flowery writing in arcane script, candles as fat as my waist, places for sacrifice. This is… let’s say we’re the tradesmen. Better off not seen, for all we’re necessary. What?”
War gestured. “As fat as your waist?”
Scuffles sniggered. “The tradesmen’s entrance,” he said. “Mercy’s tradesmen’s entrance.”
“Thank-you,” said Pestilence. “Just the image I wanted before we have to go and deal with people trying to reincarnate the Infanta. Where do we go now?”
Famine looked around, but Scuffles lifted an arm and pointed at what looked like a solid rock wall where the malachite darkened to black. “There,” he said. “I can almost see it: there’s a big cave next to us, and we’re near the top. It goes down and has been carved into a cylinder. There are six or seven people down there and they’re the ones who are arguing.”
“Nice,” said War. “So do we have to walk through the walls?”
Pestilence had walked over, and then disappeared. His head popped back out of nowhere.
“No,” he said. “There’s a passage here. Plus a guard. He’s… deliquescing a bit, try not to kick him. He startled me and I gave him galloping Ebola before I thought about it.”
Greg - ... sure.
This is one of the best entries yet, I'd say. The whole thing is great, and that ending... 'He startled me and I gave him galloping Ebola before I thought about it'.... good lord. I laughed out loud at that.
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