The exercise:
Write about: the big birthday bash.
Had our first non U-pick pickup day this afternoon, with customers coming to collect their pre-ordered raspberries and cherries. I had an extra crate (twenty pounds or so) of cherries on hand for those who might have been enticed into buying more (or trying some if they'd only ordered raspberries) and sold all but three pounds of it.
Not bad at all.
Had a short visit with a very good friend from Vancouver and his girlfriend shortly after lunch. Those sorts of visits are never long enough but it was still great to see him again.
Mine:
"This party is going to be legendary bro!"
"Ugh. Please, no, little brother."
"What's the problemo?"
"That word is so overused these days."
"Which word? Party?"
"No. Just... no. Legendary. It's the new awesome."
"But your bash is going to be legit legendary - I made sure of it!"
"Dare I ask...?"
"I've got a dragon to light your birthday candles and when the celebration is over? Boom. Two unicorns to pop all the balloons. Legendary, big bro. Legendary."
2 comments:
Having the extra crate is a good idea and I see it paid off for you as well! Nice!
I like the infectious enthusiasm in this conversation and the justification for the word legendary, though I'm worried that the dragon may eat the unicorns... the logistics here are going to be tricky. Still, it sounds like a fun party and I'd like to be there!
The big birthday bash
The sun had set behind the Towers of the Emperor three hours ago and now the plaza was lit by the three moons. It wasn't quite daylight, but it was more than enough to prevent sleep, and the triple shadows that everything threw created a chiaroscuro effect that could be quite hypnotic. There was a warm breeze coming in from the fruit-groves, carrying with it hints of lemon, plum and cinnamon. Music drifted in from different sides: there was something fast and technical from a nightclub; something hazy and stringed from an open window behind the libraries, and something modern, atonal and 'poppy' from a chickshaw that seemed to be circling the area.
Juliet was wearing a dress that looked like it was made of ice: quite possibly she'd just stood in the shower and turned the temperature down until the water froze. Icicles chimed musically as she walked across the plaza, and the light of the three moons combined and shattered through the crystal facets so that she was a walking disco-ball. An unlucky waiter dropped his tray of empty drink-glasses as she blinded him briefly; the crash was absorbed into the atonal wails of the pop music so effectively that three groups of people clapped.
"Rayban!" she said, holding her arms out for a hug. Rayban, dressed in local hunting gear, looked blankly at her.
"I'd be impaled if I hugged you while you're wearing that," he said.
"You said that your costume protected you from anything dangerous!" There was more than a hint of petulance in her voice.
Rayban's clothes were essentially a set of thin cords running around his body from his neck to his knees with strips of fabric hanging down from each ring. Some strips connected to others and some hung loose, and each had an intricate design on it.
"Yes," he said. He signalled a waiter. "They can either generate a force-shield that would push you twenty metres back, or they can generate a disintegration wave that... probably wouldn't hurt you but would destroy your dress."
"Well, happy birthday to you then," snarled Juliet. She threw herself down into a seat, and half a dozen icicles snapped. "I've got you a present, if it isn't going to be too much trouble for you to open it."
A waiter appeared, dressed in a tuxedo and blue shirt, and set a tumbler full of effervescent, sparkling liquid in front of her.
"Thank-you," said Rayban.
"Don't thank me!"
"Juliet, I really appre-"
"Don't! Just don't!"
"We would never be a good fit for each other. I didn't realise you had such strong... feelings."
Juliet picked her drink up and downed it. People at nearby tables looked impressed.
"You're a cold fish," she said. "I'm over you. I can't even understand what I saw in you. I must have been infected with brain-worms."
"Juliet-"
"Don't!"
There was a moment of silence and then the drink had its effect and Juliet's head fell heavily to her chest and she slumped sideways on the chair. Rayban sighed, and waved; three heavy-set men walked meaningfully across the plaza.
"Take her, and whatever 'gift' she brought to the holding pens," he said. "The Emperor's big birthday bash is tomorrow and I think the poor demented soul will be thrilled to be able to hunt this... poor, demented soul."
Greg - thanks! I think my favorite part of writing it was having him avoid using the word 'party' after mistaking it as the offending word :D
Love your opening description, it sets the scene beautifully. And that is quite the turn things took at the end there - I wasn't expecting that at all!
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