How's the not-waking-up-and-going-to-work treating you then?
Bonfire "Just like Savonarola," said Verity. She turned away from the stone balustre that edged the balcony and tried to open the glass-panelled double-doors. They didn't move. "They lock automatically," I said. I wondered if this would be the right place to inject a note of apology, but by the time I'd had that thought it was too late. Verity raised an eyebrow and her eyes unfocused for a moment as she accessed the Cloud, probably seeking out the Hotel's public interface. While she communicated I looked down at the square below again, watching the streams of people bringing items of sin and vanity to the stone-edged fire-pit that now occupied its centre. Three days ago it had been a stand of trees, grown from seeds that were brought here by the first settlers; now they were kindling. There was tinkle, distant given the distance, and I spotted the jagged reflection of the sunlight off broken glass. "They're throwing mirrors on," I said. "They won't burn." "Mirrors are vanity," said Verity as though it was as effort to speak. Her face smoothed out and her voice returned to normal. "The Hotel is apologising and sending someone up. Apparantly it has increased security measures because of the... festivities." "Why can't it just unlock the door?" "It can, but it wants someone to verify we are who we say we are, and not just impertinant cat burglars." She laughed, and for a moment memory overwhelmed me and I was sat in a comfortable leather chair in a room so dimly lit that the fire in the fireplace was casting shadows holding a glass of Flux-whiskey and watching her play the part of raconteur like a professional. Wood-smoke tickled my nose and the back of my throat, and I sneezed. "Bless you." She still looked amused. "Where did you leave the key-card." I gestured; it was on the sideboard, a steel contraption artfully made to look like some kind of old-Earth fibre. If the door weren't in the way Verity could have reached in and picked it up. "So near and yet so far," she said. She looked back down into the square. "Savonarola managed two," she said. "An artistic catastrophe, of course, but his determination to save the world, in his own way, was worth studying. I wonder what would have happened if he'd managed ten, or twenty even?" "Could he have done?" Verity shrugged. Behind her I saw the hotel-room door open and a suited-servitor: black trousers, red jacket, white shirt, bow-tie slid through the air on anti-gravity. It scanned the room, and then us standing on the balcony. "I doubt it," she said. "That kind of fire burns so strongly and so longly in so few; he would have lost support quickly enough. He was probably lucky to have died when he did." The doors to the balcony clicked open. "How many do you think they'll achieve here?" Verity stepped through the doors, pausing to let the servitor retina-scan her. "I'm betting on two as well," she said. "But even this one will be enough to turn a profit."
Greg - well I'm still getting over my cold (this cough refuses to take the hint and go eff itself), so I haven't settled into much of a routine yet. Hopefully nearing full(ish) health soon though.
This is wonderfully done. The dialogue is smooth and natural, the details bring everything to life vividly (the moment of memory in particular) and the tale itself is intriguing. I would be happy to hear more from these two :)
2 comments:
How's the not-waking-up-and-going-to-work treating you then?
Bonfire
"Just like Savonarola," said Verity. She turned away from the stone balustre that edged the balcony and tried to open the glass-panelled double-doors. They didn't move.
"They lock automatically," I said. I wondered if this would be the right place to inject a note of apology, but by the time I'd had that thought it was too late. Verity raised an eyebrow and her eyes unfocused for a moment as she accessed the Cloud, probably seeking out the Hotel's public interface. While she communicated I looked down at the square below again, watching the streams of people bringing items of sin and vanity to the stone-edged fire-pit that now occupied its centre. Three days ago it had been a stand of trees, grown from seeds that were brought here by the first settlers; now they were kindling. There was tinkle, distant given the distance, and I spotted the jagged reflection of the sunlight off broken glass.
"They're throwing mirrors on," I said. "They won't burn."
"Mirrors are vanity," said Verity as though it was as effort to speak. Her face smoothed out and her voice returned to normal. "The Hotel is apologising and sending someone up. Apparantly it has increased security measures because of the... festivities."
"Why can't it just unlock the door?"
"It can, but it wants someone to verify we are who we say we are, and not just impertinant cat burglars." She laughed, and for a moment memory overwhelmed me and I was sat in a comfortable leather chair in a room so dimly lit that the fire in the fireplace was casting shadows holding a glass of Flux-whiskey and watching her play the part of raconteur like a professional. Wood-smoke tickled my nose and the back of my throat, and I sneezed.
"Bless you." She still looked amused. "Where did you leave the key-card."
I gestured; it was on the sideboard, a steel contraption artfully made to look like some kind of old-Earth fibre. If the door weren't in the way Verity could have reached in and picked it up.
"So near and yet so far," she said. She looked back down into the square. "Savonarola managed two," she said. "An artistic catastrophe, of course, but his determination to save the world, in his own way, was worth studying. I wonder what would have happened if he'd managed ten, or twenty even?"
"Could he have done?"
Verity shrugged. Behind her I saw the hotel-room door open and a suited-servitor: black trousers, red jacket, white shirt, bow-tie slid through the air on anti-gravity. It scanned the room, and then us standing on the balcony.
"I doubt it," she said. "That kind of fire burns so strongly and so longly in so few; he would have lost support quickly enough. He was probably lucky to have died when he did."
The doors to the balcony clicked open.
"How many do you think they'll achieve here?"
Verity stepped through the doors, pausing to let the servitor retina-scan her. "I'm betting on two as well," she said. "But even this one will be enough to turn a profit."
Greg - well I'm still getting over my cold (this cough refuses to take the hint and go eff itself), so I haven't settled into much of a routine yet. Hopefully nearing full(ish) health soon though.
This is wonderfully done. The dialogue is smooth and natural, the details bring everything to life vividly (the moment of memory in particular) and the tale itself is intriguing. I would be happy to hear more from these two :)
Post a Comment