I am still fairly puzzled as to where you're getting inspiration for these prompts from, but I suspect you'll have forgotten by the time you reach these comments. Which is a shame.
Standing pat Collins arrived at the front desk to find the Psychic Forensic Examiner stood there already. She had her back to him again but he recognised her stance and her presence immediately. She was talking to the desk sergeant in a low voice while a short queue of three people stood hesitantly and expectantly a little off to one side. One of them was carrying the day’s newspaper under one arm and was fiddling with a pipe he wasn’t allowed to smoke in a public building, and another was clutching a small white dog that kept trying to lick its owner’s hands. “…try rubbing it with olive oil,” said the desk sergeant. She looked up and saw Collins. “Oh good, another queue jumper,” she said. “Make it quick lad, these people are waiting their turn as well you know.” “Um,” said Collins. “Er, well, the Inspectral wants to see the Psychic Forensic Examiner in his office, and I’ve been told to ask for Timothy.” “No can do,” said the desk sergeant promptly. “Uh, I was told not to leave with him.” “You’ll be standing there a good while then, lad. How’s that coming along, dear?” The PFE set something down on the front desk with a click. “I think it’s helped,” she said, raising her voice a little so that Collins could hear her. “The catch seems to be a little looser now.” She turned to face Collins and when he saw her face he felt as though the ground had dropped away beneath him. His chest tightened and his breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he felt as though he’d walked out into late autumn fog wearing just a t-shirt and shorts. Her face was sunken and hollow, yellowed skin stretched so tightly over her skull that it had ripped in places and ivory bone showed through underneath. Bandages wrapped around her throat and part of her jaw and looked fresh and clean. Her nose was gone, just slits in the front of her face, and her lips were narrow and blued. She smiled, and deep in her eye sockets tiny points of green light sparked like far away fireworks exploding in the sky, and her mouth opened enough to reveal black-purple gums and pointed teeth. “I shall be delighted to attend on the Inspectral,” she said. Collins noted in detached bemusement that her chest didn’t move when she spoke, as though she wasn’t breathing. “And perhaps I can be of assistance with Timothy.” “Oh no you don’t,” said the desk sergeant. “Timothy is guarding the cells and that’s standing pat.” “May I see the cell occupancy list?” said the PFE. “Please?” Annoyance worked its way onto the desk sergeants face, her lips pressing together and her eyes narrowing. She frowned, and Collins was sure she was going to refuse. Her fingers clenched reflexively into a fist, and then relaxed. “Damn you,” she said softly. “Though I suppose you already are, in some sense. No fault of yours of course. Fine, you can borrow Timothy. Half an hour, no more, and I want him back. No forgetting and then taking him walkies. He has a job to do here, and it needs to be done. Right. Which of you three is first, and what’s your problem?” “That’d be me,” said the first man in the queue. “I’m Pat Standing.” “This way,” said the PFE, gesturing behind the desk counter. “Timothy will be downstairs.”
Greg - hah! Well... hmm... oh, right! The NHL trade deadline had just passed and the Canucks didn't do too much. They stood pat, in other words, with the lineup they had in place.
I appreciate your double use of the prompt, the second was quite unexpected!
2 comments:
I am still fairly puzzled as to where you're getting inspiration for these prompts from, but I suspect you'll have forgotten by the time you reach these comments. Which is a shame.
Standing pat
Collins arrived at the front desk to find the Psychic Forensic Examiner stood there already. She had her back to him again but he recognised her stance and her presence immediately. She was talking to the desk sergeant in a low voice while a short queue of three people stood hesitantly and expectantly a little off to one side. One of them was carrying the day’s newspaper under one arm and was fiddling with a pipe he wasn’t allowed to smoke in a public building, and another was clutching a small white dog that kept trying to lick its owner’s hands.
“…try rubbing it with olive oil,” said the desk sergeant. She looked up and saw Collins. “Oh good, another queue jumper,” she said. “Make it quick lad, these people are waiting their turn as well you know.”
“Um,” said Collins. “Er, well, the Inspectral wants to see the Psychic Forensic Examiner in his office, and I’ve been told to ask for Timothy.”
“No can do,” said the desk sergeant promptly.
“Uh, I was told not to leave with him.”
“You’ll be standing there a good while then, lad. How’s that coming along, dear?”
The PFE set something down on the front desk with a click. “I think it’s helped,” she said, raising her voice a little so that Collins could hear her. “The catch seems to be a little looser now.” She turned to face Collins and when he saw her face he felt as though the ground had dropped away beneath him. His chest tightened and his breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he felt as though he’d walked out into late autumn fog wearing just a t-shirt and shorts.
Her face was sunken and hollow, yellowed skin stretched so tightly over her skull that it had ripped in places and ivory bone showed through underneath. Bandages wrapped around her throat and part of her jaw and looked fresh and clean. Her nose was gone, just slits in the front of her face, and her lips were narrow and blued. She smiled, and deep in her eye sockets tiny points of green light sparked like far away fireworks exploding in the sky, and her mouth opened enough to reveal black-purple gums and pointed teeth.
“I shall be delighted to attend on the Inspectral,” she said. Collins noted in detached bemusement that her chest didn’t move when she spoke, as though she wasn’t breathing. “And perhaps I can be of assistance with Timothy.”
“Oh no you don’t,” said the desk sergeant. “Timothy is guarding the cells and that’s standing pat.”
“May I see the cell occupancy list?” said the PFE. “Please?”
Annoyance worked its way onto the desk sergeants face, her lips pressing together and her eyes narrowing. She frowned, and Collins was sure she was going to refuse. Her fingers clenched reflexively into a fist, and then relaxed.
“Damn you,” she said softly. “Though I suppose you already are, in some sense. No fault of yours of course. Fine, you can borrow Timothy. Half an hour, no more, and I want him back. No forgetting and then taking him walkies. He has a job to do here, and it needs to be done. Right. Which of you three is first, and what’s your problem?”
“That’d be me,” said the first man in the queue. “I’m Pat Standing.”
“This way,” said the PFE, gesturing behind the desk counter. “Timothy will be downstairs.”
Greg - hah! Well... hmm... oh, right! The NHL trade deadline had just passed and the Canucks didn't do too much. They stood pat, in other words, with the lineup they had in place.
I appreciate your double use of the prompt, the second was quite unexpected!
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