I don't actually keep track of all the characters I've created, so there are probably a few hidden back in the earlier years of your blog who are still waiting to be remembered and given a moment in the limelight again :) I think there's a shortlist of about 12 (!) that I used enough that they come to mind easily, and there's a few more, like Misses Hyde and Sikh, that only come to mind when I think hard about it. For today, two of those infrequent visitors though :)
The Riot There was an acrid smoky smell to the air as though rubber were burning somewhere nearby and a blue haze hung around, heavy enough to reduce vision and distort what you could still see anyway. The air tasted unpleasant; a mixture of tin and other metals mixed in. The Partners in Rhyme walked slowly through the haze, stepping over piles of rubbish and skirting around overturned cars. "Is this how we get to Carnegie Hall?" asked Cecil, his low, mournful voice somehow perfectly pitched for the scene around them. "I'd pictured dead bodies, actually," said Katto, kicking aside a length of metal that looked as though it had been part of a car windscreen. "But I think the usual answer is Practice, practice, practice." They paused at an intersection looking this way and that. The buildings were all boarded up at the ground level with plain beige boards nailed erratically around the edges as though it had been done in a hurry, so they looked higher up at the first and second floors, trying to identify where they were. Since almost no-one ever bothered to look up that much the upper floors were a bland sameness of concrete-and-steel architecture and not much help. "Left, I think," said Katto. She kicked a pile of dirty clothes and it moaned and tried to sit up. She frowned in surprise, then reached down and deftly checked for pockets. A moment later and a scuffed wallet made its way into her pocket, and they moved on. "What are we performing tonight?" asked Cecil. He moved gingerly through the trash, his bulk making him more aware of the fragility of the aftermath. "I think we should rethink--" "No," said Katto. "We promised the audience the premier of The Riot and we're going to deliver on it." "They'll think we were involved with this." Cecil's hand waved eloquently about him, taking in the destruction and the sadness. He coughed. "The police might," said Katto, "but then they think we're involved with every crime in the city, which is a bit much. They might at least limit themselves to the crimes that happen in our vicinity." "Ah, but what is a crime?" said Cecil, a note of hope in his voice. "If you're not caught, is it still a crime?" "Of course not," said Katto. "If we murdered someone--" "--else--" "and no-one ever found the body then even we couldn't prove we'd committed a crime." Her shoes crunched over broken glass and, for a brief moment, the acridity of the air and the smoke was replaced by the smell of a cooling falafel and fresh tomatoes. "We're premiering The Riot, and we'll let the critics comment on the appropriateness of it all, and I'm sure you'll feel better about when we're richer again."
Greg - I'll occasionally come across something I've written on the blog and think 'oh yeah, that/these guy(s)/gal(s)! I'd quite forgotten about them. I think I'd wanted to write more with them and... never did.'
So that's my organization system, in a nutshell. It's no wonder I never get anywhere with anything.
Oddly enough, my mind went immediately to these two after reading your preamble. I like this scene - it captures them in a slightly different light than how we usually find them.
2 comments:
I don't actually keep track of all the characters I've created, so there are probably a few hidden back in the earlier years of your blog who are still waiting to be remembered and given a moment in the limelight again :) I think there's a shortlist of about 12 (!) that I used enough that they come to mind easily, and there's a few more, like Misses Hyde and Sikh, that only come to mind when I think hard about it.
For today, two of those infrequent visitors though :)
The Riot
There was an acrid smoky smell to the air as though rubber were burning somewhere nearby and a blue haze hung around, heavy enough to reduce vision and distort what you could still see anyway. The air tasted unpleasant; a mixture of tin and other metals mixed in. The Partners in Rhyme walked slowly through the haze, stepping over piles of rubbish and skirting around overturned cars.
"Is this how we get to Carnegie Hall?" asked Cecil, his low, mournful voice somehow perfectly pitched for the scene around them.
"I'd pictured dead bodies, actually," said Katto, kicking aside a length of metal that looked as though it had been part of a car windscreen. "But I think the usual answer is Practice, practice, practice."
They paused at an intersection looking this way and that. The buildings were all boarded up at the ground level with plain beige boards nailed erratically around the edges as though it had been done in a hurry, so they looked higher up at the first and second floors, trying to identify where they were. Since almost no-one ever bothered to look up that much the upper floors were a bland sameness of concrete-and-steel architecture and not much help.
"Left, I think," said Katto. She kicked a pile of dirty clothes and it moaned and tried to sit up. She frowned in surprise, then reached down and deftly checked for pockets. A moment later and a scuffed wallet made its way into her pocket, and they moved on.
"What are we performing tonight?" asked Cecil. He moved gingerly through the trash, his bulk making him more aware of the fragility of the aftermath. "I think we should rethink--"
"No," said Katto. "We promised the audience the premier of The Riot and we're going to deliver on it."
"They'll think we were involved with this." Cecil's hand waved eloquently about him, taking in the destruction and the sadness. He coughed.
"The police might," said Katto, "but then they think we're involved with every crime in the city, which is a bit much. They might at least limit themselves to the crimes that happen in our vicinity."
"Ah, but what is a crime?" said Cecil, a note of hope in his voice. "If you're not caught, is it still a crime?"
"Of course not," said Katto. "If we murdered someone--"
"--else--"
"and no-one ever found the body then even we couldn't prove we'd committed a crime." Her shoes crunched over broken glass and, for a brief moment, the acridity of the air and the smoke was replaced by the smell of a cooling falafel and fresh tomatoes. "We're premiering The Riot, and we'll let the critics comment on the appropriateness of it all, and I'm sure you'll feel better about when we're richer again."
Greg - I'll occasionally come across something I've written on the blog and think 'oh yeah, that/these guy(s)/gal(s)! I'd quite forgotten about them. I think I'd wanted to write more with them and... never did.'
So that's my organization system, in a nutshell. It's no wonder I never get anywhere with anything.
Oddly enough, my mind went immediately to these two after reading your preamble. I like this scene - it captures them in a slightly different light than how we usually find them.
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