I don't think I'd have guessed at you coming up with a prompt like this! Is this anything to do with your planned entry in the East Wallingford Gazette? And well done on catching up with all the other comments so far!
The careful consultant Whatever the bubbling in the water was, it stopped after about two hours. The shadows below the surface stayed there and never broke through into the air, and as the day faded away and the stars came out, glinting icily in the clear dark night, the shadows became imperceptible. That's not the same as going away though and when I finally left the deck, shivering and feeling like I'd never get to sleep, the idea that they were still down there, circling like sharks, wouldn't leave me.
The ship was a luxury cruise liner at some point in its history, but of course it's not luxury now. There is rust everywhere, both inside and out, and water condenses in the narrow corridors and runs down white-painted rust-stained walls. Not all the cabins are filled; however many prisoners they need for bait, it didn't fill the ship before we had our purge: sorting out and settling down. I walked past several empty ones in my corridor before reaching mine. I'm not the only person on this corridor as I'm pretty sure that would just be suicide. No-one here has a particular grudge with me, and I've stabbed a man (and woman) or two to establish that I'm not to be messed with, but isolating yourself -- that's asking for trouble and there's plenty of trouble on this ship.
I walked past my cabin, knowing that I'd sit on the narrow, hard bed with its barely adequate blanket and unwashed sheets that smell of sweat and despair and just rock in silence, thinking about the shadows. Beyond me there's another empty cabin, this one splashed with red across the white; the original occupant didn't go down without a fight. Then there are four more that are occupied by members of the Shuffleboard tribe. The tribes have named themselves after the areas they've claimed. Shuffleboard isn't a particularly big or strong tribe, but they're also less violent than, say, the Entertainment tribe who've claimed pretty much the whole of Deck Three. After that there are stairs; ones you're supposed to go up, and ones that were for the crew and were chained off once upon a time. The chain's gone, it was used for hanging. The Shuffleboarders had wanted to drag people behind the ship with it, but since the ship doesn't move much they needed a new plan. I head downstairs. The decks for the crew are narrower, dirtier, and overall not very interesting. They're for packing people in to look after other people who've paid to be there after all. And I keep going, and I keep going -- it's a big ship. Until I find myself stood in front of the large metal door that leads into the engine room, with it's STRICTLY NO ADMITTANCE sign on it, and Chuckles sat in front of it.
Chuckles was his nickname, obviously enough, though it's the only name anyone used for him. When asked what his real name was he made slow, serious eye-contact and informed you that he was the careful consultant, and that careful was something we all should be. Very, very careful. In case he felt the need to consult.
2 comments:
I don't think I'd have guessed at you coming up with a prompt like this! Is this anything to do with your planned entry in the East Wallingford Gazette? And well done on catching up with all the other comments so far!
The careful consultant
Whatever the bubbling in the water was, it stopped after about two hours. The shadows below the surface stayed there and never broke through into the air, and as the day faded away and the stars came out, glinting icily in the clear dark night, the shadows became imperceptible. That's not the same as going away though and when I finally left the deck, shivering and feeling like I'd never get to sleep, the idea that they were still down there, circling like sharks, wouldn't leave me.
The ship was a luxury cruise liner at some point in its history, but of course it's not luxury now. There is rust everywhere, both inside and out, and water condenses in the narrow corridors and runs down white-painted rust-stained walls. Not all the cabins are filled; however many prisoners they need for bait, it didn't fill the ship before we had our purge: sorting out and settling down. I walked past several empty ones in my corridor before reaching mine. I'm not the only person on this corridor as I'm pretty sure that would just be suicide. No-one here has a particular grudge with me, and I've stabbed a man (and woman) or two to establish that I'm not to be messed with, but isolating yourself -- that's asking for trouble and there's plenty of trouble on this ship.
I walked past my cabin, knowing that I'd sit on the narrow, hard bed with its barely adequate blanket and unwashed sheets that smell of sweat and despair and just rock in silence, thinking about the shadows. Beyond me there's another empty cabin, this one splashed with red across the white; the original occupant didn't go down without a fight. Then there are four more that are occupied by members of the Shuffleboard tribe. The tribes have named themselves after the areas they've claimed. Shuffleboard isn't a particularly big or strong tribe, but they're also less violent than, say, the Entertainment tribe who've claimed pretty much the whole of Deck Three. After that there are stairs; ones you're supposed to go up, and ones that were for the crew and were chained off once upon a time. The chain's gone, it was used for hanging. The Shuffleboarders had wanted to drag people behind the ship with it, but since the ship doesn't move much they needed a new plan. I head downstairs. The decks for the crew are narrower, dirtier, and overall not very interesting. They're for packing people in to look after other people who've paid to be there after all. And I keep going, and I keep going -- it's a big ship. Until I find myself stood in front of the large metal door that leads into the engine room, with it's STRICTLY NO ADMITTANCE sign on it, and Chuckles sat in front of it.
Chuckles was his nickname, obviously enough, though it's the only name anyone used for him. When asked what his real name was he made slow, serious eye-contact and informed you that he was the careful consultant, and that careful was something we all should be. Very, very careful. In case he felt the need to consult.
Greg - not sure where this one come from actually. And no, no ideas have arrived for the Gazette as yet. Will have to figure that out soon.
Ugh, I love this setting so much. It's so... cinematic. Really enjoying the build and the details and... yeah, just keep going with this. Please.
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