Hmm, oddly that would have been a useful prompt yesterday! And I have no especial prompt needs for the four-line poetry days either; it's quite fun seeing what you come up with!
Interruptions Fabian managed to spend nearly three hours reading The Heart, a study of the Umber Hulk which was enough to impress him significantly that the Maestro, no matter how young or old he may have been at the time, had managed to capture and kill one. Umber Hulks seemed like fearsome creatures though Fabian did allow to himself that the authors may have made them seem a little more powerful than they actually were to add to the excitement of the story. He set the book aside a little reluctantly as the light outside faded to greyness and he could no longer clearly distinguish the words on the page and decided that rather than turning the lights on and settling in for an evening in the office he would go home and continue reading in a more comfortable chair.
Outside the Museum he turned his collar up and shivered; the weather was autumnal and the leaves on the trees that dotted the broad lawns in front of the main building were already turning to yellow and orange. None had shed yet though as the wind shook the branches he felt that they were getting close. The groundskeepers would soon be piling leaves and burning them behind the Museum, turning them into a soft black ash that would be mixed in with compost and used to improve the health of the soil. A few spots of rain struck his face, making him flinch, and he looked up without thinking and got hit in the eyes with the next drops. Wiping his eyes ruefully he pulled out his personal tablet and hauled up a taxi service. Even as he looked at the estimated prices they were starting to rise, no doubt anticipating many people like him deciding that a taxi was more convenient than walking in the rain, so he hurried through the selections until the app beeped at him to tell him a car was approaching.
The taxi smelled like wet dog inside but the rain was starting to fall heavily enough that Fabian didn't want to open the window, so he decided he could breath through his mouth for the ride instead. The taxi driver, a heavy-set woman with extra arms clearly bound tightly beneath her dark-grey hoodie, grunted when he got in and seemed disinclined to talk and Fabian was happy with that. So he sat back in the back-seat and watched the streets pass by with the number of pedestrians steadily reducing until their were none and there was just the rain washing over the facades of the town-houses and brightly-lit shops.
They passed away as the taxi turned towards the river and the Metton Bridge and then the taxi slowed and Fabian, puzzled that a broad road with three lanes either side should have any traffic difficulties, peered around the head-rest of the seat in front of him to see what the interruption was. Traffic had halted at a makeshift barrier; there were two cars in front of the taxi before the barrier, which was a white wooden thing with a couple of portable flashing lights on them, and after the barrier were two Civil Militia cars turned sideways to block the road. The cars were painted brown and black chequerboard, a hangover from the days before the Bright Dawn, and a searchlight had been mounted on each of them, pointing at a workshop or warehouse on the water-side of the road. The taxi-driver fiddled with her tablet but Fabian couldn't see the screen clearly so he contented himself with watching. The Civil Militia -- all tall, broad, aggressive looking people -- were split into two groups: one standing by the cars and holding weapons, and the other standing in front of the building with a battering ram on the ground between them. A loudspeaker crackled with static and then the words "Come out! Come out with all your arms in the air!" burst out. "Rust Elves," said the taxi-driver, her voice barely audible over the drumming of rain on the car roof. "Seems like there's a nest of them." There was a note of disgust in her voice and Fabian found himself looking at the poorly concealed extra arms she had -- a sure sign of Elven heritage and a reason for discrimination across much of the Empire still -- wondering. Most likely, he thought, she was descended from some other subspecies of Elves and there were clade distinctions they made, but... it still felt odd to him that she should lack sympathy. The Civil Militia picked up the battering ram and organised themselves swiftly, then charged the door. It took three runs but the door splintered on the second and broke open, crashing off its hinges and flying inside, on the third. A cloud of something greenish-gray bubbled out of the door, lifting up into the air briefly before the rain washed it back down to the ground and it disappeared, either swamped or dissolved. "That'll interrupt their little plots," said the taxi-driver. Fabian thought she sounded pleased. "Vermin, all of them. The Emperor ought to order a purge." The Civil Militia set the battering ram down outside, and within minutes were throwing six-armed child-sized Rust Elves out of the door, and to Fabian's horror, out of the windows of the upper storey as well. The taxi-driver chuckled wheezily as they hit the ground and picked themselves up, but the other Civil Militia were already there, rounding them up and handcuffing them. They were walked, or dragged away to somewhere obscured by the rain, and then the CM cars moved back, the barrier was pulled to the side, and the taxi starting driving on again towards the Metton Bridge.
Greg - fair point. I suppose I was predicting interruptions to happen while Fabian was getting coffee?
And okay, I shall see what prompts arise for our remaining Saturdays of 2021.
A lot of interesting things happening in this one. The stuff going on in the background to the main tale is equally as interesting as the main thread, which is absolutely a credit to your writing. I could use a whole other story just focusing on what's going on with the elves!
3 comments:
Hmm, oddly that would have been a useful prompt yesterday! And I have no especial prompt needs for the four-line poetry days either; it's quite fun seeing what you come up with!
Interruptions
Fabian managed to spend nearly three hours reading The Heart, a study of the Umber Hulk which was enough to impress him significantly that the Maestro, no matter how young or old he may have been at the time, had managed to capture and kill one. Umber Hulks seemed like fearsome creatures though Fabian did allow to himself that the authors may have made them seem a little more powerful than they actually were to add to the excitement of the story. He set the book aside a little reluctantly as the light outside faded to greyness and he could no longer clearly distinguish the words on the page and decided that rather than turning the lights on and settling in for an evening in the office he would go home and continue reading in a more comfortable chair.
Outside the Museum he turned his collar up and shivered; the weather was autumnal and the leaves on the trees that dotted the broad lawns in front of the main building were already turning to yellow and orange. None had shed yet though as the wind shook the branches he felt that they were getting close. The groundskeepers would soon be piling leaves and burning them behind the Museum, turning them into a soft black ash that would be mixed in with compost and used to improve the health of the soil. A few spots of rain struck his face, making him flinch, and he looked up without thinking and got hit in the eyes with the next drops. Wiping his eyes ruefully he pulled out his personal tablet and hauled up a taxi service. Even as he looked at the estimated prices they were starting to rise, no doubt anticipating many people like him deciding that a taxi was more convenient than walking in the rain, so he hurried through the selections until the app beeped at him to tell him a car was approaching.
The taxi smelled like wet dog inside but the rain was starting to fall heavily enough that Fabian didn't want to open the window, so he decided he could breath through his mouth for the ride instead. The taxi driver, a heavy-set woman with extra arms clearly bound tightly beneath her dark-grey hoodie, grunted when he got in and seemed disinclined to talk and Fabian was happy with that. So he sat back in the back-seat and watched the streets pass by with the number of pedestrians steadily reducing until their were none and there was just the rain washing over the facades of the town-houses and brightly-lit shops.
They passed away as the taxi turned towards the river and the Metton Bridge and then the taxi slowed and Fabian, puzzled that a broad road with three lanes either side should have any traffic difficulties, peered around the head-rest of the seat in front of him to see what the interruption was.
Traffic had halted at a makeshift barrier; there were two cars in front of the taxi before the barrier, which was a white wooden thing with a couple of portable flashing lights on them, and after the barrier were two Civil Militia cars turned sideways to block the road. The cars were painted brown and black chequerboard, a hangover from the days before the Bright Dawn, and a searchlight had been mounted on each of them, pointing at a workshop or warehouse on the water-side of the road. The taxi-driver fiddled with her tablet but Fabian couldn't see the screen clearly so he contented himself with watching. The Civil Militia -- all tall, broad, aggressive looking people -- were split into two groups: one standing by the cars and holding weapons, and the other standing in front of the building with a battering ram on the ground between them. A loudspeaker crackled with static and then the words "Come out! Come out with all your arms in the air!" burst out.
"Rust Elves," said the taxi-driver, her voice barely audible over the drumming of rain on the car roof. "Seems like there's a nest of them."
There was a note of disgust in her voice and Fabian found himself looking at the poorly concealed extra arms she had -- a sure sign of Elven heritage and a reason for discrimination across much of the Empire still -- wondering. Most likely, he thought, she was descended from some other subspecies of Elves and there were clade distinctions they made, but... it still felt odd to him that she should lack sympathy.
The Civil Militia picked up the battering ram and organised themselves swiftly, then charged the door. It took three runs but the door splintered on the second and broke open, crashing off its hinges and flying inside, on the third. A cloud of something greenish-gray bubbled out of the door, lifting up into the air briefly before the rain washed it back down to the ground and it disappeared, either swamped or dissolved.
"That'll interrupt their little plots," said the taxi-driver. Fabian thought she sounded pleased. "Vermin, all of them. The Emperor ought to order a purge."
The Civil Militia set the battering ram down outside, and within minutes were throwing six-armed child-sized Rust Elves out of the door, and to Fabian's horror, out of the windows of the upper storey as well. The taxi-driver chuckled wheezily as they hit the ground and picked themselves up, but the other Civil Militia were already there, rounding them up and handcuffing them. They were walked, or dragged away to somewhere obscured by the rain, and then the CM cars moved back, the barrier was pulled to the side, and the taxi starting driving on again towards the Metton Bridge.
Greg - fair point. I suppose I was predicting interruptions to happen while Fabian was getting coffee?
And okay, I shall see what prompts arise for our remaining Saturdays of 2021.
A lot of interesting things happening in this one. The stuff going on in the background to the main tale is equally as interesting as the main thread, which is absolutely a credit to your writing. I could use a whole other story just focusing on what's going on with the elves!
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