Sleepless in Battersea
Nov. 16th, 2004 01:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
davywavyLying awake last night, feeling a trifle under the weather (thankfully my boss gave me the morning off to recuperate) and listening to the slow tick tock tick tock of my life seconds numbering I got to talking to my brain. In between the usual background "Wom Wom Wom" noise which it makes whilst pulsating, my brain had some interesting and true things to say.
"David", said my brain (that was a relief. If it had used a different name, I'd have been nonplussed to say the least). "You are a lazy slacker. You haven't written anything in simply ages. Endless Aeons have wheeled and turned and you haven't set finger to keyboard. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Well, you know how it is when your brain gets uppity. You can prevaricate and hide, but ultimately the Pulseotron 2000 (which is what it said on the box my brain came in) will have its way.
What I need is inspiration. A muse would be nice - some gamine, elfin female with a coquettish half-glance like what tortured artists always seem to score with in books - but failing that, a bit of inspiration will go down dandy.
So, someone - inspire me. Got any good ideas? What can I write?
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davedevil set the challenge to write up members of the X-men in a Noir-ish setting. Here's my effort:
The toothless man spat a gobbet of something viscous into his drink and gave me a half leer, half grin. "Adds a bit of bite", he said before taking a swallow. I leaned forward. It took an act of will to invade this mans personal space, but I could feel I was getting close - I wanted him to think I was his friend.
"It was the Nazis that got him first, they say. He got outta them camps when the US Marines liberated them, but it did something to him inside. The things he saw and had to do to survive, people said it put iron into his soul. After that, they said, he jus' didn't care about none but himself and his kin. Always thought that they'd be coming to get him again, 'cos he was diff'rent. Jew." The man spat, but there was no malice in it. It was a habit, ingrained through long use, meaning nothing any more.
"He ran this part of town for years. Tried to make it so as it was safe for him and his. O' course - you do something like that, then high-ups are gonna take notice, aren't they? So they came and got him, and all the iron in his soul couldn't stand up to all o' them, and they took him down in the end, fightin' as he went.
"Old man now, they say. Sits up in his attic, playing chess with some old friend, or enemy. Guess it doesn't matter which when yer that old."
I leaned forward. This was what I wanted to hear. An address? Directions?
They weren't hard to come by, not with the amount of hard stuff this guy had been pouring down his neck on my dollar all night. I stood.
"Thanks," I said. "I'll be getting along."
The man realised then, perhaps, what he'd said. He looked worried, concerned, scared. "Say...you ain't gonna...do nothin' to the old guy, are ya? You ain't armed?"
I pulled aside my coat to show him. No gun, no knives, and he relaxed. I gave him a grin and took a pull on my cigar. A guy like me doesn't need to take a knife to a gunfight.
"David", said my brain (that was a relief. If it had used a different name, I'd have been nonplussed to say the least). "You are a lazy slacker. You haven't written anything in simply ages. Endless Aeons have wheeled and turned and you haven't set finger to keyboard. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Well, you know how it is when your brain gets uppity. You can prevaricate and hide, but ultimately the Pulseotron 2000 (which is what it said on the box my brain came in) will have its way.
What I need is inspiration. A muse would be nice - some gamine, elfin female with a coquettish half-glance like what tortured artists always seem to score with in books - but failing that, a bit of inspiration will go down dandy.
So, someone - inspire me. Got any good ideas? What can I write?
davedevil set the challenge to write up members of the X-men in a Noir-ish setting. Here's my effort:The toothless man spat a gobbet of something viscous into his drink and gave me a half leer, half grin. "Adds a bit of bite", he said before taking a swallow. I leaned forward. It took an act of will to invade this mans personal space, but I could feel I was getting close - I wanted him to think I was his friend.
"It was the Nazis that got him first, they say. He got outta them camps when the US Marines liberated them, but it did something to him inside. The things he saw and had to do to survive, people said it put iron into his soul. After that, they said, he jus' didn't care about none but himself and his kin. Always thought that they'd be coming to get him again, 'cos he was diff'rent. Jew." The man spat, but there was no malice in it. It was a habit, ingrained through long use, meaning nothing any more.
"He ran this part of town for years. Tried to make it so as it was safe for him and his. O' course - you do something like that, then high-ups are gonna take notice, aren't they? So they came and got him, and all the iron in his soul couldn't stand up to all o' them, and they took him down in the end, fightin' as he went.
"Old man now, they say. Sits up in his attic, playing chess with some old friend, or enemy. Guess it doesn't matter which when yer that old."
I leaned forward. This was what I wanted to hear. An address? Directions?
They weren't hard to come by, not with the amount of hard stuff this guy had been pouring down his neck on my dollar all night. I stood.
"Thanks," I said. "I'll be getting along."
The man realised then, perhaps, what he'd said. He looked worried, concerned, scared. "Say...you ain't gonna...do nothin' to the old guy, are ya? You ain't armed?"
I pulled aside my coat to show him. No gun, no knives, and he relaxed. I gave him a grin and took a pull on my cigar. A guy like me doesn't need to take a knife to a gunfight.
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 05:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 05:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 05:50 am (UTC)no?
no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 06:18 am (UTC)You could always steal an idea from Verlaine.
Date: 2004-11-16 06:00 am (UTC)A defrocked priest and a maverick hairstylist
Date: 2004-11-16 06:00 am (UTC)Re: A defrocked priest and a maverick hairstylist
Date: 2004-11-16 06:05 am (UTC)"I'm sorry, dollface, but I don't do the frock thing any more. Now let's get them perps!"
Re: A defrocked priest and a maverick hairstylist
Date: 2004-11-16 06:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 06:08 am (UTC)"The Tips Terror," to take an example completely at random, is ready and eager for a modern day makeover.
Hilary
no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 06:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 06:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 06:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 06:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 06:29 am (UTC)When are you *ahem* free?
no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 06:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 06:47 am (UTC)Alternatively, just drop me an email on the hotmail account in my user info.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 06:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 06:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 07:09 am (UTC):P
no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 07:08 am (UTC)hmm. may need to find a new film to obsess over...
no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 07:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 07:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 07:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 11:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-17 01:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-17 01:43 am (UTC)Nah, didn't do anything for me.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-17 01:43 am (UTC)