Show you story telling skills.

[quozaxx]

I would like to see some of the great story telling skills out there.

 

This is how I'd like to set it up: I will give a basic "scene". A scene without mood, atmosphere, or detailed description. Your challenge is to turn that scene into a work of art.

 

I'm hoping this thread will enlightned us (yes I'm talking about myself) who aren't the most descriptive of people. I would appreciate it if each person re-writing the scene to only post one re-write. That would give more people a chance to shine.

 

Also, I would appreciate it if the number of words were less than 200 (aproximately, and no, I'm not counting the words). This will stretch your creativity to the max.

 

Of course, comments on those re-writes are encouraged. If this turns into a popular post, I will issue different "scenes" every couple of weeks.

 

Here is the first "scene":

 

 

 

Your hero (or well-known CU hero) follows a well-known supervillain into a local bar.

 

 

OK, Places everyone, Lights, Camera, Action.

[Squall]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

The Blue Wisp was a dimly-lit slice of Millenium City, advertised only by a crackling blue neon sign with an arrow pointing towards a basement entrance. The interior was all bare brick and worn wood, cigarette smoke pushed around by lazy fans, the clink of ice in glasses, the low murmer of appreciative listeners. The breath of the bar was visible in the neon-lit smoke, and the pulse of the place came from the jazz and blues churning from it's heart, the stage.

 

A concussive blast tore the glass from the window panes, sending a storm of shards across the room amidst a roar like a dragon and the half-pathetic wail of the bar's security system a split-second later. A woman screamed somewhere in the back, a saxaphone let out a squeal like a bagpipe, and someone cursed as more than two hundred pounds of green-clad supervillain flew headfirst through the window.

 

Outside, the night sky lit up like the Fourth of July. Cars were overturned, concrete cratered, lamp posts swung like clubs. Champions did battle. Inside, a broad-shouldered asian man in green scale armor rolled with the impact of his rough landing and sprung lightly to his feet. The crowd surged, eyes wide and hearts pounding, and ran for the Blue Wisp's fire exit.

 

One green limb snaked out almost too quick for the panicked civilians to see, and one pretty young woman was plucked from the herd and held by the throat in front of the assassin.

 

"Drop the blades," he said in heavily accented English, speaking -- as far as the bartender and the few other stunned patrons who hadn't run off yet -- to no one in particular. Cymbals crashed as the drum set was overturned while the last of the band scurried away. "Drop them, Nighthawk! Or I snap her neck."

 

A laser screamed from the air outside and a long shadow was cast on the villain and his hostage. A shadow with a hooked beak for a hood and a shadowy cape with edges scultped like wingtips. A note rang out, the almost-musical metallic sound of throwing knives clattering to the floor.

 

"Let her go, Dragon" the dark figure crouched in a windowsill said from between gritted teeth. "This is a no-win for you."

["V"]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

On reflection, Jack-a-Dandy decided, he'd quite miss Drang, despite the fact that the teutonic buffoon had been a thorn in his side for almost a decade now.

 

He'd spotted Drang at once, of course, in his civilian identity tall, muscled and magnificent, strolling into a cocktail bar shortly after midnight. Drang was in the company of a lithe creature in a slashed-to-ribbons cocktail dress composed of about enough material to mop ones brow (assuming one was not sweating too much).

 

Jack strolled in after him, winking at the bouncer on the door and passing by unchallenged. Drang had already taken a seat in a mirrored booth, sprawled casually with the woman leaning against him, looking adoringly past the blond crewcut and seeing his bank account rippling. Jack narrowed his eyes just a little and made mental contact.

 

The woman stood, chuckled loudly and walked away without explanation, humming lilibulero to herself. Jack gestured as he cast one more nasty little spell and strolled up to Drang and sat opposite him, grinning charmingly.

 

"Good lord," he said, "Drang! It must be my lucky night."

 

Drang curled his lip at the slim man in front of him.

 

"Leave me alone you degenerate," he snapped in crisp tones, "and send my woman back to me. I'm not working, and you have no right to bother me."

 

Jack-a-Dandy frowned theatrically. "Bother you? Dear boy, nothing could be farther from my intention. I just wanted to warn you that the deal you made with the Rheinalfar expired a week ago and I just bet they never bothered letting you know."

 

Drang scowled. "How did you...?"

 

"I keep my ear to the ground, or the puddle in this case. So you should think about getting your magical defenses renewed. You should also think about having done that before tonight. You'll have quite a while to think, actually. Tata for now."

 

Jack-A-Dandy stood, smiled, and walked away.

 

Drang tried to follow him but found an invisible wall of ... what... holding him in place. He opened his mouth to shout but realised that no one else in the bar seemed to hear him. His date for the evening, Roxana, came back to the booth looking more composed, but a little confused. She looked around the booth as she sat down as though she could not even see her teutonic lover.

 

Then, to Drang's relief, she looked him straight in the eyes and smiled.

 

His relief was short lived however as she produced a small brush and began to tidy her hair.

 

"Can I get you a drink," said Jack-a-Dandy walking up to her. Roxa glanced at him and smiled.

 

"That would be nice," she said, "I was here with someone but he seems to have left." She stood and walked away while, trapped within the mirrored surface of the booth, Drang raged silently watching the degenerate Jack-a-Dandy leave with HIS girl.

 

Jack-a-Dandy would miss Drang, he decided. On reflection.

[jkwleisemann]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

(I ran well over word-count, but I like the scene anyways. )

 

Donny Ferguson rolled his shoulders as he stopped by Houlihan's on the way home from the office. Smoke and alcohol lingered in the air as he sat down at the bar and ordered himself a peach daiquiri and half an order of stuffed mushrooms. He looked like any other accountant in the world as he waited for his snack and drink, fingering his wedding ring lightly as he looked over at a heavily built, bald bruiser chatting up an attractive blonde a few seats down.

 

"Considering trying your luck, Donny? Compared to the bombshell you're hitched to, she's not worth it," Rick, from the office, chuckled, taking the seat next to him. "Probably won't be long before she's available though, if you're set on it."

 

"Nah, Sandy'd kill me," Donny chuckled, accepting his drink and cursing inwardly. Rick would *have* to pick now to show up, wouldn't he? He took a sip of the frozen drink, then stood up, looking around and spotting the bathroom. "Be right back, keep an eye on my drink will you?" He walked off, quietly hoping that nothing would happen after all.

 

"Hey, honey," Bulldozer grinned at the blonde he was talking to, oblivious to the utterly bored look she sported. "Let's ditch this place, I know somewhere a lot more interestin'."

 

"This joker giving you trouble, Meg?" She looked up at her boyfriend gratefully, standing from her seat.

 

"Joker?" Bulldozer snorted, looking at the 'wimp' who was cramping his style. Six foot three, probably two-hundred pounds of muscle… but nothing compared to the Bulldozer! "You *wanna* meet the inside of an ER, buddy?" He asked, flexing his arm.

 

"Hey…." The young man with a bodybuilder physique paled as he noticed the tattoo up the shorter man's bicep.

 

"Hey, why don't you leave them alone, Bulldozer?" A voice sounded, slightly muffled through the helmet but still perfectly clear. Bulldozer turned and looked at the armored figure standing in front of the men's room. Red and steel-grey, jetpack on his back, blaster at his side… face obscured by the plate that hid it from easy view.

 

Field Test.

 

"Why don't *you* to play with your toys somewhere else, wimp?" He snorted. The girl and her boyfriend, along with most everybody else in the bar, fled, leaving the two supers facing off. Bulldozer scowled, stalking up to the thin man. "Before I take you apart?"

 

Field Test lifted up his hand, revealing a metallic sphere that looked like a prop stolen from the set of 'Return of the Jedi.'

 

"Why don't we find out if my armor can stand one of these babies going off any better than your skin?" Field Test challenged him back.

 

Bulldozer laughed in his face.

 

"Go ahead, wimp!"

 

Field Test cursed inwardly; he'd been hoping, *praying* that Bulldozer wouldn't call his bluff... but he just had. He slid back the activation stud on the 'thermal detonator' he'd been given to try out, and glared at Bulldozer through his faceplate as well as he could, grateful that it hid how much he was sweating right now. His only chance was that the oaf would chicken out before the thing went off….

 

The beeping and flashing lights sped up, and Bulldozer actually had the sense to look a little nervous after about three seconds.

 

Then smoke curled up out of its insides, and a faint 'sproing' from the inside reminded Donny that there *had* been one other out.

 

"Heh… funny… I kinda thought that one would actually work," he said nervously as Bulldozer's now-confident grin spread across his face.

 

"Sucks to be you, nancy-boy."

[jkwleisemann]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

(I'm sorry... I've tried to resist. I can't.)

 

Seeker glanced up as he heard Defender, Ironclad, Nightwind, and the others hurrying towards his location.

 

"G'day mates!" He said cheerfully as they stared dumbfounded at Kinetik and Tachyon's unconscious forms, then up at Seeker.

 

"Seeker... were you here during the fight?" Defender asked him.

 

"'Course I was!"

 

"Don't take this poorly, friend, but how are you conscious, but they are not?" Ironclad asked him, trying to figure out how the notoriously injury-prone martial artist was the last one standing after a fight between the two speedsters.

 

"Easy enough," Seeker laughed, jerking his head towards a parking-lot's white-and-yellow striped toll gate, the metal barrier bar dented in two places. "I ducked!"

 

(*flees!*)

[Tech]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

I rather like Seeker as a character.

[Certified]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

A scene, just over 200 words, I hope you enjoy

 

- - -

 

The thump of the music pulsed through the door. Inside was his quarry. A string of smoke drifts up as his lungs pull at the Djarum. The cigarette’s scent overpowered by the sweaty smell of flesh from beyond the painted black door. The night air was stale in contrast, the only life coming from beyond the thin glass barrier.

 

The entrance sat at the bottom of six steps blocked by a guard rail recessed from the side of the avenue, their tiles black and milky in the light of the city. At the base, an ox of a man stood eyeing him as he watched the door. The bouncer stood with a locked dull gaze; his faded gray jeans and thick leather bracelets teased at what awaited inside.

 

Six Below, there were no signs on the wall and adds in the paper. The club was by invite only. It would take only a look to slip past the ox but the members were close or as close one could be while in the scene. The bouncer could stare. So long as Apollyon waited at the top of the stairs he could do nothing legally. Legal was something places like Six Below needed on the outside. It was still early and there would be others coming. It would be the look and he would be their guest. Until then he would wait.

[Amused]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

I don't think I like it much, but it's not too bad for writing for the first time since I graduated. I hope someone enjoys.

 

***

The bar was the kind that had velvet on the walls and dark, hardwood floors. The ice was gourmet and the glass held not one water spot. The wine was old, but not as old as Carrough.

She sat in luxurious booth in the corner, the only light coming from the candle in the middle of the table letting her tri-colored eyes shine. She sat at an angle, legs pulled up gracefully with her thin upper body held up by a tanned arm as if at any moment a photographer would pop out of the overly polished woodwork and proclaim her his magical muse.

She drank her wine and let a sneer mare her elfin features. She had been told this was the finest wine of the house, yet it tasted like the piss of a redcap.

"Do my senses deceive me? It is not your face, but it is you."

Carrough looked up and saw a tall thin man. Golden skin and long white-blond hair, his eyes were started out a pale blue that darkened till it blended almost seamless with the blacks of his pupils. An outside observer would assume they were siblings... and in a sense they were.

She sat up slowly, not wanting to reveal the shock of his appearance, "That would depend on who you thought I was."

His face contorted in cruel humor, he leaned in close and brushed her hair aside, "Oathbreaker"

Her jaw clenched, "As if you can speak, Calest. Your court prides itself in it's illusions and deceit."

The humor left his face, "You dare compare your violation to an illusion? I doubt our King would appreciate that."

"Your king, your court. You and yours lived in fear of my court and my..." Carrough trailed off remembering that the sun had set. To say her name would bring her wrath down upon her.

"And now you can't say her name.Your dark court cast you out." His eye shined

"I would rather have been cast out of the true dark, then live forever in the false light." She intoned with finality

His eye narrowed, "Good, because you get to live with them" he gestured to the rest of the bar "for the rest of time."

They glared at each other, but finally Carrough looked away. Calest just shock his head and walked back out of the bar.

[Thia Halmades]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

Your hero (or well-known CU hero) follows a well-known supervillain into a local bar.

 

 

OK, Places everyone, Lights, Camera, Action.

 

Thia watched from the far side of the street as Arget strolled into the bar. He leaned his head back against the lamp post and ran a gauntleted hand through his thick, brown & gray hair, and sighed quietly to himself. He crossed the street, checking his shield and blade as he did so, and casually glanced behind him, to see a small glint of light from the rooftop facing the door. That would be Jarome, then. His back was covered. Now he just needed to make sure he got the general back out here. Preferably alive, and preferably... Thia cracked his neck in one swift motion... unconscious.

 

(200 words or less, probably not, but comparatively tight for an opening scene)

[Diamond_J]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

(Actual rough excerpt from game)

 

The bar rung with the melody of several dozen conversations, blurred by the numbing drone of the techno beat.

 

An unassuming figure awaits his important guest; images of bloody vengeance hang heavy in his mind. If only the patrons and party goers new they were about to become front page news.

 

The man's eyes narrowed and his attention shifted from the dark draft beer. His gaze suddenly fixes as his exact double brushes past the crowded dance floor.

 

Though identical in form the two varied radically in mindset. A fact reflected by there dress. Waiting patiently the seated man is the picture of business; draped in fine swade jacket and tan slacks, his soft swade accented by fine, dark leather shoes, expensive sunglasses and smooth black silk shirt. The figure drawing ever near wore highly casual, jeans and a dress shirt slightly tucked and unkempt. The stubble of two days neglect, tells his general apathy.

 

Withdrawn and uninterested the newcomer draws his chair forth and joins the man before him; a man more apart of who he was then he dare admit. With the Barest interest he engages conversation.

 

"All right, what do you want, I'm a busy. No thanks to you I'm a married man now and my jobs in shambles; as I said, no thanks to you." The newcomer spoke, childishly directing blame.

 

“Your job's in shambles because your an idiot, I held it for you. I continued your relationship with Sara, in your absence and if you’re having marital problems with her now that's your doing." A vane in his head twitched as if aggravated towards response.

 

The waitress’s voice interrupts the mounting tension.

"Can I get something for your brother?"

 

"Oh, I'm not his brother" the drifter retorts

 

"Don't be like that, little bro. I'm sorry miss; he just hasn't been the same since our issue with... dad. He'll have what I'm having." He removes his shades and leans towards the subject of his ire.

 

The waitress smiles and walks off, her go-go boots squeaking as she retreats to the bar.

 

"What do I want? I want the conduit to our father. I should be his herald and champion his quest. What have you been doing? How have you furthered the effort to free father from his prison?

 

"There's a problem with that, I can't give you the orb. I need it, it's mine." He points at his chest with his thumb while scratching the stubble with his index finger

 

"Need it for WHAT? YOU'VE BEEN DOING JACK SINCE ENGLAND. You're fucking useless. Sulking and pouting like a mere child. We were one; now I see if Cosmos is to be freed I'm going to half to tear the cosmic sphere from your damn bloody hands."

 

"Whatever"; the casual twin responds rolling his eyes. "I've gotta visit the washroom" The drifter waves his twin off as he swiftly makes way to the restroom.

 

Opening the door he scans the room, franticly looking for a window or any way to escape his problems. Looking for back doors is something Max has grown accustomed to.

 

The portal sprang forth, CRACK. The finely dressed figure enters his pupils literally ablaze with blue ember. "You’re not escaping anywhere. This time Ill make you face your problems" His suit tearing slowly as his frame grew larger he pounds his right fist into his left palm emphatically.

 

Max shifted form, now as the star spawned Paragon he prepared for the inevitable...

 

[FireTiger]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

(This is bit long, but I wanted to go with a different approach, since I'd seen the idea done rather well from the hero's POV in the posts above.)

 

One minute...

 

Drake sat in a booth at the back of Sunset House, near the restrooms, and the pay 'phone. He tried to disguise how nervous he was when the waitress arrived at his booth.

 

"Scotch, straight. Double." The young lady nodded, smiled, and headed back towards the bartender. Drake swore repeatedly under his breath. It was supposed to be an easy op! Drake Pearson worked for VIPER as a covert operations agent, his current assignment has been to observe and serve as emergency backup for one of several Five Teams.

 

Two minutes...

 

At first everything had been going as planned. They'd moved in quietly on the biggest Broadway charity event of the year. Drake tried with a little more success to give the appearance of absolute normality while the waitress returned from the bar and set his drink down in front of him. How did she know!?

 

The op had gone almost perfectly, not a single agent had had to break cover...at least until that idiot Mathews had messed up, actually going up to that actress and asking for an autograph!

 

Three minutes...

 

Drake took a deep breath, held it. Picked up his drink from the table and tossed it off in a single gulp. Then he made himself set the glass down slowly, and let out the breath he'd been holding, slowly. Relax...relax...she'll be busy. Leave a cold trail, but get back to the nest, ASAP.

 

He waved as casually as he could to the waitress and asked for the check. Drake payed, tipped the young woman, and rose from his seat. The teams had been on their way out when an energy discharge that sounded like a combination of fingernails on a chalkboard and an avian hunting cry announced the arrival of a supra. Ungrateful -----! I've read your file, we made you.

 

Four minutes...

 

Drake shook himself, trying to forget how the crimson-clad woman had defeated the Five Team he'd been assinged to within seconds of her arrival. He'd been briefed about this one. His other orders were rescinded. His priority now was to call the number, give the code word and location, and then to get clear.

 

At the pay 'phone, he lifted the receiver and heard a dial tone. Well, at least this works. He dropped two quarters into the phone and heard the clicks that acknowledged he'd payed. Drake started to push the first button of the Code Sierra number when from just behind him came a sound much like a combination of fingernails on a chalkboard and an avian hunting cry...

 

Five minutes...

 

Bloodbird had found him.

[quozaxx]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

These stories are GREAT! I just wish I has the talent to produce such masterpieces. I'm definately going to post another one after this one has been here at least a week.

 

The next thread will be named:

 

 

Next scene: Foxbat...

 

 

I'll leave it unfinished until I get ready to post it. Just something to "wet your whistle."

[dustytomes]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

get this sucker going real time and you could use it in game to become the GREATEST GM THE WORLD!!!

[WilyQuixote]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

I was inspired by just reading the first Story submitted and decided to write my own before I read any more. With that being said I apologize ahead of time if my story is too similar anyone else. It was purely coincidental. Also I'll try to keep this at the 200 word requirement.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Who do you think will get here first?"

 

The question was asked by one of MCPD's finest as he leaned against the hood of his patrol car. His partner stepped out of the car, having just called in for any and all super powered assistance available. With a shrug of his shoulders he answered.

 

"Probably Hype, I'm surprised he hasn't gone in already."

 

With a grin the first patrolman said "Maybe he has and left already.".

 

"He is in Alaska fighting Glacius according to S.N.N." answered the second patrolman with a shake of his head.

 

"I hope Hype bothered to go around Canada this time."

 

"Don't know, don't care, and I doubt it." said the second cop.

 

 

"So-a what's the story here fellas?"

 

The question was asked by a seemingly ordinary pedestrian with a New York accent, but the cops knew exactly who he was. Both patrolmen stood and walked to the center of the street with Rook. All three stared at front of the bar, its stained glass windows obscuring the insides.

 

The second patrolman spoke first.

 

"We saw Grond go in there, and you never saw a place empty out so fast. There might be one or two Lookey-Lous still in there hoping for a good seat when the action starts but we doubt it."

 

"Alright yous fellas did yous jobs, now I'm gonna ask yous to keep everyone else who shows up out here wit yous" said Rook as his orange HOME DEPOT apron came off seemingly by itself.

 

"What about back up? Shouldn't you wait for the other Mill-Men, or the MC8, or even the PRIMUS ICARUS units?" asked the first cop.

 

"What makes yous tink I need help wit dis" said Rook with a curious expression.

 

"Well aren't you going to fight him?" responded the cop with a tone of certainty in his voice.

 

The floating apron suddenly flew in the face of the startled cop. "Hold dis for me will ya smart guy. Thank yous! Just cuz I was the bruiser of the Mill-Men don't mean I can't tink my way outta problems. Don't let anyone go in there after me. If I needs assistance yous will know it." and with that Rook slid across the street and stepped through the door.

 

 

 

 

Inside Grond sat at the bar with a beer in hand. His gaze alone held the poor bartender hostage, but as Rook stepped inside that menacing gaze shifted to Rook. He was watching Rook intently through the mirror placed behind the bar when Rook moved over and sat down beside him.

 

A short growl escaped his lips before he spoke. "I ain't wantin no trouble but I ain't lettin you take me in neither. I'm jus sittin here trying to have a drink and this guy won't even take my money!" Grond said with a nod in the bartender's direction.

 

"Yous still got your beer dough" said Rook.

 

"Thats cuz he knew better then to say no to me" said Grond.

 

"I guess so" said Rook, and he spoke then to the bartender. "I'll take a shot of whiskey and a cold one."

 

The poor bartender managed to get all the whiskey in the glass despite the shaking hands and even remembered the napkin coaster for the beer. Taking a sip of whiskey Rook gave bartender a nod to head towards the back. He glanced nervously over at Grond who was taking a drink from his glass.

 

"Its ok pal, we're gonna be here a while." said Rook to the bartender.

 

"We are?" asked Grond.

 

"Hey I just came in on my lunch break pal for a cold one. If I was lookin for a fight I'dve said so yous know?" said Rook after finishing off his whiskey shot.

 

"Yeah? Then what?" asked Grond in a suspicous tone.

 

"Well then I go back to work and yous go back to whatever it was yous has to do... sos long as its not causin no one else problems. Den yous and I might have a problem."

 

"I just wanted a beer and didn't have any at home." answered Grond.

 

"Yeah I hate it when dat happens." said Rook.

 

Two large glasses floated down from the overhead rack and settled under the tap as they began to fill with more beer. Looking up at Grond Rook said "I gots dis round, da nexts is on yous."

 

"Sure, fine by me. My money is just as good as the next guys." said Grond. "But what are we gonna do about the cops outside and the other heroes who are gonna show up while we drink."

 

"If deys want a drink dey can come in and buy one, otherwise dey can wait outside for us to finish and den I'll goes talk to em. Yous let me handle dem and everything will be fine. Yous will go your way and we'll goes our way. Everybody wins, nobody loses ya know?"

 

"Fine by me." answered Grond into his glass.

[quozaxx]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

I was inspired to write my own submission to the thread. It's over 300 words though.

-------------------------------------------------------

 

A cold light sprinkle filled the air as the VIPER agent approached the condemend bar. He quickly glances over his shoulder searching the vacant street. The man returns his attention to the boarded up door. He shifts a large bag from one hand to the other. He finds his key.

 

He suddenly looks back again at the vacant street. The scattered rain making a "tink, tink, tink" sound on the roof of the bar. He unlocks the door and enters.

 

The bar was small, dusty, and vacant or people. Only a large rat scurries across the floor. As the agent starts to close the door he feels a quick breeze. He notices something silver out of the corner of his eye.

 

He jerks around. Now standing by one of the dusty barstools, was a man, silver from head to toe. The Silver Speedster. The agent quickly reaches for his gun, only to find it missing.

 

"Looking for this?" Silver Speedster says as he fingers his shiny silver hair absent mindedly. His other hand is holding up the well-known VB-S1 (shorty) blaster pistol.

 

"Now look," the hero looks around the room. "You and I both know your no match for me, so why don't you tell me what you have in the bag and give yourself up?"

 

The agent stares at the silver colored man for a minute. "Um, it's, it's a mirror. I bought it! You don't have anything on me! You can't prove anything!"

 

"Oh, a mirror", Silver Speedster smiles, "I love mirrors, and I'm sure you won't mind if I take a peek at your receipt."

 

In a flash of silver the hero has the large bag already in his hands. He pulls out an ancient looking mirror with a golden frame. The frame had engraved serpents on the decorative trim.

 

But as the hero smiles at his own reflection, he feels himself change. Before he can move another inch, he is turned into stone.

 

The agent carefully approaches the mirror from the back and puts the bag back on the mirror.

 

The VIPER agents smiles as he pushes something on his belt loop. The agent immediately transforms into Mirage

 

Mirage puts her communicator to her mouth and says "I got him for you with the Medusa mirror. Man was he easy to capture! So next you want Kinetik right?"

[assault]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

Seeker and Ape-Plus walk into a bar.

 

The bartender says, "Wow! That's the most amazing thing I've ever seen! Where did you get it?"

 

"Australia", said Ape-Plus. "There's millions of them there."

[Sweeper]

Re: Show you story telling skills.

 

Hmmm.... Let's see...

 

No matter how many time she saw it, the view of open space gave Helen pause. Looking out of the foward viewport of the Coaker class Ranger Cutter Bowdrie into the great beyond always reminded the Ranger why she joined the force, to travel through space while keeping the peace as a Terran Ranger.

 

Like the Texas Rangers and Royal Canadian Mounted Police that came before, the Terran Rangers were charged with enforcing the Law along the Frontier. Traveling alone or in pairs, they chase down bandits, pirates, and other law breakers roaming in Alliance Space.

 

Such as the smuggler Helen and her partner were tracking now.

 

Helen looked away from the view port and at the console in front of her.

 

"Computer."

"Working. Yes Ranger Tran?"

"What is the ETA to Barnard's Station?"

"At current Lightbreaker setting, ETA to Barnard's Station is two hours, forty six minutes, thirty seconds, Mark."

 

Helen checked her watch and said, "Call up all known info for Francis Gonzales, also known as 'The West Indy Trader', and display info at my station."

 

"Working." The computer beeped and displayed the requested information on the console screen. Helen scanned through the record, though she knew most it by heart. Francis 'The West Indy Trader' Gonzales was a tramp freighter pilot who ran goods and passengers along the frontier. Now, there were reports of him carrying illegal goods from Bernard's Station, a huge space station and hub for business, to outlying colony worlds. Controlled substances and military grade weapons, by all accounts.

 

So far, Gonzales hasn't been caught carrying, but Helen believed it was only a matter of time....

 

 

 

I could go on for quite a few more paragraphs, but I think I overdid it a bit as it is.

 

So, what do you all think?