The Reformed not likely to be used continuing NaNoWriMo thread

[L. Marcus]

Cantaloupe, right?

[Logan D. Hurricanes]

I got inspiration while watching a horror movie last night. The movies always end before the cops come in to clean up the bizarre slaughter scene. I'm calling it CSI: Elm Street.

 

"What do we have here?"

"Well, there's a woman electrocuted in a bath tub upstairs, a body down here has been injected with a lethal dose of some unknown drug, and the blonde over there fell and hit her head and was subsequently set on fire."

"Clues?"

"A wheelchair and some animal feces upstairs in the attic."

"I've seen this before. We're dealing with an evil monkey."

"My god."

*throws up*

 

[Cancer]

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy 

[csyphrett]

I haven't got started yet. Going to start tonight when I get home.

CES 

[Logan D. Hurricanes]

I slept last night. Pretty sure I won't be participating this year, but I'll be watching progress reports here.

 

[Enforcer84]

2 hours ago, Logan.1179 said:

I slept last night. Pretty sure I won't be participating this year, but I'll be watching progress reports here.

 

What, no romance novel? ?

[Enforcer84]

1248 words while watching Critical Role. 

[Hermit]

9 minutes ago, Enforcer84 said:

What, no romance novel? ?

 

He looked deeply into her eyes, his heart full of narcotics and regret, but mostly regret, "I am sorry, Sally Sue Gomez, but I must be off to drive my tractor with a team of alligators as I scream profanities about the government as I ride naked smeared in Jello....the green kind."

 

She looked up onto his beautiful insanity ridden eyes, "But, but I  LOVE you, Florida Man!" 

 

Florida Man looked away, staring at the road that would be his destiny, "I know. Everyone does. It's... my curse."

 

"They do?" She said stunned.

 

""They must. I'm always in the news. ..FLORIDA MAN AWAY!" and he raced for the tractor and jello

 

Sally Sue Gomez wept, for she knew she would never have another love like this one.

 

 

[Cancer]

Not a bad scene, but it needs more cheap beer.

[Hermit]

Some characters so far

Kariwyn Fletch, our heroine

Gilbert Fletch, her father, a hunter

Liana Fletch, her mother, working on fleshing her out

Drust Dewlap, a hunky nice guy whose family owns a vineyard

 

[Enforcer84]

out of context excerpt:

 

E: "So the elves magically bred smarter, horned horses to honor their Unicorns allies by...making them mounts and beasts of burden?"

A: "It sounds worse when you say it like that."

E: "What did the Unicorns think?"

A: "They thought it sounded a lot like that."

E: "..."

A: "..."

A: "It wasn't one of the finer moments of elvish humility, true, but we got neat horses."

 

 

[csyphrett]

This is the wrap up of the first story. I am working on the second story and have ten K

 

Two weeks later, I lay on the visitor’s couch with my paws in the air, thinking that
I should get water from the kitchen sink, but not wanting to get up. I had went
through my appointments and felt like just lying in place since getting home from the
office.

 

Omes had gone off on some errand related to the airship he was trying to find. He
would be back soon. That was when we would decide on dinner at home, or the club.

I was in the mood for fish, so I favored the club. They had cooks that knew how to
grill some salmon.

 

“Omes is back,” said Addison. “Are you two eating in, or going out?”

 

“I have no idea,” I said. I righted myself and drew up into a ball.

 

The thunk of Addison applying the brake to his spin, and the following thump of him
vanishing from reality was interrupted by Omes walking into the parlor. He hung up
his bowler and coat before sitting down at his desk. He opened his main screen and
wrote down some notes from a slip of paper.

 

“I think I have a name finally,” he said. “I have to make sure this is the right man.
You want to come along?”

 

“I think it would be better if I did,” I said.

 

“The slingshot from Excelsior’s base is owned by the McMahon Corporation,” Omes
said. He turned to the screen with the slingshot pictured on it. He opened another
window and put up three pictures for me to examine. “Lucy and Linus McMahon, and
their father Luther.”

 

Luther McMahon matched the man we had talked to by screen when we had
investigated an imposter impersonating people to send them to jail while he walked
away with the stolen goods.

 

I felt an urge to rip his arms off now that I knew who he was.

 

“How did you find this out?,” I asked. Omes might have attracted attention with his
search. The McMahons might actively try to get rid of him now that he knew who
they were.

 

“I used the slingshot to find them,” said Omes. “I spent the time after the Hughes case
following the ship around the Industrial Quarter to make sure there was a solid link
to the building we found. Then I narrowed it down even more by searching building
records. If I were to show Luther McMahon’s picture to Costello, I am sure he would
want to serve warrants right away.”

 

“And why don’t we do that?,” I asked. I would be glad to let Metropole hang this fish
as long as I got some alone time with him.

 

Some anger needed to be expressed about his callous indifference to life.

 

“Because all we have as proof is the picture on the screen in that warehouse that
could be faked by anyone who knew who he was,” said Omes. “We need something
ironclad before we try for him.”

 

“We need the world’s biggest smoking gun,” I said. I couldn’t fault the logic. If

McMahon had some connection to Metropole, the chances of evidence being lost
increased.

 

“So we have to build our case slowly,” said Omes. “Once we have something that
can’t be swept under the rug, then we can release it to the world. Let the government
and the press take up where we stopped.”

 

I rubbed my ear. Leaving things to the bluecoats is what Omes said now. In the

future, he would be doing something to make the man come forward and incriminate
himself.

 

Omes didn’t share the spotlight when he didn’t have to.

 

The main screen that Omes used buzzed. He blacked out his two ongoing searches
and the pictures of the McMahons on the three alternate screens before he answered
the call.

 

“Omes?,” said Colin Hughes. “What have you done to me?”

 

“Nothing,” said Omes. “Why is your face purple? Is something wrong with your
screen?”

 

“No, there’s nothing wrong with my screen,” said Hughes. “I thought you had solved
my problem.”

 

Omes leaned back in his chair. His expression didn’t betray the amusement his brain
gave off.

 

“Have you had any more visits from your dead friend?,” asked Omes.

 

“What does that got to do with this?,” asked Hughes.

 

“You asked us to stop the haunting and we did,” said Omes. “It took a herculean
effort on my part to track down the flowers you were exposed to, but I did it. This
seems to be something new.”

 

“I want you to do something about this,” said Hughes.

 

I noted that his new complexion had handprints and round impressions. I rubbed my
ear. It looked like Mrs. Hughes was right unless she put those blank spots in herself.

 

“You need to do some exercises,” I said. “The more you sweat, the faster it will come
out. You might need to wear old clothes while you’re exercising. The sweat will stain
your clothes.”

 

“Do you know what this is?,” asked Hughes.

 

“Yes,” I said. I didn’t elaborate.

 

“What is it?,” demanded Hughes. 

 

“It’s verdian powder,” I said. I rubbed my ear. “It’s harmless.”

 

“How do you know that?,” asked Hughes.

 

“I’m a doctor,” I said. “I’ve seen this a hundred times. Just go outside and do some
manual labor. The color will come right out of you.”

 

“Colin?,” said Mrs. Hughes from off screen. “Are you home? Advocate Mathers and
I have found a nice place in the country for vacations. He is helping me with the
paperwork.”

 

“Advocate Mathers?,” said Hughes and Omes at the same time.

 

“I think you need to talk to your wife,” Omes said. “Tell her the condition is not life
threatening and you can sweat it out.”

 

“Colin?,” Mrs. Hughes said. She was just off screen from the sound of her voice. “Are
those handprints?”

 

“Call us when you have things worked out,” said Omes. He cut the connection with
a shake of his head.

 

“We violated the conflict of interest laws on this,” he said.

 

“We solved his problem first before we took money from her,” I said. “I don’t see the
conflict.”

 

“I don’t think we are supposed to take work from our client’s enemy when we knew
the client was going to be the target,” Omes said.

 

“It was better than having her push him into a nervous wreck and doing something
stupid to get out of it,” I said. “I have seen too many of that.”

 

“I suppose you’re right,” said Omes. “I need to do some research on the McMahons
before we try to confront them over Excelsior and their other crimes.”

 

“Let’s eat at the club, and then we can watch the boats in Canaan,” I said.

 

Omes stood. He looked at the darkened screens. He smiled. He reached for his bowler
and coat.

 

“Can I ask a question?,” said Addison.

 

“What would you like to know, Addison,” said Omes. He pulled on his coat and hat.

 

“What exactly just happened?,” the voice of our landlord said.

 

“Do you want to tell him, or should I?,” asked Omes.

 

“I’ll do it since it was my idea,” I said.

 

I rubbed my ear as I sat on the visitor’s couch. I put the events together in my own
mind before I said anything.

 

“Mr. Hughes came to us because he had spent several days, maybe a few weeks,
being visited by the ghost of his dead friend,” I said. “But it wasn’t a real ghost. It
was a psychic projection attacking his mind. The biggest thing that Mr. Hughes felt
guilty over was the loss of his friend. His wife had assumed that the plants would act
on his philandering, but she didn’t know how the plants worked, and the fact the guilt
was focused on the biggest mistake he had made.

 

“Philandering is not usually considered a mistake until the husband is caught so there
is no guilt about that.

 

“So all she was doing was pushing her husband to a breakdown which might have led
to an explosive confrontation with any number of people including herself,” I said.

 

“I understand all that, but the call just now,” said Addison.

 

“I’m getting to that,” I said. “A little patience please.”

 

“I’m sorry,” said Addison. “Go on with your tale.”

 

“Thank you,” I said. I rubbed my ear. “After Omes and I had examined the scene
where the attacks had happened, we agreed that it wasn’t a real ghost. We performed
a cursory search around the client’s house and found the weapon outside the house.
We decided to catch Mrs. Hughes in the act. She broke down and told us she was
trying to get her husband to admit his philandering so they could break their contracts
and she would have something after the divorce.”

 

“All right,” said Addison. “That seems simple enough. Now how did all that pertain
to the call where he was purple?”

 

“I advised Mrs. Hughes that her scheme was exceedingly stupid. After some
discussion with Omes, I suggested an alternate scheme where she could show her
husband was philandering with no lasting harm. There is a plant substance you can
add to food that will turn people’s skins purple. It will also hold the imprint of
anything touching it in the first twenty four hours,” I said.

 

“So the handprints weren’t Mrs. Hughes?,” Addison said. “Oh.”

 

“Exactly,” I said. “All she had to do was pick a day that she could leave for a bit,
leave the stuff in his coffee, and take off for the next two days. Everything else took
care of itself.”

 

“The advocate was a nice touch,” Omes said.

 

“She must have come up with that on her own,” I said.

 

“So you stopped the attacks on your client by helping the attacker prove that he was
seeing other women,” said Addison. He sounded amazed.

 

“And we potentially saved them both from death, Donegal Island, and plenty of other
things that I can’t think of right now,” I said.

 

“And we were paid twice over all this too,” said Omes. “That’s enough to pay our
rent.”

 

“All right,” said Addison. “I suppose that makes things all right.”

 

“If Hughes hadn’t started seeing other women behind his wife’s back, and his wife
hadn’t decided to make him sorry about that, we would never had been called in,”
said Omes. “And they wouldn’t have a reason for fixing things.”

 

“I don’t think they’ll be fixing things now,” I said. “An advocate on the scene might
keep them from going at things tooth and claw.”

 

“We can’t help that,” Omes said. “We have our own fish to fry.”

 

“Do you two think Mrs. Hughes would have kept going with something else if you
hadn’t shown her how to do something nonviolent?,” asked Addison.

 

“Yes,” I said. “The next thing would have been something immediate like a frying
pan to the head.”

 

“I have to agree,” Omes said. “She had already spent months growing those flowers.
If we had told Mr. Hughes and triggered the divorce on his terms, she might have
resorted to something faster and easier like a bullet.”

  

[csyphrett]

I am almost done with my collection. I need something that will only needs to be 2k long based on the dancing men. How are the rest of you doing?

CES  

[Hermit]

I dropped out. Friends and family, not a crisis, but enough that I lost an entire week early on and after that was just 'ah #@## it"

[TrickstaPriest]

28 minutes ago, Hermit said:

I dropped out. Friends and family, not a crisis, but enough that I lost an entire week early on and after that was just 'ah #@## it"

 

  Been sick for the entirety of the month.  I didn't even get a chance to start.

 

But I did do some drafting.  In my head.  That counts, right?

[csyphrett]

13 hours ago, Hermit said:

I dropped out. Friends and family, not a crisis, but enough that I lost an entire week early on and after that was just 'ah #@## it"

Wussy A real man lets his voice be heard. It's the voice that says GET OUT

CES

[Hermit]

17 hours ago, TrickstaPriest said:

 

  Been sick for the entirety of the month.  I didn't even get a chance to start.

 

But I did do some drafting.  In my head.  That counts, right?

 

Hopefully the draft will serve you well next year?

Mine too maybe

[Hermit]

5 hours ago, csyphrett said:

Wussy A real man lets his voice be heard. It's the voice that says GET OUT

CES

 

Oh I don't often use that phrase. That's flies on the windows talk

 

 

[csyphrett]

All right I validated the collection but I still have to finish my story for it. Won't be able to do that until after midnight. Then I have to put a log book together and start rotating my stories again. I need to update the one million word project and wooden stranger for this board, hodgepodge, and three keys.

 

I think I am going to try to edit stories for my website on sunday so i can get some things done.

CES   

[csyphrett]

My rough draft is here http://syphrettstales.com/omesandwitsend5.htm

CES

[Hermit]

I did much better this year for completion and speed. I have a vacation of sorts for thankgiving weekend and wanted to get it done and with a bit of help, hit my 50000. It's a mess, but it's there.

 

The actual story still needs to be finished, then maybe salvaged in a new draft etc.

[Hermit]

Oh, and I put this up because apparently I'm not the only one who gave it another go this year

[Logan D. Hurricanes]

Why I'm not doing it this year:

 

[Cancer]

I might give this a try next year, after I'm retired.  Not happening before that, though.

[Hermit]

I got lucky to get into a groove, and I fully confess I had something of a rough outline ready to go. It worked out nicely.

 

As I mentioned in the other thread, my story this year is fantasy genre . It's basic theme is "A Rich Wizard's War, and a Poor Wizard's Fight" where aristocrats have for generations kept magic solely among their own, but when a foe threatens the border that can only be hurt by magical energies, they graciously open the school to teach a few commoners the very basics of 'blasting' so the peasants offspring can die instead of aristocrats' kids.

 

Our prospective students are:

A farmboy (how original) who came from a dirt poor family, and whose family is, to use the modern take on the word 'toxic' as hell. He's done. Just done with them. At least if he somehow survives, his life will be better. If he dies in war, well, he was likely to be drafted as a standard yeoman anyway wasn't he?

 

A Rich Merchant's daughter, who has always been treated as a princess by her loving and well to do traveling parents. She soon learn that being treated like a princess doesn't give you the protections of true aristocrats, and her family can't save her from being seized. I fear I've done a bit of the trope 'break the cutie' on this one. She hates this, and would run back to her family if she could. She may come out a bit ruthless out of necessity by the end of it, if she survives. It's war, any of them might die.

 

Another girl, more tomboyish, who is with her mother. She doesn't know who her father is, but has lived in poverty too. Her mother has a strong distrust of the well to dos,  but clearly has a past with them. She sees this as a chance for her daughter to improve her lot and get knowledge that even the aristocrats can't take back once she gets it. The Daughter has been raised to stay calm, and never let her passions override her sense.

 

Then there is the patriot. Good family, good life, by peasant standards. But his country calls, so he answers. He's the one who trusts the system, perhaps naively so, but he has a pure heart yadda yadda. His sense of justice will be tested.

 

Lastly, there's the thief, who got caught...who rather than end up in a deep hole for decades, or losing a hand, gives the testing a try as an out. Only to find out while it saved him from being punished, he's now on the fast track to get killed for rich people! Like our merchant daughter, he's working on a way out. Easier said than done.

 

I have a couple of adults, including the only survivor of a group of battle wizards who lost an arm, was helping to recruit the next generation, only to get DRAFTED himself... as a teacher. He may grow more and more to think he was wrong to push for this policy.