the dragon's den | Vipera Prompt Event

Home of the sensation seekers.

ROUND 15 Prompt Options

Poll ended at Sat Feb 24, 2018 8:44 am

cult
2
17%
blackout
2
17%
vacant
0
No votes
identity
2
17%
filthy
6
50%
 
Total votes: 12
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blue
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the dragon's den | Vipera Prompt Event

Fri Jul 21, 2017 7:24 am

  • **Update: I will be permanently extending the time to write/post prompts to two weeks. You now have from Monday to Friday of the next week to post prompts, comment in the Common Room and vote in the polls. This seems to be the appropriate amount of time to work on prompts, especially when it's busy.

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    • ...and welcome to the Vipera Prompt Event, the event intended to build up our fellow Vipera members as well as strengthen our writing with a series of fun, interesting and challenging prompts.

      This is an optional team building event for all members of Vipera to join and enjoy. There won't be an emphasis put on competition between members, however, at the end of each round you will be able to vote on some of your favorite prompts in order to celebrate and encourage progress and growth among members of our house.

      ⤳ Here's how it works:
      On Monday, at the beginning of each new round, there will be a poll posted at the top of the thread containing five randomly computer-generated prompts. After voting has commenced, the new round's prompt will be chosen on the Friday of the following week. You have from Monday to Friday of the following week to vote on prompts and post your written entries. For example, you have from Monday until the next Friday to to post your prompt entries for Round Two and during that time you must vote on a new prompt for Round Three, which will officially be chosen on that Friday. On Saturday and Sunday, the prompt poll will come down and a new poll will go up where you can vote on your favorite prompts from that round.
      Along with your prompts, there will be a suggested goal each round to challenge yourself while you write. These writing goals are optional and merely suggestions to challenge you, push you out of your comfort zone and help build your writing in areas you'd like to strengthen. They will not increase your chance of winning for the given round nor are they necessary to qualify for the favorites poll.
      **UPDATE 1/15/17: Whatever user wins the favorites poll at the end of each round will receive one staff point from either me or Commander Shepard. This point will go towards our House totals as a group rather than be stacked up against each other in competition. Your participation now plays a role in how Vipera does in contest with the other Advanced Scribes houses.

      Everyone who writes a prompt during the round will be included in that round's favorite poll.*

      If you have any questions or concerns about the event, don't hesitate to contact me via PM or on the Vipera Common Room thread.



      -
      Rules
      Scoreboard
      -
      Writing Goal Schedule:
      1. Scenery/description
      2. Character development
      3. Dialogue
      4. Invoking Emotion
      5. Length (over that 1500 limit)
      6. Briefness (short prompt 500 words or under)
      7. Exiting The Comfort Zone (write something you normally would never do, animal character, lgbt romance, first person perspective)
      8. Free Write! No limits.



      • Image


      Image
      Briefness (500 words or less)



      *this excludes members who won in the poll for the previous round
Last edited by blue on Thu Nov 02, 2017 12:55 am, edited 59 times in total.
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blue
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rules

Fri Jul 21, 2017 7:55 am

    • Image


















    • 1. Only one prompt entry per member during each round.
      2. Each prompt has a suggested but heavily encouraged 1500 word limit unless otherwise specified. Prompts up to 1700 words will still be accepted however, this extension is the exception and not the rule. Your goal should be to get as close to 1500 words as possible and leeway is only to be used to maintain the integrity of the prompt if trimming words cannot be done easily. There is no minimum word count to allow for poetry, etc.
      3. Mark your prompts with the correct symbols, as per Advanced Scribes forum rules, as a warning for potential readers.
      4. Be sure to title your prompt entry Round Number - Prompt to make sure each prompt is accounted for by the end of the round. Otherwise it could be overlooked! If you attempted or achieved a writing goal, feel free to mention it in your post however it is not necessary to do so.
      5. Every prompt entry must be posted in this thread or will not be counted. (Unless it's in an offsite document because of length.)
      6. Voting in polls is open to every member, however only Vipera members may post entries.
      7. You may not win two rounds in a row (unless you defaulted to a win by being the only entry in your first round), but you are absolutely welcome and encouraged to post an entry every week.
      8. You are free to leave and rejoin the event at your leisure. Write for whatever prompts spark your interest and you will be included in the polls. You are never expected to stay or write more than what you'd like if you don't feel inspired to.
      9. The writing goals are merely suggestions. They have no influence over your chance of winning. With that said, when voting for your favorites in the poll, be sure that your choice is not influenced by length of a member's prompt or whether they met a goal or not. They are personal goals intended to challenge you, not benchmarks to meet in order to 'win'. The only non-optional goals will be if a prompt is supposed to meet or not exceed a certain word count.
      10. Don't use tactics in an attempt to influence other member's votes. Keep it fair and let the poll work out the results. If any issues arise during voting, i.e. a tie between two members, those will be worked out before a winner is announced.
      11. Compliments on prompts are encouraged, however to keep this forum as clean as possible, direct any comments and props to the Vipera Common Room Thread.
Last edited by blue on Tue Nov 07, 2017 9:06 am, edited 8 times in total.
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blue
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scoreboard

Fri Jul 21, 2017 7:58 am

Image spacespacespacespace
Round Three
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Focus: Dialogue


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
blue
Round One
Image
Focus: Scenery & description


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
shamespren
Round Two
Image
Focus: Character Development


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
boots

spacespacespace

Round Six
Image
Focus: Briefness (500 words or less)


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
.faunlet.
Round Four
Image
Focus: Invoking Emotion


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
.faunlet.
Round Five
Image
Focus: Length

VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
epithet

spacespacespacespace

Round Seven
Image
Focus: Exiting the Comfort Zone


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
foxtrot oscar
Round Nine
Image
Focus: Scenery & description


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
N/A
Round Eight
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Focus: None


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
N/A

SPACESPACE

Round Ten
Image
Focus: Character Development


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
N/A
Round Twelve
Image
Focus: Invoking Emotion


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
Artio
Round Eleven
Image
Focus: Dialogue


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
N/A
SPACESPACE

Round Thirteen
Image
Focus: Length


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
N/A
Round Fifteen
Image
Focus: Exiting the Comfort Zone


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
TBA
Round Fourteen
Image
Focus: Briefness (500 words or less)


VIPERA FAN FAVORITE:
TBA
Last edited by blue on Tue Oct 03, 2017 9:50 am, edited 10 times in total.
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blue
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first prompt!

Sun Jul 23, 2017 5:16 am

  • hey guys! i posted the first prompt a little early because we were all so excited to write. the first page will be where you check back every week for the new prompts and weekly goals. if you finish your prompt before monday, please wait until then to post it so they can all be counted. a poll for next week's prompts will also be going up on monday so be sure to check back for that.
    have fun writing^^
i'm color coding my moods
────────────────────
time: 9/10 xx muse: 5/10
search: TBA
finished my semester.
will be looking to add/continue rps

follow my AS twitter for any updates!

────────────────────
you're yellow, i'm natural blue
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cognomen
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week one - barren

Mon Jul 24, 2017 2:16 am

✂- - - - - BARREN
Pleeeeaaase let me know if I did anything wrong!
______________________________________________________________________________________________
    • epigraphThe skies of 01100011 01101001 01110100 01111001 (known to the Sens as 4Z) throbbed with light, the activity of a hundred thousand automobiles. Without headphones, nothing could be heard above the roar of their engines. There was no reprieve. The busyness was to be expected, 4Z was the capitol of the Cy Empire. The city hosted over a million sentient beings and ten times as many insentient.
      epigraphPerhaps the least important of them all was a particular laundromat owner named Dev Thames, who had the misfortune of being one of the Sens. The man carried the sin of his conscious like a dead cat; he didn’t want to be carrying it, he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do with it, and everyone gave him the kind of look that seemed reasonable to give a man carrying a dead cat.
      epigraphToday would be different. Today, Dev would change everything. The old mirror in the laundromat’s all-inclusive bathroom had a spider-web of cracks streaking out from the bottom corner and the glass had fogged up over the years, but it was clear enough that he could see himself. He could see the faint yellow streaks that infected his once-blue irises, and the carmine rims that were growing around his teeth.
      epigraphHis hands were braced on the off-white porcelain of the sink. The only noise in the room was the subtle drip drop drip of the leaky faucet mouth, until Dev murmured, “Dev Thames.” He could not forget. If he forgot, the virus would consume him...or so he told himself. “Dev Thames.” The real truth? The virus would consume him. Period. End of story. In less than a week, he would be a memory in the scarce minds of those who could remember.
      epigraphIf there were any souls in 4Z who cared to remember him.
      epigraphDev rolled his lower lip between his teeth, an anxious habit of his. A hundred years ago, the idea of contracting a cyber virus that ultimately erased a human’s free will would have been a bizarre premise for a science fiction novel. In the year 2204, the remaining sentient humans were dropping off by the hundreds. Daily. For decades, Dev had watched his family and his friends become Insens.
      epigraphTechnology had become death.
      epigraphIt had been a single day since he contracted the virus, and he could no longer remember the names of his children. He could remember their faces. His boy; strong and handsome, old enough to grow a patchwork of reddish hair over his jaw. His girl; happy, always too happy, with her mother’s brown eyes and Dev’s sharp nose, only four or five years old. “Dev Thames. Lily Thames.” His wife, Lily…she had the soul of an angel.
      epigraphDev would make them pay dearly for destroying that soul.
      epigraphThe streets of 4Z were stifling in the Sen Quarter. Merchants cluttered Little Street, each of their charming voices thrown into a cacophonous boiling pot that was nauseating. Dev covered his ears with his index fingers, silver rings glinting in the prisma light emitted by the neon signs pinned to storefronts. There was no legal technology on Little Street that threatened the sentience of the humans…but there were always dealers of illegal merchandise.
      epigraphLittle Street spat him onto The Way, a near-vacant street that bridged the gap between Sen Quarter and the rest of 4Z. Very few humans dare tread on The Way…the risk of infection was increased exponentially this close to the ravine that split their societies. Long ago, the ravine was rumored to have a river running through it…now, that maw was filled with miles upon miles of discarded technology.
      epigraphThe atmosphere grew thinner as he crossed the bridge, a silence so deep he could hear the wash of his own blood in his veins. “Dev Thames,” he whispered. The ravine caught his name, repeating it over and over and over again. Dev shuddered, gooseflesh corrupting his flesh. Each breath chilled him to the bone. When he looked over his shoulder, the Sen Quarter had disappeared into a murky fog. Even the sky traffic was gone.
      epigraph“Dev Thames.” He swallowed hard, blinking spasmodically, as if these simple actions could disperse the fog that clung so tightly to him. One foot in front of the other. Soon, he would be on the other side of the bridge. Soon, he could activate the explosives that were sewn into his abdomen. Soon, he would free the Sens from the oppressive control of 4Z. If only Dev knew that his body was sprawled on the floor of his laundromat as the virus reprogrammed his brain.
      epigraphThis emptiness was his eternity.
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angelofwarfare
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Week One-Barren

Tue Jul 25, 2017 2:43 am


Image
'You are merely spokes of a wheel."
(Prompt for 'Barren')

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What was once a field that farmers toiled and harvested their crops from in the midst of spring and summer was barren of their fruitations. In place of the spindly crops that sprung from the rich soil, was another type of a living essence that was to be reaped. Armored and lifeless bodies litter the field to the point where it was unavoidable to step on at least one of them. It was a carpet of corpses that layered the earth, with their crimson blood seeping from their wounds and into the soil that once supplied nutrients to a variety of plants for the kingdom. Those that did not suffer and perish from the tip of an arrow or a laceration of a fine blade, met a far more gruesome fate. They met their maker by the kiss of fire. The black feathered crows and the unsightly vultures picked at the flesh and bones of the bodies that were maimed and left behind by those that abandoned the battle. The grasses that long took over the fields were charred to a crisp, and deep scourges marred the earth.

Flickers of flames danced and were ablaze at the distance. Some of the fires have spread across the stretch of land to consume and claim an archaic and abandoned barn. A knight in dulled and damaged armor slowly treads through such a desolate place. The atmosphere sends chills down the young man's spine with eyes wide like saucers. He has heard of the whispers of war. Of how Kings sat upon their thrones, and raised their jeweled hands to send the order to claim the lands that did not belong to them or to rob another kingdom of their riches. Their kingdom thus far never lost to another. Until this day, where he got to see such an aftermath. War was a revolting and disgusting sight. Greed and power bred it, and the consequences were for death to reap what has been sowed. Their King believed full heartedly that this was a battle that was another notch to his family's belt. That this land would soon be under their name, all because a single individual was the only thing separating him from his goal. How wrong he was...all of these people died in vain. The knight peered down at a few of his comrades that were glass-eyed and forever would be staring up at the ashened skies. Every breath of air was torture to him. The smoke clung heavily in the air that his lungs greedily drew into his body. His hand presses against a wound on his side, with the warm liquid oozing in-between his fingers and alongside the side of his armor. He felt so weak.

He wanted to pause, but he knew very well that could be a death sentence for him. The person responsible for all of this was still out there. He knew it by the dread that nearly suffocated him. His baby blue eyes skimmed over the marred battlefield, and was only granted the sight of a few feet due to the haze from the fires. He stops in his tracks when a light clinking sound reaches his ears, and it causes for him to snap his gaze towards the source. It might have been one of his own men. There was bound to be survivors amongst the dead that were too frail and weak to budge. Or, perhaps a few were pretending to be a lifeless carcass to be simply forgotten and overlooked by their single adversary. There was also the chance that it may have been one of the horses. He had yet to see one alive. They too were amongst their riders. All void of life. The muscles in his body stiffen at the unfamiliarity of the figure that draws closer through the thick clouds of smoke. The silhouette has a defined shape. The shape of a woman. A woman? What in the seven realms was a woman doing here? Puzzlement etches his features, but his senses and instinct soon takes over him. He backpedals a few steps, just as the features of this woman is distinguishable. She adorns armor that is fitted to her lithe frame.It is as dark as a raven's plumage, but was scale-like in pattern. Rubies embellished the armor with a gold trim for finer detailing. Craftmanship that was fitting for one of royal blood.The one crown that lays upon her head is one of metallic thorns.

One of her eyes resembles the burning flames that scorched the grounds when this battle has unfurled. The other eye is hidden behind a leather hand crafted eye patch. The story told by gypsies and traveling merchants was that her eye was stolen by a mortal. Unspoken but magical properties to cure any ailment by the eye of a wyvern. But to steal something from her? It was something that only a fool would do. Now? They were paying for it. All of it. Her molten eye flicker to the knight that was as still as a statue. His free hand slowly reaches for the hilt of his sword, but he does not draw it from its sheathe. The prey watches the predator of any indicators of danger. Her burgundy lips part slightly with a wisp of smoke departing, and she raises a gauntleted hand to push away the locks of obsidian and silky hair from the sides of her face. Ash cakes her face, but she pays no mind to it. She is not bothered of it. She was the one that birthed such fires. With her hair pushed over her shoulders, another inhuman feature was unveiled. Her mortal form almost held human semblance. Her unnatural beauty, and the traits that traced the line of humanity versus otherworldly was stark. Scales similar to the fish found below the white capped waves of the great sea mark the porcelain skin alongside her neck. The scales are as dark as her lenghty tendrils of hair. She was as beautiful as she was deadly. To think that this was the last thing that these men have saw."One repulsive creature remains..." she speaks with her eye narrowing at him. She knew their common tongue? Well, of course she did. Thousands of years she has lived in this world. It must have been boring to sit around for all that time.

Her hand lifts, and as she does this, a fire erupts and envelops her hand. "What should I do with you?" She nearly gives into the temptation of setting him ablaze like the others that thought she could be defeated. She takes a few steps towards him, but he draws his sword when she does so. Despite of the lack of light, the blade of his sword gleams and produces a low shine that instictively causes for her to halt in her tracks. A curve of a smile tugs at the corners of her lips at such a sight. His fire burns. He still has fight in him even if the lingering ash and smoke raked at his lungs, the wound of a sword festers and continues to bleed, and all hope drained from him."You have more balls than the King that sits upon his throne in his palace of stones." she murmurs lowly followed by an unnerving laugh."He grows fat as he sends his minions to fight his battles. That is no King. I see only a coward draped in materialistic items. A real King fights along his people.I have known dragons and wyverns alike that were slaughtered because of such greed." she continues as she eyes the sword he wields. Emblems of a long lost language is embedded on the surface of the silvered blade. It captures her curiosity for a few moments, before she fixes her golden gaze back onto the knight."You have scholars correct?" she says in a lower tone than before."You shall be my messenger. Tell him that an old acquaintance will see the king soon. Tell the scribes of what happened here today, so that they may write this in their books of history. That way, you mortals and those that will come will know not to repeat the same mistake as their predecessors." she concludes with a light arch of an eyebrow. She brings her hand up with her armor clinking as she made this motion to dismiss him as if he was just dirt at her feet. With such a message, the knight wheeled around and did his best as to keep a jogging pace. He knew that a woman of such malice wouldn't mind as to kill him on the spot if he was too slow as to deliver the message. A low hum of laughter bubbles from her throat with her burning gaze pinned on the back of the fleeing knight. Her single eye glows like an intensity of a great fire, as dark gray smoke laps over her slim body. The wind whips at her body, and soon enough, she slides into her other form. The slitted eye of amber continue to watch the knight from her screen of smoke, before she stretched out her leathery wings to achieve her full wing span. This was merely a scratch of the surface. This kingdom was merely a spoke of a wheel that she shall break like the others that dared to cross her path.Let them come. Let them feel the fury of her flames.



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ramjac
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week one - barren

Tue Jul 25, 2017 4:13 am

  • BARREN
    BY SHAMESPREN
    • paraSunder spotted the outline of his mother on the ridge of a blue glacier; her dark silhouette was a mere stain on the watercolor horizon. Puffs of snow fell beneath her footfalls, tumbling into an invisible cyclone of northern wind in a scatter of glittering white. On the other side of the sea, one such gust of wind snatched the fog of the boy’s breath directly from his pale lips. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he shooed it away, eyes never leaving the yonder. It sulked away like a scolded dog.

      paraFrozen at the foundation of his solitary hill, he belittled himself for staring, but he couldn’t help himself. At least a dozen years had waxed and waned since he last caught sight of her, though, even now she was exactly as he remembered: dark, distant, blurry, and gone before a new wave of water could fold over the wasteland. Somewhere past the glacier, she vanished, gone without a glance in his direction.

      paraPerhaps it seemed like only a moment they were together again, but when he finally turned away, her image branded into his eyelids, the pastel sky was beginning to drown in darkness. Soon, the dripping veins of ink smothered the light completely, sparing only the bravest sliver of purple, which surrendered within instants. Sighing, he followed the stinging scent of brine down to the ocean shore.

      paraRestless waves dancing by the dim light of the low moon, the sea welcomed him, lapping at his bare feet in pure delight as soon as it could reach. All Sunder could manage in return was a polite smile, feigned, even if he was glad to meet with his companion. The expression was stiff upon his downturned face. Salt flakes rained gently on his Arctic skin, but he brushed them off. At once, the water noticed something was wrong. It fluttered in patient inquiry. Adjusting his weight, Sunder debated whether to speak. The icicles in his black hair bounced and jingled as he tilted.

      para"I still can't figure out why she left," he finally announced, kicking his feet. Again, he leaned away, into a clump of snow. It flattened under his gangly frame. The sea swelled, waiting for him to say more, but he never did, so his words hung heavy in the frigid air. Atop the hill, the trees wrestled with the wind, shrieking in amusement. Sunder scoffed at their infinite childishness.

      para"You’re forgetting you used to do the exact same thing," reminded the waves. The words rippled through his veins like a white river. He scoffed again, this time at the sea. In his peripheral, he noticed the ocean fluctuate, but his gaze still lingered on the crest of the glacier.

      paraOf course, he’d heard the story of his mother countless times. Yet still, he was desperate to hear it once more. They battled in silence, but the sea surrendered quickly. “She left fourteen years ago wearing the skin of a polar bear. Perhaps she has a reason, perhaps she doesn't. I believe her actions are beyond our comprehension either way. That's all I know, and that's all you know I know, Sunder."

      paraIt was incredible how the mundane tale could still hurt; he felt it like the gentle frostbite that made his skin impervious to the cold. How young had he been? No older than five. However, he remembered it well; a slow, tingling burn on the surface of his brown skin, like the one he felt brewing in his chest like a snowstorm. The skin on his wrist paled as he squeezed it.

      paraAfter a tense moment, the ocean climbed onto the snow bank and reached to smooth his wild hair, but the boy thrust it away with an open palm; the impact sent stunned droplets yelping across the open air. “I’m not a child anymore!” He snapped. The wind and the trees began to bicker. Anger was building, misplaced, but frenzied. “Grow up!” The boy screamed. An unsettling hush encompassed the barren land. Even the sea went still, allowing him to saturate in his own misery for a fleeting moment.

      para“My boy, you’ve never had the pleasure to be one at all,” it eventually whispered, settling into its own mass. The calm words knotted in his stomach. His teeth unclenched. Dropping from a first, his fingers brushed the surface of the snow. “You were forced to grow up too fast,” it added. And it was right, but the ancient sea always was.

      paraExhausted and ashamed, the boy shrunk into the ground, curling his body like a spiraled seashell. He didn’t argue when the saltwater rose to stroke his dark skin, lulling him into a sorrowful slumber.
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blue
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week one | barren

Tue Jul 25, 2017 7:28 am

  • Image
    Image
          • ___________________________________________
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            ___________________________________________
            ___________________________________________



There had been rumors through out the Zones that BL/ind was sending out hoards of Draculoids in an attempt to wipe out every last cell of rebel Killjoys they could find lurking out in the Californian desert. At first, when our group heard about the raids, we weren't worried, most of the outer Zones had been completely abandoned and obliterated for months, if not by Korse and his Dracs, then by the baking summer heat and lack of any real nourishment that didn't come out of a can. Every smart 'joy knew to keep moving. However, it didn't take long for me to realize the true danger that ate a pit in my stomach. The four of them could sense my tension as we drove swiftly over dusty roads worn smooth by other groups of Killjoys roaming through out the emptiness of Zone 3.
Party Poison glanced at me over his sunglasses through the rear view mirror and Fun Ghoul looked at him yet remained silent. I could tell they were all thinking the same thing. Ever since I'd joined up with the Fabulous Four, I was forced to stay on the run. It wasn't unlike the rest of the Killjoys that shared the Zones with us but the Four were on Korse's radar, more specifically on the radar of Battery City. They were viewed as saviors for the 'joys that roamed the desert, they were viewed as miscreants in the eyes of Battery City and needed to be wiped out.
Our faces were on wanted posters plastered through out the city. Handed out in such abundance that even a few leaflets made their way into the Zones for the rest of us to see. Many groups of rebels flew the wanted posters like flags, proud of the rebellion, but regardless of the support, those posters were targets on our backs and a reminder to keep running. Our work was never done and there was never a safe place to rest our weary heads. The infamy of the Four that I now took a part in put everyone I loved in danger.
When I first started running, scared and alone, I heard horror stories of BL/ind's S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit going out and torturing and killing members of the Zones to root out information about the Killjoy resistance- people that had nothing to do with the actions of the Killjoys that they only heard about in myth and legend.
Now that horror story was my greatest fear. Raids had been seen close to 'joy hideouts, bodies of dusted rebels left where we could all see them. It was only a matter of time until one of those raids took out people I loved, who I intended to protect when I ran away with the rebellion in the first place. My mother. An innocent trapped in all of this because my face was posted alongside the most wanted Killjoys that have ever existed.
Kobra Kid's soft reassuring hand on my knee brought me out of my thoughts. "We promised to keep you safe and we'll do just that, kid." He said, his smile radiating past the dark lenses of his sunglasses. The sun was starting to go down over the hills, turning them black against the vibrant sky. We were passing through Zone 4 now. A lengthy moment of silence was punctuated by Party's voice. "What Zone is your mom in?" He asked without looking away from the road, the car tearing along the road, leaving clouds of dust billowing up from behind the tires.
"6." I said quietly, watching Ghoul's expression change. He leaned to whisper to Party. I only caught a part of it.
"-all the way out in 6? Party, if Korse made it out ... there's no hope in ... dead already," Party shook his head to silence to Ghoul and the car lurched forward. "We need to beat them there. There's no way Korse made it out there from Battery City in a day's time." I understood Ghoul's hesitation, if my mother hadn't been dusted in the harsh environment of the outer Zones, she was definitely either running with another group of Killjoys or she was executed in the raids that hadn't stopped for weeks. I forced myself not to dwell on it.
Jet Star, who was completely silent the entire time, wrapped a brotherly arm around my shoulders. He didn't say anything then, he didn't need to. His and Kobra's comforting presences in the back seat were all I needed to catch a few winks. Party deftly handled the car, able to keep the car ride smooth despite there not being any paved roads out in the Zones.
A chill, summer breeze from an open door woke me. Kobra and Jet were still in the back seat on either side of me, however their demeanor had changed. Kobra sat straight up, listening to a conversation Ghoul was having with Party as they gathered supplies from the trunk of the car. Jet kept his arm around me, his grip now tight and protective.
I rubbed my bleary eyes, blinking in the low light. The only illumination came from the headlights of the car that caught the dust that blew in from all around us. Some of it snaked in through the open door, leaving my nasal passage dry. I could smell the distinctive scent of gasoline along with a dreaded tinge of sweet metallic on the air, but all I could see was the cab of the car.
This far out into Zone 6, people wouldn't be afraid to light a few kerosene lamps and fires. However, from what I could see through the windshield- dirty and clouded from the long drive- there was no activity. No fires, no lamp light, no raucous welcome for the Fabulous Four that seemed to follow us everywhere we went. Nothing.
We were surrounded by a deafening silence save for the wind whipping over the nothing that I knew was now Zone 6.
"Let me out, I need to look." I pushed Jet's arm off of me. Kobra was hesitant to push the seat forward for me but he did. I stumbled out of the car and landed on my knees in the loose dirt. Kobra and Jet followed shortly after me. Kobra helped me to my feet, hand clasped firmly around the handle of his raygun. He walked swiftly to join Ghoul and Party's hushed conversation.
Outside of the car, I was able to see more in the rays of light cast forward by the headlights. There was nothing I could make out for several feet in front of me but my stomach lurched when my eyes focused on a dark mass lying in the dust, what could only be a body. I was startled out of my shock with the sound of Party sparking a flare, holding it at arm's length. The flare illuminated what we couldn't see.
Ghoul was right. Fuck, he always was.
Korse made it out here before we even thought to. In the light from the flare, I could now make out overturned structures, smoke that billowed from fires long extinguished. I stared at the toe of my boots and urged myself to move, stopping every few feet to stare at a puddle of dark that was most likely blood.
We all stood there for several long moments, Party rifling through the damage trying to find anything left from the raid. He tried his best to cover the faces of dusted Killjoys that probably showed up to fend off the raid. Kobra picked up a wad of paper that rolled past his feet as the wind picked up- it had to be nearly dusk. He showed it to Party, cautious so I wouldn't see it. But I did.
A wanted poster. With my face on it.
We couldn't be sure they were out here looking for info about me but we could damn sure make an educated guess.
Ghoul found a torn and blood stained white flag emblazoned with the Bulletproof Spider, a symbol for the Killjoys, no doubt flown high as they came down in a firefight with the Dracs during the raid. He wrapped it's edges around a broken branch and leaned it up against and ruined structure. It waved in the wind over the barren wasteland that was once my home, the home where I abandoned my mother and family for the rebellion. And now they were dead.
We all stood in the light of the flare Party held out in front of him, surrounded by the bodies of the brave, fighting until their last dying breath to stop the tyranny of Battery City.
"Killjoys never die." Party said symbolically, blowing out the light on the flare and bathing us in darkness once again.


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week 01.} barren

Wed Jul 26, 2017 7:52 am

  • ━━━━━ BARREN ♠ ♠ ♠
    • - warnings ;; death and a slight implication of suicide without understanding that it was suicide {i really don't think this calls for the fire icon but just in case i'll leave it for those that may be triggered by the insinuation}- author's note ;; not at all romanticising this.
  • it was quiet.

    the boy with the blue eyes couldn't breathe. he couldn't ask someone for a reason, because he was alone. he couldn't reach out to another soul and plead that they might aid him in the lack of oxygen he boasted. when he'd breathed, he'd witnessed how dangerous it was to lose it. his father had died without it… sprawled out on a frigid table of polished silver and smelling strongly of chemicals. doctors had swarmed the wilted cadaver like demons to slaughter, like crows diving in for a nibble from a pile of rot, like bees puckering their taloned rears and trying their hardest to pinpoint unclothed flesh. they did what they could, emitting such a racket as the boy with the blue eyes had peered onward — his view partially obstructed by the hunched backs of the white-coated caretakers, and no less assisted in his height. his mother hadn't been there to pat his shoulder or wish him well… she'd been drinking the previous night, left at the house with a hangover. he'd tried to wake her, desperately clawing at her pallid arm in an attempt to warn her of her husband’s weaning state — though she hadn't listened… so the child, barely six, called the emergency vehicle himself.

    his father died with no one around but the boy with the blue eyes to comfort the crippled corpse’s swollen fingers. they'd been speckled in veins, bruised and molten, as if charred by the flames of hell. it was like the old man had touched the dreadful place, and his skin had paid the morbid consequences. his body had been left barren… and as had the boy’s. a morsel of his spirit was crushed, as if it hadn't already been battered by the complexities of his home, for his friend lay dead from a most unexpected complication. he'd suffocated. the doctors concluded asthma. breathing had become too encumbering… every inhale like hoisting a thousand pounds over his head to pelt them across a corridor. at such a tender and naive age, the child hadn't understood how anything of that sort could happen. how could you ever completely lose that ability? how could those two pouches inside of you squeeze up and cease to absorb? how could your lifeline, your invisible string that kept you planted there and wheezing until eventual death, betray you? it seemed something of fantasy, a trick… but afterwards his father never returned.

    it was okay now, though… for the boy with the blue eyes wasn't so confused about it anymore. he didn't breathe either. he'd grown an obsession with discovering how it may have worked, how it might feel, if it was like puncturing a balloon and deflating, and he'd done everything in his power to know. not that he realized he was harming himself… his experimentation was built on the purity of juvenile innocence. you could call it stupidity, but given his age and the fact that he'd never stepped through school doors… he hadn't been exposed to a proper education. his mother couldn't do anything for him. he had nothing to base anything on except for experiences of his own… thus, as he craved knowledge to quite the dangerous extent, he was willing to go through the most desperate of measures to achieve it. he figured out how to hold his breath, which may have been his biggest epiphany. soon he would be evolving towards more physical means, more feeling and rougher touches… but at nine, he would discover the root of what he needed to fully and unquestionably lose his breath. it was not tiring himself into exhaustion, it was to choke… to seize the throat, the supple and narrow bend of his shallow jugular, and squeeze. squeeze until he was brimming with blossoms of crimson, bolts and trails of shimmery gold fluttering like pixie’s wings across his vision. sprinkles and flowers of multicolored tracks were spilled over an obsidian canvas, a void, and were swallowed… and as his lungs would powerfully kick and convulse, writhing inside of him meekly… he would topple over, absurdly blue in the face. blue as his eyes. so blue, he wouldn't return.

    … which was precisely why he was here. it was why his curved nostrils no longer flared with wistful gasps, why his pursed lips no longer bothered to part and allow entry to a tunnel of warm air… because there wasn't anymore pain, and there wasn't anymore purpose. he was standing just fine without his breath, without pushing his lungs to a point he had little interest in reaching. it wasn't that he didn't want to live… he just wanted to feel what his father had. he couldn't see the man was deceased, never to crawl upon the earth’s grimy skin again… and none could come to explain the concept to him. he was poorly raised… and as he meandered this lonely shoreline, it showed.

    he was calm, for what it may have been worth. he wasn't panicking, nor sprinting to-and-fro in a petrified rhythm of insanity. he wasn't losing it as he paced, he was hardly showing a blip of the mildest concern. the boy with the blue eyes couldn't have cared less about how strange this was: how one minute he'd been propped against his bed, bare toes curling into cream strands of woven carpet, and the next… he'd been planted here. an image had flickered into his view, as if being seen through a cheap television screen, and soon thereafter… he felt his feet touching down. as if he'd landed from a great leap, he stumbled slightly… kicking up mounds of something soft, consisting of minimal texture but intensely lukewarm and slightly damp. he might've bitten the dust had he not spared a second to catch himself — briefly disabled by the fall as he clumsily shot out a hand, a short yet thin arm, and halted the progression of gravity in all of its cruel greed. feathery, loose strands of pitch black hair crumpled past his wrinkled brow, his features beneath it curved into a resolute scowl… but he didn't speak. he didn't breathe. he barely felt the urge to do so much as blink — it was as if every last need he may have acquired before, such as a starving belly or a thirsting tongue, had been vanquished with the snap of some unseen fingers. it had transported him from the chill of his room… to here.

    this ethereal beach.

    ethereal, because he had never witnessed one prior to this… and he could not say whether it was accurate, or if it was merely playing off of his imagination. although, he hadn't a clue what a beach even was — never mind what it looked like. but if he'd been offered access to the wonders of unexplored territory that nestled beyond his dreary household, he might have put a proper name to the mysterious location. he would've known that this was nothing like the average beach.

    what gingerly kissed his pale toes was called ‘sand’, however its coloration differed from the ever-so-typical tan or white. the concoction that resided along those waves of foam was black… every minuscule pebble dramatically ebony, as if tainted in paint that had been dumped by a giant. the sky above was a quirky mixture of swirls and electrical currents, where gaps and crannies acted as breaches that allowed for light to shyly creep in. dips of cotton collided with one another, rolling around and turning the world as he saw it this monochrome grey. the water appeared dull: with the occasional waft of what might have been navy peeking through, but like a teeny groundhog too nervous to emerge and be met with its shadow. this view could be found to his left, his right… wherever he might have turned, there it was again… the black sand that melded quite naturally with the curve of the surfing horizon, and like an ice cream cone it held it tightly in its hands as it gradually melted. he could sense the magic that stirred there, the tickling energy of power he hadn't embraced until then. his youthful frame couldn't sustain what it was trying to receive, which caused him great struggle as his wobbly knees forced him to rise from his overwhelmed crouch.

    the beach was barren. blank. it was a stamp of nonexistence, a black hole of infinite silence, for no breaths interrupted the crispness of the zephyr and the waves that were swiftly ferried didn't even hum above a whisper. there was not another life in sight, not another caring individual to accompany him… and oddly, he didn't find that he felt grief. the solitude was magnificent. it was all he could've asked for. it was a gifted warm blanket that swathed him as he welcomed it. the boy with the blue eyes was free.

    carlisle was free.
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⋆). week one // barren

Sat Jul 29, 2017 2:45 am

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    (author's note: i'm not super proud of this but i really wanted to get
    xsomething out for this prompt! hopefully next time it'll be better)

    ─────────── WEEK ONE ───────────────────────
    • indent1942
      indentPlanes soar overhead and gunshots pierce the air to create a cacophonous symphony accompanied by the buzzing in my ears. German soldiers push forward towards our American troops. We attack, and they match us in an endless dizzying loop. Men shriek in pain all around me, adding to the horrible orchestra and I can't escape. There's nowhere to go, no safety from a screaming land dusty, bleeding and devoid of life. There is little to describe in such a desolate place. It is barren. It is empty. It is hot. I feel crazed, like the next fight I'm in might break me down completely. It's horrible, yet I chose to come here.
      indentI purposely left behind my beautiful Rosemary. I joined the war, believing I owed my country and I should to serve it as best I can. I thought I would be saving her and the rest of America, but I feel useless and unsure of how much I have really done. I'm certainly not saving her from any stress. Every letter sent tells of how worried she is about me and she longs for me to return. I yearn for her too, the letters a single comfort at night when I try my best to get even a moment of peaceful sleep. She sends me one every day, and I send my own whenever I can. I have to remember this is for her, and she'll be safe while I'm here.
      indent"Douglas Fenske! Get over here!" Someone yells at me and I follow them without a word. I am given orders to which I nod and reload my gun. A bullet whizzes by my head and I flinch. One step separated me from the bleeding men on the ground, cheated their last words. It's strange that being out here reminds me of all the life inside me and how quickly it could drain away. I feel alive in stark comparison to the bleak landscape and silence of the newly dead, brave candles snuffed out too early. It could be me, only a small stain in the lives of all that had met me. I stand alone in a wasteland blurry with bodies and faces I don't recognize but will not forget. Now I shoot, deafened by all the last breaths that I have stolen in order to keep fighting. I will fight my way back home.
      indentHours later, we have won this battle and the Germans have retreated. Every victory feels too small to be celebrated knowing how many have died over the three years the war has already eaten up and knowing how many more will have to die if we are to win. I try not to think about this. Another letter from Rosemary has arrived for me and I allow myself to be happy, even for a moment. A foreign smile breaks away some of the dirt on my face. It reads;
      indentDear Douglas,
      indentToday is June 6th. I wonder how many days it takes to get each of my letters? I hope it isn't too long. Do you get a letter every day or do you get several every few days? I'd like to think it's the former, so you can be a little happier each night after fighting all day.
      indentI wish I got more letters from you, but I understand why I don't. I know I say this in all of my letters, but I miss you. Home doesn't feel like home without you. There is no heartbeat to sync up with, no one to chase away my loneliness or dry my tears. I can't lie to you; I cry every night.
      indentWhen you come back, I want to try for a child again. I've told you how much I long to be a mother, how I desire a baby so. If only we could have had children already so I wouldn't be alone all the time. I would hate to be an old geezer, widowed and alone. Pregnancy didn't sound hard when I was young. I hope one day I won't be so barren inside and we can have a little Diana or Allen. Those are my favorite names, one for a girl and one for a boy. What do you think?
      indentAnyways, I think I've gabbed enough to you for one letter. I'll have to go buy some more ink soon, I use up so much every week! I should really ease up. Until tomorrow, I suppose.
      indentForever yours,
      indentedRosemary

      indentThe letter is so wonderful I nearly cry. "I love you," I murmur, glad she'll never have to see this horrid war in person and that soon it may be over. I didn't know at the time that "soon" would mean three more years. Three long, painful years until I could see my beloved Rosemary again.
      indent1945
      indentThe war's end seems to be on the tip of everyone's tongue, so close we can taste it. Sweet victory is on the horizon as we gain more and more ground each day, closer and closer to beating the enemy and going home. One last battle, we whisper hopefully. One more time. Gunshots sing a song of success and I am relieved after the tiring years behind me. I'll be okay once I'm back with my wife. Killing German soldiers no longer scares me; the only thing I'm afraid of now are my memories. The mind of a soldier is a dangerous place.
      indentWe have the advantage as we attack the other troops without hesitation, hungry for victory. The casualties on our side are much fewer. I feel numb and I shout randomly to try to bring back some feeling. Perhaps it was better when I felt bad about all the people I killed, even if they were killing my people too. Everything is going over my head and I begin to get distracted by the bodies. There aren't many but they are still there. Young. So young. I watch an eighteen year old get shot in the chest and slowly die, unable to look away. I can't move. He's dead. When I am shot in the leg, I barely feel it. There is nothing left for me to feel. Someone next to me shouts for a medic, pushing me to the ground. I can smell the dirt. The ground is barren, and so am I.
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