Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises

I wrote this up about two, three weeks ago. I was tired of working on the edits to a different short story, as it was being a pain in the butt, and I just wanted to write something fun. I decided to go with another one of the themes in the 100 Themes challenge, and I was in the mood to write with my character Flynn, so I did.

Flynn is from the Angels RP on ASN, and was a German American during the time of WWII. He's sent over to Germany as a spy, as he physically fits the description of the "perfect" race. However, he is betrayed by a fellow spy and is taken captive by the German soldiers. It was only after I wrote this story that I looked at it and was like, "I wrote about suicide, for fun."




One foot. Then the other. One foot. Then the other. One foot. Then the other. One foot. Then the other. One foot. Then the other. One foot. Then the…

Stop.

His foot took another step anyways, and Flynn was roughly jerked back. He stumbled about for a moment, kept upright only by the steel grip of the two SS soldiers beside him, and then reclaimed his balance. But his legs still quivered, and his head hung low. Haunted blue eyes stared at the grey floor, oblivious to everything around them.

“You tired, American rat?” The words were in English, but with the clipped speech pattern of a German—a German he had grown to hate. He could just picture the Hauptsturmfuhrer, standing there, his grey uniform crisp and his many medals polished into a mirror. He would be wearing that same sick smile he always wore, and one hand would be resting on his gun, while the other would be hanging loosely at his side. It was always the same thing, day after day after day. “Vell, Flynn?”

When the American gave no answer, made no movement, the Hauptsturmfuhrer strode forward, his heavy boots sounding the warning thunder long before the lightning struck. Flynn barely registered the fresh pain of a hand striking his cheek; he had already been hurt more than he had ever thought possible. Another slap came, and his legs buckled out from underneath him. The two soldiers behind him held him upright, their grip on him tightening.

“You vill die,” the officer growled, his ‘d’ sounding more like a ‘t’. To the fading American soldier, it took him a moment to understand, for the words to sink in. “You vill die.” He stepped forward, his boots sounding loud in the silence of the room, and he slid the barrel of his Walther P38 underneath the spy’s chin. Flynn found his head being forced up by the gun, until his blue eyes were staring into that of the captain’s matching pair. The German leaned his head forward, whispering in the doomed man’s ear. “Unless… you tell me vhat I desire.” He drew back then, the sick smile widening.

Flynn stared at him, blankly, and his head slowly tilted to the side. He blinked, again slowly, then gathered together the little remaining salvia in his mouth. He spat on the Hauptsturmfuhrer’s face, and then felt a white-hot pain in his arms as he was roughly jerked back. Again he was slapped across the face, and the gun’s barrel was placed in the center of his forehead.

He wanted to whisper the words, to tell the captain to shoot him, but his vow of silence stopped him from so much as groaning at the pain that racked his body. He didn’t want to live anymore—nobody in his situation would.

And he had to protect his information—yes, he had to do that.

“Bam.” The Nazi soldiers chuckled, but the laughter died on their lips when they realized that the American hadn’t so much as blinked.

He didn’t care about their words, but their laughter made the spy sick inside. How many innocent people had died, just in those few seconds? How many screams from the gas chamber had there been, covered up by the thick walls? How many thin bodies—living corpses—had just hit the ground, never to rise again? He had seen it; he had even helped follow through with the orders at one point, to keep his cover in place.

He closed his eyes, only for them to flicker back open again, as if he could escape the images engraved in his brain. Was he destined to become one of them?

“Take him avay.” The Hauptsturmfuhrer spat on the broken spy before turning his back to those in the room. “Ve are done for today.”

Flynn stared at the man in charge of his fate for a moment longer, seemingly oblivious to the spit dripping down his cheek, and then meekly let the Nazi soldiers lead him back to his cell.

One foot. Then the other. One foot. Then the other. One foot. Then the other. One foot. Then the other. One foot. Then the other. One… No, wrong foot. Stumble. One foot. Then the other.

Stop.

The German American was thrust into the small room, and the door was slammed shut behind him. The bang echoed in his ears, accompanying him as he collapsed to the ground.

He was alone. The cell was small, and dark, and smelled of death. No, death wasn’t just in the smell. The grime on the walls felt of death, and the silence spoke of the dying screams that never quite reached this place.

This was his refuge, until they came for him again.

But when would that be? How much longer would this game continue on?

“You can’t…” The voice was loud, wild, and was cut off as a maniacal laugh filled the air.“You can’t break me. I won’t be broken! You hear me!” More laughter.

“You won’t get nothing from meeeeee. Nothin’!”

The soldier pulled his right leg close to his body—sucking in stale air at the pain—and reached down to his worn boot.

“You hear me, Haupsturmfuhrer Alexander?! ‘Defender of man’! Nichts!”

His trembling fingers loosened the hidden compartment and he grasped the pill before it could fall. He held the small thing, as if inspecting it, but all he could see were Jews he had killed. They were calling out to him for mercy, reaching out to him for help. Those closest grasped onto his clothing with their bloody hands. They clawed at his face, moaned in his ears.

The pill fell into his mouth and he swallowed.

“Nichts!”

Yes, they would get nothing from him, and he would finally have nothing to fear.

His outstretched arm hit the ground, and the door to the cell opened, flooding the small room with light. But the Nazis were too late, as they rushed towards the American soldier.

The light had faded from his eyes.

This hasn't been edited at all.

I just got this urge to write with Tahira. She's from the Angels RP that was on ASN, where, in the course of the RP, she accidentally signed her soul away to Lucifer. I was wondering what it would have been like, for Tahira, if she had never been freed from the Devil's contract.

This is two years after the RP would have ended (as it died, which was very sad). Flynn was sent to protect Tahira while she's stuck in Hell, right before the RP died. Since Tahira is still Lucifer's, I figured that he'd still be there, protecting her.


Tahira dug up the fragile flower from the ground. She lifted it up, ever-so-gently, and gave the dark petals a sniff. A smile worked its way across her face, and she breathed in deeply. The air around her was hot, but the flower combated it, smelling like the nighttime of the woods on Earth.

Had it really been two years?

She stared down at her dirty feet, and the warm ground they stood on. Her blue eyes then traveled up the rest of her body, at the filthy skirt she wore, with long slits running up both sides, at the shirt that now had a few holes in it, and at her long and tangled hair. She still looked the same age she had died at, but the wear of the last couple of years definitely showed. Even her wings, once white as snow, now looked as if she had dumped a load of mud on them.

Next to the beautiful flower she held, she was nothing.

"Miss."

She turned at the stern, but emotionless voice, to see her guardian angel standing there, his wings just as dirty as hers. His blonde hair hung long, falling across the sword he had strapped to his back, and his blue eyes were focused on her.

Tahira took a few steps towards him and held out the flower, the smile still on her face.

He made no move to take the offered flower. "It is time we head back."

The young angel's smile disappeared and she visibly drooped, her arm falling back to her side. "Just a few minutes more?" she asked.

"No." He turned away from her. "You know that we cannot."

She sighed, before hurrying after him. Her small hand slid into his big, and she fell into step beside him. The flower was still grasped in her other, and she held it carefully to her chest. The flower was fragile, like her.

But she would care for it. And keep it safe. Like all the others.

She glanced up at her guardian. "Flynn, do you think that he'll let me have a greenhouse? My room is almost full."

He sighed. "You're going to have to ask Lucifer that, Miss."

The young angel made a face. She hated asking the Devil for things, because she never knew if she was going to be better or worse off for it. But there was no help for how powerless she was here.

After all, she was the Devil's pet.

I was watching The Clique earlier and this just came out. It's about Ariel, from the Covert Undercover Night Trucker RP. This would be a couple of years before the RP starts. Not sure exactly when. And this is rough. Don't know if I'll ever polish it up.


Ariel watched in the mirror as the eggshell fell. There was the soft crackle as the shell broke even further, but still she smiled wide. Then some of the egg yolk dripped down as well, and her smile faltered before disappearing altogether.

Slowly, the young teen lifted up a hand and ran it along one of the wet strands of her dark hair. The rest of the glob of egg yolk fell then, landing with a splash in the bathroom sink.

“I’ve heard that egg is really good for your hair.”

Ariel bit her lip and blinked once, twice, to stop the tears from falling. “My hair will look pretty.” She smiled again, but the tears were still there, in her eyes. “I will be pretty. Just like all of the other girls. Then they’ll like me.”

Not that she cared if they liked her. Not if she cared if they thought if she was pretty or not, because she didn’t.

Another glob of egg fell from her hair, this one hitting the floor. In the same instant, a tear fell.

“I’m pretty.”

She let her hand fall back down to her side.

“Aren’t I?”

She stared hard into the mirror, at her skinny, pale self, and at the eggs that covered her body. Another tear fell, and then the young girl bowed her head, closing her eyes tightly shut.

“I’m beautiful,” she whispered. “They just don’t realize it yet.”

And then she smiled, and everything was all right again.

Great piece there, Casey. I haven't gotten around to reading everything else you've written, but I did enjoy reading that little piece. Great job!

^Thanks! Ariel's had a lot of bullying done to her in her life, but she bounces back so quickly.

I'm a part of the deviant365 project on deviantart, which is basically a group where you do a different task each day. For Task 17, I had to:
1. Grab the nearest book to you right now.
2. Open it at page 105 (if small book, page 25).
3. Count 10 lines down.
4. Use line 10 at the stimulus to create a piece of art.
5. All forms can be used, including literature and muro drawings

My line:
‘brandishing their silvery weapons. They wore the black hoods of’
- Page 105, line 10 of The Princetta

And this is with my character Ana, from the Rebellion RP.


“Please! I have a wife… three kids…”

The cloaked figure didn’t say a word, but simply continued to walk forward, towards the pinned and cringing figure. She lifted up her arm, a dagger clenched in her hand. The blade was short, the size of her pinkie, but the silvery weapon gleamed, testifying of the damage that it could do.

“I’ve always been loyal to the King! Always paid my full taxes! Never caused any trouble!”

Still the shadow didn’t speak. No, it wasn’t her place to question. She had been told to kill this man, and so she would.

“I’m begging you!”

She paused, only a few feet away from him now. Her cloaked head tilted slightly to the right, studying the fear in the man’s eyes as she drew her weapon back. Huh. Didn’t he know that fear solved nothing? It was such a useless emotion.

“I’m innocent!”

Her hand lowered before darting forward and then jerking back, slipping free of the man’s heart just as easily as it had entered it. Her target gurgled once and then his head bowed in the prayer of death. She lowered the dagger. Crimson liquid gathered together at its tip and dripped down, onto the ground.

“I too, was once innocent,” she murmured. “But others have made us into something that we weren’t.”

The Huntsman turned, her dark cloak swishing around her body, and then she was gone just as quickly and quietly as she had come.

It was amazing, what an eleven-year-old could be trained to do.

Ooh, great....oneshot, I guess, not sure else how to describe it. Anyway, great work there, Casey! I loved it. It sure makes Ana an interesting character. I'd definitely love to learn more about her, now.

Thanks! There's several names to give shorter pieces like this, and I'm not sure which one is correct for what. I tend to think that oneshots came from short fanfiction pieces, as that's where I see that term used most. This piece seems too short for a short story, so maybe it's flash fiction? I don't know.

Anyways, yes. I haven't had much of a chance to explore her past, but I think that it would be a lot of fun to write about. If only I had the time...

I was reading this week's chapter in my Social Problem's book, and it was all about criminals. It talked of white-collar crimes, which are those that people in power commit and then get away with because they have a lot of money and a lot of power, and also of those who are professional criminals--those who commit crime like normal people work at jobs to earn a living.

Aaron Raye, from my Fay RP, is a combination of these two things, and so I couldn't help but write this little piece up. It takes place after Xorn arrests him for suspicion, but before everything is straightened out on the orbital station.




Aaron Raye wasn’t concerned when he was placed under arrest by the lich. It was an inconvenience, yes, but only an inconvenience. The League of Planets had no evidence on him, only suspicions. And even if they uncovered anything on him, he had billions of dollars at his disposal. It wouldn’t be hard to keep this quiet, and it wouldn’t be long before he was released.

Xorn, the officer who had arrested him, was not one that could be bought. He recognized that fact right away, but that didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be others. A billion dollars was a lot of money, and anybody would be tempted, when the only price was silence and release.

Any evidence that Xorn had collected in the decoys would never make it to court, or even to be examined. There were procedures set into place, for if an arrest of one of the Seven in Eta happened. Of course, he never thought that he would be the one the law turned their attention to. He was such an outstanding citizen, and the only time the law had even noticed him was when he had been an ‘innocent bystander’ to the ‘last big battle’ of ‘Eta’.

It was funny how little the law knew about what had really happened.

His grief for his wife, however, had been real, and his story about them being on a date night as the battle had happened seemed so true—especially when his daughter’s babysitter testified of it.

But that was not a night he thought much of anymore.

He had been easily cleared of suspicion then, and he would be so now. Xorn, the Enforcers, and LoP had nothing on him that could not be explained or bought away. Xorn was foolish to think that he could arrest such a powerful man as one of the Seven of Eta.

All of this…

Was only an inconvenience.

This piece could be called fanfiction, but I wrote it because of the HP Children of Slytherin RP, so I figured that it would fit here more than my fanfic thread.

Kami is a young werewolf who has been on her own for years, and who lived as a beast during that time. This all changes when she meets another werewolf by the name of Javy. He turns her life around, and then ends up sacrificing his life for hers (which can be read about in Theme 5, found here: https://newworldsrp.rpg-board.net/t147-the-original-works-of-casey-jewels-not-okay#10521).

Shortly after this, Kingsley Shacklebolt comes after her, as he is a teacher at Hogwarts in this AU RP, and he takes her back to his home, which is when this short story takes place.

Also, this isn't the first time that I've adapted Kami to fit into the HP universe. A short fanfic with her called Silver Amulets can be found here: https://newworldsrp.rpg-board.net/t109-fanfictionous-goodies-shipping-month-11-30-avatar


Kami didn’t come out of her room the first day she stayed in Kingsley Shacklebolt’s home, nor the second day, and by the third, Kingsley was starting to get worried. He didn’t say anything to her about it, but she could tell from the way that he checked on her more and more often.

Not that she needed checked on. She could handle herself by herself.

What was he expecting, anyways? It wasn’t like she was causing any chaos, or was going to be causing any. How could she, in the state she was in? She was so full of sad empty, inside, and that was different from the bestial empty she had been before… before all of this, before everything.

Her silver eyes stared at the off-white wall before her, but nothing registered.

She should have died, it would have been better. Not that she liked the idea, but wasn’t she dead already? This couldn’t be what life was supposed to feel like. Maybe she could go out, and finish what the hunters had started. But then his sacrifice would have been for nothing. And she couldn’t allow that. But how could she live, when he had… It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t right.

The fourth day came and went, as did the fifth day.

Her body began to rock, ever so slightly, and her head dropped down onto her knees, but still her eyes remained open, staring into nothing, and everything.

What had she done? How could she have ran? But she had, and now he was… gone. She couldn’t even bring herself to think the words of what had happened, or to even say his name. If she hadn’t of been there, if she hadn’t even have existed, then maybe…

An arm wrapped around her body and quite suddenly she found herself pressed against the professor. Her eyes widened as she lay there, frozen in his embrace. He was… he was… But the sound of crying distracted her from the fact that he was making physical contact with her. What a weakling, whoever that was. But then she realized that it was herself.

She tried to stop the pathetic sound, tried to stop the tears, but it was just as futile as turning back time. Her entire world had been torn from her, and it wasn’t fair! No, it was. After all, it was all her fault, wasn’t it? She had k-killed them all!

She had killed them all…

Her nails dug into the arms of the man that embraced her, but he only continued to hold her close, and let her cry.

She had… But the thought wavered, and then changed into another. She felt weird good, which was… weird. How could tears ease the aching inside, when they were a part of what caused it? How could she be sad enough for water to fall, but yet feel almost, kind of, sort of at peace? Almost.

But still, when the seventh day came, the room was empty.

Quite the good piece there, Casey! I really enjoyed reading it. Makes me look forward to seeing Kami in the RP, and Kingsley/Kami interaction in the RP as well. Great job! Keep up the great and wonderful work!

Thanks! And I'm way excited for their interactions in the RP as well!

Another Siv and Connor piece, from the collab between Plaguewalker and I. We were talking of future events, and it was decided that when Siv is returned to her people, Connor leaves her, thinking that she will be happy there. This made me want to explore what she was actually go through, and so this piece came about. I'm not sure how much time has passed since he left. In-between six months and half a year. I'm not quite happy with this, but... I don't like most of my first person stuff, so maybe that's why.


How could he have left? How could he have not realized how much it would hurt? How much I don’t want this?

I loved him. I love him still. Or is it only a memory—a memory of good times, a memory of love given, and love received?

I don’t know.

But there is no time to think, just time to learn, to distract myself from the pain, and to make me into what they want me to be. That’s all anybody has ever wanted—is for me to be somebody who is docile, somebody who will follow orders without question, somebody who is happy in enslavement.

But I cried last night. There is a hole in my heart—a hole that will not heal. It almost seems to, with the busyness, but when things slow down, it’s there, just waiting to remind me he is not here, and he isn’t coming back.

It’s hard, to tell myself that, but isn’t it the truth? He left, of his own free will, without giving me a chance to sort this all out, without even saying goodbye. One moment I thought he would always be at my side, and the next… my world was shattered.

How do you pick up the broken bits of glass and put them back together? The glass does not stick and is not whole. There are pieces missing, pieces that cannot be put back, and it hurts to try.

But it also hurts to leave them lying on the floor.

I keep stepping on them, and I feel so much pain that it is like I am numb. Things cannot hurt anymore than they do now, though it is not my body that aches. The stinging of a whip I can stand, but not this.

What could I have done differently, to have made him stay? Had I tried too hard to please him? Or not enough? Was I too weak? He is a pirate, after all, and I am a slave. Maybe I didn’t let him know enough, that I needed him.

But what does the past matter? He’s gone; he didn’t exist. And I’m home now, where I belong. He can’t hurt me again. Nobody can hurt me again, not like this.

But then why do I love him still?

Or is it only a memory—a memory of love?

Another Ana piece, from the Rebellion RP. I'm not really happy with it, but I've spent over a week editing this and I don't want to mess with it anymore.

Ana didn’t dream often.

That wasn’t something the army had taught her, but something she forced upon herself. Dreaming only brought back memories of the past, and those were not memories she wanted to remember; they were not memories anyone would like to remember.

The knife jerked in, between the ribs, and then back out. The movement was automatic, the young girl having done it thousands of times before. But this was different, as blood splattered across her cheek. She lifted a hand, two trembling fingers touching the warm liquid, and then she was soaked in red.

Red. Blood. A life. She had taken…

She stumbled back, and then was falling as the dead body was suddenly behind her. Her white-streaked grey hair floated upwards, not yet cut short, and her body simply drifted through the heavy air; the knife fell from her grip. The blade, stained red, twirled around and around before clattering to the floor. The noise was so loud, echoing in her ears as she fell into the floor and then through it.

All around her was darkness and emptiness. She felt as if she were still falling, but there was nothing to be sure by, nothing to mark her movement. No. There it was, a silver glint above her, fading away from sight, and then zooming towards her, spinning end-over-end. She screamed, but no sound came out; there was nobody to hear her. The knife came closer and she let out another shriek, just as unheard as the first, and then her hands flew up in front of her, as if they could protect her. The knife embedded in the darkness just beside her head. Then it was gone and she was falling again, screaming soundlessly as she went.

The scream was just as soundless as she bolted upright in her bed. Sweat coated the adult’s body, instead of blood, but that didn’t stop her from feeling sick, as if she truly was covered in the crimson liquid. Tremors raced through her body and it took all of her willpower to stop herself from crying.

That was almost twenty years ago, dang it! She had blocked all of that out! But all of the guilt and shame over her first kill was back. She had been ten, and just following orders. And they never had given her a chance to recover. No, after that first kill, it had just been one, and then another, until she had grown numb. A dead body was just an order, some cash, a living. The lives she had taken meant nothing.

A tear escaped, and trickled down her cheek, but she hurriedly brushed it away.

Death was natural, and she was just its agent.

It's been way too long since I've updated this... I have quite a few stories I need to post up, but, for the moment, here's a Christmas one I just wrote up. It's late and it's crappy, but it's a Christmas story all the same! I wanted to post up something, to wish you all a Merry Christmas!

Tahira is from the Hells Angels RP, and this would be before she died. Thomas is from The Unwanted RP, and this would be before he goes off to a boarding school.

They both come from modern Earth, so it wasn't too hard to blend them together.

The title comes from 'Santa, I'm Right Here' by Toby Keith: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZqYUiW5wEY


Tahira’s steps were purposeful as she headed down the sidewalk. A foot of snow covered the town and still more fell, but she didn’t mind the cold or the wet. No, she was safer in it than she was at home.

She clutched the carefully wrapped gift tighter against her chest. The two of them had never spoken, but she knew that he was worse off than her. Hers was not what a home should be, but she had parents, and she had a friend. Now he would have a friend too.

The orphanage came into view, and her blue eyes landed on it with a sad smile. Children’s home—a nicer name, but Tahira knew what it actually meant. She paused on the top step, her bare hand posed in the air. What would the other kids think if he received a special gift from her and they didn’t? But she did not have means to give gifts to them all, and he needed this.

The young girl, a teen behind her innocent appearance, knocked on the door, and then waited for the space of a moment before the door opened up to reveal a plump woman whose hair was just starting to turn grey.

“Oh, hello,” she said with a start as she looked down at Tahira. Then she looked past the girl, as if searching for an adult, but Tahira had come alone.

“This is for Thomas,” she said as she held up the small present, wrapped in soft blue paper with yet softer snow falling down it, landing around the skating penguins. A large red bow, slightly smooshed, rested on the top left corner. “It’s not much, but I think that he needs it.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and then she hurriedly stepped back, gesturing for Tahira to step in out of the cold. “Come inside. I’ll warm up some hot chocolate for you and you can deliver the present personally.”

The young girl smiled as she stepped inside, making sure to slip off her ragged tennis shoes at the entrance. She knew how mad it made people, for tracking water and mud all over, and then she was dashing after the woman.

“I don’t want anybody else to be there, though,” she said as they made their way to the kitchen. “I don’t have gifts for the others, and I don’t want them to feel bad.”

“Of course.”

With the hot chocolate warming up her stiff body, she was ready to greet Thomas with a smile when the timid boy walked inside.

“I have a gift for you,” she said as she slid off of the chair and grabbed onto her small package. She held out the gift, and he flinched back. “Don’t worry,” she said to him. “I know what it’s like, and I won’t ever hurt you. I want to be your friend.”

For the first time ever, she saw him smile, and she smiled as well.

“Merry Christmas.”

I figure I should update this too...

But no real stories. I do have a bunch I could post up, but that requires sorting through them all and it's late. I'm taking Advanced Creative Writing this semester, and we do a lot of little exercise things during class. I thought I might post a few of them, from time-to-time. These are unedited, just whatever came to my mind in the few minutes we have to write on the prompt.

With these prompts, if possible, I usually try to use an already established character, because I just find that easier.


These first two are with my werewolf, Kami. Kal is mentioned in the first one, and he is also a werewolf, and is Ghostmaker's character, and from The City in the Skies RP.


Prompt 1:

“Okay…, so this mail thing. You put it in the box, they take it, and then they put it in the box of wherever you send it to?”

“Yes, that’s the basic idea.”

Kami gave a slow nod of her head and her fingers curled around the necklace she wore, hiding the bloody gem from sight. “So, if I needed to put something somewhere for safe keeping for a few days…” She squinted and half looked up at Kal. “I could send it in the mail, and then it would be delivered wherever I specified?”

He nodded his head, watching both her and the necklace. “Yes, but they do sometimes lose stuff, you know. If you’re really worried about it, why not put it in a safe or something? Until after the full moon.”

She shuddered at the last two words.



Prompt 2:

Kami inched around the tree, watching the woman in all her fancy clothes walking by. The park was busy, mostly with those of the middle class, and so it hadn’t taken Kami long to find her target. The woman stuck out like a sore thumb. Whatever that meant.

The woman leaned over, smiling and talking to a little girl, with two pigtails. The girl has a lollipop in her mouth, and she was sucking on it as she talked with the woman.

Stupid kid. No sense of danger. Trusting everybody around her. That’s what got you killed.

The fancy woman, dressed in purple, with a large sunhat decorated with fake yellow flowers, patted the child on the head, then turned away, and swiped the lollipop. Kami’s silver eyes widened as she watched the woman walk away, and the young girl started to cry.

Had she really just seen that? What a jerk.

Kami slithered around the tree and dodged through the crowd towards the woman. She felt some eyes on her, as she moved, and it made her skin crawl, but there was no help for it. That’s what she got for coming out to somewhere as busy as this park. But maybe the Hunters wouldn’t think to look for her here.

She raced past the woman, a purse in one hand and the lollipop in another.

“Thief!” the woman screamed, and Kami just turned her head back and grinned, sticking out her tongue before turning back. At first, nobody moved towards her, but then the words sunk in and a few people grabbed at her. She dodged around them easily, her hardened bare feet pounding against the green grass, carefully cared for.

Ha. What nerve, that well-to-do lady screaming out that she was a thief. At least she didn’t take candy from little kids, no matter how empty her stomach was.

“Stop that girl! She stole my purse!”

Kami rolled her eyes and slowly started to make a circle back around. She needed to get out of here as fast as possible, but first a little girl needed her lollipop back. It’s not like she wanted the sticky thing.



This next one is with Fire Lord's character, Jason, from The Unwanted RP. I don't normally just use other people's characters like this, but Jason was the first person who came to mind for the specific scenario we had to use. There's three different pieces to this, but all of the same thing. We were supposed to be changing our style with each one, but that's really hard to do...

Prompt 3:

Jason saw his opportunity. He grabbed the waitress’s arm and said, “Come with me. Let’s dance.”
She pulled back, but then he had swung her right back into his arms, and they were on the dance floor. Masks adorned their faces, and everyone else’s, but it didn’t matter. All resistance fled, and she was moving as one with him to the beat. He spun her around and their feet intertwined before she was thrown out, but his grasp on her and her grasp on him was tight. She spun back into him, and laughed.

His eyes twinkled at her, but he was scanning the crowd. Feathers, cloaks, masks, dresses, sparkles and flashes. All blurred together, as he and the waitress tangoed across the floor. The beat thudded, vibrating the large room, shaking the glasses and causing the water inside of them to slosh around. Laughter, mixing into the music, becoming a part of the beat, a part of the dance, a part of the hunt.

He threw out the pretty girl, and his hands, gloved as they were, became claws. She drew back into him, but it was slower, off-beat. His grip softened and he threw her out again, before pulling her back, and she thudded into his chest. She blinked and froze, looking up at his mask. Her hand reached up, touching the edge of the mask, but he jerked his head away.



Jason grabbed the waitress’s arm. “Come. Let’s dance.”

She pulled back, and he swung her into his arms and onto the dance floor of shadows and movement. All escape was lost as the crowd surrounded them, drawing them further into the world of masks, cloaks, dresses, feathers, sparkles, and flashes. He smiled, but his charm was lost behind his own mask, and then they were dancing. He spun her around and their feet intertwined in delicate steps before they moved apart, and she laughed.




He was waiting. Hawk eyes peered out of the bunny he wore, and then he swooped. No words were spoken, just a fierce grip on her arm, throwing her into the wild mass of shadows and demons. Yes! Demons. Monsters. He would rid the world of them all.

“W-wait!” the woman cried out, resisting him, but she would see; they would all see.

He spun on his heel and came to a sudden stop. “Come. Dance.” She stumbled into him, and he held both her arms.



This next one is with my character Siv, after she has found her home and family. Who did not approve of the man she loved and so this man left (Connor who is Plaguewalker's and is from the A Pirate's Life for Me RP) And now a marriage has been arranged for her. There might be slight OOC, as I wrote to fit the exercise.

Prompt 4:

"I just found you, and now I'm going to lose you again, my precious baby girl."

"I'll still be here. A part of this tribe. Forever."

"Is something wrong?"

"I'm getting married tomorrow, to a wonderful man. He's been so kind to me. Never even laughed once, not while I was learning. He just smiled kindly and taught me, erasing my ignorance."

"He is a good man, isn't it? I've had my eye on him for a long time, for you."

"He is kind."

I know this site is long dead, but...

Was listening to Anumati by Jo Blankenburg ft. Uyanga Bold while writing this, found here: https://youtu.be/zY6fTKEh9m4

I was re-reading an old RP I was in, and then found myself wondering how this scene would have played out, and so just started writing it. The scene got skipped over because most of the RPers were ready to move on to the next day. At the time, I don’t think I was too upset over it, but now I really wish we had gotten to write it out. So, this is my version of it.

The only note I had to go off of was this, from Fire Lord: Let's say Connor is in the brig after getting beat up because he didn't bring back Soltor's head. Siv was choked and questioned by Luther about what she told Soltor before finally being allowed to stay out of a cell.

Luther belongs to Fire Lord, while Soltor belongs to manysidestome.

Even all these years later, I’m still envious of how great Fire Lord was at playing villains.

I didn’t really write this for a general audience, and the ending is kind of depressing for said audience, but I wanted this to be as canon to the RP as possible, so…




“Siv, come.”

The Captain’s command was all that needed for the slave to follow her master, leaving behind the uncertain murmurings of the ship’s crew and a tentative but silent Connor. Her steps felt hollow and the world around her swayed in opposition to the ocean’s waves, but still she moved forward, even as she bunched her sweaty palms into her simple dark dress.

Connor had been punished and would be punished further. Now, it was her turn. After all, she had been the one kidnapped. No, not kidnapped. The metal collar around her neck felt heavier than usual. Stolen. She had been the one stolen.

Then they were before the captain’s cabin, and there was no more time to try and calm herself—if that was what she had been doing before. Luther strode inside and she stumbled after, her usual grace gone. Luther turned back, his eyes cold, and she flinched as he reached past her, but he only closed the door. Then he turned away from her and walked forward a few steps.

Siv simply stood there, staring at the wooden floor as her trembling hands opened and closed, grasping on to nothingness. There had been several times she had not been sure of her fate with Captain Luther, for he was a man impossible to read, but nothing like this had ever happened. True, she had been taken from a previous Master before, but Luther had killed Zaroff. Soltor had not done the same.

Luther turned to face her, and she could feel his cold gaze as he studied her. Another tremor ran through her body, even as she fought to keep herself together. Connor had been punished because he had failed to bring back Soltor’s head. Whereas she… she had betrayed her Master. She had resisted Soltor, it was true, but not enough. A tear trickled down her cheek.

“Soltor went to a lot of trouble to steal you,” Luther said, “yet let you escape. Why?”

Siv tried to stifle back a sob, but it was all she could do in that moment to stay upright. She had been rescued, had been brought back to Luther’s ship, but the true terror of what had happened was beginning to wash over her, as well as fear of what was about to come.

Luther’s hand shot out, grasping her throat. She stumbled back, slamming into the door, and her hands flew to his wrists. Her eyes were wide, while his gaze was cold and sinister. He could end her life in an instant, just as he had spared it two years prior.

“Why?” Luther said, and his fingers pressed into her throat.

Siv gasped and her grip on his wrists tightened as she fought to steady herself. “He… he kept asking me questions, M-master.”

“What kind of questions?” His voice had dropped in volume, though he seemed all the more sinister for it.

Siv squirmed in his grip, and she could not stop the tears. “I… He…” The questions had seemed relatively harmless at the time, but now she knew she could very well die for them. “He w-wanted to know who would come r-rescue me. W-wanted to know w-who you were.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Y-yes.”

Luther’s grip on her throat tightened and she gurgled, unable to breath. Then his grip loosened. He did not look away from her but seemed to study her every move.

“What else?”

Siv stifled back a sob.

Luther’s grip on her neck tightened but this time there was an upward thrust to it, and she found herself hoisted into the air. She grasped hard onto Luther’s wrist and her legs kicked out as she gasped for air.

“What else?”

“Hargo’s… trea-sure,” she choked out.

Luther’s eyes narrowed. “What did you tell him?”

This was it. This was the moment he would kill her. Yet, she dared not lie to him—could not lie to him. Her attempts to lie to Soltor had been obvious enough, and he had been a stranger; this was her master—someone who owned her mind, body, and soul.

“It…” She gasped for air, struggling to speak, to breathe. Then her feet were touching the ground again and Luther’s grip loosened. “You had… s-spoken of it…, recently.”

His grip on her neck tightened, cutting off all air, and he slammed her back into the door, his fingers digging into her throat. Siv’s eyes widened, and her legs kicked out again as her hands sought to loosen Luther’s grip. She couldn’t breathe. The world was spinning. Everything blurring. Going black.

Then she was thrown to the floor, and Siv could only lay there, coughing and gasping for air. Spit dribbled from her mouth, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was she was alive. Breathing. Coughing. She doubled over, a mess of tears, mucus, and spit, but not caring. She was alive.

Footsteps, turning towards her, coming nearer.

She looked up to see the wavering image of Luther’s boots as he stood before her. She did not have the strength to flinch back but instead lay there with raspy gasps.

Her left hand bore the cuts of a knife, while her nose ached from Soltor’s attempt to knock her unconscious, and her arm still stung from where a bullet had grazed her. Each attempt to resist Soltor had brought him that much closer to killing her. Yet, would that have been better—to be killed by Soltor’s hand for resisting him, rather than at her master’s hand for betraying him?

“What else did you tell him?” Luther asked.

Siv gave a slow shake of her head, unable to speak. Another cough shook her body.

“What. Else.”

Siv shook her head again.

“Nothing more?”

She nodded.

Silence, and then Luther spoke. “Get out.”

Siv blinked. Out? Then he wasn’t going to kill her? She forced her trembling body to her hands and knees. Luther had not moved, and so she staggered around him and out of the cabin, heading back to the galley.

Her hand went to her throat as she fell to her knees in the darkness, landing on her worn blanket. He had not killed her. She was alive. She had betrayed her Master, but she was alive.

Tremors raced through her body that had nothing to do with her raspy breath, and she collapsed onto her pillow with a soft sob. She was alive.