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Nothing to it, but to do it. Or something. Looking to be told what's wrong with this smattering of words, and to what degree. “Now approaching,” The conductor said over the intercom. He paused and a different, deeper voice finished, “Frostivale, station 55.” For those in the dining car it was a last call on orders both alcohol and food. The stout man across from Pars took a sip of red wine from his glass, “Ah, almost there; are ye excite?” Pars propped her head up with her elbow on the table between them. She’d been quiet the entire trip, responding to her coach in short yes or no answers. “Yea.” The man nodded. His green vest complimented the red cushioned booth. Her prior winnings had paid for winter-wear for both he and she, and he wore the goose-down coat wrapped around his shoulders. “Well ye could stand to look it.” He went back to his dinner of fish and potatoes, “bah, I don’t know what’s colder, out there,” he motioned with his fork, “this food, or your attitude.” Pars took no offense and let her mind wander back to the passing scenery. Snow covered pines passed in an evergreen blur with the purple mountain range as a backdrop. Regrettably, she didn't know the name of the mountains. The skies were a stark blue and through spots in the moving tree line she spotted a flock of birds. They were specks against the blue flying toward station 55. Were they migratory? Were they coming home or fleeing worse weather elsewhere. Pars found it fascinating any animal could scrape a living up here in Snow Country. It was tundra for half the year and only a few months would there be any tourism. Pars wrapped her new scarf tighter around her neck to prevent a shiver. She’d be glad to get this tournament over with and be back below the border. “You’re not even listening. Great,” he let his fork drop. The clang brought Pars to attention. “Sorry, Mr. Dale. You were saying.” He laughed at her promptness, “glad that got yer attention. That’s good! Means when you’re out on the ice, the second that bell rings you’ll clobber the whole lot a’ them.” “Excuse me?” Since they left the smoggy urban cities of New Prolix, Pars’ mind ran through the rules and strategies she’d seen at the Frozen Blade Arena. While they were old memories, she knew none of which involved being on ice or clobbering. Dale studied her face; he abruptly leaned in close, almost whispering with the bitter wine on his breath, “you’re competing in the Ice Maul Arena, the no-holds-barred, all-for-one fight on a frozen lake.” “What about Frozen Blade—” “They closed their doors months ago!” He scoffed. “Prolly budget reasons, maybe bad publicity. You know how people want more blood sports. Fencing isn’t gonna draw a crowd like it used to, sweetie.” Pars sat back in her seat thinking how this arena would go. How many people is all-for-one? No-holds-barred on a frozen lake sounded like a death sentence. Chillingly, that was likely the point. “Sorry. Look, it’s just like Venom Fang, but you don’t gotta drink no poison, and there’s nine other contestants you can punch a bunch. It’ll be easier by my predicts.” “Has anyone died?” Dale lightly tapped his fork on his empty plate. He looked toward the bar as if an answer was in one of the many bottles. “Dale.” She demanded. “Am I signed up for a death match?” “Well, Venom Fang had sudden death, that’s the like—” “Dale!” Pars didn't mean to raise her voice, but here they were. She was a lightly seasoned contender in the arena scene, but never with death on the line. Even with the Venom Fang Arena, uses a non-lethal paralyzing agent or however they tell it. “No need to shout.” Dale said, not looking her in the eyes. “So far there have been five deaths: two hypothermia, two drowning, and one to a fight in the audience.” Pars slumped. Dale tried to justify this, “One of the drownings was a drunk in the stands who wandered onto the ice! The on-site medics have gotten better too, faster response time. The minute someone goes under, they’re outta the fight anyway so…” She was in disbelief. She buried her face in her hands, “Why is this place still open?” “What was that?” “How is this death trap still open?!” Dale drank his wineglass empty and shrugged. “People love their blood sports.” As per the 1:1 crit4crit, I'll be sure to get who ever posts next.
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May 9, 2015 08:37
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Broenheim posted:It feels like generic fantasy without anything particularly interesting. The characters are pretty bland, with the protagonist's defining trait being literally quiet and boring and the other character being the cliche talkative dude that not-so-subtly gives exposition to the reader.  Thank you for reading. I appreciate the suggestions you made, I was going to say about the almost whispering, was that you hear 'speaking above a whisper' as a phrase, but realized that still doesn't mean too much. Also, you're right on the grammar, I feel like I've been lied to early on with regards to the capitalization. I honestly don't have anything else to say, you're right on pretty much all accounts; the above is greatly helpful.
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May 9, 2015 23:46
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. There's also a good amount of telling. You give us details on things that aren't important, but then you just tell us things rather then using those details to characterize or advance the plot. Kinda weird.
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Quoting only the second 'half' is kosher, right?Kellsterik posted:But he dismissed it Then why did it matter his mind rippled? Also the next instance of our protagonist's name is at the end of the next paragraph after bringing the footman back and mentioning the old bastard. changing a he to Arslan would help in a lot of cases., spat his tobacco past the spittoon, and laughed like a distant uncle one didn't know so well Is it to imply their past relationship? Because then it wouldn't be distant, right? Is 'didn't know so well' because it's inappropriate somehow? Is that what's going on for those 9 words?. “Safiya, wayward little moonbeam! All these years, and all that's changed in my domain,” he spread his arms to indicate both the threadbare canvas tent and the bandit-ridden pass outside it, I like this. “I thought you'd finished wandering for good. But I still have so much to learn from you!” I think the wandering part could be cut just because initially I thought Arslan had to learn about her wandering. The fact she wanders doesn't seem very important since it's the moment they have her, now, that matters. I think your sentences could be shorter, if trimming 75 words is a priority. Who is speaking at any given time isn't very clear, but more so at the beginning. I'm good on the time period and setting. Safiya feels more like a force than a wanting feeling character, but she is a muse so it didn't bother me. She doesn't really react to anything. Sure she says those things about her heart, but there isn't any emotion to it (she dead as marble, as you say). I italicized the few times the writing got strange for me or unclear. Otherwise, I hope this helps. ---- Kellsterik posted:My overall impression of the passage is that you're setting up a world with a negative tone where things are in decline. Apart from your descriptions of the coach as mentioned, i'm getting this from phrases like "glad to get this tournament over with", "smoggy urban cities", "bitter wine on his breath" (protip: there's never anything good "on someone's breath"), "people want more blood sports" because "fencing ain't gonna draw a crowd like it used to sweetie", and generally how Dale very casually talks about death and poisoning and blood sports that Pars is uncomfortable with. I'm getting "Pars doesn't really want to be involved in all this", not "Oh man, what shenanigans has ol' Dale gotten her into this time??" With that mood in mind, that whole early paragraph about weather and Pars wondering about migratory birds is the strongest section of the piece, suggesting a character who vaguely wants to escape her situation but doesn't see a way how- it's a very good little "show" of her inner thoughts that lets the reader draw their own conclusions, nice job! Wow, thank you for this. From what you've said, the take away I was hoping for is apparently there. Dale wasn't intended to be the 'good guy' by any means. But the whole piece was a conversation on a train, and something needs to happen, as you both have said. I like the suggested endings and the revised sentences/details. I'm Abundant Atrophy fucked around with this message at 22:56 on May 10, 2015 |
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May 10, 2015 21:00
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