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In, genre me please I'll take a story too if you want
Vinny Possum fucked around with this message at 21:01 on Jan 4, 2023 |
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Jan 4, 2023 20:59
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| # ¿ May 14, 2024 10:31 |
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In, I'll take a flash
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Aug 22, 2023 09:04
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Downpour 2047 words Chapalli woke up on the empty dance floor of the club. The room was dark, except a small section of the bar where half a dozen or so men were engaged in a drunken bout of gambling. He pulled himself to his feet, then had to catch himself, swaying for a moment. Still drunk. He ran his hands through the inside of his cape, checking his pockets. Wallet, keyes, papers. Watch still on his left wrist, plugs still resting in his earlobes. No one had taken anything. He exhaled, and tried to piece together the night. He had made it here with a few of his fellow exchange students and a couple local boys who suggested the spot. Club Caracal. It had been a welcome relief from the bars that catered to tourists and expats, with none of the cold, suspicious front that the locals usually gave foreigners. They had danced and drank, he had met a girl, a decent Cahuacl speaker at that. Things got fuzzy after that. There was a memory he couldn't quite grasp of insisting that he'd be fine if his friends wanted to head back to the university without him, and of buying another bottle of brandy. To split? For himself? The harder he tried to get specifics, the more his head hurt. He couldn't understand a word coming from the bar. Even if he had been sober, the men, mostly rough looking younger guys with shaved heads, certainly weren't, and were slurring their words too heavily for his meager command of Qazi to parse a thing. Better to not disturb them, and just slip out. The door was still unlocked. He opened it, just enough to squeeze through quietly. Outside, it was pouring. He cinched up his cape. He wished he had brought the thick one with the hood. This was his nice cape. He sighed, and stumbled into the downpour. This part of the city was a maze. Streets ran at odd angles, a web of unregulated development. He knew the university was only two or three kilometers away, and he plunged ahead. Less than fifteen minutes later, soaked and shivering, he realized he had no idea where he was. The streets were deserted, besides the occasional beggar or vagrant sleeping fitfully in a covered alcove or doorway. Neon signs floated hazily in his vision, illuminating the streets with a dim light advertising shops and services that would be closed and dark for hours yet. He squinted to try to make sense of them in his swimming vision. Appliance repair, something he couldn't quire translate but that seemed to be clothing for teenagers for coming of age ceremonies, imported smokables and liquors. None of the street signs were familiar, when they were present at all. He was freezing. The rain was never this cold in Tapaliccan. He wished he had brought his thicker cape again. There was a small bus stop shelter just down the street. That would have a map, and mercifully, it wasn't occupied by a sleeping transient. The bus stop did have a map, but the map assumed the reader would know where they were. Chapalli sighed. He considered wringing out his cape, using it as a blanket, and passing out here. If he got robbed, the embassy could replace his papers, and the university had a copy on hand and he only had… He went through his wallet. Two hundred thirty Tibal. Fuzzy math told him that was about sixty or so bucks. It would sting a little, but not even enough to call home and ask for more about. His parents would be furious, of course, better not to let them know this ever happened. A truck sped past, dousing him with dirty water and shaking him from introspection. Maybe there was a reason no one slept here. As he stood up and tried to wring his cape out, he saw a sign across the street. “Bagam 24-hour”. There was one of these near the university, he had been there often with his friends on late night beer runs. The convenience store would have hot drinks, and food. Might as well warm up somewhere dry before trying to wait out the night. A bell rang as he entered. A bored girl sat behind the counter, in her early twenties, about his age, not even up from a magazine as he entered. “H-hello” he stumbled over the foreign words a bit. This was so easy in class, but much harder in person “Could I get a…” The girl looked up and gave a sudden squeak of scandalized surprise. Chapalli realized his cape was hanging open, only his loincloth leaving a little to imagination between his bare, bronze chest and legs. He pulled it closed quickly cursing himself for forgetting the differing dress standards in the colder south. “Deepest apologies.” He stepped back from the counter and gave a half bow. By then the girl had regained her composure, looking as embarrassed as he felt. “Kahve?” she asked. Coffee, just what he was looking for. “Please miss, thank you for the hospitality.” he knew it was overly formal, but decided to err against over familiarity. She turned to where several bubbling glass kettles sat on hot plates. The smell of the coffee was the strongest, but he could also see two types of tea and what he guessed was the local holly-leaf drink. Without looking back she filled a paper cup with coffee, and reached for a jug of milk. He panicked a bit. “No, none please!” She looked at him incredulously. “No milk?” He rubbed his stomach and made an unpleasant face, hoping she got the idea. She laughed a little, and put the milk away. “Kawacali?” “Cahuacli.” he corrected her “Close, but no, Tapaliccani.” Her face showed she had no idea what he was talking about. He shrugged. “Yeah, Cahuacli.” Her face lit up a bit, and she yelled something into the back room. When there was no immediate answer she held up a finger for him to wait. He set down a few coins on the table. Ten tibal should cover the coffee. He looked around the small shop for something to eat. Dried meats, potato chips… he wanted something hot. There was some sort of porridge sitting in a hot well behind the counter. Six tibal. He put down ten more, just to be safe. The girl came back, dragging a reluctant boy in his early teens, clearly a younger brother. She made a motion as if to say “talk to him”. The boy looked him up and down. “Good morning, good meet.” he mumbled. His sister elbowed him again. “I am learning your speech in school, she wants me to show off.” The boy's speech was hesitant and accented, but clear and understandable. He was clearly a good student. Chapalli held out his hand. “Chapalli, First of May.” "Ghanibal. Ghanibal Kuvan. My sister is Ghanibalit Verinit.” The sister said something again, and the boy rolled his eyes. “She says you can call her Verta, if you want.” Chapalli smiled. He knew he had worn his nice cape for a reason. “Pleased to meet you both.” he motioned toward the porridge. “Could I get some of that?” “Kuager.” The boy said “Yeah, Cuacuel.” he tried to get his tongue around the harder consonants. He was sobering up, but not enough to get it right. The girl, Verta, poured a cup of the porridge. It was thin, but smelled savory as he took it and the coffee. “Fourteen.” she counted out change for him, but he waved it off. “Keep it, I'm just happy something is open." The boy snatched the leftover coins off the table before his sister could take them. Chapalli sipped the coffee, and downed the porridge. It was good, some blend of oats and buckwheat, sweetened a little with beets and spiced with bits of peppers. He already felt better with something warm in his stomach. “She says you can stay and dry off if you need to.” “Huh?” Verta gestured towards a restroom behind the beaded curtain separating the backroom from the sales floor. Chapalli’s heart beat a little faster. Was this what he thought it was? He didn’t expect any Qazi girls to be THAT easy. It wasn’t, and she wasn’t. He stood in front of the door for a second, wondering if she was coming in with him. She shook her head, pushing a warm, dry bathrobe into his hands, pushing him into the bathroom, and shutting the door. He could hear a stifled giggle on the other side. Disappointed, but also a little relieved, he stripped off his cape and got into the robe. It was soft and comfortable, if a little small. He wondered if it was her dad’s or maybe an adult brother’s. Either would probably be bad news if they came back and saw him in it. Still, it was nice to be dry and cozy. He exited the bathroom. Verta took his cape and hung it up near the stove, after wringing it out a bit. She invited him to sit in front of the counter, and he did. Conversation was awkward at first, mostly in Cahuacl with Kuvan reluctantly translating in exchange for a few more coins. Chapalli tried to get a few words in Qazi in, but that generally just got the siblings snickering at his pronunciations and telling him he was very good at it, before Kuvan would switch back to being middleman. There was a pretty glint in Verta’s eyes when she would laugh, and Chapalli loved how she stared into his when told them about where he was from, Tapaliccan, not the more famous Cahuacl City. The mention of his hometown excited Kuvan, who snatched his sister’s magazine, and pointed to a cologne ad. “You know Metlouca 19th of June?” Chapalli laughed. Of course he didn’t know the ballplayer personally, but like every boy who had grown up in Tapaliccan he had a signed poster, and watched the Tapaliccan Devils’ games religiously. Kuvan looked slightly disappointed but was suddenly much more engaged in the conversation. What felt like minutes later, but what surely longer, the sun was starting to come up. Chapalli noticed Verta catch something in the corner of her eye. She pulled the visitor to his feet and pushed him back behind the curtain. Kuvan followed. “Stay!” Verta rushed back out to the counter. There were loud, threatening male voices, and what sounded like Verta trying to apologize and deflect. Then there was the sound of glass smashing, and the salesgirl giving a startled yelp. Chapalli tried to go back out, but Kuvan held him back. “No, you’ll just make it worse. They’ll leave soon.” he whispered. Peeking through the curtain, Chapalli could make out two men who at first took for policemen, until he realized their uniforms were wrong. Seeing the tattoos on their arms, endless lines of text probably listing ancestors or some such thing, he recognized the type from dramas back home. Cold eyed, mean paramilitaries, one of the most common stock tropes assigned to Qazi characters in cinema and TV. True to the boy’s word, they were on their way out. When they left, Chapalli slipped back out. Verta was shaken, but unharmed, sweeping up broken glass from one of the newsstands. There were a pile of patriotic posters on the counter now, as well as a framed portrait of the Qazi Generalissimo Gamol. “You should go.” Verta said, through her brother as she dumped the glass in a dustbin. She slipped a map into his hands, with the university circled in red, and a phone number scrawled on the edge in the same ink. She composed herself, letting her hands linger a little as she handed him his cape. “You’ll come back though, to bring the robe back?” She smiled a little, even as her brother made sure to emphasize the last part more than the first. “Sure.” Chapalli smiled back, then slipped out into the brightening street. He was less than a kilometer from the University this whole time, and in the morning sun he could see its tower poking above the roofline around him. He’d definitely be back.
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Aug 28, 2023 05:05
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In.
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Sep 20, 2023 22:02
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The Black Beast 100 words The Morsel was quiet again, and its horrible mother had left to cook her foul "stew”. Peering from a crack in the wall, Snatchfast could see the Morsel had grown even plumper since their last attempt. His mouth watered in anticipation. He gestured to his kin, and they all rushed to the legs of the great table. A terrible sound rang through the room. The cries of the black beast. Snatchfast signaled retreat, but it was too late. The beast snatched his robe in its snapping jaws and pinned him with one rough paw, canine teeth closing on his head.
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Sep 22, 2023 03:44
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Retro Sprite 99 words “Is this one for numbers too?” The tiny, luminous being alighted on Robert's computer. “I guess? It sends information back and forth with…” “What do you need with more numbers that you have on your fingers and toes? Useless! I'm putting it all back!” “No, wait!” Robert tried to brush the sprite away, but it flitted around the room like a hummingbird, landing on his clock, his phone, his PlayStation, and even his wallet, then darted out through the cracked window. Horrified, Robert watched as the plastic in his possessions devolved into a mass of squirming plankton and algae.
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Sep 24, 2023 02:57
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In, also down for a flash if you're offering.
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Sep 26, 2023 17:37
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Thumbnail in the Coffin 1001 words Ioan peered through a slit in the wall of his cabin. The line stretched down the winding path till it was out of site. Tourists, almost all of them. Ioan snorted, and pulled on the rest of his habit. Ever since that blasted instagram hunter delivered an unwanted product placement to his social media, the place had been swarming with them. Most didn't speak Romanian, or even Hungarian. He sighed. He supposed he should thank God for the slaying of Vyacheslav the Shriveled, and even for the extra income all these heathen simpletons brought into the order, but he preferred the simple life he had before the spot went viral. Eva was already outside delivering her usual spiel, with telltale flicks of holy water and flashes of a crucifix. It wasn't foolproof, but the ritual did double duty of adding a bit of mystique to the place, and possibly revealing some bloodsucker's thrall via an involuntary twitch or cringe. Ioan headed down to his desk. Two crates of stakes sat there, open. They were both fakes, ash wood from the nearby forest, but not the grove of the True Cross itself. One was made up to look a little more convincing. The real stakes were naturally in short supply, as overcutting would be a disaster for the human race, and only sold to carefully vetted clients with a history in the hunting business. Ioan hated the business of selling fakes, but the order needed the cash. The day dragged on. Stamping "seals of authenticity”, repeating the sign of the cross, granting the spare shavings of the actual stakes to earnest religious pilgrims. By afternoon the line had thinned out a bit. Ioan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the sight of the young man before him. Chubby and scruffy, with a patchy beard and ponytail, he seemed to have trouble making direct eye contact. He wore a duster and fedora, both ill fitting and positioned sloppily. “Come forward son, what brings you on your pilgrimage?” Ioan did his best to not sound sarcastic, and stroked his beard to give an impression of being busy and thoughtful, rather than bored and annoyed. “I-I’m looking for stakes, Father Ioan.” the kid stared at the floor, the icons on the wall, only giving the monk an occasional furtive glance. Surprisingly, he spoke Romanian, not confidently or smoothly, but like someone who had poured an impressive amount of time into language learning apps. “Of course, God can provide. All we ask is a small donation, 250 Leu, for the maintenance of our grove and the upkeep.” Ioan reached into the first box as the young man fumbled for cash. “Not those… The real ones.” Ioan forced a paternal smile. “Of course. You're a bright lad. The real thing is more precious, but 500 should cover our costs and keep us running.” “Don't bullshit me.” “Excuse me, Young man?” Ioan raised his eyebrows. “I need the real thing.” The kid was glowering at him directly now, with an intensity in his eyes that took Ioan aback. “This is-” The young man pulled a vial of dark bile from his duster. It swirled for a moment, then went stale. “Do you mind if I test it then?” Ioan sighed. The westerner knew his stuff. Where he got the humors of a vampire was a puzzle, but it showed at least more than a passing knowledge. Maybe it would be easier to reason with him honestly. “I will be frank with you then. This is serious business. We simply don't have enough wood for every fool who's filled with Hollywood hubris and romantic notions. If it was up to me we wouldn't be open to the public at all. Go back to America, go to school. Learn to program. This is not a world you can be a part of.” “Please, father.” the young man grabbed at his hand, leaning over the desk. “They killed my parents… took my sister….” The tears, of desperation and rage, seemed sincere. Ioan felt a his heartstrings tug a little bit. “Blind revenge is a fruitless task, son. Better to leave this up to professionals.” he put a hand on the young man's shoulder. The young man, in turn, began to cry a little. “I-I just need…” he sank to his knees. Ioan muttered a short prayer under his breath. Maybe he could break protocol just this once. Maybe give the lad a chance. Tragedy at the hands of a bloodsucker was the whole reason he had gotten into this business and joined the clergy himself as a young, angry man. Who was he to deny another that opportunity? Slowly, he reached into his drawer and pulled out one of the three genuine stakes inside, cut from wood from a copse of trees planted from seedlings that had sprouted off the timbers of the True Cross itself. He pressed on into the messy young man's fingerless-glove covered hands. “Tell no one of this, and go with God, son.” he blessed the boy, and lifted him to his feet. “Now run along, we must have all visitors out before sundown.” The boy kissed his hand, bowed in an almost Japanese style, and shuffled out backwards, repeating the gesture as he left through the door. Ioan sighed, with a bit of nostalgia this time. He was a little afraid he was sending the kid to his death, but maybe, just maybe, he could do it. The next morning, as he was breaking his fast, Eva approached him, smartphone open. “Father, have you seen this?” It was a YouTube video, only hours old. It took him a moment to recognize the young man from yesterday, cleaned up and dressed in much less ridiculous getup. He was making an exaggerated face of feigned astonishment, and a red circle and arrow highlighted a photo of the stake he had been given. GETTING A GENUINE VAMPIRE HUNTING STAKE FREE USING ONLY IMPROV???? PRIEST FOOLED! 37K views.
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Oct 2, 2023 00:43
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In
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Oct 3, 2023 17:17
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| # ¿ May 14, 2024 10:31 |
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In, please flash me
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Nov 8, 2023 18:44
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