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Post by Lady Hammer on Sept 16, 2007 12:46:10 GMT -5
Hello everyone! In this room, you will be constructing 1-4 page long scenes that center around a given scenario. The character that you enter has to be the center of these scenes, but you can put any other ones that you have (whether they're in character camp or not) in there also, y'know, so you have someone for your character to interact with.
I will be giving you a detailed scenario with several things that I want to see happen, and you will use those criteria. It's almost like a writing prompt. For example:
Let's say that your character is new to town. City, I mean. And this city isn't your regular city. Picture a gotham-esque city with bad guys running rampant and vigilantes off in every corner doing their own thing. Needless to say, your character is not welcomed. How would they react to this situation, and where would they go first? Would they have a friend they could stay with? Do they have to go straight to a hotel?
Other events to happen: Your character is being stalked. Do they go to the police? Do they handle it on their own? What happens? Your character does something to piss someone off one day, and then, the next day, a whole gang confronts them. What do they do? Is your character driven from the city?
Etc.
Let your mind run wild and use this room and these scenarios as an opportunity to put your character in situations they wouldn't be in otherwise. This way, you can see other sides of them that wouldn't have been made clear to you! ^o^
Rufina will join.
I'll wait for someone else.
Note: This will most likely be a slow-moving thread.
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Pyre
New Member
Posts: 76
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Post by Pyre on Sept 17, 2007 16:22:16 GMT -5
Er, is it all right to join two interview threads at the same time?
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Pyre
New Member
Posts: 76
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Post by Pyre on Sept 17, 2007 17:12:25 GMT -5
All right, I s'pose I'll join this Interview with my character Simon Michael Andresome (:
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Post by Lady Hammer on Sept 17, 2007 17:18:04 GMT -5
Yay! This room can finally see some use! lol.
Okay first scenario:
The Family Picnic
Take time to flesh out your character's family, and if they don't have one in your story, make one for them just for this exercise. You'll find out a lot by giving them certain family members to interact with, as people tend to act differently towards an aunt vs. a sister, etc.
SCENARIO:
Your character recieves an invitation for a Family Picnic. Things to consider: does the family get together often? Is this quite possibly the first time that the entire family might be together? How big is the family? Where is the picnic held? etc.
How does your character respond to this? What is the first thing that they do afterwards? (Find something to wear, try to come up with an excuse, find someone to bitch to, etc.)
When your character arrives at the family picnic, who all is there? Who is your character happy to see? Who are they not happy to see? Does the family seem happy and comfortable together, or something else?
Create the rest of the scene from here.
Note: Take as long as you want with this. I'm not expecting everyone to have their scenes ready in a day, so I don't mind if it takes you a few days to get back to me.
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Pyre
New Member
Posts: 76
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Post by Pyre on Sept 17, 2007 17:20:48 GMT -5
Do you mind if we respond without answering the questions directly but just writing it out like a scene from the story?
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Pyre
New Member
Posts: 76
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Post by Pyre on Sept 21, 2007 16:49:02 GMT -5
Simon Michael Andresome heard the sound of fiddles as soon as he rounded the corner. He quickened his pace, the usual scowl appearing on his sour face. He burst into his chambers and fixed himself in front of the fiddlers. They stopped abruptly, their strings vibrating. Simon curled his lip and said promptly, slipping into his silk robes, “what are you in here for, you fools?” The fiddlers stared at his bed in silence, and Simon glanced over uninterestedly. What he saw made him catch his breath. “Mum- what’re you doing in here?” She rose elegantly; stretching out ring-adorned hand in front of her face like it amused her to see her jewels. “You sound as though you’re upset about it,” she said lazily. “Oh, no, no!” he exclaimed, stepping forward awkwardly to give her a quick kiss on the side of her cheek. “I- well - just surprised, I suppose. You don’t usually… well,” he trailed off quickly, “what is your news? You send in fiddlers, meaning it must be bad. And you yourself in here, why, it must be the end of our kingdom!” She laughed lightly, a delicate sound. “Leave,” she said shortly to the fiddlers. Perspiring slightly, their faces flushed, they scampered out. Greta shut the door soundly behind them, looking harried. She whirled around. “Your invitation,” she snapped, flinging a small square of paper onto his velvet sheets. He wandered to it, curious, and unsealed it. It slid out in his hands and he scanned the sheet. When his head popped up again, it was red with fury. “Family Picnic?” he raged. “I can’t be expected to go to a… simple Family Picnic! There’s no grace, no elegance in a silly picnic. I’m too busy, besides,” he said firmly. “I won’t go.” “You must, you spoiled child,” Greta said wearily. “It’s mandatory, and your reputation will only go downhill if you refuse to meet with your own family.” Simon bit his lip and sighed. There was no easy way out for a Prince. A week later, Simon was already in a horrid mood. He had arrived at the Picnic twenty minutes past; his family, of royal blood, was small and extremely boring. There was a barrage of pompous aunt and uncles; a very sleepy pair of grandparents; and some obnoxiously loud and annoyingly small nieces and nephews. He stepped over some children playing Leap-Frog and picked his way over to his mum and dad, King and Queen of the kingdom. “I told you this was a waste of my time,” Simon hissed. “I could be in my room, being fitted for new robes at this second instead of wasting my time with my family.” His father, John, swatted at him with a feather. John was a small creature, plump from days of sitting on the throne, and to make up for it, he was aggressive and quick to jump to action. Simon dodged the feather quite easily. “Be pleasant,” John warned him, “or I’ll delay you the throne.” But even as he said it, he knew the threat was empty. Simon would do whatever it took to get to the throne. A wrinkled old wizard slid over next to Simon on the stair steps. Finally, Simon thought lightly, someone who I’m relatively pleased to see. Simon leaned over and said in a mocking tone, “I did not realize you were part of my family, Narzthan.” The old man gave a painful, croaking sound. Simon recognized it as a dry laugh. “I’m not, Simon Michael,” Narzthan told him in a raspy voice. “But I’ve come anyway.” “How am I not surprised?” Simon shot back. “Since I was two you’ve followed me everywhere. Including,” he added reproaching, “my private chambers.” Narzthan gave another dry laugh. “Nothing of yours is private, Simon Michael,” he said mysteriously. “Everything of yours was… well… it doesn’t matter.” Simon shrugged this comment off, quite used to Nazthan’s odd manner, and watched as the wizard hobbled away abruptly. Then he raised himself up from the stair steps and decided to gorge himself on the roast pig. At least there was one good thing about this whole family picnic.
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Post by Lady Hammer on Sept 21, 2007 16:57:08 GMT -5
Oooh! I like it! Very nice! Now, did you happen to learn anything about your character?
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Pyre
New Member
Posts: 76
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Post by Pyre on Sept 21, 2007 17:04:02 GMT -5
Now, did you happen to learn anything about your character?
I finally decided on a gorgeous name for the wizard... and Narzthan plays a huge role in the story. And of course, I learned loads about his mum.
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Post by rogalianth on Sept 21, 2007 18:54:59 GMT -5
((This is going to be kiiind of long. Aeden doesn't usually attend picnics and it is going to take some convincing of him on my part. x) There is also the issue of him turning into a smoldering pile of carbon compounds in direct sun, but, hey. Some things come first, Aeden! Things like family! x] ))
So maybe breaking and entering wasn't the most auspicious beginning to their father-daughter reunion. What was he supposed to do, wait around outside for the sun to get him? Leave a post-it on the door?
Hi, Cat, it's me, Dad, I've been gone for sixteen years and you probably look older than I am now considering I'm a vampire and all and do you still live here if you don't this note is haha going to sound really weird and hey sorry about running off after
...after. Yeah, if he'd sat down and thought about this long enough to write something out he'd have ended up in tears, or the next state over, or both.
Which was clearly why he'd spur-of-the-moment picked the lock on a New York apartment that had once been his and then spent half an hour just wandering around reverently and touching things. Which was pretty creepy however you sliced it, it's just...
Sixteen years. And the carpet and, god, the sofa was still the same. And so he just had to sit in it, alone in the living room at four in the morning, and pretend his eyes were watering from the lingering reek of last night's garlic bread and not because the person-shaped dent in it had changed.
-
Of course, the family that had been Rikki's still lived there, and they'd been busy going forth and multiplying while he'd been gone. And so it was, of course, a blanket-toting six-year-old who woke up and walked in on him. He'd heard her heartbeat just soon enough to spring up in horror rather than take her head off in surprise, which was lucky considering the track record lately of things that had snuck up behind him on soft carpet. For two seconds of startlement he'd stood there, only able to think Well hey, better than some guy walking in with a baseball bat before her limpid longlashed eyes met his, the thumb popped out of her rosebud mouth, and she screamed like a freaking banshee.
And so that was how he, Aeden Smith, was introduced to his family, at 4:47a.m. on a Sunday morning.
--
"Dad," Cat said, her voice doing that quivering thing he'd forgotten it could do. He sank lower into the couch and didn't look up. "Daad," she insisted, and he knew she saw his unhappy twitch.
"Dad, it's really great you're back..."
"I sense a but coming," he muttered, passing his hand in front of his eyes.
"There's not a but," Cat said, prettily aghast, puppy-dog eyes never wavering. "It's just that you ought to come out to the kitchen and talk to everyone--"
"So there can be more screaming?"
"You took us by surprise! Martin wants to meet you."
"He already has."
"No he hasn't."
"He hit me in the face! That has to count for something."
"Dad. He's my fiancee. Get up and talk to him. Hit him back. Anything!" She sounded kind of desperate, and Ae felt something twist sick and sharp in his chest.
"Do I really look that bad," he said quietly, into the brief not-silence of the rest of the family--Cat's family, Cat's new family--buzzing excitedly to one another in the kitchen.
Cat swallowed. "Dad, you..." he shook his head sharply before she could finish. It was bad enough he could see it in her eyes; he didn't need her to say it out loud, add the weight of words to it.
When last she'd seen him, he'd been in top form. He could remember the day exactly, in fine detail. It had been hot, and dry, and sunny, which had been annoying. But he'd been strong then, as strong as Cat's mother, and the both of them had been able to shrug off the light that would have killed lesser vampires.
And he'd known he was beautiful, was the thing, with Rikki--god, Rikki, he missed her--on his arm, and sun-highlights in his copper hair, back when his swagger and grace and rakish smile had made the scars all down his arms scream you should see the other guy.
Cat had been, what, twenty? In college, at least, almost Exams week, and she'd driven out to see them because they were so rarely in the neighborhood. And she'd helped them load the van and repaint the holy protective sigils on the wheelwells, hugged him goodbye and then her mother, and that was the last time their family had been whole and all together.
Now his hair was white as the fluff of a dead dandelion, his eyes were red (as in, irises--it was subtle, but they weren't brown, not any more) and his natural lankiness had degenerated into something that another week without food would make emaciation. To say nothing of the way he held himself, like he was going to be hit. Like his scars were from abuse instead of saving people.
"You should come out and talk to them, Dad, please," Cat said, putting her hand on his shoulder. He could feel the warmth soaking through his jacket, a warmth that bespoke vitality he'd left behind him long ago. She was only dhampir, half a vampire, with a heartbeat that was human-normal and a fiancee and a life, and here he was with twice as many scars as since she'd seen him and a growling in his belly that hadn't shut up since he'd set eyes on Angela, the six-year-old, Cat's cousin and his goddamn niece.
Cat stood with a sigh, put her hands on the back of the sofa and then in her pockets. He could hear the cloth rustle. "They're making French toast, Dad," she said quietly, and then she turned and left. His lizard brain tracked her heartbeat receding away behind him into the hall.
French toast.
Well...fine.
--
So it didn't look like he was going to end up hitting Martin, which was good, and they'd closed the kitchen window, which was better than good, considering he could feel the sun trembling on the edge of the horizon.
In retrospect he supposed it had been pretty awkward, that first minute, facing people for the first time after what had happened--slitting throats from behind didn't count--but then a matronly woman (Cat's, what, aunt? Stepsister?) had looked him up and down and said, loudly, "So you're the vampire who never visits?"
Because of course, they knew.
And then Kyle had been bullied out of his teenage existentialism and made to get an extra chair, and Mickey had forgotten the butter, and it suddenly became very busy and domestic, like on television. And Ae stood stoop-shouldered and bewildered in the midst of it all, until Cat made him sit down. And then he was sitting in the midst of it all, with an avid teenage boy on either side wanting to know whether he really burned up in the sun or whether he could even eat French toast anyway and had he heard of this band, they had a song with vampires in it.
And it came to him, about the fifth time Kyle made a sudden movement and he nervously wondered why nobody was keeping him away from the children, that this family knew but didn't know, and he was only here being fed French toast that was probably going to come back up in a few hours because of who his daughter was. Cat, whom they trusted. Cat, who didn't know just how far he'd fallen.
"So do you really drink..." Kyle trailed off, staring at him, and Ae really would have liked to be clumsy so he could knock over the salt and have something to do. The question, as was the way of these things, came during a lull in conversation. Everyone proceeded politely not to stare at him as Ae wondered how exactly you went about knocking things over when you were afflicted with inhuman grace when Cat cut in.
"Of course not," she said, with such sure confidence in him he felt like dying right there. Again. She continued on, with that special irritation the sole province of the young for the younger, "my Mom and Dad never did, Kyle, I've told you that at least seven times. "
Ae tried very hard not to wilt or look askance or twitch, staring at his scarred fingers instead, rough, discolored skin on the smooth metal of the fork. Would coughing and changing the subject be too obvious?
He glanced up, met Martin's eyes by accident, and froze.
Cat's fiancee and Ae's littlest niece were not taking part in the breakfast conversation (Mickey's P.E. teacher had called again about sports, and was Kyle going to try out for Varsity, did you see the nice boy at the flower shop, Joyce, oh yes, and Maria said) but were, instead, looking at him like even Cat hadn't thought to do--Martin with cool reserve completely unlike the airy, gregarious dismissal of his sisters and Angela with owl-eyed dubious scrutiny.
Ae felt a warning tingle of something behind his eyes, in his nose--like mint, like the mud under river rocks, like cicadas, singing--and felt the dark in him sit up and take eager notice. Drool flooded his mouth in defiance of the breakfast in his stomach, but before the feeling could quicken he thought, loudly and clearly, No.
Angela's big eyes narrowed at him across the table, but Ae didn't notice, because the saliva had turned thicker and his eyes were watering now, and it had probably been a bad idea to try two platefuls of sugary solid food fresh from six weeks of near-starvation and...liquids.
"Excuse me," he said, bowing out with as much grace as possible and a smile that didn't show his teeth.
He didn't look at Martin because he neglected to, but he didn't look at Angela because he forced himself blind.
Of all the people in the household to be Gifted, it would have to be the smallest and most defenseless.
--
If there was one thing he'd gotten used to lately, it was throwing up. It was a pretty sad thing to be good at, but made his life a lot easier. Getting rid of breakfast in a few quick, efficient heaves made it plausible, almost, that he'd really been in there to use the toilet like it was meant for.
He rinsed his mouth out, grimacing at the jolt of cold water hit his fangs, and then poked at his gums morosely in the mirror for a minute. Not that he took much joy in mirrors, these days. There was only so long he could look at himself before starting to finger-comb his hair looking for normal strands. Because, well. A guy could hope, right?
It had really been a shame to waste breakfast. He knew the French toast had been delicious because it had actually smelled like food to him, and so few things did, these days. It might even have stayed down if they hadn't pressed second helpings on him.
And so now he was left having effectively eaten nothing--he tore his eyes away from his own reflection and stomped out of the bathroom, nearly tripping over Angela.
He took evasive action and then froze in the hallway almost against his will, because now she was between him and the kitchen. Clattering bucolic noises were swelling out from just around the corner, but between him and maybe helping out with the dishes (between him and salvation, redemption) stood three feet two inches of babyfaced and becurled six-year-old. Ae's mind slammed in to action, gears whirring, but no matter how he looked at it, it was just plain impossible to jump her from a standing start with how low the ceilings were.
No, he thought instead, and willed himself calm. So she was Gifted, so she called him like a can opener did a cat, like she did every monster for miles around. His self control had withstood more, had... Had, being the operative term. Had, past tense.
No. No, no, no, no, he thought, with iron control and icy calm, feeling his eyes go slightly crossed and glassy. Almost against his will, he met her own childishly sober gaze. No. No, no, no, a litany of safety for her and him both, and it was working, for all he was still shaky and for all she smelled like Christmas and Thanksgiving and a very good--a very bad idea, no, no, no.
"Why are you thinking 'no'?" she asked quietly, and that was enough, as mortally terrified of the answer as he was, for it to blossom across the surface of his mind: exactly what would happen in this hallway scant yards from her family if his control got just a little more frayed, in full Technicolor...
And for the second time that morning, Angela sucked in a huge, startled breath and screamed.
((THEY WILL GO ON THE PICNIC SOON I PROMISE AHAHAHAHAHA.))
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Post by Lady Hammer on Sept 21, 2007 23:58:53 GMT -5
Oooh nice! I like this! I like how you altered it to fit your character, too. Very nice! You have my applause. So, my question to you, just as it will be to everyone else, is... Have you learned anything new about your character?
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Post by rogalianth on Sept 22, 2007 13:01:48 GMT -5
I'm totally not done writing this--I thought about it right before I went to sleep and I totally am going to add and fix and change bitpieces--but yeah, I did learn a lot about Aeden. o_o More than thought I would.
One, he doesn't think ahead much. Or, at all. Considering he'd probably get really depressed and do nothing but drink all the time if he was given to introspection, this is probably a good thing, you know? But it tends to get him into bad situations, like now: he felt desperate and needy and totally alone because I'm mean to him and his life sucks, so he goes home. Does he think about how dangerous he is to them? No, not really. Does he even really know? No, not really. Does he even stop to think about who might be following him? No, not really.
He's not strong enough any more to get away with not thinking about things, is the sticking point. It used to be he could swan through life and be confident in his ability to get out of scrapes and put pieces back together. He's not used to being broken, it hasn't sunk in yet that when he's broken he has SHARP EDGES that are KIND OF DANGEROUS TO OTHER PEOPLE o_o
He almost kind of knows it, which is why he's so nervous and skittish, but he really really doesn't want to admit it to himself. Martin is going to have to hit him in the face again before this is over! Because, see, if nobody snaps him out of it he's just going to keep cringing through life knocking things over and feeling put-upon. WAKE UP AEDEN, YOU WERE A HERO ONCE ♥
Also this story is like a warning flag that I need to get my head put on straight re: vampires and blood. Gaaah. INCONSISTENCY. I will now go off and try to settle on something while I do my math homework. \o/
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Post by Lady Hammer on Sept 23, 2007 14:21:08 GMT -5
Puh vampires and blood. There's more to those creatures than that. But anyway, I hope to see more later! ^^ And I'm glad that this exercise helped you learn more about your character. Makes me feel like I did something right, lol...
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