Prompt fills, part 1!
Oct. 21st, 2009 12:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ink_n_impWell, I've gotten started on answering your prompts! Only two so far though, but here they are!
AN: Both were written on that Write or Die! web page. It's Write or Die, not Write Well or Die.
~*~
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hearts_blood offered "Snickerdoodle":
"There is no such thing as enemies. Only friends not yet made--"
"Balderdash!" Stannie finally erupted, unable to stand another moment of the strange man's nonsense. "Now see here, Mr. Snickerdoodle--"
"Oh, please, call me P. C." he cheerfully offered once more.
"Mr. Snickerdoodle. It just so happens that I am a General," she continued, thumbing her chest in emphasis. "And as a General, I think I know a think or two about enemies! Specifically--"
"That there aren't any?" he added helpfully.
"That there jolly well are!" she said with great force and with a raised voice.
"My apologies, Stannie--"
"That's General Dum!" Stannie insisted. A most shocking thing to Mary's ears, as Stannie rarely insisted on using her title, much though she loved having one. More often than not, she was embarrassed by it, really, not wanting to be considered something else besides the Stannie Dum she'd always been and had no intention of being elsewise.
"My dear Stannie," Mr. P. C. Snickerdoodle continued with a grin that had not faltered a bit the entire time he'd been speaking to Stannie, a thing of some impressive merit. Mary herself could rarely go a full 5 minute grinning at Stannie Dum, and she herself was rather fond of her, much though Stannie drove her mad. "My dear Stannie Dum," he continued, shaking his head ruefully but cheerfully. "I must insist that it is YOU who are wrong. I do insist, however, upon this point RESPECTFULLY."
And by the narrowing of Stannie's eyes, Mary could see that respectful or not, she was about another word or two away from boxing Mr. Snickledoodle's ears.
Which would never do.
~*~
mellifluous_ink offered the following prompt from the slanowrimo community.
Tell us the most important thing that's happened in your main character's life so far. A key event that made them who they are today. Something really, really integral. Therefore, I offer you the genesis, if you will, of my two main characters:
He'd started working on them before he'd left, heart sick and heart broken. Why he'd taken them along, unfinished as they were, was beyond him. He might have supposed the truth of the matter was he was still a toymaker, and without a toy to work on, he'd feel very lost indeed. Or maybe it was because he needed something to love, to shower affection upon, to care for and take care of. Toys were best suited for that very purpose, friends having proven ill-suited for such things.
The porcelain girl-doll had already been sewn together, pale round porcelain face with glass eyes and painted cheeks and lips and lashes, and pale porcelain hands secured to a white canvas body stuffed with fluff, perfect for hugging. He'd given her brown curls, and a voice box that made a laughing noise when he picked her up. He'd placed her as she was in his cart, next to the puppet-boy, who was only partially carved when he left the town.
He finished them both long after he moved into the little cottage that no one knew of but him, and long after he cleaned it out and made it cozy, as cozy as a man with tools and imagination could make it. He finished the puppet-boy first as he needed the most work. He was finished by the fire's light, a long gangly thing of pine wood, with well made joints where ever a puppet boy might be in need of one. The boy he dressed in paints of bright yellow and hunter green, his overall shorts just above knobbly knees, and yellow socks painted from below the knee to where they met the green paint of his carved shoes. And on his head where he'd carved him a tall tuft of hair, he painted him a head of hair that was a lovely shade of orange. And he tied string to his head and his arms and his knees, and he had a funny walk that would have made any child clap with glee.
The porcelain doll girl was only in need of proper clothing, which he attended too next. He had taking scraps of this and that when he'd left, and from them he make a dress and bonnet for her of brown and red and white, like a little male robin. And he sat the little porcelain girl-doll next to the little puppet-boy, and found himself finished.
And the toymaker, having spent far more time than he'd ever spent on a pair of toys before, found he was content with his work, but in a sad, lonely sort of way. The porcelain-doll girl and the puppet-boy looked so perfect, so happy, so eager and willing, that the toymaker couldn't help but wish them real. He'd never had children of his own, much though he had spend so much of his life making things that brought other people's children joy. And for once in his life, he found himself wishing--wanting!--a child of his own. A little girl and a little boy, a perfect pair.
"Your name would be Stannie Dum," he told the porcelain-doll girl, placing a whiskery kiss on her cold porcelain forehead. "And yours would be Ollie Dee," he told the puppet-boy, kissing his warm wooden forehead. "And I'd be your father. And I'd take such good care of you."
But wishes and wants are tricky things, especially on the wrong side of the mountains and away from Toyland. And the trouble with loving something too dearly is that sometimes--
Sometimes you can't keep them, much as you'd like.
AN: Both were written on that Write or Die! web page. It's Write or Die, not Write Well or Die.
~*~
hearts_blood offered "Snickerdoodle":"There is no such thing as enemies. Only friends not yet made--"
"Balderdash!" Stannie finally erupted, unable to stand another moment of the strange man's nonsense. "Now see here, Mr. Snickerdoodle--"
"Oh, please, call me P. C." he cheerfully offered once more.
"Mr. Snickerdoodle. It just so happens that I am a General," she continued, thumbing her chest in emphasis. "And as a General, I think I know a think or two about enemies! Specifically--"
"That there aren't any?" he added helpfully.
"That there jolly well are!" she said with great force and with a raised voice.
"My apologies, Stannie--"
"That's General Dum!" Stannie insisted. A most shocking thing to Mary's ears, as Stannie rarely insisted on using her title, much though she loved having one. More often than not, she was embarrassed by it, really, not wanting to be considered something else besides the Stannie Dum she'd always been and had no intention of being elsewise.
"My dear Stannie," Mr. P. C. Snickerdoodle continued with a grin that had not faltered a bit the entire time he'd been speaking to Stannie, a thing of some impressive merit. Mary herself could rarely go a full 5 minute grinning at Stannie Dum, and she herself was rather fond of her, much though Stannie drove her mad. "My dear Stannie Dum," he continued, shaking his head ruefully but cheerfully. "I must insist that it is YOU who are wrong. I do insist, however, upon this point RESPECTFULLY."
And by the narrowing of Stannie's eyes, Mary could see that respectful or not, she was about another word or two away from boxing Mr. Snickledoodle's ears.
Which would never do.
~*~
mellifluous_ink offered the following prompt from the slanowrimo community.Tell us the most important thing that's happened in your main character's life so far. A key event that made them who they are today. Something really, really integral. Therefore, I offer you the genesis, if you will, of my two main characters:
He'd started working on them before he'd left, heart sick and heart broken. Why he'd taken them along, unfinished as they were, was beyond him. He might have supposed the truth of the matter was he was still a toymaker, and without a toy to work on, he'd feel very lost indeed. Or maybe it was because he needed something to love, to shower affection upon, to care for and take care of. Toys were best suited for that very purpose, friends having proven ill-suited for such things.
The porcelain girl-doll had already been sewn together, pale round porcelain face with glass eyes and painted cheeks and lips and lashes, and pale porcelain hands secured to a white canvas body stuffed with fluff, perfect for hugging. He'd given her brown curls, and a voice box that made a laughing noise when he picked her up. He'd placed her as she was in his cart, next to the puppet-boy, who was only partially carved when he left the town.
He finished them both long after he moved into the little cottage that no one knew of but him, and long after he cleaned it out and made it cozy, as cozy as a man with tools and imagination could make it. He finished the puppet-boy first as he needed the most work. He was finished by the fire's light, a long gangly thing of pine wood, with well made joints where ever a puppet boy might be in need of one. The boy he dressed in paints of bright yellow and hunter green, his overall shorts just above knobbly knees, and yellow socks painted from below the knee to where they met the green paint of his carved shoes. And on his head where he'd carved him a tall tuft of hair, he painted him a head of hair that was a lovely shade of orange. And he tied string to his head and his arms and his knees, and he had a funny walk that would have made any child clap with glee.
The porcelain doll girl was only in need of proper clothing, which he attended too next. He had taking scraps of this and that when he'd left, and from them he make a dress and bonnet for her of brown and red and white, like a little male robin. And he sat the little porcelain girl-doll next to the little puppet-boy, and found himself finished.
And the toymaker, having spent far more time than he'd ever spent on a pair of toys before, found he was content with his work, but in a sad, lonely sort of way. The porcelain-doll girl and the puppet-boy looked so perfect, so happy, so eager and willing, that the toymaker couldn't help but wish them real. He'd never had children of his own, much though he had spend so much of his life making things that brought other people's children joy. And for once in his life, he found himself wishing--wanting!--a child of his own. A little girl and a little boy, a perfect pair.
"Your name would be Stannie Dum," he told the porcelain-doll girl, placing a whiskery kiss on her cold porcelain forehead. "And yours would be Ollie Dee," he told the puppet-boy, kissing his warm wooden forehead. "And I'd be your father. And I'd take such good care of you."
But wishes and wants are tricky things, especially on the wrong side of the mountains and away from Toyland. And the trouble with loving something too dearly is that sometimes--
Sometimes you can't keep them, much as you'd like.
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no subject
Date: 2009-10-21 02:47 pm (UTC)The last line of the piece--of both pieces, actually--was priceless. +10 points to Nella!
Also: SNICKERDOODLE!
no subject
Date: 2009-10-21 04:28 pm (UTC)Whee I got 10 points! WOOHOO!
no subject
Date: 2009-10-22 06:14 am (UTC)