Short story dump

Have you got a game, book or movie you'd like to make a story out of? Want to expand on a story or plot that stopped? Have an original idea for a story that you want to post somewhere? Here's where to do it. Basically an RPG where one player controls ALL characters in the story.

Short story dump

Postby Hopeflower » Thu Sep 04, 2014 2:21 am

I'm sure you all realize what goes on in my brain isn't limited to what ends up in-RP, so I thought I'd take a few of the scenes I've typed up and drop 'em here. See what comes of it. Not all of this is necessarily going to be touched on, and some of it may never come up again at all. So take this as kind of filling gaps and "what if" scenarios. Hell, maybe this will help explain things I've never mentioned explicitly or just raise more questions. Not a clue. :U More to come, probably.


((Notes: Arsenic would be about thirteen or fourteen and not yet mute; Vix is about twelve or thirteen. Set shortly after Vix's escape.))

”Hey. Can I call you Nick?”

The weak, hoarse whisper distracted Arsenic from his task and he looked up from tending to the wounded girl’s injuries. He’d thought she was still unconscious. “What?” he asked, almost as softly.

Green eyes, faintly clouded with pain, blinked back at him over the child’s shoulder. She was clearly trying to sound cheery as she said quietly, “Your name’s Arsenic, right? I heard the grown-ups say it. That’s a bit of an insulting name, don’t you think? I’d like to call you Nick instead. If that’s okay.”

Arsenic looked back down at the girl’s back, gently dabbing a rag soaked in vinegar along the ugly gashes to clean them. For a moment, he silently debated whether to answer or not. Finally, he settled on, “I’d rather you didn’t.”

"Oh." Hoping the matter was settled, the young boy fell silent again, apart from the occasional apology when she flinched. The stranger spoke again after a short while. "My name’s Vixen. You can call me Vix."

She shut her mouth abruptly as one of the human adults walked by, watching them pass with a terrified look on her face. Arsenic watched, puzzled, as the girl waited until the assassin had moved on before she said, once more in a whisper, “Can I ask why you don’t like being called Nick?”

"Only if I can ask why you seem so scared of grown-ups," he replied. Vix flinched again, this time before the rag even touched her back.

"…They’re bad," she murmured. "Humans. They took my mom and dad away." Seemingly overcome with emotion, she buried her face in her arms.

Unsure of what to say, but feeling a twinge of sympathy, Arsenic laid his hand on her good shoulder and squeezed gently. The silence dragged on until, unable to take it, he told her, “My mom called me Nick.”

For several long moments, he wondered if he should have said anything at all. Then, bloodshot eyes peeked out from the cover of Vix’s arm again. “She did?” the girl asked, puzzled by the past tense.

"She’s gone." He finished cleaning her wounds and added, "You need to sit up so I can cover your back."

Vix pushed herself up slowly, refusing Arsenic’s hand when he offered it to her. He had to admire her tenacity, as she continued to refuse help even when her trembling arms nearly gave out, until at last she was sitting upright. Shortly, her entire too-thin torso was covered in bandages. She sat quietly, gazing at the red-haired boy thoughtfully. “Did humans take your mom, too?” she asked after a while.

"No." He paused. He wasn’t actually sure that they hadn’t been human, but if the stories assassins had told him were anything to go by, then the people who as good as killed his mother could’ve been anything. Including elves. "Robbers did."

The young elven girl seemed puzzled. “Did they steal her?” she asked, not yet making the connection.

"They made her sick." Uncomfortable saying any more, Arsenic abruptly jumped topics, back to what had started the conversation. "I - I would rather that no one calls me Nick now."

"Oh." Vix paused, thrown off. "I’m sorry, then."

"It’s alright. You didn’t know."

"Arsenic?" she said after a long, almost comfortable silence.


Seeming embarrassed, the girl ducked her head slightly and asked softly, “D’you think I could have some food?”

Surprised, but quickly shaking it off, Arsenic replied, “Sure. No problem, Vix.” She certainly looked like she could use it, he thought as he eyed her stick-thin wrists. Vix looked like she’d never had a proper meal in her life.

((Notes: Set about four years before Arsenic's introduction in-RP. The relationship between him and Vix is entirely up to the reader's interpretation.))

'Hi, mom.'

Arsenic wasn’t sure how a mental projection of his voice could quaver with emotion, but there it was. The crack in the voice of a person struggling not to bawl like a lost infant. He swallowed hard, wondering how the lump in his throat was capable of being more painful than the wound that had taken his ability to speak.

Pushing back tears, he knelt beside the small grave and placed a single pink flower in front of it. 'I brought you this. I remember azaleas are your favorites.' He told himself he was just sitting down to get comfy and not because he wasn’t sure if his legs would support him much longer.

'It's spring again. I'm sorry I couldn't visit last year. I was busy with…with work.' Arsenic took a deep breath to steady himself. 'Did I tell you? I'm an assassin now. I kill people like the ones who took my brother from us. The people no one would miss.' The idea that the blood on his hands belonged to people with parents and maybe children of their own was always firmly shoved out of his mind. No one with a child would threaten a pregnant woman. No one with loved ones would be so vile as to take a life for the joy of it.

At least, that was what he chose to believe.

'I turn twenty-one this year. I can't believe it's already been more than ten years since I last saw you…heard your voice.' There was that damned crack again, this time accompanied by the burn of looming tears. 'Would you be proud of me if you could see me now, mom?'

And there they came. Hot and wet, the tears spilled over, streaking down Arsenic’s cheeks. He dropped his head, ashamed. Nearly six years of trying to train himself not to show weakness, and this was all it took to break him. He swiped furiously at his cheeks, trying to replace sorrow with anger at himself, but still he cried. The hole his mother’s death had left in his chest was still there, still raw and bleeding, and he didn’t know how to heal it.

He felt someone timidly place their hand on his shoulder, unsure of how he might react to his grief being intruded on. Arsenic instinctively tensed - how had he not sensed their approach? - and relaxed just as suddenly. It was only Vix. He didn’t look up, not wanting her to see his face.

"I’m sure she’s never stopped loving you," the young woman murmured, and though he couldn’t see her, he could clearly picture the expression of sympathy on her pretty face. Something in his already aching heart twisted even further when he suddenly remembered that it wasn’t just pity that had brought her here. She knew what it was to lose her parents, too - maybe even more sharply than he did, considering she’d watched both her mother and her father die.

"May I sit with you?" Vix asked softly. Arsenic’s gut reaction was to say no, to insist he be left alone - but he found himself nodding very slightly. He felt rather than saw her settle in the dewy grass beside him, her hand falling from his shoulder as she did. They sat in silence until finally, the tears stopped falling. Without thinking, the assassin reached for Vix’s hand and squeezed it gently to let her know he appreciated her not trying to force him to speak. Vix squeezed back, still silent, prompting him to look up at her.

'Do you think she can see me?' His question was soft, almost hesitant. He’d never been sure if he believed there was an afterlife. He wasn’t even sure he believed there were such things as spirits. Vix, on the other hand, believed so very strongly. Maybe it had to do with what her parents had managed to teach her, and perhaps that was why she seemed so able to accept they were gone. For being younger than him, she seemed to hold everything together much better.

"I’m sure she can." Of course that was her answer. Arsenic envied her unshakable faith. He jumped slightly as she tucked some of his red hair behind a pointed ear, not expecting the touch. "From what you’ve told me about her, I think she’s very proud of you."

Arsenic had his doubts, but before he could voice them, Vix added, “You’re a gentle soul, Arsenic, especially for an assassin. Just remember you could have taken a very different path with this line of work.”

'…Yeah.' Arsenic wasn’t sure he was convinced, but he gave Vix’s hand another squeeze to let her know he appreciated her efforts.

Seeming to sense it was time to take her leave, Vix kissed his cheek and stood up. “I’ll have dinner ready when you come back inside,” she promised. As he watched her leave, Arsenic felt a small smile tug at his lips. Maybe she had a pretty damn good point.


((Notes: Modern setting, entirely speculative. Young adult Vix.))

It all came to this.

Jaw tight, nervous fingers picking at clothing that felt suffocating and too revealing all at once, Vix tried to calm her racing heart. If she screwed up now, if she ruined her one chance to impress these people, it’d be waiting tables and relying on tips to get her through college. No matter what recognition her mother’s name got her, she was determined not to let herself coast through life. She’d make people know her by her name, not Cholena’s.

But first she had to relax.

She’d be fine. She’d done this routine a hundred times before, performing in dimly lit bars for unshaven men who eyed her hungrily. The audience didn’t matter. Only how well she danced.

When Vix’s name was called, she straightened her back, checked her appearance quickly in the mirror on the wall, and strode forward briskly.

The first impression was everything. She had to make them believe she knew she could do this.

Be calm, be cool. A smile just the right shade of confident. Now say hi.

Vix licked her dry lips, cleared her throat, and spoke into the microphone. She’d practiced the tone she’d use as rigorously as she had her dancing. “Hello.”

One of the judges ran a furtive, appraising eye over her figure, then consulted a few papers in front of him. All three of them looked severe, and in the case of one, almost bored. “You’re Vixen Adsila?” the woman on the far left asked. Bored Judge looked up from picking at crud on the table, seeming mildly more interested. Vix spotted a big scar across his neck and wondered what the story behind that was.

"That’s me." Flash that smile again. “Before I get started, I’d like to thank you for the opportunity. It’s an honor.”

None of them seemed particularly moved or impressed. Vix resisted the urge to fidget and touch her face. Be calm. Poker face. Don’t look nervous.

"Go ahead, then, Vixen," Bored Judge said, waving a hand toward the tall, vertical pole in the middle of the stage. The lights dimmed. A spotlight illuminated the familiar structure. For a few horrible seconds, there was total silence.

Then, as she stepped toward the pole, the music started. Grinding synths that set her blood tingling. A deep, steady, thumping beat. She found the rhythm as she walked, and then she grasped the pole and started to dance.
"Gotta have a little sadness once in a while so you know when the good times come."
"Talent is a pursued interest. In other words, anything that you're willing to practice, you can do." ~ Bob Ross

"The future is always uncertain and painful but it must be lived." ~ Unknown
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