Blog Journal for Week 8: Aha! from Making Shapely Fiction

    The room bustled with activity, a mess of long legs seemingly tangled over and around each other. A hum of indistinct conversation emanated from the distant mouths of the adults above. I wove between the legs, ducking, twisting. It was like an obstacle course! All these people were boring, talking about whatever they were talking about, standing around doing nothing. 

    We were here somehow to celebrate my aunt. I didn't really know what for, but my family had all made pictures of her. They were the kind of pictures where you cut out real pictures and add them all together. My mom had given her fox ears, and put her on a leafy fall path. She looked pretty. My dad had done some kind of black and white thing, made her look like she was from a long time ago. I made a good picture too though. I put glitter on her cheeks to make her all sparkly and fun, I drew a crown on her head with a red marker, and found a picture of a castle that I cut out and put on some water, so she was a queen of a floating castle! It was really cool. But now I was bored waiting around. I was in search of adventure!

    After picking my way through the crowd, I burst out along the edge of a wooden stage. Nobody was up there right now, so I guess we weren't using it. The huge, draped curtains caught my eye. That would be a fun place to hide! I pulled myself up, sure that none of the adults would notice since they were so busy talking to each other. I scooted across the smooth hardwood floor. Looking down at it, I saw it reflecting the lights above in it's glossy surface, broken sometimes by scuff lines and scratches. In a flash I reached the curtains, and I dove under them. Nobody could see me here!

    I peeked out from my hiding spot and surveyed the room. Now I was at the same level as all the talking people. I watched them all blathering on about stuff. I could see the pictures we made here too, posted up on the wall. Some people were looking at them! I ducked behind the curtains and made my way closer, before peeking out again. I wondered what they thought of my picture?

    As I looked out again, I saw a line of a few people looking at the pictures. They were standing back from them a bit, silently appraising. Closest to me was my grandma. I saw her smiling and looking at my picture, talking with someone else. She was always so nice to me, she always told me how good my art was.

    "I know isn't it horrible!" She laughed loudly, the same way she always did. She turned to her friend. "I mean look at the glitter! At least the parents did something to honor her properly." She stepped away from my picture, still laughing as she and her friend went to look at the other pictures. My heart sank, and I felt an empty sadness form inside. I looked at my picture again, the glittery cheeks, the marker crown. And I understood. Everyone else was so much better than me. I was bad at art.

Blog Journal 3: Finding Your Core Material

      Transplant + Stranger  

When I saw the girl coming over the hilltop, something inside me knew. As soon as I saw her, I felt I knew her, as though her face and her very self had occupied my dreams throughout my life. I was as if she had always been there, her face obscured in silhouette, hidden behind the curls of her hair. I felt like I had been waiting to see her for my whole life. 

Of course, I never had actually seen her before. We lived at the end of our road, back amongst the trees. There weren’t many people in our town, and with our place there at the end of Tillin street, no one had much reason to come over that hill unless we already knew them. But today, it was this girl cresting over the top of the hill, stepping lightly on the cracked and dry asphalt. She smiled slightly, as she looked around at our trees. Her blue dress looked dainty and delicate, but on her feet were tough boots with thick rolled-down socks. She had a scrape here and there upon her knees, and she walked with a confident trot that suggested an adventurous, curious spirit. Everything about her spoke to me: this is the girl. 

I stood there watching her. She probably wouldn’t see me right away since I was behind the hanging leaves of the cherry tree. I had been swinging on the old rope tied to one of its bowed branches. My mother had hated that we tied the rope there years ago, but she had long since given up on telling us not to use it. The rope still hung from my hand as I remained transfixed. How would I speak to her? What would I say? How could I ever tell her how pretty she was? How I felt like I had always known her, been waiting for her? I dropped the rope finally and moved fully behind the tree, breaking my view of her. Now I could think a bit more. 

I wracked my brain for any semblance of an introduction. How did people say hello again? Do I just walk up to her? Call out? I placed my hands on my knees and leaned forward, trying to get a hold of my mind, spinning and flailing as it was.

 I quickly realized that there was just no way to do it. I couldn’t let her see me, or all hope would be lost. She’d realize immediately how crazy I was feeling. I couldn’t hide how much I liked her. I stood up, and turned to run away. 

She was there. Standing in my gravel driveway, looking right at me. I startled, and stared at her. 

“Hi, I’m Ana.” She tilted her head to the side, examining me. I felt a bead of sweat form on my forehead, threatening to drip below my hairline and show itself. But she just smiled at me. The smile was amazing, and I felt a flood within myself. A smile broke out upon my face, too huge to hold back. “I just moved here, a couple houses down. What’s your name?” My fear faded, and I felt a calm roll through my mind like a cool mist. She wanted to know me. I met her eyes, and opened my mouth to speak my name.

Birth of a Story in an Hour or Less—Weekly Blog Journal 4

Step 1: Dialogue

 “This is how we save it. This sacrifice is how we ensure another opportunity, for whatever comes after us. It is our duty to them.”

“I didn’t sign up for this. Do you see my name on the dotted line? You and your people are deciding the fates of our whole world and just like that, throwing it away! You think we’ll stand for this? I don’t care what reason you say you have. You don’t have the right to take our lives away. We are justified in fighting for our survival!”

“Of course you are. And we may not have the right, but we do have the capability. So although I would love for you to agree and willingly make this sacrifice, I understand if you cannot. And I will take no joy in forcing you to.”

“What makes you think you will succeed? You may have the technology to move vast distances, but I have seen your fleet. I don’t see any weapon that we don’t also have. And we have another benefit. You came here with your little armada, but we have been the caretakers of this world for millennia. We’ve got a bigger and better base of operations here, we outnumber you massively, and we will be fighting with absolutely everything we have, because we will be fighting for our lives. You will lose. Why don’t you just leave, and fight for your own survival, somewhere else?”

“I’m afraid that we cannot do that. The universe is already in its death throes. What could it possibly matter if your people survive? In the face of the endless blackness stretching infinitely for the rest of eternity. How long would you survive? Millions of years? Billions? Maybe you will discover how to lengthen your eventual demise to even a trillion years. But all that time is but a paltry nothing in the face of infinity. We owe the universe this chance. We have had our chance at existence. It’s time to ensure that someone else gets theirs.”

“If you won’t back down from this, then prepare yourselves. We will kill you all to defend ourselves.”

“I know. I admire you and your people. Such ingenuity, such a drive for life. And you have been incredibly successful. I’m sorry to see it end. But everything must.”

 Step 2: Description

A clean, cold room. Smooth and reflective black metal floors, broken up by lines of light, letting off a pale blue glow. The walls curve slowly upwards, following the shape of the ring. It slowly spins around it’s axis, as the ship floats weightlessly in space. Outside the window a planet can be seen, not far off. A band of green runs around it’s middle, and on one side of the band lies an endless night. Pure darkness. On the other, the green slowly fades into the color of an immense desert. Forever pointed towards the sun, locked, staring. That half of the planet has been baking in the heat of the sun’s embrace for as long as the planet has been here. But back inside the cold room overlooking this planet, two people sit in chairs at opposite sides of a table. At opposite sides of an idea.

One of the figures is a man, probably nearing middle age. His eyes lock onto those of his opponent, pupils bright and sharp. His expression seems to suggest a seriousness, an awareness and an intelligence. But his posture is slumped and comfortable. He frowns as he rests his cheek upon the curled fingers of his right hand. His body seems soft, his skin pale as though he had rarely seen the sun. But he is strong. He looks like he could pull your arms off. He has short, dark hair. It’s all the same length, as though it had grown out after being shaved bald. He wears a simple dark green jumpsuit that looks suited to manual labor, but he his various patches and insignias indicate a higher level of responsibility. A circular metal band runs around the collar of his suit, ready to have a helmet screwed on to provide protection from the cold vacuum of space. His heavy boots, with electromagnets for their soles, rest crossed comfortably on top of one another, as he leans back and props his feet up on a vacant chair next to himself.

This man’s most important relationship is to his planet. He cares about the people he meets too, he is not a cold or impersonal individual. But he simply can’t help seeing the big picture. He has lived his life for the betterment of his world. He has no family, except for very elderly parents for whom he feels a kind of longing, pitying love. He values his friendships most with people he works with, the smartest and hardest working people around. Those that have proven themselves in the never ending effort to keep this green-banded planet alive.

What he does for a living is what he views as the most important thing you could possibly do with your time. As the planet slowly loses atmosphere and small particles to space, it’s mass is slowly decreasing. Given enough time, this would mean that his world would lose the particles necessary for life. He used to operate one of the ships, orbiting near to his planet, trawling for micro-particles so that they could be returned to the planet for re-use. Now he has moved up in his responsibility, and he oversees every space operation dedicated to keeping his planet alive. The micro-trawlers, the solar arrays gathering energy for his world, ships coming and going from the surface, and monitoring equipment set up throughout their solar system. His job is to safeguard his world against any kind of threat it might face from space.

His greatest fear is his eventual failure. He will not live to see it, but he knows that perfection is physically impossible. No matter what he does, time will march on, his sun and world will age, and one day they will die, along with every living thing remaining. He fears the endless darkness, the pure infinite nothingness that comes after the last star in the universe burns out.

What he wants most of all is to break the rules. He wants to find a way to let his people keep existing forever. He would die happily and contentedly if he knew that was the case. But he knows that it can never happen. It’s not possible.

 

Scene 1: Before

Fen Arthson floated, arms crossed behind his head. He looked up at the seven stars in the sky, and the blackness that surrounded them. His eyes locked on the red glow of Belthea. A red giant, about halfway through it’s death throes. It wouldn’t last more than a few million years. And then… One less star in their sky.

A quiet notification signal buzzed beside him. He turned his head towards the green glowing screen. Analysis complete it said. Time to go do his job.

Fen leaned forward, grabbing one of the guide bars running throughout the ship. The observation room wasn’t big as rooms go, but it was bigger than any other room in his little spacecraft. Big enough to stretch out in while you waited for your computer to do it’s job. Fen twisted over, facing the passage into the middle of the ship, and began to push forward. He floated forwards, until he got to the center passageway. To his left was his bathroom, straight down was the rec and exercise area, and straight up was the pilot chair and work console. He pushed up.

As he floated, he let his hand lightly grasp the metal railing, slowly sliding along the smooth metal surface. When friction would slow his movement, his grasp would tighten and he would push himself onward once again. Even after all this time, being in space was still enthralling for him.

Once he got into the work room, he reached for the button on his sleeve that activated his boots. One quick press, and the lights on the sides of his boots were on, and suddenly he was moving towards the floor. Slowly his feet moved towards the metal walkway, and once they touched there was suddenly a down. He closed his eyes as he calmly reoriented himself, letting the sense of up and down return. When he opened them again, he was in a room with a floor and a ceiling. He smiled slightly. Some people never got very good at shifting perspective like that.

Sitting down in his chair, he looked into the screen of his work monitor. 99.99998% efficiency. He frowned. “Why are you worse than yesterday?” He looked out of the window at the force nets around his trawler, wondering if there was some damage on one of them.

Suddenly the computer alarmed, and then a voice came through. “Anomaly detected” Fen’s head snapped around to look at it. The voice of the controller sounded… frightened. That was never a good sign. “There is some kind of… Ship. There is a fleet of ships here.” The controller’s voice quavered in fear and confusion. When Fen turned back to his window, he saw them. Giant spaceships, floating in formation. The first evidence of another group of humans in millions of years, and they had just appeared on our doorstep.

Scene 2: Conversation

Across the table from Fen, the tall lanky man moved back and forth, his reflection blurrily following him in the surface of the dark table. “This is how we save it. This sacrifice is how we ensure another opportunity, for whatever comes after us. It is our duty to them.” He placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, his chair forgotten. He was trying to tell Fen why he should just accept his death. Fuck that.

Fen sat comfortably in his chair, leaning back. “I didn’t sign up for this.” He tilted his head and looked into his opponent’s eyes. “Do you see my name on the dotted line? You and your people are deciding the fates of our whole world and just like that, throwing it away!” He gestured angrily, his rage boiling. But an angry calm took control again, and he leaned back once again in his chair. “You think we’ll stand for this? I don’t care what reason you say you have. You don’t have the right to take our lives away. We are justified in fighting for our survival.”

“Of course you are.” The man wore an expression of a sort of sad sympathy. “And we may not have the right… but we do have the capability.” His tone turned serious, as he picked up a model of the planet Fen called home. “So although I would love for you to agree and willingly make this sacrifice, I understand if you cannot. And I will take no joy in forcing you to.”

Fen scoffed. “What makes you think you will succeed? You may have the technology to move vast distances, but I have seen your fleet. I don’t see any weapon that we don’t also have.” Fen leaned forward again, putting his elbows on the table and smiling. “And we have another benefit. You came here with your little armada, but we have been the caretakers of this world for millennia. We’ve got a bigger and better base of operations here, we outnumber you massively, and we will be fighting with absolutely everything we have, because we will be fighting for our lives.” Fen dropped his fist onto the table, making a small thunk as it impacted. “You will lose. Why don’t you just leave, and fight for your own survival, somewhere else?”

The man across from him put the model back down, a look of resignation on his face. “I’m afraid that we cannot do that. The universe is already in its death throes. What could it possibly matter if your people survive?” He turned to look into Fen’s eyes, imploring. “In the face of the blackness stretching infinitely for the rest of eternity,” He was practically whispering. “How long would you survive? Millions of years? Billions? Maybe you will discover how to lengthen your eventual demise to even a trillion years.” He walked around the table towards Fen. “But all that time is but a paltry nothing in the face of infinity. We owe the universe this chance. We have had our chance at existence. It’s time to ensure that someone else gets theirs.” He said, sitting down in a different chair, closer to Fen now.

“If you won’t back down from this, then prepare yourselves. We will kill you all to defend ourselves.” Fen said coldly.

“I know. I admire you and your people.” He looked away, out of the window at Fen’s world, its green band and sun baked desert beautifully visible. “Such ingenuity, such a drive for life. And you have been incredibly successful. I’m sorry to see it end.” He turned back towards Fen, a dead look in his eyes. “But everything must.”

Scene 3: After

Fen’s eyes were locked on Belthea as it began to move away. It seemed to slide sideways, slowly increasing in speed until suddenly… it was just gone. The sky was a little darker. Now there were just six points of light.

An immense feeling of loss welled up in Fen’s chest, and he hunched forward, gasping, trying not to cry out. He covered his face with his hand.

“They really took it.” Ralt said behind him. “They really can take our stars away.” She sounded like she was holding back tears too.

Fen looked up. Hearing her hurt by this had hardened his resolve, and anger began to burn in his chest instead of despair. He looked at the void where one of his stars had been. “They won’t take anything else.” He said through gritted teeth. “We need to call a meeting. We need to reactivate our old weaponry. We need to kill all of them, or else they will never stop.” He walked to his pilot’s chair and sat down, immediately entering in the route to the Hub. It was time for his people to go to war.

Prefab Story - The Green Stone

 

She came stumbling out of the cave mouth with her stupid friends, clutching her fist tight to her chest. They stopped there among the dark mossy tumble of stones, as the nearby trees seemed to sag exhaustedly towards them, framing them in his view. Matthew sat watching from his chosen spot, just in the shadows. He was entirely confident that he would not be seen from here. After observing them earlier, it had not been difficult to identify her as the primary threat within the group. Sure, the tall blonde man was strong and imposing, and her bashful friend Penelope seemed physically capable. But no, the one who identified herself as “Vesta” was the one to watch. She was intelligent.

They spoke to each other, too distant to hear well. Vesta hunched slightly, wincing when Penelope touched her shoulder. Matthew saw blood upon Penelope’s hand as she took it away. But then, Vesta raised her clenched fist and opened it. Sitting in the middle of her palm, framed against her dark skin, there it was. A bright green stone. She had found it within. Damn it. He had only just deduced that it might be here, and suddenly this woman, a visitor from afar who claims to be here to record wildlife, she finds it? By chance? No. It must have been her objective.

The group began to walk away from the mouth of the cave, down the path that lead here. Matthew froze still, making sure not to rustle any leaves or give any indication of his presence. They walked down the path, their feet scuffing on the soft moist bed of pine needles, and began heading back towards civilization. They were getting closer, approaching somewhat diagonally as their path led closer to his hiding spot. He began to hear their voices, and Matthew listened very carefully.

“... Sure? The wound looks painful, and you appear swollen upon your head my friend.” The one called Penelope continued to look over her friend with concern, her mouth making a tight hard frown as she walked behind her leader. She leaned forward, and gingerly touched the back of Vesta’s head.

“Ouch! Look, I made sure to check myself after the fall, I was quite thorough. Clearly, I am well enough to be thinking straight, and because of that I worry less about the head wound. As far as the cut on my shoulder, with basic attention and time I am confident it will heal.” She kept her eyes forward as she talked, moving along at a good pace as she ignored the concerns of her friend. “I need to figure out what this thing is. It was in the palm of a skeleton. Long dead it seems, and wearing interesting garb. Or what was left of it.”

They trudged onward, reaching the spot on the path that lead closest to his hiding spot, then just passing him. Then they stopped suddenly, and Penelope’s fawning hands almost made contact with the swollen back of Vesta‘s head again as she caught herself. The big blonde guy in the back of the group ambled to a stop as well, absently smiling at his surroundings. His simple face turned in Matthew’s direction, and he could feel the man’s gaze approaching him as though it was the beam of a searchlight, about to illuminate him. Matthew huddled under his bed of ferns and hanging moss, as a jolt of adrenaline pulsed through him. The big oaf’s eyes seemed to stop on Matthew’s for a moment, the slight, contented, stupid smile never leaving the man’s face. Then his gaze continued.

Vesta straightened and took stock of her surroundings. “Should we continue back to Mrs. Eld? I think it’s safe to say that it wasn’t her dead husband stealing sheep.” She sighed slightly. “Not that I had ever truly entertained that notion.” Her hand seemed to unconsciously approach her lower lip, her finger brushing lightly against it. “But I am very curious about this stone. Perhaps a jeweler in town would be able to determine its origin. What do you think?” She turned to Penelope, who seemed taken aback by the sudden request for input.

“Um... Well we told the lady we would find out what was happening. I think it is important to keep your word, and as such I think we should handle her situation first. I also don’t see why this stone compels you so much, if it has value then it could be sold, then we could continue towards our destination after we resupply.” She looked at Vesta expectantly.

“I don’t want to sell it; it clearly has some kind of historical significance. But you’re right. We should finish our business with Mrs. Eld first.” Vesta turned again suddenly, and resumed her march with the same apparent determination as before.

In short order, they were well away from Matthew’s position. Finally, he stirred, stretching his shoulder forward and his neck from side to side. He stood up, and arched his back to lessen the strain he felt in that region. Reaching down and dusting off his simple robes, he picked up his walking stick once again. He turned toward the path they had taken, looking after them with hard eyes. He knew where the old woman lived.

The sky was dimming by the time he had the cottage in his sights. He had made sure to take a different path than they would have, and was certain he had not been seen as he made his way here. The windows of the short, ancient house were alive with a yellow glow, and within the small fenced area attached to the house roamed several sheep. They stood vacantly, grinding their jaws in a sideways-circular motion as they attempted to digest their dinner of grass. Just behind the sheep was a trough, and a small shed. A decent hiding spot, if he wanted to get closer to wait for them to fall asleep.

Matthew hunched forward, and began to lightly run towards the sheep pen as quietly as possible, keeping his eyes on the window the whole time. Nothing stirred inside, and he quickly reached the wooden fence of the sheep’s enclosure. Placing his hand on the topmost beam of wood, he vaulted over, and then ducked behind the shed. Wiping away a bead of sweat as it approached his eye, he peered around the corner and towards the house again. A sheep stood there, still chewing sideways and now making eye contact with him.

“Beh-eh-eh-eh" It said unhelpfully. Matthew frowned at it. Hopefully he would be able to hear something helpful from the house. Through the window overlooking his current hiding spot, he heard the sound of voices. He tilted his head, straining and moving back and forth slightly; as though that could somehow improve his ability to hear. They were there, that was certain. He heard the stern, straightforward voice of Vesta, and the halting, timid voice of her companion Penelope. Bah. He simply couldn’t tell what was being said from here. Keeping low, he sidled up to the house, pressing himself against the wall. Now here, he was able to make out another voice, trembling and small. The old woman.

“You are sure that it isn’t Gerald? She croaked. “After Timmy trampled him, I knew he would hate the sheep. He was a sheep farmer but then he was killed by a sheep. I just know he’s turning in his grave, but I don’t know how else to live.”

The voice of Vesta chimed in. “Ma’am, I’m sure that your husband would not blame you for continuing to keep sheep. We quickly determined that it was a creature of some kind that had taken your sheep, and we tracked it into the hills. It was... A mountain lion. We found it’s lair, and I am confident that it is gone now.”

Hah. Too afraid to say what it really was? Matthew thought. Suddenly, he heard heavy footsteps approaching. Looking to his side, he saw that he was hidden right next to a door. Shit! Why did I not pay attention to that? The door slammed open, swinging towards him. Matthew pressed up against the wall, trying to hide himself within the shadow of the open door. Striding through it came the tall blonde man. He took several steps forward, his back to Matthew. He looked lazily from left to right, until his gaze seemed to settle on a corner of the fence. He walked up to it and reached towards his belt. What is he going to do? Strangely his hand seemed to pause there. His back still to Matthew, his other hand joined the first, and then a torrent of water rushed forth, splattering against the fence post. Oh.

“Do dee-do dee-do dee-do.” He sang happily, moving his hips back and forth, painting the post with his urine. “Dooo dee-doo dee-doo dee-doo.” Matthew saw that as he had loosened his belt, the small pack attached to it had sagged open, and suddenly Matthew saw his objective: the stone! Of course he had it, they had this guy carry almost all of their supplies, and they didn’t understand its true value! This might be his only opportunity.

Matthew began moving towards the big man, very slowly and very carefully. The sound of his piss hitting the post was loud enough that he felt confident that he could be quiet enough. It practically sounded like a geyser was erupting from him. He closed the distance, his eyes fixed on the gem, illuminated still in the light spilling from the open door. “Hmm hm-hmm hm-hmm hm-hmm.” The oaf hummed as Matthew got close. It was going to work!

“Hmm?” Suddenly the stream of urine stopped. Matthew looked up to see the man’s head turned slightly looking down. Matthew followed his gaze, and found it resting upon a dark shape on the ground. Matthew’s own shadow.

Wham! The big guy turned with surprising speed, his closed fist spinning with him and connecting with the side of Matthew’s face, hard. Matthew felt the world jolt around him, and for half a second, he didn’t know where he was. He tasted blood in his mouth.

“Darsha!” The oaf shouted in some strange pointless language. “Bokyul floondgar?!” He was making eye contact with Matthew, still crouched, now looking up angrily at his sizeable opponent. The big man seemed to have asked a question. But Matthew didn’t know what he said.

Matthew stood up straighter and angrily began “Give me th-” The man’s fist suddenly sprung forward again, impacting Matthew’s stomach like a cannonball. He felt the wind rush from his lungs, and his feet lift from the ground as he was pushed back several feet from the force of the blow. He landed still standing, gasping for breath. Just then, the other figures appeared in the doorway.

“Kurg! What the hell, who is that?” Rang out Vesta’s voice. Matthew turned to look at her, wheezing as he tried to suck air, looking at her hatefully.

“Darsha!” Said the big man, apparently called Kurg.

Gasp! Finally, Matthew felt the air rush back into his lungs. He looked at her for one more moment, promising himself that he would get the stone eventually. Then he turned, jumped over the fence to his side, and ran as fast as he could. He didn’t hear pursuers, but the last thing he did hear was the voice of Penelope.

“Who the hell was that?”

A Conversation in Darkness - Blog Journal 5

The town was quiet around them, muddy streets empty this time of night. Nobody came walking in this part of town when the sun went down. But this dark, quiet alley was right where they wanted to be. 

“Alright.” Lek’s deep gravelly voice began. He looked intently and conspiratorially into his companion's eyes. “Here’s th’ plan. You wait here. You’re too loud, too clanky. But me... I go in nice and quiet like. I sneak right up behind ‘im, and then...” Lek’s hands widened, as he presented his masterful plan with a wide grin. “I stab ‘em. Then I stab anyone else in there. Job done.”  He nodded, giving his own plan a vote of confidence.  

Jeeves sighed. Yes, they were here to kill a criminal overlord and dismantle his gang. But sadly, his companion was sorely lacking in tact. Lek’s plans usually could be broken down into stabbing most parties present. Occasionally sneaking was also involved. “Perhaps if sir were to try not doing that. Sir might find sir’s self in a situation more amenable to sir’s success.” Jeeves as always kept his face passive, emotions totally in check. He pursed his lips. If only his companion was a bit less uncouth.  

“Wot?” Lek gave a look of disgust and confusion. “Well what’s your bright idea then.” Lek sneered and made air quotes. “Mr. Chair?” 

Jeeves brought two fingers to his forehead and closed his eyes. Lek loved to bring up his last name. He opened his eyes again and placed his palms together. He looked at his foolish companion and endeavored to dumb things down enough to make them intelligible to the man. “Mr. Lek. Allow me to remind sir that we have not viewed the room in question as of yet. So, if sir were to engage in sir’s plan and enter the room in an effort to sneak past any possible inhabitants, sir would in fact be doing so with no idea if such a thing is indeed possible. Before making a true plan, some reconnaissance is in order, sir.” 

“But if they see me then I just stab ‘em!” Lek protested. For such a simple-minded man Jeeves had to admit that he had had a surprising amount of success. He was one of the only other mercenaries in town, and over his roughly three years of operation Lek “the Stabber” had not only not died, but he had actually completed more jobs than Jeeves. Though Jeeves’ position was that the quality of a job completed was more important than their quantity.  

“Sir, might I suggest that before we resort to sir’s truly exceptional ability to puncture the flesh of criminals, sir may approach the window on the side of this edifice, peer through it, and report back to me what sir had viewed. Following this, I will be able to get into position and perhaps I will be able to use some of my limited magics to give us an upper hand.” Jeeves crossed his hands behind his back and allowed his nose to point just a bit higher. “This is all to facilitate sir’s future stabbing, of course.” He knew Lek couldn’t resist some small compliments on the finer parts of his craft. 

Lek brought a curled fist up to his mouth and appeared to be in deep contemplation. “Hmm...” Lek dropped his fist and looked up. “Alright. I can get behind that. As long as I get to do some stabbin, what’s th’ harm in givin’ the place a little looky before we go cover it in blood?” Lek grinned evilly, cracking his knuckles and tensing his exceedingly muscular body in anticipation. “You got some kinda spell to cover up the sound of your armor?” 

Jeeves smiled. “Of course I do sir.” He drew his hefty sword from its scabbard, and felt a comfortable certainty that success was imminent. After this job was completed, he would have enough money to leave this town and begin to truly pursue his own goals. “At your leisure sir.” Jeeves pressed himself to the wall, keeping in shadow as he moved to look over the old storehouse their quarry was squatting in. He looked over to Lek, who gave one final grin before fading into the darkness, moving towards his prey.