Posts Tagged ‘ #InsomniacFamily ’

Quick Action Scene

So, it’s raining outside and I stopped to work on a scene before I headed to work. Hope you all enjoy!

*******

Visible anger and contempt played over Akiko’s features.

“What do YOU know about Lord Forsythe?  You are but NOTHING to him!

He–”

A faint sound had cut through the din of the air conditioning and the dull humming of the machines in the room. It sounded like gravel being stepped on, or popping corn.

Or submachinegun fire.

“They’re here,” Akiko said, returning to a state of calm.

Bullet ricochets whined off steel from just outside. Garbled screams and louder weapons fire drowned out every other noise completely.

James rose swiftly from his seat, brow creased. He rushed to the door and yanked it open to see three men in black reloading from the opposite end of the corridor. They spotted James as he dove for the overturned desk.

“Shit, there’s someone else in there,” James heard one curse. “There were only supposed to be three guards–”

Lyle was lying face down on the floor, and blood was staining his shirt.

One of the guards had slumped over the chair, while the other was leaning against the wall, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. A large red smear, stark against the white of the walls, was spread behind his hair. James fought down an urge to gag.

He shoved Lyle’s body aside and found what he was looking for.

“WHO GIVES A FUCK!?” came the roar from another of the men.  “He’s–”

“Hey, shitheads.”

James was standing in full view behind the desk.  His cigarette was lit.

In his hands he held a cocked and ready Ingram Mac-10.

“Not exactly standard issue,” he drawled, blowing out a plume of smoke from between his pressed lips. “But it works.”

James’s first volley hit one of the men below the knees, making the man fall screaming to the ground. After a moment’s shock however, the other two quickly brought their weapons to bear and began firing.  Even the fellow on the floor wasn’t completely out of commission– from his place, he tried his best to aim at James and managed to get a few bursts out, forcing James to retreat.

“Fuckers’re pros,” James muttered under his breath, forcing the door closed behind him.  He looked in Akiko’s direction as he changed his weapon’s clip.  “Friends of yours?”

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New Snippet

Hey guys, I’m back to writing again. School is out and looks like work may lighten up for a bit so I’ll be able to share a bit more of what’s been going on in my mind.

*************

Whether it the dead of night or the calm of morning, it didn’t matter much to Icy. Morals and scruples became meaningless when you allow yourself to truly attempt and justify their continued use.  In the end, it boiled down to the desire and emotion that one held on to, be it a fleeting moment, or the span of a lifetime.  Those who held on to their morals often operated in the light of the morn, while the opposition dwelled within the refined shadow of evening.

Icy preferred neither and both at once.  She was a creature of time, not recognizing any supreme value in either day or night.

Her time was now.

A deliberate caution hindered somewhat by protesting muscles, Alice “Icy” Rodgers shifted her arm from the warmth of the expansive chest of Jordan Woodson, reaching for the cold grip of her P .38 handgun she’d kept hidden underneath her purse nearby.

“So soon?” a gruff voice queried.

Her face did not betray the surprise she felt, she turned her vision to the jaded, demanding eyes of the Demon.

“You’re supposed to be asleep.”

A light accusation, considering the severity of the situation.

“You should know better than that,” he replied, his tone quite a bit lighter than Icy knew it should be.

“We finally stopped only twenty minutes ago.  It’s going to be sunrise soon.”  In the darkness of Woodson’s bedroom, Alice’s fine-honed vision caught the moonlight confessing the position of her gun, in Jordan’s hand. His grip was light, but she could tell his every sinew was taught, waiting for her movement to be the slightest bit unfavorable to him.

“Looks like the Riot wore you out.  Now you know why I don’t dance.  This was kind of interesting when Nells attempted it on me.”

Icy couldn’t help her smile, then.  The story of the wannabe toppler of Jordan Woodson, Nells was quite the tale among his lieutenants. What wasn’t quite clear was how she was caught.  What was crystal clear was how she had paid for her treachery.

“You’d put me in the same room as her?” Alice asked with indignance.

“You put yourself there, Icy.  I’m just finally lettin’ you see that.”  He stifled a yawn, a movement that flustered Alice, despite herself.  “Why don’t you get some sleep, darlin’?  I’m gonna start breakfast.”

He rose without another word, stopping only to throw on a lavender robe and don some fuzzy slippers.  Alice’s patience broke in those moments of silence.

“What do you mean?” They were quiet words, but well-reinforced with a deadly venom.

“If you have to ask, you’ll never know.  It’s good to see you still have ambition; it means that the guvs didn’t get to you.”

Once his presence was gone, Alice allowed herself to wrap the sleeping bag around her naked body and shiver.  She was very aware that she wasn’t cold, and more aware that Woodson was perhaps the sickest, craftiest man she had ever come across, and attempted to cross.  Questions began spinning in her head about the past, about the day the Demon was taken down, but the most prominent question that played with her psyche like a finely tuned harp was thus:

Why did she love that man so much more, even now?

03/11/2015 #TheDefenders Snippet, In The Mix, and a bit of tea.

Pastepot Pete!

Pastepot Pete

 

Hello all! How’ve you been since the last update?

 

After a lot of reviewing and reading I’ve finally been able to get this blog post up and live for consumption. Before I get into talking about the story two things: Today’s blog post is brought to you courtesy of two of the podcasts I follow: In the Mix with Shoom and Tea with Queen and J. If you guys could do me a favor and follow them/like them on their social media accounts then I’d really appreciate it. I definitely think everyone should take the time to support them as they are part of the #InsomniacFamily as far as I’m concerned.  I have also included links to the latest episodes of the two series along with today’s blog post, I hope you enjoy!

 

One of my favorite people in the universe, Sammus, is currently embarking on her very first tour with the incomparable Mega Ran! Tonight’s show is in Yellow Springs, Ohio! If you have the time and are in the area, please drop by and check them out tonight! Below is the full list of appearances and dates on the tour!

 

 

RSVP here on Mega Ran’s FB page

 

In the mix w/Shoom

In the mix w/Shoom

Like on Facebook!

https://www.facebook.com/inthemixwithshoom

Follow on Twitter!

http://www.twitter.com/Inthemixshoom

 

Tea with Queen + J

Tea with Queen and J

Like on facebook!

https://www.facebook.com/TeawithQueenandJ

follow on twitter!

https://twitter.com/TeawithQJ

 

Alright, after you guys follow these links and “Like” these pages I hope you enjoy today’s snippet! 🙂 Please don’t forget to drop me feedback after you’ve read!

 

 

****

 

Jameson, after foiling six attempted invasions of the Earth by demonic entities of various stripes, was really getting tired of his new job.

 

 

Maybe it was because the only pay he received was a sense of satisfaction of job well done, or at least done. Well, that and his continued existence. Which might be a plus, he admitted.

 

 

Maybe it was because the average demon was a grotesque mockery of all life. With absolutely no taste, and even less of a sense of humor. He’d had to raid several demonic dimensions, all of which featured flowing rivers of blood, strobe lighting, and “You Don’t Have to Be Damned to Work Here—But It Helps!” signs on the walls.

 

Jameson took a deep sip of his rather indifferent, lukewarm latte. A paper airplane that had been painstakingly folded from a napkin struck him on the back of the head.

 

 

Or perhaps, he appended, it was all the mockery his outfit was attracting as he paused to get refreshed at an all-night café.

 

 

Jameson turned abruptly. “All right you creep, I seem to recall that this is a free country, where a man can stop for a cup of coffee, and not have to worry about persecution based on the way he dresses.”

 

 

The entire clientele of the café glanced at him, and then glanced pointedly away.

 

 

“I’ll have you know I have a perfectly good reason for wearing this outfit!” Jameson began to wave his fist. “I am a SUPERHERO!”

 

 

The crowd continued to pointedly glance away.

 

 

Jameson sat back down. “Ingrates,” he muttered under his breath. Maybe he should just let the N’Gai toast a city district. That would show them…

 

 

The café’s waitress approached him. “Anything else?”

 

 

Jameson glanced at her. “Tell me, if I order another latte, would it actually be hot?”

 

 

The waitress shrugged. “Miracles have been known to happen.”

 

 

Jameson frowned. “That’s what I thought…” He handed her a few bills. “Keep the change…” The waitress nodded and headed out. Jameson sighed. He shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that. After all, it was just a paper airplane. He’d dealt with worse his entire life. At least right now, he was having a quiet moment, after an eventful stress-filled night.

 

 

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Well, night owls, prepare for a stick-up of the most figurative kind! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

 

 

Jameson’s head slumped down to the countertop. Well, at least his luck was holding out. All bad. Righting himself, he turned to look at this new threat.

 

 

Jameson blinked. Then he blinked again, to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Then he blinked a third time, in the desperate hope that he was. However, it appeared he wasn’t. The café really was about to be robbed by a man dressed largely in purple spandex—right up to the cowl on his rather vulpine face. The man’s gloves and boots were both a light red in color, and in his left hand, he held what looked for all the world like a military attempt at designing a squirt gun.

 

 

“Tremble, yes tremble fools at my awesome might! It will consume you! Quail before my power! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

 

 

Jameson’s teeth ground together at the apparent supervillain’s high-pitched laughter. Maybe if I just sit here quietly, this will blow over, he thought. I mean, it’s not like I owe these people anything. I’ve already saved their sorry carcasses tonight, and I’m going to do it again. I can sit this one out. Might teach them a lesson. That was when he caught a desperate glance from the waitress. “Damn social conscience…” muttered Jameson, standing up.

 

 

“Attention, supervillain!” he stated in his best attempt at a loud commanding voice. “Before you stands Dr. Strange, self appointed nemesis to unpleasantness. Now cease your criminal activities and inordinate cackling or face my completely justifiable wrath.”

 

 

“Oh, really?” snorted the villain. “And tell me, Doctor are you ready to face the uncanny power of—PASTE-POT PETE?”

 

 

Jameson’s face went slack. “What?”

 

 

“I said, ‘are you ready to face the uncanny power of Paste-pot Pete’?” His opponent frowned. “What are you, deaf?”

 

 

Jameson buried his face in his hands. The universe, he felt, was an unjustifiably silly place, sometimes.

 

 

Paste-pot Pete (who was known to family and—well, acquaintances, as Jake Jennings) smiled to himself. His first act of supervillainy was already a roaring success. His superhero opponent had been reduced to quivering terror at the very mention of his name! Soon, very soon, Jerry Jenkins would be defeated!

 

 

All right—so technically, this was his second act of supervillainy. His first, an attempted bank robbery, had derailed fairly quickly. He’d handed a note saying “Prepare to get sticky” to a teller, and then had waited half an hour, at which point a pair of muscular security guards had shown up, and forcibly hauled him off, explaining as they did so that the bank didn’t want perverts intent on monkey business hanging around the premises.

 

 

Fortunately, no one had noted the beginning of his career in crime, and Jake had been able to take away two very important lessons.

 

 

Firstly, banks are far too heavily protected to be robbed with impunity. It would be wiser to go for a place that wasn’t expecting it.

 

 

Secondly, his impromptu costume of an artist’s smock and dark glasses just didn’t seem to grab people’s attention, at least, not in a way that screamed ‘supervillain’.

 

 

Jake gave a satisfied nod. Purple spandex had definitely been the way to go.

 

 

Jameson, after a couple of deep breaths, glanced up. “Okay,” he announced. “My burst of existential horror is over. I accept the terrifying fact that a man may want to dress in spandex and call himself Pasty Pete—”

 

 

“That’s Paste-Pot Pete!” cried Jake, menacingly waving his gun around.

 

 

“Right,” said Jameson in the calm cool tone that is generally used by men of extraordinary patience on children of remarkable intransigence. “As I was saying, it’s the sort of thinking that gives the world quite a few rock stars.” Jameson’s toe was starting to tap impatiently on the floor. “But what puzzles me is what superpowers a man called Post-Haste Pete—”

 

 

“I said, that’s Paste-Pot Pete!” screamed Jake.

 

 

“Dear me,” said Jameson. “Did I misspeak myself? Must be the lateness of the hour. To continue, what powers might he possess?”

 

 

“A worthy question,” cackled Jake. “My power comes from my brilliant invention, the paste pistol!” Jake glanced at his creation lovingly. Well, truthfully it was that bastard Jenkins’s invention, which Jake had… liberated from his lab, but still, his nemesis had been blind to its more advanced applications. In fact, he had built it for nothing more than to fix a few loose tiles on the school roof, showing as usual the inferiority of his so-called genius in comparison to the incomparable mind of Jake Jenkins. “With this I shall become one of the leading lights of the criminal world! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

 

 

Jameson seemed to be staring at him rather strangely. “I’m happy for you. So—your—paste pistol…” Jameson bit his lip, in apparent frustration. “It shoots—paste, I’m guessing?”

 

 

Jake snickered. “That’s right! A very sticky paste! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

 

 

Jameson nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He nodded some more. “Would you just—give me a second…?” Jameson turned around, glanced at the café’s patrons, and screamed. “All right people!” he shouted. “Would a reasonably fit man care to take a chair to the back of Pastel Pete’s head?”

 

 

“That’s Paste-Pot Pete!” cried Jake.

 

 

“Shut up!” said Jameson forcibly. He glanced back at the crowd. “Come on! He’s a scrawny young man who is trying to hold you up with a glue gun! Am I the only one here who realizes the inherent absurdity of this fact?”

 

 

The other patrons made it a point of order to avoid looking at Jameson.

 

 

“You all suck,” muttered Jameson. “I want you to realize that…”

 

 

“What to do you mean ‘inherent absurdity’? Are you insulting me, you cape-wearing lunatic?”

 

 

“Yes, I’m insulting you because you are probably one of the most intrinsically incompetent supervillains in existence,” seethed Jameson. “Have you ever considered the obvious limitations of your ‘power’? Suppose, for example, that you are robbing a bank. The manager knows the combination to the safe. He won’t open it. What do you do?”

 

 

“Simple,” snickered Jake. “I’d tell him to do it, or face a blast from my paste pistol.”

 

 

“And what would that do?”

 

 

“It would—make him very sticky…” stated Jake, a touch of uncertainty trailing into his voice.

 

 

“And why would that be threatening?” Jameson asked quietly.

 

 

“He—really doesn’t like being sticky…” Jake’s expression was now openly confused.

 

 

“It’s not threatening at all!” Jameson shouted. “If you’d have thought about it, you’d have known it! You’d have seen your only superpower is using a gun that’s less effective than a normal gun!”

 

 

“It—it makes people sticky!” Jake muttered defensively.

 

 

“A normal gun makes people dead,” replied Jameson. “Being dead is much worse than being sticky.”

 

 

“Oh—oh, shut up!” screamed Jake raising his paste pistol. “No one insults my reign of supervilliany…” He pulled the trigger.

 

 

A trickle of brownish fluid leaked out of the muzzle. “What—? ” Jake muttered in shock.

 

 

“Oh, yes,” said Jameson in a rather amused tone. “While we were chatting, I transformed your glue to molasses.”

 

 

Jake stared at him in dull surprise.

 

 

“Or maybe treacle.” Jameson began to tap his chin, in speculation. “Actually, those might be the same thing…”

 

 

“You’re working for him, aren’t you?” Jake stated hatefully. “You’re working for Jerry Jenkins!”

 

 

Jameson glanced at Jake, baffled. “Who?”

 

 

“Don’t play dumb with me!” screamed Jake. “This is just another one of that bastard’s attempts to bring me down! Well, Paste-Pot Pete is not as easy to defeat as Jake Jennings!” He triumphantly pulled out a greenish cylinder from his back pocket. “Behold! A second load of ammunition!”

 

 

Jameson sighed. “You really take too much relish in even the smallest triumphs, you know that?”

 

 

Jake changed his canisters quickly, then leveled the gun at Jameson. “Let’s see you get out of this one!”

 

 

Jameson stared at him forcibly.

 

 

Jake blinked. “Gettin’ sleepy…” he muttered. “Go night-night now…” With that he crashed to the floor and within minutes was laying there in a fetal position, snoring.

 

 

“Had to keep at it, didn’t you?” Jameson shook his head. He turned to the café patrons. “And thus was the scary Potboy Pete, wielder of the mighty glue gun, vanquished.” He walked out. “Don’t expect me to be so helpful next time…”

 

 

Shortly after he left the patrons glanced at each other. “Well, it seems that shrill, ugly fellow really was a superhero!”

 

 

“Yes. We’re all in his debt it seems.”

 

 

“What was his name again?” asked one.

 

 

“Ummmm… I think it was “Professor Weird, or something…” said another, uncertainly.

 

 

“No, daddy, I’m a good boy…” whimpered an unconscious Jake from the floor. “It was Natalie…” He began to suck his thumb nervously.

 

****

 

 

And here’s the podcast updates, as promised!

 

 

 

MESCTV

Life Is MESC

msherringsays

The life of a middle school language arts teacher. Not to be taken to seriously. Kapeesh?

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KunoichiJen

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