allmywires
Well-Known Member
I'm having a bit of trouble with this section. His assault on the guard feels as if it's coming too quickly, but I can't think of how to slow it down. Any thoughts?
###
'Hello?' he called out, hoping that he had a sympathetic guard on duty.
'Anyone out there? I might be willing to reconsider my opinion on what is and isn't legal in this city-'
The food flap on his cell door opened, and a voice barked, 'Shut it, deSabella, or no rations for you.'
Alberto settled back against the wall, affronted. Usually he was only chucked in here for an afternoon, a whole night at best, before being given a friendly slap on the wrists and making a promise not to be a bad boy again, which he rarely kept. Come to think of it, this was a smaller cell than he was used to, and it was a lot quieter as well: normally the yells and catcalls of other prisoners could be easily discerned, as well as the chatter of the guards, who rather enjoyed their sojourns in the Bowels from all Alberto could tell.
'Any chance you want to tell me what's going on, my lord?'
Silence from the flap. Alberto took a deep breath, knowing that this was quite possibly a bad idea, and attempted to enter the guard's mind.
He had been right. He was exhausted, and the hangover from his last foray hadn't entirely worn off; his movements were heavy and sluggish, and he could barely feel the mind outside his door, even less try and penetrate its many layers and complications. He gave up and collapsed onto his rock-hard bed, his head thumping, feeling decidedly nauseous. Closing his eyes, he tried to ward off the sickness, but his mouth was pappy from thirst and he hadn't eaten for gods knew how long.
Sitting up gingerly, his head swimming, he banged on the stone walls.
'Water!' he called.
Nothing. The churning in his head and stomach intensified, and he rested his head on his knees, concentrating on breathing.
'I need water!' he tried again. 'Perhaps I might be feeling the after-effects of some watch brutality-'
The flap snapped open. 'If you're messing with me, deSabella-'
'I promise you,' Alberto said, raising his aching head as much as his nausea would allow, 'I feel awful.'
He almost collapsed on the floor with relief when a tray of water was shoved through the flap. He drunk it too quickly, and then almost immediately threw it up; while he was still retching on his hands and knees, he heard the turn of a key in the lock, and the door opened an inch.
'deSabella?'
'Yes,' Alberto groaned, careful to keep his head down.
'Do you need a healer?'
'Do you know,' he said, bracing himself, 'I'm feeling a lot-'
He leapt to his feet, planning to jump the guard and escape; however, the sudden change of position was too much for his head, which caused stars to burst in his vision and for him to lose balance and collapse to his knees again.
'-better,' he finished weakly, as the guard rolled him over with his steel-
capped boot.
'Trying to get the jump on me, eh?' the Orian sneered. 'Right, I warned you. No rations for you. And no water for a few hours, either, for trying to trick me into believing you was sickly.'
'Brilliant,' Alberto murmured at the ceiling, as the door was locked and bolted firmly in front of him. He'd been a fool. Now he was going to pay.
###
'Hello?' he called out, hoping that he had a sympathetic guard on duty.
'Anyone out there? I might be willing to reconsider my opinion on what is and isn't legal in this city-'
The food flap on his cell door opened, and a voice barked, 'Shut it, deSabella, or no rations for you.'
Alberto settled back against the wall, affronted. Usually he was only chucked in here for an afternoon, a whole night at best, before being given a friendly slap on the wrists and making a promise not to be a bad boy again, which he rarely kept. Come to think of it, this was a smaller cell than he was used to, and it was a lot quieter as well: normally the yells and catcalls of other prisoners could be easily discerned, as well as the chatter of the guards, who rather enjoyed their sojourns in the Bowels from all Alberto could tell.
'Any chance you want to tell me what's going on, my lord?'
Silence from the flap. Alberto took a deep breath, knowing that this was quite possibly a bad idea, and attempted to enter the guard's mind.
He had been right. He was exhausted, and the hangover from his last foray hadn't entirely worn off; his movements were heavy and sluggish, and he could barely feel the mind outside his door, even less try and penetrate its many layers and complications. He gave up and collapsed onto his rock-hard bed, his head thumping, feeling decidedly nauseous. Closing his eyes, he tried to ward off the sickness, but his mouth was pappy from thirst and he hadn't eaten for gods knew how long.
Sitting up gingerly, his head swimming, he banged on the stone walls.
'Water!' he called.
Nothing. The churning in his head and stomach intensified, and he rested his head on his knees, concentrating on breathing.
'I need water!' he tried again. 'Perhaps I might be feeling the after-effects of some watch brutality-'
The flap snapped open. 'If you're messing with me, deSabella-'
'I promise you,' Alberto said, raising his aching head as much as his nausea would allow, 'I feel awful.'
He almost collapsed on the floor with relief when a tray of water was shoved through the flap. He drunk it too quickly, and then almost immediately threw it up; while he was still retching on his hands and knees, he heard the turn of a key in the lock, and the door opened an inch.
'deSabella?'
'Yes,' Alberto groaned, careful to keep his head down.
'Do you need a healer?'
'Do you know,' he said, bracing himself, 'I'm feeling a lot-'
He leapt to his feet, planning to jump the guard and escape; however, the sudden change of position was too much for his head, which caused stars to burst in his vision and for him to lose balance and collapse to his knees again.
'-better,' he finished weakly, as the guard rolled him over with his steel-
capped boot.
'Trying to get the jump on me, eh?' the Orian sneered. 'Right, I warned you. No rations for you. And no water for a few hours, either, for trying to trick me into believing you was sickly.'
'Brilliant,' Alberto murmured at the ceiling, as the door was locked and bolted firmly in front of him. He'd been a fool. Now he was going to pay.
Besides, if you move it slower, you lose an important characteristic of your hero. Sudden thought: do you mean the narrative is too fast or the hero moves too fast? Either way, I still say Nay. I like him already...
