Fishbowl Helmet
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- Joined
- May 14, 2012
- Messages
- 954
Hi. Sorry, I'm mad dashing through this now. If you're not too tired of my dribble yet, please give me a few minutes for some eyeballs on this bit. It's the ever-expanding new intro for Puck & Ashbury.
Might be fleshing out the "#" between the open and Ashbury on his knees but I'm not sure. It's a rough draft but it think it's working the way it needs to.
This is a humorous fantasy / mystery piece. Big questions are is it getting smiles and is it engaging to you as a reader.
--------------
Mr. Ashbury drove with the windows down and the radio blasting a classic rock station to pass the time. The latest job to come in to the ‘Mostly Mundane Detective Agency’ paid well enough, for a court summons. The fairy who dropped the job in his lap gave Ashbury the creeps. Fairies usually did. Something about shape changers unnerved him. Too many possibilities. But he gave Ashbury a retainer and a thick dossier on the summons. One overplayed tune faded out and an old favorite came up. He was singing along—butchering the lyrics—when he ran over a vampire.
Ashbury slammed on the brakes and winced when the Caddy shook after the back tire cleared the body. He cursed under his breath imagining the catastrophic bodily harm, spilled entrails, and mountains of paperwork that waited on the other side of his door.
He shook off the impulse to simply drive off, he’d been a cop—a detective—too long to flee the scene. It was wrong to hit someone with a car and just drive away. And the insistent knocking on the driver’s side window hinted that he might have been spotted.
The pounding stopped and Ashbury heard a slightly muffled, “Get out of the car.” He swung the heavy door open and pulled himself out.
The man stood there fuming. His shoulders hunched, the veins on his neck bulged, and his hot breath came in waves toward Ashbury.
Ashbury fought back the gagging he felt building in his throat. The man’s breath was rancid. Gaining control of himself Ashbury said, “I’m sorry, I just didn’t see him, is anyone else hurt?”
“Why’d you hit me with your car?”
Ashbury ignored the man and looked under the Caddy, expecting to see something horrific. He was not disappointed. The front driver’s side tire was flat and the fender mangled several inches out of position.
He stood slowly, waiting for his knees to pop, and walked round to the other side of the car. The tickle of something forgotten played in the back of his mind.
Ashbury looked up and down the street. It was deserted. No cars or foot traffic. The street lights were on, at least those that worked. It was a rough neighborhood, less than half the lights illuminated on the street below.
The man followed Ashbury around the car. Jabbing a finger at Ashbury’s chest he said, “You hit me.”
Ashbury continued to ignore him. “Where’s the body? I could have sworn I hit someone.” Looking around he shrugged. “But there’s no blood. Nothing. The car’s ****** up. But no body. What gives?”
The man shook his head and moved to the hood of the Caddy. He looked Ashbury in the eyes as he said, “You hit me,” and punched the car. The metal hood gave way, tore loose from its moorings, and wrapped itself around the man’s fist.
Ashbury’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t think for a moment, then finally he said, “You hit my car.”
“You hit me with your car.”
The tickle in Ashbury’s memory broke free, goosing his cerebral cortex. The dossier. Ashbury had a glossy 8x10 of this guy sitting on a folder in his passenger seat. “But you’re,” he stammered. “You’re the vampire.”
The metal groaned as the vampire freed his fist from the hood. Ashbury slowly backed away, his eyes darted around, hoping to find somewhere to run with a bit more… strategic cover.
“Hey, look buddy. I’m really sorry about that. I’ll pay any medical bills, we can swap insurance cards—”
“I’m a vampire, idiot.”
“Oh, duh, of course. Can I buy you a pint?”
“No thanks, I see a few litres walking.”
Ashbury couldn’t help but gulp. “No, that’s okay, really. How about—” He turned on his heels and ran toward the parking garage.
The vampire smiled. “Good. A chase. It’s been so long.” As he sauntered after Ashbury the vampire happened to glance down into the driver’s window, spotting the glossy photo. He looked back to Ashbury’s receding backside and narrowed his eyes.
#
Ashbury was on his knees, begging for his life. Or rather, he would have begged for his life if he could talk, or breathe. More properly, he was on his knees and would have begged for his life except for the two fists clenched round his throat that prevented both breathing and begging. But Ashbury was content with the latter as he was rather fond of maintaining his image, so begging was right out; unfortunately he was also quite fond of breathing.
“Why have you been following me, chump?”
Ashbury strained but couldn’t manage a sound more articulate than a wheezing sort of grunt as his eyes flashed around the parking garage, desperate to see someone, anyone. This floor of the structure was half-full with cars. Makes and models distributed at random, the loved and unloved were easy to spot. Newer or older didn’t matter, only that the owner cared. No people though. No late night shoppers hauling overfull bags or swing shifters dragging their overworked selves home to interrupt.
Might be fleshing out the "#" between the open and Ashbury on his knees but I'm not sure. It's a rough draft but it think it's working the way it needs to.
This is a humorous fantasy / mystery piece. Big questions are is it getting smiles and is it engaging to you as a reader.
--------------
Mr. Ashbury drove with the windows down and the radio blasting a classic rock station to pass the time. The latest job to come in to the ‘Mostly Mundane Detective Agency’ paid well enough, for a court summons. The fairy who dropped the job in his lap gave Ashbury the creeps. Fairies usually did. Something about shape changers unnerved him. Too many possibilities. But he gave Ashbury a retainer and a thick dossier on the summons. One overplayed tune faded out and an old favorite came up. He was singing along—butchering the lyrics—when he ran over a vampire.
Ashbury slammed on the brakes and winced when the Caddy shook after the back tire cleared the body. He cursed under his breath imagining the catastrophic bodily harm, spilled entrails, and mountains of paperwork that waited on the other side of his door.
He shook off the impulse to simply drive off, he’d been a cop—a detective—too long to flee the scene. It was wrong to hit someone with a car and just drive away. And the insistent knocking on the driver’s side window hinted that he might have been spotted.
The pounding stopped and Ashbury heard a slightly muffled, “Get out of the car.” He swung the heavy door open and pulled himself out.
The man stood there fuming. His shoulders hunched, the veins on his neck bulged, and his hot breath came in waves toward Ashbury.
Ashbury fought back the gagging he felt building in his throat. The man’s breath was rancid. Gaining control of himself Ashbury said, “I’m sorry, I just didn’t see him, is anyone else hurt?”
“Why’d you hit me with your car?”
Ashbury ignored the man and looked under the Caddy, expecting to see something horrific. He was not disappointed. The front driver’s side tire was flat and the fender mangled several inches out of position.
He stood slowly, waiting for his knees to pop, and walked round to the other side of the car. The tickle of something forgotten played in the back of his mind.
Ashbury looked up and down the street. It was deserted. No cars or foot traffic. The street lights were on, at least those that worked. It was a rough neighborhood, less than half the lights illuminated on the street below.
The man followed Ashbury around the car. Jabbing a finger at Ashbury’s chest he said, “You hit me.”
Ashbury continued to ignore him. “Where’s the body? I could have sworn I hit someone.” Looking around he shrugged. “But there’s no blood. Nothing. The car’s ****** up. But no body. What gives?”
The man shook his head and moved to the hood of the Caddy. He looked Ashbury in the eyes as he said, “You hit me,” and punched the car. The metal hood gave way, tore loose from its moorings, and wrapped itself around the man’s fist.
Ashbury’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t think for a moment, then finally he said, “You hit my car.”
“You hit me with your car.”
The tickle in Ashbury’s memory broke free, goosing his cerebral cortex. The dossier. Ashbury had a glossy 8x10 of this guy sitting on a folder in his passenger seat. “But you’re,” he stammered. “You’re the vampire.”
The metal groaned as the vampire freed his fist from the hood. Ashbury slowly backed away, his eyes darted around, hoping to find somewhere to run with a bit more… strategic cover.
“Hey, look buddy. I’m really sorry about that. I’ll pay any medical bills, we can swap insurance cards—”
“I’m a vampire, idiot.”
“Oh, duh, of course. Can I buy you a pint?”
“No thanks, I see a few litres walking.”
Ashbury couldn’t help but gulp. “No, that’s okay, really. How about—” He turned on his heels and ran toward the parking garage.
The vampire smiled. “Good. A chase. It’s been so long.” As he sauntered after Ashbury the vampire happened to glance down into the driver’s window, spotting the glossy photo. He looked back to Ashbury’s receding backside and narrowed his eyes.
#
Ashbury was on his knees, begging for his life. Or rather, he would have begged for his life if he could talk, or breathe. More properly, he was on his knees and would have begged for his life except for the two fists clenched round his throat that prevented both breathing and begging. But Ashbury was content with the latter as he was rather fond of maintaining his image, so begging was right out; unfortunately he was also quite fond of breathing.
“Why have you been following me, chump?”
Ashbury strained but couldn’t manage a sound more articulate than a wheezing sort of grunt as his eyes flashed around the parking garage, desperate to see someone, anyone. This floor of the structure was half-full with cars. Makes and models distributed at random, the loved and unloved were easy to spot. Newer or older didn’t matter, only that the owner cared. No people though. No late night shoppers hauling overfull bags or swing shifters dragging their overworked selves home to interrupt.
