barrett1987
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2014
- Messages
- 559
It's been months since i wrote anything. I've just started teacher training (PGCE) and its an intense year so i've slacked on the writing. Anyways, halfterm is this week so i've had some time. I sat down and wrote the following. Its the first part of a chapter and i'm looking for fresh eyes to get the brain ticking again. I feel like im out of practice in what to look for regarding my own work.
So any help would be great.
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Aaeron closed his eyes and leaned forward, pushing his forehead hard into the thick wood door. How long had it been since he’d last seen his brother? Ten years? Twelve? Long enough to think that part of his life was over. Opening his eyes, he looked down at the note in his hand and breathed a curse then threw the paper into a bin a few feet away.
“Problem?” Derron called from behind.
Taking a deep breath, he forced one of his best smiles onto his face and turned and faced the room. “Nothing to worry about.”
Derron, laying half submerged in the covers of a large four poster bed, smiled at him. “Are you sure? You look upset.”
Aaeron forced his smile wider and showed some teeth. “Then you can cheer me up.” His bare feet slapped on the floor’s cool tiling as he crossed the room. He paused at the edge of the bed and looked down at the young man lying before him. Beautiful, definitely, but also vapid and vain. If he wasn’t Councillor Metra’s latest squeeze then he’d be pointless. “Where were we?” He reached beneath the covers and grabbed an ankle. “Ahh, I remember, something about a footrub…”
“Ahh, there’s the Aaeron I know and love,” Derron giggled, falling back with a dramatic sigh.
He began to massage the foot. Three months invested and still no useful gossip. Pillow talk could take time, he knew this, it was a long con but it would be a lot more enjoyable if his mark wasn’t such a complete bore. Night after night spent listening to gossip about clothes, shows and music but absolutely nothing about the Councillor and her plans. If he had to endure one more discussion on stitching patterns, he’d tear his hair out.
“Ahh, that’s the spot.” Derron’s voice floated from the tangle of white sheets and Aaeron resisted a scowl. Of course it’s the spot. Even an amateur could find the spot by now. He dug his thumb into the ball of the foot, eliciting a low groan from his mark. And I’m far from an amateur.
While his hands did their work, he gazed around the ghastly room. How anyone lived in this mess was beyond him. The room was a clutter of furniture that served no real function. The chairs too narrow to sit on, the desks slanted and warped as to make writing impossible, it was chaos. Fashion in the Capital changed quicker than the seasons and the recent spartan style was waning, replaced with an affluence of decoration that got worst every week. The current trend seemed to be that if the furniture in your room wasn’t functional then it was fashionable and creatures like Derron would die before they’d be considered unfashionable.
He released the foot and grabbed the second. I’ll give it a few more weeks, if he hasn’t given me anything of use by then I’ll move on.
A loud bang came from downstairs. Aaeron froze. Raised voices followed by heavy steps on the stairs. sh*t. The running footsteps, more than one person for sure, reached the top of the stairs and grew louder as they rushed down the corridor towards the bedroom door. He sprang from the bed and slammed the door’s bolt home just before someone struck the other side.
“Open up. In the name of Councillor Metra, open up.”
“f*ck, f*ck, f*ck.” He backed away from the door, hands on his head. “f*ck!”
Derron sat up, eyes wide in a stark white face, so at odds with his usual tanned complexion. “Aaeron, she knows!”
“Shut up,” he hissed, chopping the air with his hand. “She doesn’t know a damn thing.” He grabbed his clothes from the floor and started to pull on his trousers. “If they don’t see me, then I wasn’t here.” Lower half covered, he slipped on his shirt, ignoring the buttons for now.
The banging on the door matched the beating of his heart and he raced to the closed window, flinging the shutters open. The crowded streets flowed beneath him. No one looked up. People soon learnt to mind their own business in these parts. He scanned the narrow nearby ledges, looking for a way down.
Something heavy hit the door behind. “Open up!”
Aaeron spun. Derron was on his feet, swaying, thin white sheet wrapped around him, his only shield to what was coming through that door. He strode across the room, knocking chairs and stools aside and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Listen to me. If I’m not here, then I was never here. You understanding me, Derron?”
“Yes, yes,” Derron replied, eyes locked on the door. “Not here, wasn’t here. But-”
Another heavy strike rattled the door and the wooden frame splintered.
It was time to go. He twisted and ran for the window. Throwing himself through the gap as the bedroom door finally caved, he twisted and shot out a hand, grabbing the old teleline. The wire dug into his hand but before he could scream, his upper body snapped back and instead of slamming headfirst two storeys into the dirt, he dropped lightly to his feet with nothing more than a sore shoulder to show for it.
Heart thumping in his chest, he pushed his way into the streets throng. Barefoot, shirt hanging loose and hunched over, he faked a limp and allowed the crowds flow to pull him away from the Derron’s apartments.
Shouts from the room filled the air and he could just make out Derron’s raised voice, demanding to know what was going on. Aaeron smiled. The boy was a good actor. He’d be fine. He reached a street corner and risked a glance back. Two Constables in their bright red tunics stood in the window, scanning the street. He turned away, feeling the tension in his shoulders leaving him. They’d never spot him now.
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This chapter will be 3k ish, so this is the first third and the first time you meet Aaeron. I'd love to know thoughts. any and all. Thank you for the time.
So any help would be great.
-------------------------
Aaeron closed his eyes and leaned forward, pushing his forehead hard into the thick wood door. How long had it been since he’d last seen his brother? Ten years? Twelve? Long enough to think that part of his life was over. Opening his eyes, he looked down at the note in his hand and breathed a curse then threw the paper into a bin a few feet away.
“Problem?” Derron called from behind.
Taking a deep breath, he forced one of his best smiles onto his face and turned and faced the room. “Nothing to worry about.”
Derron, laying half submerged in the covers of a large four poster bed, smiled at him. “Are you sure? You look upset.”
Aaeron forced his smile wider and showed some teeth. “Then you can cheer me up.” His bare feet slapped on the floor’s cool tiling as he crossed the room. He paused at the edge of the bed and looked down at the young man lying before him. Beautiful, definitely, but also vapid and vain. If he wasn’t Councillor Metra’s latest squeeze then he’d be pointless. “Where were we?” He reached beneath the covers and grabbed an ankle. “Ahh, I remember, something about a footrub…”
“Ahh, there’s the Aaeron I know and love,” Derron giggled, falling back with a dramatic sigh.
He began to massage the foot. Three months invested and still no useful gossip. Pillow talk could take time, he knew this, it was a long con but it would be a lot more enjoyable if his mark wasn’t such a complete bore. Night after night spent listening to gossip about clothes, shows and music but absolutely nothing about the Councillor and her plans. If he had to endure one more discussion on stitching patterns, he’d tear his hair out.
“Ahh, that’s the spot.” Derron’s voice floated from the tangle of white sheets and Aaeron resisted a scowl. Of course it’s the spot. Even an amateur could find the spot by now. He dug his thumb into the ball of the foot, eliciting a low groan from his mark. And I’m far from an amateur.
While his hands did their work, he gazed around the ghastly room. How anyone lived in this mess was beyond him. The room was a clutter of furniture that served no real function. The chairs too narrow to sit on, the desks slanted and warped as to make writing impossible, it was chaos. Fashion in the Capital changed quicker than the seasons and the recent spartan style was waning, replaced with an affluence of decoration that got worst every week. The current trend seemed to be that if the furniture in your room wasn’t functional then it was fashionable and creatures like Derron would die before they’d be considered unfashionable.
He released the foot and grabbed the second. I’ll give it a few more weeks, if he hasn’t given me anything of use by then I’ll move on.
A loud bang came from downstairs. Aaeron froze. Raised voices followed by heavy steps on the stairs. sh*t. The running footsteps, more than one person for sure, reached the top of the stairs and grew louder as they rushed down the corridor towards the bedroom door. He sprang from the bed and slammed the door’s bolt home just before someone struck the other side.
“Open up. In the name of Councillor Metra, open up.”
“f*ck, f*ck, f*ck.” He backed away from the door, hands on his head. “f*ck!”
Derron sat up, eyes wide in a stark white face, so at odds with his usual tanned complexion. “Aaeron, she knows!”
“Shut up,” he hissed, chopping the air with his hand. “She doesn’t know a damn thing.” He grabbed his clothes from the floor and started to pull on his trousers. “If they don’t see me, then I wasn’t here.” Lower half covered, he slipped on his shirt, ignoring the buttons for now.
The banging on the door matched the beating of his heart and he raced to the closed window, flinging the shutters open. The crowded streets flowed beneath him. No one looked up. People soon learnt to mind their own business in these parts. He scanned the narrow nearby ledges, looking for a way down.
Something heavy hit the door behind. “Open up!”
Aaeron spun. Derron was on his feet, swaying, thin white sheet wrapped around him, his only shield to what was coming through that door. He strode across the room, knocking chairs and stools aside and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Listen to me. If I’m not here, then I was never here. You understanding me, Derron?”
“Yes, yes,” Derron replied, eyes locked on the door. “Not here, wasn’t here. But-”
Another heavy strike rattled the door and the wooden frame splintered.
It was time to go. He twisted and ran for the window. Throwing himself through the gap as the bedroom door finally caved, he twisted and shot out a hand, grabbing the old teleline. The wire dug into his hand but before he could scream, his upper body snapped back and instead of slamming headfirst two storeys into the dirt, he dropped lightly to his feet with nothing more than a sore shoulder to show for it.
Heart thumping in his chest, he pushed his way into the streets throng. Barefoot, shirt hanging loose and hunched over, he faked a limp and allowed the crowds flow to pull him away from the Derron’s apartments.
Shouts from the room filled the air and he could just make out Derron’s raised voice, demanding to know what was going on. Aaeron smiled. The boy was a good actor. He’d be fine. He reached a street corner and risked a glance back. Two Constables in their bright red tunics stood in the window, scanning the street. He turned away, feeling the tension in his shoulders leaving him. They’d never spot him now.
--------------------
This chapter will be 3k ish, so this is the first third and the first time you meet Aaeron. I'd love to know thoughts. any and all. Thank you for the time.
