sozme
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Feb 24, 2013
- Messages
- 200
This is the beginning of the character's first POV chapter. I gave him a physical ailment which causes severe central and peripheral neuropathic pain episodes. Any suggestions on how to improve the delivery, particularly the dialogue "ouchs" and whatnot and making it seem more natural/intuitive that the POV is in severe pain. Thanks for your time/help.
POV is Manning, so italicized internal dialogue is his.
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How did they escape? Xavier Manning asked himself for the hundredth time as he peered at the abject wreckage through the viewport.
Some 20,000 feet below, the burning foliage adjoining Long Dock spread out as far as the eye could see. Mile after mile, the landscape was a jagged line of floating ash and billowing flame. The native plants lining the coast were a cacophony of odd shapes, sizes, and colors, but the fire enveloped them all just the same. The Dionisys musciperla, a carnivorous species of gargantuan mushroom-shaped plants were among the inferno. He watched as a fire response chopper jerked sideways to avoid the clam-shaped mouth of one of the burning plants.
Manning tapped the tip of his metal cane on the thick window. “Perhaps they became a meal for this nightmarish botany.”
The man next to him was young, handsome, and dark-skinned, slightly moreso than himself. He wore a fine black suit and tie, a sharp contrast to the windbreaker and slacks that were Manning’s ensemble.
“We can only hope,” Charles Confrey said.
“Do you think they’re still on-world?”
“I doubt it. There are 10,000 JDA canvassing every crevice of the Deep Trails with Neridian guides. They haven't found anyone.”
Manning twisted a crick his neck, feeling a pressure build in his head. “Less than one percent of the planet is dry land. Unless they’re swimming around the acid-laden ocean, they’re… ah…”
He squeezed his eyes shut as a lancinating sensation tore through him. Pain exploded from his spinal column through the front of his skull — an anguish so acute it caused his knees to buckle. His cane clattered to the rubberized floor as he nearly spilled into the viewport.
Confrey reached out and steadied him. “Easy now.”
Sharp pain wracked his small body as his assistant gently guided him towards the conference table in the center of the room. Collapsing into a cushioned chair, he clutched his cranium with both hands, breathing heavy and ragged. It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll— “Ahhh…”
“That’s the sixth one today,” Confrey said. “Do you want me to call Dr. Corvey?”
“N—No…” he croaked.
After a minute, the paroxysms of pain gave way to a tingling sensation that radiated from his toes to his scalp. A metal taste flooded his mouth, sending waves of nausea through him. This cycle repeated itself several times over two minutes, each successive episode more tolerable than the last. When it had reached a non-agonizing level, he steadied his breathing. Cautiously, he allowed one eye to open, and then the other.
“I know you don’t like the sedation, but you need to take your damn pills,” Confrey said.
Manning wiped cold sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. “I’m… fine.”
“She gave them to you for a reason.”
“I’m fine,” Manning snarled. “Back to the issue at hand, damn it.”
Confrey eyed him warily, like a concerned son for a father. More like a concerned grand-child for an invalid grandfather.
“What was I saying?” Manning asked.
“The green-skins are gone.”
“Well? Aren’t they?”
POV is Manning, so italicized internal dialogue is his.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How did they escape? Xavier Manning asked himself for the hundredth time as he peered at the abject wreckage through the viewport.
Some 20,000 feet below, the burning foliage adjoining Long Dock spread out as far as the eye could see. Mile after mile, the landscape was a jagged line of floating ash and billowing flame. The native plants lining the coast were a cacophony of odd shapes, sizes, and colors, but the fire enveloped them all just the same. The Dionisys musciperla, a carnivorous species of gargantuan mushroom-shaped plants were among the inferno. He watched as a fire response chopper jerked sideways to avoid the clam-shaped mouth of one of the burning plants.
Manning tapped the tip of his metal cane on the thick window. “Perhaps they became a meal for this nightmarish botany.”
The man next to him was young, handsome, and dark-skinned, slightly moreso than himself. He wore a fine black suit and tie, a sharp contrast to the windbreaker and slacks that were Manning’s ensemble.
“We can only hope,” Charles Confrey said.
“Do you think they’re still on-world?”
“I doubt it. There are 10,000 JDA canvassing every crevice of the Deep Trails with Neridian guides. They haven't found anyone.”
Manning twisted a crick his neck, feeling a pressure build in his head. “Less than one percent of the planet is dry land. Unless they’re swimming around the acid-laden ocean, they’re… ah…”
He squeezed his eyes shut as a lancinating sensation tore through him. Pain exploded from his spinal column through the front of his skull — an anguish so acute it caused his knees to buckle. His cane clattered to the rubberized floor as he nearly spilled into the viewport.
Confrey reached out and steadied him. “Easy now.”
Sharp pain wracked his small body as his assistant gently guided him towards the conference table in the center of the room. Collapsing into a cushioned chair, he clutched his cranium with both hands, breathing heavy and ragged. It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll— “Ahhh…”
“That’s the sixth one today,” Confrey said. “Do you want me to call Dr. Corvey?”
“N—No…” he croaked.
After a minute, the paroxysms of pain gave way to a tingling sensation that radiated from his toes to his scalp. A metal taste flooded his mouth, sending waves of nausea through him. This cycle repeated itself several times over two minutes, each successive episode more tolerable than the last. When it had reached a non-agonizing level, he steadied his breathing. Cautiously, he allowed one eye to open, and then the other.
“I know you don’t like the sedation, but you need to take your damn pills,” Confrey said.
Manning wiped cold sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. “I’m… fine.”
“She gave them to you for a reason.”
“I’m fine,” Manning snarled. “Back to the issue at hand, damn it.”
Confrey eyed him warily, like a concerned son for a father. More like a concerned grand-child for an invalid grandfather.
“What was I saying?” Manning asked.
“The green-skins are gone.”
“Well? Aren’t they?”
