The Inexorable Rise - Act 2, Chapter 1 (Part 1)

[BT Jones]

Well, thanks to the encouragement of @Jo Zebedee, @The Judge, @Joshua Jones, et al, I am going to post the first part of Chapter 1 of Act 2 of my first story. Weird, I know, posting Act 2 without posting Act 1, but Act 1 was a lot more straightforward and slower in its evolution, allowing a more natural reveal. With this one, I wanted to take a different spin on the intros to what are a more eclectic / combustible bunch of characters.

There's some details skimmed on account of them having been already covered in Act 1. In essence, we have an amnesiac wearing a strange sci-fi armour suit awakening and coming across a number of characters already awake an arguing. First 1,200 words here. More later, I guess, if anyone is interested. It's actually the 2nd segment that I was keen on feedback on, which is the transition to the other set of characters perspectives.

Anyway, enough rambling. Appreciate any feedback any of you could give and thank you all so much in advance for your time.

 

[BT Jones]

The Inexorable Rise, Act 2 - Celadon

01 – Ice Cold in Alexia

Fire! Everything’s on fire.

But she feels no fear. A subconscious awareness is rallying the endorphins. In its place comes rage, which is drawn to an undefined figure sat next to her.

Tejō! What are you doing just sitting there? Get the hell out of here! Goddamned inferno blazing all around us and you’re just sat there looking dumb… like always.

Damn kid, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. All the times I had to step in and save your stupid ass and now this is how you repay me?

Konketsu punk!

Then her rage passes too. What is it good for? It was only ever enabling. None of that generation cared about anything anyway, least of all real emotions.

If it’s not scary, weird, gross, or funny-as-frock, you don’t give a crap, right?

And as if the rage has its hands on the gas burner dial, suddenly the fire is gone. Burnt orange has given way to hazy white. Hot has nosedived into cold.

See Tejo, even the fire’s lost the will to live and turned all ‘WTF’. But that’s the kind of crap you love, isn’t it? Weird is cool, right? Weird is worthy.

But just like the rage and the fear, weird white fades too. Now everything’s the colour of nothing. Even the temperature has fled. Confusion fades last, because now she remembers why fear bowed out after the first sitting.

She’s been here before.

…and it blows ass. Every time I feel those flames, it’s like the first time all over again; like I haven’t been through it all a gazillion times before. Man, this is getting boring! Same place, same thing, time after time... I’d be more bored if I could remember how bored I was the last time.

Bonus – sort-of.

Still, makes you wonder how many times this has happened? Is this the six-hundred and fifth layer of blowassery I’m falling through? Who cares anyway, right? Caring’s boring, isn’t it Tejo, and why would I want to be any more bored than I am already, right? It’s not as if I have a choice, anyway. Stuck here till the end of time, burning, freezing, thawing – and with you as well, dumb-ass sango!

I guess there’s that thing about who you can and can’t pick, right?

But there’s no response – there never was. Tejo’s gone, if he was ever really there to begin with.

But that’s just the way it always goes, right? Rinse and repeat. So, here we go again.

Only it’s different this time. There’s no repeat; no flames, no heat; no persimmon red or heaven’s foyer white. Instead, everything is black…

…black, except for that teeny, tiny little bit of blue, right… there. But is it real, or is it just another scene in this whacko time-loop daydream?

Time tells. The blue doesn’t fade. And, unlike in all the other skits, she not strapped down. She can move here – so move she does. She edges towards the blue. There’s a short drop and a wobble, but she keeps her feet. Quiet envelops here, then expands to fill the space. Isolation unfolds to join it. But where is she?

…and where are you, Tejo? Don’t tell me you were just a dream? You can’t be. No one could invent someone that dumb ass. You can’t feel this much hate/love for imaginary people, can you?

Whether real or not, he’s not here; not even watching silently in one of the dark corners. He was never that quiet, even when he wasn’t speaking. And a strange calm persuades her to forget the gloomy margins and move closer to the blue… which promptly bisects. It’s two alternating shades now; the darker barely distinguishable from the black.

Are you seeing this, Tejo? Real colours. I’m loving the light one. It’s pinging me. It’s probably got some art cat name like ‘extruded azure’ or ‘tortured-topaz’, but I’ll call it sorairo. Cool – not just ‘shikku’ cool, either.

She can feel the temperature again – an ice cube shy of inert. And like an ancient computer booting up, her other senses start returning, too. Gentle hums and chimes finger-rap the silence. A stifled, sterile scent fills her nostrils; a vast improvement on the smell of pig flesh stuck on repeat, however virtual.

Bonus.

But what does that say about where we are, Tejo? If we’re not in the fire, the reset-room or the place in-between, then where are we?

The question gets muscled into the background in favour of a more important one. Who is the blue-banded figure stood in front of her?

Is this you, Tejo?

But she knows it isn’t him before she’s even heard her own question. Too short. Too defined. Too relaxed. Too cool.

Curves, also.

Subtle ones, maybe, but we’ve definitely got a ‘she’ here, Tejo, albeit a little on the butch side. But I like them butch. Maybe she and me can hang out.

As the weary trench-running messenger finally arrives at her brain with the visual report, she starts to process what she’s been looking at this whole time.

And what the actual hell is she wearing? Blue hooped armour plating and a wicked crash helmet like a freak-ass night rider; funky ice-blue shades; and some stomping sci-fi soldier boots. Add to that the ribbed rubber sleeves, dark gloves and BDSM leggings and we have ourselves a kinky specimen here.

No denying.

But the look she’s getting is what worries her. It’s blank: a narrow gaze. There’s either no one home or its one hell of a poker face.

Please don’t be another punk-ass sullen teen zombie. Looking cool and being hot isn’t going to count for jack if aloof is your religion, soldier-girl. I say solider, but what the hell kind of uniform is that anyway? It’s like you forgot yours and had to wear the outfit they entertain the sick children with: the cool army-clown suit… with the… fish… badge?

Well?

Her ears are working. She asked the question. But sci-fi soldier girl isn’t speaking. She’s just stood there, arms-crossed, waiting. But for what? And what is it with that fish?

How about you lift your arms, sekkusupotto. Relax, it’s not your chib-chibs I want to see; it’s the fish and the other stuff – the letters and the numbers. Go on, lift them.

Like this…

And sci-fi soldier girl obliges and lifts her arms. There are four characters on her chest: a backless ‘D’, an ‘I’, an ‘O’ and a ‘5’. But the only right thing about them is how wrong they look.

She trains her puzzlement on soldier girl and gets an identical look back.

And then boom – epiphany. Who’s the dumb ass now? Revelations, in order:

1. That’s a mirror.
2. Sci-fi soldier girl is me!
3. I’m standing up in a black room.
4. This is definitely a cool blue fish clown soldier suit.
5. And, damn, girl, you are positively a smoking-hot piece of costumed ass!

Her brain flips the symbols: ‘I’ & ‘C’, on either breast, and a ‘20’ at the base of the chest plate.

What is that? Name, rank and serial number? Well?

Damn. Of course – you won’t answer unless I answer, right?

​

 

[Brian G Turner]

I have to admit, I have no idea what's going on here. I don't get a sense of progression. It doesn't help that this appears to be a) a vision, and b) late in the book so we have no context to work with.

The latter is one reason why we recommend putting up the first chapter, because issues are more obvious there. With this excerpt, coming in Act 2, presumably there's a lot of context here that only you can understand, making it difficult to comment.

Even still, I'd like a scene like this to be clearer on what it's focus is.

 

[DLCroix]

Let's see. To start this is what you had to do. To post. Because this is where the match is played. I don't know, but personally I think it's okay for us to exchange points of view of how we do certain things or how we think they are, but if there are no texts to read, it's as if we had equipped but didn't enter the field.
Now, on the text itself, this phrase bounced me a bit: "A subconscious awareness ...". I mean, I try to imagine that there is a surreal intention in which that probable counterpoint could be deliberate, but still I cannot catch it. It is minimal, naturally. Nothing to worry about.

Because the overall result is impressive.

Now, after reading this I start to think more firmly that it would be good to open a thread related to idioms or slang. I have the impression that perhaps we should be careful with the PG-13. Or the solution is to do it by PM, I don't know. But at least in my case I am now facing problems in the translation of the pile of slang that circulates in my novels, and how to ensure those slang transferred to English do not lose their original meaning. It does not matter, we will see later. But it was natural that my sight went straight to those ingenious terms such as: Konketsu punk, sango, shikku, sekkusupotto, chib-chibs, etc.

I repeat that the text is great. Still I particularly loved the following phrases:

… Black, except for that teeny, tiny little bit of blue, right… there. But is it real, or is it just another scene in this whacko time-loop daydream?

The blue does not fade.

I'm loving the light one.

No denying.

There’s either no one home or its one hell of a poker face

I want to see; it's the fish and the other stuff - the letters and the numbers. Go on, lift them.

Like this… (Yeah. Me too.)

All these phrases that I have quoted it is very possible that others do not understand them. But what happens is that this fragment has that unreal nature, and in an ambiguous conceptual environment the words disintegrate rather than allude to the corresponding sema in the dictionary and instead become the rhythm of the voice, they become a purely sensual, aesthetic thing. Ethereal. Just as it should happen in a dream.
It is actually very difficult to achieve this effect. Enter the kingdom of form. That, as far as I know, is something that only belongs to poets. The ability to conceptualize in such a way that you manage to transmit colors, flavors and sensations.
It also has an energizing personality, at times it reminded me of Bukowski. And to Gibson for conceptual ability.

So, as you see, your anxiety was a little bit unwarranted. There is a very good reason that explains why I can be reading at this time and commenting, and you who are in Australia know it well. In fact we are face to face. Crossing the Pacific, of course.

The metaphor about the Latin God (D I O 5) ... Wonderful.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

Well done for posting. My comments in bold.

The Inexorable Rise, Act 2 - Celadon

01 – Ice Cold in Alexia

Fire! Everything’s on fire.

But she feels no fear. A subconscious awareness is rallying the endorphins. For me, this is just a little too self aware when it's set against what later appears to be a kind of disassociated conversation. In its place comes rage, which is drawn to an undefined figure sat next to her.

Tejō! So, it's an undefined figure but she knows who it is? Is it because Tejo is always undefined or are they defined enough that she can tell who it is? This probably seems nitpicky but at this stage you are looking to get the reader immersed in the story and stopping to ask questions like that removes that immersion. What are you doing just sitting there? Get the hell out of here! Goddamned inferno blazing all around us and you’re just sat there looking dumb… like always. Although I like the conversation. I'm not quite sure what's happening, but I'd read on at this point.

Damn kid, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. All the times I had to step in and save your stupid ass and now this is how you repay me?

Konketsu punk!

Then her rage passes too. What is it good for? It was only ever enabling. None of that generation cared about anything anyway, least of all real emotions. Here, I'm starting to struggle with what's happening. Now, maybe the first section has already told us the background we need, but, reading this, I would have had in mind that maybe this is a space accident/fire and oxygen deprivation. Reading back to your initial post, I see this is wrong. Whether I'd keep up would depend on how much I knew from Act 1.

If it’s not scary, weird, gross, or funny-as-frock, you don’t give a crap, right?

And as if the rage has its hands on the gas burner dial, suddenly the fire is gone. Burnt orange has given way to hazy white. Hot has nosedived into cold.

See Tejo, even the fire’s lost the will to live and turned all ‘WTF’. But that’s the kind of crap you love, isn’t it? Weird is cool, right? Weird is worthy.

But just like the rage and the fear, weird white fades too. Now everything’s the colour of nothing. Even the temperature has fled. Confusion fades last, because now she remembers why fear bowed out after the first sitting. I'm not following this at this point. I'm not sure you need this, as the next line has more impact and tells me more about what's happening.

She’s been here before.

…and it blows ass. Every time I feel those flames, it’s like the first time all over again; like I haven’t been through it all a gazillion times before. Man, this is getting boring! Same place, same thing, time after time... I’d be more bored if I could remember how bored I was the last time.

Bonus – sort-of.

Still, makes you wonder how many times this has happened? Is this the six-hundred and fifth layer of blowassery I’m falling through? Who cares anyway, right? Caring’s boring, isn’t it Tejo, and why would I want to be any more bored than I am already, right? It’s not as if I have a choice, anyway. Stuck here till the end of time, burning, freezing, thawing – and with you as well, dumb-ass sango!

I guess there’s that thing about who you can and can’t pick, right?

But there’s no response – there never was. Tejo’s gone, if he was ever really there to begin with. I quite like the off-kilterness of it. It will only work for a certain number of readers and I would be looking for more clarity at some point, but I don't hate it. Then again, I like Finnegan's Wake and Waiting for Godot, so I might not be the best person to go on....

But that’s just the way it always goes, right? Rinse and repeat. So, here we go again.

Only it’s different this time. There’s no repeat; no flames, no heat; no persimmon red or heaven’s foyer white. Instead, everything is black…

…black, except for that teeny, tiny little bit of blue, right… there. But is it real, or is it just another scene in this whacko time-loop daydream?

Time tells. The blue doesn’t fade. And, unlike in all the other skits, she not strapped down. She can move here – so move she does. She edges towards the blue. There’s a short drop and a wobble, but she keeps her feet. Quiet envelops here, then expands to fill the space. Isolation unfolds to join it. But where is she?

…and where are you, Tejo? Don’t tell me you were just a dream? You can’t be. No one could invent someone that dumb ass. You can’t feel this much hate/love for imaginary people, can you?

Whether real or not, he’s not here; not even watching silently in one of the dark corners. He was never that quiet, even when he wasn’t speaking. I like this. And a strange calm persuades her to forget the gloomy margins and move closer to the blue… which promptly bisects. It’s two alternating shades now; the darker barely distinguishable from the black.

Are you seeing this, Tejo? Real colours. I’m loving the light one. It’s pinging me. It’s probably got some art cat name like ‘extruded azure’ or ‘tortured-topaz’, but I’ll call it sorairo. Cool – not just ‘shikku’ cool, either.

She can feel the temperature again – an ice cube shy of inert. And like an ancient computer booting up, her other senses start returning, too. Gentle hums and chimes finger-rap the silence. A stifled, sterile scent fills her nostrils; a vast improvement on the smell of pig flesh stuck on repeat, however virtual.

Bonus.

But what does that say about where we are, Tejo? If we’re not in the fire, the reset-room or the place in-between, then where are we?

The question gets muscled into the background in favour of a more important one. Who is the blue-banded figure stood in front of her?

Is this you, Tejo?

But she knows it isn’t him before she’s even heard her own question. Too short. Too defined. Too relaxed. Too cool.

Curves, also.

Subtle ones, maybe, but we’ve definitely got a ‘she’ here, Tejo, albeit a little on the butch side. But I like them butch. Maybe she and me can hang out.

As the weary trench-running messenger finally arrives at her brain with the visual report, she starts to process what she’s been looking at this whole time.

And what the actual hell is she wearing? Blue hooped armour plating and a wicked crash helmet like a freak-ass night rider; funky ice-blue shades; and some stomping sci-fi soldier boots. Add to that the ribbed rubber sleeves, dark gloves and BDSM leggings and we have ourselves a kinky specimen here.

No denying.

But the look she’s getting is what worries her. It’s blank: a narrow gaze. There’s either no one home or its one hell of a poker face.I'm liking this section.

Please don’t be another punk-ass sullen teen zombie. Looking cool and being hot isn’t going to count for jack if aloof is your religion, soldier-girl. I say solider, but what the hell kind of uniform is that anyway? It’s like you forgot yours and had to wear the outfit they entertain the sick children with: the cool army-clown suit… with the… fish… badge?

Well?

Her ears are working. She asked the question. But sci-fi soldier girl isn’t speaking. She’s just stood there, arms-crossed, waiting. But for what? And what is it with that fish?

How about you lift your arms, sekkusupotto. Relax, it’s not your chib-chibs I want to see; it’s the fish and the other stuff – the letters and the numbers. Go on, lift them.

Like this…

And sci-fi soldier girl obliges and lifts her arms. There are four characters on her chest: a backless ‘D’, an ‘I’, an ‘O’ and a ‘5’. But the only right thing about them is how wrong they look.

She trains her puzzlement on soldier girl and gets an identical look back.

And then boom – epiphany. Who’s the dumb ass now? Revelations, in order:

1. That’s a mirror.
2. Sci-fi soldier girl is me!
3. I’m standing up in a black room.
4. This is definitely a cool blue fish clown soldier suit.
5. And, damn, girl, you are positively a smoking-hot piece of costumed ass! Love that line.

Her brain flips the symbols: ‘I’ & ‘C’, on either breast, and a ‘20’ at the base of the chest plate.

What is that? Name, rank and serial number? Well?

Damn. Of course – you won’t answer unless I answer, right?

Overall, once I got into the swing of things I liked it. Whether you need more context is impossible to say without knowing what's in Act 1. It's quite Lauren Buerkes-like in the accept-the-weird or put it down way. As a sf reader, though, I'm okay with it. I especially like the voice emerging at the end.

 

[BT Jones]

No problem, @Brian G Turner. I always felt it would be something people would either dig or not, depending on their tastes. That said, I think you are right and a little more context / detail is required. Yes, it is a dream/flashback thing that the character is snapping out of. Given that Act 1 already covers a far more dense / ominous version of someone else's pre-awakening thoughts (maybe I should have posted that first), I didn't want to go back to that well. I wanted to make it an abstract / stream of consciousness thing, but I probably need to temper that a little maybe.

Thanks so much @DLCroix and @Jo Zebedee. It's a joy to read your feedback. I totally get both of you about 'subconscious awareness' line. I will definitely change that. I like that you both seem to get the character. It won't mean anything now, but I wanted her to be very different to the female protagonist of Act 1 (probably the joint main character out of a cast of 5). I also wanted to have a change of style & tone. There are different themes and ethoi (gosh, what is the plural of ethos) in each Act. I wasn't sure if the switch between 2nd & person present (her running conversation with this Tejo) and 3rd person would be too confusing / jarring.

For the foreign phrases (and, BTW, some of the curses were PG dubs - frock & crap for instance), my feeling was that understanding what they actually meant wasn't that important. It was really the style, tone and visualization of the phrase that emphasized the point. Certain ones explained and contextualized down the track have relevance.

Yes, Jo, I think you are right and the opening paragraphs are the least effective and need a few key anchoring words or phrases there as they, even though it is supposed to be relatively abstract, it's a little manic, and perhaps overly stylistic.

One thing to explain also is that these amnesiac characters can 'feel' certain things, places and people. In this case, it is the memory / idea of someone they absolutely know so well, but cannot justify how. It's a theme writ large in the early dealings these characters have. 'How do you know that?' "I just know... (better make sure I don't use 'subconscious awareness though!).

Thanks so much for taking the time to read. This will really help me tighten this up.

I think I am supposed to leave it another week or something to post any more so I will do that if you are both keen to read it. As per the original thread last week, it's actually the transition to the other group of characters she comes across that I am really looking for the critique on.

 

[DLCroix]

I think I am supposed to leave it another week or something to post any more so I will do that if you are both keen to read it.

Indeed, it would be a mistake to immediately publish the other party when this has just entered. It would confuse those who arrive later to find that they are left behind if they encounter two parallel fragments under discussion. The best thing I can advise you is to wait for the week you say, evaluate the comments when you have a decent number and get an average, and then dispatch the next one.
I'd say you're doing pretty well. And I understand the anxiety to get the feedback. We all want to know where we are going, it is natural. I am just glad to know I were right. But it's like I was saying: You have to trust your team.
So, well, that. I earned a chocolate.
Naturally.

 

[tinkerdan]

I like this:
However I get less an idea of amnesia and more of one of dejavú. I've done this, I don't know how many times maybe like a sort of Jena se qua dejavú. Plus they are naming the person in their head--I think. This can be accounted for by the confusion caused in trying to read the piece as if it makes sense and sometimes I'm not sure about that.

However this lack of sense is what makes it good to some extent.
in this....
...a backless ‘D’, an ‘I’, an ‘O’ and a ‘5’. But the only right thing about them is how wrong they look.
,,,do you mean backwards D? Because in a mirror a backless D would look almost like --> C <--this.

 

[BT Jones]

Thanks @tinkerdan. Yes, the first part is supposed to be a deja-vu dream / fantasy thing, but then they actually get up and see themselves in the mirror. With the word limit, I couldn't show the rest of this section which makes clear (I hope) the distinction. But, again, maybe you are right and I need to do a 'but this feels real' part, to emphasise the difference.

And yes, I meant backless D. She initially sees it flipped, at which point what is actually a C looks like a backless D. The 3rd line from the end confirms her realisation that it is a reflection and it is actually IC and 20 she is looking at.

 

[Narcissus]

This is well done. Seems to me, it's not a story or scene as such. It's a ... Splash?? Flash?? Maybe the word I'm looking for is "painting." Everything happens (Or seems to happen) all at once. We take in the entire work visually, and only then look at the subtle details. Is that the effect you were trying for??

I do like this turn of phrase: "... A vast improvement on the smell of pig flesh stuck on repeat, however virtual. "

As the other posters noted, we'd have a greater appreciation if we had read the first part.

 

[BT Jones]

This is well done. Seems to me, it's not a story or scene as such. It's a ... Splash?? Flash?? Maybe the word I'm looking for is "painting." Everything happens (Or seems to happen) all at once. We take in the entire work visually, and only then look at the subtle details. Is that the effect you were trying for??

I do like this turn of phrase: "... A vast improvement on the smell of pig flesh stuck on repeat, however virtual. "

As the other posters noted, we'd have a greater appreciation if we had read the first part.

Thanks @Narcissus. Yes, it's meant as a visual piece; a kind of semi-hallucinatory waking dream. I am beginning to regret not putting Act 1 up first, although I certainly wouldn't have been able to post all of it, which is pretty much what you would have had to read to be fully informed for this piece. Still, I guess it is a fine art to try and recap for the benefit of without repeating oneself and boring those who already know what is happening.