Wednesday Re-Wind

When I find a new blog to follow, I don't always get a chance to go back and check out the earlier posts....at least in the beginning and, especially, if they've been at it for a few years.

To that end, I thought I'd re-post this little bit of flash fiction I put up about a year ago. It was, obviously, heavily inspired by the old pulps and movie serials. I did just a bit of reformatting and rearranging but, besides that, it's pretty much as is.

If you've already seen this, I apologize. If you haven't already seen this....I still apologize. <rimshot>

O.k, maybe it's not all that bad, so let me know what you think.

The Fortune Society in: 

Gems 'da breaks, kid.

The Cast--

The Baron: Swashbuckling man of mystery, wielder of the Karma Blade, and leader of the Fortune Society.

Professor Proton: A scientist of undetermined age and credentials. His wondrous devices seem to bend the laws of physics until they scream....when they work, that is.

Aristotle Slate: Philosophical strong man and medic. Fluent in over twenty languages thanks to his photographic memory.

Jimmy Dohicky: The son of Dohicky Toys magnate, Chester Dohicky, Jimmy wants to lead the life of adventure, helping the team with his amazing, cobbled together from nothing, devices.

"Now young man, if you would be so kind as to toggle the starting mechanism located just above my left shoulder, I will...."

"Huh?" came the reply from the young blonde kid with the slicked back hair, tweed jacket, and bow tie.

"Flip 'da switch..." grunted the hulking figure that stood behind the both of them, rolling his eyes up as if trying to look under the brim of his battered derby.

"Oh...well, why didn't ya say so?" the kid said, reaching up and flipping the button to the 'on' position...then taking a step back. He was never sure what, exactly, Professor Proton's wondrous inventions did at any given time, he just knew it was always a good idea to stand far away from them when they were set to go.

The device strapped to the smaller, older, looking man's back started to hum. Lights began to shine, in a circular pattern, on the outside of the device which looked a bit like a round backpack, but made of highly polished metal. Two hoses were attached to each side which ran down the length of the wearer's arms and fastened at his wrists. A nozzle stuck up and over each hand, which he brought up and tried to take aim.

"Uhhh.....Prof, I don't think 'dats da best idea ya ever came up wit', ya know? I mean, I think The Baron wants ta....you know....take care o' 'dis himself..." the big man standing behind the other two men said.

"Now,now, Slate", the smaller man in the white lab coat said, holding his arms up and clenching his fists, "it should be obvious to any plebeian that our illustrious leader is in dire need of a bit of scientific assistance, wouldn't you say?" He closed his left eye, taking aim behind his thick, darkly tinted, goggles.

"Oooohhhh....this ain't gonna be good...I just know it." the blonde kid said, taking a step back and adjusting his bow tie.

"James, please refrain from vocalizing your inner dialogue as I am in the midst of addressing the fascinating beast which has designs on ingesting our fearless leader?"

"Huh?"

"Shaddup so's he can aim..." the hulking figure, Slate, said screwing up his face in frustration.

"Oh....well, why didn't you say so? And besides, you can call me Jimmy...everyone dmmmpffff!"

A large hand clamped over his mouth as Jimmy's eyes widened. He looked up, nodding at Slate, who removed his overly large hand from Jimmy's mouth and returned the nod.

"Almost.....almost......there...." Proton said as his fingers on each hand depressed twin triggers and bright beams of crimson energy shot out from the nozzles on his wrists. The bright flash of light drew the creature's attention and it turned it's many tentacled head towards the twin beams of energy. Just before they impacted it right between it's two sets of eyes. A loud explosion echoed in the small chamber and the Beast from a Thousand Nightmares dropped into a pile of rubbery, foul smelling goo.

"Blast it, Professor!" the dashing man with the wavy blonde hair and matching goatee shouted, his right arm still up and over his eyes, his left arm out and brandishing a glowing rapier. "I had the creature just where I wanted it!"

"Oh Baron, your cavalier attitude towards danger never gets dull." the Professor grinned as he motioned for Jimmy to flip the switch of his Plasma Manipulator off. "Besides, our mission here was to obtain the Sultan's Guardian Gem, correct?"

"Exactly...something we couldn't have done until the gem's thief was dispatched. We had him on the ropes, didn't we Dumas?"

"Of course sir." a disembodied voice echoed from the glowing rapier in the Baron's hand.

"I hate 'dat sword..." grumbled Slate as he continued checking over his shoulder to make sure that the portal behind them was still open. 

The Baron grinned at Slate, then glanced down at the pile of rubbery goo that was the remains of the Beast. Barely visible was the gleam of a multifaceted, aquamarine, gem.

"Well, that looks to be a bit of a sticky wicket, eh?" The Baron said, motioning towards the smelly, bubbly, mass with the glowing rapier.

"Sir, if you stick me in that mess I will cut you in your sleep...", the rapier said in a haunting voice.

"No need for that, I'm certain. Jimmy, might you have something to help us out here?" The Baron winked at the blonde young man.

"Oh, sure thing Baron....gimme one sec. I got what ya need or my name ain't Jimmy Dohicky!" 

The young man approached, pulling a small, telescoping rod from his inner jacket pocket and attaching some silvery string to the end of it. From another pocket, he produced some copper wiring and began bending and twisting it while his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth. He then tied the other end of the string to the copper wiring and lowered the fishing pole like device down towards the goop covered gem.

"Ya know, I've been thinkin' about makin' some sorta game outta this one. See, the people would put their money in and try to move this claw like thing down into a buncha toys or such and if they can clamp onto 'em", he said as he snagged the gem with the bent wiring, "then they get ta keep it!" he grinned as he held the now brightly glowing gem as if he'd just caught a prize bass.

"Jimmy, you're definitely a keeper." The Baron smiled as he took the gem from the wiring and put it into a black, silky, pouch.

Jimmy smiled, dismantling his gizmo and putting the pieces back into different pockets.

"Now lads....we're off. Let's get this gem back to the Sultan before the hourglass runs out of sand."

"Agreed Baron. I think now is good time to retreat to our own plane with alacrity."

"Huh?"

"We gotta get home....quick-like....."

"Oh, well why didn't...."

A three voiced chorus replied "Shut up!"

A Good Cause

When I opened my Google reader this morning, a bunch of the blogs I follow were highlighting a very special bloghop. It's called "Overcoming Adversity", hosted by Nick Wilford over at Scattergun Scribblings. It's a hop designed to help his son, who has cerebral palsy, get into college. Something not readily available for special needs students in Scotland. Nick plans on compiling an anthology of the posts, with the proceeds going to help fund his son's schooling.

I'm totally down with that.

This seemed like a good idea for a great cause and, lucky for me, I was able to still sign up. How I missed it, initially, I have no clue. So, at about 3:00 pm today, I did just that....having no idea what I'm going to write, but I figure I'll come up with something.....so, here goes.....

The Last Minute

"Look...no pressure or anything...but, if you don't do this, it's going to be the end of the human race. We have five minutes left!"

"Yeah, no pressure....sure...right..." Simon said into his com-link, trying to keep the utter panic out of his voice. His hands were shaking like a wino suffering from the DTs.

Because that's what he was. Or, at least, had been. He didn't like to think of himself as a "wino" anymore. He hadn't had a drink in months....though, sometimes, those months felt like years. He licked his lips.

He sure could use a drink.

"No!", he thought...he didn't need the booze. Not anymore.

"You sure about this thing?" Simon asked, trying to steady the wire clippers in his left hand. The back of his right hand wiping sweat from his furrowed brow.

"As sure as we can be...." the voice on the other end of the com-link said. "If it blows, that's it. Ta-ta terra firma. Look, I know your training doesn't even begin to cover this, but you were the one in the chamber when it locked, so we're a little behind the eight-ball here."

Karlov was scared and, if he was scared, Simon should be too....he knew that. "We only have five minutes left...." Simon muttered to himself.

"Four minutes left, Simon!" the captain called over the link.

 It had seemed like just yesterday he had heard of the massive, global, conspiracy that had replaced the leaders of the world with slimy, alien impostors. These impostors had really made a mess of things....probably more so than their real counterparts would have done.

Maybe.

Everything had been geared to throw the planet into chaos, making Earth ripe for an invasion force from a dying planet. They had succeeded, for the most part. That is, until the resistance movement found the one thing the really fouled the aliens up.

Pencils. Well, the graphite in the pencils was the real anathema to the P'locus as they slowly revealed themselves to be called.  

Simon's hands trembled more and he began sweating profusely.

"Three minutes, Simon. Do you have the plate off? Can you see the wires?"

"I've had the plate off", Simon said slowly, "which wire?"

"You've..." Karlov stammered, then blurted out, "the green wire. Cut the green wire!"

"Green wire....green wire...green wire..." Simon exhaled, fingering the five wires before him.

"Quit gabbin' and cut the damn wire! Two minutes left!" the captain screamed into Simon's earpiece.

"Captain...I think there's something I should have told you years ago." Simon said.

"What's that?" Karlov said, almost breathless.

"I'm colorblind." Simon said, his hands suddenly stopped shaking.

For a second there was nothing but static on the other end of Simon's earpiece.

"Simon, just cut one....and pray.", Karlov said low, "Last minute."

And he did...suddenly knowing in the bottom of his heart that he was given the chance to crawl out from the bottom of the bottle for a purpose.

This was that purpose.

Simon took a deep breath and cut a wire.




Years later, when he would retell the story to his children and, then later, grandchildren....he'd leave out the part about where he had pissed his pants.



Thanks for hosting this hop, Nick, and best wishes on your son's academic future.

Photo prompt: Double Trouble

Photo Source: www.aphotoaday.org

The Man Wearing The Monocle sneered. His anger was palpable. He stared down at the three, nervous looking, men and they could hear his teeth grind. He ran his fingers through his shortly cropped, blonde hair.

"But....but....Doc...we...we...did what ya said."

"First of all it is not 'Doc'....I am Doctor Blitzkrieg...and, second of all, you did not do what I asked. Think very hard on this....as if your lives depended on it.", the man said in his thick, German, accent. In all his years, back in the Third Reich, he had never seen such incompetence.

The moonlight shone off the shiny leather worn by the larger man. Doctor Blitzkrieg thought himself to be the pinnacle of Nazi engineering. He stood six foot three and was two hundred and forty pounds of solid muscle. Not bad for a man of eighty three....though he looked to be only in his mid thirties. Why couldn't everyone be as perfect?

He sneered down at his underlings with contempt. If he hadn't put so much effort into cloning and raising them, they would surely be dead by this point.

"What I said was to replace Chad Farnsworth with a double....do you know what the word 'double' means?"

The three men glanced around at each other...as if knowing what the other was thinking. Their brown hair was coiffed back, except for the one standing in the middle...he wore a baseball cap, turned backwards.

"Ummm....two?", the one in the ballcap offered hesitantly.

"No!!! It means.....", the Doctor's face reddened even more....he flexed the fingers of his massive hands...as if trying to stop himself from choking something, or someone.

"Alright....it does mean 'two', I suppose. But not in this case. In this case the meaning was 'exact duplicate'!!! You were to replace Farnsworth and the DUPLICATE was to throw the game so I could collect enough money from that loathsome bookmaker to fund my next project!!"

"But.....Doc...er...Doctor....we did that! Look...look...at the pic here. We're nabbing Farnsworth while his double shows up and gets the cheers from the fans. The chicks are really diggin' him."

"That's another thing", Blitzkrieg boomed, "as idiotic as this situation is....you also managed to get photographed in the act of kidnapping Farnsworth!!!!"

The three, identical, men glanced around nervously at each other.

"If nothing else", the Doctor continued his rant,"you would have thought the picture would confirm that Farnsworth isn't black!!!"

"Now Doc....calm down. Remember yer blood pressure."

Blitzkrieg flexed his hands again, his biceps bulging and threatening to rip the leather of his jacket.

"Besides.....we did sorta notice that, but then just figgered the pic was in black and white."

The Doctor's eyes widened as the blood vessels in his forehead bulged. He began to get dizzy....as if he was having a stroke. Maybe it was his time. Maybe Valhalla was sending a Valkyrie to bring him home at this moment.

It didn't matter, he thought to himself as he pulled out his old, trusty, Ruger. He had three bullets left and that's all he needed.

Cheers, Cavanaugh Blog Fest

Two amazing things here....

The first is that I'm actually posting not one, not two...but three entries in a one month period. My past record hasn't been all that sterling, I'm afraid.

The second, and more important, is that this post is in celebration of an awesome author....The Ninja Captain, himself, Alex J. Cavanaugh!

I've only been following Alex's blog for a little bit but, in that time, I've come to find him as being one of the most giving, kind, and supportive authors out there. While Alex is, indeed, all these words I've used to describe him, he's also a bit of a mystery.

No one has seen a picture of this man. Heck, that can't even be said for Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster. That's just how mysterious he is.

My job, in this post, is to do the following:

• In +/- 20 words, what does Alex look like?

 That guy from Mythbusters....maybe it's the hat?

• In +/- 20 words, who could play Alex in a documentary? (Living or dead)

That guy from Mythbusters....maybe it's the goatee?

• In +/- 20 words, who does Alex remind you of?

A mixture of Hemingway and Santa Claus. He likes to write (drunk?) and is very giving....wearing a red suit.

• In +/- 100 words, (excluding the title) write flash fiction using all these prompts:
• Cavanaugh
• Ninja
• IWSG
• Cosbolt
• Guitar

I had just stepped out of Cavanaugh's, the fresh air a welcome relief to the stale smell of the bar. It was then that I saw the Night Ninja for the first time. As a member of the International Wrestler's Sentry Group...or IWSG, as we like to call it, I ducked into the alleyway, ready to don my Lucha mask and piledrive the notorious criminal into the asphalt.

As I prepared to leap up, I saw what looked to be a street musician swing his very new looking Cosbolt guitar up and aim it at the rudo*. He gave the strings a hard strum and energy, shaped like cleft and treble notes, shot from the neck of the guitar and blasted the ninja off his swingline and into a smoking pile of unconscious crook, thudding on the street.

I stood there, giving the man a nod and marveling at how one never knew just who had the talent.

"Wow, great suit!" he said, giving me a salute.

"Thanks", I grinned, "hey, anyone ever tell you that you look like that guy from Mythbusters?"

"I get that all the time", he grinned as he disappeared into the night.

*Editor's note: Rudo is the term used to describe 'bad guy' wrestlers in Lucha Libre wrestling.

(Yeah, I know it's over 100 words, but it's my blog....so sue me :P )

So, here's to Alex J. Cavanaugh....man of mystery and all around swell guy.

I wish you much happiness, success, and prosperity and thanks for all that you do.

Vertically challenged jumble of words...

Back when I first got the 'writing bug', a little over a year ago, I started by trying to do some flash fiction a few times a week. In doing that, I would take prompts from Seventh Sanctum and then borrow the format from the 100 word story site and go from there.

I was just going through some of my old stories and found this one. I forget what the prompt was....maybe alien murder or something?


“I think she's dead.” the detective stated flatly.  His optical sensors scanned the curvy humanoid up and down, fixing on a spot behind her right ear. The faint 'whir' of mini servos was all that was heard.

“Hey, great catch Shorelok....ya think?” The Mind intoned in his audio receptors.

“Indeed I do.  No respiratory activity. No heartbeat....in either heart.  Yes, I would consider this humanoid to be deceased.”

“Ok, sure...and what killed her?  That pile of salt next to her?”

“Correct.” said the android detective as he kneeled, pressing a small stud on the base of the woman's ear.  She seemed to shimmer for a second, then her appearance faded from a beautiful Bandorian woman to a dried up looking slug creature.

“Someone knew that 'she' was really a Lugosian....a race evolved from snail like creatures to whom salt was deadly.”  Calculations began running in his 'brain' as he stood.

“It was Sherlock, by the way....” an almost wry smile tugging at his synthetic lips.

Tumblin' Dice

"I must consult the bones..."

No, this post has nothing to do with the Rolling Stones song , but everything to do with a neat little bit of coolness that I picked up at the store today.

It's called Rory's Story Cubes and comes with nine, six sided, dice with various pictures on each side, a small 'rules' (though they're more like guidelines) sheet, and an orange drawstring bag.

Described as a "pocket sized creative story generator"  the instructions guidelines suggest the following uses:

• Party game or ice breaker
• Problem solving
• Creative inspiration
• Speaking and listening skills
• Mental workout
• Literacy development

The flip-side of the sheet describes three styles of play, whether solo or with friends, and those are only scratching the surface. I thought they'd be neat for doing some flash fiction or even giving the old creative juices a jump start when stuck for a scene in an even longer story.

I always like coming across these nifty little surprises in helping foster creativity. For about $8.00, I didn't think I could go wrong.

If you're interested in finding out more about the Story Cubes check out their site, here.

The above picture is a roll I did prior to typing this up and, since this is a 'writing' blog and all, I figured I'd try a little flash fiction for an inaugural run


Once upon a time there was a very unsuccessful actor [twin masks] who wasn't sure what his life would be like if he wasn't able to do the thing he loved most....acting. Time and time again, he was told "Look kid, you're just no good." Laying in bed one night, he made a decision. Not wanting to give up his dream, yet knowing he had to make money, he decided to try his hand at being a private investigator [magnifying glass]. There he could make his own hours and still try to land acting jobs.

Getting his license was easy enough, getting paying clients....well, that was another story. He printed up business cards and began spreading the word that he was available for work. The main problem being that people in town all knew him as 'that bad actor fellow'. A break came his way when a young woman, from the nearby Dakota Indian reservation [wigwam] arrived wanting to hire him for a mysterious case. You see, the reservation was remote enough that, while word had gotten out about a new investigator in town, the fact that he had also been a failed actor had not. She told the tale of how she was the guardian of the last bit of the "Tree of Life" [tree]. This mystical tree had been under her tribe's protection for centuries, each protector being a member of her bloodline. The tree had many amazing qualities. It could cure the sick, make the old young, extend one's life, and even raise the dead. Thieves, war, and the ravages of time itself had taken it's toll on the tree, reducing the once proud object to a mere leaf. When the detective expressed his skepticism, the woman implored him to help her. The police were of no use and every other investigator had laughed her out of their offices.

He was her last hope.

Knowing a little bit what it was like to have your hopes and dreams dashed he, reluctantly, took the case. Though he wasn't the best actor out there, he had determination and decided that if it was the last thing he'd do, he'd find that Leaf of Life.

The case started off easy, at first, then things began to get tougher. Trails cooled and the weeks began turning into months. The months into years....many moons, as the Indians would say [moon]. The case took him all over the world [planet] and it affected his health. His determination never wavered, though, and he finally did find the Leaf....but, the toll it took on his body was evident [cane]as he came back to the Dakota woman battered and broken, but with a new found gleam in his eye.

She smiled and thanked the detective as he handed over the leaf, noting his new demeanor, while feeling bad for his sorry physical condition.

"Aww...don't feel bad, sweetheart", he told her with a wry grin, "this was the best thing that ever happened to me. It gave me something I had been missing all those years while I was trying to become an actor. It gave me new insight into life....it gave me character. One could say it gave me a more magnetic personality." [magnet]

"My tribe is grateful to you." she said.

"Not for returning the leaf, anyone could have done that, but for doing what no one else was willing to do for us."

"Believing."

The detective smiled as she took his hand and placed the leaf in it.

"Take this", she said, "eat it and it will cure you. As the Tree's protector it is not only my right.....but my honor to give this to you. Take this and follow your dream. You are ready now."

Not knowing what to say, he simply ate the leaf. The change was almost immediate as his broken body began healing itself. Old wounds were healed as old skin was made young again. The gleam in his eye became even brighter and he stood proud and tall. He now knew he could do anything he set his mind to...his confidence and resolve seemed to be made from the finest tempered steel. There was absolutely nothing he couldn't accomplish.

Then, he woke up. He had, it seemed, dreamed the whole thing.

Still in his old bed, in his old apartment, still a failed actor.

Or was he?

He shook his head and smiled. No, he wasn't a failure....he was only untapped potential. He somehow knew that life was his oyster. All he had to do was find the right knife to pry open the shell.

The years he dreamed, the experiences, the things he had learned....they couldn't be real could they?

In the end, it didn't matter. He knew what he should do. He gave up his pursuit of acting and dedicated his life to helping others find their dreams. While the man never became famous, he did become fulfilled. He married, had a family....children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren [house].

To some, he had been a failed actor but, in their eyes, he was the biggest star in the world.

The End

(Trivia Question: Which movie is the picture caption from?) 

Saturday (more or less) Shorts

   

          

I spent a little time going through my Google Docs via Drive, tonight, and found this little write up. It was a back story, of sorts, for a character I had planned on making for the DCU MMO.

Unfortunately, the game pretty much sucked and I never got around to making this western themed character but, I got a semi-decent story from it though.

          The first time I heard the story of The Nightranger, I was just a kid. Something my parents would tell me around the campfire on our yearly camping vacations.  They said he was the Eternal Law of the Old West….a spirit of vengeance that couldn’t die.  They said he rode the badlands of the Old West, dispensing justice to all manner of nasty hombre.

            Little did I know they were right….and then some.

            It seems that, back in around 1850, the sheriff of a small mining town in Colorado called ‘Calamity’ was gunned down by the Jeremiah Hazard gang.  About a week later, that very gang was found strung up on a big oak tree just outside of town.  The leader, Jeremiah Hazard, had a note pinned to his chest.

“The Law never dies.”

More and more vigilante justice was found dispensed in the outlying area, but who was doing it was still a mystery.  Until that fateful evening when a telegraph operator named Milo Stewart saw a dark figure, on a dark horse against the full moon of the autumn night.  His eyes glowed an eerie white as did his horses.  The horse also snorted a white fire through his nose and his hooves seemed to spark a white will o’ the wisp with each step.  A shaken Stewart sent a telegram to a friend at the nearest big city newspaper who, in turn, sent a reporter out to see if there was really a story here or just an ‘urban legend’.  As it turned out, more and more sightings were reported and the word spread.  The crooks and hucksters got scared and scattered.  Things settled down in Calamity and the Nightranger began showing up less and less.  Time marched on and the Old West settled down.  From time to time you’d hear of the “Eternal Law” showing up to dispense some justice, but they became few and far between.  Oh, and by the way, the sheriff who was thought to have been gunned down by the Hazard gang….his last name was Walker…same as mine.

You see, apparently, a very long time ago, a distant relative of mine ran afoul of a group of ‘wanderers’ as he travelled through Russia.  I’m still not sure what he did to incur the wrath of these ‘wanderers’, but a curse was placed on my relative to ‘forever make amends’ for his transgressions....whatever they may have been.  Now the curse is passed down through the generations and the first born male inherits the mantle, compelled to fight crime and right wrongs whenever he can.  The curse has taken on many names over the centuries….”Wayward Soldier”, “Dark Rider”, “Hell’s Highwayman”,  even the famous “Headless Horseman” story is based (loosely) on the exploits of a relative helping to keep  New England save from brigands. I’ve recently discovered that my father used to patrol the highways and byways as the “Phantom Trooper”, which fits I suppose, he being a police officer and all.  When my father died, three years ago, the curse was passed down….we all knew it was coming so I was prepared. A strange twist to the curse, maybe it’s starting to relax after over three hundred years, is that we can manipulate the force a tiny bit.  My father used to appear as a large motorcycle cop, dressed in black leather with a black helmet and a black energy field surrounding him. He rode a souped up Harley which he created from the dark energies we can tap into.  Being an Old West buff, I’ve gone back to the “Nightranger” moniker, my appearance much like the one who rode the badlands of Colorado but with a large, flowing, cape and a dark, energy created, horse.  As for what I can do with my cursed powers…..pray you never have to find out.

See ya ‘round Gotham…..pardner.

           

           

           

Saturday Shorts

Wetworks

"Ms. Waters....I hope you know that you're in way over your head."


"Oh, I think not, Mr. Beach", the athletically built woman, bound to the chair, replied with a smile.


"No? You're starting to sound like someone a bit wet behind the ears. Your situation is quite dire, I'll have you know." The heavily muscled man said while cracking his knuckles. His demeanor belied his very cultured, middle-eastern, accent.


She eyed his massive arms as they flexed. "To me, the situation is quite fluid. I'm confident that I'll take the right fork in the river."


"My dear Ms. Waters", he smiled, "there is no choice for you. You're heading into the rapids and about to go over the falls."


Her curly blonde hair began to droop and she started to sweat....profusely.


"See.....look at you, my dear. Your so nervous that you're sweating buckets. You're in the deep end of the pool."


Again she smiled. 


"Mr Beach?" the woman said as more sweat poured off her body.


"Yes?"


"Have you ever been surfing?"


"Of course I have."


"Indoors?"


It was then, she shimmered and exploded into a huge wave leaving her bonds behind and engulfing the larger man.


The New Mexico Police Department never did solve the drowning death of the man in a shack in the middle of the desert.

More flash fic...with extra pulp...

The Fortune Society in: 

(Diamonds aren’t just a girl’s best friend…) 

Dramatis Personae:


Aphrodite: Self-professed demi-goddess with the power to cloud men’s minds….with love. Blessed with mystical senses, she’s one of The Baron’s most capable Team Leaders.

Libby “The Librarian” Langley: Thanks to a near photographic memory and growing up in a library, if she’s read it….she knows it. One of the smartest people on the planet….also one of the most annoying.

Amanda Oakley: Just like her great grandma, Annie, Amanda is one of the best shots in not just the West, but the entire planet. Always up for a challenge, there’s no weapon she can’t shoot and no vehicle she can’t pilot.

“Prima” Donna McGurk: A one time Olympic track and field hopeful, destiny took her in a different direction. Becoming one of the ‘Jet Set’, her lifestyle affords her to travel the globe, picking up all sorts of different skills while living the high life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Just so’s ya know….ah ain’t likin’ this one bit.” Her twin .45s barked once and two goons jerked back and spun around, falling to the ground in a heap.

“Duly noted Amanda”, Aphrodite said with a wry grin on her beautiful features. She moved a mass of thick, blonde hair from her face as she quickly turned to see another wave of Mr. Lee’s men approaching. “Orders are orders and clients are clients. Oh, and by the by, remember….don’t kill our lovely welcoming committee….”

“Ah ain’t….just wingin’ ‘em is all…”

A shrill scream to her left almost made Grammy Oakley’s favorite granddaughter, with the nerves of steel, flinch….almost.

Glancing to the side, between shots, she saw four of Mr. Lee’s well dressed, hooded, goons slowly surrounding Libby. The smaller, thinner, librarian had her left arm out as if to shoo them away with a wave of her hand. Her right hand was digging into a messenger bag which slung over her left shoulder.

Her shriek also got the attention of the fourth woman in the group. A larger than average woman, one that looked as if she spent a lot of time outdoors, lifting heavy things. The big redhead was engaged with two other hooded goons, kicks and punches flying as the two, even larger goons, looked to want to do her physical harm. A look of concern marring her attractive features, Donna grunted out “Let me show you fellas something I picked up in Paris, France…” and, with that, she spun on her heel twice and delivered two, hard, savate kicks to each side of the hooded goon’s heads….dropping them to the ground while she rushed over to give Libby a helping hand.

The slimmer woman, who bore a striking resemblance to Myrna Loy, seemed to have recovered her wits. Quickly, she pulled her hand from her messenger bag and, in it, was a large can of Morton’s salt. She flipped the lid up with her thumb and spun in a circle, dousing the goons surrounding her with the white flakes while they, in turn, proceeded to burst into flames.

“Wights” she said, catching her breath and moving away from the now dying, open flames.

“White, black, Asian, Moroccan, who cares?”, Donna said, her eyes still wide in amazement.

Giving her a confused smile, Libby shoved the salt can back into her overstuffed bag.

“No….they’re called ‘wights’. If you check the small amount of skin that shows between their cuff and gloves, it looks gray and scaly. Added in the slight stiffness of their movements and the rabid fervor in which they follow orders and you can tell they’re the newly deceased.

Donna just shook her head as she glanced over Libby’s shoulder, then ran over to Aphrodite as more goons approached.

“What? You didn’t know that?” Libby called after her.

“Hey Boss”, Amanda shouted as she continued pumping lead into shoulders and knees, the goons were being slowed, but not halted and there were more waves pouring into the large room, “ah’m runnin’ outta lead here!”

Giving her a slight nod, Aphrodite concentrated on the moving throng approaching her from the glowing circle of energy on the wall. Their arms out, fingers flexing, they prepared to rend her limb from limb. Shoving another mass of thick, blonde, hair from her face, she smiled and pursed her lips. She extended her arms wide, her clingy tunic fluttering in the air that was coming from….somewhere, no one was quite sure as there were no windows in the room containing England’s crown jewels. She began to levitate as she surveyed the mass of tuxedo clad, hooded, figures approaching….her strappy sandals leaving the ground.

“That’s it boys, come close and feel the love!”

Aphrodite began to glow and the air filled with little sparkles of light. A wave of that same light rushed over the approaching goons, halting them in their tracks. They just stood there as if unsure what to do next.

“Dazzling…” Libby murmured in awe.

“This won’t last long, ladies, so grab what we came for and let’s hop the next chariot out of here. I sense the Beefeaters are on their way.” Aphrodite said, still holding her arms out wide, a look of concentration etched on her pretty face.

“Ummm…just where, exactly, is the thing we’re here for?” Donna asked, looking at the vast and varied types of jewelry and cases in the room.

Libby pointed to the far wall. Sitting on a small pedestal under glass, a tiara made of bright diamonds shone in the darkness.

“Right there. I once read that the Princess’ crown was placed near the back of the room as to not take away from the Queen’s jewels.”

“You’re sure about that?” Donna said as she sprinted over to the case, bashing in the glass with a gloved fist before Libby could confirm.

“Of course, I’m sure. What? You didn’t know that?” Libby asked while Donna just rolled her eyes.

With the tiara in hand, Donna yelled “Got it!” and made her way over to a still floating Aphrodite. Libby and Amanda, salt can and guns holstered respectively, followed suit.

“Ah still don’t like workin’ fer that lil house painter fella….gives me the creeps.” Amanda intoned as they huddled up.

“Well, we’re not so much working for him as we are against him. He only thinks we’re doing him a service. Uncle Adolph’s blind faith in supernatural artifacts will, one day, be his undoing.” Aphrodite smiled. “This may look like a princess’ crown but, in reality, it’s the Crown of Verwechslung….the Crown of Confusion. His so called ‘scholars’ were a touch off base on this one. Once he puts it on, his judgment will be forever clouded and, the best part is, he’s paying the Society for doing it.”

“What? You didn’t know that?” Libby nodded towards the other two girls who had perplexed looks on their faces. “Plus, Mr. Lee’s after it to give to the Empress of Japan, hoping she’ll finally accept his proposal of marriage.” the librarian added.

Again, Donna rolled her eyes. “Put it on? What makes you think he’s going to wear a girly tiara?”

“Oh, there’s intelligence out there that says Hitler has some…let’s say…odd traits.” Aphrodite said, though clenched teeth, the smile fading as she continued to concentrate. “Good thing these…wight things still seemed to have some vestiges of manhood still left in them…”

Libby nodded again, opening her mouth before Donna cut her off. “If you say it, I’m gonna throttle you…”

Libby, promptly, closed her mouth again.

“Awright, Donna….yer up….” Grammy Oakley’s favorite granddaughter said, “git us outta here.”

And, with that, Donna held her left hand up and removed the expensive looking leather glove that covered it. A huge diamond, wedding, band sparkled on her ring finger. She kissed and whispered to it….

“My love, I wish us home.”

The four women began to shimmer and fade from sight. As they glowed brighter, Libby cocked her head towards Donna.

“So, how many wishes do you have with that?”

“I really have no idea.” Donna smiled and winked.

“So then….we could’ve been stuck here and….” Libby gulped.

“What? You didn’t know that?” Donna chuckled, patting Libby on her cheek. Aphrodite’s hearty laughter was the last thing heard as the four women blinked out of sight

No, I said 'flash fiction', not Flash Gordon....

I wanted to do a little bit of flash fiction and something pulpy so, here ya go....

The Fortune Society in: 

Gems 'da breaks, kid.

"Now young man, if you would be so kind as to toggle the starting mechanism located just above my left shoulder, I will...."


"Huh?" came the reply from the young blonde kid with the slicked back hair, tweed jacket, and bow tie.


"Flip 'da switch..." grunted the hulking figure that stood behind the both of them, rolling his eyes up as if trying to look under the brim of his battered derby.


"Oh...well, why didn't ya say so?" the kid said, reaching up and flipping the button to the 'on' position...then taking a step back. He was never sure what, exactly, Professor Proton's wondrous inventions did at any given time, he just knew it was always a good idea to stand far away from them when they were set to go.


The device strapped to the smaller, older, looking man's back started to hum. Lights began to shine, in a circular pattern, on the outside of the device which looked a bit like a round backpack, but made of highly polished metal. Two hoses were attached to each side which ran down the length of the wearer's arms and fastened at his wrists. A nozzle stuck up and over each hand, which he brought up and tried to take aim.


"Uhhh.....Prof, I don't think 'dats da best idea ya ever came up wit', ya know? I mean, I think The Baron wants ta....you know....take care o' 'dis himself..." the big man standing behind the other two men said.


"Now,now, Slate", the smaller man in the white lab coat said, holding his arms up and clenching his fists, "it should be obvious to any plebeian that our illustrious leader is in dire need of a bit of scientific assistance, wouldn't you say?" He closed his left eye, taking aim behind his thick, darkly tinted, goggles.


"Oooohhhh....this ain't gonna be good...I just know it." the blonde kid said, taking a step back and adjusting his bow tie.


"James, please refrain from vocalizing your inner dialogue as I am in the midst of addressing the fascinating beast which has designs on ingesting our fearless leader?"


"Huh?"


"Shaddup so's he can aim..." the hulking figure, Slate, said screwing up his face in frustration.


"Oh....well, why didn't you say so? And besides, you can call me Jimmy...everyone dmmmpffff!"


A large hand clamped over his mouth as Jimmy's eyes widened. He looked up, nodding at Slate, who removed his overly large hand from Jimmy's mouth and returned the nod.


"Almost.....almost......there...." the Prof said as his fingers on each hand depressed twin triggers and bright beams of crimson energy shot out from the nozzles on his wrists. The bright flash of light drew the creature's attention and it turned it's many tentacled head towards the twin beams of energy, just before they impacted it right between it's two sets of eyes. A loud explosion echoed in the small chamber and the Beast from a Thousand Nightmares dropped into a pile of rubbery, foul smelling goo.


"Blast it, Professor!" the dashing man with the wavy blonde hair and matching goatee shouted, his right arm still up and over his eyes, his left arm out and brandishing a glowing rapier. "I had the creature just where I wanted it!"


"Oh Baron, your cavalier attitude towards danger never gets dull." Prof grinned as he motioned for Jimmy to flip the switch of his Plasma Manipulator off. "Besides, our mission here was to obtain the Sultan's Guardian Gem, correct?"


"Exactly...something we couldn't have done until the gem's thief was dispatched. We had him on the ropes, didn't we Dumas?"


"Of course sir." a disembodied voice echoed from the glowing rapier in the Baron's hand.


"I hate 'dat sword..." grumbled Slate as he continued checking over his shoulder to remain sure that the portal behind them was still open. 


The Baron grinned at Slate, then glanced down at the pile of rubbery goo that was the remains of the Beast. Barely visible was the gleam of a multifaceted, aquamarine, gem.


"Well, that looks to be a bit of a sticky wicket, eh?" The Baron said, motioning towards the smelly, bubbly, mass with the glowing rapier.


"Sir, if you stick me in that mess I will cut you in your sleep...", the rapier said in a haunting voice.


"No need for that, I'm certain. Jimmy, might you have something to help us out here?" The Baron winked at the blonde young man.


"Oh, sure thing Baron....gimme one sec. I got what ya need or my name ain't Jimmy Dohicky!" 


The young man approached, pulling a small, telescoping rod from his inner jacket pocket and attaching some silvery string to the end of it. From another pocket, he produced some copper wiring and began bending and twisting it while his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth. He then tied the other end of the string to the copper wiring and lowered the fishing pole like device down towards the goop covered gem.


"Ya know, I've been thinkin' about makin' some sorta game outta this one. See, the people would put their money in and try to move this claw like thing down into a buncha toys or such and if they can clamp onto 'em", he said as he snagged the gem with the bent wiring, "then they get ta keep it!" he grinned as he held the now brightly glowing gem as if he'd just caught a prize bass.


"Jimmy, you're definitely a keeper." The Baron smiled as he took the gem from the wiring and put it into a black, silky, pouch.


Jimmy smiled, dismantling his gizmo and putting the pieces back into different pockets.


"Now lads....we're off. Let's get this gem back to the Sultan before the hourglass runs out of sand."


"Agreed Baron. I think now is good time to retreat to our own plane with alacrity."


"Huh?"


"We gotta get home....quick-like....."


"Oh, well why didn't you...."


A three voiced chorus replied "Shut up!"



Dramatis Personae:


The Baron: Swashbuckling man of mystery, wielder of the Karma Blade, and leader of the Fortune Society.

Professor Proton: A scientist of undetermined age and credentials. His wondrous devices seem to bend the laws of physics....when they work.

Aristotle Slate: Philosophical strong man and medic. Fluent in over twenty languages thanks to his photographic memory.

Jimmy Dohicky: The son of Dohicky Toys magnate, Chester Dohicky, Jimmy wants to lead the life of adventure, helping the team with his amazing, cobbled together from nothing, devices.

Yeah, I'm talking to you!!

It's been a while since I posted anything here, but...

 Like I've said elsewhere, I really hate opening a post with that line but, hey, truth hurts, huh?

Anywho, I've been sliding off the writing wagon, a lot lately, and have been putting some thought into why that may be. It's not for lack of time....I have scads of that. It's not for lack of encouragement. I have tons of that, as well...my wife makes sure of it. I think it boils down to one factor....

Lack of discipline.

There, I've said it.

I've always been the type of person who, if things didn't come naturally, I didn't put a lot of effort into doing them. As I've grown older I've come to realize, more and more, that something worth doing is something worth putting the effort into doing it well. If things were always easy, there would be no satisfaction in getting them done. Take NaNoWriMo (please! :P ) for instance. There were days when I did not want to sit down and put pixels to virtual paper. Some days, I didn't. But I always caught up and it was so satisfying to 'win'....to actually finish....that it made the effort worthwhile. 

Sometimes the oldest lessons out there are the most profound. 

That said, I think I'm going to try to do a few things to self-motivate and get some writing done. After all the name of this blog is "Left and Write"....not "Left and Slack".

Here are a few ideas I've been tossing around....

• Doing a weekly writing challenge. Yes, I know there are a lot of those floating out there, especially by my pals on Google Plus, but I think I need something more tailored to my interests. At least to start with. Perhaps a 500 word minimum, with a week to complete, which I post here for perusal/harassment, etc.
• A simple 100 word challenge, taking prompts from the Seventh Sanctum site. (I've had some good success with this in the past)
• Taking suggestions via a Twitter or G+ post, maybe for a 200-300 word short story and posting the results here. 

So, I think I might try one....or all...of these ideas and see which stick and which fall to the floor in a burning heap.

What do you do to stay disciplined?

More Flash Fiction...

Chuck Windig's flash fiction challenge, this week, was to tell a story using only three sentences....how hard can that be, right?  Well, not as easy as it sounds....

Here's my entry:


As Dy’lon crouched behind a solid steel table a beam of energy, strangely resembling musical notes, punched a hole to his right.

Taking a deep breath, he stood, spun, and aimed his glittery, antique Fender Stratocaster…sending a hard stream of musical energy at his foe.

Just as the ancient prophesy said….it’s a long way to the top, if ya wanna rock ‘n roll.

Another 100 word flash fiction challenge....

Once again, Chuck Windig has thrown up (again, no, not as in 'blew chunks') another flash fiction challenge on his blog. This time three words had to be chosen from a list of five:

 Enzyme, Ivy, Bishop, Blister, Lollipop.


Here's my entry:


“Don’t tell me he ate it?”
“Oh my God...he did eat it!”
Agent McCabe watched in horror, hissing to himself, as Bishop Tutu crunched into the lollipop.
The lollipop given to him by the “President”.
The lollipop that contained Enzyme X, a deadly pathogen that could wipe out an entire country.
Nothing left to do now, but run. Get to the airport and try to get the hell out of this country before things spread too badly.


How many licks did it take to get to the center of this lollipop?
This time the world may truly never know.

100 Word Flash Fiction Challenge....

      I've started following author (and self professed "penmonkey") Chuck Wendig on Google+ as well as over on his blog. Recently, he threw up (no, I don't mean as in 'blew chunks') a 100 word flash fiction challenge....a tale of revenge...and here's my entry.

   
     The Brownian Kill Unit's optical sensors recorded everything for the records, sending it down the time thread. The micro-pulse beam, literally, cooked Von Braun from the inside. The sound of wet flesh hitting the ground was followed by the clink of a monocle. The symbol of another infamous criminal scientist shattered.


     Von Braun had slagged more of his kind, over the years, than he could count. Now, it was over. Now, maybe, it might have never happened. Time travel was funny that way. 


     His last thought, as he faded from existence, was that “Braun” sounded very much like....Brown.