Saturday, November 22, 2014

11-22-14 Writing Warm-up
8:10 PM

11-22-14 Writing Warm-up


11-22-14 Writing Warm-up
Artwork © Vadozzer, All Rights Reserved - http://vadozzer.deviantart.com/
Story and Characters © Brannon Hollingsworth, All Rights Reserved
Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

"So, there I wuz..." Phil slurred, pausing only to pound down the remainder of his second Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. He knew he could not handle a third...he was no Ford Prefect, after all, so he waved the wench over and continued yammering. "S...so der I wuz, ya see, starin' down dis little scrawny guy with a head o' hair like a wool factory 'sploded and a scraggly black beard-"

'Beard?' The giant octopus to Phil's right interrupted. Mentally, of course.

Phil's drinking companion this evening was a Molluskan - a race that it was said had evolved from some of the most primitive life forms in the universe: squids, octopi, and other things that were only tasty when battered and properly fried. Molluskans (who were not known to many, save the most brave, the most daring, and the most well-seasoned Spacers) communicated purely via thought. Phil thought they had a terrible habit of interrupting a story at the worst times.

'I heard that.' The molluskan - whose name happened to be, by some highly improbable and nigh impossible chance, Quil - quipped with no small measure of agitation.

 "Wha? Oh...that. Sss-s-sorry, Quil. Won't happen again. What were you say-er-thinking, again?" Phil managed.

'You said this guy had a beard. So he was human?' Quil queried, neither acknowledging nor accepting Phil's apology.

Phil blinked a couple of times, feeling the twin suns going off behind his eyes. He wondered why he did not have another drink and motioned again to the waitress. He continued talking, and she continued ignoring him. "Er...well, yes. I guess he was. Why?"

'That guy owes me money!' Even if you could not think Molluskan, you could have gotten the anger merely from Quil's mental tone.

Phil, drunk as he was, was intrigued. "Because he has a beard?"

'No! Of course not. I recognized him." Quil replied. His drink--12 year-old Scotch on the rocks, to be exact--was also empty, and his mental irritation was quickly becoming something more. The giant octopus cut his eyes towards the bartender (not that the bartender, or anyone else in the bar could tell) and mrowned*.

Phil burped. It was a loud, semi-explosive event that caused the drink bottles behind the bar to tinkle. That got an eye from the bartender, and while Phil was recovering, his octopidian companion waggled two tentacles and pointed them towards the empties on the table.

Phil waved his hand, clearing the air. "Phew....sorry. So, how'd'ya recognize him?"

Quil looked at Phil like he was stupid, (comparatively, of course, he was) but Phil couldn't tell from the strangely off-setting, blank-eyed gaze before him.

(I mean, really, have you ever looked at an octopus in the eyes? NOTHING BUT EVIL.)

Quil tried to explain, 'I could see him in your mind. Skinny. Coke-bottle glasses with thick black rims, like a Buddy Holly-wanna-be. Goofy sweaters and geeky checkered shirts. Right?'

Phil slammed his hand down on the table and bellowed drunkenly (surprise, surprise), "That's the guy! That's him! I say we gowan get'im and get yer money, buddy!"

The waitress, a Myriapod (a species of nearly-deaf, giantic centipede), skittered over and delivered the pair's drinks with little fanfare. A few of her many legs quickly gathered up the empties as she undulated away.

Quil raised his draft and mmiled**. 'Look out, George. Looks like I'm finally gonna get paid for that script I sold you...'


 * - For those who are not "in the know" when it comes to Molluskans (and yes, we know that is 99.99% of all sentient beings in the Universe), a 'mrown', of course is a mental frown; or at least, the mental equivalent of a frown for a creature that does not physically possess the ability to frown.

** - We would have hoped that you would have figured out by now, but for those SLOW species out there, a mmile is, of course akin to a mrown in that it is a mental smile; or at least, the mental equivalent of a smile for a creature that does not physically possess the ability to smile. 
 

***

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