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Citrus
Nov 16, 2012 21:04:49 GMT -5
Post by PaperGrace on Nov 16, 2012 21:04:49 GMT -5
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Citrus
Nov 16, 2012 23:03:53 GMT -5
Post by PaperGrace on Nov 16, 2012 23:03:53 GMT -5
An excerpt:
Toren sighed and turned a corner, walking straight into a small man with sharp darting eyes. He fell, ass over teakettle, like a cartoon character. He landed in an undignified heap, upright, but facing the wall.
“Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t. I wasn’t. I.”
The man smiled softly and nodded. He didn’t appear to be upset or injured, but he made no move to untangle himself and get back up.
“Are you alright? Here, let me help you!” Toren set her laptop bag on the ground at her feet and reached down to help the little man to his feet. He rose awkwardly, shuffling his feet into a forward position and turning his hips in a strange way. One of his arms hung limply by his side, the other was twisted over his shoulder behind his head.
“Hello.” Said the strange man softly. He smiled at her, his eyes catching hers and holding them. He began to hum softly, his voice resonating as though if he only opened his mouth a stirring opera would pour forth in crescendo. The one arm was still dangling comically at the back of his head.
“Er… Hello.” Great, my first day here and the first person I meet is mentally ill. She took a quick step backward and looked down the street the way she had come. “Listen, I’m sorry, but I really have to get to this appointment…” she looked back at the little man, but he had vanished. She looked around for a doorway or an alley but found none. She picked up her laptop, brushed a bit of feather and gravel off of it and tried to get her bearings.
There was supposed to be a shop here. She checked the address on her phone again. 115 1/2 Sandoval Court. Here was 115, on the corner, and across the intersection she could see 117, the even numbered buildings being on the other side of the street. Perplexed she walked down the side of building 115, at the front it had appeared to be an apartment building with key-only access. The tarnished brass plaque proclaimed it Kingsland Tower, but it couldn’t have been more than five stories high. The narrow windows were too high up for her to see in, and grated. The bricks were not the ruddy color she was used to seeing back east, these were flat mud colored bricks, some changes in color could be seen at intervals, as if the building were put together in pieces from different loads of material.
As she reached the back of the building she saw that a freight elevator opened on to a very small loading platform. There were two doors on the platform. The one closest to the rickety wooden steps was marked Kingsland Tower in peeling black letters. Underneath the bell someone had posted a cardboard sign reading: “BELL DOES NOT WORK / ring apartmt 3b for deliveries” in heavy black magic marker. Someone had crossed out the end of the word with a pencil and changed it to ‘deliverance’, someone else had drawn a cock and balls in red ink in the top corner, which had been commented on in blue with ‘have some respec’.
The other door seemed completely out of place. A double set of oak doors a full story in height covered the rest of the space between the back entrance to the apartment building and the iron gate in front of the freight elevator. They hung on black iron hinges. Set into the middle of one of these doors was a smaller, person sized door. It was the same oak as it’s parent door, but highly polished. A small glazed window was set in a half-circle at head level. The handle of the door was burnished brass. Set above the latch was a tiny set of numbers, no bigger than the typeset in a paper back book. Exquisitely cut from brass and set so as to be flush with the wood they read 115 1/2. There was no bell, there was no knocker, there was no keyhole or deadbolt. She ran her fingers over the numbers on the door. They were warm and comfortable to her fingertips. She wondered what font they were. Behind her a man cleared his throat.
“Isobel Toren?”
She jumped as if waking.
“Mr. Ivanovich?”
“No, no, I’m his, er… assistant.” The young man’s eyes were wide as he looked at her carefully. “You found the place.” Normally this sort of statement was the sort of conversational filler that Toren detested, but this was no meaningless statement. There was a hint of wonder in the mans voice.
“Well, yeah, I mean, the instructions weren’t very clear but…” she gestured to the immense oaken fortification “it’s kind of hard to miss once you get back here.”
“You’d think so.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing, look, I’m sorry, let me start over. I’m Marten, I work for Ivanovich. Welcome to King’s Gate. Welcome to the team.”
Toren stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment.
“Welcome to the team?”
“Well, yes, Ivanovich says you come very highly recommended and you’ve certainly got the qualifications.”
“Wait. What? I haven’t had an interview yet. I don’t even know what this job is.”
“Er… I… Let’s go in, shall we?” Marten flushed and pulled the door open for her. He gestured forward with his free arm. “After you Miss.”
Toren looked at his face, decided he was not making fun of her, and consented to be ushered through the portal. Marten followed close behind her and shut the door quietly behind him. There was a row of brass hooks near the doorway with assorted wraps, jackets, scarves and hats.
The room was unbelievably large. It stretched away from her, parts of it cloaked in unlit gloom leading off past the confines of the building. Toren could recall that the buildings she’d passed on her way here were all touching, and this room had enormous archways from building to building for what she’d guess was at least a half a block, maybe more. Here at the entrance it filled the full five stories from the ground level to the roof. A mezzanine punctuated the room about two and a half stories up, a series of spiral staircases and landings leading from there to various catwalks. A few distinct glassed in rooms were suspended from the ceiling, resting on the original girders. One or two of these had no obvious entrances. Toren could see a door leading from the catwalks crisscrossing the rafters to what must be a courtyard at roof-level on the next building over.
Marten took her coat and hung it up with the rest. She stared straight up taking it all in. Nearly thirty people looked up from their work at various tables and benches. A woman wearing smoked glass goggles set down a torch and pulled off her gloves. As she approached them she pushed her protective eyewear up into her short cropped sandy hair. Girlish freckles and rosy cheeks competed with well etched smile lines and penetrating grey eyes. Toren had never found herself so unable to make a first guess about someone’s age or occupation before. The woman smiled, gave Toren a long look over and turned to Marten.
“That didn’t take long.”
“I didn’t have to go far.” Marten was bursting with excitement.
“Found the right building first try?” The woman sounded impressed.
“She had her hand on the doorhandle.”
“What?” The woman took a step back and inspected Toren more carefully.
“She was reading the numbers.”
“Impossible!”
“Apparently not.”
A murmur started with the people closest to the door and carried its way like a wave to the the back of the room and up the stairs. Within seconds people started coming out of doorways from above and leaning over the rails to get a good look at the newcomer. Marten gave them a thumbs up and they all broke into applause.
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Citrus
Nov 16, 2012 23:08:12 GMT -5
Post by PaperGrace on Nov 16, 2012 23:08:12 GMT -5
The formatting from my draft didn't carry over. Sorry if this is hard on the eyes. I threw some breaks in. Calling it a night.
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Citrus
Dec 7, 2012 11:47:35 GMT -5
Post by PaperGrace on Dec 7, 2012 11:47:35 GMT -5
Cricket turned me on to this in our roleplaying thread, along with a similar disclaimer about 'knowing one's level of mental health before using make believe as a tool' to the one I use when discussing Psychodrama. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TulpaManifesting (emerging) something from the imagination either willfully or not. It might end up under 'lemon' but there's some other ways of applying it, such as deconstructing your own body into someone else's. Yeah. That might be it's own fruit. Would anyone find it obnoxious if I started using hashtags in here so that I could search for like items faster? I wish there was a 'tag' option. |
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Citrus
Dec 7, 2012 12:03:07 GMT -5
Post by scribbliz on Dec 7, 2012 12:03:07 GMT -5
what are hashtags??
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Citrus
Dec 7, 2012 12:46:55 GMT -5
Post by PaperGrace on Dec 7, 2012 12:46:55 GMT -5
Hashtags are a way of using text to 'tag' something as being in a category. Twitter and some other things use them by putting a numbersign (hashtag) in front of a codeword or phrase.
#btv in twitter is the area I live in based on the airport code used here. If I want to see what's going on around here I could look for tweets using #btv or #burlingtonvt or what have you, whereas doing a regular search for the word "Burlington" wouldn't get me my specific town as nobody bothers to type out Burlington Vermont in every post they make, but many people use #btv at the end of it.
The same goes for themes or whatnot. Hobbyists tag things with their own little codes too. #birding #vegan #obama #coupons
In this case I was thinking I might 'tag' entries, links, or submissions with a #lemon #citrus sort of thing, so that later I can find the various pieces of the book scattered around by using those characters in the search field. If I have some stuff under NaNo, some in the Citrus tab, some submitted for editing help, some in the dailies... tags could really help me out.
A lot of blogs use tags to help direct internet traffic, as a system built in, without using the #. They generally appear as a clickable word at the end, or in the margin. A recipe might be tagged as lemon, holiday, cookies/bars, diabetic etc... so people looking for different reasons would find the same post.
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Citrus
Dec 7, 2012 15:05:53 GMT -5
Post by scribbliz on Dec 7, 2012 15:05:53 GMT -5
sounds like a good plan to me. it wouldn't bother me. question, when you are searching, do you search for it including the #  like ddo you search for #btv or would you search for just btv?? |
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Citrus
Dec 8, 2012 11:00:30 GMT -5
Post by PaperGrace on Dec 8, 2012 11:00:30 GMT -5
I'd use the # too, that way I can use regular words (like lemon) without finding every post that had the word in regular usage.
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like ddo you search for #btv or would you search for just btv??