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Post Info TOPIC: Interactive Story - Danann Gang
We should... [4 vote(s)]

Add a new character
50.0%
Continue a current POV (Jacqueline)
25.0%
Continue a current POV (Marcus)
25.0%
Crawl under a rock and die O_O
0.0%


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Interactive Story - Danann Gang
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The idea here is that I'm writing a story, but at certain points, you readers get to throw in your two cent and decide what happens next. Right now, since it's still just starting, our options are a little limited, I'm afraid. But hopefully I'll get the hang of leaving good open-ended stopping places for you-all. And I aim to surprise you as often as possible, even though you're telling me what to write biggrin. I've got a couple other ideas for interactive stories, but I thought this one might be a good starter. And I'd love it if someone else started one so I could participate (biggrin again - I love this smiley.)


So, to start, I tried to keep it somewhat short, but when it comes to writing I'm like the Modmother...I tend to rant. Anway, enjoy folks. biggrin


EDITING because I forgot how the spacing works on here. It's backwards from my other forums. Also I forgot the censoring - I'll work around that next time.

 


~Interactive Story - Danann Gang, Section 1~


Jacqueline.


“We always knew it could happen … It was always a risk, but she knew what she was getting herself into …”

Hitting the pavement in the alley, my red chiffon skirt ripping when it catches on the rusty metal trashcan. A scream starts to tear out my throat, but is silenced by the ringed fist that collides with my mouth. A whimper comes out instead. My pointy-toed stilettos thrash out, but when they hit his stomach, he just shoves my feet back down. Both my legs are restrained by one of his hands. My delicacy, always one of my better features considering my job, now works against me. I knew, in the back of my mind, that it would eventually. But that doesn’t ease my terror. Nothing can.

“What? You’re not going to do anything? What kind of a person are you?”

“You let her start this. What kind of a mother are you?”

I try to scream again, but can only sob. “****ing tease!” he shouts, tearing at my dress. No. No. No. Please no. Oh please god no, I’ll stop this, I’ll go to church, I’ll become a nun, I’ll feed the motherless children in Africa the rest of my life, just please god make him go away.

“Don’t you try to pull that **** on me, Canden. This isn’t my fault. Jason! Jason, where the hell were you? You were her protector, god damn it!”

“I … I’m sorry, Ma’am … I was –.”

“I don’t want to hear your ****ing excuses! I want the truth! Tell me – you were off in some club, weren’t you? You were out clubbing while my baby was being raped! 

* * * * *

I wake up in my mother’s bed, and for one pure, beautiful moment, I am seven years old again. One I turned eight, I was officially banned from seeking solace in Mommy’s arms when I had a bad dream. To my sleepy mind, the only reasonable explanation for being in this room, in this bed, is that time has run backward, or I dreamed ten years of my life in one long night.

But then reality hits. Oh god no.

I scream long and loud, to make up for not being able to when it mattered. People surge into the room – my mother, running mascara and all, is the only one I really see before blacking out again.

* * * * *

When I wake again, I am in my own bed. My twin-sized, messy bed, and my dark, windowless room. The overhead fluorescent light isn’t on, but the antique lamp on my bedside table is. A glass of water sits next to it, distorting my view of the framed picture of me and my mom. It was taken when I was sixteen, and had just started working for Uncle Canden, my father’s brother. My first bodyguard, Jules, stands behind me and Mom with his apprentice and son, Jason. Jason was only fourteen at the time, but already in training to become my protector. Two years younger, but mature and strong enough to be two years older, even then.

My old purple beanbag seat, which I’ve had since I was five, has been moved from the other side of the table to right next to the bed. Jason is slumped in it, asleep, leaning against the table and using the tabletop as a pillow. The collar of his loose navy blue T-shirt has slid away from his neck so that the intricate tattoo curling around his upper arm and coming up to meet his collarbone is visible. It’s only outlined, and won’t be filled in with red until he’s ‘served’ me diligently for five straight years. It’s been two years, and now … this.

I shudder and curl into a tight ball.

Marcus.

“Mark. Hey, Mark! Wake up, man, I’m in need of your stimulating conversational skills.”

“Th’ hell d’you want, man? Whatsit, like three in the morning?”

“Never mind that, open the damn door.”

Friends. Not worth the maintenance sometimes. I drag myself out of the front seat of my fire-red Mustang and amble over to pull the garage door open. Benny ducks in long before I get it open all the way, but heaven forbid should he help me shove it open. Instead he runs past me and jumps up on the hood of my car. It’s pouring rain outside, but since there’s no wind, I don’t bother to close the door back. Instead I hold my hands out for a second and rub the water on my face to try and wake myself up. Then I turn to Benny and glare at him.

He’s reprieved himself – for now, at least – by bringing a box of fresh Krispy Kreme doughnuts. I lay into them while he runs his mouth.

“So had you heard about what happened to Jacqueline?”

“Who?” I ask through a mouthful of cream filling, though I don’t really care.

“Jacqueline, idiot. Jacky? Bossman’s niece and official pretty young thing?”

“Oh right.” I swallow. “Jacky. She was at her flirty, empty-promises routine to some guy Bossman wants to make a friend out of and got herself raped, right?”

“Right. And she’s been, like, comatose ever since they found her.”

I pause with another doughnut halfway to my mouth. “Overreact much?” I mutter. “I mean she had to know it would happen sooner or later.”

“Dude, she’s like, eighteen. I mean she’s younger than us.”

“By one whole year.” I roll my eyes. “What’s your point?”

“She’s a kid, man. Don’t be so cold. Anyway, she woke up last night.”

“You got me up at three in the morning to tell me that?” The doughnuts are gone, and with them Benny’s only defense. I chuck the empty box at him, and the ensuing war tears up my garage, but he helps me clean up so the shop doesn’t look bad when Bossman himself comes by to make sure I’m open and ready for work.

My work? Mechanic for the Danann Gang.


- - - - - - - - - - End Section 1 - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - -  Poll closes in 1 week - - - - - - - -



-- Edited by Jess on Saturday 4th of April 2009 10:51:50 AM

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Wow Jess, I know I've told you this before (and I mean no insult) but my god you write as if someone a lot older than you really are! You've got such skill for this you make me envious, and I mean that in the most sincerest form. Your writing flows with such pace and clean detail and empathy that there's nothing I can even so much as suggest here to make it 'better.' I like the dramatic plot, I love the emotion, I love the way the characters already have their distinct personalities even so early in the peace that they've already come to life - really you've set this up so well... I really don't know what else to say!
(btw I voted - interested to see where you take this - and kudos for the idea. Again my god you've got one hell of an awesome talent my girl. You're going to go far. And yes, I have a special affinity for that particular smilie too biggrin.gif haha, apt here I think)

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V.I.P

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Thanks, Rav aww.gif

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V.I.P

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Come on folks, no one else has voted yet biggrin.gif

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Dreamer of Art

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Awesome. I really like how you're able to be so descriptive in your text, which is something I have yet to learn. The plot is flawless so far, and very interesting, one of those that hook the reader isntantly. Only con is that I found it a bit hard to follow the beginning. Maybe it's just my low English skills. Anyhow, I'd like you to continue from the view of Marcus, see where it goes. :)

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Dreaming of Zion, Awake
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"We’ve never tried to come off as better than our fans, our fans... when they come to see us play, they’re actually a part of, you know, us playing. Sonny, the way he is on stage, he connects with them, emotional and in every kind of way you can imagine, you know, musically, and I think that they can see that it’s not, you know, a put on, it’s not something that’s fake, it’s real." -
Mark Daniels of P.O.D.




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No problem, Jon - I have the terrible habit of trying to confuse my readers on purpose, so I daresay it was all me. biggrin.gif Thanks for reading and voting.

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Three-way tie. Anyone else going to vote?

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Definitely add a new character Sparky.  This is brilliant.  I enjoyed reading it.  :]


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Finally. biggrin Though technically, it's still a tie, since the other "add" vote was mine so I could see the results.



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True.  Technically, though, waiting for replies on this site (which, at the moment, is unfortunately very inactive) is a bitch.

Just dooo it!  Add a new character!  You and I both know it's the best option.  :D

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V.I.P

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Or I could do all three.


Highly tempting.

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I don't want you to crawl under a rock and die though.  :\

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Well, that is a 'we', so that's understandable smile.gif

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I know I've already voted so maybe anything else I have to say may null-and-void my previous vote, but I think if the majority has swung for a new character then do that. Really it's all up to you - just hope you don't lose your momentum for a great story! Write damnit write! Hell person would end up blue in the face waiting for an overwhelming response from this place at times - and let's face it people in the long run probably wouldn't even know if you went against the 'vote' because the story would hold it's own. Nothing like smoke and mirrors to deflect the audiences' attention from what's really going on behind the scenes, 'eh? wink.gif

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I wouldn't dare to stoop so low as to go against the vote. (Unless I thought I wouldn't get called out for it by someone biggrin.gif )

I'm thinking I'll post the two continuations I have written, and maybe tomorrw I'll type up the new character. But I just realized I can't edit the poll (*facepalm* way to think ahead, chica), so I'm not sure what to do with that.

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Ok, I decided I'll just post up the story and we can vote informally on what happens next. Ignore yonder poll. Next part continues Jacqueline and Marcus's stories.


Jacqueline.

 

Uncle Canden is his usual charming, unruffled self. Jason called him as soon as he realized I was awake. I wish he hadn’t; I would’ve appreciated being alone with him for a while. He’s always been someone I feel comfortable around, even though his job means he has to be standoffish. Talking to him can be more like talking to a doorknob than a person, but in his defense, I talk enough for both of us.

   “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Uncle Canden says softly, sliding down onto my bed. Jason stands next to the door, his head down.

   “Okay, I guess,” I whisper.

   “Good, good.” His voice has a perpetual purr to it, which can sound loving or deceptive. I’ve heard it both ways, I suppose, but even I’ve never been able to tell the difference.

   “Is Mom around?” I feel like I shouldn’t have to ask. Like she should be here already.

   “Of course, sweetheart.” He smiles. “Of course. She’s just outside right now. Want me to have her brought here?”

   I nod. He turns for the briefest moment to flick his hand at Jason, not even looking at him. My bodyguard hesitates only a second before leaving the room. I wince at the coldness of the gesture – Uncle Canden has always treated Jason more or less like a son, but now regards him as just another crony, it seems. If Jason’s status has dropped significantly, if he’s just a sort of errand boy now, because of my mistake … I won’t be able to forgive myself …

   “Why the long face, precious?” That smile again. I know Uncle Canden took me and Mom in after Dad died, and he’s never been anything but wonderful to us, but I’ve never been able to escape the feeling that he was sort of … sleazy. I mean, of course he is, to some degree – I know perfectly well he’s a gang leader. I just always thought he was morally corrupt on a deeper level – maybe deep enough that even he doesn’t realize.

   I just smile back and shake my head and look down. He leans forward.

   “Listen sweetheart, before your momma gets here, we need to talk about something.”

   I barely raise my eyes, keeping my smile in place.

   “I know you’re still recovering, and I know you’re still hurting, precious,” he says quietly. “But I’ll be needing to know –.”

   “Jacky!” My mom busts into the room in a jangle in gold bracelets and cloud of perfume. Jason is a step behind her, hand crossed behind his back and an anxious look on his face. Uncle Canden is on the other side of the room in a flash, his smile turns completely benign, and he motions curtly for Jason to stand with him – specifically, on his left side – while Mom smothers me.

   “Baby, are you okay?” she sobs. As usual, her hysterics make it seem like she’s the one most hurt by any experience.

   “I’m fine, Mom,” I say in a small voice. And for now, I guess I am.

   She asks if I’m okay at least a dozen more times, interspersing it with saying how worried she was about me. I’m so distracted with tending to her that I don’t even notice when Uncle Canden and Jason leave. When I realize they’re gone, I tell my mom I’d like to get out of the room and walk around on the grounds some. She doesn’t like the idea, but I insist, so she promises to meet me at the pool when I’m dressed.

   But the place I had intended to go is in the opposite direction from the pool. Jason and his father’s shack is in the woods on the west side of Uncle Canden’s estate – Jason may not be there, but I’ll at least be able to leave him a message. On the other hand, if I don’t go to the pool, Mom won’t take long to go crazy again and have Uncle Canden tearing the place down looking for me, and something tells me that if I’m caught trying to meet Jason, he’ll be in even more trouble.

   Standing in my closet, I hesitate between bikini and blue jeans.
-
-
-

Marcus.


   Bossman comes to check on me two and a half minutes later than usual. You notice this stuff when you’re me – one time, I opened my door about ten seconds later than I’m supposed to, and he made sure I regretted it. After that, I got up extra extra early and clocked him, so I’d know how late I could sleep. He’s never a second early and never a second late. It seemed weird to me at first, I guess, but around this place you just don’t think about stuff being weird or not.

   But today, Bossman steps into my shaded garage over two full minutes after his usual time. I’m bored (not a lot of work for a good mechanic, unless there’s a bad driver nearby), so I’m polishing up the hood of my Ferrari when he comes in, but when I hear him, I turn around and smile. This is our routine.

   He doesn’t smile back.

   Usually – I should say ‘always’ – Bossman makes a little pleasant small talk before he goes on his way. This time, he frowns at me, or in my general direction, and just leaves.

   Benny crawls out of the back seat of my car. “That was weird.”

   “No kidding,” I mutter. I drop the rag I use for polishing and go to look out the door. Bossman’s not even anywhere around anymore.

   Not my business to worry about it. “Yo, Benny? Isn’t it past time for Mr. Pool Boy to report for duty?”

   “Yeah, yeah.” He sighs. “Look, man, you sure you don’t need an assistant or something?”

   “Yep. I’m sure.”

   “But, Mark –.”

   “Cleaning out the same pool every day is boring. I got it. But just think, Ben.” I grab him by the shoulder and motion elaborately towards the door. “Maybe, someday, one of those hot Danann women will slip and fall into the deep end, and who’ll be there to save them? Why, you will of course, Benny-boy!” I give him a push. “So get going.”

   “All those hot women know how to swim,” he grumbles, heading out.

   “Oh, I guess your life does suck, then,” I call after him cheerfully. “My bad.”

 

* * * * *

   At noon, I close up my garage, hang the Gone For Lunch sign up, and stroll up to the main house for my meal. Benny sees me pass and waves, but gets instantly distracted by a pair of pretty legs, so I don’t bother to wave back. I can forget about the food cooking on the grill next to the pool; it’s meant only for the Dananns, not their employees. If Benny’s lucky – and can keep his head on straight with all the women around – he might get a few bites. I’d just rather have my lunch now than sneak it away later.

   I duck into a side entrance of the main building that leads into the kitchen. It’s even hotter inside than it was outside, but I blow smoke and steam out of my face, brushing past cooks I can barely see, until I find the door I’m looking for. It doesn’t seem right that the employee dining room is really just cleared-out storage room for the kitchen. Maybe when the house was built, the servants ate with their masters. Damned if that happens now.

   Our dining room doesn’t even have proper chairs, just a few empty wooden crates and a couple of plastic stools. The table is one of those fold-out card tables, but the head cook – Maura – has it loaded down with food for us. With the pool party going on outside, most of the staff won’t get to eat it; those who will are already here: The five maids, only two of whom I know by name (Amber and Ashley, twins), Jacqueline’s retired bodyguard, who served her predecessor too (Jules), the butler, who’s been working for these people so long he no longer has a personality (Bram), and the gardener, who, like me, has very little contact with his employers so he doesn’t hold them in high esteem like the house staff (Bart). Surprisingly, there’s a new face – a younger guy, maybe even younger than me. He gives me the impression of someone easily breakable. I wonder if he’s replacing someone I never knew, or if the Dananns just decided they needed someone else to pamper them.

   I grab some food and sit down next to Jules, across the room from the new kid, and ask about him.

   “Dexter. Surveillance,” is all he’ll tell me.

   I look over at the kid. He really does look like the first time someone gives him a hard time, he’ll fall apart. I could go ahead and get it over with, so he’ll quit, and spare him a shouting-at from one of the Dananns. He’s probably house staff, though – if I befriended him, I could get a little inside look at my employers’ lives. Break the monotony a bit. Then again, I’m in a grouchy mood from Bossman blowing me off this morning – I don’t much like it when other people change the routine. I would savor a half-good excuse to indulge my crueler side.

   I set my plate down and stand up.



-- Edited by Jess on Saturday 11th of April 2009 02:07:42 PM

-- Edited by Jess on Saturday 11th of April 2009 02:08:09 PM

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