Thursday, 1 October 2009

Creative Writing Group

Well, yesterday I took the Creative Writing Group at college. It was quite interesting. I showed up pretty much exactly on time, and there were already a bunch of people in the classroom waiting! I'd hoped to get there early, but I didn't. Oops. Anyway, it went pretty okay, but everyone was so quiet at first! Maybe that was just cos I got them to read a piece of writing (that I'd done) which introduced two characters. I think I'll stick it up here in a moment. Hmm, yeh, why not?

He was in the wrong part of town. Anywhere else, he wouldn't have got a second glance, just another Birdie, one of Enlan's virtual slaves. And even here, he could have been ignored, were it not for the simple fact that he was just standing there, at the edge of Number 7's winding drive, leaning against a lamppost, large black wings draped loosely over his back, trailing against the sides of the gleaming metal.
The midday sun was bright and cold, barely burning away the layers of frost that had built up the previous night. White flakes still lingered in the shade, and everywhere puddles were built from ice. The Birdie was not dressed for the weather. He was wearing tattered jeans, the hems frayed with an inbuilt greying of grime. They were too long, probably an inch when they were new, now worn down to nearer the right length. The only concession to the weather was that the equally battered black leather jacket was zipped up fully, bulking out further the short, solid frame.

His hands were jammed in his pockets, the fingers of the left drumming against his thigh, causing the fabric to stretch and tighten. Other than that, and the odd ripple that the wind cast through his shoulder length, tightly curled black hair, he was completely still. The golden eyes were impassive, watching the road, watching the sky. He was not watching behind, but he didn't need to. He would hear anyone trying to sneak up from that direction.

There was nothing to watch at the moment, but the implacable peace of Residential District 7 did not last for long. With a well-tuned roar, a nu-kar turned into the street on which he stood. It was black, low slung, the darkly mirrored windows reflecting the expressionless face of the Birdie as it ground to a halt precisely in front of him.

It sat there, thrumming softly, for several seconds before there was any action. The rear door opened slowly, gliding to a stop at its full extension. Steam trickled out in rivulets as the warm air of the interior met the sharply frozen exterior, and a man emerged from amongst it.

He was well over a foot taller than the Birdie, and appeared twice as broad, although much of the bulk was down to the furs with which he had enveloped himself. The coat was the thick downy white of polar bear skin, the trousers peering out from beneath the long folds, visible only for about two inches just below the knee, had the sleek shine that came from butchered seals, and the boots that swallowed the bottom part were of indeterminate, though presumably animal, origin. Curled around his head was a fluffy black cat, which shifted position lazily and tightened its grip as he entered the frigid air.

“Are you aware that this is Residential District Seven?” the man asked. His voice was clipped and precise, laden with upper class overtones.

A very faint smile traced the corners of the Birdie's lips and then it was gone again.

“I shall call the police if you persist in remaining here. We cannot condone your kind coming here.”

The Birdie reached into his back product and produced an identity card. “I'm Ash Lunnoth of the LPD. You've probably heard of me.”

The man spat on the floor. “The Lunon Police Department has a better sense of propriety than to send you here. Particularly as you are doing nothing. You do realise that impersonating an officer, even if that officer is a Birdie, is not something the police approve of.” He reached into his own back pocket and withdrew a gun. “Leave. Now.”

The Birdie continued to regard him impassively, not moving from his position against the lamppost. “I am Ash Lunnoth of the LPD. We are investigating a multiple homicide with a probable gang connection.”

“Terrorists,” the man spat. “You're more likely to be one of them. Leave this area, or I will shoot.”

“That would be a mistake.”

“Wiping scum such as you off the face of the earth is never a mistake.” The man leaned in closer. “I am Governor Highton. You have presumably heard of me. I have killed dozens of Birdies, dozens. One more is not going to bother me. And if pressed, my chauffeur will back me up. It was self defence. Not that it will ever reach trial.” He pressed the gun against Ash's stomach. His eyes were a very pale blue, and they locked onto Ash's. They were not cold—they were animated, alive. He smiled, and then he screamed as Ash snapped the arm that was holding the gun with a vicious twist that forced him to drop the weapon, the crack of breaking bone loud upon the still air.

“Get back in the car and go home.” Ash was still completely calm. “Write this off to experience.”

The governor collapsed to the floor, wailing with pain. The cat, though clearly well trained, could not ignore its instinct to leap clear, and the man's head hit the floor hard. Ash grabbed the cat by the scruff of its neck and hurled it into the still open door of the nu-kar, then seized the governor roughly by the shoulder and tossing him after it.

“Take him home,” he ordered the chauffeur, before slamming the door. The nu-kar drew slowly away.

Ash flexed his hands slowly, staring into the mid distance, then shrugged and resumed his watch.

Anyway, after that I wrote some ideas on the board and had them do character profiles, and then get into pairs/threes and first work out how to get their characters to meet and then come up with a bit of dialogue based on that. Then we did a fun dialogue thing with the whole group, but we kinda ran out of time. But yeh, I think it went fairly well. I hope other people thought the same :D.

No comments: