Iron Quill Preliminary Round: Morning After

[UberGruber]

Morning After

Artless woke with the dawn that brought a cold rain driving into the doorway where he huddled knees-to-chin looking to all the world like a heap of discarded rags. Immediately he began to shiver, not merely from the cold damp of the grey and glooming morn but also from the tremor that always shook his thin, bony body when danger threatened; and from the hangover that made his fumbling attempts to find his gin bottle so clumsy and his head thump worse than when Old Joe used to take the bat to him when he was younger and even skinnier than young Stick.

Stick, curled at his feet on the cold slate slab that was the front step of Zeno's Novelty Emporium, was snoring with a sort of rising whistle that irritated Artless even more than finding the gin bottle corkless and empty. He kicked his friend hard in the ribs. Stick gave a yelp, rolled and came up clutching her side, knife in hand, the pale blade gleaming wetly in the grey dawn light.

“Why the dickens you do that, Arty? You lookin’ to get slit a new nostril?” Stick waved the point of the knife an inch from Artless' snub nose, but her hissed words lacked venom. She felt it. Not just the throbbing head – she had drunk more than her share of the pint of gin they'd robbed last evening, downtown, where the lanterns gleamed like little orange suns and the toffs and their doxies were easy marks for two thieves as skilled as Artless and young Stick – she felt the danger too.

“C’mon.”Artless stuck his head into the alley and had a quick glance up and down. Nothing to be seen but the wet misery of the slums. So he scuttled on all fours from the doorway to the corner where their narrow, muddy lane met a broader, cobbled street. Stick came after, just as quick, just as silent, on her hands and knees like him.

“Why we crawlin’”?' she asked, pressing her lips close to his ear so her whispered words were scarcely audible.

“'Cos my legs ain't workin' yet, else I'd be runnin'. Somethin' wicked's comin' this way for sure.”

“Oh.” Stick leant in closer, kissed his grubby cheek and was gone. One moment there, kneeling by his side, the next away in a streak of emaciated limbs and grubby rags. Artless couldn't believe it. Stick had always seemed so loyal. Of course he'd have done the same if the positions were reversed. Because something right wicked was coming. He could feel it in his pounding head and shaking limbs. It was more fear drying his throat than last night's drink.

Artless felt in his pockets for his brass knuckles but his hand closed only on a hard lump of bone. He pulled it out and peered at it through red eyes blurred by the drink. It was yellow ivory carved like a narrow pillar with a crown on top, green felt peeling from its base. He didn't remember pinching it last night but then he didn't remember much about last night with any clarity. He squeezed the piece in his hand. Bones brought luck – so said Old Joe. Artless felt like he could use some luck: he could see them now.

Three of them. Why did they always come in threes? One would be enough. Enough for the likes of him, all gin-sick and shaking, anyways. Women with hard eyes under wide-brimmed hats and patched trousers over dusty boots. No weapons you could see, but that was their trick. They'd have pistols under their dusty coats, and swords too. They'd walk up, then Boom! or Stab! and you'd be shot or sliced wide open before you even saw the weapon that killed you. Ronin. Always for hire. But there was worse coming too, somewhere as yet unseen.

So stumbling, as best his gin-weakened legs could carry him, back down the alley, away from the Ronin and round a corner and under a balcony, sheltered from both rain and view, breath heaving in his chest and the ivory piece still clutched tight in his hand.

Someone was walking on the balcony above him. Hard, deliberate steps. Steps designed to make a noise; to let you know they were there. Artless swallowed. He put the ivory piece back in his pocket and wondered, briefly, how it had come to be in his pocket. But circumstances and gin-tired brain allowed no long consideration. He drew his knife from his boot and began to edge, with his back to a solid and reassuring brick wall, down the street. He wished his knife was longer, that he was older, more muscular, had two six-shot pistols and a guitar, was nine feet tall and a mass of fur and fury, or had a top hat and carefree manner and a long gun. But he was only Artless with a sharp kitchen knife, hungover and scared with the Viktorias and their crew after him for who knows what reason. It wasn’t fair.

“Life isn’t fair and bad things will happen." That was what Old Joe had said, usually when he hefted the bat and cast his cruel eye upon Artless. Old Joe had been the first to call him Artless. “’Cos you got no ‘eart but you look like butter wouldn’t melt.”

But Artless’ heart was thumping now to show he had one alright, and his legs were like butter melting as a blonde-haired and beautiful head peered down over the balcony and smiled.

“Hello, pretty boy. You have something I want.” She smiled and somersaulted over the balcony, twisting in the air as she drew her sword and landed with gymnastic grace facing the spot where Artless had been a moment before.

Fear had overpowered hangover and Artless was at the end of the street before the Viktoria’s jump was complete. To his dismay as he rounded the corner, he came eyes to points with two wickedly sharpened blades. He stopped abruptly and leant back on his heels so far he ended sprawling on his backside on the wet cobbles, one blade at his throat, the other slicing open the pocket where the ivory piece was kept. The second Viktoria looked down at him and laughed.

“Good try, pretty boy.” The pocket was opened, the ivory piece fell out, the long blade of rippling steel flicked it upwards and the first Viktoria appeared in time to catch it.

“A white queen. Just what was ordered.” She smiled and blew a kiss to Artless who winced as the second Viktoria met his eye with an expression of professional regret. He closed his eyes and gave a little whimper as sharp steel touched his throat.

Then the street was full of noise and fury as stones pelted down from on high, driving the Viktorias back and Artless, never one to miss his chance, was on his feet again and running, away from the long blades and the pistol shots – for the Ronin had come up now and their pistols answered the stones of the Saffron Hill Gang who threw their rocks with gusto as they capered on the sagging and decrepit roofs.

Away, muddy, wet-through, shivering and safe. Met by grinning Stick who led him to Old Joe in a dingy and windowless room.

“Well, Artless, you got here in the end, though why I bothered to send the lads to rescue you I don’t know.” Old Joe punched Artless hard in the jaw, sending the lad crashing to the floor. It was better than the bat, he reflected, spitting blood and feeling his teeth.

“What’s it for?” asked Artless, mumbling and glowering at a smiling Stick who held in one long-fingered hand an ivory chess-piece, carved like the one he had had, but larger, whiter, more ornate; her other hand held Artless' brass knuckles, which she tossed to him along with a blown kiss. He caught the knuckles and returned Stick's kiss with some choice and venemous words.

“Never you mind, young Artless,” said Old Joe, taking the piece from Stick and stroking her wan cheek with a calloused finger. “Seen and not heard, that’s how you should be. This piece is for a gentleman who has paid most handsomely for it. Stick here lifted it for me and you done your part fair enough. Let that suffice for you. Come and have a drink on me.”

Artless licked his dry lips as Old Joe uncorked a green bottle and poured gin into three chipped and dirty cups that lay on the crate that made his table. As one, Stick and Artless pounced gratefully and drank greedily. Old Joe laughed like a drain.

“Them Viktorias, maybes they can fight a bit but they put the dumb in blonde too! We tricked ‘em like marks at pig 'n a poke. Let’s drink to their health!”

He bared his yellow and crooked teeth and poured again. Artless felt much better, only his jaw ached now. Stick caught his eye and winked. He winked back but knew that their positions in Old Joe's pecking order had shifted. He'd have to look double sharp to get ahead. But first he needed another drink.

Edited June 12, 2012 by UberGruber
added a small detail regarding Artless' missing brass knuckles

[edonil]

Excellent work, and thanks for setting a high bar for the competition! That was quite fun, and a bit of an interesting twist there at the end. I liked how you used the item and the theme, they fit in well and the item in particular was a pretty creative use.

I will say that you've got a lot of fragments. Some of them aren't too bad, cause they're in places where they fit. That and since you wrote it from the perspective of Artless, I just imagined it as his thoughts. Others were a bit more jarring. The other thing is that your descriptive sentences are long. It's not so much that it's incorrect grammar wise, it just feels unwieldy. At the beginning is where it's most evident.

A story comment that's not technical, I would say that it took a little bit to realize that he didn't normally have a chess piece in that pocket. At first it seemed like it was something normal for him, but later on it struck me that he was supposed to be surprised or confused by it. I almost would have preferred it to be more obvious, some sort of comment indicating his confusion to show the abnormality.

So, with that said, I hope you don't mind me breaking with the scores being private and posting them...

Use of Mystery Ingredient 4- I think you used them very well, if in a very straightforward way.

Technical Skills 3- Spelling seems to be good, a few nitpicky errors here and there on most of the grammar. Watch the fragments and the unwieldy sentences.

Creativity 4- A good concept, well executed. I definitely loved your presentation of gun Vik.

General Enjoyment 4- I liked it a lot! Makes me hope you do more stories with this gang, I'm quite curious about them now.

Very well done! Thank you for sharing your work!

[UberGruber]

Thanks very much, you're very kind.

I don't mind the scores public at all, though I do disagree with you most wholeheartedly on the 'grammar', I'm afraid (though I've also no desire to get into a discussion as to what may be proper and improper grammar: obviously everyone will and should just score as they see fit and I've no complaint about that at all).

Just in case it might be of interest, much as Mailfaux is an alternative Earth (grammar question: why do people say 'in an alternate Earth' when they mean 'on an alternative Earth'?), here's the origins of The Saffron Hill Gang:

Open Spoiler

They're are 'alternative Dickens'. Fagin's first name was Joseph, his gang had its lair in Saffron Hill, and of course the Artful Dodger and Oliver Twist (so Artless and Stick as Malifaux counterparts) were members of his gang. Oh, and the New Stoic Emporium would be a rather stretched inverted reference to the Old Curiosity Shop, Stoics not being very curious.

Edited June 3, 2012 by UberGruber
Added Spoiler tags in case some people didn't want the references spelling out.

[Sliver Chocobo]

Thanks very much, you're very kind.

I don't mind the scores public at all, though I do disagree with you most wholeheartedly on the 'grammar', I'm afraid (though I've also no desire to get into a discussion as to what may be proper and improper grammar: obviously everyone will and should just score as they see fit and I've no complaint about that at all).

Just in case it might be of interest, much as Mailfaux is an alternative Earth (grammar question: why do people say 'in an alternate Earth' when they mean 'on an alternative Earth'?), The Saffron Hill Gang are 'alternative Dickens'. Fagin's first name was Joseph, his gang had its lair in Saffron Hill, and of course the Artful Dodger and Oliver Twist (so Artless and Stick as Malifaux counterparts) were members of his gang.

Because Malifaux isn't on earth, not this on, nor the alternative earth. the people of an alternative earth found a way to travel between earth and another world where the city of malifaux is

[UberGruber]

This very website says in its Malifaux introduction:

'Based in an alternate Earth, Malifaux...'

However you look at it, the Earth in question here is literally 'alternative' not 'alternate'.. Alternative and alternate have very different meanings and it's extraordinarily hard to see how any world could alternate with another except by swapping places, which Malifaux's Earth and the alternative Earth certainly have not.

It is, however, the case that 'alternate' is creeping into common usage as an alternative to (or 'alternate version of...') alternative. Probably becauase they have the same root and it's also true that alternate is phonetically an abbreviated form of alternative, lacking only the latter's final syllable. As language (and grammar) is constantly changing (to the great woe of grammarian 'guardians' like Strunck and White, but interestingly to the delight of academic grammarians like Pullum and Zwicky), I've no actual beef with the choice of alternate over alternative here. It's a minefield though, grammar, unless one wishes to adopt an 'approved text' of course and follow its injunctions faithfully.

Does anyone say 'London is in Earth?' Not generally they don't. They say 'London is on Earth. Yet it is true they'd say 'London is in England'. Why the difference for Malifaux? Malifaux is not wholly underground.

Anyway, besides making a wee joke (however feeble), my point is that nobody, surely, would really quibble too much with:

'Based in an alternate Earth, Malifaux...'

So why the angst about being ungrammatical other than where the specific usage would make the meaning rather unclear as in the gramatically somewhat notorious newspaper headline: 'coin change skin problem fear'?

Let me just reiterate, I don't actually mind there being a 'grammar score' for competition feedback, odd though I think it. Them's the rules and rules is for obeying, or at least being mindful of.

Edited June 3, 2012 by UberGruber

[edonil]

Honestly, to me, the technical skills only really come up when it creates issues of understanding. As I said, I use fragments as well in my own stories, and some of the time it can work great, especially with third person limited, because it gives a sense of the mind grasping at details in an attempt to deal with the whole. I mentioned them because it slowed things down, or made me reread things a few times, or what have you. Where I approach things from with writing, that's the lens I view technical skills through- how easy was this to read through the first time.

Interesting point though with the whole grammar debate, lol.

(as I break such things myself. Tired today)

Edited June 3, 2012 by edonil

[UberGruber]

Yeah, that's fair enough. In fact I think there comes a point where grammar is not mere stylistic preference, but where one draws the line is almost impossible to determine and will vary tremendously from individual to individual.

I'm more against such pedantries as insisting on 'team is' rather than the equally accepted and acceptable 'team are', or declaring that one cannot end a sentence with a preposition. Other people's mileage may vary on that score and it's something I'm happy to put up with (or up with which I will put...). But I'm getting into that grammar debate which I wish to avoid (the flesh is weak...), so I'll just say once more that anyone can comment on anything they like in my story, even pedantries, and I'll thank them for it (though I may disagree).

[Chucklemonkey]

A good read. I didn't see many grammatical errors that impacted on my enjoyment of the story. Unfortunately the one that did was in the first paragraph so kind of put me on the back foot and meant that I was then expecting a lot of errors in the rest of the story.

Nicely paced with a lot of nice touches and the use of the theme and mystery ingredient was clear.

My one major criticism is that when the theme and ingredient were announced, this was the story I was expecting to read - although perhaps not written as well as this.

[UberGruber]

Was it an extra 'but' causing some confusion? I think that might have been a cut'n'paste error. Fixed now.

And thanks for the comments, Chucklemonkey. You're quite right, the use of theme and mystery item is pretty straightforward here.

[Chucklemonkey]

Was it an extra 'but' causing some confusion? I think that might have been a cut'n'paste error. Fixed now.

It was exactly that.

[UberGruber]

I think it crept in when I added a bit to the opening. I find it extraordinarily difficult to catch such copy errors myself, as I find I tend to read what I expected to have written rather than what may in fact be on the page, which is one reason I posted early.

[Grantt]

I really liked this. Effective pace, great characterisations and it didn't rely on "kewl characters" to carry the plot. Loved the early interactions between artless and his squeeze.

The only gripe I have is in the jarring character perception change toward the end. Seems odd to do that within the same chapter unless you've set that precedent early on. As it was clear that this narrative was from artless' perspective, it seemed inconsistent to change it at the end.

[Thechosenone]

We're all guilty of experimentation with perspective change within chapter. I mean, you haven't really lived unless you've jarringly shifted perspective at least once.

[UberGruber]

A question... where do you see the perspective change?

[Grantt]

The fourth from last paragraph and the one after seem ambiguous. Maybe make it a little clearer that it's from artless' perspective?

[ThePandaDirector]

Well you might have been the first to post, but you're the last story I got round to reading.

I don't pretend to have even a basic grasp of grammar so I won't really get into that, but I will say that there was "Old Joe, taking the piece from Stick and stroking her wan cheek with a calloused finger". Considering Old Joe is male I wasn't sure if the "her" was a mistake or if he was stroking the cheek of a queen chess piece.

I agree with edonil, some of the sentences are too long, such as:

"Immediately he began to shiver, not merely from the cold damp of the grey and glooming morn but also from the tremor that always shook his thin, bony body when danger threatened; and from the hangover that made his fumbling attempts to find his gin bottle so clumsy and his head thump worse than when Old Joe used to take the bat to him when he was younger and even skinnier than young Stick."

I'm guilty of writing long sentences too, but this doesn't seem to fulfil any function that would call for a long sentence. So while Thechosenone has to keep an eye on his descriptions, you need to be careful to pace your structure.

There was a bit of noticeable repetition referring back to his hangover which despite trying to link to the "theme" (and I use the word lightly), but I would have liked some more variety in how that was conveyed - highlighting his state rather than the cause. But that's not a major problem.

I wasn't a big fan of how you portrayed the Viktorias, as I don't see them as being quite as flirty, but rather masculine and withdrawn. I suppose it contrasts the rest of the tone and I did like the "professional regret".

I'm familiar with the kind of style you're going for, but there was a fair bit of description (mostly very good), and little in the way of metaphors and similies. I think the difference between Artless and the Viktorias in the food chain would be better emphasised with such imagery.

I did like the way you built tension, the scene felt staged while feeling natural and Artless' perspective added a nice element to that (well placed stab! and boom!), but the Viktorias were ultimately a little anti-climatic and though the end was a nice twist and well played, I would have liked to have believed Artless was as good as dead for a little while longer.

Overall and very enjoyable read, I love children as characters, especially in more mature stories and I think you've got a great talent for creating atmosphere. Just need to work on structure and giving giving you action and climaxes a little more punch.

Cheers.

[UberGruber]

Thanks very much, Panda. I'd just like to say that although our tastes seem to differ with regard to what makes the sort of story we like (Gatsby for me will always be a book not to be tossed aside lightly . . .), I always enjoy reading your opinions on the stories because the focus you have is often radically different from mine. I may disagree, but it would be a dull world where we all had the same taste in stories.

Stick's a girl. So Old Joe is stroking her cheek.

I've always thought of the Viktoria's as being kind of bland myself (I quite often play with them as masters though, which is a bit odd as female 'melee combat masters' are a modern trope I find rather desperately hard to buy into for various reasons), so I gave them a slightly flirty manner to give them some character. In truth I really only used them so I could set up Old Joe's (probably anachronistic, but I think I got away with it . . . ) rather disparaging comment at the end, and to reference some of the in-game abilities and they were the cards I had handiest.

[ThePandaDirector]

I look forward to you showing my own story no mercy.

:Combat_Puppet: