Ground Rules & Prologue
Welcome to the first installment of pFiction. I know you've been awaiting this for some time; I hope your thirst for reading and writing adventure is satisfied. In this story, anything goes. I want you, the writer, to bring your own style and flair to the story; straight fiction, science-fiction, fantasy and horror are all welcome...even noir and western, if you like. Write what you feel and don't worry about the details. Here are the rules: 1. Please wait for two other writers to post before you write another section/chapter. 2. Don't introduce new characters every chapter. New characters are fine, but let's not turn this into an encyclopedia. 3. Keep the swearing to a minimum. 4. Have fun. ;) I want the reader to enjoy the story and encourage the writers as this story progresses. I have no idea where this story is going, and I couldn't be more excited. Writers, I'll let you choose your aliases for linkage to your homepages; just drop me a note on my blog. Having said that, welcome...happy writing and happy reading.
PROLOGUE
Val looked up from his magazine when he heard the car door slam. He should’ve looked up when he heard the tires screech, but he was bored beyond nightmares and knew his challenging employment at the QuikMart wouldn’t take him beyond his hometown. Born and die within 500 miles, they say. His eyes hit the entrance when the bell tolled; two black suits walking as if they had somewhere to go. Val felt goose bumps shoot out across his arms and he grit his teeth. Something was wrong.
He closed his magazine and put on his best imitation of a caring employee. “Can I help you guys?”
A sharp whistle; the one in shades snapped his fingers and pointed at Val. The other suit with shoulder-length brown hair walked up to the counter and dropped both hands hard on top of the closed magazine. Blood drops followed the hands. Val’s eyes darted from the crimson splatter to the shaky eyes before him. The brown-haired guy was panting; the blood came from a gash across his forehead.
“Water,” the guy said.
Val nodded towards the glass-fronted ice bins lined across the store. “We’ve got bottled water all over the place, man…pretty much every variety, too.”
Another sharp whistle from Shades; Brown-Hair looked back and caught the thrown bottle of water at the last moment. He popped the cap one-handed and downed half the bottle in one gulp. Val noticed Brown-Hair’s other arm was stained red…looked wet. Val’s eyes grew like watermelons.
“On the house,” he said. He shifted his feet uncomfortably; he really didn’t want to be in the store right now. “Hey, do you guys need some help or something? Call the cops?”
On the mention of ‘cops,’ Brown-Hair had his silver handgun drawn and resting comfortably in Val’s mouth. He eased the trigger back slowly and winked. “No thanks; we’re a bit…independent, if you know what I mean.”
“He has no idea what you’re talking about, Hawk,” Shades said, smirking as he lit a cigarette in his lips. “And take your gun out of his mouth. Jeez; it’s no wonder you can’t get people to talk to you.”
Hawk pulled the handgun from Val’s mouth slowly, his eyes following Val’s. “People tell me what I want to know,” he said, leaning in closer to Val. “Have you been watching TV this morning?”
Val shook his head, trying to look as honest as possible. He knew it’d be hard since he hadn’t shaved in a few days but he was still willing to try.
Hawk’s eyes grew narrower. “How about the radio…any news on the radio?”
Val pointed carefully to the stereo spewing out heavy guitar beneath the adjacent counter. “Just rock.”
Hawk dropped the gun on the counter, reached out, grabbed Val by the front of his tee, and jerked him forwards until their noses were touching. “Listen to me, you little punk: I don’t care what you listen to or what you watch…all I want to know is, have you heard the names ‘Chris Hawk’ or ‘Ironic Trent’ this morning?”
Val shook his head furiously, sweat standing out on his brow like grapefruit. He wanted to pull away frantically but knew it’d be the last thing he ever did. He heard Shades sigh behind Hawk; he heard a gun cock; he heard a gunshot; the side of his head exploded and he died in a beautiful cranial fireworks show.
Hawk grit his teeth and slowly released the corpse of that which was previously Val the convenience store clerk. The body fell to the ground in a clump; Hawk wiped at his shoulder with his good arm while Ironic Trent holstered his smoking gun at the small of his back. “You told him our names, dimnut,” he said. “You’ve got to quit broadcasting who we are, especially after what we pulled today.”
Hawk nodded absentmindedly, pushed his hair behind his pointed ears. His left arm lay limp at his side, a crimson-stained testimony to the violence he both received and gave. “You might want to fire up a radio, just to see what we’re up against.” He inhaled sharply and clutched at his side.
Ironic Trent tore off one of the cuffs of his shirt, handed it to Hawk. “How many times were you shot?”
“At least five,” Hawk said, his silver eyes growing glossy. “I need some beer.”
Ironic Trent threw open one of the fridge doors, grabbed a few bottles at random and sat them on the counter in front of Hawk. “On the house!” he said mockingly, then held out a mock gun pose. “Blam! Heh heh.”
Hawk took a liberal gulp from a green-tinted liquid, wiped at his mouth with the back of a bandaged hand. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Ironic Trent said. He stared at the bottles and smirked. “Speaking of drinks—pardon me.” He leapt over the counter-top, hoisted up Val’s corpse and bit at the neck. He hit a fresh vein and began inhaling blood. Hawk shook his head at the bloody spectacle.
“I thought you guys couldn’t drink dead blood,” he said darkly.
“Sure,” Ironic Trent said between gulps, “And we’re afraid of crosses, garlic and sunlight. You need to read more. For an elf, you’re very uneducated.”
“C’mon,” Hawk said, snapping at Ironic Trent. “We’ve gotta find that wizard before Johnny No-Name does.”
“Two seconds,” Ironic Trent said, wiping at his bloodstained maw. He stretched his jaw and his fangs retreated behind two normal-looking teeth. “There we are,” he smiled.
Hawk gathered up as much alcohol as his good arm could carry and held the door for Ironic Trent. As the vampire reached the exit, the rock music screeched to a halt and was replaced with a dry, monotone voice.
“We apologize for this late-breaking announcement. Sources for Red Dragon News have reported a failed assassination attempt on Head Druid Malicroix earlier this morning. The two assailants—a male elf and a male vampire—are still at large and should be considered armed and extremely dangerous.”
Hawk slammed his head against the door and swore. “So much for the subtle approach.”
Ironic Trent lowered his shades, revealing his chili-red eyes. “I think you left our subtle approach underneath that counter back there, man. Subtle means no bullets.”
“Aw, go bite me,” Hawk said, exiting.
“You’re not my particular flavor,” Ironic Trent said, chuckling as he followed. “Let’s get out of here before—“
“Cops!” Hawk barked. “C’mon, get the doors open!” He kicked at the black Ford sedan parked by the gas pump as a convoy of yellow and green flashing lights rapidly approached the fuel stop. ~ Frost
PROLOGUE
Val looked up from his magazine when he heard the car door slam. He should’ve looked up when he heard the tires screech, but he was bored beyond nightmares and knew his challenging employment at the QuikMart wouldn’t take him beyond his hometown. Born and die within 500 miles, they say. His eyes hit the entrance when the bell tolled; two black suits walking as if they had somewhere to go. Val felt goose bumps shoot out across his arms and he grit his teeth. Something was wrong.
He closed his magazine and put on his best imitation of a caring employee. “Can I help you guys?”
A sharp whistle; the one in shades snapped his fingers and pointed at Val. The other suit with shoulder-length brown hair walked up to the counter and dropped both hands hard on top of the closed magazine. Blood drops followed the hands. Val’s eyes darted from the crimson splatter to the shaky eyes before him. The brown-haired guy was panting; the blood came from a gash across his forehead.
“Water,” the guy said.
Val nodded towards the glass-fronted ice bins lined across the store. “We’ve got bottled water all over the place, man…pretty much every variety, too.”
Another sharp whistle from Shades; Brown-Hair looked back and caught the thrown bottle of water at the last moment. He popped the cap one-handed and downed half the bottle in one gulp. Val noticed Brown-Hair’s other arm was stained red…looked wet. Val’s eyes grew like watermelons.
“On the house,” he said. He shifted his feet uncomfortably; he really didn’t want to be in the store right now. “Hey, do you guys need some help or something? Call the cops?”
On the mention of ‘cops,’ Brown-Hair had his silver handgun drawn and resting comfortably in Val’s mouth. He eased the trigger back slowly and winked. “No thanks; we’re a bit…independent, if you know what I mean.”
“He has no idea what you’re talking about, Hawk,” Shades said, smirking as he lit a cigarette in his lips. “And take your gun out of his mouth. Jeez; it’s no wonder you can’t get people to talk to you.”
Hawk pulled the handgun from Val’s mouth slowly, his eyes following Val’s. “People tell me what I want to know,” he said, leaning in closer to Val. “Have you been watching TV this morning?”
Val shook his head, trying to look as honest as possible. He knew it’d be hard since he hadn’t shaved in a few days but he was still willing to try.
Hawk’s eyes grew narrower. “How about the radio…any news on the radio?”
Val pointed carefully to the stereo spewing out heavy guitar beneath the adjacent counter. “Just rock.”
Hawk dropped the gun on the counter, reached out, grabbed Val by the front of his tee, and jerked him forwards until their noses were touching. “Listen to me, you little punk: I don’t care what you listen to or what you watch…all I want to know is, have you heard the names ‘Chris Hawk’ or ‘Ironic Trent’ this morning?”
Val shook his head furiously, sweat standing out on his brow like grapefruit. He wanted to pull away frantically but knew it’d be the last thing he ever did. He heard Shades sigh behind Hawk; he heard a gun cock; he heard a gunshot; the side of his head exploded and he died in a beautiful cranial fireworks show.
Hawk grit his teeth and slowly released the corpse of that which was previously Val the convenience store clerk. The body fell to the ground in a clump; Hawk wiped at his shoulder with his good arm while Ironic Trent holstered his smoking gun at the small of his back. “You told him our names, dimnut,” he said. “You’ve got to quit broadcasting who we are, especially after what we pulled today.”
Hawk nodded absentmindedly, pushed his hair behind his pointed ears. His left arm lay limp at his side, a crimson-stained testimony to the violence he both received and gave. “You might want to fire up a radio, just to see what we’re up against.” He inhaled sharply and clutched at his side.
Ironic Trent tore off one of the cuffs of his shirt, handed it to Hawk. “How many times were you shot?”
“At least five,” Hawk said, his silver eyes growing glossy. “I need some beer.”
Ironic Trent threw open one of the fridge doors, grabbed a few bottles at random and sat them on the counter in front of Hawk. “On the house!” he said mockingly, then held out a mock gun pose. “Blam! Heh heh.”
Hawk took a liberal gulp from a green-tinted liquid, wiped at his mouth with the back of a bandaged hand. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Ironic Trent said. He stared at the bottles and smirked. “Speaking of drinks—pardon me.” He leapt over the counter-top, hoisted up Val’s corpse and bit at the neck. He hit a fresh vein and began inhaling blood. Hawk shook his head at the bloody spectacle.
“I thought you guys couldn’t drink dead blood,” he said darkly.
“Sure,” Ironic Trent said between gulps, “And we’re afraid of crosses, garlic and sunlight. You need to read more. For an elf, you’re very uneducated.”
“C’mon,” Hawk said, snapping at Ironic Trent. “We’ve gotta find that wizard before Johnny No-Name does.”
“Two seconds,” Ironic Trent said, wiping at his bloodstained maw. He stretched his jaw and his fangs retreated behind two normal-looking teeth. “There we are,” he smiled.
Hawk gathered up as much alcohol as his good arm could carry and held the door for Ironic Trent. As the vampire reached the exit, the rock music screeched to a halt and was replaced with a dry, monotone voice.
“We apologize for this late-breaking announcement. Sources for Red Dragon News have reported a failed assassination attempt on Head Druid Malicroix earlier this morning. The two assailants—a male elf and a male vampire—are still at large and should be considered armed and extremely dangerous.”
Hawk slammed his head against the door and swore. “So much for the subtle approach.”
Ironic Trent lowered his shades, revealing his chili-red eyes. “I think you left our subtle approach underneath that counter back there, man. Subtle means no bullets.”
“Aw, go bite me,” Hawk said, exiting.
“You’re not my particular flavor,” Ironic Trent said, chuckling as he followed. “Let’s get out of here before—“
“Cops!” Hawk barked. “C’mon, get the doors open!” He kicked at the black Ford sedan parked by the gas pump as a convoy of yellow and green flashing lights rapidly approached the fuel stop. ~ Frost
lionessofgod, I'm setting the standard chapter length at about 4-5 pages at font 10, so it won't be too difficult for anybody to join in.