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Literature Text
He was roused from his stupor by a knock on the table. He awoke to find himself sprawled on a chair with his beard sticky with something. Must have been that nasty swill the bartender had knocked had knocked into him. Dirty bastard got what was coming to him, he thought as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
“Saloon’s closed,” he said gruffly. The place had emptied out when he’d taken over ownership from the recently departed barkeep.
The stranger wordlessly slid a piece of paper over to him. He picked it up for inspection. It was the ad he’s stapled outside, proposing a venture of dangerous proportions and handsome rewards. It was how he recruited a crew of sailors for a voyage, and he figured that it was good enough to rally a crew of cowboys.
“So ye be interested, eh boy?”
“Yessir,” the stranger quickly shot out. Man of few words, it seemed.
“I see,” he stood up and loomed over the boy. “And what, pray tell, makes you think ye be a proper fit in my crew?”
“Posse, sir,” he corrected.
“Come again?”
“Fit in your posse, sir,” he reiterated. As soon as he had, though, he wished that he hadn’t. He thought he saw the grizzly giant of a man grow pink under the forest of bristles his face was shrouded in. He found that he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of large, bearded people blushing.
“Sir …?”
“Fit this in yer sister’s posse, boy!” In a rage, his hand flew to his revolver. He shot a round but missed his target and shattered the saloon window.
The boy yelped in terror and ducked behind the bar. “Your party, sir! Your group!”
“You’ll be joining Davy Jones’ party when I’m through with you, ye scallywag!” He shot a couple of rounds that smashed into bottles of brown drink, sending a shower of broken glass and whisky down on the screaming boy. “You’ll rue the day yer mother spawned ye!”
“Sorry! I’m sorry! I just want to live!” The little shit hadn’t even pulled out his guns.
“Alright, alright, don’t wet yourself ye slimy pup,” he sighed, putting the gun down. It was a convenient invention, this revolver. You didn’t need to muck around with swords strapped to your hips. Those things just made walking a nightmare. “Come on out, I didn’t hit ye noways. And don’t run your mouth if you’re going to jump outa yer pantaloons when someone points a gun at ye.”
“Excuse me sir, but that’s what posse means.”
“There ye go again with the foul lang – oh,” he spat out before the information processed.
“Yes, well. Of course it does,” Captain Archibald cleared his throat. “Just checking if you knew that.”
Jimbob stared at him with a quizzical expression.
“Say, what’s yer name, young fella?” In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten introductions.
“Jones, sir. Jimbob Jones.”
“Unimaginative parents, I presume.”
“Well actually sir, my father’s a writer,” he said with a gleam in his eye.
“I see. My condolences,” the captain found his hat and dusted it off. The best thing about swapping professions was that he got to keep his hat. Just take out the feather, roll down the sides and a pirate could just and easily fit around in his new setting. Although, it did look a bit triangular…
“Alright, Jimmy boy, welcome aboard!” He patted him fiercely on the shoulder.
“I’m honoured, sir!”
“Our first order of business is finding me new garb, effects, accoutrements and otherwise coyboyish stuff that’ll make me fit in around here.”
“You remind me a lot of someone I knew, sir,” Jimbob knit his eyebrows together as he followed captain Archibald to the haberdasher’s.
“Charming fellow, I presume.”
“He’s dead, sir.”
Archibald stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
“This be a dangerous town,” he said. “It’s this way to the hat-maker, yes?”
Jimbob nodded and led him to the building shaped like a hundred-gallon hat.
“Saloon’s closed,” he said gruffly. The place had emptied out when he’d taken over ownership from the recently departed barkeep.
The stranger wordlessly slid a piece of paper over to him. He picked it up for inspection. It was the ad he’s stapled outside, proposing a venture of dangerous proportions and handsome rewards. It was how he recruited a crew of sailors for a voyage, and he figured that it was good enough to rally a crew of cowboys.
“So ye be interested, eh boy?”
“Yessir,” the stranger quickly shot out. Man of few words, it seemed.
“I see,” he stood up and loomed over the boy. “And what, pray tell, makes you think ye be a proper fit in my crew?”
“Posse, sir,” he corrected.
“Come again?”
“Fit in your posse, sir,” he reiterated. As soon as he had, though, he wished that he hadn’t. He thought he saw the grizzly giant of a man grow pink under the forest of bristles his face was shrouded in. He found that he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of large, bearded people blushing.
“Sir …?”
“Fit this in yer sister’s posse, boy!” In a rage, his hand flew to his revolver. He shot a round but missed his target and shattered the saloon window.
The boy yelped in terror and ducked behind the bar. “Your party, sir! Your group!”
“You’ll be joining Davy Jones’ party when I’m through with you, ye scallywag!” He shot a couple of rounds that smashed into bottles of brown drink, sending a shower of broken glass and whisky down on the screaming boy. “You’ll rue the day yer mother spawned ye!”
“Sorry! I’m sorry! I just want to live!” The little shit hadn’t even pulled out his guns.
“Alright, alright, don’t wet yourself ye slimy pup,” he sighed, putting the gun down. It was a convenient invention, this revolver. You didn’t need to muck around with swords strapped to your hips. Those things just made walking a nightmare. “Come on out, I didn’t hit ye noways. And don’t run your mouth if you’re going to jump outa yer pantaloons when someone points a gun at ye.”
“Excuse me sir, but that’s what posse means.”
“There ye go again with the foul lang – oh,” he spat out before the information processed.
“Yes, well. Of course it does,” Captain Archibald cleared his throat. “Just checking if you knew that.”
Jimbob stared at him with a quizzical expression.
“Say, what’s yer name, young fella?” In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten introductions.
“Jones, sir. Jimbob Jones.”
“Unimaginative parents, I presume.”
“Well actually sir, my father’s a writer,” he said with a gleam in his eye.
“I see. My condolences,” the captain found his hat and dusted it off. The best thing about swapping professions was that he got to keep his hat. Just take out the feather, roll down the sides and a pirate could just and easily fit around in his new setting. Although, it did look a bit triangular…
“Alright, Jimmy boy, welcome aboard!” He patted him fiercely on the shoulder.
“I’m honoured, sir!”
“Our first order of business is finding me new garb, effects, accoutrements and otherwise coyboyish stuff that’ll make me fit in around here.”
“You remind me a lot of someone I knew, sir,” Jimbob knit his eyebrows together as he followed captain Archibald to the haberdasher’s.
“Charming fellow, I presume.”
“He’s dead, sir.”
Archibald stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
“This be a dangerous town,” he said. “It’s this way to the hat-maker, yes?”
Jimbob nodded and led him to the building shaped like a hundred-gallon hat.
Literature
Adrift
The aching of life in the morn,
As we stand alone beneath the daylight star.
Yet hopelessly adrift are we,
Upon the sea so vast and endless.
Through storms and ore rolling waves unnumbered,
Like a lost child wandering far from home,
Searching for the far-off light of the distant harbor,
And our haven of rest long remembered.
Literature
A Day Out - TWG
A Day Out
A muscular red-brown tom trotted into the clearing of PebbleClan, a fish dangling out of his mouth. He walked over to the freshkill pile and dropped it on top with a hint of pride. Now done for the day, he looked around the clearing for some other cat to talk to. He spied a darker brown she-cat who was seemingly staring into space and padded over to talk to her.
"Hello, Mothdust." he purred as he swiftly moved to sit next to her. The she-cat looked up, a tad startled, and a smile flickered across her lips.
"Hi there Talonflight." she meowed back. Talonflight grinned, blinking at her.
"And how are you on this fine morning?" Mothdu
Literature
The horse_ebooks From the Lagoon
When did fun in the summer sun get so complicated, anyway? When I got out of bed this morning everything was okay. The weather reports promised sunny skies and even the god damn eight-ball gave good omens. When I picked Miranda in the morning everything was fine. She was beautiful and we were about to embark on our first beach date. Well it wouldn't really be a date, but the plan was that we'd be alone for the first hour until Jeff arrived with Steph and the others. But we were never alone.
Traffic was favourable that day. The drive that I planned to take two hours was shortened by about fifteen minutes and it seemed even sh
Suggested Collections
So, I didn't actually succeed in this challenge because of one singular hitch, which I'll get to later on. But first, here are the challenge specs:
Reboot:
Response to OnLinedPaper's fic - Trading Trades (onlinedpaper.deviantart.com/ar…), with DamonWakes' challenge elements used (his deviation was The Good, the Bad, and the Very, Very Lucky -damonwakes.deviantart.com/art/…).
Both excellent pieces of writing by two excellent writers, and if you guys read this, I just have this to say to you: The FFM guys made me do it!
Anywho, Damon's challenge elements:
Western - ✓
999 words - X (I only had 666 and extending it further seemed pointless)
Vulnerable bully - ✓ (Captain Archibald was cuss-shy)
Extreme weather - ✓ (Well, western.)
Item - Hundred gallon hat. ✓
Reuse:
Archibald the pirate from Paper's fic and Jimbob from Damon's fic. Seriously, Damon, "Jimbob Jones"?
Recycle:
The quote I used was "Sister's posse" because could I really use something else? The difference in usage is that Damon used it in dialogue that was made to clear up misconception, while I used it to create misconception. Although, not as tastefully as he did it.
And last but not least - Pilish. Go check out IntelligentZombie's piece! She wrote it in a whole other language, man!
Reboot:
Response to OnLinedPaper's fic - Trading Trades (onlinedpaper.deviantart.com/ar…), with DamonWakes' challenge elements used (his deviation was The Good, the Bad, and the Very, Very Lucky -damonwakes.deviantart.com/art/…).
Both excellent pieces of writing by two excellent writers, and if you guys read this, I just have this to say to you: The FFM guys made me do it!
Anywho, Damon's challenge elements:
Western - ✓
999 words - X (I only had 666 and extending it further seemed pointless)
Vulnerable bully - ✓ (Captain Archibald was cuss-shy)
Extreme weather - ✓ (Well, western.)
Item - Hundred gallon hat. ✓
Reuse:
Archibald the pirate from Paper's fic and Jimbob from Damon's fic. Seriously, Damon, "Jimbob Jones"?
Recycle:
The quote I used was "Sister's posse" because could I really use something else? The difference in usage is that Damon used it in dialogue that was made to clear up misconception, while I used it to create misconception. Although, not as tastefully as he did it.
And last but not least - Pilish. Go check out IntelligentZombie's piece! She wrote it in a whole other language, man!
© 2015 - 2024 UsamaSaeed
Comments7
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Great work!