City of IF

[NeverNeverGirl]

Hey guys... heres an idea I had floating around and there didn't seem to be much in the way of comps in here at the moment so here goes...

Write a dinner party scene that involves any number of famous people (be they characters, dead, actors, politicians whatever) and their interactions/conversations.

You can have them speak about or be involved in anything at all - it can be horror, comedy, sentimental whatever you choose.

1 word or 1000.

We will vote for the winner.

Entries close when we have 6 entries. so get in fast.

No Entry Fee. 500 fables prize.

[bookwizard]

The air was dense with tension, but also filled with the sweet smell of foods, this was an odd combination for the people who were present. All sat at a bland concrete table riddled with cracks covered with extravagant and colorful dishes garbing it as a rainbow cloak with garb an old wizened man.

The two generals sat at either end of the table, each greatly the same, and each greatly different. No man or women spoke, all attention was focused on the two glaring men emanating tension as if they were fountains. This seemed it would never end until one of the generals scowled and began to eat, soon after the the opposing general began himself, scarfing up food, as his small empire had scarfed up there resources. And as a result went looking for more, and as a result started this war, and as a result after much bloodshed had brought this dinner party to be assembled to bring peace.

Soon everyone was eating but still no one dared to talk, this soon changed, a man waring a light blue tunic turned to the person next to him and defiantly asked "so how was your day Sefn". There was no answer, the tension was much to strong for but one man to penetrate.

The dinner seemed to drag on for longer then the war itself, and soon it looked as if the company of people assembled were going to turn it to cold statues forever to lie in tension... when it happened. One of the generals stood and looked directly at his opposer, "I can now see that this war can never end, we are destined to fight to extinction, even fighting is better then this dreadful heart-chilling... waiting" he spat out the last word as if it were a distasteful piece of food he had been chewing on. The opposing general smiled coolly "I thought you'd never ask" he replied, and with that the room erupted into chaos, garbing the table in a new red cloak...

[NeverNeverGirl]

oohhh nice work there BW ! I love the descriptions!!

Who dares to challenge BW??

[DeadManWalking]

I DARE

The Dread Man Walking.

wait. Did i spell that write?

*scratches his head*

The table sat in an almost-silence, the only real sound the oblivious crunching-of-stems from the senile old man at the head, his glistening baby-like teeth chewing vivaciously at the crisp greens.

Sunlight from the setting sun illuminated half of the room, leaving the other half in shadow. Because of the position of his chair, the old man was only partly illuminated, the upper reaches of his balding head shining, but his eyes glittering in the dark. Those to his right shaded their eyes from the sun, and those on his left peered through the dark to peck at their glided plates.

After the dinner ended, the old man folded his napkin neatly on the table, and clapped his hands for the dishes to be removed. Maids and manservants in modern livery crept from their spots, clearing the long mahogany table.

Then the whispers began.

"-thought we were here for-"
"really? What I can't believe is that this old codger-"
"-letter say he was dead? He looks healthy to-"
"-so dark in here? Is he too cheap to spring for a few-"
"-a will. Is this the lengths this lonely man will go to-"
"-the handling of the will. But he's still alive-"

The whispers gradually turned to more monetary subjects, as the nineteen seated at the table examined the plates and the carvings of the beautifully decorated room, eyes glittering with malice.

Meanwhile, the sun sank lower, so that less and less of the room glowed with the dying sun's rays.

The old man spoke out, and the whispers ceased.

"Five days ago, I sent out a letter to all of you. It contains information, stating that I was dead and that my will had to be taken care of."

The old man paused to cough into a handkerchief.

"This is only partly a lie. While I am not dead, I felt that there were certain things that needed to be done in preparation of my death. And watching you today, your eyes gleaming with greed, your little piggy eyes-"

He stopped again, overcome with emotion. He soon down however, and raised his face once more to his bewildered relatives.

"Well, I have decided that it would be better for the Arnswolt family to be remembered as a noble one. And since I could not choose a good candidate from one of you, I have decided on an alternate course. It should be taking effect in about fifteen seconds now. Faster if your heart beat is elevated, as I'm sure all of yours is from wondering who will be getting the silver candlesticks. For you see, I have taken the liberty of spending the entire Arnswolt fortune on an extremely difficult-to-obtain poison. It cost almost three million dollars per teaspoon, but it was well worth it, i assure you."

It took a moment for this to settle in.

Jonathon Arnswolt stood up, his mouth open to shout. He never made a sound. He simply fell over sideways, and never stood up again.

Panic broke loose, screaming women pounding at doors, men running toward the old man, all of them simply falling where they stood.

The old man sat alone in the dark room. He closed his eyes, and died.

The sun sank fully below the horizons, the last rays of light stealing away into the comforting arms of night.

This event would lead the headlines for months, the mysterious unsolvable death of the entire Arnswolt clan. The police were baffled by the lack of any cause of death in all but one of the victims. However, they did mention that the old man was earlier diagnosed with an extremely advanced stage of leukemia, which may have been the cause of death.

Many reporters would sarcastically congratulate the bewildered police officers on their 5% success rate, something which the Arkham Tribune would note was "beyond expectations and truly a success rate to be wondered at."

[Lord Byron]

This is part of my new spy novel, hope you enjoy it. : )

"Hello Gentlemen" said John, the other two men at the table nodded, the looked middle eastern, and out of place in a nightclub in downtown Ho Chi Min City, they also might as well have put signs saying enforcer on their chests.
"The Dragon will be here soon" said one of them, and then there was only tense silence. The men shifted in their seats, this was there first job, and they were reasonably nervous, they had to be in this line of work. John just sat, preparing, pretending to watch the dancers. He had a pretty good guess of what was about to happen, but was not quite as worried as the guards.
Suddenly, the guards sat up, and a large chinese man walked over and sat down between them.He was richly dressed, with an expensive looking tuxedo and a red tie with a golden dragon embroidered on it.
"Hello Mr. Everhart, I am the Dragon." He said.
“I understand you have some information for me." said John.
" Yes, now lets discuss the matter over drinks." He ordered a cocktail of some kind, John ordered a dry martini. " I pairtially own this place, so there will be no need to pay."
"Now to business." said John
"Yes, now the papers if you please." said the Dragon
John handed him the suitcase, and one of the guards opened it, then closed it quickly. The guards then tensed up, so did John.
“ Now I must be going Mr. Everhart, I have other business to do” He said.
“What about my end of the deal sir?” John said.
“What deal my good sir?” he said, and smiled.
“Well nice doing business with you.” John said and smiled back, and shook the Dragon’s hand.

[The Meaning Of Fear]

Sometime not in the present

Inside a huge, ominous-looking castle inside the dark forest, lay a large room, filled with luxuries one may never dream of dreaming of. Intricately carved oak dining tables lay on either side of the rectangular room, adorned with a fine golden-and-royal-red tablecloth. Surrounding said tables were chairs, also carved out of oak which held plush cushions made out of the finest wool in the land. A shining crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, reflecting and refracting the moon's pale light onto the surroundings.

What a predicament.

In the centre of the fancy, nay, grand ballroom, stood a tall, but old-looking man, draped in worn blue robes. He stroked his beard, obviously contemplating a very serious situation.

Arriving at a conclusion or solution of some sort, he waved his arms around in a circular pattern once, and immediately a group of disoriented people popped into existence, each sat in a chair.

"Gentlemen," began the old man, "I am Merlin, a wizard of no little power. Yet, ironically, I find myself in a situation in which I must call for, ahem, outside help, if you will."

He was met with blank faces, save for one composed fellow holding a violin and its bow, who replied coolly, "That would be us, I suppose."

"Why, yes, Mister...?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah, yes, Mister Holmes. Of course, I cannot expect help from you all after such a rude interruption from your daily lives, so I will first be treating you to a feast!"

Out of no where, large plates of the finest delicacies and delicious sweetmeats appeared, almost in the same manner as surprised guests, who remained rather stunned and did not start eating stright away.

"I shall rejoin you in about three hours time. Please, make sure you are well acquainted with each other by then," and, with that, Merlin dissappeared into the air without a sound.

Shock was soon replaced by self-awareness as the guests looked around, at the splendid meal or at the others. Awkward conversation began, and soon developed into a full blown party.

"Hello," said a messy, grey haired man, dressed in a lab coat and observing his surroundings with bright, inquisitive eyes, "I am Albert Einstein, a scientist of German birth."

The person he was speaking to smiled, and shook Einstein's hand warmly. "Greetings, Mister Einstein!" he said with much enthusiasm, "I am Isaac Newton. I, too, am a scientist, although I must admit to have never heard your name."

Einstein seemed surprised, and was, for the moment at least, stunned by the appearance of a long dead famous fellow scientist.

Across the table, three men were engaged in a civilized, if strange, conversation of sorts.

"What the...," said a well-dressed, brown-skinned man, who possessed eyes brimming with intelligence, but was currently quite confused, "How the hell did you know I was a politician?"

"Why, it is so simple," exclaimed Sherlock Holmes, "I do not feel inclined to explain."

After a while, Obama's confusion faded, "Ah, how could I have been so naive! You have seen me on the News."

It was now Holmes' turn to be confused.

"What crap are you spouting?" asked James Bond, "You weren't on the news, and you sure as heck aren't an American politician."

And so this strange talk continued.

On the far end, two men were apparently trying to play music with the food and cutlery available to them.

"Ah," Mozart said with relish as he stripped a t-bone of its steak, "I believe this would make a splendid flute."

"But look here!," exclaimed Beethoven, "Hear this clear D-minor created by the wine glass," a pause, and he added, "I certainly can't, not very clearly."

He tapped said container of beverage lightly with his fork. The sound that followed was certainly quite melodic. Encouraged by his companion, he hit it again, and again, more and more vigorously. Unfortunately he hit it too hard, and sent the wineglass flying a short distance before landing on an Australian man's head, drenching him.

"Crikey!" exclaimed the Crocodile Hunter, "If it's a food fight you want, mate, it's a food fight you're gettin'!"

Thus began the mother of all food fights.

[Idea master]

In IM's ancient, old mansion, which was located equidistance between the Fantasy Forest, Linear Lane, and the Games Forum, there was a grand dining hall.

In that dining hall was a large and long table. It was fully a quarter mile from one end to the other, and at least ten feet wide.

Upon that table was a feast to end all feasts. Turkeys, pheasants, roast suckling pig, and of course, all sorts of steak, from T-bone to well-seasoned and perfectly grilled Tri-tip.

And it was being devoured quite rapidly by the crowd gathered there. On one side one could see King Key devouring his own fair share, and nobody dared sit near him, and he had claimed one end of the table. However, five feet down the table one could find Phang and Lord of the Night sucking the marrow out of some ribs. Further down, Fauna and Smee were enjoying themselves on a wonderful beef stew. (Fauna had asked for cream-cakes in hers) Even further down was the rare Shady Stoat, eating nothing and drinking her own brew of...well, let's leave it at liquor. NeNe, newly elected Mayoress, sat next to CrunchyFrog, and beside her sat Chinaren, all gabbing idly about their reigns over the city.

Opposite them, The Meaning of Fear and DeadManWalking were engaged in a glaring contest. Mother Goose and Ravenwing were sitting near each other, enjoying a fresh salad and talking of the good old days. Mauddib, the ever-red 'comrade' of everyone, took only his fair share...of cold cereal.

On and on the list of honored guests went, until only SchoolMarm remained, idly correcting the grammar of those she could reach with her trusty ruler. And then came the other head of the table, which was currently unoccupied.

"Where's IM?" Some whispered, others hissed, and some very curious folk with active imaginations began postulating where the famous magi could possibly be.

"I apologize," came IM's voice from a dark stairwell, "If I kept you all waiting. Although by the look of what remains of the feast, I guess I didn't."

The mage shuffled into the dining hall, blue robes glistening slightly as light caught the runes engraved therein. Dessert began coming out of a myriad of kitchens and the remains of the dinner were whisked away. IM sat down, and as people began bombarding him with questions, IM held up a hand. "No no, please. I insist that we all enjoy ourselves before I move on to the matter of why I called you here."

This did nothing to quiet the hushed whispers; if anything, they intensified. Finally, when Key had enjoyed his last dish of ice-cream, all heads turned to IM, who sighed. "Very well."

IM stood up and pushed his chair back from the table. "Noble Ladies, Gentlemen, and Various Others of IF, I come before you tonight with news. News of note. News of an advancement in character-making, which is sorely needed for these newbies wanting to write stories of their own.

"A while ago, I realized that to make any Demon or Daemon-summoning spell more potent, all one had to use was blood. Am I correct, Phang and Lordy?"

The two named demonic beings raised their wine-glasses and nodded. IM continued his speech.

"So I decided to apply similar principles in character creation. Why should characters ONLY be made out of Idearium, to crumble back into dust when the story was through? Some might have experimented with this idea beforehand, but I felt that I was in a position few others found themselves in. For as you all know, I am...unique."

There were murmurs of ascent. Idea Master had been a normal character one day, and the next, he was a full-fledged author. None had found out how this had happened, and none had dared to try.

"So I piled up enough Idearium to make a character, and then I dribbled a little bit of my blood onto the pile. Sadly, I did not have time to say the proper formation rites, for the character formed itself without my guidance. And as it did so, I felt...less, somehow. Like it had drained me of something. And yet, the pile remained, creating more and more characters, draining me each time. I quickly hosed the pile down, so as to eliminate my blood from the pile, but by then, it was already too late. Six characters had formed, and somehow, they are able to draw essence from me into them. I am already drained, and they...are not nice. I brought you all here for one reason."

There was tension in the air, which was broken by an unfamiliar voice.

"He brought you here so that when we drain him to the point when he simply ceases to exist, you lot can try to kill us."

Five characters walked in from the same direction that IM had. One was wearing a red shirt, blue jeans, and had red hair. Another was wearing a yellow shirt, khakis, and had blond hair. A third was wearing a white shirt, bleached white pants, and had bleached blond hair. If one looked hard at #3, you could see his wings. Number four was dressed in mages robes, similar to IM, and yet in the runes were a subtle difference. And number five had white hair and combat fatigues on. And he had the look of a killer about him.

"May I present Blaze and Blitz, the elemental duo," IM began. Numbers one and two waved to the crowd.

"Edward, the mortal immortal," and here number three bowed, his wings fluttering slightly.

"Rathier the gem mage," Number four nodded to the crowd and placed a hand on the inside of his robes.

"And Xavier, the man with Soul-Sight." Number five grunted as he looked at the crowd below.

There was a hush over the crowd, and IM continued. "They are deadly. They have been formed from some of my innermost madness. And they will drain me dry, leaving nothing behind in this chair. Even if you kill them, I won't return. But you can kill them to save your city, because if they escape...they will be as I am. They will be characters with Author powers. And they will bring this city down if they can, purely to watch it burn."

Storm spoke up then. "I thought...there were six?"

IM smiled. "My dear, I merely call him The Writer. And he is a recluse, putting barriers and obstacles in your way whenever you get close. Should you kill him as well, perhaps I might return. But as for now, I know what time has come."

The five behind IM nodded. IM gasped as six bright blue lines shot out of his back, five of them going straight into the characters behind him, the sixth twisting out of sight, as IM faded out...becoming less and less there, until, with a whisper and a gust of wind...

He was no longer there.

The five grinned.

"Showdown time."

And thus erupted the messiest fight IF had ever known.

[DeadManWalking]

YAY!

i got mentioned as famous.

huh. Does that mean that both Liane and Aeger are going against you in the Asylum?

lol

Good job with the shameless advertising btw

twas very subtle.

[NeverNeverGirl]

i KNEW it! IM! That is sooo mean!

I totally thought - 'hey there are too many similiarities between that characters story and this one in Asylum. that cant be right.. did they tell each other what they were writing or did one get to see the others after they wrote it??'

now i KNOW! you evil little...


*pulls out her knives*

i will show you .. using my comp for a platform for your own....

*growls*

[DeadManWalking]

well if you think about it, it's almost a necessity.

Since we had relatively few people, after several eliminations, the probability of two characters actually being in the same area is minimal.

thus, it would be smart to have controlled characters that could simply appear where characters were so that somebody would be fighting every round.

[NeverNeverGirl]

and now he gets to fight himself lol.

good job IM and great comp entry too! :D

[Alegria]

Wow, IM...

I've never thought of in SG advertising before.

*looks around to make sure Chinaren isn't watching*

I CALL THE IDEA!!!!! :P

[DeadManWalking]

eh

I don't think he'll fight himself.

I think he'll just take out the last two that aren't part of himself and then have some climactic ending.

[D-Lotus]

Interesting. This sounds like a good idea Ne, and speaking of good ideas, I may contribute a piece about a very famous biblical supper (or not, it remains to be seen). I'd feel a lot less limited, however, if the word limit were increased to 1500 or 2000 (or, if you're really feeling generous... 3000). One Thousand Words are hardly enough to describe on character!

[DeadManWalking]

i don't think she meant One to one thousand as a limit.

I think she meant any length is fine.

[NeverNeverGirl]

DeadManWalking wrote: i don't think she meant One to one thousand as a limit.

I think she meant any length is fine.

That is indeedily so DMW my friend.

[Idea master]

Nene, I'm an old, tricky IFian. You should have expected these things, both in my competition AND here.