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Key
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 Posted: Tue Jan 03, 2006 6:58 pm Post subject: |
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No, I think he should pull himself together and try as best as he can, just like his dad. After all, things worked out OK for Larry in the end, just not in the beginning or middle. 
He should ask something to help him decide who to pick, like one of the ones IM suggested, or maybe "What are your best qualities?", or "What's your idea of a good date?"
Last edited by Key on Tue Jan 03, 2006 9:24 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Chinaren
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| Posted: Tue Jan 03, 2006 9:17 pm Post subject: |
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Ay. I f5 Key on this one. He should begin to pull himself together, he does have his fathers' books to go on after all.
What's your idea of a good date sounds a good, if rather lame, one.
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Smee
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| Posted: Fri Jan 06, 2006 12:45 pm Post subject: |
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I F5* Key as well.
A good chapter that almost allowed a giggle to escape 
Happy Writing 
*hopefully F5ing isn't painful
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Shady Stoat
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| Posted: Tue Jan 10, 2006 3:53 am Post subject: |
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| Three days. Six options. Get voting
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Chinaren
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| Posted: Tue Jan 10, 2006 3:55 am Post subject: |
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Voted I did.
Mmm. and re-reading the last chapter again, I don't think that the colors add anything. Infact it makes it look a little messy.
I give my thumbs down to this idea. 
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Tue Jan 10, 2006 3:56 am Post subject: |
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He might think that he'd have been better off dating Rob, but perhaps he'll fall back on some of the info from his dad's books, and ask for each contestant to describe another.
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| Posted: Tue Jan 10, 2006 5:10 am Post subject: |
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Oh, you original people, you!
In the interests of avoiding an exact clone of last time's questions, I've decided to change the:
"Describe the contestant on your right"
to Power's original round 1 alternative
"Which member of the audience looks most like you?"
If this makes anyone want to change, reverse or completely withdraw your vote, let me know by PM or in this thread. Otherwise, happy voting
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| Posted: Tue Jan 10, 2006 5:15 am Post subject: |
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| Shady Stoat wrote: | I've decided to change the:
"Describe the contestant on your right"
to Power's original round 1 alternative
"Which member of the audience looks most like you?"
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I am outraged! I will take this to the highest powers in the land, stopping at nothing* until justice has been seen to be done. I shall wander the city, decrying the... oh what the hell, go for it.
*Except a quick bite to eat here and there.
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| Posted: Wed Jan 11, 2006 11:55 pm Post subject: |
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Hi all.
Unfortunately, Random seems to have made a whoopsie on this poll (I PMed him to delete the old poll on No Good Deed, but this one disappeared instead). 
Now - I can either put up a brand new 3 day poll, and change some of the options a bit to encourage people to come back and vote...
Or I can go with the results that I got after 36 hours. Any opinions?
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2006 3:45 am Post subject: |
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Go with the old poll. I'd already voted in it anyways. 
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| Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2006 3:48 am Post subject: |
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OK then, 'which member of the audience looks most like you' has it.
I'll get straight to it (as soon as I run out of other distractions)
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2006 3:50 am Post subject: |
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*Frolicks about looking distracting*
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| Posted: Mon Jan 16, 2006 1:44 pm Post subject: |
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CHAPTER TWELVE:
Eye of the Beholder
Lenny had never, in the past, taken a pride in his ability to counter stressful situations with quick-thinking. Now, though, his mind was sprinting faster than a cat with its tail on fire.
Did he want to be here? No.
Did he want to escape? Yes.
Was the escape likely to work? No.
Did he want to be cuffed to this chair while that leering hulk of a Producer was within two continents of him? Definitely NO!
Should he be thinking of a second question?
He sighed in surrender and began to cast around for something to ask. What would be deep and insightful? What would give him a glance into the inner soul of the contestants? What single question could cut through all barriers and enable him to make the wisest and most rewarding choice?
The wet haddock of common sense came swimming out to slap him around the face.
No. First he would find out whether he was going to be dating someone who looked like the Producer in a dress. Beauty may indeed be only skin deep, but he had no intention of setting the bar so low that you would need a pith-helmet and a canary to find it!
“Describe the contestant on your left,” he gabbled, hoping to goodness that there was at least one non-hideous option in the group.
Brilla snorted a lungful of air through her nose. Lenny got the feeling she still hadn’t forgiven him.
“A dead ringer for your father,” she said. “I suspect we’ll be seeing a lot of you in the future.”
Lenny suspected that they’d seen a lot of him already. They would do again if he had to stand up in these enormous boxers!
“Contestant Two,” she continued. “What’s your answer, my pet?”
The creamy, accented voice spoke again.
“You want to know what Contestant Three looks like?” She purred. “Well – and I have to say, I mean no disrespect by this – she’s hideous! Do you ever have those nightmares, where you wake up sweaty and shivering, and you can’t remember what you dreamed about? Well, the answer is sitting right next to me. Believe me, honey, you don’t want to mess around with a leather-winged monstrosity like that!” (Presumably she turned to the third contestant at this point), “No offence, sweetie.”
“Leather-winged monstrosity? You overgrown worm, you have no idea who you’re dealing with, I’ll tear your eyes from their sockets, I’ll rend the flesh…”
“You think you’re tough enough, honeybunch? Give it a try. Go on – I dare you.
The audience’s eyes lit with collective fervour. They craned forward, stamping and cheering on the now inevitable fight. Sure enough, Contestant Three roared in challenge and there was the sound of two bodies colliding on the far side of the stage.
Lenny gulped and flinched from the partition as it shuddered with the impact of two bodies. The first contestant was screaming out a non-stop patter of protestations, in a voice too high and rapid to be understood. As Lenny’s eyes crossed with the effort, he became aware of another conversation going on to the side of him.
“It’s a disqualification offence, pure and simple.”
Lenny turned and gave an involuntary shudder. The Producer had wandered onto the stage and was arguing in low and urgent tones with Brilla. At that moment, the wrinkle-giant caught Lenny staring at him and gave him a hopeful smile. Lenny immediately fixed his gaze straight ahead, at the audience. It didn’t stop him from listening, though.
“Disqualification?” hissed Brilla. “On what grounds?”
“Lack of detail. Calling someone ‘hideous’ is not describing how they look.”
“It is if they look hideous!” protested Brilla.
“Opinion, not fact. I’m calling it,” said the Producer, blithely.
Brilla snorted. “Oh, get over yourself and act like a professional! He’s not interested. He’s never going to be interested, whatever you do. Isn’t that right, Mr. Cludge?”
Lenny turned, reluctantly. He noted that Brilla’s mouth was curled into a predatory smile. She was obviously getting her pound of flesh and enjoying every last ounce! The Producer, on the other hand, managed to look remarkably like an eager puppy. An eager nine-foot tall, able-to-crush-him-with-one-swift-blow puppy.
He opened his mouth to speak. All that emerged was the brief squeak of a fieldmouse who had got too friendly with a combine-harvester. The Producer looked expectant.
“You see?” said Brilla, triumphantly. “Even if you disqualify all of the contestants, it won’t do you any good!”
The Producer-creature’s face darkened into a landscape of deep wrinkles. Then, a moment later, his features returned to normal (if you could consider a face like a ‘before’ shot for an anti-aging cream as normal).
“We shall see,” he said, stomping back into the wings. Larry saw him muttering to one of his troll assistants again. Right then, though, his attention was drawn back to rather more immediate concerns when an outraged scream pierced the studio.
“My eye! My eye! That b**** took my eye!”
There was a rather unpleasant laugh from the other side of the stage, and a wet plop at Lenny’s feet. He looked down and barely throttled the urge to throw up. There was an amber-slitted eyeball, rolling around on the stage, inches from his stool. It seemed to glare accusingly up at him. He barely caught the next words.
“It’ll take me hours to grow that back! I ought to…”
“Ladies! Ladies!” Brilla interjected with one of her teeth-baring smiles. “You don’t want me to have to take… measures… do you?”
There were mutters. There were grumbles. There were, undoubtedly, insults flung, but in voices too low to carry to this side of the stage. Lenny breathed a sigh of relief as the atmosphere slowly returned to normal.
“Now,” continued the red-haired hostess. “What do you say, Contestant Number Three?”
“I say there’s more to life than appearances.” The pleasant, light tone was back, showing no traces of the earlier rough sibilance. “However, whether you choose to judge us by outer or inner beauty, Mr. Cludge, I’m afraid that I cannot describe Contestant One as anything other than a mindless piece of fluff.
Number One chattered into immediate and incessant outrage. It was hard to hear the rest of Three’s answer above the squeaky protests. Lenny only managed to catch the occasional phrase pushing to the fore like a drunken Scotsman in a bar brawl.
“…suming that her incessant chatter has not already brought you to the same conclusion… quite revolting combination of shades… sunglasses if I were you, preferably ones that did not permit you to see at all… shock in store, I would imagine…
There was the sound of a stool clattering onto the stage and a shriek like a banzai warrior on helium, then the impact of two bodies hitting each other. Again.
Guttural snarls and squeaky screams rent the air as the cameras zoomed in to catch every nuance of the action. The audience seemed torn between watching the fracas and offering money to a group of squat orange aliens prowling the aisles. After a moment or two of confusion, Lenny realised they must be bookies, taking bets on the outcome of the fight.
That was new! None of his father’s books had mentioned a betting-shop. His stomach gave a lurch as he wondered what else had changed in the past twenty years.
Not for long, though. His attention was attracted by movement from the corner of his eye. One of the trolls side-stage was hauling on a stage-rope. Lenny’s eyes idly tracked the line of the rope to the rafters, then along, then down… to the weight.
For a moment, he wondered why the troll would be moving the weight away from Contestant Number One’s seat. Then the realisation hit. He was not moving it from, he was moving it to! It was travelling towards the far end of the stage, away from Lenny and towards the midst of the contestants.
He pictured the Producer’s saggy bloodhound face in his mind. It had been too easy to get him to give up on the disqualification. Far too easy! If Lenny knew anything about his personal curse, it was that his potential boyfriends were persistent.
If one method of disqualification failed to bear fruit, there were bound to be other ways…
A moment before the troll let go of the rope, Lenny yelled:
“Watch out above!”
He skittered from his own stool, just in case the impact sent debris his way. There was barely time to think and no time at all to panic. The floor shuddered under a massive impact. Everyone on the stage screeched with alarm (or pain, or maybe both). Everyone in the audience screeched with enthusiasm.
There was tremendous noise, followed by tremendous silence. Lenny held his breath. Had the Producer managed to take any of the contestants out? If he had, should Lenny be glad or sorry?
Before he could decide, the high-pitched chattering began from the other side of the stage again. Within moments, all three contestants were bickering and flinging insults at each other, in a way that said they were quite definitely still alive and kicking. And biting and scratching and punching, if need be!
Stage-technicians sprinted back and forth, picking up the pieces of the set and handling disgruntled contestants. Not entirely sure why, Lenny breathed a sigh of relief. However revolting these… females… turned out to be, two facts seemed irrefutable. One: they had at least a passing interest in him, in a non ‘let’s be friends’ way. And Two: they were the biggest thing standing between himself and a romantic candlelit dinner with saggyface the Producer!
That, or his father’s scars in replica? He’d take the scars every time!
Talking of the epidermally-challenged devil, Lenny could see him and Ms. Padd having a heated discussion at the side of the stage. There were many jabs, pokes, prods and wild gestures being exchanged, but he could make out none of what they were saying. It was easy to guess, though.
Judging by the murderous look that Brilla gave him, Lenny figured the Producer must have got his way again. She stood next to him, snorting noisily through her nostrils. Then, muscle by rebellious muscle, she contorted her expression into her trademark rigor-mortis grin.
“Contestant Number One,” she said, tightly. “Describe the contestant on your left, chuck.”
Lenny braced himself for the torrent of babbling to come. He was not disappointed.
“Ooooh, pick me, pick me, you don’t want Contestant Two, she’s only got one eye and it’s all slitty and nasty-looking anyway, I had an Auntie like that once, never trusted her, she had yellow eyes, well you couldn’t really tell, but everyone said they were yellow and she ended up leaving her home planet in the end, said she couldn’t put up with the incessant noise, nobody else could hear anything, she must have been crazy, did I mention she had yellow eyes, well I said yellow…”
“Contestant One!” barked Brilla, turning a shade of peuce that clashed particularly horribly with the hue of her hair. “Answer the question!”
Brilla must be rattled, thought Lenny. She hadn’t added one of her sickly endearments to the end of the sentence. Then again, she looked as if one more agitation would send her into orbit faster than a gerbil with a jet-pack.
“Well, that’s what I was trying to tell you,” insisted Number One. “Nasty eyes, nasty skin, funny-looking tongue, not Larry Cludge’s type at all, not his son’s either, he wouldn’t want some scaly-skin sinking her teeth into…”
“At least I could change if I wanted to, unlike some glorified pompoms I could mention!
“Who are you calling a pompom, slit-nose?”
Lenny listened in bemusement as the insults zinged back and forth. He tried to take stock, to somehow make the best of this situation. Brilla hated him with a venom, admittedly. The Producer was looking at him in the same way as a fat man in a health farm would look at a tray of Nachos. The three females on the other side of the partition were probably a trio of bloated, slimy unutterables whom he would be sorry ever to have laid eyes upon in the near future.
Still, there had to be a good side somewhere, didn’t there? Didn’t there?
Oh yes – that was it.
He still had one question to ask before he had to go on a date with one of them!
Last edited by Shady Stoat on Sat Feb 11, 2006 8:16 am; edited 2 times in total
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Mon Jan 16, 2006 2:08 pm Post subject: |
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Hilarious.  I'll try to think of a suitable question soon.
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| Posted: Mon Jan 16, 2006 3:35 pm Post subject: |
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LOL!!
and
| Quote: | | group of squat orange aliens prowling the aisles |
LOL!! 
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Ingrothechundyer
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| Posted: Mon Jan 16, 2006 6:12 pm Post subject: |
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  Great stuff
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| Posted: Mon Jan 16, 2006 10:28 pm Post subject: |
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I don't know why, but it seems really hard to think of a question this time... Maybe something along the lines of 'What makes you think that you and I are compatible?' or 'Why would you want to go on a date with me?'
~sunny
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| Posted: Tue Jan 17, 2006 1:32 am Post subject: |
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Thanks for the comments guys and guyettes
I'm going to allow 3 days for suggestions this time, then the poll goes up. Sorry if it's difficult to think of questions to ask, but it's also extremely difficult to write this time around.
I think it's because I'm waiting too long between the chapters, so the characterisation isn't coming naturally. I've decided to speed up again, see if the flow improves (believe me, it couldn't get worse!).
So, if I don't get enough new ideas, I'll stick some of the old ones up in the polls. Onwards and upwards, chaps!
*looks around*
Hey! Where'd everyone go?
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Smee
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| Posted: Tue Jan 17, 2006 4:27 am Post subject: |
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Definately a good chapter even if it was a lot more effort to write.
I think it's time to get more into the cheesey questions of the true Blind date. He seems fairly switched on, even if he's a little overwhelmed at the moment. I'm sure he could think up one of these...
"I am often told I'm a great listener. What do you think your best quality is and why? To contestant number 1."
"I like to take romantic night-time walks by a river or lake. What is your idea of a romantic date?"
"Nothing attracts me more than a timid touch (imagines claws and other such horrors from his fathers adventures), how would you demonstrate your gentle side to me?"
That's all my ideas at the moment.
Happy Writing.
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Chinaren
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Shady Stoat
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| Posted: Tue Jan 17, 2006 5:05 am Post subject: |
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| Smee wrote: |
"Nothing attracts me more than a timid touch (imagines claws and other such horrors from his fathers adventures), how would you demonstrate your gentle side to me?"
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*chokes on a mouthful of tuna*
ROFL!
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Smee
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| Posted: Tue Jan 17, 2006 5:33 am Post subject: |
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It appears I struck gold on third time lucky then.
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Tue Jan 17, 2006 6:45 am Post subject: |
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Great questions Smee, and I'm partial to that third one as well. That should make for some interesting responses.
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The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Idea master
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| Posted: Tue Jan 17, 2006 8:44 am Post subject: |
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Yeah, I'd have to agree, but I also have to throw my hat in the ring*.
"What makes you so darn interested in me?"
And
"Just why the hell is the producer interested in me?!"
*While attaching a cord so I can pull it back reeeal quick.
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...So I've been summoned back from beyond the veil.
...No plans yet.
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| Posted: Fri Jan 20, 2006 5:59 am Post subject: |
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Okay peeps, poll is up and running for 3 days.
I had to abbreviate a lot of the questions. For the full (and most subtle) nuances, read through the discussion thread. I intend to include the full question in the writing of the chapter, but I don't want the poll options to go all skewiff because they're too long
Last question. Vote well!
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Fri Jan 20, 2006 6:37 am Post subject: |
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Some good questions, but I'm still partial to the gentle side.
_________________
The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Suneila
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| Posted: Fri Jan 20, 2006 5:41 pm Post subject: |
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I had to go with the 'gentle' one. I can just imagine words from his dad's books about the forest incident scrolling through his mind.
~sunny
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Shady Stoat
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| Posted: Mon Jan 23, 2006 6:02 am Post subject: |
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Looks like we're looking at the 'gentle touch' option here.
Let's get this show on the road!
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Shady Stoat
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| Posted: Tue Jan 24, 2006 12:22 pm Post subject: |
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Blessed Are The Meek…
The stage crew finally managed to calm the contestants down. Peace was restored, however briefly. Even Brilla’s colour seemed to be reluctantly returning to normal.
Between gritted teeth, she forced out the words.
“And your final question for our luv’ly ladies, Mr. Cludge?”
Lenny gulped. He still felt that he knew almost nothing about the women on the other side of the partition. Two of his three questions were already gone. He was not only at the last chance saloon, he had worked his way through its row of alcoholic beverages until all that remained was the manky brown bottle with the green gloop and the remains of a worm in it.
How to not get killed, maimed or mutilated? He had no clue. Sweat beaded on his brow as he skimmed through his memory for Gary Fledge’s finest moments.
Ah. Yes, maybe that one would do. He cleared his throat, feeling ridiculous (and preferring that feeling to one of claws, teeth, talons and mandibles raking his flesh).
“Err… n-nothing attracts me more than a timid touch,” he stammered. “Contestant Number… uhh… Three - how would you demonstrate your gentle side to me?”
“You’ll be lucky,” muttered Brilla with a particularly nasty quirk to her lips. Then, aloud: “Good question, my luv. Number Three, your answer?”
“A fascinating question, Mr. Cludge. I do try to nurture my caring side. In fact, my fellow spawn often remark on the subject of how docile I am in comparison to them. For example, they absolutely fail to understand my interest in the arts. I would simply love to take you to the opera.
Lenny wasn’t sure whether or not to be happy with this news. On the one hand, he detested anything to do with the opera. It was all fat women with wobbly bosoms, singing in an incomprehensible language, with a plot so full of holes you could sail an aircraft carrier through them. On the other hand, it was gentle, and at the moment, he had to be in favour of any non-mutilatory activities. She continued in tones of obvious enthusiasm.
“There’s a wonderful little Opera Company on Vartis 9. They call themselves ‘Souls in Torment’. You might have heard a little of their work. Their Disembowellment Aria is renowned the Galaxy over!”
She cleared her throat and, before anyone could beg her not to, she launched into what was, presumably an excerpt of their work. Lenny’s eardrums launched an official protest with his brain, which immediately upheld it. His hands clapped over his ears, muffling the dreadful wails. Even so, his flesh rose in goosebumps (and not the good sort!) as he was forced to listen.
“AYIIIIIieeeee wroaaAARGHHH!!!”
To add insult to injury, the bass voice of the auditorium commentator interjected with a translation.
“Owch! Please stop doing that!”
“Gllleeeuuurrrbllle reck-ik-ik-IIIK”
“I never knew my intestines were that colour.”
“SHHAAZzzllllbrk uuurmmMMMM NOAAAA!”
“Please! I told you everything I know three days ago!”
“EEEIIIOAWWWW!!!”
“EEEIIOAWWWW!!! Literal translation – a contention of complaint or pain.”
“Yes yes, Contestant Three,” shrieked Brilla, her voice rising above the ungodly noise. “I think we all get the idea.”
Lenny cautiously took his hands from over his ears. He glanced at the members of the audience who, for the most part, were stampeding towards the exits, to escape from the dreadful din. Yes, it was quite likely that everyone had got the idea! He was unnerved by the feeling of gratitude he was feeling towards Brilla for stopping that horrendous display of hellsound. Then she looked at him in the same way that a hungry snake looked at a mouse… and the feeling of gratitude subsided.
Lenny watched as the stage hands began to round up their audience and drive them back to their seats. He was unnerved to see the Producer back there with the rest of them. Instead of getting the spectators back to their spectating, though, he seemed to be contemplating a rung-ladder at the far end of the aisle. Then, with the caution that seemed to be fitting to being a nine-foot-tall wrinkly giant, he began to ascend, one rung at a time.
This could not be good! Lenny opened his mouth to ask Brilla what the Producer was up to, but she got there first.
“Contestant One,” she breezed, oblivious to all else but the game. “How would you display your gentle side to Mr. Cludge here?”
“Oooh, what a lovely question, Mr. Cludge, do you mind if I call you Lenny, thanks, well Lenny, I think you’d love something we, I mean, those on my home planet, call ‘Zzzizzitt’, which I think would translate in your language to ‘buzzing’. It’s really relaxing, what happens is, a group of us, it’s got to be at least six but it could be as many as forty, climb into a big dish and when everyone’s inside, we all roll and wriggle against each other, it’s really relaxing and soft and pleasurable, it’s like having a complete body massage applied by a thousand furry caterpillars, it can be really exciting too, especially when the friction builds up and then… zzzizzitt!... you get discharge, wow! Maybe I’ll take you there once the official date’s over, you’d really enjoy it…”
“I’m sure… as long as you didn’t want to breathe!” came the voice of Contestant Two, sounding silky and sarcastic. “I could think of better things to do with my time than be buried under a pile of jumped-up carpet remnants!”
Lenny had still been struggling with the term ‘discharge’. Whatever way you interpreted it, that didn’t sound particularly pleasant. With the addition of the whole breathing issue, this zipetty-doo-dah (or whatever it was called) wasn’t completely fulfilling its initial promise. It was, in fact, completely denying any knowledge of ever having made a promise, shuffling its feet, looking guilty, avoiding all eye-contact and crossing the other side of the street when it saw him coming!
Meanwhile, the show had fallen into its easy rhythm of insult, counter-insult, threats from Brilla and under-the-breath bickering. Lenny waited for it all to stop and silently vowed never, under any circumstances, to have children of his own. The Cludge men seemed destined for a life of Intergalactic dating misery at the hands of insane redheads and stage-crews that Giger would have a hard time dreaming up! If he could just get out of this whole thing with all of his body-parts still intact, he would never so much as think about dating again!
He wondered whether his father had made himself the same sorts of promises. And how much good they had done him!
“Contestant Number Two.” Brilla interrupted his reverie. “Your turn, chuck.”
“Oh sweetie, we’re going to have such a good time together,” answered the middle contestant in her warm, accented tones. “If it’s gentle you want, then I’d recommend one of my specialised meditation and relaxation sessions. We could do it together, it would make a new man of you, sugar.”
She was, no doubt, about to continue. At that moment, though, Lenny heard the snap of a rope from somewhere above the audience. His mind leapt, rather belatedly, to the Producer and his antics. His eyes leapt to the view before him!
Above the audiences’ heads was a huge log, hurtling sawn-edge-first towards the stage. It could easily have been hewn from a thousand-year-old oak, he thought, whilst simultaneously contending that now was not a good time to be counting the age-rings of the wood!
In the panicked moments that followed, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The log swooped down towards the opposite side of the stage, where the contestants were sitting. Then, at the lowest point of its swing, one of the wires that it hung from snapped with a massive whipping noise. It wobbled crazily, changing course to drive towards the other side of the stage. Straight, in fact, towards himself and Brilla.
Unaware that he was shrieking like a teenaged banshee at a rock concert, Lenny leapt off the barstool and dove face-first onto the floor of the stage. He felt a great gust of displaced air whistling over his back. There was the sound of screaming from the audience and a very solid-sounding thump from the back wall of the stage.
Lenny risked an upward glance. He almost didn’t live to regret it. The log sailed millimetres over his head, to swing back to its central position above the central rows of the audience. A large contingent of trolls lumbered out into the aisles, presumably to banish the tree-trunk back to its usual position.
He stood up on shaky legs and began to dust himself down (careful to keep a tight grip on the enormous boxers. No point in boosting the Galactic ratings more than they already were!). It was then that he realised the audience was engaged in a hushed whispering. It sounded far too reverential to be good.
Slowly, he turned around. The back of the stage had a large circular dent in it. Squeezed around all the edges of the dent were the extremities of what had once been a humanoid. Although the body was horribly mangled, the eyes bulged and the face was still fixed with a manic grin, equally as horrible in death as it had been in life.
“Oops,” came a hushed, but nevertheless utterly audible, voice from the aisles. Lenny whirled, feeling queasy. The producer was standing next to the ladder, shuffling uncomfortably.
“Err… I was just… just checking that the dragon-stunner was secure. Err… healthy and safety. Standard procedure. Err…” he trailed off.
Silence.
He squirmed. Then he obviously decided that bluster was the right way to go.
“Somebody clean that mess up,” he barked, all the wrinkles deepening on his face. “We’ve got a show to put out.”
One of the stage-managers called out something. Lenny didn’t hear what.
“Well, what about her? It’s almost the end of the show anyway. I’ll have to fill in. What? No, I am not going to wear the suit!” (again an unheard portion of the conversation. “Go ahead, show it, it’ll be good for the ratings.”
Lenny stared as the stage-hands began to wipe bits of Brilla up from the walls. He looked back at the Producer who gave him a hopeful little smile.
Then he decided to have a lie down for a while. The floor rose up to help him with the task.
A few minutes later, he became aware of a persistent shaking. He opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with a drooling mass of wrinkles.
He scrambled away, fighting back terror. Unfortunately, the giant boxer-shorts did not scramble away with him. While he was trying to retrieve them from around his knees, the Producer laid a giant paw on him.
“Ready to go on with the show?” asked the giant.
“Buhh…” explained Lenny, looking back at the slightly smeared wall behind him.
“Ah. Jolly good.” The Producer picked him up by the armpits and dumped him heartily back on the barstool. Lenny huddled there, eyes darting nervously from Producer to the back of the auditorium, where the Brilla-flattening log had come from.
“Okay people,” boomed the Producer, jowls wobbling. “Let’s take it from the beginning of Contestant Number Two’s answer. Ready?”
It seemed they were. While Lenny tried to clear his head, Number Two raved on about her relaxation techniques, obviously oblivious to the fact that relaxation was the last thing on Lenny’s mind right now!
She continued, obviously warming to the subject. Her voice took on a sultry edge. “I have this special bench for the initial exercises. A strap on each wrist and ankle, then we slowly crank the winch for maximum stretch. You have no idea how relaxing it is to pop your joints back into their sockets at the end of it all. While you’re there, you might want to try my neck and spine therapy. Guaranteed to leave you feeling like a completely new man. Just give me a chance, handsome. I’ll give you an experience you’ll never forget!”
Lenny was sure he never would! At least, those recesses of his brain that had not given in to abject terror were sure. The rest of him simply sat and gibbered.
“Well, there you have it. All three answers from all three contestants. While you’re deciding, Mr. Cludge,” and Lenny squirmed as the paw on his shoulder began to squeeze and massage, “let’s see how last week’s contestants have been getting on. Alia – Shill – are you there?”
The audience roared its approval at this. It seemed that Brilla’s death had done nothing to allay their enthusiasm for the show. Of course it hadn’t, thought Lenny, weakly. They probably went through hostesses almost as often as they went through contestants!
The satellite screen descended from the back of the stage. The audience fell immediately silent. Lenny craned his neck, anxious to see what was going on.
It shimmered to life, with the scene of a single woman. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Long, raven hair, huge childlike eyes with dark lashes, high cheekbones, fragile and delicate as a lotus-blossom. She was dressed in a long, flowing robe of black and her face had an expression of sadness that somehow made her seem even more radiant.
“Hello Brilla,” she said in a voice of sweet sadness. Then she looked again. “Oh… it’s you. Where’s Ms. Padd?”
“Ahh… between incarnations,” said the Producer, shiftily. “Now, can you tell us about your date, my dear?”
The girl gave a stifled sob. Then she lifted liquid eyes to stare into the collective gaze of the audience.
“It was wonderful,” she whispered, “while it lasted. Shill was so happy when I picked out the Auroran Deserts for our date. He’d never been to a planet with nine suns before.”
“Let’s see some pictures,” rumbled the giant.
The audience applauded as a series of shots began to show on the screen. A crimson and yellow sky lit up beautifully against white sands. The raven-haired girl was hand-in-hand with a white crystalline creature. Its eyes and nose were pits of blackness, it had no hair and stubby arms and legs. Its head was almost perfectly spherical and its body seemed to be the same but larger. It looked like…
It looked like…
A snowman??
In the first picture, they were watching a sandworm procession. They looked unutterably happy together. In the second, they were enjoying a sand-bath. Lenny couldn’t help but notice that Shill was looking a little… well, not to put too fine a point on it… a little smaller. In the third, while they sat sipping exotic fruit drinks, he looked more shrunken still.
There was a terrible feeling of inevitability about it all. The only ones who hadn’t seemed to see it coming were Alia and Shill. The penultimate picture had shown a virtually shapeless lump of ice, little bigger than a basketball. After that, it was just Alia.
“At least he went out happy,” sobbed the girl. “I’ll never forget him!”
The producer squeezed Lenny’s shoulder almost as tightly as Brilla had.
“Never mind,” he said, hoarsely. “There’s always next time.”
Lenny cringed. There was always next time. That was the worst of this horror. Blind Date never gave up on an unsatisfied customer. He had to pick right this time. He had to!
As if echoing his sentiments, the Producer turned back to the audience.
“Now, Mr. Cludge. Which of those three contestants do you want to try, eh? Here’s a reminder, while you consider.”
The disembodied voice sounded through the auditorium.
“The choice is yours, Lenny Cludge. Will you choose Contestant Number One – the glorified pompom with a bit of a discharge problem? Or Contestant Two? She wants to make your eyes pop, or simply pop your joints. Or will it be Number Three, who will sing you to sleep with the disembowelment blues. It’s up to you now.”
Larry’s eyes raked the audience. They were shouting random numbers at him. He tried to think. What was he going to pick?
Last edited by Shady Stoat on Wed Mar 29, 2006 9:59 am; edited 2 times in total
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Chinaren
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| Posted: Tue Jan 24, 2006 4:47 pm Post subject: |
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Ooooooh. Decisions decisions. I think the carpet creature sounds safest.
Nice chapter old Stoat! *chants* Poll poll poll!
_________________
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dragon_fire372
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| Posted: Tue Jan 24, 2006 8:39 pm Post subject: |
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Hmm, a squeaky pom pom, a snaky-worm thing with odd massage techniques, or a leather-winged opera lover? I'd go with the winged one, cuz she may be violent, but not against you! You couldn't really say the same of #2, who'd probably put you on the rack to help you "relax", and the fluffball is...well...a little too fluffy, if you get my meaning.
_________________
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing ~ Edmund Burke
Sans Dieu Rien Without God, Nothing
Visions of Shadow - 2nd part of Uncertain Quests! Chapter Two
Dreamwalker - Relocated to Linear Lane Sixth Chapter
Linear Story Nightrobber Now Complete!
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Key
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| Posted: Tue Jan 24, 2006 9:05 pm Post subject: |
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| The squeaky pom-pom seems the least dangerous of the three. The smothering thing seemed to require lots of them, whereas just one of contestant two or three could put Lenny in the hospital.
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Wed Jan 25, 2006 6:46 am Post subject: |
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Now would be the time for him to suddenly find religion and accept his calling in life. Have a spectacular salvation and transformation right there on stage, complete with ashes and sackcloth, and declare his vows of poverty, celibacy and silence.
Barring a life changing conversion to priesthood, go for the discharging pompom.
_________________
The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Suneila
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| Posted: Wed Jan 25, 2006 12:15 pm Post subject: |
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The rack sounds pretty good right now*. But I think the discharging pom-pom would be the best. It might be disgusting, but it seems the least painful.
~sunny
Thank goodness, I have a chiropractor appointment tomorrow.
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