@ryjeq claim
Nothing better to get those creative juices flowing than a little story prompt, right? Here's how this will go!
- Claim a post so you don't get ninja'd
- Edit your post and respond in character with 3+ sentences to the prompt
- Below your story, suggest a new prompt for the next person!
Your responses should be in the form of a short story or snippet of your character's life! For example:
Prompt: Your character steps in gum
Response: Blake was already having a rotten day, between the test she flunked and the disaster that was school lunch. Now, she thought, she was going to be late to practice because she had to stop and scrape somebody's disgusting chewed bubblegum off the bottom of her brand new track shoes. It wasn't really the worst day ever, but it was one of many that had come in a row, and Blake really needed a break. Etc...
Your response can be as long as you want it, but if you're writing a ton, make sure to leave a prompt for the next person before you embark on your novel!
So, here's your first prompt!
Your character just won a prize! What is it, and how do they react?
(if 24 hours goes by without a response, feel free to suggest a new prompt, or reuse this one!)
(Not sure if this is authorized, but I actually felt like writting it in French rather than in English.... I may do an English version later maybe >__>)
Ce n'est pas que je suis amoureux, mais cet homme a pris bien trop de place dans mes pensées, ces derniers temps.
Etant dans une situation précaire depuis quelques mois, j'ai accepté un travail de remplacement dans une entreprise du coin, m'occupant de divers travaux de paperasse pour palier à l'absence d'une secrétaire. Il s'agit d'une grande boite comptant de nombreux employés, à tel point qu'ils ont leur propre cantine. Nous travaillons en bureaux ouverts, dans des pièces accueillant de trois à dix employés, et j'ai l'honneur de travailler à proximité du comptable en titre de l'entreprise, neveu du président et bureaucrate plein d'avenir. Maxime est le symbole même de la force de la trentaine, mêlant la maturité et l'assurance des personnes d'expérience à la vigueur et la vitalité des jeunes adultes. Sous une courte crinière rousse (je rêve de ces cheveux la nuit, réellement) pétillent deux grands yeux verts, rieurs et charmeurs. Ils sont pleins de l'audace de leur porteur : Maxime est un homme sûr de lui et assuré, souriant et sociable, devenant ami avec chacun, doté d'un sens de l'humour mesuré et d'une répartie certaine. Chaleureux et affable, il dégage une impression de force et d'assurance. Lorsqu'il passe près de moi, il dépose dans l'air un fin fumet d'eau de Cologne haut de gamme, d'un ton fort et masculin. Personne dans le bureau ne saurait être insensible à ses charmes, pas même moi. Sans pour autant que l'on ne puisse parler de réelle attirance (je ne suis pas gay), je me sens impressionné par sa prestance sociale, intimidé par son assurance et sa force de caractère, admiratif face à ses capacités dans divers domaines. Il me met face à ma propre médiocrité. Face à lui, je me sens pitoyable : petit et sans charisme, timide et maladroit, mal à l'aise et sans répartie, et, surtout, incapable de travailler efficacement et de manière autonome. Je ne peux que perdre mes moyens face à lui, accentuant encore la différence en me retrouvant à bafouiller chaque fois qu'il m'adresse la parole. Je me sens ridicule, mais je ne peux rien y faire. L'idée de paraitre stupide me fait perdre mes moyens et je me rends encore plus stupide, me faisant ainsi tomber dans un cercle vicieux d'anxiété inutile et de maladresses inconvenantes. Je ne devrais pourtant pas tant m'en soucier, puisqu'il ne s'agit là que d'un travail temporaire, alors qu'importe ce que l'on pensera de moi ? J'ai beau tenter de m'en convaincre, je reste obsédé par mon collègue et par la piteuse idée qu'il doit se faire de moi. Tout au long de chaque journée de travail, mes pensées passent plus de temps vers lui qu'à se concentrer sur ma tâche. Chaque fois que je ferme les paupières, je vois danser sa flamboyante chevelure. Alors comment ai-je pu ne pas le voir ?
Le nez plongé dans mon plateau, me dirigeant vers une table libre, j'étais occupé à me demander si j'avais bien fait de prendre les carottes râpées plutôt que le taboulé en guise d'entrée. C'est alors que je me cognais dans une masse molle : Maxime retournait à sa table, une cruche de vin à la main. La main est restée dans l'anche de la cruche, mais face à l'impact de mon plateau, le récipient a basculé et a répandu son contenu sombre sur la chemise orange du jeune comptable. Ce dernier contemplait le désastre sans un mot, sa bouche ouverte dans un "oh" de surprise, tandis que je priais pour disparaitre. Ne plus être là, être n'importe où ailleurs mais pas ici. Je ne pouvais assumer cela, mais je ne savais comment échapper à ma honte. Je me sentais, une fois de plus, si pitoyable et si désolé. J'avais été stupide et indésirable une fois de plus, surement une fois de trop, et cette gaffe-là ne serait plus rattrapable : Maxime me considèrera comme un parfait imbécile jusqu'à la fin. Tandis qu'il essuie sa chemise du revers de la main, comme si cela pouvait y changer quelque chose, je me fonds en excuses, mais je bafouille, mes mots s'emmêlent et n'ont plus aucun sens. J'ai la sensation d'être à la fois rouge de honte et blanc de terreur, et je sens mes jambes chanceler tandis que je lutte pour ne pas éclater en sanglots. Maxime me répond d'un "ça ira..." exprimé d'une voix maussade, et je sens bien que, de toute évidence, ça n'ira pas. Il me contourne, me bousculant un peu au passage, pour retourner à sa table. Sans vin. Et je reste bêtement planté au milieu du passage, la tête basse et le nez dans mes lasagnes, ne sachant pas comment m'y prendre pour ne plus exister. Je prie de toutes mes forces pour pouvoir revenir en arrière, effacer ça, ou juste disparaitre. Mais tandis que je me morfonds de honte, Maxime semble déjà rire de la mésaventure avec ses collègues. Peut-être qu'ils se moquent de moi. Mais peut-être aussi que je donne bien trop d'importance à tout cela.
Your character learns about the death of a very close person (relative, friend or partner).
Husk crawled laboriously with his strange new limbs to kneel beside his actual motionless body. "Cappella, can you hear me? Are you in there?" Strange, hearing himself with her voice. Stranger still to peer at his own mask and wonder who might lay behind it.
His senses were all wrong in the djinn's fleshy body. She did not have the proper anatomical structures to sense the spirit world. He was blind to it, which was claustrophobic. Of course, he had gained new experiences. The slanting rays of the sun were warm on her skin. Not simply warm, but a prickly, delightful source of energy directly impacting his mental focus and strength. A breeze highlighted the scandalous fact that his arms, legs and face were all uncovered. Husk sheepishly pulled the fabric of her hood up higher. He felt absolutely naked, but now wasn't the time to worry about that.
The wraith- his real body- stirred. Husk recoiled in alarm, but spoke again with renewed hope. "Cappella?"
A dry groan drifted from the bony heap. It unfolded and a gloved hand went to the mask. The head tilted back. An alarmed croak as it spotted him and the wraith's arm flew up in defense. "Goddess!"
It was unsettling to hear his own voice through Cappella's ears. He sounded...frail. "It's me. Husk. It's ok. I'm going to fix this. Don't be afraid."
Your character accidentally got hurt! What happened and which of your other characters is available to help?
"Haa... haa..." Riy panted with exhaustion as he sluggishly carried himself across the desert floor. Rather than step, he slid his feet forwards as copious beads of sweat rolled down his face. Each movement kicked up a little bit of sand, and the sun bore down on him from all sides. Were it not for his duties, he wouldn't even be here. However...
"I really hate to ask you to do this alone, but we're really short handed right now. Everyone's gone somewhere, so... please help me."
The way his princess had bowed her head and asked for his help, it was impossible for the boy to say no. So that's how he found his way out here, to the Haruda Desert. The young knight tiredly reached around his waist for the canteen of water he'd brought with him, but upon bringing it up to eye level he noticed it was completely devoid of any liquid. The boy scowled and groaned, realizing that it must have run out some time ago, as not even a drop remained.
"Damn..." His whole body ached, and even his voice was hoarse. He doubted his ability to properly defend himself against any creatures that might attack him in the open, but reached for the hilt of his sword anyways. The knight took a few deep breaths to calm his breathing, then stepped forward. When he did, he found himself planting his face in the sand as he collapsed. Without so much as a groan, Riy tiredly rested his face against the desert floor and closed his eyes.
Really? Is that it? After all that training-
"Hey there. Are you alright?" The knight had been ready to submit to slumber when an alluring female voice made his eyes crack open, and he managed to turn his head just enough to see someone standing over him. His vision was beginning to blur so he couldn't make any features out, but they seemed to be offering a hand. By that point however, his vision faded to black and he lost consciousness.
---
Your character finds themself stranded in the middle of the ocean aboard a raft, with only a bucket, one oar and some spare food.
He'd think back on the two ships he'd just lost. Árþúsund Fálka, the one gained from their Vinland viking benefactors for the voyage eastwards, it's graceful shape and the carved beast's head attached to the hull. The Tlahuizlampa – Light from East – which they'd taken over from aztec-apache pirates. How easily the hurricane had riled up the waters. The waves raising up like massive mountains, as high as 20 men stacked upon each-other, ruthlessly stirring and bouncing the ships about. And then...
Then there wasn't anything anymore. As dawn came Matlal had only enough strength through his seasickness, the cold and bruises to keep holding on to the raft. There was a thin trickle of blood running down his face, the wound burning as droplets of salty seawater hit it. His head hurt. No masts were visible on the horizon, it was water as far as the eye could tell, with the sun shining gently through the layer of clouds...in the east.
East. The carved head of the viking ship kept revisiting him when he closed his eyes It reminded Matlal the depictions of Quetzalcouatl seen on the walls of public buildings. The stories of how the great feathered serpent had flown to the lands eastwards. Their failed voyage to the cold lands beyond the horizon.
It took Matlal another hour before he'd pulled himself together enough to heave himself up on his knees and have a better look at what he still had, rather than what he'd lost. One oar. Some water, with the barrels clearly having been made by vikings and thus originating from the Fálka. Food that looked like maize biscuits. He had no memory on who'd assembled it, or if the raft had been on the deck of the ship and stocked from the start.
And there was a small crate floating in the water. The man grabbed for the oar and reached as far as he could to coax it closer. Perhaps it's more food, maybe some warmer clothing. A carpentry set, anything useful, really. He pulled the crate onto the raft and pried it open to reveal a dampened dark green mass.
Coca leaves.
...
...
At least he could get high while shipwrecked...
Following the theme, your OC is stranded on an abandoned island for a week. What's their mindset like? What do they accomplish?
Claim!
It wasn't long when Merula woke up from his unconsciousness and witnessed the spaceship's remains fall apart around him. After forcibly getting himself out of his seat, Zachary glances through the cracked window, seeing nothing but sand, lush greenery and an endless body of water. "Should've stayed awake... Knew that the autopilot was a bust..." he mumbles to himself, breaking down the hatch and hopping out on top of the wing and into the hot sand. The avian quickly runs over to a palm tree's shade to grab a small bottle of sunscreen out of an inside pocket, and frantically taps a code on his communications channel. A purple interface flashes before Zachary's hopeful eyes until it turns off with a deep beep. "Aaand of course it's fried." Zachary sighs, taking the gadget off his wrist and taking a look back at the ship, then at the scenery behind him. "Today's going to be a long day..."
---
"What’s the point of a bird’s eye view when you’ve got water everywhere?” Zachary questions to himself, fiddling around with his sleeves. As he fumbles with making a fishing net out of his jacket, the avian tries to recollect his memories in hopes to remember something important pops up. Yes he was trained in the academy to survive in various climates, but he didn't really expect to utilize them in this sort of situation. After thinking that immature thought, he puts a single palm on his forehead and groaned in disgust.
---
It has been a week since Merula has been stranded in an uncharted island. After a few hallucinations concerning the lack of technology, Zachary manages to survive through the use of fishing and finding a few fruits to nibble on while making a makeshift home out of two intersecting trees and leaves. A few smoke signals and attempts to fix his communications channel later, Zachary had finally caught the attention of a faraway ship.
---
Sadly, the ship Zachary found was a space-pirate ship that has no knowledge about his team. In his small cell, the blackbird gives off a small sigh. At least I’m back in space. Zachary thought. As long as I find a way to hijack the ship, I should be able to return home. Eventually.
Your OC stumbles upon a thing they weren't supposed to see and gets caught! What is their reaction?