xx___M ii s s A l ii c e's Samples
(SHORT LIST)
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Short Sample
.......Olivier LaCroix was looking back on everything but yesterday. Above his head hung listless clouds. Gradient tones of grays and blacks painted in the air like sunset shadows, seeming to form pictures of mocking, volatile faces in Olivier’s head. Full cupid-bow lips quivered the slightest as he let out an unstable sigh. He was torturing himself, staring up into a night sky that declared it would touch his world with rain tonight. Choosing to take a breather outside of the grand abode of the Chaplin International Philharmonic turned out not to be an alleviate to his nerves, but rather an ailment.
.......A number of the orchestra remained chatting amongst themselves inside, making plans on what to do given that practice sessions had ended. To most everyone’s relief that rehearsal came to a close when it had rather than later, giving all members a chance to get on with the rest of their lives. Olivier, as always, felt a slight disappointment when the music came to its final score before the maestro called it a day. That bout of sadness carried his heart downwards, until he felt nothing but an incurable knot of anxiety festering in the pit of his stomach. Such a weight was, as always, with him when the music stopped, and left him with nothing to play to. Unlike most professionals who sought “the art of Muses” as a secondary business from the other goings on of their existence, music was to sole entity to Olivier’s life. It was the only thing he really knew. Without it, he had nothing to look forward to; or so he believed, anyway.
.......His pale-eyed gaze lingered downwards to the string instrument held loosely in one hand, bow in the other. The finely polished oak wood of his viola caught the light from the building behind him, and seemingly smiled at Olivier as it had that day Claude LaCroix offered the same instrument to his tiny grandson. A memory which had happened ages ago seemed only days from where Olivier stood now, and for a split second he wondered where the rest of his life had gone to.
.......Looking up, Olivier breathed in and closed his eyes. He placed his viola in third position; chin connected to the rest. Fingers touched the neck. Horsehair found the strings. He started playing, settling into a light vibrato of Handel’s, Sonata VI. His bow moved evenly without his fingers missing a single note on the board. Habitually, he swayed from one foot to the other while playing, cradling himself to Handel’s masterpiece. When he came to the last note on his fingerboard, he allowed the sonata to settle in the air by steadily drawing his bow downwards, before it faded away entirely with his tension. In a sigh, Olivier opened his eyes again. The world appeared slightly brighter to his sights.
Long Sample
.......There I sat, alone in my office with only the light of dusk filtering through my window blinds to illuminate the words I had just read. Fingers trembling the slightest, I ran my hand over the signature. It was signed to recognizable perfection that left me no other option but to admit it was her handwriting: The Wicked Stepmother. It was a letter of recommendation for her apprentice, or rather, a demand from a hierarchy- a liaison outside of SO; the once villainess of Fairy Tales galore turned hero due to the fact she knew the criminal mind so well, and during her glory days used this ability to rule over all antagonists with an iron-fist and the heart of a tyrant! She captured several hundred of our most wanted with her bare hands… One can only wonder what sort of creature this woman took under her wing and had complete influence over. Just what manifestation of a character this witch had created, and one that I would eventually have to hire in order to save my own neck…
.......Her name was Gabriel Rosamund L’Aurore, I knew that much, and other than the obvious threat that I, and many of my associates, would be in harms way if she were not employed, I knew no other information of Wicked’s great scheme that was Miss L’Aurore. I received an untraceable phone call from someone with a masked voice not but 8 hours ago, and from this unnamed subject received information that I was to expect Miss L’Aurore that late afternoon. This tired old mind was no longer at ease. I could no longer begin or finish my work, and spent most of the day fidgeting, humming and hawing, and generally abusing the expresso machine in a attempt to relax my sky-rocket blood pressure.
.......I was stirring my seventeenth cup of caffeine with a nowhere near steady hand, literally counting down the minutes to hour of when I would be expecting Miss L’Aurore. I was not the only one within the office who remained unsettled. In fact, the department was so utterly silent, not even a pin drop would grace the heavy atmosphere. This scene was doing nothing for my heart, which seemed to be the only sound I could hear.
.......I was down to thirty seconds- the slowest thirty seconds of my life, but eventually it came down to three, and then two, and then…
There was a slight knock at the secretary door. Every shoulder jumped, every head turned as she eased her way through the piles and piles of disassembled documents, paperwork, and files that rested on the corner of every desk and reached the ceiling of every cubicle, yet everyone had stopped from their work only to watch her pass.
.......She was something akin to a breath of fresh air, and I never in my life relaxed as sweetly as I did then when she smiled and seemingly awoken the presence of my own grin. Her light hair tumbled naturally down her shoulders in smooth waves and curls. I noted the laurel of wild flowers which crowned her head and seemingly made her radiate life, significantly bringing out the color of her eyes, and dark shade of blue I had never seen before. Perhaps it was violet? It can’t be said for sure, but that striking gaze kept focused solely on me, as if she remained blind to everyone else within headquarters, and I found myself flattered by the very stare of hers. She wore clothes I have seen no woman of this day and age wear, and yet her choice of attire was nowhere near retrospective or ancient looking. The best I can describe the fashion was bringing rich modesty and elegance of the timeless regal fashion, to some boundless present trend outside of the mainstream style.
.......One could not question she had exquisite taste, though very subtle to the eyes with intricate details that did not make her look overbearing in the least. In a passing thought, I wondered if she had tailored the dress herself, what with the creative imagery among fantastical elements crafted in her clothing, as if the gold embroidery upon her sleeves were meticulously woven by mice.
Though slight in physique she endowed the curves many women would render themselves to have and many men would give up the ghost for the opportunity to trace. Tall and feminine in stature, she flowed much as a dancer would, but also as if she were in a dream, hovering above the ground in a refined daze.
In all simplicity, there was only one word for her. She was beauty.
.......The silence then seemed suffocating while this dazzling beam of sunshine stood in the doorway of my workplace, patiently awaiting a sound. Behind my desk I sat back and removed my glasses, this ethereal image too vivid for my aged and weary sight. My brain strained for thoughts my mouth could not even work to voice, but then she spoke, her voice a lullaby singing clear to my impaired hearing.
.......“Have I come upon the office of a man known simply by the title Rumpelstiltskin?”
.......Like a spell having been lifted off my senses, I found myself able to speak again, saying automatically, “You may address me as Rumi, Madame. Please, take a seat.”
.......I forced my way off my seat, looking outside to the rest of the department with a dutiful scowl that spoke volumes to my employees to get some work done. In an abrupt orchestra of noise, they moved to do just that. I made ways to the espresso machine, offering Miss L’Aurore a cup. She shook her head, courteous as can be while her dark lashes fluttered wildly much as butterfly wings would. I found out not long after this was a way for her to refrain from sleep.
.......“I thank you kindly,” She began, “However, I could not think to drink tea. I find it will only cause me to become faint as the day wears on.”
.......“… But this is coffee, my dear.”
.......“Oh, Pardon me! Very well then, I shall take one cup and no sugar. If you can spare it, kind sir.”
.......This is how I came to know the famous princess of which a story is told to many small children around the world before they settle to sleep. In truth, there seems to be not beginning nor end to the youthsome beauty of lore without her tale being interrupted by droopy-eyes, a heavy head, and quiet snore. One could not expect narcolepsy to be the downfall of such a spirited young lady of whom I met that late afternoon. I expected to be faced with a monster of a worker. Astoundingly, I was introduced the complete opposite. The one to which the land resounds in the name of Sleeping Beauty. However, she is better known today as Sleepy Beauty. Or to her friends, she is merely Gabby.
And thus, our interview began...
Introduction
.......The sky shone vivid clouds of red-orange as the dogfight raged on overhead. The constant throb in his chest and a deafening ring in his ears, accompanied by the struggle for every single whispering breath allowed him to know his vital regions remained stable. He was still alive. But for how long remained a vague impression. Blood from his ear mixed into a heady film with the sweat and grime on his neck. Everything felt unbearably hot. They were on his trail—he could practically feel their death march thundering into every shaking particle of dirt on the ground. A broken transmitter, damaged bullet vest and a pulse rifle were his only available methods of defense.. Possibly he would have been better without. There really was no other option but to run now and pray they wouldn’t detect his escape or even take a glancing thought to it.
.......No such luck. Once he rounded that corner they were on him like hounds to a fox. He misinterpreted their coordinates—they were practically a step behind him. s**t! Disoriented and panic-stricken, he bolted. This mistake would surely cost him. No sooner had that that sickening notion came did he feel the bite and tearing flesh of his calf muscles as the lasers ran though him. It ended up costing him his leg.
.......A roar of pain. He couldn’t even hear it, but he felt it burst forth and burn through his lungs like Andromeda in a forgotten galaxy. He collapses hard onto the ground as if he could meld with the remains of Earth right where he falls. He can’t bear to look back at the damage. That last thread of blind hope wills him to a desperate crawl, but a major artery has already been severed and he’s dying. Soon enough he gives up moving at all. The moment their shots cut through they stopped tracking him, knowing of his fate and leaving him to die in agonizing slowness, and his body to decompose into nothing. The fight to keep his eyes open proves to be the worst, until he can’t be bothered and all he has to focus on is the rattle of his breathing. ********. So this is it, he thinks. Then on his final breath can’t bear to think any longer…
.......“THETA.”
.......The sound of his nickname cut through the final moments of the training simulation, coursed into his veins like a whiplash and forced him to yank the connection cables off his head, the reaction eliciting a groan of pain and one seriously evil headache.
.......“Wuhizzit?” He slurred up at the sleek computer monitor where the image of his commander’s head glared down at him, glorified by her pristine uniform. Red hair ablaze.
.......“I’ve been calling you for the last half-hour and once again I catch you playing video games! Honestly, I should revoke your license just for drinking while on a simulator.”
.......Theta rubbed at his scalp, trying to clear his head. It had been a millennia, long before he was born since the Terra War; when the Sun of the Solar System had burned out and taken every planet in that galaxy along with it. He constantly attempted to survive that war successfully as it had been recorded. This was the one-hundred-eighty-seventh time he failed. Nevertheless he still enjoyed it. The simulation of death seemed redundant and yet wonderful to him. It was a perfect system to prepare soldiers not to fear something they had no power over.
.......“I’m not drunk,” He countered, still dazed by the vividness of the simulation. “I’ll have you know I died. Again. And by the way, very painfully this time.”
.......She gave him a look, It was one he recognized very well. It said, ‘Now I understand why your marks were so much lower than mine. Fifty-one percent indeed.’
.......“I expect your report in 1400 hrs and not a minute later, pilot.” She instructed to spite him. He knew it. And then she waited for his confirmation before cutting the transmission.
.......A muttered ‘Yes ma’am.’ Anything to get that horrid red hair out of his peripheral vision.
.......Theta Sigma. A skilled fighter pilot from Prydon Academy, received his name while attending there most of his life. The Greek letters meant to identify him uniquely and relate to his physical and mental abilities. The closer to alpha the name, the greater perceived abilities. Still fresh from the Academy, Theta obtained a career as starfighter though his sharp intelligence and innate combat technique, and took a position among military arms on Terran Republic ship, GTD Intrepid. He appeared ordinary enough, humanoid at least. But his nature suggested otherwise.
.......As a Mesonoxian: genetically coded beings meant to be superior to humans, he shared ninety-eight percent of his genes with Vampires; without the undead complications or the need for life fluid sustenance. Mainly he slept very little. Strength for his size was incredible. One meal a day is was normal. Injuries could be healed within hours. And at 456 years old, he was still considered a young adult.
.......Although biologically Mesnoxians seemed flawless, paradoxically they’re susceptible to specific drugs that generally affect humans very little. Forms of anesthetic, ether, and helium are prime examples. Personally, he had trouble breathing in humid environments. Perhaps that was why he kept failing the simulator.
.......After setting the software module back onto the headset jack, Theta slipped off the patient’s bed and slumped through each automatic door in his apartment until he reached the corridor. Upon making his way through the ship he passed by several other crew members who wore the same black and red detailed uniform of rank and status as his own. He hardly acknowledged any of them, and if he did it was an imperceptible nod. He hardly believed he was of greater importance than any of them. It was more of keeping a respectable distance from his acquaintances. A means of social defense he acquired, and after so many months on board the Intrepid, it came naturally. One could never be sure when they would lose a friend in the call of duty, and fortunately he had no friends to speak of.
.......However recluse Theta considered himself to be, a colleague of his had once come close to breaking that barrier: his former navigator and fellow peer from the Academy, Delta Omega. Delta had died several weeks ago. The oxygen to his aviators’ mask had been severed during battle, and he ended up suffocating while in flight. The event had no doubt left an emotional scar and Theta was more than reluctant to repeat the situation. The document explaining fully in detail who his replacement navigator would be was left in his apartment—unread. Procrastination was a favorable vice sometimes.
