Although it's not completed as yet, Dr. D'Artagnon recommends....
Andy dropped from the end of his swing line, releasing it at the height of his swing out. He quickly kicked his feet out and up, tucking into a tight ball as he did so and letting his momentum rotate him backwards, even as his body mass continued through the air. He counted softly to three and uncurled from his tuck and stretched out, arms and legs aimed at the roof which was his target.
He landed hard, his feet scraping the rough roof shingles, his hands open so the fingertips took the brunt of his weight as he landed on the slightly angled roof. He allowed the momentum to bring him forward, rolling across his shoulder and through to the opposite hip as he came to a stop on the roof of the porch. The house was old, like most homes in the sleepy New England town. Two floors above a partially exposed basement, the main floor being what might be considered the second floor. The porch was elevated to match the main floor, and it was this porch that Andy had selected as his initial landing point. The roof of the house, one floor above him, was peeked and would not have made for as silent a landing as he needed, especially since the houses in this part of town didn’t have a lot of old trees nearby, or other access to the “thieves’ highway” as other neighborhoods.
He waited a moment, keeping perfectly still in the humid night air. The overcast skies reflected much of the city lights, giving Andy enough to see by, and enough shadows to hide in. With a flick of his wrist, the rest of his swing line retracted into the wind up reel on his left forearm. He quickly secured the line and pulled out his climbing claws from the kangaroo pouch of his hoody. He slipped the set of claws over his fingers, securing them to his wrist guards. The sharp talons stuck out from his palms, nearly two centimeters of forged steel. With these claws he could dig into soft surfaces like roofing shingles or wood and pull himself up, keeping his fingers safely out of the way. With a practiced ease that made the assent look almost casual, the fox jumped up and grabbed the edge of the roofline, the claws finding easy purchase. He climbed up to the shingles and found a safe shadow beside an old chimney remnant to rest and gather his breath. He sat and rested his back against the chimney bricks, relaxing for the first time since beginning his mission this night.
He was so close to the reason for his mission. He would be able to gather necessary intelligence tonight, to be able to know what he needed. Plans could be drawn up based on the information he could gain tonight. Plans could crumble as well. So much depended on Andy making the right choices, on getting the timing right. Lives were at stake.
So it probably shouldn’t have surprised the fox as much as it did when he heard the bowstring tighten.
“Do not move, or you wont have to worry about moving again,” a young voice said, from the same direction as the quivering bowstring. Andy looked towards one of the nearer gables on the roofline and he saw the slight figure holding the double recurve, an arrow with a heavy hunting tip nocked and held perfectly still. The figure seemed to be a boy, about 13 years of age, if Andy had to guess, and his aim was dead on target. Even with the shadow’s protection, Andy knew he couldn’t dodge an arrow at that range, aimed so accurately.
“I am not here to harm him,” Andy said, evenly.
“Then why?”
“To see if he is one of my kind. One of the kind your father started, so many years ago… Jack Thomas.”
“You aren’t the only one to know names, Andy Fox.”
“You know of me?”
“Obviously. You can reach down your leg and pull out the knife now. Slowly,” Jack warned.
“And if I refuse to disarm?” Andy asked. The shaft left Jack’s bow and landed inches from Andy’s crotch. The fox actually twitched at the speed of the arrow suddenly appearing so close to his boy bits. The __thwack__ of the arrow penetrating the shingles and the quivering of the fletching as it came to rest were a testament to the power of the bow. By the time Andy looked back, Jack already had another arrow nocked, aimed and drawn back.
“It would not be advisable,” Jack replied.
Andy reached his left hand down to the sheath on his leg, hidden behind the fabric of his sweatpants. He drew out the knife, slowly, and placed it on the roof, about a foot from his feet.
“Kick it over the edge.” Andy moved to comply but heard the bowstring tighten back more. “Slowly,” Jack cautioned. Easing his foot closer, Andy nudged the knife with his foot, sending it skidding off the roof. The blade clattered off the pavement driveway below. Andy made note of where he heard the sounds of the blade hitting the ground, in the event he could retrieve it later.
“I know about you,” Jack said. “You’ve remained loose and hidden for years, but I have been able to track you.”
“Have you now?”
“Do not be coy. As good as you are, you cannot escape all of the eyes around us, even if you aren’t center screen, you are seen from time to time. I’ve accessed data records of over four thousand public and private camera systems in the Canterbury area, and many other places throughout the Merrimack Valley. I have pieced together your movements over time. You do get around.”
“And the legends of the Merrimack Cat Burglar never played into it?” Andy asked.
“I also have access to much of my father’s data.” Jack eased tension back on the bow, indicating to Andy that the boy’s arm might be tiring. The pull on the hunting bow must be enormous, Andy thought, looking for a possible way out of this situation. He doubted he could make it to Jack’s side and disarm the boy without taking at least three shots from that bow. If the boy’s skill was a match for his speed and aim, Andy would likely wind up with at least one arrow poking out of his own skin before he could reach the other boy. The idea didn’t appeal. Leaping over the side didn’t seem like a great plan, but better a fall and a possible broken bone than a sucking chest wound or an arrow impaling him to the roof. The nearest other roof he might leap to was on the other side of this building’s peek, and Andy had no illusions about reaching that without making himself an even broader target.
“So your father knew of me?”
“He know about you, not of you. I pieced together the rest recently. Father was… let’s just say that his interests weren’t peaked enough in you to warrant further study. You will answer my questions now.”
“Ask away,” Andy said, still hoping to at least gather some information and possibly escape.
“Why are you here?”
“To see if Paul Carver is one of us.”
“One of whom?”
“Gifted persons,” Andy said. “Persons who have been genetically altered thanks to your Father’s manipulations.” There was some venom in Andy’s voice on the word “father.”
“And you suspect Paul fits that category?”
“I saw the camera footage from the Battle of Lafayette Square,” Andy replied evenly. “Two traffic cameras, an ATM video surveillance monitor, no less than six police dash cams and fourteen separate cell phone videos exist of that battle. I saw what you… and he were capable of.”
“Then you know not to push me too far,” the other boy said with no inflection to his voice. Andy had to admit, the boy definitely kept his cool. If the situations had been reversed, the fox doubted he could have maintained such balanced, reasoned calm. Then again, Andy supposed, being on the giving end of a projectile weapon certainly tipped the balance of power in Jack’s direction.
“Again, my intentions do not involve harming him. I mostly wanted to talk to him, if he was available for such.”
“And you hoped to speak with him without me around?”
“Given present circumstances, can you blame me?”
“Point,” Jack conceded. “Next question. Why do you want to talk to him? An alliance? Information? Testing his mettle?”
“Possibly the first. Obviously the second. The third could be interesting, but I feel that sort of thing is best left to daylight and appropriate scheduling. Fighting on rooftops, even just sparring, tends to be messy, public and more dangerous than necessary. I think that the two of you have had more media and police attention than you care for, lately.”
“Again, point,” Jack admitted, the bow string audibly relaxing slightly. Andy detected a slight quiver in the other boy’s draw arm. Reflected light from the streetlamps showed on the curved surfaces of the bow, showing to Andy that the other boy was beginning to tire. Still, Andy felt no great rush to test Jack’s skill with the weapon.
“To what end do you seek an alliance? My father is dead. His legacy died with him.”
“There you would be wrong. There are others out here, like Paul Carver, like myself, who have been gifted by what your father did to our parents. In my case, to my grandfather as well as my parents.”
“Speak plainly, Fox,” Jack warned, his eyes narrowing in the darkness. Andy had the sudden impression he was being scanned a lot more deeply than mere sight alone could account for.
“There are others of us out there, Jack. Surely your own research into your father’s past should have revealed a pattern to you by now.”
“You speak of others. What do you mean?”
“Changelings. Werewolves. Even a vampire or two. This town is almost a magnet for supernatural activity. I know of at least three separate groups operating in the valley here. You, I’m not sure about, although I don’t doubt there’s something different about you compared to the others.” The bow string in the other boy’s hands seemed to tighten again as Andy said that. “Not that it’s a bad thing.”
“Go on,” Jack prompted, his voice as tight and terse as the twisted cord under his fingertips.
“During the Battle of Lafayette Square, Paul exhibited abilities that mark him as similar to myself as regards powers. He is very fast, much stronger than he looks. I’m willing to bet he heals phenomenally quickly, that he has enhanced agility and senses. Perhaps,” and Andy paused, drawing his legs up to rest his forearms across the tops of his knees. “Perhaps you have noticed other phenomena around him.”
“Do not tempt me to shoot you by moving again,” Jack said, his aim shifting slightly to keep the center of Andy’s chest under arrow’s tip. “I’ve been trained to use this by a changeling girl whose last name is Oakenbow. I feel confident that her training has been very thorough.”
“Do you?”
“I could perform minor surgery on you from here with this. The one way kind.”
“Ah, long range amputations, gotcha,” Andy said, letting a trace of a smile play over his lips.
“You have impressive technology and technique. That retractable climb assist is very advanced. That was at least a 30 meter swing. How did you acquire the device and how are you trained in its use?”
“Not information I’m willing to part with just yet,” Andy continued smiling, his hand trying to secretly work the second knife he carried out of its secret hiding place.
“Unless you want an emergency circumcision, you need to start answering questions,” Jack replied, narrowly. Andy could almost feel the younger boy’s eyes locking on target. *Trust is earned, not traded,* Andy thought, realizing that Jack could, and likely would, follow through with that threat.
“My grandfather was a spy, in his youth. When my parents died, he took me in. He raised me, taught me all that he knew. The swing line is something he’d used back in the war. I modified it with modern machining and materials. Most of my abilities are what he trained me to be,” Andy shrugged. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
“The immediate concerns. Which war? Which country?”
“Grandfather was a patriot,” Andy called out indignantly. “And he suffered enormously for this, __our__ country. If you have a problem with that, you probably should go ahead and shoot me now, since it was at your father’s hands he suffered, Nazi war machine!”
The accusation was answered by a shaft sprouting from the roof to Andy’s right, pinning his arm to the shingles through the fabric of his hoody. The point didn’t even graze his flesh, but the spinning of the barbed tip twisted the fabric, tightening its grip around Andy’s wrist. *Damnit!* Andy thought, realizing that the pinned arm now made it impossible for him to snake the hidden knife into his right hand down the sleeve of his hoody. Before he could even draw breath in surprise, Andy heard Jack draw, nock and tighten back on the bowstring again, a fresh shaft glinting evilly in Andy’s direction.
“Now that we’ve established who is in control here, listen well to this,” Jack said, taking a step forward on the slanted roof, his feet sure, his balance perfect. “If I were a Nazi anything, you’d be on a slab somewhere answering questions with the help of a 12 volt battery, some heavy jumper cables and some wet car wash sponges. I am __not__ my father’s thing,” the archer said with a menacing growl in his young voice. “If you watched what happened in Lafayette Square in such detail, then you should have known that. I am not his. I am proud of my country and the country my boyfriend’s father died defending, with honor.”
*Boyfriend,* Andy thought, filing that information away. He knew that Paul Carver’s father had died in the Air Force, a highly decorated pilot moving rapidly up the ranks by his example and skill and courage. Some of Paul’s pride in his father must have rubbed off with Jack as well.
“Point!” Andy conceded. “I guess we’ve both been trained exceptionally well.”
“I choose not to underestimate,” Jack replied, his voice returning to a more neutral tone. “Getting back to topics, what sort of alliance could you offer if Paul is somehow like you? And to that end, exactly what group of those you mentioned do you fit into?”
“Now that is a good question,” Andy started, hoping to distract Jack. Then he heard the bowstring tighten further and abandoned such a tactic. Clearly, bullshitting his way out of this wasn’t going to earn him any points. Nor would angering the other boy. *Cards on the table, huh, Gramps?* Andy thought.
“Look. I don’t know exactly what we are. I know that many of us share similar baseline abilities. Speed, agility, rapid healing, advanced senses, massively greater proportional strength than anyone purely human should have. You’ve seen that in him. The world has, even though most choose to ignore it for some reason.”
“Go on,” Jack prompted.
“There are other abilities. I’ve seen this. I experience this. If he has that too, then it helps all of us to know what those additional powers may be.”
“What is yours?”
Andy balked for a moment. “I have an alternate form. For the sake of simplicity, this is my alternate form. It would be rather dangerous to shift to how I was born while like this,” Andy said, indicating the arrow pinning his right arm in place. “If you can accept that as truth, there’s no need to prove it, is there?”
“I believe you,” Jack said. He didn’t relax his stance any, however. “Father postulated that the minute differences in DNA between persons affected by his serum would magnify and possibly create unstable mutations in most offspring of any two of his former patients. But he also postulated that such pairings would also create unpredictable genetic alterations which could result in unusual side effects, other than his attempts to create super-soldiers.”
“And Paul qualifies, since both of his parents were part of those treatments,” Andy finished the thought. “I do not say this as an accusation. I feel we must pull together, share information and resources. The incidents of weird things occurring in this town are pointing towards a growing trend.”
“Oh?”
“Surely you can see it. The weird bird attacks on the stone bridge earlier this summer? The sudden disappearance of 86% of the homeless people around town? Even the unexplained disappearance of Ralphy Kurak from his own house? These things are pointing to a gathering of forces.”
“Homeless people can be hard to keep track of, especially in the summer when they are more transient. Your argument doesn’t track.”
“Okay, how about all the missing people that your father is responsible for. Or how his prison transport suffered such a catastrophic and unexpected accident on the way to Federal prison?”
“People have underestimated Father many times. While it was shocking that he came back to attempt to get to Paul and me, it was hardly a surprise that he was able to affect and escape. He’s very clever and resourceful.”
“You almost sound proud,” Andy said, without thinking.
“He trained me well in that regard. Something you should keep well to mind.”
“Noted. Still, all my instincts and training says that something big is coming. Something dangerous and that we need to be ready. Already, there are those with psychic gifts starting to go missing.”
“Psychics?” Jack asked, for the first time clearly caught off guard.
“Yes. If you don’t believe in such things, then you really haven’t been paying attention to things around your own life, lately.”
“Father… predicted that those with mental powers would likely emerge first. Direct mind abilities that affect other minds and the physical world. He predicted that abilities related to energy effects would be rarer and likely fatal to those who develop them. There are no precedents for modern people to draw on for the training and assistance of such people, so they would likely misuse their abilities in some tragic, fatal way.”
“So you see why I feel the need to find others of my own kind. Self-preservation through mutual protection and training. Paul is in danger. So are you.”
“We are getting training,” Jack replied. “Paul already has excelled in his weapons training with the changelings. As have I.” Jack realized almost too late that he may have given away too much information. In the darkness, his cheeks reddened with shame, but he kept his breathing regular, shallow. Ready to hold his breath in a moment to aid in his aim. He might be liking what Andy was offering, but he wasn’t ready to take unnecessary chances.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Andy nodded towards the arrow holding him in place. “Any closer and I might be making the roof a bit wetter.”
“If my estimation of your abilities and training is accurate, you’d have emptied your bladder before you left to come here, or at least someplace along the way.”
“You are a quick one.”
“I will talk with Paul about this. But, when next we meet, it will be at a neutral site, in public and in daylight.”
“Understood,” Andy said, tightly. Public places weren’t in his comfort zone much these days. Too much of a chance he might get recognized by someone much older who could find it odd that Andy himself hadn’t changed any.
“Do not come here again, uninvited. Nor to my brother’s house across the mill stream.”
“Okay.”
Jack relaxed the bowstring, bringing the weapon down by his side. He kept the arrow nocked, Andy notice, but the tension on the string was reduced to barely enough to keep the string in a very wide angle going to the pulleys at either end. Jack nodded to the arrow sticking through Andy’s sleeve. Andy took that as a cue to pull the arrow free. He wiggled the shaft and found it had imbedded fairly deep into the roof, going through at least two layers of shingles. It took nearly thirty seconds to pry the point up a fraction of an inch before a small shadow covered him.
Andy looked up and saw Jack leaning over him, the bow slung across his back. The smaller boy simply grabbed the shaft, pushing Andy’s hands aside and he began to rotate it counterclockwise, longitudinally. Andy heard the soft scrape of aluminum on steel as Jack unscrewed the arrowhead from the shaft. With a few deft movements, the shaft came free and Andy felt the tension in his sleeve slack and relax. Before Andy could stand up, Jack had backed away and held up Andy’s hidden tactical knife, still folded.
“It was both wise and foolish of you to not totally disarm,” Jack said. “If I’d thought you were a threat to Paul, I’d have killed you at the height of that impressive swing.”
“Clearly we have much to teach each other,” Andy replied, smiling. Perhaps he could swing an alliance with this boy and thus gain an inroad through to their allies as well.
“Don’t mistake my fascination for your abilities to be an automatic agreement to your alliance. Other lives play into this as well. And they will have their own say, I’m sure.”
“I would have it no other way,” Andy agreed. “We all need to know what we’re getting into. But we also all need to know who is on our side and who isn’t.”
“Give me three days,” Jack replied, stepping back and squatting, resting one knee on the roof. He tossed Andy the knife and fished out a new arrowhead from a pouch on his quiver’s strap. In seconds, he had the shaft rearmed and snug back in the quiver. Andy nodded at the skill and precision of the other boy, sensing a kindred spirit.
“Where?”
“GAR Park, near the cannons at the southeast corner. Around 3pm.”
“After your fencing class?” Andy said, showing that he knew at least a little of their schedules.
Jack, although I ultimately found time to read only Stories 2 & 3 (I am sure Kyle wrote #3 the moment I saw the word "want-a-be" in place of "wannabe", and I don't think you wrote #2), I will only say this pertaining to subjectiveness.
I enjoy authors who do a great deal of research. For this reason, I dig Excelsior (he also has a fantasy-adventure trilogy called Nexus) and Travels with Nicolau Ribeiro. However, not sure if the Nifty Archives will be overly happy if there's too much poaching from there
Huh, so Cthulhu is in league with the Government. Who would have thunk?
Now waiting for references to a squid and to Lost Carcosa
And on an entirely different note, I have finally exhausted all of the stories D'Artagnon has published on the site, and will have to wait for updates like the rabble. I must say I am quite vexed with this development.
Point taken about drama, but there is also conservation of detail that I, as a troper, have come to expect. Hence the question about the siblings in a sly way to decipher whether they are going to be Chekhov's Gunmen or not.
I am currently leaning towards NOT, despite Alan's assertions to the contrary, because the amount of words devoted to the event I referenced far outweighs the seeming violation of the law of conservation of detail. Plus, it is in fact something I would expect as part of the hero's journey.
As an aside, are you by any chance a fencing aficionado, or was this research. (Here, I'm leaning towards option 1, hrhr.)
Synopsis 3 is clearly superior in my view. Short enough to be easily read in a few seconds, and enough detail to whet one's appetite.
Take note: the exact definition of synopsis is an overall summary that includes all major points of the story. The problem with that definition is it conflicts with the secondary objective that "makes you want to read the story". If it already contains all the major points, why would you want to read the story?
Going by strict definition, Synopsis 4 is more complete.
Going by the spirit of the contest where you intend these to be snippets or teasers, Synopsis 3 gets my vote.
See now, writing a synopsis for a series... that's harder.
For individual chapters... easy as pie!
Chapter 1, Trick to Treat:
Zane Grey Hill. bullied by his father and classmates alike, catches the protective eye of the mysterious Zander. What secrets does the older boy hold?
Chapter 2, Trick to Treat:
Zander turns Zane into a vampire in order to save his life, and must train him in his new abilities. How will Zane handle his new reality?
P.S. I'm fond of question marks. And I never said they were good synopses!
See now, writing a synopsis for a series... that's harder.
For individual chapters... easy as pie!
Chapter 1, Trick to Treat:
Zane Grey Hill. bullied by his father and classmates alike, catches the protective eye of the mysterious Zander. What secrets does the older boy hold?
Chapter 2, Trick to Treat:
Zander turns Zane into a vampire in order to save his life, and must train him in his new abilities. How will Zane handle his new reality?
P.S. I'm fond of question marks. And I never said they were good synopses!
I can't write dialogue to save my life. And I also have a phobia with using the word "said", it seems
For example, look at some of my character's dialogue. He's a 16-year old who, due to ongoing memory enchantment, has the mental maturity of someone who is younger. But the choice of words I use can be wholly inappropriate for his comprehension level
"Whoa boy, whoa," Erwin said calmingly, approaching the startled horses. This job was going to take all his concentration, so he took a brief moment to look around the area for threats before continuing.
{ Action: Examine the area around Erwin, looking for any signs of threat, including bandits, animal tracks, etc etc. Also wanting to get a feel for the general area they're in. }
{ Action: Try to calm the animals with animal handling. }
The house was oddly quiet as Jimmy strides down the stairs. He did not notice the silence at first, excited as he is to be reunited with Gary, for what transpired during the last summer was something Jimmy would forever remember. His reverie is broken as he reached the landing. His body is suddenly filled with static electricity; the hairs at the back of his neck stiff as if realizing that something is wrong. "Mom?" he asks tentatively, "Are you there?"
"Zem, the idea is that each of us will be using one of those poles to check ahead for traps. If you can't lift your own weight, you're more than welcome to wait outside for us, or even head back to town until we're done in the mines," Quelten suggested, tone a little too even and pleasant to be natural.
Quelten sighs and buries his face in his hands. Yet again they wind up going in twenty directions at once. It was partly his fault, true, but... how the hell to get the group to start pulling together? And how in the name of all the gods to get them to start thinking in the habit of moving as a group instead of splitting up and going twenty directions at once?
Sure, I know you're not a native English speaker, but inasmuch as you are publishing in English, I feel free to mercilessly be OCD
And the critique with the spirit isn't the fact that it's vague. It's because you don't have an object in that phrase. I'm expecting to and from "an origin and destination" or something similar. Like I said, obsessive compulsive!
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