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91
Week 4 posts / The Confrontation Draft 4 (Editor Edit)
« Last post by Tenn on August 08, 2021, 12:43:03 AM »Final draft time! It's been a lovely journey. Thanks again to my CPs, and thanks to my editor. Their feedback not only made the story better but will also affect my future writing. I don't usually go for picture prompts, which was the first hurdle in this activity. I finally settled on using characters from a previous sort story and the second hurdle became finding a way to incorporate the image in their story/world. The third hurdle was essentially making the world "smaller" so that the story was bogged down by unanswered questions (the hardest thing). This is the hurdle that caused me to trip. I tumbled over and rolled straight into the fourth hurdle: deciding which questions to answer, which to remove, and which to leave as-is, all in 1000 words. Hopefully this draft flows better and is more comprehensive.
Samira didn?t have a solid plan for confronting the boy she?d almost killed, but a malleable plan was a plan, nonetheless. Negotiate, intimidate, evacuate. The supposed victim had spent the last two weeks inundating her inbox with what looked like security camera stills of the incident. With no electricity in the abandoned building, it could only mean that he?d had an accomplice―which neither she nor Enya had anticipated when they?d lured him there. They?d assumed he worked alone. Now there was another person they needed to keep quiet. If those images leaked, they?d either face four months of magical probation in Elemental court or be punished for their mere existence in Ordinary court.
The brown-bricked library came into view. Ordinary students leaned lazily on the white stone columns that framed the front of the building. The summer heat beat down on her back and she resisted the urge to stir up a little wind to cool herself and Enya. Since elemental interference was forbidden off school grounds, it would only draw more attention to themselves. They were already being given curious looks just by being new faces in this part of town so Enya?s idea to change out of their uniforms was paying off to some degree. Had they done it Samira?s way, they?d probably be stoned before even setting foot on the pavement. Samira tossed a few braids over her shoulder defiantly, mentally cursing herself for agreeing to meet so far away from campus.
They navigated through the looks and headed straight for the study rooms along a quiet corridor in the basement. The silence brought flashbacks of the wretched day Enya had gone along with Samira?s plan of starting an elemental fire in one of their school?s abandoned training buildings hoping the braggadocious, self-proclaimed vigilante would turn up. Samira had nearly suffocated him out of anger when he?d refused to give up the names of other vigilantes. Now she would face the prick again. She flexed her fingers and released a breath.
They found him in the fifth room sitting at a table with someone wearing a black hoodie. No doubt the accomplice.
Samira pushed open the door and strode in, while Enya entered behind her like a mouse, the door closing with a soft click. When Samira plopped down next to the accomplice, he stood immediately and moved to a cushioned chair in the corner, jaw clenched as he glared at her.
?Welcome,? their host said, a bemused smile on his face, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously under his thick eyebrows.
Samira rolled her eyes. ?Spare me. Let?s get straight to it: stop trying to blackmail me and I won?t tell the police what really happened.?
His brow furrowed and he took a sip of his bottled water. ?What really happened is you attacked me, so---?
?You came after us,? she retorted. ?And you entered a Neelstem Academy building, so―?
?Well, now you?re on our turf, so I?d cool it with the attitude,? his friend chimed in, glowering.
?Or what?? she challenged, raising an eyebrow. Adrenaline shot through her veins as her irritation built. Enya, standing behind her, rested a calming hand on her shoulder. ?And you people have no turf.?
?You people?? the accomplice seethed, balling his fists. ?Rams, handle her before I do.?
?Handle me???
?Alright, guys! Chill out. Ash, we?re just here for a deal,? Rams interrupted. He turned back to Samira, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his black hair. The shaved sides made him even more irritating. ?What?ve you got.?
?I told you. Stop blackmailing me, I won?t turn you in.?
He narrowed his eyes, and a wry smile played at his lips. ?You tried to kill me, and you think I?m the one in the wrong.?
?Yes! Your whole vigilante act is illegal. And I wasn?t trying to kill you??
?Oh, so murder just comes naturally??
?That?s all their people know how to do,? the friend cut in, his words searing through Samira like elemental flames. Samira sprang from the chair, which clattered to the floor behind her. Ash rose and moved toward her, and Rams scrambled to stand between them, begging his friend to calm down.
?You think because you?re an Elemental you?re untouchable??
?Come at me and find out!? she taunted. Enya prodded her to leave, but Samira refused. ?I?m not leaving because this weak Ordinary,? she soaked the word in all the disdain of generations past, ?has a superiority complex.?
Ash shoved past Rams and lunged at her.
Samira had only seen Enya?s hand rise for a fraction of a second. A burst of flames erupted on the left side of Ash?s face. He staggered back, letting out an agonized bray as he clutched his face. Rams grabbed Enya?s arm and with a scream, she bucked and convulsed as if electrocuted.
Ash?s skin bubbled sickeningly from the elemental heat, and finally, Samira?s brain clicked into action. Damage control. She stepped toward him; palms upturned. She breathed deeply and concentrated. Pulling on the air as hard as she could, she watched the flame flicker into nothingness as it lost its fuel, and his eyes drooped as his body, too, suffered a loss of oxygen. Once the last of the flames went out, she forced the energy back toward him, a cooling wind that saw a thick white curtain of smoke wisping between his fingers.
Ash whimpered. Rams stared at him wide-eyed.
Enya gawped apprehensively at the back of Rams? head; a thin black bruise striped up her arm.
Samira dropped her hand at her side.
What had they done?
The silence that followed indicated that no one upstairs was aware of what had just happened. Yet the face of the boy standing across from her, which could barely qualify as such anymore, was a blatant sign of disaster. It was clearly an elemental injury.
They were strange faces, outnumbered by Ordinaries, and would need to leave.
And no one was on their side.
Samira didn?t have a solid plan for confronting the boy she?d almost killed, but a malleable plan was a plan, nonetheless. Negotiate, intimidate, evacuate. The supposed victim had spent the last two weeks inundating her inbox with what looked like security camera stills of the incident. With no electricity in the abandoned building, it could only mean that he?d had an accomplice―which neither she nor Enya had anticipated when they?d lured him there. They?d assumed he worked alone. Now there was another person they needed to keep quiet. If those images leaked, they?d either face four months of magical probation in Elemental court or be punished for their mere existence in Ordinary court.
The brown-bricked library came into view. Ordinary students leaned lazily on the white stone columns that framed the front of the building. The summer heat beat down on her back and she resisted the urge to stir up a little wind to cool herself and Enya. Since elemental interference was forbidden off school grounds, it would only draw more attention to themselves. They were already being given curious looks just by being new faces in this part of town so Enya?s idea to change out of their uniforms was paying off to some degree. Had they done it Samira?s way, they?d probably be stoned before even setting foot on the pavement. Samira tossed a few braids over her shoulder defiantly, mentally cursing herself for agreeing to meet so far away from campus.
They navigated through the looks and headed straight for the study rooms along a quiet corridor in the basement. The silence brought flashbacks of the wretched day Enya had gone along with Samira?s plan of starting an elemental fire in one of their school?s abandoned training buildings hoping the braggadocious, self-proclaimed vigilante would turn up. Samira had nearly suffocated him out of anger when he?d refused to give up the names of other vigilantes. Now she would face the prick again. She flexed her fingers and released a breath.
They found him in the fifth room sitting at a table with someone wearing a black hoodie. No doubt the accomplice.
Samira pushed open the door and strode in, while Enya entered behind her like a mouse, the door closing with a soft click. When Samira plopped down next to the accomplice, he stood immediately and moved to a cushioned chair in the corner, jaw clenched as he glared at her.
?Welcome,? their host said, a bemused smile on his face, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously under his thick eyebrows.
Samira rolled her eyes. ?Spare me. Let?s get straight to it: stop trying to blackmail me and I won?t tell the police what really happened.?
His brow furrowed and he took a sip of his bottled water. ?What really happened is you attacked me, so---?
?You came after us,? she retorted. ?And you entered a Neelstem Academy building, so―?
?Well, now you?re on our turf, so I?d cool it with the attitude,? his friend chimed in, glowering.
?Or what?? she challenged, raising an eyebrow. Adrenaline shot through her veins as her irritation built. Enya, standing behind her, rested a calming hand on her shoulder. ?And you people have no turf.?
?You people?? the accomplice seethed, balling his fists. ?Rams, handle her before I do.?
?Handle me???
?Alright, guys! Chill out. Ash, we?re just here for a deal,? Rams interrupted. He turned back to Samira, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his black hair. The shaved sides made him even more irritating. ?What?ve you got.?
?I told you. Stop blackmailing me, I won?t turn you in.?
He narrowed his eyes, and a wry smile played at his lips. ?You tried to kill me, and you think I?m the one in the wrong.?
?Yes! Your whole vigilante act is illegal. And I wasn?t trying to kill you??
?Oh, so murder just comes naturally??
?That?s all their people know how to do,? the friend cut in, his words searing through Samira like elemental flames. Samira sprang from the chair, which clattered to the floor behind her. Ash rose and moved toward her, and Rams scrambled to stand between them, begging his friend to calm down.
?You think because you?re an Elemental you?re untouchable??
?Come at me and find out!? she taunted. Enya prodded her to leave, but Samira refused. ?I?m not leaving because this weak Ordinary,? she soaked the word in all the disdain of generations past, ?has a superiority complex.?
Ash shoved past Rams and lunged at her.
Samira had only seen Enya?s hand rise for a fraction of a second. A burst of flames erupted on the left side of Ash?s face. He staggered back, letting out an agonized bray as he clutched his face. Rams grabbed Enya?s arm and with a scream, she bucked and convulsed as if electrocuted.
Ash?s skin bubbled sickeningly from the elemental heat, and finally, Samira?s brain clicked into action. Damage control. She stepped toward him; palms upturned. She breathed deeply and concentrated. Pulling on the air as hard as she could, she watched the flame flicker into nothingness as it lost its fuel, and his eyes drooped as his body, too, suffered a loss of oxygen. Once the last of the flames went out, she forced the energy back toward him, a cooling wind that saw a thick white curtain of smoke wisping between his fingers.
Ash whimpered. Rams stared at him wide-eyed.
Enya gawped apprehensively at the back of Rams? head; a thin black bruise striped up her arm.
Samira dropped her hand at her side.
What had they done?
The silence that followed indicated that no one upstairs was aware of what had just happened. Yet the face of the boy standing across from her, which could barely qualify as such anymore, was a blatant sign of disaster. It was clearly an elemental injury.
They were strange faces, outnumbered by Ordinaries, and would need to leave.
And no one was on their side.
92
Week 4 posts / Pro Editor Feedback: Becoming The Storm by Steph Whitaker
« Last post by Steph Whitaker on August 07, 2021, 06:42:50 PM »93
Week 4 posts / Ravlenna?s Fire Final Draft
« Last post by songmaiden on August 06, 2021, 01:42:26 PM »Here?s the link to my final draft! I hope you enjoy, and I can?t wait to read everyone else?s!
https://smroffey.com/wim-2021-week-4-final-draft/
https://smroffey.com/wim-2021-week-4-final-draft/
94
Week 4 posts / Rough Seas: Final Draft
« Last post by JoAn_Di on August 06, 2021, 01:26:40 PM »The feedback from my assigned editor helped and encouraged me so much - at a time, when I really needed it. A huge thank you to the wonderful Writer in Motion-team, and the editors volunteering their valuable time, for allowing us to grow as writers. 
Rough Seas
Cornwall, 14 February 1885
Cornwall?s majestic cliffs were veiled in dense fog when Sebastian Ashdon, Earl of Hartland, stood on the precipice and looked straight ahead. No light, as far as the eye could see. Instead, a thick grey blanket of nothing stretched out before him. Stiff winds blew drops from the rough sea into his face. His dark woolen coat swayed with the breeze. Add in the crashing but invisible waves on the shoreline, and even he had to admit he cut the perfect picture of a brooding Gothic hero. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Sebastian stood firm, lost in his grim thoughts. Maybe he was closer to a gothic hero than he?d like to admit.
Legs wide, steady. Eyes ahead, certain. His father?s mantra wasn?t the only memory tumbling through his mind. Scenes from his childhood flashed before him: sun-drenched picnics in the meadows surrounding the manor. Expeditions through fields and overgrown forests. And every summer until he was shipped away, swims in the cool sea.
Yet, nothing was the same. Not the sea, not the air ? and certainly not the ground beneath his feet. Fog blocked his nostrils, and the wet mist soaked his trousers. It seeped into his bones.
Sebastian sighed. Staring off into the distance was vastly overrated. Especially when the grey mist was too thick to see beyond his nose.
More than ten years away from England could make a man forget how the weather always interfered with a one?s best, or worst, intentions. Even when his only aim had been picturesque rumination.
What a fool he was. As a rule, Sebastian Ashdon didn?t tolerate foolishness, least of all in himself. He rolled his eyes, pushed an errant lock of black hair out of his eyes, and turned around, leaving behind the sea.
The same evening he finished his studies in Cambridge, Sebastian had packed his few belongings, and bid farewell to his many acquaintances and few friends. He had been on a boat out of Southampton the next day. Until now, he had never looked back.
As he strode along muddy fields, his fields, towards the waiting carriage, he forced himself to ignore the signs of decay around him. As soon as Sebastian had touched English soil, he had set out for his estate in Cornwall, expecting to find the thriving lands of his youth. Hoping for a warm welcome by his father?s, now his, staff.
Instead, he had encountered uncultivated fields. Bewildered, he had continued his journey to Hartland Manor, where the door was slammed into his face by an unfamiliar butler. Faced with a closed door and curtained windows, Sebastian had been seething ? anger a pulsing beet in his chest.
Looking around, he could no longer ignore the truth. In his absence, his guardian, the Earl of Norwood, must have believed him lost. To his dismay, but not surprise, his uncle had shirked his responsibilities. To the earldom and to his nephew. On a good day, Sebastian may be willing to forgive the latter, but never the former.
Now, it was time to prepare his coming out. There would be no pastel-colored attire, nor a presentation at court, or so he hoped. But Sebastian had to plan his entry into society as scrupulously as any society matron would her daughter?s. Bearing in mind his mission to avenge his father, there was no alternative. Failure was not an option.
Entering society for the first time posed a few problems. Although his title was well known - if besmirched - Sebastian was nearly foreign to the ton. Polite society hadn?t heard from the new Earl of Hartland in over a decade, his past as shadowed to them as his own future was to him. To succeed, he would need to call in favors with anyone who had been part of his father?s set before he disappeared. Anything to avoid relying on his relatives.
Sebastian had almost reached the carriage when the door was opened. Jo Greenblatt, his friend and confidante since one fateful night in the streets of Berlin, pulled him inside. Sebastian tapped against the front of the carriage and signaled the driver to depart.
He leaned back against the soft cushions and looked over at his friend. The first years abroad, Sebastian had been lost and lonely. Their friendship had saved him, both literally and figuratively. Jo?s arms were crossed, dark shadows played along his face, making it unreadable.
?Found what you were looking for?? After years of traveling and living across the continent, only a hint of an accent remained in Jo?s voice.
?I?m afraid not,? Sebastian said. He wasn?t sure why he had insisted on visiting the place where his childhood had ended abruptly and prematurely. Perhaps he had hoped to recover a connection. A sense of belonging. To this place, this country, but most of all to his father.
In every memory from his childhood, Sebastian?s father, the Earl of Hartland, played the leading man. Though, over time his image became equally as imposing and foggy. In hindsight, he couldn?t separate man from myth. That was before his father had lost face, family, and fortune.
He sank further into the cushions. ?It doesn?t signify. We?re here for one reason only. Once our mission is achieved, we can return home.?
?Home? Where would that be??
?Brussels, Amsterdam, Paris, wherever we decide to make our home.?
Jo raised one eyebrow. ?If you say so. Depending on how the season goes, we may stay for longer than you expect.?
?One season. No more.?
Jo put his feet up next to Sebastian and smirked. ?Famous last words??
?No, just confident.?
?We both know where that confidence has led us in the past.?
It was Sebastian?s turn to raise his eyebrows ? both. To his great dismay, he?d never acquired the skill of raising just one. ?And we both know, you enjoyed every minute of it.?
Jo leaned forward and took Sebastian?s hands into his. ?As did you. Except for our failed heist in Budapest perhaps, which I count among my favorite memories.?
Gratitude and affection warmed Sebastian chest and spread until it tightened his throat. In response, he lifted the left corner of his mouth and sent Jo a half-smile.
There was no one he would rather have by his side over the next few months. Together, they would claim Sebastian?s title and inheritance, establish him in society, and restore his estates ? all while discovering who had blackmailed his father. Child?s play.
Most importantly, no one could find out his father?s sudden and permanent exile from England had been Sebastian?s fault.
He would make sure of that.
Rough Seas
Cornwall, 14 February 1885
Cornwall?s majestic cliffs were veiled in dense fog when Sebastian Ashdon, Earl of Hartland, stood on the precipice and looked straight ahead. No light, as far as the eye could see. Instead, a thick grey blanket of nothing stretched out before him. Stiff winds blew drops from the rough sea into his face. His dark woolen coat swayed with the breeze. Add in the crashing but invisible waves on the shoreline, and even he had to admit he cut the perfect picture of a brooding Gothic hero. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Sebastian stood firm, lost in his grim thoughts. Maybe he was closer to a gothic hero than he?d like to admit.
Legs wide, steady. Eyes ahead, certain. His father?s mantra wasn?t the only memory tumbling through his mind. Scenes from his childhood flashed before him: sun-drenched picnics in the meadows surrounding the manor. Expeditions through fields and overgrown forests. And every summer until he was shipped away, swims in the cool sea.
Yet, nothing was the same. Not the sea, not the air ? and certainly not the ground beneath his feet. Fog blocked his nostrils, and the wet mist soaked his trousers. It seeped into his bones.
Sebastian sighed. Staring off into the distance was vastly overrated. Especially when the grey mist was too thick to see beyond his nose.
More than ten years away from England could make a man forget how the weather always interfered with a one?s best, or worst, intentions. Even when his only aim had been picturesque rumination.
What a fool he was. As a rule, Sebastian Ashdon didn?t tolerate foolishness, least of all in himself. He rolled his eyes, pushed an errant lock of black hair out of his eyes, and turned around, leaving behind the sea.
The same evening he finished his studies in Cambridge, Sebastian had packed his few belongings, and bid farewell to his many acquaintances and few friends. He had been on a boat out of Southampton the next day. Until now, he had never looked back.
As he strode along muddy fields, his fields, towards the waiting carriage, he forced himself to ignore the signs of decay around him. As soon as Sebastian had touched English soil, he had set out for his estate in Cornwall, expecting to find the thriving lands of his youth. Hoping for a warm welcome by his father?s, now his, staff.
Instead, he had encountered uncultivated fields. Bewildered, he had continued his journey to Hartland Manor, where the door was slammed into his face by an unfamiliar butler. Faced with a closed door and curtained windows, Sebastian had been seething ? anger a pulsing beet in his chest.
Looking around, he could no longer ignore the truth. In his absence, his guardian, the Earl of Norwood, must have believed him lost. To his dismay, but not surprise, his uncle had shirked his responsibilities. To the earldom and to his nephew. On a good day, Sebastian may be willing to forgive the latter, but never the former.
Now, it was time to prepare his coming out. There would be no pastel-colored attire, nor a presentation at court, or so he hoped. But Sebastian had to plan his entry into society as scrupulously as any society matron would her daughter?s. Bearing in mind his mission to avenge his father, there was no alternative. Failure was not an option.
Entering society for the first time posed a few problems. Although his title was well known - if besmirched - Sebastian was nearly foreign to the ton. Polite society hadn?t heard from the new Earl of Hartland in over a decade, his past as shadowed to them as his own future was to him. To succeed, he would need to call in favors with anyone who had been part of his father?s set before he disappeared. Anything to avoid relying on his relatives.
Sebastian had almost reached the carriage when the door was opened. Jo Greenblatt, his friend and confidante since one fateful night in the streets of Berlin, pulled him inside. Sebastian tapped against the front of the carriage and signaled the driver to depart.
He leaned back against the soft cushions and looked over at his friend. The first years abroad, Sebastian had been lost and lonely. Their friendship had saved him, both literally and figuratively. Jo?s arms were crossed, dark shadows played along his face, making it unreadable.
?Found what you were looking for?? After years of traveling and living across the continent, only a hint of an accent remained in Jo?s voice.
?I?m afraid not,? Sebastian said. He wasn?t sure why he had insisted on visiting the place where his childhood had ended abruptly and prematurely. Perhaps he had hoped to recover a connection. A sense of belonging. To this place, this country, but most of all to his father.
In every memory from his childhood, Sebastian?s father, the Earl of Hartland, played the leading man. Though, over time his image became equally as imposing and foggy. In hindsight, he couldn?t separate man from myth. That was before his father had lost face, family, and fortune.
He sank further into the cushions. ?It doesn?t signify. We?re here for one reason only. Once our mission is achieved, we can return home.?
?Home? Where would that be??
?Brussels, Amsterdam, Paris, wherever we decide to make our home.?
Jo raised one eyebrow. ?If you say so. Depending on how the season goes, we may stay for longer than you expect.?
?One season. No more.?
Jo put his feet up next to Sebastian and smirked. ?Famous last words??
?No, just confident.?
?We both know where that confidence has led us in the past.?
It was Sebastian?s turn to raise his eyebrows ? both. To his great dismay, he?d never acquired the skill of raising just one. ?And we both know, you enjoyed every minute of it.?
Jo leaned forward and took Sebastian?s hands into his. ?As did you. Except for our failed heist in Budapest perhaps, which I count among my favorite memories.?
Gratitude and affection warmed Sebastian chest and spread until it tightened his throat. In response, he lifted the left corner of his mouth and sent Jo a half-smile.
There was no one he would rather have by his side over the next few months. Together, they would claim Sebastian?s title and inheritance, establish him in society, and restore his estates ? all while discovering who had blackmailed his father. Child?s play.
Most importantly, no one could find out his father?s sudden and permanent exile from England had been Sebastian?s fault.
He would make sure of that.
95
Week 4 posts / Cloud Jumper final draft (formerly scud run)
« Last post by dextermain on August 06, 2021, 01:08:34 AM » Cloud Jumper
Neil's shirt stuck to his back almost as soon as he stepped out the door. The lifting fog and billowing clouds reminded him of the summer long ago, when he and his brother chased the falling cloud. Most of those days were sticky, hot, and filled with meandering adventures. How different their summer, and now his life, could have been if it hadn't been for his brother's interest in the clouds.
Right before school had let out that year Neil's brother came home excitedly talking about how clouds used to be. Neil was eight years older than him and could barely remember the time when clouds weren't something to be cautious around. For Neil's brother, watching a cloud sink down, and rest on a building was as natural as watching a thunderstorm. They were as dangerous as thunderstorms too. If someone wasn't careful a cloud could crush them. But that was rarer than a lightning strike.
One morning that summer, Neil's brother had woken up much earlier than him. He burst into his room shouting, "A cloud. There's a cloud falling, and it looks like it's gonna land in the big soccer field."
Neil threw some shorts and a hoodie on and the two of them ran out the door. They cut through the neighbor's yards and ran as fast as they could. They weaved through a small grove of trees, their vision blinded for a quick moment, circled around a light pole on the edge of the field, and past a covered pavilion. They tried to keep their heads up in the sky looking for the descending cloud, but while they pushed through the trees it seemed the cloud completely vanished.
"Man," his brother said, "I'm going to get better at finding these clouds."
As they searched the skies above, they didn't notice the fog that had surrounded them.
Once Neil noticed, he scooped his hand through the fog. He watched as it curled around in his hand. He formed a ball and raised it in front of his face. He blew and the haze swirled all around him. His brother laughed and grabbed some. They made them into balls and pushed them at each other. Instead of spreading, the spheres joined into one large object. Neil pushed it easily, but his little brother had to strain to get it to move.
"I've got an idea," Neil said as he pushed down a little on the fog and made a curved edge, until it resembled a seat. Then he picked up his brother and placed him in the makeshift saddle. His brother sat atop the fog with a big smirk on his face.
His little brother hopped off, grabbed some, clumped it together, and made it into a rectangle. Once it was big enough, he pushed it to about knee height and stepped on it.
"Look Neil! I'm standing!" he said with a laugh.
Neil tried to put his body weight on it, but his foot broke through.
As his brother stood there, he made small bounces to test the weight. The two brothers locked eyes, both realizing the implication, and silently began running around scooping up even more fog.
Before long, they had collected about a dozen rectangles.
Neil instructed his brother as they constructed a makeshift pair of fog steps into the sky. He watched his brother climb higher than the pavilion.
He called out, "Only go as high as the light. That's at least fifteen feet."
As his brother neared the top of the lamp Neil saw him start to panic.
"Neil," he shouted. "The fog! It's disappearing."
The first tier of stairs was completely gone. The atmosphere had shifted, and the fog was clearing.
"What do I do?"
Neil looked around frantically for anything to help, but he came up empty. The steps had disappeared even more now. All that was left were two blocks.
"Slowly move the block and come down."
"But what if it disappears while I'm still way up here?"
Neil searched around hoping to find something to jar him into action. He was paralyzed as he watched his brother crouched in the air, and hoped he wouldn't have to see him fall, or be crushed while diving to catch him.
Just above his brother he noticed a cloud that must have drifted near during his journey upward. His first response was terror as he imagined the cloud lowering and smashing into his brother. Then it clicked.
"Use the fog to get to the cloud."
His brother carefully moved the steps, reaching down to grasp the step and inch it closer to the cloud. Once close enough he clambered his way onto the cloud. At first, Neil could only see a faint outline of his little brother, but then he popped his head over the side and waved.
"It feels like the softest pillow in the world," his brother said with a smile in his voice that betrayed the nerves they both had a moment ago.
"Most clouds sink," Neil shouted. "They must be a little different than the fog. Can you try jumping up and down on the cloud?"
He held his breath as he watched him start bouncing on the cloud. There was always the possibility that he would break through, and his brother would careen towards the ground.
The cloud slowly started to lower back down. Both of them whooped and hollered. As it got closer to the pavilion Neil pulled out a picnic table and scrambled up to the top. As the cloud floated just above the pavilion, he dove onto it, next to his brother. He sank down into the cloud, but it held his weight. The two laughed uncontrollably as the cloud sank the rest of the way to the ground.
Neil's shirt began to cling even more to his skin the longer he was outside, as he continued to think back to that first cloud ride. He looked out across the city, as he and his brother stood on a rooftop, waiting for a cloud to draw nearer.
"I know you're thinking about that summer. I told you I'd get better at finding clouds," his brother said with a smirk.
He took off running and jumped onto the cloud that had finally drifted close enough. Neil ran after him, not even waiting to see his brother sink deep into the cloud before joining him.
Neil's shirt stuck to his back almost as soon as he stepped out the door. The lifting fog and billowing clouds reminded him of the summer long ago, when he and his brother chased the falling cloud. Most of those days were sticky, hot, and filled with meandering adventures. How different their summer, and now his life, could have been if it hadn't been for his brother's interest in the clouds.
Right before school had let out that year Neil's brother came home excitedly talking about how clouds used to be. Neil was eight years older than him and could barely remember the time when clouds weren't something to be cautious around. For Neil's brother, watching a cloud sink down, and rest on a building was as natural as watching a thunderstorm. They were as dangerous as thunderstorms too. If someone wasn't careful a cloud could crush them. But that was rarer than a lightning strike.
One morning that summer, Neil's brother had woken up much earlier than him. He burst into his room shouting, "A cloud. There's a cloud falling, and it looks like it's gonna land in the big soccer field."
Neil threw some shorts and a hoodie on and the two of them ran out the door. They cut through the neighbor's yards and ran as fast as they could. They weaved through a small grove of trees, their vision blinded for a quick moment, circled around a light pole on the edge of the field, and past a covered pavilion. They tried to keep their heads up in the sky looking for the descending cloud, but while they pushed through the trees it seemed the cloud completely vanished.
"Man," his brother said, "I'm going to get better at finding these clouds."
As they searched the skies above, they didn't notice the fog that had surrounded them.
Once Neil noticed, he scooped his hand through the fog. He watched as it curled around in his hand. He formed a ball and raised it in front of his face. He blew and the haze swirled all around him. His brother laughed and grabbed some. They made them into balls and pushed them at each other. Instead of spreading, the spheres joined into one large object. Neil pushed it easily, but his little brother had to strain to get it to move.
"I've got an idea," Neil said as he pushed down a little on the fog and made a curved edge, until it resembled a seat. Then he picked up his brother and placed him in the makeshift saddle. His brother sat atop the fog with a big smirk on his face.
His little brother hopped off, grabbed some, clumped it together, and made it into a rectangle. Once it was big enough, he pushed it to about knee height and stepped on it.
"Look Neil! I'm standing!" he said with a laugh.
Neil tried to put his body weight on it, but his foot broke through.
As his brother stood there, he made small bounces to test the weight. The two brothers locked eyes, both realizing the implication, and silently began running around scooping up even more fog.
Before long, they had collected about a dozen rectangles.
Neil instructed his brother as they constructed a makeshift pair of fog steps into the sky. He watched his brother climb higher than the pavilion.
He called out, "Only go as high as the light. That's at least fifteen feet."
As his brother neared the top of the lamp Neil saw him start to panic.
"Neil," he shouted. "The fog! It's disappearing."
The first tier of stairs was completely gone. The atmosphere had shifted, and the fog was clearing.
"What do I do?"
Neil looked around frantically for anything to help, but he came up empty. The steps had disappeared even more now. All that was left were two blocks.
"Slowly move the block and come down."
"But what if it disappears while I'm still way up here?"
Neil searched around hoping to find something to jar him into action. He was paralyzed as he watched his brother crouched in the air, and hoped he wouldn't have to see him fall, or be crushed while diving to catch him.
Just above his brother he noticed a cloud that must have drifted near during his journey upward. His first response was terror as he imagined the cloud lowering and smashing into his brother. Then it clicked.
"Use the fog to get to the cloud."
His brother carefully moved the steps, reaching down to grasp the step and inch it closer to the cloud. Once close enough he clambered his way onto the cloud. At first, Neil could only see a faint outline of his little brother, but then he popped his head over the side and waved.
"It feels like the softest pillow in the world," his brother said with a smile in his voice that betrayed the nerves they both had a moment ago.
"Most clouds sink," Neil shouted. "They must be a little different than the fog. Can you try jumping up and down on the cloud?"
He held his breath as he watched him start bouncing on the cloud. There was always the possibility that he would break through, and his brother would careen towards the ground.
The cloud slowly started to lower back down. Both of them whooped and hollered. As it got closer to the pavilion Neil pulled out a picnic table and scrambled up to the top. As the cloud floated just above the pavilion, he dove onto it, next to his brother. He sank down into the cloud, but it held his weight. The two laughed uncontrollably as the cloud sank the rest of the way to the ground.
Neil's shirt began to cling even more to his skin the longer he was outside, as he continued to think back to that first cloud ride. He looked out across the city, as he and his brother stood on a rooftop, waiting for a cloud to draw nearer.
"I know you're thinking about that summer. I told you I'd get better at finding clouds," his brother said with a smirk.
He took off running and jumped onto the cloud that had finally drifted close enough. Neil ran after him, not even waiting to see his brother sink deep into the cloud before joining him.
96
Week 3 posts / Writer in Motion-Flames and Smoke
« Last post by TesseStruveAuthor on August 02, 2021, 09:19:34 PM »Hi all!
So my blog has been not working this whole time! I think I got it to work. So here is the link to my critique partner post.
Thanks to my awesome critique partners Lizzie and Blue! You rock!
https://tessestruveauthor.blogspot.com/2021/08/writer-in-motion-critique-partner-draft.html
Thanks everyone!
~Tesse
So my blog has been not working this whole time! I think I got it to work. So here is the link to my critique partner post.
Thanks to my awesome critique partners Lizzie and Blue! You rock!
https://tessestruveauthor.blogspot.com/2021/08/writer-in-motion-critique-partner-draft.html
Thanks everyone!
~Tesse
97
Week 3 posts / Re: Lizzie Bell - Draft 3, CP edits (still don't have a title, help)
« Last post by PMS_Chicago on August 02, 2021, 05:35:35 AM »I enjoyed reading this story. This line stood out for me: "As if any of them knew a single thing about keeping something alive." Given the reveal on Harry later, I had to circle back to savor this bit of foreshadowing. I love stuff like that, and I appreciate that there is some ambiguity about what happened and why--it doesn't matter to the reality of your characters as much as the environmental hazard. Great stuff, and I wonder what it would look like in a novella form. I could see that quest to touch the sky getting its own space, for sure.
You asked for help on the title, and I'm horrible at titles. I'm also horrible at keeping bad ideas to myself, so here you go:
"Touching the sky" (too "on the nose", right?)
"The Last Mint Tea"
"Harry's an Idiot" (probably not the one you want to go with, but it had to be said)
"The Masks We Wear"
"The Tender"
"Cyanotypes"
Anything beyond this will be me getting too silly. Good luck with your real title!
You asked for help on the title, and I'm horrible at titles. I'm also horrible at keeping bad ideas to myself, so here you go:
"Touching the sky" (too "on the nose", right?)
"The Last Mint Tea"
"Harry's an Idiot" (probably not the one you want to go with, but it had to be said)
"The Masks We Wear"
"The Tender"
"Cyanotypes"
Anything beyond this will be me getting too silly. Good luck with your real title!
98
Announcements & Guidelines / Summer 2021 WIM Participants, get your drafts in to your editors!
« Last post by SKaeth on August 01, 2021, 10:10:01 PM »Hello, all of you amazing writers! I've loved following along with your progress on all of your stories. It's been amazing to see the changes and what stays the same!
This is the editor week for Summer 2021 Writer In Motion, and you should have gotten an email with your editor assignments. Please make sure to get your stories to your editors as soon as possible (if you haven't already), and if you need anything, contact your editor to ask for an accommodation. If you haven't gotten your editor assignment, check to make sure your spam folder didn't eat it, and if it's not there, let us know!
I'm looking forward to seeing all of the final drafts!
This is the editor week for Summer 2021 Writer In Motion, and you should have gotten an email with your editor assignments. Please make sure to get your stories to your editors as soon as possible (if you haven't already), and if you need anything, contact your editor to ask for an accommodation. If you haven't gotten your editor assignment, check to make sure your spam folder didn't eat it, and if it's not there, let us know!
I'm looking forward to seeing all of the final drafts!
99
Week 3 posts / CP Version: Smoke on the Water
« Last post by KristenH on August 01, 2021, 07:54:53 PM »Special thanks goes to Megan, Dani, and Johanna for helping me out by making this short story better. My word count is down. I've slightly changed my ending to give it a romantic hint of what's to come. Enjoy!
Smoke On the Water
On a clear spring morning, I walked along the long pier at Washington Park Beach, the waters of Lake Michigan lapped at the shore, Foamy waves carried a scattering of seashells to decorate the sand. I?d received a special assignment from the National Historical Society to design an overload appliqu? for the annual BalloonFest in Astor Fields next month. They?d given me permission to tour the automated lighthouse. Lucky for me, I wasn't afraid of heights.
Lighthouses had always fascinated me for ever since I was a young girl From my previous research on Michigan City Lighthouse & Pier, I?d gotten the gist of how tall and wide the lighthouse would be to apply on the nylon fabric for the balloon. I pretended to faint. My pulse soared like a surfer riding a wave when the local newspaper mentioned my name in that article. At the entrance, I typed rough estimates for the pre-cut design. Instead of the usual red-and-white stripes, I etched a light composition on the canvas like an artist painting their seascape. My heartbeat slammed inside my chest as I?d worked on the design. When I finished, I unlocked the doors to the lighthouse with the master key.
Inside the lighthouse, I climbed the spiral staircase to the elevated catwalk. Out-of-breath, I reached the top and glanced at the large windows facing Lake Michigan to marvel at the view. ?Wow! I feel like I'm on top of the world?? I let out a soft chuckle and relaxed my shoulders.
Nothing but a sunny sky, a couple puffs of smoke. What the hell? I moved closer to the railing. Something buoyed along the tide. Smoke on the water. I gasped at deflated hot air balloon that floated with broken suspension cords. I dialed 9-1-1.
? 911, what's your emergency?" the operator asked.
"A hot air balloon has fallen into Lake Michigan. It's on fire."
"Where are you at?"
"Michigan City East Lighthouse and Pier."
?I?m sending EMS, police, and fire over your way within ten minutes. Your name??
?Thank you. Jillian Ross.? I headed toward the pier as I waited for help. Time was of the essence. Why was that balloon here unless it was an aeronaut from the Balloonfest.
I exited and sprinted toward the quiet beach. At the parking lot, I stashed my tablet inside my car and donned my wetsuit to stay warm from the chilly water. As a former senior lifeguard, I had phenomenal swimming and diving skills. It couldn't hurt to have a head start. I hurried to the vacant lifeguard stand and borrowed a pair of binoculars. I bit my lower lip and guessed the basket was at least fifteen feet away.
Sirens sounded in the distance. Like a buoy, somebody clutched onto the basket. I rushed toward the water?s edge before anyone could stop me.
"Hey miss. You should leave it to the professionals. Didn?t you call for help?"
I nodded and glanced at him. He dressed in a MCFD uniform. But I couldn't tell what rank and name appeared on his backside. I took umbrage at what he said: lifeguards weren't professionals. "Yes, I did. But this person needs our help. I'm a certified lifeguard and an all-star champion in collegiate swimming and diving...." I didn't like to boost about my stellar athleticism which almost landed me a spot on the US Olympic team a dozen years ago.
He scoffed. "Yeah, right. Please step back and let us do our job. We'll get to the site faster without your interference."
I opened my mouth and closed it shut. I would love to prove him wrong. "Wanna bet?.Officer."
"It's Lieutenant O'Dowd, Miss Ross. And you're on." He snickered.
O?Dowd? Wait a minute here. One of my survival camp instructors last fall had been named O'Dowd? I smirked. "Logan, we meet again. Meet you at the basket." I ran toward the shallow end and dove straight into the chilly water. No doubt, he groaned behind me and accelerated the fire/rescue boat. I?d gotten the lead by a mere margin as I propelled myself forward with the freestyle stroke. I didn't notice the chill, but more swirling smoke wafted into the air from the sinking basket as someone called for "help."
Logan sped on the waves. I splashed Logan when I approached the basket. This man inside sported a black hooded jacket. Smoke consumed his face as he blocked it with his hand.
I did my best to shrug off the shivers.Fire engulfed the hot air balloon. A Coast Guard clipper doused the flame and tended to the injured man?s needs. A splash didn?t do much to smother this out-of-control blaze.
He smirked and folded his arms. "Not so fast. You've proven your point, and we'll take over from here. We don't want you to catch a cold.?
"I wanted to save a life... Lieutenant."
?Want a ride back to the beach?" He grabbed a towel and held it out for me when I climbed inside the boat to dry off. What a perfect gentleman. So gallant and chivalrous.
My lips quivered. I frowned at the faded white, red, and blue colors from the hot air balloon. The fire smeared the design with a missing logo or emblem. I wrapped myself inside a warm towel as we sped past the clipper that gathered the balloon for evidence.
"Satisfied," Logan said. "But I don?t know what you were thinking or had to prove by swimming into cold water?"
"Nothing. Just wanted to save a life. I guess I did in a way." I remained quiet until we reached shore. "Thanks for the lift. See you around..Logan." I jumped out and tossed him his towel. I sprinted toward my car in the parking lot. Ten minutes later, I drove away and headed toward my home in Valparaiso. A secret smirk crossed my face when I know we would meet again when our relationship would take flight like navigating a hot air balloon for the Balloonfest next month.
Smoke On the Water
On a clear spring morning, I walked along the long pier at Washington Park Beach, the waters of Lake Michigan lapped at the shore, Foamy waves carried a scattering of seashells to decorate the sand. I?d received a special assignment from the National Historical Society to design an overload appliqu? for the annual BalloonFest in Astor Fields next month. They?d given me permission to tour the automated lighthouse. Lucky for me, I wasn't afraid of heights.
Lighthouses had always fascinated me for ever since I was a young girl From my previous research on Michigan City Lighthouse & Pier, I?d gotten the gist of how tall and wide the lighthouse would be to apply on the nylon fabric for the balloon. I pretended to faint. My pulse soared like a surfer riding a wave when the local newspaper mentioned my name in that article. At the entrance, I typed rough estimates for the pre-cut design. Instead of the usual red-and-white stripes, I etched a light composition on the canvas like an artist painting their seascape. My heartbeat slammed inside my chest as I?d worked on the design. When I finished, I unlocked the doors to the lighthouse with the master key.
Inside the lighthouse, I climbed the spiral staircase to the elevated catwalk. Out-of-breath, I reached the top and glanced at the large windows facing Lake Michigan to marvel at the view. ?Wow! I feel like I'm on top of the world?? I let out a soft chuckle and relaxed my shoulders.
Nothing but a sunny sky, a couple puffs of smoke. What the hell? I moved closer to the railing. Something buoyed along the tide. Smoke on the water. I gasped at deflated hot air balloon that floated with broken suspension cords. I dialed 9-1-1.
? 911, what's your emergency?" the operator asked.
"A hot air balloon has fallen into Lake Michigan. It's on fire."
"Where are you at?"
"Michigan City East Lighthouse and Pier."
?I?m sending EMS, police, and fire over your way within ten minutes. Your name??
?Thank you. Jillian Ross.? I headed toward the pier as I waited for help. Time was of the essence. Why was that balloon here unless it was an aeronaut from the Balloonfest.
I exited and sprinted toward the quiet beach. At the parking lot, I stashed my tablet inside my car and donned my wetsuit to stay warm from the chilly water. As a former senior lifeguard, I had phenomenal swimming and diving skills. It couldn't hurt to have a head start. I hurried to the vacant lifeguard stand and borrowed a pair of binoculars. I bit my lower lip and guessed the basket was at least fifteen feet away.
Sirens sounded in the distance. Like a buoy, somebody clutched onto the basket. I rushed toward the water?s edge before anyone could stop me.
"Hey miss. You should leave it to the professionals. Didn?t you call for help?"
I nodded and glanced at him. He dressed in a MCFD uniform. But I couldn't tell what rank and name appeared on his backside. I took umbrage at what he said: lifeguards weren't professionals. "Yes, I did. But this person needs our help. I'm a certified lifeguard and an all-star champion in collegiate swimming and diving...." I didn't like to boost about my stellar athleticism which almost landed me a spot on the US Olympic team a dozen years ago.
He scoffed. "Yeah, right. Please step back and let us do our job. We'll get to the site faster without your interference."
I opened my mouth and closed it shut. I would love to prove him wrong. "Wanna bet?.Officer."
"It's Lieutenant O'Dowd, Miss Ross. And you're on." He snickered.
O?Dowd? Wait a minute here. One of my survival camp instructors last fall had been named O'Dowd? I smirked. "Logan, we meet again. Meet you at the basket." I ran toward the shallow end and dove straight into the chilly water. No doubt, he groaned behind me and accelerated the fire/rescue boat. I?d gotten the lead by a mere margin as I propelled myself forward with the freestyle stroke. I didn't notice the chill, but more swirling smoke wafted into the air from the sinking basket as someone called for "help."
Logan sped on the waves. I splashed Logan when I approached the basket. This man inside sported a black hooded jacket. Smoke consumed his face as he blocked it with his hand.
I did my best to shrug off the shivers.Fire engulfed the hot air balloon. A Coast Guard clipper doused the flame and tended to the injured man?s needs. A splash didn?t do much to smother this out-of-control blaze.
He smirked and folded his arms. "Not so fast. You've proven your point, and we'll take over from here. We don't want you to catch a cold.?
"I wanted to save a life... Lieutenant."
?Want a ride back to the beach?" He grabbed a towel and held it out for me when I climbed inside the boat to dry off. What a perfect gentleman. So gallant and chivalrous.
My lips quivered. I frowned at the faded white, red, and blue colors from the hot air balloon. The fire smeared the design with a missing logo or emblem. I wrapped myself inside a warm towel as we sped past the clipper that gathered the balloon for evidence.
"Satisfied," Logan said. "But I don?t know what you were thinking or had to prove by swimming into cold water?"
"Nothing. Just wanted to save a life. I guess I did in a way." I remained quiet until we reached shore. "Thanks for the lift. See you around..Logan." I jumped out and tossed him his towel. I sprinted toward my car in the parking lot. Ten minutes later, I drove away and headed toward my home in Valparaiso. A secret smirk crossed my face when I know we would meet again when our relationship would take flight like navigating a hot air balloon for the Balloonfest next month.
100
Week 3 posts / Rough Seas_CP edits
« Last post by JoAn_Di on August 01, 2021, 12:19:54 PM »The feedback I received from the CPs was incredibly helpful. It helped me see gaps and weaknesses in my story and writing. Surprisingly, I got positive feedback on aspects of my writing I consider a weakness, not a strenght. That was interesting.
Reading other writer's stories, reading them as a writer, was as helpful as the feedback I received on my own piece. It was also just really fun to thread the other amazing stories.
Cornwall, February 1885
Cornwall?s majestic cliffs were veiled in dense fog when Sebastian Ashdon, Earl of Hartland, stood on the precipice and looked straight ahead. No light, as far as the eye could see. Instead, a thick grey blanket of nothing stretched out before him. Stiff winds blew drops from the rough sea into his face. His dark woolen coat swayed with the breeze. Add in the crashing, but invisible waves crashing against the shoreline, he cut the perfect picture of a brooding Gothic hero.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Sebastian stood firm. Lost in his grim thoughts. Maybe he was closer to a gothic hero than he?d like to admit.
Legs wide, steady. Eyes ahead, certain. His father?s mantra wasn?t the only memory crashing into his mind. Childhood memories flashed before his eyes. Sun-drenched picnics in the meadows surrounding the manor, expeditions through fields and overgrown forests, and every summer until he was shipped away, swims in the cool sea.
Yet, nothing was the same. Not the sea, not the air ? and certainly not the ground beneath his feet.
Instead, the fog blocked his nostrils, and the wet mist soaked his trousers. Seeped into his bones. Sebastian sighed. Staring off into the distance was vastly overrated. Especially, when the grey mist was too thick to see beyond his nose.
More than ten years away from England could make a man forget how the weather always interfered with a man?s best, or worst, intentions. Even when his only aim had been picturesque rumination.
What a fool he was. As a rule, Sebastian Ashdon didn?t tolerate foolishness, least of all in himself. Sebastian rolled his eyes, pushed an errant lock of black hair out of his eyes and turned around, leaving behind the sea.
As he strode along muddy fields, his fields, towards the waiting carriage, he forced himself to ignore the signs of decay around him. As soon as Sebastian had been back on English soil, he had set out for his estate in Cornwall. The thriving lands of his youth were gone. In Sebastian?s absence, his guardian who had believed him lost, had shirked his responsibilities. To the earldom and to his nephew. The latter was more easily forgiven than the former.
The same evening he finished his studies in Cambridge, Sebastian had packed his few belongings, bid farewell to his many acquaintances and few friends. He had been on a boat out of Southampton the next day. Until now, he had never looked back.
Now, it was time to prepare his coming out. There would be no pastel-colored attire, nor a presentation at court, he hoped. But Sebastian had to plan his entry into society as scrupulously as any society matron would her daughter?s. Bearing in mind his mission to avenge his father, there was no alternative. Failure was not an option.
Entering society for the first time would pose a few problems. Although his title was well known - if besmirched - Sebastian was nearly foreign to the ton. Polite society hadn?t heard from the new Earl of Hartland in over a decade, his past as shadowed to them as his future was to him. To succeed, he would need to call in favors with anyone who had been part of his father?s set before he disappeared. Anything to avoid relying on his relatives.
Sebastian had almost reached the carriage when the door was opened. Jo Greenblatt, his friend and confidante since one fateful night in the streets of Berlin, pulled him inside. Sebastian tapped against the front of the carriage and signaled the driver to depart.
He leaned back against the soft cushions and looked over at his friend. The first years abroad Sebastian had been lost and lonely. Their friendship had saved him, both literally and figuratively. Jo?s arms were crossed, dark shadows played along his face, making it unreadable.
?Found what you were looking for?? After years of traveling and living across the continent, only a hint of an accent remained in Jo?s voice.
?I?m afraid not,? Sebastian said. He wasn?t sure why he had insisted on visiting the place where his childhood had ended abruptly and prematurely. Perhaps he had hoped to recover a connection. A sense of belonging. To this place, this country, but most of all to his father.
In every memory from his childhood, Sebastian?s father, the Earl of Hartland, played the leading man. His image equally imposing and foggy. In hindsight, he couldn?t separate man from myth. That was before his father had lost face, family, and fortune.
He sank further into the cushions. ?It doesn?t signify. We?re here for one reason only. Once our mission is achieved, we can return home.?
?Home? Where would that be??
?Brussels, Amsterdam, Paris, wherever we decide to make our home.?
Jo raised one eyebrow. ?If you say so. Depending on how the season goes, we may stay for longer than you expect.?
?One season. No more.?
Jo put his feet up next to Sebastian and smirked. ?Famous last words??
?No, just confident.?
?We both know where that confidence has led us in the past.?
It was Sebastian?s turn to raise his eyebrows ? both. To his great dismay, he?d never acquired the skill of raising just one. ?And we both know, you enjoyed every minute of it.?
Jo leaned forward and took Sebastian?s hands into his. ?As did you. Except for our failed heist in Budapest perhaps, which I count among my favorite memories.?
Gratitude and affection warmed Sebastian chest and spread until it tightened his throat. In response, he lifted the left corner of his mouth and sent Jo a half-smile.
There was no one he would rather have by is side over the next few months. Together, they would claim Sebastian?s title and inheritance, establish him in society, and restore his estates ? all while discovering who had blackmailed his father. Child?s play.
Most importantly, no one could find out about Sebastian?s role in his father?s sudden and permanent exile from England. He would make sure of that - I loved reading what others did with the prompt.
Reading other writer's stories, reading them as a writer, was as helpful as the feedback I received on my own piece. It was also just really fun to thread the other amazing stories.
Cornwall, February 1885
Cornwall?s majestic cliffs were veiled in dense fog when Sebastian Ashdon, Earl of Hartland, stood on the precipice and looked straight ahead. No light, as far as the eye could see. Instead, a thick grey blanket of nothing stretched out before him. Stiff winds blew drops from the rough sea into his face. His dark woolen coat swayed with the breeze. Add in the crashing, but invisible waves crashing against the shoreline, he cut the perfect picture of a brooding Gothic hero.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Sebastian stood firm. Lost in his grim thoughts. Maybe he was closer to a gothic hero than he?d like to admit.
Legs wide, steady. Eyes ahead, certain. His father?s mantra wasn?t the only memory crashing into his mind. Childhood memories flashed before his eyes. Sun-drenched picnics in the meadows surrounding the manor, expeditions through fields and overgrown forests, and every summer until he was shipped away, swims in the cool sea.
Yet, nothing was the same. Not the sea, not the air ? and certainly not the ground beneath his feet.
Instead, the fog blocked his nostrils, and the wet mist soaked his trousers. Seeped into his bones. Sebastian sighed. Staring off into the distance was vastly overrated. Especially, when the grey mist was too thick to see beyond his nose.
More than ten years away from England could make a man forget how the weather always interfered with a man?s best, or worst, intentions. Even when his only aim had been picturesque rumination.
What a fool he was. As a rule, Sebastian Ashdon didn?t tolerate foolishness, least of all in himself. Sebastian rolled his eyes, pushed an errant lock of black hair out of his eyes and turned around, leaving behind the sea.
As he strode along muddy fields, his fields, towards the waiting carriage, he forced himself to ignore the signs of decay around him. As soon as Sebastian had been back on English soil, he had set out for his estate in Cornwall. The thriving lands of his youth were gone. In Sebastian?s absence, his guardian who had believed him lost, had shirked his responsibilities. To the earldom and to his nephew. The latter was more easily forgiven than the former.
The same evening he finished his studies in Cambridge, Sebastian had packed his few belongings, bid farewell to his many acquaintances and few friends. He had been on a boat out of Southampton the next day. Until now, he had never looked back.
Now, it was time to prepare his coming out. There would be no pastel-colored attire, nor a presentation at court, he hoped. But Sebastian had to plan his entry into society as scrupulously as any society matron would her daughter?s. Bearing in mind his mission to avenge his father, there was no alternative. Failure was not an option.
Entering society for the first time would pose a few problems. Although his title was well known - if besmirched - Sebastian was nearly foreign to the ton. Polite society hadn?t heard from the new Earl of Hartland in over a decade, his past as shadowed to them as his future was to him. To succeed, he would need to call in favors with anyone who had been part of his father?s set before he disappeared. Anything to avoid relying on his relatives.
Sebastian had almost reached the carriage when the door was opened. Jo Greenblatt, his friend and confidante since one fateful night in the streets of Berlin, pulled him inside. Sebastian tapped against the front of the carriage and signaled the driver to depart.
He leaned back against the soft cushions and looked over at his friend. The first years abroad Sebastian had been lost and lonely. Their friendship had saved him, both literally and figuratively. Jo?s arms were crossed, dark shadows played along his face, making it unreadable.
?Found what you were looking for?? After years of traveling and living across the continent, only a hint of an accent remained in Jo?s voice.
?I?m afraid not,? Sebastian said. He wasn?t sure why he had insisted on visiting the place where his childhood had ended abruptly and prematurely. Perhaps he had hoped to recover a connection. A sense of belonging. To this place, this country, but most of all to his father.
In every memory from his childhood, Sebastian?s father, the Earl of Hartland, played the leading man. His image equally imposing and foggy. In hindsight, he couldn?t separate man from myth. That was before his father had lost face, family, and fortune.
He sank further into the cushions. ?It doesn?t signify. We?re here for one reason only. Once our mission is achieved, we can return home.?
?Home? Where would that be??
?Brussels, Amsterdam, Paris, wherever we decide to make our home.?
Jo raised one eyebrow. ?If you say so. Depending on how the season goes, we may stay for longer than you expect.?
?One season. No more.?
Jo put his feet up next to Sebastian and smirked. ?Famous last words??
?No, just confident.?
?We both know where that confidence has led us in the past.?
It was Sebastian?s turn to raise his eyebrows ? both. To his great dismay, he?d never acquired the skill of raising just one. ?And we both know, you enjoyed every minute of it.?
Jo leaned forward and took Sebastian?s hands into his. ?As did you. Except for our failed heist in Budapest perhaps, which I count among my favorite memories.?
Gratitude and affection warmed Sebastian chest and spread until it tightened his throat. In response, he lifted the left corner of his mouth and sent Jo a half-smile.
There was no one he would rather have by is side over the next few months. Together, they would claim Sebastian?s title and inheritance, establish him in society, and restore his estates ? all while discovering who had blackmailed his father. Child?s play.
Most importantly, no one could find out about Sebastian?s role in his father?s sudden and permanent exile from England. He would make sure of that - I loved reading what others did with the prompt.