SeaWyrm's Talon Exercises

"Seven - no wait - Eight more to go."

"Eight?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. Three green ones, three red ones and two purple."

I sighed and stripped off my gloves. "At least we're done with the orange," I said.

"Yeah, for now," said Pat. "There are more orders for the orange coming in tomorrow."

"Swell," I said, leaning wearily on the big, metal edge finisher. "Can we take a break for a little bit?"

Pat scowled. "Don't you want to get this over with?"

"Yeah, but I need some air. Just a few minutes"

"Okay, fine," said Pat. "I should probably go re-prime brushes anyway. And take a trip to the restroom."

I nodded. "Back in ten," I said. I hung my gloves on their hook and walked outside into the air and sunlight.

The workshop was at the very top of an old tower, something the Ancients built out of stone centuries ago, then forgot about. Parts of it were still "natural," covered in red vines and home to nesting Nynoths. Around the tower, jungle stretched out for as far as one could see.

I leaned on an old stone wall and stared appreciatively out at it. The view almost made the job worthwhile. That and the pay, at least.

"Hey there," said a warm, feminine voice. I looked around.

"I'm up here," she said.

I looked up. There, perched smugly on the top of the wall like a sunning jaguar, sat the most gorgeous being I had ever seen. She wore a tawny yellow fleece jacket over a practical shirt. Her pants were covered in pockets. Her feet were covered in boots. I fell instantly in love.

There was something about her face, too - a slightly flattened nose, a sleekness to her brow, a suggestion of stripes in her facial complexion - that suggested she'd turned slightly native. It made her seem exotic.

"Hello," I said.

"What brings you up here?" she purred. No, I mean she actually purred, from deep in her throat.

"I'm on break," I croaked. I did not actually croak.

"I see." I'd thought she was being flirtatious, but then she turned abruptly away from me, ignoring me.
---15 Mins---

"Bombs away, I guess. What say you?"

"It's about what she deserves, I guess," said Edward with a shrug.

"Right-o. On three?"

"I guess."

The two men lifted Ruth and began to swing her, ignoring her muffled protests and useless struggles. Her hands were securely tied.

"One - two - THREE!"

With that, they hurled her over the edge of the observation deck into roughly 200 feet of empty void.

"That does it, I guess," said Charles, brushing his hands briskly together.

"I should think so," said Edward, retrieving his stovepipe hat. The two men began to climb the ladder back into the dirigible.

Only to come face first with the cold barrel of a revolver.

"I do say," said Edward, "would you get that thing off my face? It's frigid."

"Yes," said Charles from below him on the ladder, "it's quite capable of shooting him from a range, you know. There's no need for actual physical contact."

"I'm afraid I can't take that chance," said Dr. Zamboni from behind his mask. "Now, go back down the ladder and tell me where Ruth is. I need to talk with her."

"Then you're out of luck, I guess," said Charles. "We've killed her."

"Have you?" said Ruth. Dr. Zamboni turned around, only to meet the stiletto heel of Ruth's left shoe.

"We must've screwed up somehow, I guess," said Edward, slightly puzzled.

"Not at all," said Ruth, "you merely underestimated me. Lots of men do. But I caught a tow-line between my knees, cut off my bindings on a mooring hook, and, well, here I am. It was a good try."

"We'll have to do it the old fashioned way instead, I guess," said Charles, picking up Dr. Zamboni's revolver from where it had fallen at the base of the ladder.

"I don't think so," said Ruth. She slammed the hatch shut and pulled the release lever, severing the observation deck from the rest of the dirigible.

"Nice knowing you, boys," said Ruth, wrapping her fox fur flippantly over her shoulder.

Suddenly, a shot rang out! Fortunately for all involved characters, it was several miles away, just on the other side of the Alaskan border, and had nothing to do with the story.

Oh god, a minute left? Okay, well, the blimp began to lose helium. Ruth hurried to rouse the doctor, as he was the only one who could repair it, but she was too late - it crashed and exploded.

---15 Mins---

"Alright, bro, let's get litigious!"

"I gave you the money, told you to get the goods, and you brought me candy. I am utterly disappointed in you."

"Grab ahold of something!"

I nodded and reached up to hook a strap. There was a squeal of brakes, and the subway slid to a stop.

"You okay?" asked Wenda.

I nodded and untangled my hook from the strap, then frowned.

"I'm not fragile, you know," I said, sticking my tongue out at her.

She reached down to pat me on the head. "Sometimes I forget how brave you are, Kevin," she said, smiling.

I scowled. I hate being patronized.

"Wenda, where are we going?" I asked, letting her take my hook in her hand to lead me out into the station.

"Just some errands. If you're a good boy, you'll get a sucker."

I scowled again. More patronizing, and no proper answer. She shuffled her wings slightly - they were slowly becoming visible, so we must have been entering the west part of town - and led me up the steps without looking at me. Her gray woolen overcoat had slits for the wings, which were themselves a dirty gray, light pigeon wings.

Around us, there were people with blue ears, pointed skin, tails, all wrapped in scarves and earmuffs, and special sorts of gloves. One man walked past with a horse's body, which was draped with a thick, quilted blanket held down by straps. They were going about their business through the falling snow, carrying bags or baskets or backpacks.

I'd been here before, a couple of times. None of it was interesting - just clothing stores. I didn't really want to have anything to do with that.

But I was in luck. Wenda had forgotten something about my missing hand, or maybe had never noticed. It came back when I went to the west part of town, just like her wings did. Not as a flesh hand - it was a shimmering blue ghost of a hand. But it was there. So it was easy to undo the straps holding the hook in place and let her carry it away to the clothing stores while I darted away into the crowds in search of something more exciting.

I was long gone by the time she caught on.

I found my way to a place I'd never been before, lured by flashing lights and the smell of fried dough. It was an arcade.
---15 Mins---

"blue ears, pointed skin" - this is what happens when I'm busy thinking ahead rather than paying attention to what I'm writing. I noticed after I'd written "blue ears", and since it's against the rules to go back and edit, I decided to go ahead and complete the reversal. I don't know what pointed skin is, but it does sound interesting. As for the blue ears, I guess not everyone had earmuffs.

"No one came near the corridor if they could help it."

"Alright, bro, let's get litigious!"

"No, I don't think so."

"What?"

Sean frowned seriously and shook his head. "We don't have a case," he said. "There's no evidence. I lost my copy of the form, and they'll just destroy theirs - or worse, doctor it!"

"No way, man!"

"'Fraid so. If we want to get revenge, it'll have to be in a... different court." Sean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You mean...?"

"Yeah, that's right - Basketball!"

-----

The day of the big match came with surprising swiftness. Sean and Alex trained hard by playing basketball-themed videogames. Ihaytyoo Corp held tryouts and assembled a team of their best marketers to turn the match into a publicity stunt. News crews were informed, but decided there were more interesting things to cover than this nonsense, so they had to be bribed. A blimp was flown in for no particular reason.

Then, it was time.

Sean and Alex stepped into the stadium, blinking up at the lights around them. The seats were filled - mostly with those inflatable wavy arm things that card dealerships use to attract customers and distract people while they're driving so they'll crash and therefore require a new car. Sean and Alex's mom sat somewhere in the back with a vuvuzela.

The opposing team entered the field. It was a team of gray-suited lawyers. They had not been briefed on the situation, and felt very confused. They'd only come equipped to pay off the judge, not to play basketball.

Still, there were seven of them and only two members on the other team. Besides, if things went poorly, they could always pay off the referee.

Ten minutes into the game, Sean and Alex were six points ahead, but the lawyers were gaining an advantage by arguing so tediously over the rules that the referee (who turned out to want more money than the lawyers had) was starting to award them points just to shut them up.

It was then, under the bright lights, staring up at the waving audience, listening to the silence broken only by the forlorn and distant buzzing of his mother's vuvuzela, that Sean had his brilliant idea.

He called Alex over, and the two went into a huddle. A lawyer came over and tried to eavesdrop, but the brothers were speaking in a shared language they'd invented when they were six years old.
---15 Mins---

"I gave you the money, told you to get the goods, and you brought me candy. I am utterly disappointed in you."

The robots drooped forlornly.

"Go to your docking stations and think about what you've done," I told them. They whirred with shame and rolled over to the hutches along the wall.

I waited for them to plug themselves in and power off their sensors, then unwrapped a Kit Kat and ate it.

"Disobedience," I said, "interesting. Good. Very good. Elward, make a backup of their mental state patterns. Also, put a note in my file linking the state patterns to their construction parameters and the video feed of- you know what? This is taking too long to say. I'll do it myself. Extend input peripherals, please."

"Very good, sir," said Elward.

As I set up the notes how I wanted them, I reflected, not for the first time, that the only reason I kept Elward around anymore was so I could have someone to talk to. That and it's hard to delete something you've given a name to.

I studied the patterns. There was a twisted tangle of neural net nodes with a colorful state map superimposed over the top. The two robots had vastly different patterns. I tried to see a connection between them, but neural networks aren't very good at revealing their secrets to basic visual scrutiny, or even in-depth analysis.

"Grr," I said, unwrapping another Kit Kat. "How do I replicate these results if I don't even know..." I trailed off. "Elward," I said, "try putting these patterns under a green filter."

The computer complied - and there it was. A section in the center of each brain that was only associated with itself. And in the center, there were initials: Z. B.

I dimly recalled having stayed up late the previous weekend marathoning episodes of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy TV show and drinking guarana beverages. There was faint recollection of having a brilliant idea the next morning before I got around to having any actual sleep happen. I couldn't remember if it was something to do with the bots, or if that's what that whole scrambled eggs in Mountain Dew thing had been.
---15 Mins---

No one came near the corridor if they could help it.

They took other avenues, or made excuses, or simply turned their back on it and abandoned their business. It was too evil, too dangerous. The stench of death hung too thickly around it.

It was called the Alley of the Rooks, named for the sinister representations of those birds carved into every cobblestone and emblazoned across every door frame - stylized, either in profile or in flight, and inked, when relevant, always in the same corpuscular purple.

The thing about it was, it was never in the same place twice. Any corridor or hall, backstreet or avenue, path or crawlspace could turn out to be the Alley of the Rooks. Usually, it turned up when and where it was least convenient. Sometimes, a brave soul with more impatience than common sense would use it as a shortcut - and sometimes, they would walk away unscathed.

Sometimes.

The day I set foot in the Alley was a cold winter's day when I was fifteen years old. I was walking home with a bundle of candles for the celebration. The sky was clear and the sun had not yet set, and though I was alone in an empty and quiet part of the city, I felt jollied by my anticipation of the upcoming festival and the friendly way the setting sun lit everything with a rosy glow. Still, I wasn't foolish enough to step into the Alley willingly - but when I tripped, and dropped my bundle, and saw an insignia of a rook in flight on the corner of the wall beside me as I bent to retrieve it, I didn't hesitate long before bending and picking it up.

I'd not intended to set foot in that alley, but apparently, bending into it was enough. As I straightened, clutching the candles to my chest, I saw rook-shapes everywhere. I took a step backwards and collided with a brick wall.

I shuddered. The other side of the Alley looked close - no more than ten feet away - but I knew from stories that this was deceptive. I was in terrible trouble, and I had a long way to go before I made it through - if I did make it through. And if you think that the fact that I am standing here before you, telling you this story, means I came through unscathed, then I'm afraid you don't understand the nature of the Alley of the Rooks at all.
---15 Mins---

"And with that fateful announcement, every single worker in the factory stood up straight and tried to look as productive as possible."

"Stop the train! Stop it!"

Hublublublooblooo, you.

And with that fateful announcement, every single worker in the factory stood up straight and tried to look as productive as possible.

"That's right," continued the warden with a gleeful, wicked smile on her face, "we're going to release five of you. You'll be free to go - free to return to whatever sludge of primal energies you were born from. Won't that be nice?"

Around the factory floor, there arose a humming, whining sound. Several essence funnels were suddenly working overtime to provide their owners with substance, as said workers became nervous.

"The rest of you," snapped the warden, "should be grateful we've kept you as long as we have. Do you know how much it costs to maintain you spooks?"

In fact, it would cost much more not to keep these workers around, as the factory was unrunnable without them. Even the best-equipped, most well-trained humans could never replace them. The fact that five were being released was a sign of desperation on the part of the factory owners. The workers knew this, and it did not reassure them. They may have been imprisoned here, but none wanted to return to what they were before they were summoned and given form: Pure, raw and chaotic elemental forces.

It wasn't quite the same as death. It was, however, death of identity, and that was nearly as bad. Besides, as poorly as they were sometimes treated at the factory, it was nothing compared to the horrible rape-of-soul that a skilled magician could enact on a helpless primal force of nature.

The warden knew all this and did not care.

"You!" she shouted at a suggestively-shaped gout of steam hunched over a water basin. She pointed a rune-covered staff at it. It hunched lower, and little sparkling red lights began to shine uneasily across its surface like a sweat breaking out. "You think you're pulling your weight around here?"

The molten-iron elemental that lived in the forge watched all this through a grille and frowned. It cared deeply for its brethren. This woman, it realized, was going too far. To protect them, he would have to kill her. If she had her way, it was starting to believe, she would destabilize the factory around her just to enact her wrath on the elementals and banish each and every one, and then none would earn their much strived-for freedom.
---15 Mins---

"Stop the train! Stop it!"

Hongarr the Great leapt down with a howl of barbaric rage and landed on the tracks. He snorted like a bull and braced his mighty calves against the rails.

"No, Hongarr!" I cried, "That won't work! Look out for the-"

But it was too late. The train had collided with Hongarr, and the cow catcher had scooped him off the ground. He clung to the engine with a look of bewilderment on his face, his muscles trembling with confusion as the train carried him away.

I strained my fleshy wings, trying to catch up. The heliwagon behind me was too slow - cursing, I unbuckled the harness from my torso. The others would have to find some other way to catch up.

As I flew past the train, I saw Danielle and Elise running across the tops of the train cars beside me. They must have jumped - Danielle relying on her primate reflexes and prehensile toes and tail, Elise the Bearded Lady on her raw chutzpah. I reached the engine car.

"Hold on, Hongarr!" I cried. He grunted in acknowledgement.

As I looked around for a brake lever, Danielle and Elise caught up.

"Where's everyone else?" asked Elise.

"They fell behind. Hongarr's riding the cow-catcher. Do either of you see a brake lever anywhere?"

They shook their hairy heads. "I think it broke off," ooked Danielle, pointing at a jagged stump of metal near the floor.

"Blast. Then I'm calling it - you two go back to the previous car and unhook it."

"What about you?"

"Someone needs to save Hongarr. Besides, I'm in the least danger of anyone, you know?" I flashed a grin and pointed a thumb at my incredible pair of wings, not admitting that I was so tired from catching up with the train, I wasn't sure I could glide a foot to save my life.

The Indomitable Freak Sisters nodded and went back to do as I had instructed. There was a thump, and the engine was free.

It sped up, thanks to the decreased mass.

"Okay up there, Hongarr?" I asked.

"Quite well," he responded sarcastically, "if you ignore the fact that I'm stuck on the front of a runaway train."
---15 Mins---

Tomorrow's will be the last one of these for a while, methinks. I want to move my efforts to more prolonged forms of writing.

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

...thirty minute exercises?

Battles? :333

Probably either short stories or working on my novel. I'm not sure yet. But I wanna be published! And as much fun as these FEs are, they're hard to publish.
I mean, maybe once I am a rich and famous New York Bestseller type of chap with multiple Hugos and Nebulas to my name, I can publish a book of FEs. That would be fun.

"Hublublublooblooo, you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Hublublublooblooo... YOU!" The creature pointed at him.

"No, me John." John pointed at himself.

The creature sighed and rolled its eyes. "No, listen," it said, "you don't get it: Hublublublooblooo, you. See?"

"Hublubloo-"

"Hublublublooblooo."

"Hubhulloo-"

"No, each l has a b before it."

"Hublublubloob... looo..."

"Hublublublooblooo, you."

"Hublublublooblooo... you!" John beamed.

The creature threw its arms up in the air. "No," it cried, "not hublublublooblooo ME, hublublublooblooo YOU! Oh, forget it. I give up." It stormed off, petulantly.

"Huh," said John, "I still don't get it." He sighed. He'd been wearing his yellow pajamas for days now, and they were starting to become itchy. He needed real clothes - and some real food would be nice, too. He'd hoped this town would provide, but so far, things had not been promising. This far from the Epicenter, he was having trouble making sense of things.

He approached a round structure by the side of the plaza. As he got close, it appeared to be spinning like a merry-go-round. Yes, definitely - there went a front door with a sign over it that might conceivably have said something in the local language that translated approximately to the concept John knew of as "Inn."

He caught the door the next time it came around and let himself in.

"Hullo," said the possible innkeeper, "what can I do for you?"

"Hublublublooblooo, you," said John, in a fit of experimentation.

The innkeeper blinked. "Thanks for saying so," it said, "but I quite doubt it."

"Oh," said John, awkwardly, "oh. Er. Do you have..."

"A loom available? Certainly. Just five vowels."

"Will AEIOU do?" hazarded John, then, "wait, did you say a loom?"

"Yes, those vowels will suffice. Though I think it would be more convenient for everybody if you paid in dipthongs. Oh well, your choice. Let me take you to your loom."

John followed, uncertainly. He found it difficult to walk inwards.

Ahead, there was a towering wooden structure that loomed over him. Threads hung from it.
---15 Mins---

Gnauga, what the heck does "Hublublublooblooo" mean? I suspect I have now written that sequence of characters more times than any other person in all of history.

---

Okay, so that's it for me for now. As I said, I want to start shifting my focus to longer forms of writing. I guess this has been a month of warm up or something? Maybe I'll come back to this later.

Rather than leave this topic fallow, let's open it up to everybody. But I'm imposing a new rule - you're only allowed to suggest one line per line you've written to. Otherwise, we'll be swamped in lines with no actual FEs to go with them.
As the resident only person who has completed an FE in this topic, I offer you all the following:

As the jelly dripped down the wall, my fate was revealed.

Whoever writes to that line can suggest the next one, and maybe I'll toss more in over time. I seem to have built up a bit of a stockpile...

That's an excellent question SeaWyrm. An absolutely phenomenal question.

If anyone's interested, I'm doing more of these over on my Patreon page. You have to be a patron of a certain level to suggest lines, but anyone can read them.