Get to Know Your Character(Popcorn Served) Showing 1,351-1,400 of 1,463

[Edward]

I think your autocorrect need correcting.

[Edward]

This was hilarious, by the way. I like how Lillian becomes the nonchalant one about the talking cat ...

Just writing in dialogue is a bit like playing a pawn game of chess. It can be infuriating, but it helps your overall game.

[Edward]

Terry: Don't you ever tire of chess metaphors?
Me: [attempts dignified silence]
Terry: Not buying it.

[April]

Me: Are there typos again? Jeez, when will I ever get rid of those things, *Starts looking for Cursor Sword* And yeah, Lillian has seen some pretty freaky stuff, haven't you Lil?
Lillian: You mean since I've been trapped on a time warped island filled with genetically mutated people and mythical creatures? Yes.
Clover: Wait, what is chess? I don't think I've heard of that before.
Me: It's a strategic board game.
Lillian: I like chess.
Me: Really? I didn't know that. Are you any good at it?
Lillian: Um... I don't know. I haven't played in a while, I've been kinda... busy.
Clover: Yeah, thanks to SOMEONE *throws a accusing look at me.*
Me: Oh, get over yourself. You've been sulking to long.
Muse: Can I throw her off a cliff again? Please?
Me: Shut up Muse, *whispers to just him* Besides we've already done that, we need to think of something else...
Muse: *Whispers back* Muhaha, Okay.

[[deleted user]]

Leslie:(sighs as she searches the ship for espresso beans. Andy tags along)
Andy:(sighs as she watches Leslie go through every nook and cranny)
Leslie:(glances at Andy and sighs)
Andy:(shakes her head and sighs)
Leslie:(points to the door)
Andy:(shakes her head again)
Leslie:(glares at Andy)
Andy:(raises an eyebrow)
Leslie:(stomps out of the room)
Andy:(shrugs before she walks out of the room)

[Edward]

Me: Technically, it's more tactical than stra-
Temperance: Please, don't.
Terry: Oh, hey, she's here.
Temperance: "She?"
Terry: Well, outside of popcorn, we haven't met.
Septimus: You haven't?
Me: Well, no, they don't meet until book three.
Terry: Because you deny your fans me in your second book.
Temperance: Fans?
Septimus: Don't oversell yourself, Terry.
Me: Hey!

[M]

(Several mice are enjoying their evening cocktails under the ladder to the afterdeck. The pirate ship heels slightly in a steady breeze that makes the ocean waves seem a dark blue.)
Mouse #6: Sure has been nice and quiet around here for a while.
Mouse #1: (Nods.)
Mouse #2: You read my mind, Malcolm. (With a toothpick, he spears a piece of an olive and munches on it.)
Mouse #3: Don’t jinx us, now. (He looks out beyond the railing, at the sunset.)
Mouse #8: (Studies the inverted jar lid they’re sitting around, that contains scavenged bits of almonds and pretzels and olives.) I heard the captain ran off with Pandora’s writer.
Mouse #1: (Sips brandy from a silver thimble.) Heard that, too.
Mouse #2: (Perplexed.) I thought he was married.
Mouse #6: (Coughs.) So did his wife.
(The mice all start laughing. They watch as Edward, Temperance, Terry, and Septimus, in an intense discussion, loiter near the mast then wander off. The mice sip their brandies, munch hors d’oeuvres, and contemplate the seascape.)
Mouse #3: Look. There’s Andy and her cute writer.
Mouse #2: (Watches, his whiskers twitching.) They seem to be looking for something.
Mouse #8: (Nibbling a piece of a crouton.) If it’s good to eat, I hope they drop some of it.

[April]

M wrote: "(Several mice are enjoying their evening cocktails under the ladder to the afterdeck. The pirate ship heels slightly in a steady breeze that makes the ocean waves seem a dark blue.)
Mouse #6: Sure ..."

Lillian: Uh, excuse me, um mice. (she peered through the ladder at the mice) Am I suppose to hear you? because, I can.

[Edward]

Terry: Yeah, those mice have always been around.
Me: Where did Septimus and Temperance go?
Terry: I dunno. How intense is their relationship?
Me: Not - well - I'm not having this conversation with you.
Terry: Of course not. Now, Lillian, what you have to know about these mice is that the numbers aren't arbitrary. They actually each have names, even though we have to sort which is which ourselves. Which is really more of a reflection on their writer.
Me: I hope you're not a reflection on me.
Terry: I'm the one you're worried about? Not that Kellogg guy you just wrote about?
Me: He ...
Terry: [beat] Yes?
Me: The end of that sentence will eventually come to me.

[[deleted user]]

Andy:(standing outside the tavern, a few meters away from Leslie) I wonder if those mice have a stash of olives or pretzels?
Leslie:(shrugs and picks an empty cup she spotted on the floor)
Andy:(glances at Leslie) Silent treatment?
Leslie:(ignores Andy, pretends to take a sip of coffee)
Andy:(murmurs) Fine, I hope you turn into a mouse.
Leslie: Not before I turn you into one.
Andy: (gasps) You've been gone for a long time and that's how you treat me? You didn't even miss me?
Leslie: (shrugs and starts to walk away)
Andy: Seriously?
Leslie: Until you show me where those mice hid the coffee beans--
Andy: or the syrup?
Leslie: (narrows her eyes)
Andy: I didn't do it! (runs away)

[April]

Lillian: *Gasp* Mice, have you been stealing things? That's no way to behave. Just because you're smaller and can get away easier doesn't mean you can keep things from us. We're all on the same ship.
Huck: *Flies into the room* I bet they can't get away from me.
Lillian: Huck! Since when can you talk?!
Me: By the why everyone, Huck is a hawk.
Huck: Since now. The weird lady with the pen in her hand said I could, just on the ship though. I'm here to keep on eye on the mice *gives the mice a wink*
Lillian: Oh, well, if you're here... does that mean...? Um, where's Knight.
Me: Don't worry Lil, he'll be here a little later.
Muse: *chuckles to himself* hehehe.
Lillian: *Gulp*

[M]

Edward wrote: “Now, Lillian, what you have to know about these mice is that the numbers aren’t arbitrary. They actually each have names, even though we have to sort which is which ourselves.”

Even I can’t remember which mouse is which. I have to refer to a list:

https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...

[April]

Me: Ok willow-tree guy. You've decided to pop up in my story, so now you need to tell me about yourself.
Willow guy: Like what?
Me: How about your name?
Willow guy: Um, can I think of that later?
Me: Fine. Well here's what I know about you so far: You work for Guardian Philip, and you may or may not be working (and or being a slave) for Egg.
Willow guy: Something like that.
Me: But my bigger question right now is what is your personality like? Are you more the quite type, or a little stuck up and authoritative type?
Willow guy: I think I'm a little more in charge.
Me: OK, bossy and insecure. Got it.
Willow guy: What? I didn't say that!
Me: No, I did. And don't get uppity at me, I have power ya know. Now another question, when you get the letter from my friends, are you nice about it, or act some other way?
Willow guy: I suppose I will be pleasant enough, especially in front of them.
Me: You're two faced then, because you are going to intentionally throw away the letter.
Willow: Hey! I mean, uh, yeah but...
Me: Oh! Oh! I got it! You're a shell slave so of course you're two faced. Egg is controlling you but since he pays more attention to Max you flip more. You can be the first one Lillian uses are powers on!
Willow guy: Uh, should I be concerned?
Me: yeah probably.
Willow guy: Great.
Me: Ok, now that I've got it figured out, you just need a name. How 'bout David?
Willow guy: Ah, I don't know...
Me: Wilbert, Will?
Willow guy: Maybe.
Me: David Wilbert? Will McDonald? Then you could be called Mr. McDonald!
Willow guy: I don't like McDonald. The first on maybe.
Me: Too bad you're not a girl, then I could call you Willow. I'm gonna go Google... hey, you wanna be Wagster?
Willow guy: No. That sounds like gangster.
Me: Wilburn?
Willow: No! burn is fire!
Me: Ooookey, you don't like fire, check. You know what? I'm just gonna call you Wilbert.
Wilbert: That's fine with me.
Me: Good, cause I'm not changing it. See you in the story!
Wilbert: *Blinks* What have I gotten into?
Muse: *whispering from out of site* Be afraid, be very afraid!

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

Me: I wish I could find it.
Det. Mallard: What?
Me: That popcorn written by Alex to put it on another thread.
Det. Mallard: Did you search for it now?
Me: No, I tried only once.
Det. Mallard sighs.
Me: Well, it's not like a dead body! Not that serious.
Det. Mallard stares.
Me: Not gonna go (mocking voice) fingerprint the area, err, I mean dust for fingerprints. Send a search party the popcorn is missing. I repeat, the popcorn is missing! We won't stop until we find this kernel of truth.
Det. Mallard's eyebrows go up.
Me: Okay I'll look for it...

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

About 45 minutes later.

Det. Mallard: Did you find the thread yet?
Me: The thread? Wha--- oh, yeah! Um. Nope. Not yet.
Det. Mallard: Are you even searching for it?
Me: (little voice) Kinda...
Det. Mallard: What do you mean by that?
Me: I found something:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e48ub...
Det. Mallard: What in the nation is this?
Me: Video of people catching popcorn in their mouths in slow-motion.
Det. Mallard scoffs and storms out of the room.
Me: (Watches video). Hmm. For some reason I want popcorn...

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

I hope EVERYONE has a chance to go wild with this thread. It is SO much fun.

It seems when you wrestle or work with a character you as a whole can examine truths about that person, have their flaws revealed, or just have fun creating varied dialogue to make fun sentences.

[Edward]

M wrote: "Even I can’t remember which mouse is which. I have to refer to a list:"

Terry: That's was kinda my point. Also, I kind of want a tree guy to have a fiery name. Can you make that happen?
Me: Sylvan character with a fiery name ... How about a gardener named Brandon.
Terry: ... What?
Temperance: Brandon means "from the fiery hill."
Me/Terry: Why do you know that?
Temperance: I ... have a thing for names? It's really more like a beacon, in the manner of Gondor calling for aid.
Me: Since when?
Temperance: Brandon is actually quite an old name --
Me: No, since when do you have a thing for names?
Temperance: Oh. I don't know.
Terry: So this Brandon guy ...
Me: Would be a watchful sentinel character who sacrifices himself to deliver a message, as the "sylvan" bit is burning to light the beacon fire.
Terry: Too easy. I'll think of something harder next time.

[Guy]

Delightful popcorn everyone! Brought a big smile to my face.

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

Me: Poor Al.
Det. Mallard: What is it? What's wrong?
Me: She is sick.
Det. Mallard: Well I hope she will get better.
(I shuffle my shoes)
Me: It stinks not to have much direction in my life currently.
(Det. Mallard looks at me while he sips his cup of joe. He wants me to continue)
Me: You know I want to do a lot of things but I don't know where to start right now.
Det. Mallard: I can't exactly claim that I know you, Chris, but I do know that from what I've observed you are a good person.
(A mouse comes scampering up to me and I stare at it near my shoe. I give it a pretzel from my pocket and with unabashed fervor it runs away, glad of its gift).
Det. Mallard continues: You have a heart.
Me: Yeah an unsure one. What can I do?
Det. Mallard: I know you wouldn't want you me to say for you to follow your heart. Find something to do and I think you will find this... what's it that you call it? Calling.
Me: Thanks, Mr. Mallard.
(He nods).

[Carly]

(This looks like fun...)

Owen: Seamus, what are you doing?
Seamus: Nothing… Just, ah… Eating some popcorn…
Owen: Seamus! We shouldn’t be here! We don’t know these people! They could be axe murderers!
Seamus: But it says “free”! We like free! Free is good for people without jobs, or property, or…
Me: Or honor, or hope of redemption?
Seamus: Yes. Wait… Hey!
Owen: Wh-who is th-that?!
Seamus: I…I think she is our creator.
Owen: Well, th-that explains a lot…
Me: Hey! Watch it, Sir Tanly! I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it!
Seamus: Um, clearly you cannot.
Me: You’re right. *sigh* Other people believe in you now. Darn Fairy Tale Logic.
Seamus: Hey, you’re the one who established the laws of our universe! Speaking of which, isn’t it about time for a monologue?
Me: What? No! I am not that predictable!
Greg: Milady, thou art blest beyond compare.
Thy cheeks are roses, and thy tresses fair -
Me: WHERE DID HE COME FROM?!
Owen: W-why are you asking us?
Seamus: YOU created him, in all his annoying, rhyming glory.
Me: Oh, what have I done? Come on, Incompetent Trio. Let’s get outta here, before -
Fausty: AHA! THERE YOU ARE!
Me: THIS IS WHY THE CHARACTERS AREN’T SUPPOSED TO LEAVE THE SCRIPT!
Owen: Wait, what?
Me: *Sigh* Nothing... Nothing. Sorry. Just eat your bread.
Seamus: When did he get bread? I though we were having popcorn! Do you even pretend to check for plot holes before you write?
Me: Oh, shut it, Seamus! You aren't even historically accurate!
Fausty: And whose fault is that, hmm?
Me: *buries head in suddenly-appearing pillow* Why did I think Character Bonding Activities were a good idea?

[M]

(Several mice, holding thimbles, have gathered under the bottom tread of the afterdeck ladder and are watching a murky sunrise. A smell of coffee wafts from the nearby port-hole-like windows of the tavern.)
Mouse #9: Anyone know how Ralph is doing? (Nibbles on a tatter of a beignet.)
Mouse #1: (Yawns.) Sound asleep in the hold, is what Harriet says.
Mouse #3: Only Barney could have talked him down.
(The mice look groggily at each other and nod.)
Mouse #2: Barney has a talent that way. (Takes a sip from a thimble.)
Mouse #8: Bravest thing I ever saw.
(They watch as the tavern door opens. A tavern wench emerges and shakes out an apron.)
Mouse #6: I don’t know how the cat got up to the top of the mast in the first place.
Mouse #1: (His eyes wide.) Not to mention carrying an antenna.
Mouse #9: And fastened it up there.
Mouse #8: (Takes a sip.) I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m glad they finally got some more of this stout New Orleans coffee.
Mouse #2: (Cradling a thimble in his paws.) Yeah. That rat water from Texas just doesn’t do it for me, particularly on a damp morning.
(They all nod contemplatively. The tavern wench gazes out for a moment at the ocean, then goes back in, closing the tavern door.)
Mouse #8: The cat had locked his claws onto the topmost yard, and wouldn’t let go. That’s what Barney’s sister told Loretta.
Mouse #1: Harriet says that Ralph’s eyes were glazed, that he was holding on for dear life.
Mouse #3: Well, Great Mouse! That’s so high up, you could almost see the Empire State Building from there.
Mouse #9: (Sniffs a piece of a Jolly Rancher.) There was no other way to get reception this far out.
Mouse #6: (Rubs his eyes.) It took four of us to get the batteries out of the flashlight Frank Putnam keeps in the captain’s cabin.
Mouse #1: (Studies the horizon.) That little TV is a wonder, but it’s a battery hog.
Mouse #2: It was well worth it. (He sighs euphorically.)
Mouse #6: I about cried my eyes out when Norma Zimmer sang “Mothballs in the Moonlight.”

[Guy]

Carly wrote: "(This looks like fun...)

Owen: Seamus, what are you doing?
Seamus: Nothing… Just, ah… Eating some popcorn…
Owen: Seamus! We shouldn’t be here! We don’t know these people! They could be axe murdere..."


Lol!

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

"Mothballs in the Moonlight." Hehehe. XD

[Edward]

Terry: ...
Me: ...
Septimus: ...
Me: ...
Temperance: ...
Me: ...
Terry: Ah --
Me: Oh, fine! You know I still have to transcribe the last story before I get back around to y'all, right?
Temperance: At least that will be progress.

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

Me: (To Self) The gears, they are starting the a-turnin' again...

Detective Mallard comes walking in
Det. Mallard: (Sigh) On the computer again I see.
Me: And what is wrong with that? I just got on.
Det. Mallard: I just wonder what is so interesting with using this versus a typewriter.
Me: (Pause) Well... a typewriter is pretty cool but...
Det. Mallard looks as if he is interviewing a suspect.
Me: I don't know. It just has a huge ton of extra features.
Det. Mallard: "Features?" Do you mean of a face?
Me: No, I am trying to explain in laymen's terms...
Det. Mallard: Okay.
Me: (Pause) Think that this big screen here is like the paper.
Det. Mallard: (Locked to attention) Uh huh.
Me: Well this thing not only does typing and writing but you can also draw.
Det. Mallard: You could do that on paper.
Me: There is a calculator.
Det. Mallard: Yes. Or you could do that by hand.
Me: You have a "post-it" note as an extra feature... err, that was a bad example... sorry.
Det. Mallard: Well what makes this better than a typewriter. I am curious with abandon. If you tell me a good reason, I might just switch.
Me: You can get access to about a thousand other people who can see what you write just by using this thing here called a mouse. You touch the thing on the screen called "post" and there ya go!
Det. Mallard: Hmm. Starting to sound just a little good.
Me: You can find criminals online.
Det. Mallard: Well "sign me up!" I am so going to try this as soon as possible.
Me: Sure!
Det. Mallard: So just get logged off and then sign my name up so that I can link to the internets please.

(Head smack) Me: *Loud sigh*

[Edward]

Terry: I would have you know, though, that your last story sucks.
Me: That was terrible and trite.
Terry: What was?
Me: A vampire story "sucks."
Terry: Oh. Huh.
Me: ...
Temperance: That wasn't intentional, was it?
Terry: Nope.
All: *sigh*

[April]

Marymae: Hey, there any cupcakes on this ship?
Me: I don't know if that's a good idea, you're only five-years old and you're short. So if you get sick you can't throw up of the side.
Marymae: I'll just get one of my Noble Pirates to help me! right guys?
Noble Pirates: Arrr!
yellow goatee pirate: We'll help you find them cupcakes Captain!
Marymae: Yippy! Pink cupcakes! lets go!!!
*Pirates lifting Marymae onto their shoulders and charging down the poop deck* Arrrrrr! Cupcakes ahore!
Me: Wait, we have popcorn too!
Marymae: Popcorn's not pink, silly!
Me: Oh but... er... never mind.

[Edward]

Terry: Don't let the Mistress of the Realm let you hear them call you Captain.

[Guy]

[[LOL!]]

[April]

Edward wrote: "Terry: Don't let the Mistress of the Realm let you hear them call you Captain."

Marymae: Why not? The Noble Pirates made me their captain. They gave me a big hat and everything!
Noble Pirate: Maybe out of curtsy you should not call you captain here.
Marymae: Ok fine, I'll be a pony then, or a princess!
Noble Pirate: Princess it is then!
Marymae: Oh goodie! Oh, and whoever you are, I'm gonna call you Berry. Terry sounds to boring...

[Guy]

Guy: [To Pandora.] I heard some say that I had disappeared, or something. With the captain. [Pause. Pandora says nothing.] And now I hear there is another captain?
Pandora: Well, you have been gone for a while.
Guy: So! Can't a person be away for a short while without things going to hell in a hand basket?
Pandora: [Laughs.] My, aren't you full of yourself! To think that your absence has the weight to stop life. [Shakes her head with a smile. Sips her tea.]
Guy: [Looks at her.] That's not what I meant.
Pandora: No. I am sure it isn't. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Life is able to know the difference between what is meant and what is true.

[Edward]

Septimus: If only Terry was boring ...
Me: Then you would have never caught on to the Abomination, found your fungus, or arrived at Philadelphia at the exact right moment to be involved in the event in which you meet the love of your life?
Septimus: ...
Terry: Translation: Shut up. Oh, wait, I shouldn't use such language around the princes-- Hey, wait, Berry isn't boring?
Me: She has a point. How many people named "Terry" are interesting?
Terry: Aren't there a bunch of authors named Terry?
Me: Let's see, Terry Brooks started by writing a seven hundred page novel that was only truly gripping in it's first hundred pages and the last hundred pages --
Terry: So a better track record than you.
Me: Terry Goodkind has a lot of action that he manages to make dull through his character's inscrutible motivations.
Terry: Well, I mean ... what about the scene where Richard ... did stuff that ... okay, yeah.
Me: And Terry Prattchet ...
Terry: Yes?
Me: I've never read anything by him, I just know his name.
Terry: Doesn't he write collaborate Neil Gaiman? You'd have be rather quirky to keep up with him.
Me: Unless he balances Gaiman with a more down-to-earth mentality.
Septimus: Is this conversation going anywhere?
Terry: I still say Berry is boring name.
Septimus: You do realize Marymae is five, right?
Terry: I don't see what that has to do with anything.
Me: And that is how we know you're an only child.

[April]

Marymae: Berry is not a boring name! berries can be pink, and pink is AWESOME! Just be glad my friend didn't name you, she has a dog named Poo-poo-pee-pee *makes a disgusted face and giggles*
Me: I actually have an uncle named Terry, and he's pretty funny.
Marymae: *ignores me* I could give him some other names! like Hair Terry, Bubble But Berry, Lazy Larry, Fairy Garry....

[Edward]

((Quick note, Terry Brooks is actually one of my favorite authors and Terry Goodkind ... has a talent for hemming together long stories, if nothing else. The above criticisms were more for the humor bit than anything. They are my opinion, but intentionally taken out of context. So no disrespect meant for these authors.))

Terry: Isn't Fairy Garry that fat guy in the Tinkerbell movies.
Septimus: You know this why?
Terry: Don't knock 'em 'till you've watch 'em. John Lassiter can make any money-grab production into a decent film.
Me: You could always use the pet name Terry's mother gave him.
Terry: You wouldn't dare.
Me: Well, it's already in chapter twenty-five of Moorboro Nights.
Terry: Damn it!
Septimus: Why do you know the exact chapter?
Me: Terry, there are children here!

[M]

(Sheltered from the wind by a protruding, louvered vent, several mice enjoy the evening view from the arched roof of the ship’s tavern.)
Mouse #6: (Nibbling contentedly.) May the Great Mouse bless whoever spilled these Hot & Spicy Cheez-Its.
Mouse #3: (His eyes watering.) You said it, Malcolm.
Mouse #1: They used to be strict about cleaning up the tavern. What happened to all that?
Mouse #2: (Stretches and yawns.) Who knows?
Mouse #3: It’s a grand time to be a mouse!
Mouse #9: (Burps.) You don’t hear me complaining.
Mouse #2: Faye says she’s thinking about joining Weight Watchers.
Mouse #8: (Using his teeth to pry a peanut loose from something gooey.) It’s been a feast, all right, what with all that late-night carousing in there.
Mouse #2: Whatcha got, Herbert?
Mouse #9: (Holding a fragment of a cookie.) White chocolate macadamia, probably Pepperidge Farm. (He breaks off a tiny piece and hands it to Clyde, who sniffs it contemplatively, then takes a bite.)
Mouse #2: (Nods.) Uhm, hmm. Not too sweet, and just the right crumbliness.

[April]

Edward wrote: "((Quick note, Terry Brooks is actually one of my favorite authors and Terry Goodkind ... has a talent for hemming together long stories, if nothing else. The above criticisms were more for the hum..."

Marymae: Yeah that's it! Your name can be Tinkerbell!

[Edward]

Me: I like it.
Terry: So do I.
*beat*
Me: Huh?

[Guy]

Professor: [Snorts at Pandora] Truth? What kind of claptrap are you spouting? You sit here in your … [he looks around] place, dreaming about the dreamy truth of spiritual delusion, and talk about truth. [He looks at Guy.] I hope you don’t buy her flim-flammery. But I bet you will. If you want truth, look to science and the beauty of mathematics. That’s where you will find truth. [He sits in the sofa.]
Guy: [Ignores him. To Pandora.] Captain’s back. Funny, the timing. She coming back around the same time as me. And Frank—
Pandora: You missed her? [She looks at him intently]
Guy: Yes. [He sounds unsure.] Why?
Pandora: Hmmmm. [She turns away from Guy and sips her tea.]
[Pause.]
Professor: I heard that Frank is still making an ass of himself. Ass. As if Erica would do anything with him. [Laughs.]
Pandora: [To Guy.] Are you okay?
Guy: [Shrugs] Not really. I miss Erica, and wonder at me. Me. Why can’t I be more like Frank, and go out and … and…
Pandora: [Smiles.] You don’t really want to be like Frank.
Professor: [Stands. Shakes his head.] You two are pathetic. Pathetic!
Guy: Yes. Yes, I guess we are. [He touches the corner of his eye, then turns away and looks out the window and looks at the scrub grasses growing out of the cracks in the old asphalt parking lot.]

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

Me: Hey copper, you haven't been on this place in a while!
Det. Mallard: You mean on "the boat?"
Me: No I just mean talking just to chat and stuff.
Det. Mallard: Got it.
Me: You been feeling better since the last time we chatted?
Det. Mallard: Not really. I think I have been getting sick. It seems these past few years nearing Christmas or the "holidays" are just weighing on me.
Me: You getting gifts out to people?
Det. Mallard: No.
Me: You spending time at the families this year?
Det. Mallard: Not really. Even if I wanted to there is no way to do that since I don't really have a family right now.
Me: You want to spend time with friends...?
Det. Mallard pauses.
Det. Mallard: That would seem nice but--
Me: But what?
Det. Mallard: I don't really have any friends or "chums" for that matter.
Me: Have Thanksgiving with mine then. You are a friend of mine.
Det. Mallard: It would be a nice change of pace.
Me: Yep! I think so too.
Det. Mallard: Hmm.

I am about to leave the room and then come back shyly.
Me: Uh... Detective?
Det. Mallard: Yes.
Me: One more thing...
Det. Mallard: Yes?
(Hugs him.)
Me: Happy Thanksgiving...
(He pats my shoulder).
Det. Mallard: (Pauses) Right.

[M]

(Ralph the cat is pulling with all his might on a pipe wrench. He gives out and the wrench clanks to the shelf. The mice scatter through dripped water to get out of the way. In a corner, in the space under the galley sink, the flicker of a stub candle furnishes the only light.)
Ralph: (Heaving a sigh.) That’s all I can do, fellows.
Mouse #2: (Shouting upward.) Let some water through, Barn!
(From above, there’s the sound of a couple of mice struggling with a drain plug, then the mice below hear water come down the pipe and gurgle through the U-bend. Malcolm brings the candle closer so they can inspect the joint.)
Mouse #9: Not a drip.
Mouse #1: (Wipes his brow.) What a relief. Now maybe the space underneath will dry out and Harriet will quit nagging me about it.
Mouse #6: Yours, too, huh? (Shakes his head.) Hilda does the same thing to me. Usually at bedtime, as I’m about to fall asleep.
Mouse #2: (Scratches his nose.) Why are women like that?
(The mice look at Ralph, who is hunched over in exhaustion.)
Mouse #3: Ralph, did you ever have a wife?
(The cat nods, with a pained expression.)
Ralph: While I was working my tail off, she was out catting around.
(The mice look back at him with sympathy and silent understanding.)

[M]

Mouse #2: (Groaning.) Hang on, Phil. I’ve got to rest a minute.
(Four mice, who are transporting a pipe wrench back to the ship’s tool locker, stop warily in shadows along a baseboard and set the wrench down.)
Mouse #6: (Stretching one way and another.) Don’t mind if I do.
Mouse #3: (Looks warily up and down the corridor.) The ship’s eerily quiet.
Mouse #1: (With an uneasy glance.) You read my mind, Earl.
(There’s a sound of wood creaking. The mice tense, ready to make a beeline for a little opening a few feet away. When no one enters the corridor, they relax.)
Mouse #6: Anybody seen Kirilee’s writer around in a while?
(The other mice ponder it a moment, then shake their heads.)
Mouse #2: Faye’s been talking.
Mouse #3: (Grunts.) My wife doesn’t do anything else.
Mouse #1: (Rubbing his eyes.) Harriet rarely takes a breath.
Mouse #3: When Mavis is at a loss for words, the sails go limp and the ship stops moving.
(The mice break out into laughter.)
Mouse #2: A couple of the girls were hanging around some thread and heard Miss Gray Eyes confide that she wasn’t good at writing dialogue.
(The mice all look at each other in disbelief.)
Mouse #1: (Perplexed.) Dialogue?
Mouse #6: (He scratches behind an ear.) Even Ray can write that.
Mouse #3: Yeah. You just add, “the cat said” or “so-and-so exclaimed.”
Mouse #6: Or “his wife spat, waving the dustpan menacingly.”
(The mice collapse against the baseboard, snickering.)
Mouse #1: Now, Penelope’s writer is a different matter.
Mouse #3: (Coughs.) You said it, Phil. He couldn’t write his way out of a paper bag.
(The other mice nod disgustedly.)
Mouse #2: (His eyes wide.) But Miss Gray Eyes writes beautiful stuff!
Mouse #1: (With a faraway gaze.) I read the first three chapters of the story about Kirilee so many times, I almost had them memorized. (Sighs.)
(Earl gets wearily to his feet.)
Mouse #6: (Looking at the wrench.) I guess that wrench has decided not to sprout legs and walk itself back to the tool locker.
Mouse #3: (Grabbing hold of it.) We’d better get it out of here.
(With many a grunt and groan, the mice heft the pipe wrench and move away down the corridor.)

[M]

(A candle burns in the darkness of the ship’s hold. In a small pool of light, at an old typewriter, a mouse moves around among the keys, strenuously pushing one key after another. Several mice, each holding a silver thimble filled with brandy, look on.)

Mouse #6: I can already tell, this one will be read for generations to come.
Mouse #2: Ray’s got a talent, all right. (Grasping the thimble with both paws, he takes a sip.)
Mouse #9: He knocked out that first stanza in no time.

(The mice peer up at the sheet of paper that Phil, Clyde, Earl, and Malcolm had helped Ray to roll in. Through the blur of the hammers, these words have appeared:

’Twas the day after Christmas,
and down below decks,
the sprawled, snoring pirates
were hung-over wrecks. . . .)

Mouse #8: (Chuckling.) It’ll be an all day feast for us in the tavern!
Mouse #1: (Nibbling a piece of an Oreo.) They got into it last night, didn’t they?
Mouse #2: Uhm, hmm, when CJ’s character accidentally blew himself up.
Mouse #6: (Shakes his head.) Edward let him re-roll three times, to try to save himself.
Mouse #3: (Nods.) That’s what started it.

(There’s the continued tapping of the typewriter. The mice look up and, by the candle’s wavering light, read the second stanza:

The tavern was strewn
with ale mugs and flagons
from a late night’s carousing,
and Dungeons and Dragons . . .)

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

Haha! Great dialogue, M, as usual!

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

Cheryl: Hey Chris, I just wanted to come in to tell you Merry Chri-- what on earth happened to your hand?!
Me: Oh, this? It's nothing.
(Cheryl sits next to me)
Cheryl: Really? Let me take it off to see this "nothing" then... I'm curious.
(Her hand grabs mine and I push hers out of the way)
Me: Hey, come on! Don't touch the Band-Aid on my hand. It hasn't healed since Thanksgiving!
Cheryl: (Pauses) What? Now I'm really curious!
Me: Well I don't want to say what made it really. The story will gross you out.
Cheryl: Come on. I don't horrify easily. Just tell me.

Me: Okay, it's like this. I was baking banana bread---
Cheryl: Eww...
(I stare at her. I'm not amused).
Cheryl: Okay, sorry. Go on...
Me: And I burned my hand on the rack.
Cheryl looks slightly surprised.
Me: It gets worse. I barely brushed the skin and it took some of that skin off.
Cheryl: Ow! That's disgusting.
Me: It wasn't too bad. Looking at it was worse than the way it seemed. I was surprised the layer of skin that was exposed.
Cheryl: Okay now you're starting to make me leave.
Me: (Mocking voice) Hey I thought you could handle it... La ti da!

[Guy]

Mouse: [Is sitting as still as a mouse, eyes looking up at Pandora who is sitting just as still. Their eyes are looking into each others. It is obvious they have been doing this for a while.]
Professor: [Walks in, after a quick knock and without waiting to be asked in.] I need to talk to — [He stops his foot from crushing the tale of the mouse. Neither Pandora or the mouse move.] What? [Steps back, looks at them.] What? [He walks around the room, looking at the two of them from all angles.] This is a crazy, nonsensical world! Where’s Guy? He needs a good shrink. It’s obvious he’s lost it.
Pandora: [In a good imitation of Guy’s flat dull voice.] It is what it is. And the beauty of mathematics is that its truths change as how we change what we imagine is possible. [She obviously struggles to stop her face from smiling.]
Mouse: [Begins to laugh.]
Professor: I am the insane one, the one who needs help! I keep thinking you are someone I can get advice about life from, and here you are playing a stupid staring game with a rodent! [He leaves, but not before mock kicking the mouse, who did not flinch.]

[M]

Mouse #14: (Plunging the bristles of a scavenged toothbrush into a scavenged condiment cup filled with soapy water.) Poor Ray!
Mouse #19: (Setting down an identical but empty stainless-steel container, that looks like a tiny bucket.) I know, Harriet. Earl says he just stays down there in the ship’s hold and drinks.
Mouse #15: (Swabbing up water with a chunk of sponge.) That’s why Lois left him. (She holds the sponge over the empty condiment cup and squeezes it out.) She said he wasn’t married to her but to a typewriter and a bottle of whiskey.
Mouse #18: (With a tired sigh.) That’s a writer’s life.
Mouse #13: (Wiping her brow.) Narvis says Ray just cries and listens to Peggy Lee records.
(For a few minutes the mice busy themselves scrubbing the floor of the space under the a cabinet in the tavern. Light comes in from various holes the pirates never notice.)
Mouse #13: (Glances at Harriet.) He said Phil almost got hurt on that old phonograph.
Mouse #14: (Relaxing her grip on the long handle of the toothbrush, she rests for a minute.) He jumped on the record while it was turning. (Shakes her head.) When he told me about it, I said to him, “How stupid can you be?”
Mouse #18: Malcolm says Ralph the cat has nearly worn himself out winding it up.
Mouse #15: (With raised eyebrows.) Clyde told me last night that if he hears “Don’t Smoke in Bed” one more time, I’ll have to go visit him in the asylum.

[[deleted user]]

Andy:[tears a page from a magazine and stares at it] Leslie, have you been to the moon?
Leslie:[turns from the laptop screen to look at Andy. She raises an eyebrow] Is that a trick question?
Andy:[sighs before she grabs a cutter] No, it's not. I'm just wondering...[she pauses as she cuts the paper into small hearts. She looks up and smiles at Leslie] I'm just wondering if you'll send me to the moon.
Leslie: Hmm, Andy, I'm writing a love story, not a science fiction or anything that will give me an idea to send you to the moon.
Andy: I know, but I want to go somewhere quiet.
Leslie:[looks around the room] Do you hear that sound?
Andy:[scowls] Funny, Leslie [she rolls her eyes]. Fine, I want to go to some place I've never been before.
Leslie: So..you thought that going to the moon is a bright idea?
Andy:[sighs] Do you know that you're a very, very frustrating person to talk to?
Leslie:[smiles] I have no idea, Andy [she laughs]. Anyway, what have you been doing? [she notices several pieces of colored paper, glue sticks and strings scattered on the floor]
Andy: I'm making a scrapbook. I want to document my stay here, so that when you decide to throw me somewhere. I have something to get me by.
Leslie:[laughs] You know, what you're doing won't work for me.
Andy:[huffs] A girl can dream, you know. I don't know what I ever did to you for you to treat me this way [she crosses the room and walks out of the door].
Leslie: [she shakes her head, a mischievous smile plays on her lips]

[Guy]

:-) LOL! Hello Leslie.

[[deleted user]]

Hello, Guy! Hug! :)

[Guy]

Hug!