Writing, for me, is either a direct line-from start to finish the scene or story unfolds-or a puzzle. New Puddles and Whiskers is a puzzle. I know the plot, but the scenes keep appearing as individual sections that I put together. I don’t know if that make sense, but maybe this will.
In the middle of this new is a previous new, the bar fight. That scene came to me clear as day (still need to edit it into a polished shine, but that is later), the two new scenes fit before and immediately after the bar fight. They in turn have given birth to at least two yet to be written scenes; I can see them but not what angle to write them from. Make sense?
Probably not, regardless enjoy. 🙂
Not So Much Work
Looking over the manager’s itinerary and ever expanding list of roadies, hanger-ons, and media people Whiskers suppressed a shudder. Ding. Another update to the list of people. Two button pushes later, Chuck acknowledged recipet of the updated list. Sitting at her side of the shared desk, Puddles tossed her headset onto her pile.
“You call that music?”
“Better get used to that music, we are expected to attend all concerts including this one,” Whiskers flipped the tablet to show her the concert.
“Tomorrow, that is not enough time to get the noise canceling ear pieces,” Puddles sarcastically replied.
Taking a long drink from his Acid Chamber concert cup, “We should get over there to plan security.”
“Security for what? A bunch of drunks and…look at her,” pulling a half-nude image of a korogin woman flashing more than smile, “and this one,” another more exposed view of a human woman, “or this one,” three cymean males wearing questionable winter gear but willing smiles appeared. “Seriously, these are the crazed fans?”
“It can get crazy,” Whiskers mumbled.
“Yeah, I bet.”
More Work Than Expected
“Duck Chuck!” Puddles shouted, dodging a poorly thrown punch from some Acid Chamber fan in the bar.
Chuck ducked, fell on his rear, and began to back pedal away from the fight as a chair thrown from somewhere sailed overhead. Back against a wall, Chuck kneeled and took in the scene. Puddles fighting against at three different fans, all wearing Acid Chamber faux leather jackets with concert dates on the back. She kicked one in the knee, slamming his head against the bar and taking a shot to the chest for her efforts from one of the other two.
She was fine, Chuck thought. Looking for the clients, someone large slammed into Chuck causing both of them to stumble. A third jumped onto both of them swinging wildly, clipping Chuck across his left ear. A bottle or glass shattered near his head splashing all of them in drink and glass. Everyone rolled off Chuck, taking a breath; he stood up and began kicking both of them.
“What is wrong with you people!”
Puddles rolled with a punch to her face, snapped a quick chop followed with a knee to the ribs to another fan. How many fans were in this bar, she wondered for a second, before dodging down the bar. And where was Whiskers?
“I see what you mean,” Whiskers replied to Onhomgha or Blaster, lead singer of Acid Chamber.
“Just another night out with Acid Chamber,” he shouted.
Glancing at his watch, Whisker said, “Perhaps we should get you out of here. Your car has arrived.”
“No way! I want to see what you guys can do for me,” Onhomgha replied eyes on Puddles and Chuck.
“I see. Stay here,” Whisker commanded.
“Get ‘em Chuck!” Puddles yelled.
Leaping off a table Chuck landed on top of two fans dropping both them to the floor. Rolling with his leap, Chuck snapped off a sharp kick to the face knocking one of the fans out. The other stood up as Chuck did, flexing his arms he took a well-known gromathi fighting stance.
“Had some training?” Chuck asked sarcastically, “Don’t throw the ni-ghar and follow with a spinning sutohat.”
A brief flash of confusion on the fan’s face; Chuck struck punching the fan square in the nose. The crunch of bone and splatter of blood. However, instead of falling the fan’s eyes looked down Chuck’s arm, pure rage. With a single step, the fan picked up Chuck over his head.
Leaning against the bar, the last of her fans out cold under her feet, wiping blood off her fur with a towel, Puddles shouted with a laugh, “What are you doing Chuck?”
Whiskers stepped up to the fan’s back, jammed the stun rod into his ribs and held the button down. As expected, the fan fell down, Chuck landing on top of him. Rolling off the fan, Chuck gave him two kicks to the ribs before looking around.
“That is how we handle things,” Whiskers said to Blaster.
“Not bad. Night is still young, let’s go.”
Pointing with the neon orange chopsticks over his bowl of noodles, Chuck said, “How do you know?”
“Pointing with chopsticks is bad luck,” the human woman said.
Shrugging, “Given my luck I’ll take bad.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” she said with a dazzling smile. “These are the individuals we have had issues with before,” she said sliding her tablet across the yellow and pink neon table a holo of a korogin woman popping up and rotating.
Pulling the tablet closer with one paw and taking another long slurp of noodles off the chopsticks, Chuck read the data; finishing both around the same time. Tsal-or, wageslave for Brookshine Legal, self-professed number one fan of Acid Chamber especially the lead singer; legally number one crazed fan. Several break-ins, typically found in some state of undress in someone’s room. When confronted tended towards outbursts and breaking things.
Chuck tapped the screen, the holo changed to two identical faces. Making an appreciative noise, “Orin fans?”
“We get all kinds, these two are trouble.”
“Read on,” she said.
“Ebon and Ivory, seriously?”
Orin, twins like all Orin, children from a wealthy family. Paid to have their skin altered to match Acid Chamber’s number one hit from several years ago. Chuck watched a short vid of the twins “dancing;” punching and kicking people nearby while their skin flickered and flashed to the beat of the music and lyrics randomly appeared. Kicked out of numerous concerts for violence and inciting violence. Arrested three times for fighting members of Acid Chamber or individuals working for Acid Chamber.
“Okay, so they are uber-fans. We can handle them.”
Tapping the screen again, the angry, screaming face, of a korogin woman greeted him. Knowing the answer, Chuck read. Aka-hallar, mother to recently deceased Ka-hallar, daughter who died during a concert. Chuck watched another vid of Aka-hallar screaming in rage blaming Acid Chamber for her daughter’s death and vowing to make them pay. Chuck looked up.
“Still think you can handle this.”