Tagged: goose

I Would Have Enjoyed

  • by Kentenjoyed a few hours’ sleep
  • emerging from the kennel
  • using massive metal golems
  • your footprints may not complicate matters
  • flinging discretion to the chilly wind

Tune in next time part 224                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I would have enjoyed a few hours’ sleep, but there were too many things demanding action and attention. For example, I needed to figure out who Cleopatra really was.

I followed her out into the hall, mainly just to keep her where I could see her. She went into the bathroom and released Gordon, and the goose emerging from the kennel was not a happy one. He flapped angrily, his large wings churning the air and smacking the walls in the small room. Cleopatra yelped and jumped back, slamming the door to contain Gordon’s tantrum.

“I hope you have another bathroom,” I said.

“No,” she sighed. Gordon started honking. It was alarmingly loud. “He’ll calm down eventually. His voice can’t see my bones.”

The weird turn of phrase made the hair on my arms stand up. It was an old Svenborgian proverb! I suddenly understood the significance of the words inside her fake butt, which must have been manufactured there. And that would explain how she knew who the Viscount was, and knew he was a dick.

I had a terrifying thought. Cleopatra might be a Golem Rider. Regular Svenborgians were dangerous, but the members of that apocalyptic cult were especially so. They believed they would one day overthrow the current world order using massive metal golems that lived in their many extinct volcanoes. They even had a sitcom starring those gleaming giants. One of them had the catchphrase, “your footprints may not complicate matters,” which he always said after one of the others had stepped on a bunch of people on the sidewalk.

We had left her apartment building and were hiking up the boulevard. A storm was closing in, and perhaps its ominous backdrop inspired my next move. Flinging discretion to the chilly wind, I asked her, “What’s the Svenborgian-Tibetan connection?”

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The Place To Stow Gordon

  • by Kent— which, by the way, is their normal state —
  • set of handcuff keys
  • she had on those damn falsies
  • “Just pretty much the basics.”
  • sound waves, not X-rays

Tune in next time part 222                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The place to stow Gordon turned out to be Isaac’s apartment in the building across the street. She had a rabbit hutch in the bathroom, which became a goose hutch.

Isaac took my hand and led me into the next room. “Now I need you to see if my cheeks are rosy — which, by the way, is their normal state — or if there’s any bruising or other damage.” From her cleavage she pulled a set of handcuff keys on a silver chain. She took off the chain and handed me the keys, then turned around and bent over.

I discovered a keyhole in her belt, and, hoping I was reading this situation correctly, inserted the key. Her pants fell off, revealing a foam-rubber prosthetic posterior. How would she have even felt Gordon’s nip on her rump, if she had on those damn falsies?

“So far, so good,” I said. “Although, not exactly what I expected. What’s this for?”

“Just pretty much the basics.”

That was evidently thought to be a valid response.

“Well, everything I see here is intact. Not rosy, as such.”

“You’re not done with your examination, doctor.”

Her weird foundation garment also needed the handcuff key to unhook it. At which point I could assure her that the goose hadn’t goosed her too hard. Everything looked fine. In fact, I was at a loss to understand why she wore a fake butt over such a nice real one.

One phrase was printed on the inside of the prosthesis, which I was still trying to decode when Isaac offered to examine my cheeks, just to be safe. She fluttered her eyes at me. “After all, you were in the room with that goose too.”

For the next two hours, I didn’t get many chances to concentrate. But I made sure to memorize the words I’d seen inside her artificial derriere.

“sound waves, not X-rays.”

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I Have Always Been a Man

  • by jenmistrusted his own senses more
  • What kind of candy was it?
  • I hope they jammed their fingers into him
  • “The Devil’s at the bottom of it, I’m sure.”
  • My arse is killing me.

Tune in next time part 221                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I have always been a man who mistrusted his own senses more than most people do, largely due to all the mind games and psychedelics my parents employed in my upbringing, but I was sure that there was a candy bar strapped to the leg of Gordon the goose. What kind of candy was it? It was vitally important that I find out. It was likely the key to everything. If Esmerelda had resorted to something as dusty and disused as the washerwoman’s code, it only made sense that the confectioner’s code was also in play.

As the gander continued to rub against Isaac’s pants, I crouched and deftly unstrapped the candy bar from his scaly leg. The wrapper was unfamiliar, but the lettering looked Tibetan. Whoever sent this message, I hope they jammed their fingers into Himalayan mittens before frostbite set in.

Isaac peered at the exotic candy in my hand, her eyes wide. “The Devil’s at the bottom of it, I’m sure.”

“The Devil” is what a lot of people called my father.

Gordon didn’t like being ignored. With a loud honk he nipped Isaac. She yelped and scolded the bird, then stood rubbing her rump. “We need to get out of here, find a place to stow Gordon. My arse is killing me. You’ll need to check it for me to make sure he didn’t break the skin.”

While the thought of examining Isaac’s arse would normally have been quite intriguing, I was currently much more concerned about the chocolate bar in my hand. I remembered John’s childhood spent in the Tibetan monastery. If the message really had been sent by my father, things were very dire indeed.

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Being Reminded of Great Hammer

  • by Kentadrift in a sea of conflicting emotions
  • “If he ever comes back, I’ll poison him.”
  • a silent, internal chuckle
  • I had scarcely begun
  • “I mean, it’s not a homing pigeon.”

Tune in next time part 220                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Being reminded of Great Hammer set me adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he’d been more of a brother to me than any of my blood relatives. On the other hand, he was probably the one who betrayed my father. I mean, someone had to do it, and in all likelihood it would have been me eventually.

Thor’s position on the matter was unambiguous: “If he ever comes back, I’ll poison him.” I knew he meant it, too, and I knew how easy it would be for him to do it. Everyone knew of Great Hammer’s fatal weakness for soup. I remembered him in his corner before a match, blowing on his soup, and a silent, internal chuckle clunked against the roof of my mouth.

“You didn’t answer me,” Isaac groused. “What does it mean?”

If I didn’t say something to misdirect her, there was a chance Isaac could land too close to the truth on her own. I had scarcely begun to draw the breath with which to misdirect her when a loud honking sound and a blast of feathers interrupted.

“Gordon!” Isaac exclaimed. “I never expected to see you again.”

A goose ran around her legs. It stopped and curled its neck against her thigh, stretching its wings forward. If I didn’t know better I would think it was hugging her.

“I set Gordon free from the roof of this building two weeks ago,” Isaac explained.

“Then is it really so weird it came back?”

“I mean, it’s not a homing pigeon.”

“Wait, what’s that thing on Gordon’s leg?” I asked.

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Knowing Which Wrench to Use

r-avatarLast week we introduced you to the goose wrench. Now it’s time to mention the other handy wrench you should keep, er, handy: the monkey wrench. Although the term is often negative, it’s an indispensable implement for creative problem-solving.

Here’s the TL;DR: if a writer has too many problems, it’s usually because the characters don’t have enough.

The monkey wrench is versatile. It can be applied delicately, to unravel things just a little bit. Or it can be wielded like a club, or tossed into the gears. But remember to show moderation in all things, especially excess. Unlike the goose wrench, it’s not your own process that the monkey wrench should be swung at. It’s your characters’. You’re not trying to seize up the plot, so pay some attention to which sets of gears you’re aiming for. Story thrives on conflict. When things for your cast are going a little too smoothly, when your protagonist becomes complacent or settles into a rut, that’s the time to break out the monkey wrench.

Keep both wrenches available. Story structure is too loosey-goosey? Grab that goose wrench. When things go flat, reach for the monkey wrench. Just make sure they’re clearly labeled, because using the wrong one will only make a writer’s problems worse.