Category: my writing

Posted in 2014, Daniel McTavish, fiction, first person pov, my writing

The Uprising – revamped version 1 – Ch 1

Posted on by marlytheadoptee


Spell

01.09.2014
The only thing on my mind right now:  How to spell Taskerone?  It used to be Tasker One.  They changed it in the early noughties to reflect the pronunciation.  I’m not sure what difference it made.  Didn’t make any difference to me as I waited to be conferred with the title.  But the thought kept me sane. 
To say I was nervous, would be some gross understatement.  Youngest T-One to ever be conferred.  The media were all over that.  Gut-wrenching to say the least.  Flashing lights and voices everywhere trying to gain my attention.  All I wanted to do was bolt and meet my best mate for a beer.  Though Elliott would be elsewhere, checking his armoury. 
My assistant, Melissa, was giving me the eye, indicating that I was not paying enough attention. 
“Commander McTavish?”
Blinking, I fought to find the owner of the voice.  Horn rimmed glasses shoving a furry microphone in my face.  That galvanised me.  Stay outta my canoe. People don’t get in my personal space.  It’s kind of a thing that is quick to set me off. 
“Yes?” Less annoyed, Tav… “I apologise, can you ask that again?”
“Prisoner seventy-seven, Commander.  What are your plans for him?”
The question was inoffensive.  I knew that.  Everyone knew that.  Lachlan Douglas was a threat to the order.  The General himself decreed it so.  I agreed.  I don’t agree…Lachlan is a childhood friend…
Forcing a smile, I said, “I will need to review his case before making a final decision.”  I caught Melissa’s eye again, and this time her gaze was somewhat approving.  One point for the new Commander. 
There was some general questions about the new structure of Council and bringing in a new curfew. It was all quite tedious and I made my escape when it was polite to do so. 
Melissa joined me out in the corridor, walking with me. 
“That went better than I thought it would, Commander.”
I reminded myself that she was the General’s daughter, counted to ten then looked sideways at her.  “It’s Daniel.”
She remained tight-lipped as she said, “The General will speak with you about Prisoner seventy-seven’s sentencing this afternoon, Commander.”
“You know you look pretty when you smile, Melissa.” I know.  Not the smartest thing to say.  She just glared at me. 
“Your friend also wanted to see you once the conferring ceremony was over.”
I sighed, thanking her with a nod and left, making my way to find Elliott.  
He was where he always was.  My room.  Bottles of beer littering the bed.  Along with his assorted firearms.  He was in the middle of cleaning his prized possession.  A sawn-off shot gun.  Ancient piece of junk.  But it still worked.  I’d seen him fire it on the range. 
“El?”
He looked up.  His eyes were blood-shot.  That was some cause for concern. 
“You right?”
Elliott set the gun down, squinting at me.  “Are you?”
Lifting my eyebrows I think was enough of an answer to last him a while.  Though I was far from all right.  Who knew what the General would say about Lachlan.  And who the Hell knew why I even gave a flying rats…
I took one of the unopened beers before parking my ass opposite him.  He continued to stare at me through his slitted eyelids before letting out a groan, which kind of sounded like somebody’s name.  But I wasn’t too sure.
“Come again, mate?”
“Pips.  Gotta pick him up.”
His brother; Pips Preston.  Or Phillip as I called him, just to annoy him. No one else called him that.  I’m guessing his parents used to.  But, they’re not in the picture anymore.
That’s another thing.  I’m crazy about names.  Proper names.  Weird names.  Hobby of mine.  Collecting names.  Should probably put that to better use, though.  Like remembering the names of all my subordinates at The Creed.  Melissa is the only one that comes to mind…
“Didn’t know he was due for release?”
Pips was a career criminal.  Surprising they were letting him go, considering he attempted to blow up Council Hall.  Insane, right?  He said it was to make a point.  Not sure I understood what his point was.  He was passionate about it, whatever it was. 
Elliott looked at me, eyebrows lifting.  “No?  Would’ve thought they’d tell you that.”
I shook my head, though I might’ve been told…probably not paying attention. 
He shrugged at me before returning to his shotgun running an oiled cloth over the barrel.  I sat, watching him in silence, and sipping from my beer. 
We spent a lot of time like this.  It was comfortable.  Talking wasn’t something I was known for.  And, Elliott always took his cues from me.  It didn’t serve any purpose, we just felt content in each other’s’ company.   Been that way since high school.  Yeah, we’ve known each other that long. 
It was odd.  No one approved of Elliott Preston. Especially not now.  He was a bounty hunter.  Law unto his own.  My best friend.  Beer buddy.  Not to make light of our relationship, we’re there for each other.  And, I guess this was another of those times.
“Want me to come with?” I said, causing Elliott to shoot a surprised look my way.
“Why?”
I lifted my shoulders, tilting my beer and watching as the golden liquid swirled in the bottom.  “Need to go down there anyway.” 
He set the gun down and leaned forward, bracing his hands on his thighs.  He said nothing though, just furrowed his brow at me.  I let my lips twist into a smile.  He huffed, his fringe flipping up a little. 
“Knock yourself out, buddy.” 

Finishing off my beer, I murmured that I’d do exactly that, before leaning my head back against the wall and closing my eyes.
Posted in Christmas, Daniel McTavish, my muses, my writing, thoughts on Christmas

What Does Christmas Mean to Me? – McTavish’s thoughts

Posted on by marlytheadoptee

Daniel McTavish – A/N This is McTavish as he originally came to me, long before he became the narrator of The Uprising.  This McTavish is a former assassin, come youth pastor and in essence is the REAL Daniel McTavish.  My number one muse.

“Christmas? Hmmm, I’ve never really talked about what this season means to me.  I didn’t celebrate as a kid. Well, I didn’t celebrate the real thing. Didn’t believe in it. We did presents and the tree and a lot of eating.  My parents were the devout ones.

I became a Christian later in life.  Though I was raised by good Catholic parents.  They’d be mortified by what I became in life, though.  At least when I was younger.

Not sure they’d be particularly enamoured by my current profession either.  They’re traditionalists.  Go to mass every Saturday evening… I pastor youth at a large contemporary church.  Not their thing really.  But, I’m digressing aren’t I?

Christmas means to me?  Community.  Love.  Joy.  A lot of things that I lost over the years and had to regain.  And, redemption.  Or at least the promise of redemption.  I mean, the coming of Jesus as a man into our midst?  That’s a big thing.  And the fact that He came to save someone like me?

Mind blowing.

I don’t deserve that.  But, that’s another thing, right?  Christmas is a time for joy not for reliving the terrible things I’ve done…

So, yeah.  That’s Christmas to me.”

Posted in imagination, my thoughts, my writing, Writing

Why Do I Write?

Posted on by marlytheadoptee
I fell into writing almost by accident.  It’s not something I gave conscious thought to when I was younger.  Reading a lot probably started me on the creative path, though.  Having stories read to me by my parents were probably also a stimulation for my own growing imagination. I know that I started telling myself stories when I was very young.  A lot of it was, come to think on it, a reaction to life’s situations. 
The very earliest stories I remember making up in my mind were of a German Shepherd dog called Daisy.  She was not an ordinary dog by any stretch.  Daisy was large, with prick-ears.  Her coat was short, thick, tan and black in colour.  However, her most distinctive feature was her tail.  It was broad and flattish like that of an otter; the most striking feature though were the four spikes on the end of it.  Like a Stegosaurus’ tail.  Interesting, you say?
Well, I know she manifested in my mind because I wanted an imaginary friend who could protect me from school bullies.  At around the same time I was reading Jack London’s Call of the Wild and so the main character from the book, ‘Buck’, evolved into Daisy’s brother and companion.  Added to this was the fact that they were talking dogs.  Talking animals were a big thing with me then, and for many years, especially after reading Wind and the Willows, Animals of Farthing Wood, the Brian Jacques Redwall series and others like it. 
Of course, the tales of Daisy and Buck evolved to include, amongst others, a talking Siamese cat called Ming, two unicorns, Moonbeam and Sunbeam, and a talking Malamute.  I even had an ongoing dialogue in my head that included the Phantom of the Opera.  Don’t ask me how that came about… my stories didn’t always make sense. 
Later on, when I started high school, my stories changed to include my high school crush.  And is, I will admit, the catalyst for the still ongoing story that goes through my head today about the Rebels’ of Scotland.  I’ll tell you about them another day – they have a whole history surrounding them.
My writing was always a release for me, in a sense.  I just wanted to get the stories out onto page.  I used to handwrite everything, still have a lot of my notebooks filled with my writing.  But, now I do the majority of my writing on my laptop.  I guess that then made it easier for sharing?  Though initially I only had one audience.  Myself. 
I write first and foremost for myself.  It’s an extension of my stories in my head.  But, when I started writing fan-fiction I started to think that maybe people would like to read the creative ideas I came up with.  And, so now my audience is the wider internet community.  Initially just the Simple Plan fandom and now I want to reach more people.  Though my number one audience is still little old moi. 
Writing for me is a very fluid process.  Sometimes I have no idea what I’m writing until it falls out of my head onto the page.  Stream of conscious writing is something that’s great when I get a brand new idea.  Usually happens at two in the morning, though.  Other times, I have an idea for a story and plan out the characters and the ending before doing anything else.  
But, mostly my stories start with the characters.  They’re not always fully formed when they appear in my mind; but, I know a little about them.  I usually learn more about them as I write, and they always surprise me, as the characters in Shadows Creed did.  This does effect the length of time it takes me to write my stories. 
My longest Simple Plan fan fiction, Adeline’s Choice, took me four years to complete; and the aforementioned Shadows Creed, took over three years.  But, it’s a process I enjoy, most of the time, except when I get writer’s block and then I have to either stop or take a break.  Or, I start something brand new.  As long as I enjoy it, that’s the most important thing.
That’s the thing about writing; for me, I enjoy creating different worlds and exploring the characters of people and how they respond to different situations.  Or using the same character and writing them into different situations, as I’ve done with my Simple Plan stories.  Pierre has manifested in many different ways in my stories and that excites me.  Though I’m enjoying creating my own original characters as well. 
So, I guess the main reason I write is for entertainment and enjoyment; though after I’ve written a story I can often see a message coming out from what I’ve written.  And, though that was never the initial intention of my writing, it’s always insightful.  And I believe all my stories have some theme or other, I just don’t usually set out to write that way. 
Now, though, I do want to write stories that are meaningful.  I don’t want to write something that doesn’t impact people.  Because, really…I write stories because I want them to impact myself, so why not others as well?  I read to open my mind to a world of imagination.  Which kind of reminds me of this one story I started writing, which I may share with you at a later date. 

So, why do I write? To entertain and to spread some joy in the form of creative, imaginative expression.  (Even if the story is sad….I don’t always write happy endings…but that’s life, right?)

Posted in 2014, Daniel McTavish, fiction, first person pov, my writing, Writing

The Uprising – revamped version 1 – Prologue

Posted on by marlytheadoptee



Beginnings

2040

Today is the tenth anniversary of our debut record.  
Legacy was a labour of love.  A lot of blood, sweat and tears, literally, was poured into the album.  And, I’m proud of what it has brought into my life and the lives of others.  It’s been a journey; from its conception to where we are today. 
It’s not been easy.  Changing the mindset of a society is difficult.  And, to think on it, I didn’t initially set out to change things.  My ideas weren’t so grandiose back when I was younger.  I was fed up with the status quo.  But, all I wanted was to bring a sense of joy back into my home. 
And music. 
Music.  Music is life’s blood.  Cliché, maybe?  But, something I believe holds true. 
A lot of people didn’t think that forty years ago…

It’s a strain, trying to get people to see where we went wrong with the laws and mores.  I’m seeing a shrink, that’s how bad it can get some days.  
The good doctor said I should write everything down.  A bit cliché, if you ask me.  I’ve read memoirs before.  Always so, dry, factual.  Not worth for anything but some dusty museum.  Though even those places are becoming extinct. 
I’m not much of a writer.  Sure, I’ve written reports.  Signed off on more than I care to remember.  I’m more an actions type of man.  Rather be doing than writing.
No, that kid, Robbie Douglas.  He’d have been the better choice.  Always scribbling away in a notebook whenever he got the chance.  I may still have them.  His notebooks.  Lachlan gave them to me for safekeeping.  That whole family…are almost my own.
But, I’m getting ahead of myself.  A story isn’t any good from the end.  Knowing only the ending doesn’t explain anything.  I learned that just by living in Valoren City. 
The walled city.  Valoren city of my father and my father’s father before that.  Not sure how many generations of McTavish’s served in this city.  Since the War of Words most definitely.  That long ago event that no one really remembers but caused a lot of unnecessary heartache in my day. 
I’ll be the last, though. 
The Creed’s being dismantled.  Gordon said that a regular police force is what the city needs.  One that actually holds justice of high import and not just the enforcing of rules.  I’m content with that idea.  Means I can relax.  Just keep an eye on the kids.
Hah.  Danny McTavish.  Babysitter.  Well, Granddaddy.  My daughter just had twins.  Boys.  Robert and Phil.  She named them in remembrance of the two toughest people we’ve ever known.  This is as much their story as it is mine.
I guess, I should really start from the beginning then.  Since I espoused that endings didn’t explain anything.  Not without beginnings. 
Everyone has a beginning to their story.  And, I don’t mean their birth.  Though that’s an important date. 
My beginning was an auspicious day.  Or it should’ve been. 

Two things happened to change that, and you could say that society has improved a lot since then.
Posted in 2014, fiction, my writing, Writing

The Uprising – Chapter Two

Posted on by marlytheadoptee



“He’s a friend.”


The Astor
1210 hours
Lachlan bent his head to the wall, listening to the footsteps that echoed along the corridor.  Heavy boots, stomping along the line of cells – knuckleheaded guard named Tate.  Clicking heels in the distance – the General’s wife.  Light but firm tread, purposeful and heading his way – Commander Daniel McTavish, the new TaskerOne.
He shifted away from the wall, back to the metal cot, flopping back as he covered his eyes with a forearm.
“Stop pretending, Douglas.”
Lachlan said, voice rough, “Congratulations, Danny Boy…or should I call you ‘Commander’ now?” He lowered his arm, glowering at the man standing on the other side of the bars.  “You got some pull now?  Maybe you can get me out of this hole.”
The Commander frowned, but said nothing in response, glaring back at him.  Lachlan grunted, sitting up as he planted his feet on the floor. 
“We’ve known each other, how long, Daniel?”
He shook his head.  “Lachlan.”
“How long?” Lachlan said in a hard voice. 
“Doesn’t matter.  I can’t get you out.  You broke the law.”
“Yeah…I get it,” he said, picking at a scab on his ankle.  “Gotta make a good impression on the powers-that-be, aye?”
The Commander, nodding slightly, said, “They’ll most likely have you executed.”
“No surprise.  Gotta set a precedent, right?” Lachlan looked up at him, eyes too bright.  “Haven’t executed anyone in ten years, aye?”
“Yes.  Under the previous T-One.”  The subject was a touchy one.  No one really said the words, but an execution was never the normal response to a crime.  For any crime.  Usually the most extreme crimes were punished by banishment.  Nobody wanted to leave the City.  Not safe.  They called it the Wilderness for a reason, after all. 
“Do I get a final request?”
Daniel’s lips twisted in a sour smile.  “You want a priest?”
“Haha.  Very funny, Daniel.” He shook his head.  “I think you know what I want.” He met the Commander’s eyes with a meaningful look.  Daniel stared back at him, before nodding tightly.
“That I can get you.”
Lachlan managed a smile, laying back on the cot again.  “Can I sleep now?”
The Commander chuckled.  “Knock yourself out.” 
Lachlan rolled onto his side, stopping only to look back at Daniel.  “So, how was the ceremony?”
Daniel stared back at him, face expressionless.  Lachlan sighed, shifting back onto his side and closing his eyes.  The sound of the Commander’s firm tread filling his ears as he drifted off. 
                                                            * * *
“Commander McTavish?”
Daniel walked into his office, finding the General’s wife facing the doorway.  “Helen?”
“Congratulations on your promotion,” she said. Madam Helen Briar was the kind of woman who drew attention.  Bright hats – she was wearing a sunflower yellow fascinator today – dark mascara, slim body; and that voice.  Sharp, no-nonsense, but easily slipping into sensual, dangerous territory. 
He smiled, tightly and said, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, ma’am?”
Helen said in a low voice, “Must there be a reason, Daniel?” 
Daniel’s brow creased.  “There’s always a reason, Helen.”
She leaned against the edge of his desk, folding her arms.  Lifting his eyebrows he waited for a response.  In the past, whenever the General sent his wife to see him, it was always in an official capacity, and also because whatever needed to be said was too hard for him to say himself.  Typical behaviour from a man who made himself look big when really he was a weedy little shit…
“He wants you to fast-track the execution of Prisoner 77.”
Lachlan Douglas.  Daniel smoothed a hand over his jaw, schooling his face into an impassive mask.  It wouldn’t do to let on how much that command hurt.  They had history.  Close friends.  School mates.  Biking together in the city.  Gatherings, picnics on the outskirts of the residences.  And other, not so innocent pursuits… It wasn’t as if the order was unexpected, though.  In the latter years, Lachlan had taken to questioning the status quo, making unsanctioned ‘trips’ out of the City.  And…digging up contraband.  Records.  CDs.  Instruments.  He was caught in the middle of the City, setting up what he called a ‘busking’ station.  That was the reason for his arrest.
“On what grounds, ma’am?” Daniel said, lifting an eyebrow.
“You need to set an example on your first official day at the top.” 
Daniel walked around his desk, taking a seat, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.  “There are any number of ways I can do that.”
Helen shook her head.  “The General wants the announcement made by the end of today.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened then he nodded.  “Tell him it’s done.” He pulled the phone toward him, lifting the receiver.  Pausing, he looked pointedly toward the door.  Helen smiled, inclining her head to him.
“I’ll let him know.”
He waited for her to leave, before punching in a number, holding the receiver to his ear.  “It’s Danny.  I need the key.”
                                                            * * *
“You sure you want to do this, Danny?”
Daniel was grabbing stuff from the shelves – bandages, rope, a couple of box cutters etcetera – shoving them in the duffel on the solid oak bench.  He glanced sideways. 
“Do I want to risk my position by helping a felon, bro?” He zipped the bag and said, “He’s a friend, Elliott.”
“I know that.”
Elliott Preston was the City bounty hunter.  He was also responsible for The Locker, the place where all confiscated contraband was stored.  Daniel found it ironic that the Council trusted him, considering who his brother was.  Philip Preston was a career criminal, in fact he was recently paroled.  Then again, perhaps that’s why Elliott wasn’t fazed by what they were currently doing.  Stealing from the Locker. 
Pausing, he glanced at Elliott again.  “Your brother would love this.”
“Don’t even say that, Danny,” he said, shaking his head.  “I’d never hear the end of it.”
Daniel’s soft chuckle seemed out of place in the huge warehouse.  He wasn’t given to light-heartedness, usually.  Hardly surprising in the current climate.  It wouldn’t do to be amused in light of his profession.  Dealing with lawbreakers was no joking matter.  Perhaps becoming one himself would shed new light on that, though. 
“How’s he doing, anyway?” Daniel said, going over to another shelf holding an assortment of firearms.  He kept his eyes on the weapons, allowing Elliott to answer in his own time.  Running his fingertips along the cool metal, he waited. 
Elliott sighed and said, “He’s making friends with the neighbours.”  A short laugh.  “Asked the kid next door to mow the lawn.”
Daniel, glancing sideways at him, selected a handgun from the shelf, adding it to the duffel bag and said, “Can’t he do it himself?”
Elliott lifted his shoulders and said, “I think he just wants the company.  He’s not allowed to do much, being a parolee ‘n’ all.” 
Daniel smiled, doing one more check of the shelves.  “No harm in that.”  He rechecked the duffel then swung it over his shoulder, pausing when Elliott’s hand gripped his shoulder.  “What?”
“You know what you’re doing?”
Daniel ground his teeth and said, “We’ve been planning this for years, Elliott.” 
Elliott held up a hand.  “I believe you.” He shouldered passed him.  “Let’s go bust him out.”
Daniel’s lip lifted slightly as he said, “There’s one more thing I need to get before we do.”

Posted in 2014, fiction, my writing

The Uprising – Chapter One

Posted on by marlytheadoptee


“No aptitude.”
Valoren City
9th May, 2025
0800 hours
The smell of burnt toast wafted across the room as Robbie walked in to the kitchen.  His mother, Celandine, was at the stove trying to salvage the crust whilst his older brother, Joshua, was yelling something about pigs and goats. 
“Seriously, J,” he said as he plopped down on the sofa near the door.  Joshua paused, head swinging around so as to cause the long sweep of dark hair to cast shadows across his eyes.
“You’re awake, Robert.” 
Robbie twitched an eyebrow.  “Aye.  And you’re going on about pigs, again.  What’s the point?”
His brother’s brow scrunched up.  “They arrested Lachlan.”
There was a heartbeat then Robbie groaned.  “Oh.  Those pigs.”
“You should’nae call them that, son,” Celandine said as she plated the meagre serving of toast that she’d managed to not burn.  His eyes flicked sideways at her words as he slouched on his seat, folding his arms over his chest. 
Then he looked at Joshua.  “What’d Lachie do?” He didn’t really want to know, but it was better than letting their mother berate him further. 
Joshua picked at the toast, keeping his eyes fixed on the plate as he said, “The eejit was caught with a guitar out in the streets.” 
Music.  Making music was verboten.  A crime.  Punishable by law.  The fact was life.  Robbie knew no other way.  But, he was curious, ever since he was a bairn.  Always questioning the whys and wherefores of the law.  So, hearing that Lachlan was caught with a guitar – his interest was piqued.  Turning to face his brother more directly, he raised his eyebrows at him.
“What the Hell was he thinking?”
Joshua shook his head, a barely perceptible motion that Robbie only caught because he was paying close attention. 
“Whatever he was thinking,” he said, in a low murmur, “it’ll most likely get him shot.” Joshua glanced sharply at him.  Robbie cocked his head a little to the left then slew his eyes to the side not liking the knowing look that lurked in his older brother’s eyes. 
As he did so he heard the doorbell ring.  Celandine paused at the stove her own gaze drifting toward the front door. 
“I got it,” he said as he pushed up from the couch and crossed the floor. 
Theirs was a small house on an equally small Lot in the centre of the residential sector.  The kitchen/living room was situated right in the front of the dwelling with no threshold to speak of.  Then again it wasn’t like they could afford some fancy home like some people.  Those houses close to Council were the largest and housed the richest people in the City…they lived in the poorer part.  Not that they were destitute.  Those people lived in the Slum. 
Robbie got to the door and lifted the latch to pull the door open a crack.  Peeking through the small gap and squinting he tried to make out the silhouette on the other side.  The early morning sun was a little too bright so he had to shade his eyes. 
“Who is it?”
“Phil-Pips.  From next door.  Not gonna bite, kid,” the silhouette said, the voice amiable.  Robbie opened the door more, brow furrowing as he studied the man that was revealed to him.  Dark eyes met his, a crooked grin twisting the lips on the elder man’s face. 
“Didn’t think you were the biting type,” Robbie said, though his tone was slightly suspicious.  The corner of Pips eyes crinkled, laughter evident in their depths.
“Robert, right?” he nodded as Pips went on, “Know this is unexpected…but I couldn’t help noticing the sign at your gate.” 
Robbie blinked.  “Sign?”
Pips pointed back over his shoulder to a makeshift banner that was flapping in the breeze, made of cardboard and looking decidedly weather worn.  Robbie blinked some more.
“Oh.  That sign.”
Pips looked at him.  “Yeah.  You still mow people’s lawns?”
Robbie flushed, kicking himself mentally.  He really needed to take that sign down.  He and Joshua had stuck it up early summer to try and make a little extra money so they could help their Mam.  Times weren’t easy.  They’d initially been inundated by friends and neighbours asking for help, but then that had trickled to a stop as the season progressed.  It was probably two weeks since the last person had called. 
Robbie gripped the doorframe, tapping his fingers against the wood as he looked thoughtfully at Pips. 
“Maybe,” he finally said.  Pips nodded, his eyes sliding to try and look behind him.
“Could I come in for a minute?”
Robbie stiffened slightly just as Celandine called out from inside.
“Who is it, Robert?”
He said back over his shoulder, “Neighbour.  Pips.”
“Ask him in for some tea, son.”  Ever the hospitable one was Celandine Douglas.  Robbie’s lips twisted in a wry smile at that thought then he turned back to Pips. 
“Alright.  Come in.” 
                                                            * * *
Pips looked around the small, yet cosy kitchen not much different to his and Elliott’s.  Though neither of them cooked much and there was a lot less clutter in their house.  The cupboards were in the same place; the counters, the sink…but of course this dwelling had its own personal flare.  A bunch of lavender hanging from a hook above the stove; the fresh aroma tickling at Pips’ nostrils.  Assorted picture frames with family photos… two young boys smiling in scattered images.  He and Elliott had nothing like that on their walls. 
“Tea?” The woman that the boy introduced as his mother, Celandine, approached him holding a teapot.  His first impression was of the pot that was being held at his eye level.  Yes, it was an actual flowery porcelain item like what his own mother would’ve owned back when she was still alive.  He didn’t like to think on that too much.  He forced a smile, nodding slightly.
“Thanks.  Black, no sugar.” 
She smiled, the crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes deepening, as she turned to pour the tea.  Pips observed her for a moment; her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun, wisps escaping around her face.  Her expression was warm, even if it were a little world-worn.  And, she was careful with the pouring of the tea…meticulous.  Like his own mother. 
Halting that thought, he glanced over at the boy. Robert was now sitting next to an older boy at the table.  Obviously his brother; they had the same eyes, the same eyebrows. 
“So.  The mowing?”
Robert lifted his eyebrows.  “I did say maybe.”
Pips chuckled.  “You did.” 
His brother snorted as he stood and said, “Robbie says ‘maybe’ to everything.  Usually means no.”  He pointed at himself.  “I’m the one who usually ends up doing everything.”
Pips smirked as Robbie scowled, shoving at his brother’s shoulder.  “Piss off, aye.”
“Robert,” Celandine said, scolding him gently.  Reminding Pips again of his own mother.  He was forever getting told off for little infractions when he was younger.  Maybe if she’d lived longer he wouldn’t have ended where he did…
“Sorry, Josh,” Robbie said, but without any conviction.  “Anyway, we go back to school soon.” He met Pips gaze. 
Pips lifted his shoulders.  “This would just be on the weekends.” 
Joshua scoffed again and said, “We don’t have school.  Robbie’s twenty-one.” 
Pips brows scrunched together as he managed not to say the words that tingled at the tip of his tongue.  The kid looked fifteen.  Which, if what Joshua said was true, was definitely misleading.  The lankiness of his limbs and the babyface was what had confused him. 
“So, what do you do then?” Pips asked, admittedly a little curious. 
A strange look flickered across Robbie’s face.  Pips only just caught it, then it was gone as the kid replied in a soft voice.
“Work for the City,” he said, his top lip curling on the words. 
Joshua said, rudely, “He’s a Flusher.” 
“Shut up, Joshua,” Robbie said, his cheeks reddening. 
Pips stared hard at the kid, surprised.  Flushers were not given any respect.  It was the least of the City jobs; cleaning up the waste and doing other menial tasks that the rest of the citizens would not deign to do.  To hear that this boy was one of…those… it was almost worse than being a criminal.  Robbie glared back at him, as if daring him to make a comment.  He took the dare.
“I’ve never met anyone from the Residences who does that job.” 
Robbie’s lips twisted into a bitter smile.  “Aye.  Wasn’t a choice.  Had no aptitude for anything else after school.” That same strange flicker passed across his features again, gone as soon as Pips tried to focus on it. 
“You sell yourself short,” Joshua said, his tone surprisingly gentle.  Pips smiled a little, recognising a little of Elliott in the elder boy’s words.  Elliott was always telling him the same thing.  Robbie started to roll his eyes.  His brother punched his shoulder. 
“You always say that.  Anyway, the things I can do…well.” Robbie shook his head.  “Not allowed to do.” 
Pips brow furrowed.  “What do you mean, kid?”
The boy met his gaze, dark eyebrows drawn tight together.  “Why’re you interested?”
Pips lifted his shoulders.  “No reason.  So…?”
Robbie sighed then smiled a little.  “Alright.  I’ll mow your lawn.  For a price.”
Pips snorted and said, “We can talk price when you come over…tomorrow okay for you?”
Robbie smirked.  “I could come now, but Mam needs help with chores.”  The longsuffering tone to his voice held a certain amount of affection, which made Pips feel suddenly sad.  His parents were long gone…but that was a history he didn’t like thinking about. 

He nodded to Robbie then smiled as Celandine came over with a cup, handing it to him.  He smiled in thanks and took a long sip.

Posted in 2014, fiction, my writing, Writing

The Uprising – Thoughts and Prologue

Posted on by marlytheadoptee

I have finally started planning my full length original novel.  It is very loosely based on my A7X fanfic, Shadows Creed; however the plot, and character motivations are different.

The basic premise is this:

It is 2025.  The Creed controls everything.  Peace reigns after the War of Words.  Music has been banned.  But, there has been rumours of the rise of The Mus.  

The Mus is a mysterious renegade who provokes the Creed through random acts of daring, playing music in the most unlikeliest of places.  No one has any idea of who it may be, except for Pips Preston who has just been released from prison.

Their worlds merge and become the catalyst for a revolution that will change the lives of everyone they know and love.

Main Cast:
Robbie Douglas [Thomas Brodie-Sangster]
Daniel McTavish [Alex O’Loughlin]
Philip “Pips” Preston [Pierre Bouvier]
Elliott Preston [Jim Sturgess]

I will now share the prologue with you and the banner.  Enjoy.
~~~~~

“Let’s go home.”
Valoren City
1st May, 2025
0415 Hours
It began with the drum sticks.  Long, thin, black with a cobweb clinging for dear life to its length as if the poor spider half-heartedly started then got spooked.  He stared at the sticks for a long time, with not a thought.  Just allowing his eyes to follow the straight lines.  Then, casting his gaze to the laptop next to him.  It sat, perching, on an upturned milk crate the faded metal cover catching the dim light that filtered into the room. 
He inhaled deeply before leaning across to hit a key; placing the tips of the sticks on the edge of the crate. 
Pausing, he checked the monitor, reading the words that scrolled across the screen.  Then with a twist of his lips he proceeded to play.
                                                            * * *
Daniel swore as the alarm by his head jolted him awake.  The incessant beeping sent a murderous impulse through him, but he settled for just slapping the top of his radio until it stopped.  The sudden silence afterwards set his teeth on edge, but then something else…
The speakers outside his window were pulsing.  He grimaced, the skin tightening across his forehead as he brushed sleep aside and dragged his body out of bed.  Making his way to the window, not an easy task with his bed covers in his path.  He must’ve kicked them off during the night. He prised it open so he could listen.
Drumbeats.  Unmistakeable.  Filled the air.  He blinked several times before cursing again.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” he said out loud, a groan ending his words. 
He stood still, just listening as his heart rate seemed to match the steady rhythm that the speakers were emitting.  Dragging fingers through his hair he heaved a sigh, shaking his head hard. 
“Coffee,” he muttered through clenched teeth.  “Coffee…then I’ll deal with it.”  He slammed his window shut to block out the sound.  “Coffee…” he repeated as he made the journey across his room to the door. 
                                                            * * *
Freedom.  Such an overrated word.  True freedom didn’t exist in the City.  Pips knew that better than anyone.  He was out.  Standing outside the gates of The Astor.  But, he wasn’t really out.  No one ever was once they’d been incarcerated.  Too little trust was gained.  But, that didn’t really matter.  For the moment, he felt a certain sense of liberty. 
Tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie as he scanned the long stretch of road he felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips when he recognised his brother’s beatup truck heading his way.  Elliott Preston was as reliable as ever.  Like clockwork that guy was always where he needed to be. And right now, Pips was grateful that his brother was coming to get him. 
He lifted a hand in greeting as the truck came to a shuddering halt in front of him.  Elliott jumped out and grabbed him in a bone-crushing embrace.
“Bro…”
Pips returned the embrace just as hard.  Elliott winced a little, pulling back.
“Man, you packed it on.”
Pips chuckled, low, shaking his head.  “Well, I didn’t take up knitting in there.”  His brother squeezed his bicep in response to that.
“Come on, let’s go home.” 
Pips exhaled, a rough sound as he looked toward the truck.  Home.  And freedom…not that he would ever really be free.  No one ever was in the City.  But, at least they could pretend that it was true.