Mar. 31st, 2020

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[personal profile] froodle
It's Tuesday, so today you get a choice between two prompts. Pick one, combine both, pit them against each other - on Tuesday, you choose!

This week, your options are:

Riding Mower Dads versus Basketball Team
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Marshall stopped at the small folding table set up below the exit sign. Candles in heavy glass jars stood in neat rows. Hand-poured, multi-coloured, each one bearing a faux-rustic brown paper label attached with twine.

"Surprise in every jar!" said a hand-lettered placard next to them.

The woman sitting in front of the cash box grinned at him, eyes bright with malice and too many teeth to comfortably fit a human mouth.

"Excellent gift for Mother's Day!" she said, tapping one.

Marshall thought about it.

"What's the surprise?" he asked.

"Certainly not a curse sealed in wax!" the vendor lied.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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"I don't understand," said Simon, sometime around Hour Seventy. The candle had promised approximately 120 hours of burn time, and judging by the level of wax still left in the jar, the manufacturers had been overly cautious in their estimation.

Marshall rose from his place sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor of the Secret Spot and rubbed his eyes, which were protesting long periods spent staring into a naked flame.

"Who knows how many other people bought candles from that lady?" he said. "If they all contain curses, we need to melt one down and find out what we're dealing with before we get over-run with imps or creeping vines or giant spiders or anything else terrible."

Simon peered into the pool of molten wax, careful not to step inside the protective circle where the candle now burned.

"I don't see anything," he said, sighing the words in a way that made the flame gutter and dance, casting strange shadows on the sloped attic walls.

Marshall checked one of his watches, glanced out of the small recessed window overlooking a garden bathed in May sunshine, and nodded.

"Yeah," he said, picking up a candle snuffer of blessed silver. "Let's go."

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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The sound of scolding broke through his concentration, and Simon set down his pen with a sigh. He'd been working on "Jackalopes and the Federal Deficit" since he was nine and he was still no closer to a unifying theory of government debt and and rabbits with horns.

The door didn't open, but Sheila still poked her head around it via the doorframe rather than through it. She looked worried.

"You'd better come outside, bossman," she said. "There's a situation developing with the ravens."

Simon closed the yellowed composition notebook and pushed back his chair. As usual when he needed to follow his spectral assistant somewhere, he almost bumped into the still-closed door before remembering corporeality was a thing.

In the small paved area at the back of their office, one of the chupacabra huddled in a miserable ball of fur and scales. Simon hurried over, looking for wounds or bruising and finding none. On the half-rotted fence that separated their lot from the next-door neighbours, the ravens continued to squawk.

"Corvid's a little rusty, boss," said Sheila, "But I think they're picking on it."

Simon looked up at the huge black birds, one hand frozen beneath the 'cabra as he prepared to turn it over.

"Seriously?" he asked.

One of the ravens cawed, the tone mocking and cruel. Sheila nodded.

Simon straightened, locking eyes with the nearest of the unkindness.

"I am so disappointed in all of you," he said. "Really, truly disgusted. I'd like you all to fly home, and spend some time thinking about what you've done."

He waited. A couple of the flock shifted uncomfortably, but none of them moved.

Simon picked up the goatsucker, careful not to gouge himself on the spiny ridges that ran along it's back.

"You heard me," he said. "Get lost."

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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There was a patch of ice surrounding Chick Two Junior, and Simon almost slipped on it in his haste. The all-black cockatrice peeped merrily at him, apparently mistaking his franticly whirling arms for some kind of dance performed entirely for the hatchling's benefit.

"Hey, little dude," said Simon, catching himself before he face-planted in the hard-packed dirt of his parent's dying lawn. "What's with the skating rink?"

Chick Two Junior waddled over to him, frost forming wherever he touched the ground. Simon held out his open palm, and the tiny cockatrice jumped on.

"Ice-cream truck," said Simon, pointing. "Want in?"

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

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evilinsanemonkey: Marshall Teller and Dash X from Eerie Indiana making eyes at each other (Eerie: Dash/Mars)
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You thought I forgot!! Okay I did forget but only in that I Forgot today was March 31 because this is the month that never fucking ends

So, let's talk about Lumberjanes!

Some questions to get you going:

- What Eerie characters could you see being Lumberjanes?

- On a scale of 1 to 10, how much trouble would the trio get in to?

- What badges do you think the Eerie characters would have earned? What badges do you think they'd make up to fit their own experiences?

--

Next book:
Maybird and the Ever After by Jodi Lynn Anderson

Discussion post goes up April 30

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