Quack!

This story exerpt is a continuation of the Which Witch storyline, and comes immediately after Tuesday’s piece, Duck.  I’m sure you were all on the edges of your seats.  Will duck-Simon flap off to join his brethren?  What can an inventor do with no hands and a bill?  Time will tell!  And time happens to be now.  If you are somewhat confused by what you’ve just read, I suggest you at the very least go back to Tuesday’s post, and, at the most, click through to the Fiction tab at the top, scroll down to Which Witch, and read all the little pieces of storyline that culminate (so far) in Quack!

I don’t own a duck, so, as picture, I give you my dog, in his least-favourite aquatic form.  Look at those eyes!  Don’t they just scream, “for the love of all that is holy, don’t take pictures of me when I look like a drowned rat!”

Feb2011 152

“Quack! Quack Quack Quack Quack!! Qu-ah! Qhat! What just happ-AK, What?!  What just happened?”

The flighty waterfowl kept trying to express its anxiety through quacks and grooming as it transformed once again into a wild-haired machinist.

Flustered, Samuel ran his fingers through his hair for a few moments, before running them down his arms and legs and waggling them in front of his face to confirm that he wasn’t the bird he’d been sure he was just moments before.  “Aaaah!” he exclaimed, taking a few hasty steps away from Agata, and tripping on a mislaid wrench in the process.

“aaaAAAaaa!” he tried again, jabbing a finger in her direction, eyes wide.

Agata sat comfortably on the only piece of furniture vaguely resembling seating.  She thought it might be one of the surviving parts of one of the less landing-successful previous flying machines.

She looked up from her perusal of his blueprints, red marker in hand, and smiled.  “you were saying?”

“You- you- you- you… “

“Aaaare?”

“W-witch!”

Agata felt a moment of regret for her actions, seeing the frightened look in his eye, the way he held a wrench between them as a shield.

Of course.  Because witches are evil, even if you don’t believe in them.  She sighed and stood, wincing internally as he stepped back again.  She set down the set of blueprints and started towards the door, calling out as she went, “I’ve put in some suggested modifications that will improve stability and help you have more control in landing in future.  I’ve also taken the liberty of taking one of your sets of spectacles-in-a-hat as payment for my assistance today… and for turning you back into a person.”

“Modifications?”

“You’re welcome.”

“Um, thanks?  And Goggles.”

Agata paused in the massive hangar door.  “Who goggles at what?”

“The… erm… spectacles in a hat… goggles – flying goggles.  They’re grand, aren’t they?   Keep the wind and the bugs out of your eyes.  Why would you need them… oh.”  He stared at the broom she’d hefted over her shoulder with dawning comprehension.  “Oooh.”

“’Oh’ is right,” Agata tried to stay chipper, wishing she felt more happy about carrying on her way after this encounter.  “Good luck with your flying machine – it’s really quite extraordinary.  Try not to kill yourself – that would be a waste.  And goodbye.”

With that, she was astride her broom and shooting skyward with a freedom of movement unrivalled by the bulky awkwardness of the flying bird contraption Samuel had created.  Indistinctly, behind her, she heard a yell.  It didn’t matter.  However he’d decided was best to treat a witch, she was unstoppable once she was airborne.

It had been nice, though, to be able to share the experience with someone, for once.

<– Duck|| Crush –>

Advertisements

Duck

Clearly inspiration strikes when deadlines are lacking.  This week, you’ll be seeing quite a few pieces of short story, most particularly from the Which Witch storyline.  We last left Agata in a big field with a strange machine, in Roc.  You can also read more of her story by going to the Fiction Tab at the top of the page, and scrolling down to ‘Which Witch’.  The nice thing about this (for me) is that it isn’t a prompt response… which means I can write it as long as I’d like to write it, which is sometimes a nice thing to do, however succinct a 300-400 word max can make a story.  I wrote this (very roughly) during Nano, and have since gone through and tried to smooth out the rough edges without losing the entertainment I found in writing it.

I’m also posting a random gratuitous picture of my puppy, because he’s just so CUTE.  Enjoy, and let me know what you think of the piece!

IMG_20110925_111823

“You want to do what with that machine?”

The man grinned.  “Fly, of course!”

“Fly.”

“Fly!”

“on that.”

in that.”

“That thing”

“Roc.”

“As in ‘sinks like a-‘?”

“Giant mythical bird – it’s a homonym, but spelled different too.”

“huh.”  Agata stared at the machine.

“Want to go for a ride?” the man was rolling down the sleeves of his grubby coveralls with equally grimy hands, an adventurous glint in his eye.

Agata held her broom in front of her like a warding.

The man squinted owlishly at her through a set of spectacles built into a leather hat that flattened the wild tangle of black hair on his head, leaving a fringe around his collar.  “We can probably hold off on sweeping it out for now, Miss…?”

“Agata, and it’s not for sweeping.”

“So it just looks like a broom.”

Agata hesitated.  “Yes.”

“Shall we carry on the experiment, then?”

“Only if I can take my broom too.”  Inside, Agata cringed.  The man’s eyes glinted with laughter.  “Shut it,” she snapped.

The man only smiled, looking slightly bemused.

“Samuel.”

“Samuel?”

“My name.  Yours is Agata.  I thought you might want to know.”

“Are we going to go flying in your contraption, or not?”

Samuel grinned.  “you take this wing, I’ll get the other.”

“Where are we taking them?”

“Out.”

“Of the shed?”

“hangar”

“I suspect I’ll need my coat, but thank you for the offer.”

“No, I call it a hangar.”

“Do you hang the plane up?”

“Well… no.”

“So you…”

“hang tools in it.  Hang out in it.  Will eventually have hangers-on to order about in it?”

“Hmm.  You take that wing, then.”

After a great deal of effort on both their parts, the devilishly heavy contraption was out and facing in, according to Samuel, the optimal direction.

“Hop in,” he said brightly, rubbing his hands together in delight.  He headed around to the pointy end and she followed.  He seemed surprised to turn to face the plane and find her in front of him instead.

“You’re not going to try and send me up there by myself, are you?”

“I’ve just got to get it started.”

Agata crossed her arms and scowled, letting her boot tap out her impatience.  “Well, then.”

He looked about helplessly for a moment, and said, “We’ll need to get in quickly after I get it started, to get it moving.”

He then fiddled with the large wind-catching blades at the front, and soon produced a roar of noise, along with such motion to the blades that Agata’s hair was instantly whipped into a rats-nest around her head, and she could no longer see the actual blades causing the wind.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”  she yelled over the noise as he hustled her back to the door of the machine.  The noise dimmed only slightly once they were inside.

Agata gripped her broom tightly as the machine started to rumble forward.  Samuel glanced warily back at the wooden shaft poking threateningly over his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t a club be more effective?”

“What?”

“you know, ‘you twit, can’t you get anything right, leave and never come back, thwap thwap thwap!’”

“thwap?”

“The sound of a broom striking a man about the shoulders when he comes home with ‘magic beans’ instead of money in exchange for the cow?  Presages divorce?”

Agata decided to file this under ‘unresolved parental issues’ and leave it at that for now.  While operating heavy machinery didn’t seem like the ideal time to rehash childhood traumas.

“Ah.  Well, a club would make more of a ‘thock thock’ noise.  And the… broom… isn’t for hitting you.  If you’ve gotten it wrong, we’ll likely both end up meeting a very violent end – why would I ease your passing by knocking you senseless with a tool for household tidiness?  Aaah!” she gasped, as, at that moment, the machine ceased rumbling along the ground as it bounced once, then twice, and then abandoned terra firma entirely and took, wobbling, to the sky.

Samuel let out a whoop of delight, punching the air once with his fist and causing the entire machine to lurch before desperately clawing at the instruments in front of him to stabilize it.  “Sorry!”

Agata hardly heard him, the words whipping out of his mouth and past her ears, pushed by the powerful wind.  Her hair slapped madly at her face as she tried to pull it back, one-handed.  She began to wonder if it had been his first test of the machine that had left his hair so bushy.

It seemed hardly any time at all before they were turning, wobbling, and losing elevation.  Quickly.  Very quickly.

Agata rapped sharply at Samuel’s leather-clad head to catch his attention.

“Are we trying to land?”

“Not trying, succeeding!”  He didn’t sound convinced.

“Not at this angle of descent,” she replied, confirming his fears. “Have you landed before?”

“Not with this model!”

“Why not?”

“Hardly any parts of the wreckage are salvageable – it’s basically built new every time.”

Agata half-stood in her tiny slot in the machine shoving her broom handle roughly at Samuel, with a barked, “Hold this!”

Leaning awkwardly over his shoulder, arms on either side of him, she snatched the controls, to his alarmed shout of “HEY!”

She assessed the situation as quickly as possible.   Yes, she thought.  I definitely don’t know how to use these controls. 

He snatched them back as quickly as she released them and they continued to wobble too quickly, and too steeply, towards earth.

“Go UP!”

“That’s only an alternative as long as we’ve got fuel!”

“Not all the way up… just even out a bit.  It’ll slow us down!”

He did as he was told, and the Roc coasted more gradually towards the ground, finally dipping down to judder and  kiss the runway once, twice, three times, before wobbling to the side with a screech of tearing metal and ripping sail-cloth as a wing was torn asunder, then coasting to a stop near the border of the open field, neatly turned 90 degrees from its original direction of landing.

“HAH!” Samuel exclaimed, whipping off his spectacle-cap and jumping up.  “HAAAAH!”

Agata stiffly rose from the hunched over position she’d maintained for the duration of the landing, fingers stiff on the handle of her broom.  The Roc had lost its wing.  They were both alive, but the machine had lost its wing!

She hopped down to the ground from within the listing machine, only to be swept up and danced enthusiastically around in a jig whose pace could not be matched by any fiddler in existence.

“Aaa-Ah!” she exclaimed, on principle.

“You did it!” he cried, a broad grin wreathing his oil-smudged face.  “You! Did! It! HAAAH!  Smoothest landing ever!”

“If the machine isn’t whole at the end, it isn’t a landing.” Agata stepped away from the capering inventor and seriously considered giving him a good thwap!  She settled for scowling, arms crossed, strangely unwilling to make him upset.

“First ground-arrival ever in which I have an actual machine to modify for next time,” he replied brightly, unfazed.

“Were you trying to get me killed?”

“Every technological advancement has to start somewhere!”

“Like in a lab?”

“Won’t fit in a lab.”

He had her there.

“Shouldn’t you have some kind of safety measure in place?”

Samuel stared at her and then shifted his gaze to the machine, before returning to her.  Arms out in a pantomime, he said, “It’s a flying machine.  Flying.  Machine.  What would you suggest?  Perhaps a broom?”

Agata hastily snatched her broom from where it had fallen, glaring at him.

“Anything that would prevent, or at least reduce the possibility of death and destruction.”

“Flying machine.”

“What?”

“Your point is moot.  It’s a flying machine, I invented it, but, frankly, having it fall out of the sky is just something that could happen, and then you really just have to pray to whatever god gives you the best chance of adapting to flight rapidly and hope for the best.”

“You could hire a witch to test it with you.”

The man barked a laugh.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  Witches aren’t real.”

Agata smiled sweetly.  “Oh don’t they?  Here, I’ve got a great idea for getting out of your flying death machine unscathed.  Be A Duck!”

<– Roc || Quack –>

Gone for a Wander

You may have noticed that there were no short stories up this week.  You’ll notice that again next week, too.  As of yesterday at roughly midnight, I’m in fabulous Moncton, New Brunswick on vacation.

Before you warn me about mentioning vacations before I get back from them… know that I’m travelling solo, and the house is still quite occupied.

Writing this ahead of time means I can only make assumptions.

I’m pretty sure the flight will be horrible – any travel that involves me interacting with security people and plane staff at midnight can’t be good.  Let’s just hope that I emerge with all my luggage, and what shreds of my sanity I can hold onto at well-past-my-bedtime-o’clock.

I’m positive that I’ll be spending a fun-filled week catching up with my aunt and uncle, all my cousins, and my cousin’s 8-year-old son, who I haven’t seen since he was 4.  I’m hoping this time he’ll be out of the shy-cling-to-parent stage, and we can say hello to each other.

I suspect that it will be colder than here.  By a lot.

I really hope for there to be seafood.  Lots and lots of seafood.  My uncle married a wonderful woman, all around, so it’s really just a bonus that she’s Acadian, and thus a goddess of seafood.  Last time we went camping out there, she taught me how to dismember a cooked lobster after showing me what she looked for in them at a fish market right at the dock.  Since then, I’ve ordered lobster at a restaurant once… and i was thoroughly disappointed that they had cut it in half down the middle, eliminating the entire dismembering process.

Happy Friday, everyone, see you in September!

Roc

Write On Edge: Red-Writing-Hood
This week’s prompt for Write on Edge’s Red Writing Hood was:

to write a fiction orcreative non-fiction piece set entirely in an airport. Take us on an adventurein 450 words or less

It really didn’t work with the firefly piece (she only just left the airport!), so I figured I’d go back and catch up with Agata (you can find the storyline in Which Witch under my Fiction tab above).  If you don’t want the whole story, the overview to make this story more understandable is quite simple:  Agata is a witch.

a picture I found on public domain, click the pic to go to its source

Agata coasted gently down into the woodland alongside the field.  Her hair was wildly tangled from the wind, and her boots sank ankle-deep in the swampy ground under the trees.  With a sigh of disgust, she hoisted her broom and pack over one shoulder and trudged out to the unusual building sitting in a long and narrow, hard-packed clearing.

It stood at least three storeys tall, a half-tube constructed of bits of scrap sheet metal and canvas.  One end was sealed, but the end she could see into was one enormous door that had been slid aside to allow her a clear view of something even more bizarre.

A mechanical monstrosity stood in the middle of the building, balanced on two wheels and an end-piece, looking awkward and extremely unstable.  Like… almost… a duck.  Agata wondered what purpose it could possibly serve.

From somewhere within the construct, a steady clanking rang out, interspersed with some very creative cussing.

“Hello?” her voice echoed in the large space.  “Is anyone there?”

The clanging fell silent, followed by a clatter and a crash.

A large man emerged from within the beast, scowling and brushing his grimy hands off on his equally grimy coveralls.  He dabbed at his forehead with an oil-smeared cloth, leaving a black streak above his eye.  Wild tufts of hair sticking out haphazardly on his head.

Agata realised the man had spoken while she was taking in the bizarre scene.

“Pardon?”

The scowl became fiercer, but also more ridiculous with the single surprised black eyebrow he’d given himself.  “What’d’ye want, girl?  If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m not mad, I don’t need a nurse, or to be taken to the mental hospital, and no, you can’t buy my land, it’s mine, and I need it.  I’m a busy man.”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life, I’m not a nurse, and what on earth would I do with a narrow, hard-packed strip of land?  As for your sanity – ”  She hesitated, glaring at the machine.  It was too intriguing.  “I’m withholding judgement until I find out more about that.”

He was transformed, a broad and delighted grin on his face.  “Curious, are ye?  Excellent.  Can’t stand folk without curiosity!  Hang on, it’s almost ready to take out for a spin!  Just you stay put!”

And with that, he dove back under the machine, clanking enthusiastically.

Agata crouched to peer beneath.  “Um… I mostly just wanted to know what it was?”

“Eh?”  Rattle, thud, clang.

“What does it do?”

He scrambled up, grinning.  With a proud hand across its beak-region, he replied, “Why, It’s a flying machine!  I call it the Roc.”