This is a short story that i hope for YaoChi to read over a mic after it's finished. Please tell me how I should work with it and if I should fix anything so far. I'm usually cool with writing novels, deep descriptions, and other such stuff. But I want this to be readible over a mic, so I've trimmed lightly on the details to let your imagination take effect.
Clyde Anderthol. A lone, tall, and otherwise scruffy man with no real ambitions and plenty of things to dream about. He wore a tall hat and rather bland colors to fit with the crowd. Merchant by trade, Clyde would roam from town to town and sell trinkets to lucky but ruthfully ripped off buyers. For you see, everything he sold was of but marginal value, not to mention that the jewels he proclaimed specially engraved on said items were, Infact, worthless. Such was the life of a merchant to Clyde, as he found no guilt toward what he did for a living. If it was for money, then it was all good.
One day, a small tabby cat jumped onto his display. Playing the casual merchant, Clyde asked the feline, “Would you be interested in a trinket, oh striped and fluffy one? Or perhaps your owner would find one of better use.” Whilst looking around for a said hopeful cat owner with even more hopeful cash. The cat then proceeded to lick its foot, shake off a few random fleas, and steal one of the trinkets. No matter how poor Anderthol complained, this smart tabby had gotten off with a new toy.
Being a very observant group of stragglers, a few thieves had noticed the cats' ease at picking off of this scruffy merchant. Proceeding the next few hours, they too chose to rob the man without much effort or trouble. And before too long, poor Clyde was robbed of all his preciously cheap belongings. This left him with a small dilemma. While the charms were worthless by nature, they kept him fed and gave him money to lodge with. Having none would only mean that he would loose a few inches around the waist and need a few more home-made notches on his belt.
During that night of extreme appetite and otherwise convenient crafting time to think, the merchant wondered to himself in mild comfort what expression those thieves would have when realizing that their new collection of trinkets would fetch them less than kibble at any pawn shoppe. Those bastards had no business stealing from his cart, specially when it would end up costing him the most in the end. Good news was that the only threats they would treat to him come morning mist would be to debunk his own scam. However even old Anderthol knew that a thief would be too greedy to even risk giving away their own occupation to the public, no matter the reason. So at least that thought was put at ease. If only his rabid stomach were as well.
The next day, Clyde drearily dressed himself and set out to his street side store, placing down the new charms and tools of his trade. Should he have been more awake, perhaps the shock of seeing several other booths similar to his own would have been less expressive than it was upon second look. “What in blazes is this all about?” Anderthol exclaimed upon standing and pointing at all the thieves the day before. The very Same crooks that were now selling his trinkets in their own ripoff scam to the public. Upon seeing his red face and otherwise enragingly pissed expression, the criminals grinned and waved. What made it worse was that they had a more enthusiastic, fresh approach to getting customers. Dammit all, Clyde couldn’t do a thing about it without blowing the entire scam wide open.
Dribbling on like sweet, cherry pie, the sun flowed up ahead with an ever-pressing glee at ruining Clyde’s day. Because it was all known that by now the thieves had won this game. They had been able to sell everything that the merchant made, while Anderthol was entirely ignored by the public. After all: a strategic and spontaneously spastic thief is a far greater actor than a lone, tall, and scruffy, old merchant; Especially when Clyde was famished and in a bad mood. It would only be expected that his foul odor of contempt along with the horrid looks and pungent smell of no shower the night before would drive people away.
People, of course, were not Anderthol’s only concern.
“Meow” announced a familiar, fluffy face of the one who started this whole mess.
Clyde blinked at the cat. And it did not take too long before his look turned into a sour glare, “You.”
The cat closed its eyes happily and continued, “I wish to thank you for the gift the other day. Had hours of fun running around with it and my friends. They thought that its very shine was fantastic! Really, I am in debt to you and your wonderful stand of treasure.” A warm purr emanated from the feline’s chest. Ears forwards and tail curled to express sincere gratitude and enthusiasm from last night’s adventure with a worthless trinket.
Should the merchant have known cat language, he may have done many courteous things. For example, ask the cat what use it would have for something so cheap, or perhaps nod his head to accept the gracious feedback on his tool of trade. However, “You filthy bag of fleas with legs!” Clyde did not understand one thing that was stated in between every meow. Having grabbed the nearest thing, which was apparently a beam that propped his stand’s tent up, the merchant took violent action against the rather surprised puss. In the space of a yowl and one or two smacks of the stick, the cat bounded off towards a safer area to perch. Watching with flattened ears and an extra fluffy tail as the merchant’s stand suddenly collapsed upon poor human.
During the time that the Anderthol slowly pulled himself out from under the rubble of his last remaining possession, the tabby frowned. “What’s gotten him so upset? Twas not as if I stole his fish. Perhaps he is merely having a bad day. Or maybe I came at a wrong time. That could be it.” Licking his fur down, the stray tried hard to find his previously calm posture. After all, a ruffled feline attracts all sorts of trouble. He slowly shook off the surprise of nearly becoming pulp as stares slowly coagulated around the risen cloud of dust and rubble. Clyde sat on the ground and watched his pile of wood in horror. Thereafter tears formed in his eyes, which did not befit a human in the least. The cat was urged to jump down and comfort, though thought better of it quickly afterwards. But there just had to be something that he could do.
Mmmmm... exelent bit so far, though there is one little bit of wording I'd change.
Instead of "For you see, everything he sold was of but marginal value, not to mention that the jewels he proclaimed specially engraved on said items were, Infact, worthless."
I'd put in and "Clyde would roam from town to town and sell trinkets to customers who, thinking themselves lucky, were always dissapointed to find themselves ripped off in the end"
I'm interested in seeing how this one ends. ^_^
Anyway, I don't think I have too much to comment on (I like it!) Though there were a couple things that caught my eye.
During the story's first quote, remember that you don't put a period at the end of the quote if it's not the end of the sentence. Yao Chi's going to see that period at the end of that quote and take a breath where he shouldn't, since the sentence goes on from there.
Breath control is important for a spoken story. When you have time, read the story aloud to yourself and make sure none of your sentences are so long that you die. And if it just doesn't sound right, change it.
Some sentences are too long simply because they contain unnecessary details. The sentence: "It would only be expected that his foul odor of contempt along with the horrid looks and pungent smell of no shower the night before would drive people away." Can be shortened to: "It would only be expected that his horrid look of contempt and pungent smell of no shower would drive people away."
The sentence: “You filthy bag of fleas with legs!” can lose the words "with legs."
I will echo some of the sentiment that Arc Nova put forth: long sentences for spoken prose = bad.
In fact, this being a spoken piece allows you to use sentence fragments.
"Clyde fumed." Is a perfectly acceptable sentence for spoken word because you have all the inflection to work with.
The content of the story is very fun. There are certainly no problems with the pace of the action.
Recommendation #1: Add a very brief example of Clyde's trickery to the first paragraph. Sure, you say that he cheats people... but one or two lines about how he once sold a worthless quartz pendant to a foolish elderly man who was looking to buy a diamond for his wife on their 50th anniversary. Something like that.
Recommendation #2: Your cat character has no inner dialogue the first time it shows up. Of course, adding actual dialogue to the cat's first appearance could take away from the second appearance when it has full kitty statements. My fix would be to at least give the cat some emotion during its first appearance. A perfect thing would be for the cat to "seem" to nod at Clyde's mock offer of a trinket. Clyde could wonder for a moment it the cat was really nodding or if was just his imagination. That way the reader will wonder and maybe even hope that the cat will be a character with emotion and thought.
As for where to progress, I see a few goals that need to be met:
1) Clyde needs to learn a lesson about honesty
2) The cat needs to find a human to have as a pet (or the pet needs a master)
3) The thieves need some sort of comeuppance (preferably something funny)
I'm sure that you will do an awesome job of getting to those or other goals. I am definitely looking forward to part II.
Here's the story from beginning to end so far (and I did make edits to parts of part 1). Keep in mind that this is entirely a draft and I've decided not to TOUCH anything from present typing til before until I'm done with the whole thing. That way I wont get distracted by constantly going back and rereading like before.
Clyde Anderthol: a lone, tall, and otherwise scruffy salesman with no real ambitions and plenty of time to waste. He wore a sharp black fedora, somewhat faded from being left out in the sun just a bit too long, complete with a bleached white feather within it. For his chest, a tunic: Rather a bland brown, easily cleaned, and even easier to hide the stains on it. The tunic, of course, matched his pants perfectly, being made of the same cloth, and leading down to his black, well used riding boots. All this seemed to come together around his dirty hair and the perpetual five o'clock shadow upon his face. It was an odd assembly for his profession, true, but then he'd always been trying to stand out from the crowd enough to be noticed. Without standing out enough to be noticed.
Merchant by trade, Clyde would roam from town to town and sell trinkets to customers who, at first thinking themselves lucky, were always disappointed to find themselves ripped off in the end. For you see, everything he sold was of but marginal value, not to mention that the jewels he proclaimed specially engraved on said items were, In fact, worthless. Such was the life of a merchant; he found no guilt toward what he did for a living. If it was for money, then it was all good.
One day, a small tabby cat jumped onto his display. The feline sat for a while with a flickering tail underneath the dull red tent on the merchant's stand. Perhaps it was attempting to get out of the harsh day's sun. However one should never dawdle over such things as the decisions of an alley cat.
It perked up it's ears at the many items; deceivingly rich jewels, gems, and charms were placed out all over this specific table. Playing the casual merchant, Clyde asked the feline, "Would you be interested in a trinket, oh striped and fluffy puss? Or perhaps your owner would find one of better use?" His eyes scanned the area for any wealthy feline enthusiast nearby. The cat looked at him with green eyes curiously. It Then proceeded to lick it's foot, shake off a few random fleas, and steal one of the trinkets with no warning. "Hey!"
No matter how poor Anderthol complained, waved his arms, or beat on the display counter of his sales stand, this smart tabby had gotten off with a new toy. Bounding down the street, around a horse-drawn carriage, and into an alley not too far away. Clyde eventually, his cheeks red and eyes aglare, conceded to the loss. After all, it was not as if he would suffer greatly. More cheap trinkets could always be made.
Being a very observant group of stragglers, a few thieves had noticed the cat's ease at picking off of this scruffy merchant. Proceeding the next few hours, they too chose to rob the man without much effort or trouble. And before too long, poor Clyde was wrung of all preciously cheap belongings. This left him with a small dilemma. While the charms were worthless by nature, they kept him fed and gave money to lodge with. Having none would only mean that he would lose a few inches around the waist and need a few more homemade notches on his belt.
During that night of extreme appetite and otherwise convenient crafting time to think, the merchant wondered to himself in mild comfort what expression those thieves would have when realizing that their new collection of trinkets would fetch them less than kibble at any pawn shoppe. Those bastards had no business stealing from his cart, especially when it would end up costing him the most in the end. Good news was that the only threats they would treat him to come morning mist would be to debunk his own scam. However it made no sense for the thieves to explain to the police that, by stealing from Clyde, they could not pawn off the items. Even if there were ways to alter the story, no rightfully greedy thief would risk being caught. So at least that thought was put at ease. If only his rabid stomach would quiet down as well.
The next day, Clyde drearily dressed himself and set out to his street side store, expertly laying out the new charms and tools of his trade on the table counter. Should he have been more awake, perhaps the shock of seeing several other booths similar to his own would have been less expressive than it was upon second glance. "What in blazes is this all about!?" Anderthol exclaimed upon standing and pointing at all of the rather familiar thieves. The very Same crooks that were now selling His trinkets in their own ripoff scam to the public. Upon seeing his red face and otherwise ridiculously pissed expression, the criminals grinned and waved. What made this situation worse was that they had a more enthusiastic, fresh approach to getting customers. Dammit all, Clyde couldn't do a thing about it without blowing the entire scam wide open.
Dribbling on like sweet cherry pie, the sun flowed up ahead with an ever-pressing glee at ruining Clyde's day. Because it was all known that by now the thieves had won this game. They had been able to sell everything that the merchant made, while Anderthol was entirely ignored by the public. After all, a strategic and spontaneously spastic thief is a far greater actor than a lone, tall, and scruffy old merchant, Especially when Clyde was famished and in a bad mood. It would only be expected that his foul odor of contempt along with the pungent smell of no shower the night before would drive people away. "This is Unfair! So Ridiculous and Unfair!"
People, of course, were not Anderthol's only concern.
"Meow", announced a familiar, fluffy face of the one who started this whole mess.
Clyde blinked at the cat. It did not take very long before his look turned into a sour glare. "You."
The cat closed its eyes happily and continued, "I wish to thank you for the gift the other day. Had hours of fun running around with it and my friends. They thought that it's very shine was fantastic! Really, I am in debt to you and your wonderful stand of treasure." A warm purr emanated from the feline's chest. Ears forwards and tail curled to express sincere gratitude and enthusiasm from last night's adventure with a worthless trinket.
Should the merchant have known cat language, he may have done many courteous things. For example: ask the cat what use it would have for something so cheap. Or perhaps nod his head to accept the gracious feedback on his tool of trade. However, "You filthy bag of fleas and fur!" Clyde did not understand one thing that was stated in-between every meow. He voraciously grabbed for the nearest piece of refuse he could find; a sturdy wooden pole. As the man proceeded to take violent action against the rather surprised puss, a startling thing occurred. In the space of a yowl and a smack of the pole the cat bounded to a safer perch. It watched with flattened ears and an extra fluffy tail as the merchant's stand waned heavily under pressure, thereafter collapsing in a cloud of dust. After the fog of contempt settles, a hand is seen sticking out from under the debris, clutching the main support pole that once held a certain marketing table.
During the time that the Anderthol slowly pulled himself out from under the rubble of his last remaining possession, the tabby frowned. "What's gotten him so upset? Twas not as if I stole his fish. Perhaps he is merely having a bad day. Or maybe I came at a wrong time. That could be it." Licking his fur down, the stray tried hard to find his previously calm posture. After all, a ruffled feline attracts all sorts of trouble. He slowly shook off the surprise of nearly becoming pulp as stares slowly coagulated around the rising cloud of dust and rubble. Clyde sat on the ground and watched his pile of wood in horror. Thereafter tears formed in his eyes, which did not befit a human in the least. The cat was urged to jump down and comfort, though thought better of it quickly afterwards. Still, there just had to be something that he could do.
As random children pilfered the loose trinkets Clyde had worked so hard on, he covered his tearful eyes. "Nothing can make this day any worse. Nothing." The merchant sobbed.
"There he is officer!" What made the day worse was only moments away. Local authority pushed through town patrons, being led by one of the many thieves from the day before. A finger jabbed at Anderthol. "He's the bloke that's been causing all the trouble. Stealing items from merchants and making this street bad for business. See? See? That man knocked down someone's stand which I had so graciously been watching."
Clyde looked up like an animal would before being hit by a passing cart. Confusion now more than absolutely surmounted previous grief and frustration. How could this be happening? He looked left and right for townsfolk that could vouch for his whereabouts, but all had stepped out of the scene to avoid getting involved. Huffing out a breath and standing, "Now see here! I have had about enough with you and your games!"
The criminal gave a rather shocked expression. Taking two graceful steps back behind the law and whispering, "I've also seen him frequent the local pub far more than occasionally, if you get my drift. He'll anger easily." Clearly this was all a game to the expert actor in action. He turned to his friends nearby, as did the policeman, "Doesn't he?"
"Oh yes" One of them replied.
"Picks fights all the time. Gives this street a bad name, he does!" Another insisted.
"That's enough" The man of the law called out. To tell the truth, this all seemed rather fishy to say the least. The officer knew that the situation needed further investigation to be sorted out rightfully. However he could not just leave everything in the tangle it was now. Calm needed to be preserved. It was in his duty to uphold the law by whatever means necessary. "Sir, follow me to the station for further questioning." was forcefully declared as the local authority grabbed Clyde by the upper arm and led him along. "Any objection and you'll take it up with my bobby, understood?"
Anderthol was silent as he was taken away. Tears continued down his thin, reddened cheeks. Past the grinning thieves spontaneously gone merchant, by the children that handled his previously pilfered goods, beyond random gawkers that could have saved him from this mess if only they spoke up, and below a certain feline whom took everything in with flattened ears. When he was removed from the scene completely, everyone had gone about their day as if nothing had happened. Everyone, that is, except for the tabby.
Anderthol sat quietly in the underground cell drown beneath tears of confusion. A few hours had passed and all of the dust blown around, the rats scurrying out of control, the roaches running up walls, and the spiders fleeing to the darker regions of their webs had by now settled from the rude arrival of the merchant being flung in by a disgruntled policeman. Bound in shackles and up against a wall, Clyde had never experienced nor imagined he would find himself in such dank and dreary surroundings. After all, he had been terribly careful to stay away from jails. With a record, a merchant had a hard life on the open streets of a small town. This particular merchant knew this from watching other washups and now that he was in such a pit, he began to wonder how he would manage in the future. Had the band of thieves been doing this to other acquaintances in the past that he simply assumed were amateurs? How would he look at them now? How could Clyde convince the policemen that he had been wronged to clear his name? Would the townsfolk believe that his name had been cleared after the incident earlier that day? Will there be any place that would accept him, any way to feed himself, anyone that would still buy his goods after he hopefully was released.
The thought of being released suddenly made him worry. Before slamming the door a few hours beforehand, the policeman stated in a deep tone, "Don't worry, you'll be let out soon enough once things calm down." However now that he's had time to dwell on the words, it soon became obvious that it was all scripted. There was no sure way to tell if it was the truth or simply said to keep prisoners at bay of panic for the first few hours until they were eventually forgotten. Was Clyde Anderthol, the once successful, mostly-honest merchant, going to be left there to strive on his own until the next ruffians caused trouble? How long was that going to take? Would it be only a day; would it be only a mere handful of hours; or would it be days before that door would open again. The thoughts washed fear through Clyde's bones and buried his fluttering heart deep within his stomach. It would only be hunger that should arouse his aching, bound body back to partial sanity. Crying in dispair and dreading the worst for hours had temporarily hidden the hunger that slowly grew with force. His attention on the filth and dirt underneath him, thoughts slowly churned from the future to the present. When had he last eaten? Without sustenance there were chances he may faint from dehydration or suffer in hunger. That was far more worrisome than a future-to-be, especially if the man had been forgotten in this holding facility.
A yowl boomed over the subservient area, causing the prisoner of its shadows to jump with surprise. His shackles clacked heavily against each other, which caused any other living animal in the room to scurry to random holes and hollows. Fearful eyes looking this way and that for the source of that dreadful sound. "By the gods what I would do if this place were haunted." Whispered Clyde through parched lips. His hands shook uncontrollably with fear of this unknown, unnatural noise. The sound quickly retreated, as did its reverberations off the walls. Everything returned to silence with exception of certain chains. Calm carefully, eventually bestowed upon the man as well. Though it was not long before the drawn-out call of some unknown horror left to the imagination reaped its way through the room once again. Like the howl of a dog, a wounded woodland creature, and a ghost of some devil, the sound escalated until Clyde wet his pants with fear. Vision could not remain still as he quickly scrambled to any light the cell had to offer to avoid the apparition that came to claim his soul for the burdened un-living. As the horrifying pitch strangled the area a third time, it was then, then and there, that his head jerked towards a small barred window on the upper corner of the room. His heart beating heavily to the point that the fear in it deafened his senses, sweat from panic mixing with the dirt on his palms, his heart now in his throat to the point of choking him. Whatever beast came to rip him end to end was just beyond that grate and trying to get in. Two glowing eyes blared from just behind the bars to press judgement on the man and his misdeeds. "Oh gods, oh gods, please don't take me now. I don't want to die!" Clyde screamed.
Slowly, casually, the shadows peeled back from the monster as previously unseen sunlight drifted overhead beyond the barred window. The once glaring, shining, demonic eyes subdued over the sunlight. Any apprehensive alarm or horrifying ideas broke free from Clyde's anxious mind. There was only one thing the sounds could have come from. Why was it not obvious before?
"Meow." said the cat.
Before the human had a chance to return the greeting, the tabby released something through the bars. Whatever it was fell quietly, hitting the ground with a limp plop. A small cloud of dust raised from the disturbance while Clyde eyed the cat, then the item, cautiously. The cat bowed its head, ears back "I know you are angry. I am genuinely apologetic that you are stuck in a human cage." It said with ultimate regret. Ears erected and mood pipped up to a lighter tone, "So I thought this might cheer you up. Now you can release your anger, entertain yourself for hours, and feast!" If a smile could ever befit a cat, now was the time. "I hope this will replace any anxiety you may have had!"
Eventually the dust had settled on the object. Anderthol made no move towards it, his eyes darting back and forth from the cat to the item. It was obvious to the cat that the trinket man was still angered by something, something different, but it could not place what. The object slowly stood and stared with mild shock towards the human with two small, black, beady eyes. Its whiskers poked at the air. Grey tufts of fur and grime covered the thing. And this is completely disregarding the long, partially chewed tail it sported. Clyde stared at it with a second of recognition before roaring out, aghast, "Gah! A Rodent! You dumb, worthless animal! Why are you haunting me with your pranks and plagues! Get away from me and leave me alone to continue my life in peace!" At his outburst, the rat let out a shrill squeak and retreated haphazardly to the nearest shadow.
The glare and reddened face from the human befuddled the puss. It sat, flicked its tail, and one ear tilted lopsidedly with confusion. "Surely you jest. I spent all this time and I swore that this was the right one. Perhaps I could have chosen wrong." Releasing a sigh, the cat looked behind it towards the street. An idea struck it and excitement raised on high in its diamond eyes. "Wait here, I will find you another. This time there is no possible way I could be incorrect in my judgement!" Without another word from Clyde Anderthol, the cat bounded off. The sunlight that poked through the window slot quietly receded. Clyde was left in the dark once again.
Hope I've left you guys with a cliffhanger still. And yes, it is long. It's gunna get longer.