Roni over at Fiction Groupie is holding a fantastic blogfest of a scene of dialogue. Go and check out some of the other scenes or sign up.
Here is my scene. A little run down. My main character has just been taken to Haven, a boot camp for witches, werewolves and wizards. Here she meets up with a witch that has a tendency to fly around on rooftops on a skateboard.
“By the way I’m Paul. Paul Gavin.” He shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “I remember when I first came here, the fear and confusion is tough, but the worst part was getting used to the new schedule. My parents are strong believers in using Non’s time.”
Non-time? What’s that supposed to mean?
“Coming here was just what I needed though,” he continues. The food swirls around his mouth as he speaks. “Seeing the way the Nons insult our ancestors with all those Hollywood stereotypes just pisses me off. I’m tempted to go after them and show them exactly what we really are.”
He pauses. I guess he’s waiting for a response.
“Yeah,” I say. What I am agreeing to I have no idea, it just sounds like the right answer.
“Actually I was glad to survive.” He shakes his head and gives a bitter chuckle. “My parents kept telling me how sure they were that I would reject the transformation and die. I guess I showed them, right?”
He pauses again. This time I don’t know what to say. I give a nod and trying not to think too much about the bitterness in his voice.
“Let me guess,” he says, back in joyful puppy mode. “Vamp. Pale skin, sharp teeth, piercing eyes and the overpowering urge to be mysterious.” He shakes his head. “Although, you’re shorter than most, it's almost hard to place your race.”
“What’s yours then?” Should I have asked that?
“Witch, of course, and proud of it. Perfect body, long hair and adorable smile, that’s pretty much the standard for witches, well most of the time anyway.” He turns his head and lifts the rat’s tail so I can see his neck. A series of small ridges protrude along the path of his spine, from each node flows a delicate network of veins like a spider web. “And don’t go calling me a wizard, I get insulted by the ignorance masses who think just because I’m male I should be called that. Wizards are the frauds you see peddling cheap parlour tricks for money.”
“What about werewolves then?”
“The dogs?” He squishes his nose, sticking his tongue out. “They’re often tan, muscular, and not particularly bright.” He pushes his now empty tray aside.
I stare at the half-eaten apple in front of me.
“You must have a lot on your mind,” he says. “A new life, a new place and all the new feelings brought on by the transformation.”
I nod and try to fake a smile. “I didn’t expect this place to look like this.”
“They let us do what we want as long as we obey the rules and stay inside the compound,” he says. “I don’t know who they fear for most, us or the dumb Nons in the village. Come on.” He stands up. “We have a lot of ground to cover if I’m gonna show you this place.”
Celebrate the Small Things 28-4-17
1 day ago