multigenfic narrative bingo table + fills
description
alliteration (greek mythology, persephone)
poetry
simile
spoken word
retelling (hp, ginny)
focus on object (hp, draco + hermione)
anaphora (arrow, tommy)
dialogue
metonymy
parallel
bathos (dcu, harley)
NARRATIVE BINGO CARD 2
high prose
sensual description (skins, michelle)
setting shift (qc, hanners)
allusion (tw, lydia)
repetition
allegory (trc, blue)
personification
asyndenton
pathetic fallacy (tvd, caroline + katherine)
hamartia (gg/dw, serena)
innuendo
scene shift (leverage, gen ot5)
stories | the raven cycle | blue | ~260 | square: allegory
Her mother used to tell her stories when she was little. ("You're still little", Maura would say to this, and it would be a little bit true.)
She'd like to be able to say she remembers a little more of them than she, in fact does, but she really doesn't.
She remembers a little, though.
But at night, while her body is asleep but her mind is still working, she connects the dots of the stories more successfully than in her waking hours, and then she dreams out the tales she can't tell aloud.
She dreams of the three rats, a mice and a squirrel who went searching for an ancient block of sacred cheese and drowned in the river that meandered around a talking tree.
She dreams of a mother rat gone missing. Of rats dying. Of ghost church rats on church paths and identical white carriages. Someone somewhere, calling out for a Jane.
She dreams of the three brown mice, a pale mouse and a blue mouse being hunted by the neighborhood green furred cat that flies around wearing a mantle. She has her front paws on the blue mouse when Blue awakens.
Blue gets up resolutely then, and glad that she's never been a psychic.
Maybe the story ends with the mice still alive, and maybe it doesn't.
But she calls Gansey anyway, and he calls everyone else, and they meet at Monmouth in an hour, and when she sees her boys all in one place, in one piece and five smiles, she forgets all about childhood stories. A little.
knowing god | skins (uk) | michelle (really background tony and jal) | ~330 | square: sensual description (lol, apparently i suck at sensuality)
The bathroom mirror is foggy and she traces her fingers across the damp glass. She can see herself now, well, most of her face and upper body anyway. She takes a moment to just stop and inhale the various fragrances in the air, a bit of her peach nail polish, a bit of her lime shampoo and a bit of her vanilla and rose shower gel, and as easy as that, the world seems just a bit softer, a bit slower. She leans to her left to her stereo and presses a button and skips to the next song, more fitting for this moment, stiller and gentler than the previous one, more like Sunday nights that ended with her falling asleep on the couch with Jal after watching trash, rather than Friday nights that began with Tony knocking on her door to pick her up and whisk her away somewhere. And sure, it's Friday afternoon, and Tony will be here to pick her up in a few hours; but that'll be then, and this is now. Would be silly to mix the two, when they're not to be mixed. A girl sings about life over the tripping chords of an acoustic guitar, and Michelle opens the bathroom cupboard and takes out a new razor. She sits on the edge of the tub and stretches her left leg in front of her, the right one on the floor for balance. The skin of her legs is clean and still wet, and patch after patch, as she passes the razor over her skin is softer, better. Michelle has always loved shaving. As easy as a well chosen skirt and soft, long legs, she could be ruling the world this time tomorrow. She loves the feel of her skin under her fingers, loves to feel for herself the difference between the shaven and the not yet shaven parts of her legs, a silent prayer to herself, for herself.
While Michelle shaves her legs, she knows God is a woman.
rehearsals | dcu | harley quinn (mention of joker, v. implied joker/harley) | 250 words | square: bathos ("an abrupt transition from a lofty style or grand topic to a common or vulgar one")
If she could align the bomb with the rhythm of her heart, she would.
Tick. Tick.
Joker. Joker would know what to say right about now. Something witty, something smooth, something Joker. She is not Joker. She does not want to be Joker.
Harley. She wants to be Harley. The cool girl. The smart girl. Harley. The girl who built the coolest, smartest bomb Gotham City has ever seen. The girl who was the coolest, smartest bomb Gotham has ever seen.
In Gotham City's police profile of her, she guesses, somewhere in the first ten sentences about her, somewhere after her estimated height and weight and before the mention of her latest sighting, there's a bullet that says "Joker's girlfriend", probably with a question mark, "Joker's girlfriend?" because she doesn't think they think of Joker as someone who could have a girlfriend, and maybe they don't think of her as someone who could be a girlfriend.
Tick,
tick,
tick.
Or boom?
Boom.
"For my next trick - " Harley motions toward herself, motions towards the bomb, motions back to herself, looks at herself looking at herself in the mirror, looks.
" - I'll make the bomb go boom."
Tick,
tick,
tick.
"Explosions always make things better."
Tick.
"Everyone knows that."
Tick.
"Now would be a good time for the last round of applause."
"BOOM!"
*
The tiny cartoonish drawings of people in the bottom of her mirror don't applaud.
The unfinished bomb does not go off.
Harley laughs.
Gotham gets to live another day.