WIP sharing meme.
Thieved from nightdog_barks: Post three whole paragraphs from every WIP you're currently working on, even if it's very short. Then invite people to ask questions about your WIP. With any luck, you'll get talking about writing, and the motivation to take that WIP one step closer to completion will appear as if by magic!
I've just got the one WIP, post-war Scout from Team Fortress 2, so I'll fudge the details a bit and post six paragraphs instead.
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There wasn’t anyone else out on the fields, nobody coming by, so Scout played the best game he could by himself. It took two swings, two bad shots, for his body to remember something his brain had forgotten in almost a year and a half of not doing it - remember to slide the heel, turn the hips, move at the knees and the elbows and the shoulders, move everything at once, and let go gently and it’ll go. No forgetting that, no way was he forgetting that sound of the ball hitting the bat, it was too pretty to forget. And no way was he forgetting how to hit the ball where he wanted it to go, or how to whoop and cheer loud enough to make up for nobody else joining in.
He didn’t drop his bat and run back to it with his ball, just ran over to where it’d landed and then hit it somewhere new, and then ran over and hit it somewhere new again. Getting back into the swing of swinging, hitting it all the way over to the other corner of the second diamond or just over to the nearest corner of this one, grass under his shoes where he ran on the lawn and gravel under them when he ran on the diamonds. He was laughing for no reason at all, tossing the ball up and down, and when a seagull flew over the second diamond he didn’t even think about it, and his ball was flying and then the seagull hit the ground with a scream pitched higher than Scout could ever manage and a little quiet thump.
Oh - oh, shit, oh shit.
When he got over to it, the bird was still breathing, but not good, and it couldn’t move one of its wings, just lying there as still as his ball. The bird’s beak had a red dot on it, and it took Scout a moment to see that the dot was just there. All the blood was on his ball.
The bird coughed again, and he didn’t think birds could cough, but that was the sound it made, and he knew that wasn’t a good sound for anything to make, all wet and hurt. He’d made that sound, before he got a hit off Medic’s guns or Soldier shot him to put him out of his misery, and Medic wasn’t around and Soldier wasn’t, and it coughed again, and he knew it didn’t want what was going on to keep on going - he’d always wanted it to be over as fast as he could.
He made sure it was over fast, one hit, just bringing his bat down right on its head. Batting its skull in, its tiny little head, and it didn’t even take anything to do it - there wasn’t a big mess or even a big noise, nothing fighting his bat, going down through its head almost all the way to the ground. And then the whole bird went still, not even a bird anymore, just a mess of feathers and meat the way people became messes of meat and bone.
I've just got the one WIP, post-war Scout from Team Fortress 2, so I'll fudge the details a bit and post six paragraphs instead.
--
There wasn’t anyone else out on the fields, nobody coming by, so Scout played the best game he could by himself. It took two swings, two bad shots, for his body to remember something his brain had forgotten in almost a year and a half of not doing it - remember to slide the heel, turn the hips, move at the knees and the elbows and the shoulders, move everything at once, and let go gently and it’ll go. No forgetting that, no way was he forgetting that sound of the ball hitting the bat, it was too pretty to forget. And no way was he forgetting how to hit the ball where he wanted it to go, or how to whoop and cheer loud enough to make up for nobody else joining in.
He didn’t drop his bat and run back to it with his ball, just ran over to where it’d landed and then hit it somewhere new, and then ran over and hit it somewhere new again. Getting back into the swing of swinging, hitting it all the way over to the other corner of the second diamond or just over to the nearest corner of this one, grass under his shoes where he ran on the lawn and gravel under them when he ran on the diamonds. He was laughing for no reason at all, tossing the ball up and down, and when a seagull flew over the second diamond he didn’t even think about it, and his ball was flying and then the seagull hit the ground with a scream pitched higher than Scout could ever manage and a little quiet thump.
Oh - oh, shit, oh shit.
When he got over to it, the bird was still breathing, but not good, and it couldn’t move one of its wings, just lying there as still as his ball. The bird’s beak had a red dot on it, and it took Scout a moment to see that the dot was just there. All the blood was on his ball.
The bird coughed again, and he didn’t think birds could cough, but that was the sound it made, and he knew that wasn’t a good sound for anything to make, all wet and hurt. He’d made that sound, before he got a hit off Medic’s guns or Soldier shot him to put him out of his misery, and Medic wasn’t around and Soldier wasn’t, and it coughed again, and he knew it didn’t want what was going on to keep on going - he’d always wanted it to be over as fast as he could.
He made sure it was over fast, one hit, just bringing his bat down right on its head. Batting its skull in, its tiny little head, and it didn’t even take anything to do it - there wasn’t a big mess or even a big noise, nothing fighting his bat, going down through its head almost all the way to the ground. And then the whole bird went still, not even a bird anymore, just a mess of feathers and meat the way people became messes of meat and bone.