Comments | dcltdw: It was a dark and stormy night

dcltdw

It was a dark and stormy night

Dec 07, 2010 14:24

I think it's time for another game of It Was A Dark And Stormy Night (but hopefully with a better implementation than the first time). So: if you like (and especially if you're tagged), respond to *this* post to continue the story, such that the first-level responses are just the story continuing. Feel free to comment on first-level responses as ( Read more... )

Comments 10

firstfrost December 7 2010, 23:50:27 UTC

I am fascinated by how painfully jarring I find that. :)

dcltdw December 8 2010, 01:31:38 UTC

Well, y'know, nobody ever said I was a good writer, so I guess that's not too surprising. :)

firstfrost December 8 2010, 03:26:03 UTC

No, it's not a criticism of the writing, it's - it's like hearing your name across the room, when people you don't know are talking. Or something like that, because it's not even my name. (That's why I think it's fascinating, because I wouldn't have expected to be as thrown off as I was.)

dcltdw December 8 2010, 03:43:03 UTC

Perhaps I should've kept them as lj-user tags, then, hmm.

Thread 5

kirisutogomen December 8 2010, 03:30:01 UTC

I don't know how to play.

Also, did you deliberately switch tense from past to present between the second and third paragraphs?

dcltdw December 8 2010, 03:42:35 UTC

It's like http://dcltdw.livejournal.com/14481.html but with the story staying in one place, rather than hopping across journals.

Yes.

kirisutogomen December 8 2010, 13:39:01 UTC

So I'm totally messing the whole thing up by raising all these points of order in the place where the actual story continuations go?

dcltdw December 8 2010, 14:51:00 UTC

Well, I should've left a comment for metacomments. :)

vdansk December 8 2010, 04:33:35 UTC

There won't be anything to learn here; it's painfully clear that she had been expected. She sips her latte, palming the note, and counts out the minutes she'll need to spend here to make her exit unremarkable.

A tiny sound behind her alerts her, so that it is not entirely surprising to have something hard pushed against her back, unmistakably the barrel of a gun. There is warmth behind her, a touch of wine-scented breath, and a husky contralto voice whispers low in her ear. "The Land may throw itself up into mountains, but the Ocean always wears it down again."

Vivian allows herself a slight smile. No, there is a great deal more to learn. Her luck has changed at last.