chocolate chip mint with sprinkles
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Deaf
Rating: G
Challenge: Chocolate Chip Mint #26: battered
Toppings/Extras: sprinkles
Wordcount: 853
Summary: An explosion in the Seven Sailors inn.
Notes: More Charlie and Isaac.
The explosion was spectacular: the thatched roof of the Seven Sailors inn flew a good twenty feet in the air, already ablaze, and landed back on the bones of the building with a crash, slightly askew like a cheap toupee. The windows blew out on the top floors and dust and smoke in equal measures poured from the holes left behind.
Charlie Buckett had been walking away when it happened, but the noise made him spin around and what he saw was the ruins of an inn that he frequented. What worried him most, however, was the fact he knew his best friend to still be inside.
For a few moments after the explosion there was silence, and then the shouting and rampaging begun. Neighbours leaned out of windows or flocked to the streets and people began to tumble out of the front door, coughing and waving their arms. The front half of the inn seemed unaffected-its rear entrance, on the other hand, had been neatly blown across the opposite street. The plaster was crumpling and as he watched the terracotta chimneypots tumbled to the street and smashed onto the cobbles.
Without much further thought, he spun on his heel and made his way directly to the entrance, pulling people out of the way a she staggered out of the doorway, coated in dust and ash. He grabbed a familiar-looking fellow by the arm.
“What’s goin’ on?” he demanded. He kept an eye on the trickle of people still stumbling out of the place but couldn’t see what was happening. Mere minutes ago he’d left the cosy inn, assuring his friend that he would be back soon-now it was a smoking carcass. Isaac was nowhere to be seen.
“Dunno, there must’ve been a hell of a lot of gunpowder in there,” croaked the boy. “I’m gettin’ out of here before the city guard arrive!”
Hell’s bells. The city guard. They were notoriously short-tempered when it came to the lower class masses and were not opposed to throwing the odd kick or punch. Charlie had been in more scraps with members of the city guard than he had had hot dinners-and that was sadly probably not an exaggeration.
Thrusting the boy aside with a grunt, he strode in through the empty doorway and waved smoke from his face.
Whatever had gone off had been on the floor above: the ceiling was buckled downwards and there was a hole in the centre from which a mountainous pile of dust was trickling. Tables were overturned and barrels of ale leaked onto the gritty floor. It wasn’t deserted; people in utter confusion were stumbling this way and that and a couple of kids were crouched under a table.
Gruffly taking them by the scruffs of their necks, Charlie shooed them through the door and walked further into the ruined inn, coughing at the ludicrous amount of dust motes swinging in the air. The thatched roof above their heads was too damp to catch fire in a dangerous way, instead hissing and dropping great heaps of molten, black straw to the floor with wet thuds.
He suspected that it had been a stockpile of gunpowder being kept without notification of the city guard: perhaps the innkeeper had been planning on blowing something important up. What sort of damn fool keeps all his gunpowder together somewhere it could be lit?
To his relief, it didn’t take long for him to spot Isaac-he was bleeding from the head, but other than that he didn’t look as though he had suffered too badly. He was propped up against a wall looking more dazed than anything else. Charlie stepped forwards until he was practically standing on his boots and gave a sharp whistle.
“Oi. Zac. Zac!”
Blearily, Isaac looked up at him. His hair was full of dust and chunks of plaster.
“Come on,” Charlie sighed, leaning forwards and taking him by the arm, dragging the man to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Huh?” Isaac asked blankly. He felt as though two cushions were pressed tight to his ears, the world around him erupting into silent chaos. There was a high-pitched whine somewhere at the edge of hearing, but he wasn’t sure if that was real.
“Stone the crows,” Charlie muttered, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging his stumbling companion through the inn. A woman lay splayed over a table with what looked like a serious head injury-Charlie ignored her. “City guard are goin’ to be all over the place. I bet they’ll think this was some foiled attempt at killing the soddin’ royals.”
Isaac just looked at him, seeming confused. He was rubbing his ear.
They burst out of the door presently, quickly striding down Percival Street before turning down a side-alley that was so sharp a bend it was almost parallel to the street it branched from. Charlie fancied he could hear the boots of the city guard clashing on the cobbles already.
“Close one, eh?” he said, grinning at his best friend. “See, I do care about yer... sort of.”
“What?”
Title: Deaf
Rating: G
Challenge: Chocolate Chip Mint #26: battered
Toppings/Extras: sprinkles
Wordcount: 853
Summary: An explosion in the Seven Sailors inn.
Notes: More Charlie and Isaac.
The explosion was spectacular: the thatched roof of the Seven Sailors inn flew a good twenty feet in the air, already ablaze, and landed back on the bones of the building with a crash, slightly askew like a cheap toupee. The windows blew out on the top floors and dust and smoke in equal measures poured from the holes left behind.
Charlie Buckett had been walking away when it happened, but the noise made him spin around and what he saw was the ruins of an inn that he frequented. What worried him most, however, was the fact he knew his best friend to still be inside.
For a few moments after the explosion there was silence, and then the shouting and rampaging begun. Neighbours leaned out of windows or flocked to the streets and people began to tumble out of the front door, coughing and waving their arms. The front half of the inn seemed unaffected-its rear entrance, on the other hand, had been neatly blown across the opposite street. The plaster was crumpling and as he watched the terracotta chimneypots tumbled to the street and smashed onto the cobbles.
Without much further thought, he spun on his heel and made his way directly to the entrance, pulling people out of the way a she staggered out of the doorway, coated in dust and ash. He grabbed a familiar-looking fellow by the arm.
“What’s goin’ on?” he demanded. He kept an eye on the trickle of people still stumbling out of the place but couldn’t see what was happening. Mere minutes ago he’d left the cosy inn, assuring his friend that he would be back soon-now it was a smoking carcass. Isaac was nowhere to be seen.
“Dunno, there must’ve been a hell of a lot of gunpowder in there,” croaked the boy. “I’m gettin’ out of here before the city guard arrive!”
Hell’s bells. The city guard. They were notoriously short-tempered when it came to the lower class masses and were not opposed to throwing the odd kick or punch. Charlie had been in more scraps with members of the city guard than he had had hot dinners-and that was sadly probably not an exaggeration.
Thrusting the boy aside with a grunt, he strode in through the empty doorway and waved smoke from his face.
Whatever had gone off had been on the floor above: the ceiling was buckled downwards and there was a hole in the centre from which a mountainous pile of dust was trickling. Tables were overturned and barrels of ale leaked onto the gritty floor. It wasn’t deserted; people in utter confusion were stumbling this way and that and a couple of kids were crouched under a table.
Gruffly taking them by the scruffs of their necks, Charlie shooed them through the door and walked further into the ruined inn, coughing at the ludicrous amount of dust motes swinging in the air. The thatched roof above their heads was too damp to catch fire in a dangerous way, instead hissing and dropping great heaps of molten, black straw to the floor with wet thuds.
He suspected that it had been a stockpile of gunpowder being kept without notification of the city guard: perhaps the innkeeper had been planning on blowing something important up. What sort of damn fool keeps all his gunpowder together somewhere it could be lit?
To his relief, it didn’t take long for him to spot Isaac-he was bleeding from the head, but other than that he didn’t look as though he had suffered too badly. He was propped up against a wall looking more dazed than anything else. Charlie stepped forwards until he was practically standing on his boots and gave a sharp whistle.
“Oi. Zac. Zac!”
Blearily, Isaac looked up at him. His hair was full of dust and chunks of plaster.
“Come on,” Charlie sighed, leaning forwards and taking him by the arm, dragging the man to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Huh?” Isaac asked blankly. He felt as though two cushions were pressed tight to his ears, the world around him erupting into silent chaos. There was a high-pitched whine somewhere at the edge of hearing, but he wasn’t sure if that was real.
“Stone the crows,” Charlie muttered, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging his stumbling companion through the inn. A woman lay splayed over a table with what looked like a serious head injury-Charlie ignored her. “City guard are goin’ to be all over the place. I bet they’ll think this was some foiled attempt at killing the soddin’ royals.”
Isaac just looked at him, seeming confused. He was rubbing his ear.
They burst out of the door presently, quickly striding down Percival Street before turning down a side-alley that was so sharp a bend it was almost parallel to the street it branched from. Charlie fancied he could hear the boots of the city guard clashing on the cobbles already.
“Close one, eh?” he said, grinning at his best friend. “See, I do care about yer... sort of.”
“What?”