I'm not sure what I want to do with this.
Mar. 27th, 2007 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alliancesjrChristine sat in the wicker chair on her front porch, wondering how it had all gone, in the words of her father, straight to hell on a cheese-powered train. Continuing along the same metaphor, the train was powered not by American cheese, but the cheese made from the hearts of evil men and goats. Christine had once asked how, exactly, a person would go about milking an evil goat without having a hand or two bitten off, but her father changed the topic of the conversation rather violently1.
It was an inelegant metaphor, but it was, she decided, strangely appropriate. Especially considering the news reports on her radio.
The Rift was opening wider every day. It had already claimed half of Utah, and the things that kept pouring out of it expanded the reach almost to state lines. United States troops were amassing, ready to strike once the line had extended into a state that people actually cared about.
This report was the only one to be given all day, but it was repeated and reiterated every fifteen minutes. The news anchor was doing his part to calm the public2, but the harried tone of his voice after six hours on the job wasn’t really helping.
Nobody knew anything about the Rift, except for the facts that the WRUG Newsroom continued to cheerfully refresh the Public Memory of: It was getting bigger, it was in Utah, and strange things kept popping out of it. Some of the things tended to be dangerous – one report told of a “Countryside Burnination” – while others didn’t do much but sit around and munch on grass.
Most of Christine’s friends had been recruited into the Illinois National Guard, and most of them had been shipped out to Utah to hold the line. Christine had gone into the recruiting station with her friends, but they had turned her away for Reasons Unspecified3, and she was left alone in her house with her father spewing random colorful metaphors4.
Then the world dropped something huge into her lap. Namely, something huge, green, and heavy. Her chair, under this sudden stress, fell apart, and Christine’s head made friends with the concrete of her patio.
It was an inelegant metaphor, but it was, she decided, strangely appropriate. Especially considering the news reports on her radio.
The Rift was opening wider every day. It had already claimed half of Utah, and the things that kept pouring out of it expanded the reach almost to state lines. United States troops were amassing, ready to strike once the line had extended into a state that people actually cared about.
This report was the only one to be given all day, but it was repeated and reiterated every fifteen minutes. The news anchor was doing his part to calm the public2, but the harried tone of his voice after six hours on the job wasn’t really helping.
Nobody knew anything about the Rift, except for the facts that the WRUG Newsroom continued to cheerfully refresh the Public Memory of: It was getting bigger, it was in Utah, and strange things kept popping out of it. Some of the things tended to be dangerous – one report told of a “Countryside Burnination” – while others didn’t do much but sit around and munch on grass.
Most of Christine’s friends had been recruited into the Illinois National Guard, and most of them had been shipped out to Utah to hold the line. Christine had gone into the recruiting station with her friends, but they had turned her away for Reasons Unspecified3, and she was left alone in her house with her father spewing random colorful metaphors4.
Then the world dropped something huge into her lap. Namely, something huge, green, and heavy. Her chair, under this sudden stress, fell apart, and Christine’s head made friends with the concrete of her patio.
- Also, the fact that he was rather drunk, on his back, and having a separate conversation with the underside of the table didn’t help matters.
- Namely, he was giving every word more and more emphasis with each repitition, and punctuating it with new and exciting sound effects left over from when the station decided to run its own Star Wars radio play. You could Hear the Capital Letters.
- Code #482 of the Illinois National Guard Happy Recruitment Pamphlet, accompanied by an asterisk, a footnote, three crosses, an appendix, and a doodle of a flower. No one was quite sure what the asterisk represented.
- Amongst other things, many of which were likewise quite colorful. See footnote 1, above.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-27 09:13 pm (UTC)Re: entire thing: tweak it to make it a Tales Of the Slayers fanfic, set after Season Seven - see what these newly-minted Slayers are up to these days. And if you can change the setting to Ohio, well, remember that there's a Hellmouth in Cleveland!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-27 09:18 pm (UTC)Regarding the Slayer aspect, no, I was going in a different direction. I can make a Tales fanfic if you want, though.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-27 10:56 pm (UTC)This has "What made the Whitefall campagin world what it is today" written all over it.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-28 04:39 am (UTC)And you should know that there's a city named 'Hell' in Michigan. You have no idea how tempted I am to propose visiting there in Whitefall's course.
But that's a point aside. I was just showing why Michigan is better than Ohio. *crosses his arms*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-28 07:53 pm (UTC)