#eac2 fic

[iwanttotieyourshoe]

Possession - Two drabbles

Here are two small ficlets I wrote during @jay-eagle‘s workshops at EAC in Berlin and in the fandot chat. 

The exercise was called possession, and I chose (unsurprisingly) Arthur Shappey as my character.

1

Arthur opened his closet and took it out. It was a bit dusty, but he brushed it off and hung it on the closet door. His hand ran up and down the left sleeve. The colour was still strong as it rarely saw daylight, and it was never being used. Arthur sighed. What if? What if he had stood up when they had called his name? It's probably true that he would have been rubbish, but what if he wouldn't? Going up in GERTI as a steward is brilliant, of course, and he's really happy about doing that. He loves people and he loves helping, but what if he some time, could be the one at the front, being the one to make GERTI go up? He wouldn't just be helping, he would be the one in charge. He heard his Mum and Snoopadoop return from their walk and hastily put the uniform back in its rightful place.

(written during the workshop at EAC2 in Berlin)

2

His Mum thinks of it as clutter, but to Arthur they are treasures. Treasures that means something to him. Each little thing in his room has a story. They might not be the most exciting stories, but they are stories nonetheless. Stories from MJN, stories from all the places he had been to, stories from his life. Like the crumpled teabag he stole from the first nice hotel they ever stayed in, or the little seashell from the fake beach at the airport in Rio when they had been stuck there for over 36 hours because GERTI had been in one of her little weird moods.

The last addition to his collection was a little piece of wire. Black on the outside, but much more shiny on the inside. It was only fitting that the last item came from the plane that had taken him to all of these places and given him all these stories.

(written during the workshop in the fandot chat, 18th of September)

[ambecawatson]

Euroairdotcon writing drabble 2

Setting: Carolyn’s and Herc’s wedding preparations are well on the way, the only thing missing is...

“I don’t want to wear white!” Carolyn said dismissively.

“Why not?” Herc asked, not understanding why she was being so difficult again. She had agreed to marry him, so he thought things would finally be picking up. But even in a dress shop, Carolyn was her usual argumentative self.

“Because, in case you forgot: This is my third marriage. It’s your fourth. We can hardly call ourselves in the pristine stages of our youth anymore, now can we?”

“I suppose not,” Herc admitted.

“Therefore,” Carolyn went on as if she had scored a big win how. “The colour of innocence or as I like to call it: Gross ignorance, isn’t appropriate.”

“Granted,” Herc said when the shop assistant passed him by with an aggravated face to collect the dress from Carolyn behind the curtain, clearly seeing that there wasn’t a sale to make here.

“Can I at least see you in the dress then?”

“No,” Carolyn said quickly, as if she was hiding something.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s very vile. I don’t want to torture your eyes with it.”

“Let me get this straight,” Herc said with a smirk in his voice while even the curtain of the changing room moved more stiffly than before as Carolyn undoubtedly bristled up on the other side of it. “You’re wearing a white dress-”

“A very vile one,” she interjected.

“A very vile white dress.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not letting me see it?”

“No.”

“And you argue about it not being suitable for your age and experience to wear a vile white dress?”

“Yes,” Carolyn seemed pleased that he had caught her point in the end.

“When it’s actually just the one you want to wear and not let me see it because you think it’s bad luck?”

“Yes?” Carolyn asked rhetorically as if Herc’s conclusion was perfectly obvious from the get go.

“Perfectly reasonable,” Herc said sassily, even as his heart swelled and he waited patiently until Carolyn had handed the dress back to the shop assistant who was in tears about them finally leaving, as Carolyn bought it.

[ambecawatson]

Euroairdotcon writing drabble 1

When it looked like MJN was folding, Arthur was his usual cheery self because he didn’t know how else to deal with the nearing departure of his friends and colleagues, Gerti not the least of them.

If Marting took the job a Swiss Air it was very certain that Gerti’s airborne days were forever over.

But as he had told them all, he would find other things to do. The ice cream van was still an option. He would love to do that, it would be brilliant.

Right now though, he was just in the middle of cleaning his room on which he focused again now, remembering with a sigh how his mum told him to stay focused whenever he forgot to finish heating up the catering after it’s little rest in the oven.

He came across the empty box that he had such a fun time guessing about on the very same trip and various other items from all his travels. The book about Timbuktu made him smile and he chastised Snoopadoop when she came in and wanted to gnaw at it, because the book had helped Arthur to save the day once, more or less. Anyway, it was special.

“Wow, look at that,” he smiled and Snoopadoop tapped over curiously. “I haven’t seen this in ages!”

It was the old, slightly dusty strawberry-shaped pillow that mum had gotten him when he was 5 years old and had shown his first allergic reaction to the fruit it was designed after.

He sat on his bed and clutched it tightly to himself, Snoopadoop following him and laying her tiny snout on his thigh.

He repeated his mother’s words to himself, having never forgotten them: “It’s going to be ok, dear. You can have this instead of the real thing so you’ll have this one to yourself forever. That’s almost as good, right?”

Arthur breathed heavily, rubbing Snoopadoop’s head and telling her: “I should get a Gerti one just like it,” as he hugged the pillow again.

[clairedrawsairdraws]

jay-eagle’s writing workshop, once again. This time ‘Beliefs’. Take a character and challenge one of their beliefs.  I chose Arthur and his belief about simple happiness.

Arthur had always believed that happiness could be found in simple things. Baths and cracking knuckles were easy ways to bring about a feeling of content, and the act of tossing an apple from hand to hand was enough to have him beaming. His philosophy was that one didn't need to experience some rare and romantic cliché movie moment to feel truly happy, that happiness could be derived in everyday things, and therefore, could be brought about quite often. It said a lot abut what kind of person Arthur was, that he could look at the world the way he did, but not everyone was like him. In fact, there were very few who were, and there were also a number of people who couldn't see the same way as Arthur.

Arthur was only aware of one person he had met who suffered from depression. A passerby he'd met by chance. Their depression wasn't anything dramatic, no tears or cloud hanging over their head, no deep sadness or anything like how the media might portray. Just tiredness, and a lack of motivation, among other things. He had tried to explain his view of happiness to them, desperately wanting to help, but they had explained that sometimes, they couldn't just conjure up their own happiness. Depression was an illness, and while they appreciated the effort, Arthur's methods weren't a cure that worked for them. For the first time, Arthur had been left floundering a bit. His way of finding happiness hadn't ever failed him before, but he stood before that person, who was indulgently tossing an apple, and watched as the simple motion did nothing to clear the exhaustion from their face. Arthur hadn't realized his particular brand of happiness wasn't for everyone, that it just wouldn't help some people, and he was almost ready to change his way of thinking, to perhaps adapt to something else that might work better. But the stranger smiled at him, and thanked him. They thanked him for trying to help, for trying to share his happiness, and for caring enough about a stranger to make an effort. They told him that even though it might not work for them, it was nice to see someone like Arthur existed, like a distant ray of sun parting through clouds. That was enough for them, and Arthur found it was enough for him too.

[linguini17]

Writing Workshop:  Beliefs

“No, Martin,” Douglas said, arms folded and face set into a petulant frown.  “No, no, no, a hundred times no.”

Martin grinned, pushing the quiche closer to him.  “Come on, Douglas,” he coaxed.  “There are four hundred to get through.  You could at least do your part and eat one.”

But Douglas was unswayed.  “There are mushrooms in them,” he complained.  “And you know how I feel about…those things.”

“Yes.”  Martin’s grin grew wider as he adopted his best Douglasean drawl.  “Mushrooms are absolutely vile, and the eating of them is a world-wide conspiracy perpetrated at the highest levels of culinary power.”

“I do not sound like that.”  He pushed the quiche back to Martin’s side of the table.  “Though the rest is accurate.” 

“Fine then,” Martin shrugged.  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”  And he swallowed his last bite of quiche with panache.

~Seven months later~ “Hi, dad,” Emily chirped as he came into the kitchen, scrubbing at his damp hair.  “Dinner’s all ready.”

“Smells good,” he said and dropped a kiss to the top of her head.  “What’re we having?”

“A surprise.”  She chivvied him along, holding out his chair and setting his place like a waiter at a fine restaurant.  “Something good.”

He smiled at her and watched as she laid out two plates.  “Well, I can’t wait.  I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”

Her face as she turned around was beaming.  She set his plate in front of him with a flourish, then stood straight and announced, “Your meal today, specially prepared, will be….mushroom risotto!”

[brilliant-tomato]

Game: Believes

Theresa: I envy you. You get to see the world from above the clouds every day!

Martin: mmmh?

Theresa: You remember when I told you I wanted to be a pilot when I was little?

M: Yeah naturally!

T: To be honest. I still want to know what it’s like to be a pilot…

M: And you never even taken a few lessons?

T: No… Why should I. I’d never be allowed something so ‘common’ as being a pilot. I may never be on the throne, but that doesn’t mean I’d ever be allowed another job than looking after the king…

M: So what? All the princes in Britain have these strange hobbies so why can’t you fly a plane? You don’t need a license to be a commercial pilot. You could just fly small planes as a sport!

T: Huh?

M: Have you never thought about this?

T: No… Ever since I told my parents I wanted to be a pilot and they said a princess can’t be a pilot I tried not thinking about it. Except now around you…

M: You should really look into it!

T: Maybe I should. Thank you so much!

M: For what?

T: Believing in me to be able to fly a plane and showing me a way I might be able too.

M: *blush*

[linguini17]

Writing Workshop:  Spot the difference

By the time he got there, the convention center was packed.  Carl sighed, scratching the side of his neck anxiously as he searched through the nametags for his.  It took longer to find it than expected, mostly because he wasn’t looking for his name spelt with a K—though he probably should have been, given the number of times it was wrong at these things.  At least they had spelt Fitton right.

An arm reached across his vision, delicate fingers plucking the nametag of a Aiofe McAllen Shanwick from above where Karl Messenger had been.  He stepped back to give her space and returned the smile she gave him.  Then, to his surprise, the smile faded and slipped into a scowl.

“Fitton?” she asked, Irish brogue sharpening into a point.  “You’re from Fitton?” “Hello,” he said calmly, smile never faltering.  “Yes.  That’s me.  Carl Messenger.”  He held out his hand, which she pointedly ignored.

“You had an airline there,” she said, “With two pilots—one is too stupid to make a decision and the other thinks he can smooth talk his way out of any situation.   Yeah?”

That caught his attention.  “MJN,” he said.  “Though to say they’re an airline is stretching it a b—“

He didn’t get to finish.  “When did they lose their license?” she asked. “Lose…  I’m sorry, what?”

“Their license,” she repeated.  “I mean, they’re clearly an incompetent organization.  I’ve never seen a so-called medical emergency handled so poorly in…  Well, ever, really.  So, when did they lose their license?”

“They haven’t,” he said.  “I mean, they’re not incompetent.  Just…quixotic.  Unique.  Charming.”

She huffed, folding her arms and glaring at him.  “30,000 feet above the cold, cold ocean is no place for charm,” she said.  “Let alone indecision.  I mean, what if it was a flight emergency?  What if they’d lost an engine?!”

Carl smiled again.  “Oh, they’d handle that,” he told her.  “I mean, they’ve done it before, I’m sure they could do it again.  Martin’s much better, and Douglas still flies with them.  I wouldn’t worry.”

“The only thing I’m worried about is that this… this….MJN will crash into someone and lives will be lost.  You tell them to stay out of my airspace, if they know what’s good for them.”  And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked off. He watched her go, a bit flummoxed, but then shook it off and headed for the bar.  He was dying for a packet of crisps.

[clairedrawsairdraws]

For jay-eagle’s writing workshop, the topic was ‘Spot the Difference’. Basically, we had to take two characters and highlight how they contrast each other. I chose Douglas and Arthur.

Douglas thought he was a terrible father. He thought that there was so much more he could be doing, and so many ways he could be better. He had one daughter he barely knew, barely spoke to, and he blamed himself for the rift between them. His youngest was a more steady presence in his life, but the visits seemed so few and far between, and for as much as he adored her, Douglas inwardly mourned the fact that there were so many ways he was lacking in as a parent. Good fathers showed up to all their child's events and important dates, and were there to always reassure them and hug them whenever they needed. Good fathers were always close at hand and had good advice and provided a good example to look up to. Good fathers knew their children well and saw them every day and weren't a distant presence in their life. Douglas, in his mind, was definitely not a good father.

Arthur Shappey thought he had an alright father. His dad had spent most of his upbringing being alright. He was away a lot and didn't spend all that much time with Arthur, but that was okay, he was a busy man, and Arthur didn't mind, really. Sure, his dad didn't know him very well despite living in the same house, and didn't seem to really care about that lack of knowledge, but he was still alright. He ignored Arthur, brushed him off, pushed him aside, put him down, and was sometimes downright mean, but he was still alright. Even after his parents divorced, Arthur thought he was still alright. Arthur would never say it out loud, but sometimes, he really wished he had more than an alright father.

=

They were on standby in the portakabin again. Martin had taken a phone call outside and Carolyn was off doing something no one had dared to ask about, which left Douglas and Arthur alone. The first officer was fiddling on his mobile, and Arthur tilted his head. He had asked earlier what Douglas was doing, and had gotten the explanation that it was some game he was playing with his daughter. Arthur watched Douglas focus completely on the screen, despite knowing the man was clever enough to win quite easily. He watched him put every ounce of effort into something so small and frivolous, just for his daughter's sake. Arthur remembered how Douglas always called his daughter, always thought of things to bring her, always marked the wall chart for days he was visiting her. Arthur thought of how Douglas always asked about his daughter and what she was doing and about her friends and school, and he always remembered and he always cared about what she told him. Arthur, a bit wistfully, thought about how Douglas always told his daughter he loved her.

Arthur thought Douglas was the best father ever.