#random parameters

[jackleg-penwright]

Salad Man

Who: superhero/damsel What: making a salad Where: on a bus

Characters: Ivy Walton and Burch Powers

Spare first names: Evelyn, Paisley, Dawson, Serena, Jose, Adrian

Spare last names: Carter, Cordis, Sledge, Caparala, Gibbs, Hanschu, Higgins

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Ivy Walton settled into the seat. It had been a really long day, and if she never saw another animal it would be too soon. 

Ok, that wasn’t true. She loved her job. The animals were fine. Mostly. Unless their humans were… there had to be a word for someone who spoils all decency out of the creatures in their care. Spoilers? Nope. Too River Song, and that meant something completely different. Karen? Closer, but still the wrong connotations. Ugh. She hated being at a loss for words. 

Too long a day. She needed to just get home, take a long, hot soak, and maybe all the normalcy that the stress had shoved away would finally flood its way back in. 

She checked her bag - oh, right. The salad she’d meant to have for lunch was still in there. Glad she grabbed it from the fridge on her way out the door. She pulled it out. 

The bus lurched to a stop just as she popped the top off, and the packet of dressing went flying. It smacked into the foot of the passenger who was just getting on. 

She lunged forward - fortunately not spilling the rest of the salad - and grabbed for the packet of dressing. But the bus lurched again as it started moving, and she ended up grabbing onto the guy’s foot! 

The guy chuckled as he reached past her hand and picked up the Newman’s Own Ceasar Dressing from the floor. 

He took the empty seat beside her and held it out.

“I think you dropped this.”

“Someone kill me now,” she groaned as she took it.

The next stop was blocks away, surely she had time before that happened again?

She popped the next layer of plastic off the top of the salad, and lifted the tray of cut up bits out of the way. 

“Need any help?” the guy asked.

He sounded more amused than anything, but he did hold his hand at ready to take anything she needed to pass off, so she handed the tray to him. 

Balancing the larger bowl precariously on her lap, she reached with one hand for the fork and tried to take the tray as well. The bus swayed, and the bowl slid an inch down her lap.

She went to grab for it with the fork hand - but the guy had already reached with his spare hand and steadied it.

He took the bowl and held it out in front of her.

“Here, this might be the easiest way.”

“Yes, please.”

She groaned again, and dumped the cut up bits from the tray onto the salad, then she stuck the fork between her teeth and grabbed for the salad dressing which she had instinctively clamped between her knees while the guy had rescued the bowl from the momentum of the moving vehicle. 

She tore the packet open and squeezed the entire contents onto the lumpy salad. She sucked the drippings from the mouth of the packet and looked around for a place to set the trash. The guy reached with his spare hand and took it from her. 

She took the bowl of now-assembled salad from the guy, fished the fork from her mouth, and began to stir the bits together. God she was hungry now.

She shoved the first bite of salad into her mouth and then belatedly looked up to her rescuer. 

And promptly forgot to even breathe.

Burch Powers. 

He grinned, clearly used to this reaction from startled fans.

“You might want to chew, you’ve worked hard enough on that salad - you wouldn’t want it to be wasted.”

She gulped, the whole thing making a huge lump as she swallowed it down.

“You’re… oh my God! You’re Teleguy!”

He sighed. 

“I’ve really got to work on re-branding. Teleguy? That sounds like I’m a cell phone repair man. There’s got to be a better name out there.”

“But…” she stammered, “you’re… you…”

The bus lurched again, pulling into the next stop.

He grinned.

“Every superhero needs a damsel in distress. Maybe I should go with “Salad Man.”

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A/N One of the things my improv teacher used to say, when we weren’t sure what to do next on stage during an improv scene, was “when in doubt, make a salad.” The idea was that if you’re moving, if you’re doing something physical that has actual steps and movements, then something will happen - while if you’re just standing there like a lump, nothing will. 

I’m kind of happy that “make a salad” popped up in my parameters. Figuring out how to make a salad on a moving bus? Definitely made for an unusual scene.

[jackleg-penwright]

Can Lights

Parameters

Who: cop/suspect What: wiring a can light Where: kitchen

Names: William Thomas, Nathan Skalbeck

Extra random names to choose from: 

First: Andrew, Sofia, Connell, Matthew, Ethan, Miriam

Last: Viglianco, Shapiro, Tyler, Kline, Naese, Baker

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The ladder was very awkward to get set up. The island was in the way, the pendant lights were in the way, and the can light he had to install was placed half-way over the counter so that he would have to lean out precariously to access the hole. 

Plus it was a six foot ladder, and a ten foot ceiling. This was going to suck. Why did the Vigliancos have to want new can lights AFTER the kitchen was already dry-walled in and almost completed… ok, yes. Homeowners changed their minds all the time. But if they’d known they’d wanted can lights from the beginning which Connell Viglianco insisted they had, then why hadn’t that made it into the plans? It was so much easier when the studs were still exposed and the island was just marks on the floor and…

“Nathan Skalbeck?”

He hadn’t even heard footsteps. The ladder shifted alarmingly and he nearly lost his balance.

“Who’s asking?” 

He twisted and looked behind him. 

Oh shit.

A police officer, in full uniform stood almost exactly behind him. The man held out a police badge - not that he could see much at this distance.

“I’m officer William Thomas, and I need to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of Andrew Shapiro.”

“Who?”

“Your ex-wife’s lover.”

“Ask away. I hope you don’t mind if I work while you talk though - there’s an inspection tomorrow and they’d really rather we pass.”

The officer raised an eyebrow but nodded.

Nathan climbed down and grabbed his drill with the six inch hole saw.

“What do you want to know? I didn’t even know Sofia was seeing someone again.”

“When was the last time you saw Mr Shapiro?”

Nathan set the tip of the drill against the mark on the ceiling and pulled the trigger. Drywall dust flew out in a cloud that he squinted against. He pulled the drill back and set it, along with the circle of drywall caught in the holesaw blade, on the paint shelf sticking out from the ladder.

“Like I said,” he turned to look at the officer and was perversely glad to see a fine coating of white powder on the dark blue of the uniform, “I didn’t even know she was seeing someone, so I’ve never met the guy.”

He reached up into the ceiling and felt around for the wire that had been tacked up somewhere in the cavity. 

Got it.

“Your vehicle was seen at Ms. Tyler’s home the night he was last seen.”

“When was that?”

He pulled the wire out of the hole and climbed down.

He grabbed the fixture from the island and climbed back up the ladder.

“Last Friday, the 25th.”

Nathan fished in his toolbelt for his screwdriver.

“Yeah, she wanted some shit of hers back. I dropped it off.”

He popped the metal tab off the housing of the light and slid the wire from the ceiling into the wiring box. 

“You were there two hours. Mr. Shapiro’s car was also seen during that time, parked behind yours.”

“I wouldn’t know.” He left the fixture dangling from the wire while he fumbled to find his utility knife. “I dropped the stuff on the front porch and took a walk.” One of these days he needed a better system for his tools then just dumping them all in one pocket in his belt.

“You took a walk?”

He slit the sheathing on the wire and pulled it back from the three wires inside.

“I used to live in that house. There’s some nice trails in the woods and I miss them. My apartment doesn’t have anywhere like that so when I get the chance to walk them again, you better believe I’m taking a walk.”

“Did you see Mr. Shapiro’s car when you returned?”

He stripped the insulation off the end of the hot and the neutral wires and set his strippers on the top of the ladder. 

They clattered to the island as his weight shifted and they slid off the edge.

“Damn it!”

He climbed down to check the marble countertop where the strippers had landed. 

Not dinged up. He heaved a sigh of relief. He really should have put down paper or cardboard - Matthew would not have been happy if he’d had to replace the $2000 countertop because his electrician dropped a tool on it. 

He was pretty sure they’d left a roll of brown paper in the garage, and he knew he had a roll of painters tape in the car.

“Mr. Skalbeck?”

Oh, right. The police officer.

“Walk with me. Sorry, can you repeat the question?”

There it was in the corner. Oh good, looks like the painters left a roll of tape too. He grabbed both of them and turned back to the kitchen.

“Did you see Mr. Shapiro’s car when you came back from your walk?”

“Don’t think so.” He rolled out the paper over the top of the island. “But then, there’s a bunch of students living across the street, always parking everywhere. Might have seen it and assumed it was one of them.”

He finished taping the sides down and moved on to the counter. Damn ladder in the way. Had to bend and twist to get the paper to cover all the marble. 

Officer what’s-his-name reached over and held down one corner of the paper as Nathan rolled it across the counter.

“Thanks”

“Not a problem. So where did you go after you left Ms. Tyler’s house?”

He cut the paper off the roll and held it down while he pulled some tape from its roll.

“Can’t remember. Might have hit Burger King, pretty sure I filled up the tank. Might have stopped by the dam to smoke a bit and watch the water, I do that sometimes.”

“Was anyone there at the dam when you stopped by there?”

“I’m not for sure. Not even sure if I was there or not this time.”

“When you say smoke?”

“Cigarettes,” he lied. 

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Nathan climbed the ladder and took hold of the box. 

“Not really.” He shoved the bare end of the black wire into the quick-connect in the box, and did the same with the white and the bare copper of the ground. “Like I said, I’m not even sure I did it that day, things tend to run together some times.”

Clipping the cover on the wiring box, he pushed the whole thing through the hole in the ceiling and seated it so only the inside of the can showed.

The officer nodded as Nathan climbed back down the ladder. 

He pulled a card from somewhere, took out a pen and circled a line on the card.

“I won’t take up any more of your time today.”

He handed Nathan the card, tapping the line he’d circled.

“This is my number, if you think of anything else - anything at all - feel free to give me a call.”

Nathan nodded and tucked the card in his tool belt. It would be crumpled and ruined in an hour’s time, but that didn’t matter. It’s not like he’d be calling.

“Thanks,” he muttered, and turned to pull the ladder out where it was awkwardly wedged between the island and the counter. 

The officer nodded and walked out.

Nathan moved the ladder to the other end of the Island, set up the laser pointer and climbed up to mark another little cross on the ceiling. Thank God that was over.

---

The last light was wired in, and it was quitting time. 

Nathan picked up the empty box the can lights had come in, and the box of wire clippings he’d collected - scrap copper was up to $3.50 a pound, once he’d gotten it stripped he’d add it to his stash and probably cash in this weekend - and headed to the car. 

He popped the trunk and set the box down. Pity the dumpster was gone - but lot 72 across the street was still in rough-in. It was just a little more of a walk.

The bloody towels went into the can light box. He checked the cardboard lining the floor of the trunk. Nothing had bled through, it should be just fine. He shoved the cardboard into the box as well, and pulled the flaps closed. 

He crossed the street, and threw the box over the sides of the dumpster. Matthew always insisted on a clean job site, so the dumpster would fill up quickly. 

He headed back to the car. 

This was the emptiest his trunk had been in months. It was a nice feeling, having the space to put whatever he wanted in without shuffling things around. He’d enjoy it while it lasted.

He put the box of wires in, and closed the lid.

He pulled out his phone, texted his hours to Matthew, got in the car, and headed home.

They should pass the inspection tomorrow easily. After that? Maybe Sofia would finally take him back.

[jackleg-penwright]

When in doubt, make a salad

So I’ve said I want to move towards the point where I can define myself as a writer again, without feeling guilty that I don’t write all the time. Therefore, my goal is to get to the point where whenever I do sit down to write, I can produce a readable story.

The only way to get there, of course, is to practice. So I’m working on some rules that I’ll follow in order to practice without getting bogged down in research, or world-building, or any of the groundwork that gets in the way when I just need to sit down and create something. Not that there isn’t a place for the groundwork, there absolutely is - but for now what I need is practice putting meat on the bones. 

With that in mind, I’m turning to improv.

I recently finished a two year acting program that was heavily focused on improv skills - both on its own, and also as part of the rehearsal process. Our acting teacher made us get off book within the first rehearsal, and the rule was you either memorize, or improvise. The point was to tell the story, and not get bogged down worrying about remembering lines. And since every semester we also spent four hours a week in improv class, we all knew that we were capable of it.

For improv class, of course, we had much less to work with. No script, no story, no plans for what was supposed to happen. When we got up to perform, we were allowed to choose three things: Who, What and Where. 

Who we were to each other - were we lovers? rivals? Parent/child? Siblings? Roommates? The list could be endless. Then, what were we doing? This meant the physical activity we were engaged in - bowling? sweeping a floor? Driving to the zoo?. Finally, where were we -  A pet store? Cemetary? The moon? an underground volcano? Again, anything was possible.

From those three pieces of information, we had to just go. Just do it. Make your partner perfect, say yes to all offers, and just see what happens.

So that’s what I’m going to be doing with my writing. I’ve created a spreadsheet that helps me generate random parameters, and each time I sit down to write a random story, those are all I have to work with. No research allowed (I did create the list though, so it’s heavily skewed to things I do have some actual experience with), no stopping to decide what’s going to happen next - just go with it.

As I get more comfortable I’m probably going to add some other random parameters to include - superhero powers, maybe, or some random coincidental obstacle that we have to deal with like someone has suddenly been struck blind. Eventually I'll transition back to fanfiction and using pre-existing characters instead of picking names out of a hat (as it were). Those stories will go on AO3, original fics will be here.

For every story that I post, I will include a list of the parameters I’m working with at the beginning of the story. I hope they’re interesting enough to be worth reading. The next story will be up in a few days.

p.s. a note on my posting schedule: I will be scheduling new posts for twice a week, but just for fun the timings will be randomly selected, with one post between monday and wednesday at some time between 6:00a and 8:00p, and one post between thursday and saturday, same time parameters. I may later set up a regular schedule that isn’t randomized, but I think it’s kind of fun to do it this way, so I will.