#who made me the mysterious stranger i wanted to be the barkeep who knows everybody

[yellowhollyhock]

asking people on dates is so difficult because leaving the house is more of a chore than a hobby so it's like... I'm either gonna ask you to go somewhere where I've barely been myself or I'm gonna ask you to come to my house and do sudoku together or something.... both of which feel really uhhhm well lame. I want to spend time with this person very so much I just don't. Know how to do that

guess it's dinner again

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Drinking- Valkyrie

Pairing: Valkyrie x Reader

Characters: Valkyrie

Warnings: N/A

Request: N/A

Word Count: 511

Author: Aaron

Liquor and beer flowed cheaply and in high quantities as the party grew increasingly intense. All sorts of different races, some you had never seen before, joined in unison to celebrate the end of the arena tournament season. Trying to navigate through the crowd was hard enough without the blaring music and the certain dances of certain species. You only wanted to get to the bar but that seemed increasingly difficult the closer that you got. After finally pushing past the crowds and waves of people you caught a glimpse of the bar, with only one stool left free, so without a second thought you took it before anybody else could steal it from you, it was the last stool of the row.

“Just a beer please.” You shouted over to the barkeep, who oddly enough, was just a human. You threw some coins onto the bar which he quickly scooped up and ran through the till.

“Just a beer huh? What kind of weak stuff are you made of?” The person that commented was the woman that sat on the stool next to you, she had a few shot glasses sat on the bar and a bottle of some sort of alien liquor next to them.

“Firstly, I have just got here, give me a chance, and secondly, you are?” She knocked back a shot with ease.

“Names Valkyrie, I put a bet on that fight and came out on top, so I am feeling generous, want some?” She pointed to the bottle.

“If you tell me what it is I might be able to give you an answer.” It was extremely difficult trying to talk over the music and people shouting.

“I don’t know, I asked the bartender for the strongest thing he had, and he gave me this, no idea what it is but it packs a little punch.”

“Yeah, I am alright thanks, I was always told not to accept drinks from strangers.” The bartender returned with an open bottle and some change which you quickly threw into your pocket.

“Aww, are you scared that you might get drunk?” She took another shot of the mysterious liquid, when she poured it out, it seemed to swirl and sparkle in the glass, like a miniature galaxy.

“No, I could drink you under the table, I just don’t want to. I have an important day tomorrow.” You raised the bottle to your lips, it was so cold and refreshing.

“Right, the old I could but I just don’t want to, come on, you say that you can drink me under the table so prove it.” She poured two shots, one stayed with her and the other somehow found its way just in front of you. “Drink it, if you win, you get to take me out on a date.” She winked and smirked at you whilst biting her bottom lip.

“And who sais that I want to take you out on a date?”

“Come on and just drink it honey, everybody wants to take me out on a date.”

[bkrsszlrd]

We Don’t Talk Like This - Dialogue in Fiction

Steven Erikson - Author

December 1 at 6:00pm

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For the writer, dialogue is carrying more than one character forward, and accordingly, the writer needs to know each one intimately. Sometimes, with very minor or one-off character appearances, the writer needs only the minimal knowledge for that character: specifically, attitude and stance on the chosen subject. You might think it doesn’t need to be there and strictly speaking, you’re right, it doesn’t. But giving that little bit of extra thought for that throw-away character can make the narrative zing. An example? Okay.

Nimble Thumbsuck led his party of adventurers into the tavern. He looked around, trying to pierce the gloom. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a mysterious hooded figure sitting at the very back, near the dying hearth. On the battered table before this figure rested a long sword, its oily blade glistening as if sheathed in sweat. Nimble turned to his companions. “Find us a table. I need to ask some questions.” As they meekly headed off, Nimble strode up to the counter and positioned himself opposite the barkeep. “Ale, if you please.” The barkeep quickly poured a tankard and set it before the wily thief (what, you didn’t guess he was a thief? For crying out loud!). Nimble gestured the old man closer. “Hey, friend, what can you tell me about that hooded stranger at the back with the sword on the table?” “Oh,” said the barkeep, “that’s Valorous Verdant, who secretly works for the somewhat dim Wizard of Virtue, Alf Gullible. He’s been here the past four nights. Must be, uh, waiting for someone!” Smiling, Nimble collected up his tankard and ambled over to the hooded man. Taking a seat opposite with the bared blade between them, the thief smiled and said, “I hear you’re waiting for someone.” Valorous Verdant said nothing for a long moment, and then he leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table (and inadvertently slicing open one of those elbows on the sword’s razor-sharp edge, but that’s the price of Ominous Gestures, so he bore it with nary a twitch). “That’s right,” he said. “I require the services of a thief and oh, five adventurous companions just like those ones sitting over there. The Eye of Zircon needs to be stolen from the skull of, uh, Zircon. Needless to say, he might notice that. Aye, ‘tis perilous, but the very existence of the world depends on it – and on you too, my friend!”

Okay, now let’s try it again, hunting for something (anything!) to elevate this trope-laden purgative of a scene.

Nimble Thumbsuck led his party of adventurers into the tavern. He looked around, trying to pierce the gloom. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a mysterious hooded figure sitting at the very back, near the dying hearth. On the battered table before this figure rested a long sword, its oily blade glistening as if sheathed in sweat. Nimble turned to his companions. “Find us a table. I need to ask some questions.” As they meekly headed off, Nimble strode up to the counter and positioned himself opposite the barkeep. “Ale, if you please.” The barkeep, a frighteningly hirsute man apparently devoid of any habits of hygiene, continued polishing a tankard. At Nimble’s request he blinked sleepily and then said, “See what I’m doing?” Startled, Nimble frowned. “Excuse me?” “Said ‘see what I’m doing?’” “Uh, well –” “I’m polishing this tankard. And it’s like this. You start something, you finish it. My old man taught me that, the night he bailed on all of us. And I gone and taught it to my brats – assuming they’re even mine and I ain’t making no claims here either way, and maybe I seen you around out back five years ago when my wife was hanging laundry and her latest whelp’s got the same red hair as you, but maybe I ain’t seen anything like that at all. Point is, what do you think I’m gonna do with this here tankard?” “Uh … finish polishing it?” The barkeep’s grin was as green and brown as the rag he was using on the tankard. “Smart man. And when I’m done, why, then I’ll pour some ale in it for ya. How’s that for service?” Recovering at last, Nimble smiled. “Sounds perfect. Now, one other thing…” “What? Can’t you see I ain’t finished here yet?” “I know. Still, that hooded man at the back there…” “What about him?” “Well, who is he?” “Fucked if I know.” The tankard was finally polished to the barkeep’s high standards. He filled it with ale from a cask and plunked the vessel down in front of Nimble. “If you’re thinking of taking this over to that table back there, you’re paying first.” “Right. Sure. Of course.” Nimble set a coin down on the counter. Then, collecting up his tankard, he made his way over to the hooded man’s table and sat down in the chair opposite, the bared blade between them. “Good evening, good sir,” he said with a smile. The hooded man said nothing. Nimble tried again. “Looks like you’re waiting –” “Get the fuck out of my face.”

A few things should be evident when comparing these two examples. In the first version, everybody our intrepid hero questions offers up reams of information. The barkeep’s nobody, really. Just an expository robot. Then, when we get to the hooded man, again the guy just spews out all kinds of expository shit and comes across like a, well, like a fucking moron. With heroes like this, Lord Zircon’s got nothing to worry about.

The other detail you might have noticed is that the second version uses minor characters as blocks and foils to knowledge. Why? Because they’re more real as people: they are not enslaved by the narrator as functions of explication. These blocks and foils are both more realistic and serve to complicate the hero’s quest for knowledge. In other words, the second sample tells you far less than the first sample and guess what, THAT’S A GOOD THING.

The third point has to do with character-based diction. The first sample, in employing each character as props, ultimately flattens the diction, because the two minor characters aren’t fully realised by the author. They have no voice of their own, no attitude (beyond the effusive) and no stance and accordingly, nothing at stake. And if you think an old barkeep has nothing worthwhile to take a stance on, you don’t know jack. No matter how small the turf, it will be defended. Also, bear in mind that Nimble is the seventh thief looking to talk to the hooded man that night. Okay, not true, but as far as the barkeep’s concerned, it could be.

In the second sample, the barkeep’s diction comes to life, acquires its own cadence, and all of it decided by the writer’s choice to give him his moment on the stage, to acknowledge his right to exist and to have a full life. If the writer dismisses the lowly barkeep, what does that say about the writer’s attitude toward his characters, and indeed, the entire story? Maybe nothing. But maybe a lot.

A bit-part does not mean a bit-life. What is the other effect of enlivening your minor characters? It deepens the world. It occupies that world with genuine people. It adds authenticity and reminds us, the reader, that the world (any world) is NOT a straight-forward narrative dictating every appearance, no matter how incidental, in the story. Sure, of course it is. But we don’t want it to be so obvious. Instead, we want to create the illusion of that world’s verisimilitude.

Recall my mention of how people don’t talk to each other, but past each other? Well, a deeper discussion of what I mean by that will be forthcoming in Part Two of this essay. Stay tuned!