There be progress on the third con book. It’s slow, because I’m handwriting on a notepad in my lunchbreak, but it’s consistent, and more than that the itty bitty snips I’ve sent my first readers have got them giggling.
So far I’ve killed one of my designated redshirts – Synova, your crushed body has been found in the space where the dividers go… well, sort of. They’re going to have to replace that divider because some things just don’t wash off, and there was a bit of a mess when the con committee’s big guys finally convinced the panels to move (this little problem of having a body stuck between them really jammed the movement around) and it dragged you out to everyone’s view. Alas, there was nothing anyone could do by then.
The setup is in place for Run From the Nun, which I’ve combined with another story someone told me – I don’t remember who or when, except I was at a con at the time and I damn near wet myself laughing when I heard this.
So just for kicks, here’s the really, really rough setup for Run From the Nun, absolutely raw first draft without much beyond basic spell check.
The combination of an angry – and not a little frightened – female voice and an apologetic male one drew my attention to the bank of elevators.
I blinked. And stared.
The male voice belonged to a reasonably athletic-looking young man costumed as a demon. Elaborately costumed, with red and black skin paint, horns that had come off an actual animal, tight-fitting black jeans and a shirt that looked like it had started as a pirate style with the full sleeves and tight cuffs and lacing and all. And wings. Mechanical – or possibly animatronic – wings that looked close enough to the real thing I had to check that he was human. He was.
He was also apologizing at speed to a middle-aged nun who appeared ready to commit assault and battery with one of those massive study bibles.
A shorter, thinner young man hovered by him, adjusting something with the costume and making the wings move gently as if the demon was flexing them.
Okay, I’m shameless. I peeked into their memories.
Demon-guy had been in the elevators headed to the lobby with Friend trying to fix some problem with the wings. The combination of Demon-guy’s shirt and the wings completely hid Friend so when the lift stopped and the doors opened, what the nun saw was damn near exactly what you’d expect to see if a real demon dressed in black was in your lift.
Demon-guy’s polite, “Going down?” started it.
Now he was trying to explain that he was wearing a costume for the convention’s live action role-play without using the terms ‘LARP’ or ‘role-play’. I’ll admit describing it as improv acting on steroids was a nice touch, although the game – something called Fallen – and scenario – demons, vampires and werewolves fighting each other for supremacy after the Rapture – was hardly going to appeal to a nun.
”It’s theological nonsense, of course, Ma’am,” Demon-guy said with a heavy southern accent – rural Georgia, I think. “The point is the acting.”
The nun looked thoughtful. “Does this LARP of yours include a role for ordinary people?”
When Demon-guy stammered she smiled a little. “Young man, I’m not cloistered. I know what a LARP is.”
Demon-guy looked even more panicked. “Ah. Oh.” He swallowed. “Well. Yeah, there’s room for ordinary people, Ma’am.” I could hear him thinking that the role was usually ‘dinner’, but he was smart enough not to say so. “They’d welcome a defender, actually.”
Now the nun’s interest practically sparkled. “Why don’t you tell me some more?”
I made a mental note to keep an eye on the LARPers. This promised to be interesting.