I’m back to writing Chloe, the main character of my Groundskeeper world. In the first story, I introduced her slowly to the weirdness of her new job and living situation. In the second, she’s fully embroiled in the hidden world, but the thing is…
I grew up with horses. Mom adopted mustangs, Dad learned how to break them from an old-school bronc buster and former bull rider. Later, Mom adopted the Jefferson Method of gentling the horses using their instincts and innate nature. Some horses became reliable for riding. Other horses never did, and one memorable mare Dad will swear to this day was doped to her eyeballs when they picked her up from the BLM, because they were able to handle her no problem, right up to putting a saddle blanket on her. They turned her into the stall for the night, and next morning came to check on her and she did her level best to kill them, and they were never able to so much as touch her again. Her son, who we also adopted, was my official ‘first’ horse. Mom wouldn’t let me name him Snakedancer, so he became Shadowdancer. Because a horse will spook, startling sideways (or up, down, or maneuvers you’d swear a beast of that solidity should not be able to perform) at things obvious and not. The rare horse is what’s called bomb-proof. This is a horse you can take anywhere, do anything with, and they will just shrug and endure it. Usually, this is the result of long training starting from the moment they are born (with the cooperation of their dam, because some of it’s genetic I think), but some horses are just like that, phlegmatically taking their world as it comes.
Chloe is bomb-proof. She’s relatively young, as I based her in many ways on my youngest daughter who is 21 this year. And yes, the Jr. Mad Scientist knows about her, and even helped with developing the world. She is still a little bemused about my writing, but she was pleased with the results I think. That’s the thing, having a stoic as a child, you worry that they aren’t telling you everything. Chloe, as the product of my own imagination, isn’t my daughter. And Chloe really does just roll with the world, however strange it gets. My worlds aren’t fully developed, when I start writing. That happens as the tales unfold, usually. In the third story, currently headed towards novella length, I’m contemplating Chloe’s family. We hear about them, but so far haven’t met them. And yet, they formed her into this brave young woman who doesn’t flinch from what her job entails. It should be interesting to see where future stories take me, and her.
One of the things I’ve realized is that I enjoy reading, and writing, practical characters. Not just the heroine, of course, but this post is about young Chloe. I like to see what happens when they take logical steps in crisis, or when things start to get risky, instead of plunging recklessly into situations that have no way out. There are times when taking risks is merited. And there are times when calling for help is the absolute right thing to do. For context in the snippet, Chloe has been given the afternoon off, before starting training in special defenses the next day. She’s just started to unwind when…
She was looking for a mug in the cupboard when she heard the knock at her door. Chloe took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, then went to answer the door.
“Hello?” She opened the door and looked around, confused. There was no one on the small landing, and she didn’t hear anyone on the stairs. She started to close the door and saw the small box lying on her mat.
Her mat didn’t read ‘welcome.’ Her father had gotten it for her when she’d moved into the apartment, and it read ‘Probably Not a Trap Door’ on the rough fiber surface. The box was aligned perfectly over the word ‘Trap.’
Chloe took a quick step back, then pulled out her cell phone and took a photo before she closed the door, with the box safely on the other side. Then she dialed the top number in her favorites.
Mr. Cruor answered, as he always did, before the second ring. “Belleview.”
“Sir, there’s a box on my mat.” Chloe took a deep breath, stilling the shaking she didn’t realize had started. “Someone rang the bell, but there was no-one there when I answered the door, and there’s a box…”
“Stay where you are.” He said. “Do not touch the box.”
Chloe said “yes,” before she realized she was talking to a dead line. She stood there staring at the wall for a moment before she shook her head and returned to make her abandoned tea. The water was more green-tea temperature than she wanted by then, so she turned the kettle back on, and prepared her mug with a tea ball of the loose stuff. This afternoon called for something stronger. As the kettle started burbling, she got another mug out of the cupboard for Mr. Cruor, should he want something. Her phone rang as she was pouring water into her own mug.
“Hello?” Chloe answered the unknown number hesitantly, then relaxed as her boss’s familiar voice sounded in her ear.
“Could you please open your door? Don’t come out, just open it.”
She did as told, and was facing Mr. Cruor, who was holding a sleek cell phone to his ear, a jarring incongruity. He hung up as soon as she opened the door. Chloe tucked her own phone into her pocket.
“Interesting placement,” He pointed down at the box. “I have to think it was intentional.”
“Someone has a terrible sense of humor.” Chloe glared down at it.
“There is no address. Hm.” He reached in his blazer pocket and pulled out a baggie of white powder. As Chloe watched, he pulled out a large pinch and scattered it over the box and her welcome mat. “Baking soda. Leaves less mess than flour, and the chemical reactivity… ah.”
Chloe stared at the box. It didn’t look like anything had happened to her. “Sir?”
“Step back, please. I’d prefer you close your door, but as you need to know how to do this, leave it open, putting most of your body behind it.”
Chloe swung her door partly closed, feeling the weight of the steel in her hand. She’d never really thought about it’s construction until now. Mr. Crour carefully hiked his pant legs and settled into a crouch, peering at the box. After a moment, he reached out and delicately lifted it up, raising it until he could look at the bottom of the box without tipping it over. Then, he stood, holding it in both hands.
“I am going to take this, carefully, into the driveway. Please accompany me.”
Chloe followed him down the stairs, and out on the pavement until they were away from all the buildings. He set the box down on the ground, then looked at her.
“Have you perhaps got a bamboo pole, for trellising?”
Confused, Chloe blinked. It took her a moment to recall if she did, after the apparent non-sequitur. “Um. Yes, I do.”
“Perfect. The longest you have, if you would?”
She trotted off towards the utility shed, and returned a few moments later with a ten foot pole.
“Ten feet is the longest I have,” She was panting just a little from her hurry.
“So. I shall now touch the box with a ten-foot pole.” His lips quirked.
Mad Genius Club 
8 responses to “A Most Practical Heroine”
You devil, you. What happens next?
Yeah, yeah, I bought the darn thing… 🙂 Both stories.
The snippet above is from the WIP… which should come out August 16th.
Duly noted. Thanks.
It is always fun when you can use a practical character to turn a trope sideways, too.
Her boyfriend is getting grabbed by a siren, when she walks in. Perfect setup for the classic romcom horrible misunderstanding. Her response? “You think I don’t know what possession looks like?!”
And just like that the scene is headed in an entirely unexpected, yet completely believable and just as emotionally charged direction.
How very true.
*snickers* Ten-foot pole, indeed!
There’s another benefit to characters who just roll with it – that the lack of reaction leaves the audience free to have their own. “If the character realizes something is funny, it takes the onus off the audience to laugh, because (the character) is doing it. … If the character cries easily, then the audience doesn’t have to. But if the character tries not to cry, that’s when the audience will.”
(Quoting Bryan Cranston there, though I’ve heard that one in theater since I started teching a couple decades ago.)
Go, Mr. Crour! I’ve always had a weakness for the older, wise mentor characters.