Charming’s Flight from The Song

This escape from The Song scene continues to brainworm me. I think it’s my first plot point according to the structure I’m conforming to during the construction of this story.

The mobile nature of the scene gives me several locations to work through. The need for there to be questions later on gives me need to be careful how I write and what I include. Ultimately the flight from The Song is genuine, but I need enough uncertainty that Charming can later doubt her experience.

Maybe doubting the truth is typical for her. This seems like reasonably likely accompaniment to her difficulty fitting in to new places; her desires to please people or show off. There’s a good pattern. She keeps her head down hoping to be accepted for herself then when she’s not—or feels she’s not—she acts out or shows off. That gives me a nice ebb and flow to work with.

Back on scene…

This scene is split in two parts: first, the Mayor chatting with Gane regarding what will likely happen with Charming and Gane’s escape planning; second, Charming deciding to go with Gane and finally her being abandoned on the edge of the Benhá River. My purpose is to split Charming from The Song when she might not have otherwise left. I have to give the circumstances just enough uncertainty that Charming can interpret them differently as needed. This is the first (near) direct attack by the opposition on Charming, so I need a motivating reason and a mechanism to exert that force remotely but not precisely.

I also need to have a place for Gane’s experiences after he leave Charming. A minor plot action revealed to Charming later. Potentially I can have the imprecise nature of the attack be interpretable as an attack on Gane or both he and her. Hmmmm. Ze plot, she thickens.

314 words on day 508

Up or Out

I’ve got Benhá crammed in my tooth like Heath bar crumbs. What follows will hopefully cross between ignoring it and picking it out with my nails. And not be too interrupted with parenting.

Charming awoke in the thinning mist of the riverbank fog. Darnday willows occluded her view of the water but not the stink of dead fish and clay. A sleepy memory of several flits passing over in the night reminded her where she was and why. She crawled to her knees careful of the snapped willows that had been her bed. The thick brush felt safe so instinctively she stayed low while she wriggled down her skirt and peed.

“Just back from the edge. Where the willows is high. There. Right there.” Charming’s guts seized and her blood beat against her eardrums. Had the voice come from behind her or in front? It was close. She leaned forward to hook her thumbs in her panties. Whatever happened next it wouldn’t happen with her skirt down. The put-pat idle of a fanboat helped her gauge the distance—too close to sneak off unseen.

Charming put her knees to the ground and eased on her skirt.

“I don’t see nothing up here son.” The humidity and flat of the river carried an older voice directly to her ears.

“Put on the spot?” the first voice asked.

“Sure, sure. See for yourself.” A cone of mist to her right became opaque. Unsearchable.

“Oh.” Charming heard the light click off.

“Roundmartin isn’t paying us to be stupid. Now you’re not…so stupid.”

“Ha ha. Thanks. Up or Out?”

“Your choice.” The fanboat revved and came out of the mist straight at her. It rounded in a tight circle and headed Up. The wake pushed water up the bank but not all the way to her toes.

311 words on day 507

Charming Venda

Because I’m working on plot this weekend I’m having trouble deciding how best to write and make it count.

I’ve always felt I had a knack for picking out character names. Fortunately I’ve not got any kind of medium in which to score them to find out if I’m full of crap. Benhá’s protagonist’s name just sprung to mind. A warm—and belated—welcome goes out to the young Miss Charming Venda.

Tourists came to The Song mid-week and left once their hangovers wore off on Saturday. Sundays Charming assembled her booth in the corner and stacked the card table with her hand crafted t-shirts. No money came of it, but it keeps the six other soulless days when she sold keychains, pens, and plush fish for Mrs. Nardi in check. This day the [boothmaster] pipes off-world xKreem through the speakers instead of looping those 20 year old Rivered pop songs like she does for the tourists.

160 words on day 506