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hs_olympics2012-06-10 01:02 am
hso_mods) wrote in hs_olympics2012-06-10 01:02 am
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BONUS ROUND 1
Bonus Round 1
Genre-Mixing
Hey, shippers! Welcome to your very first bonus round proper--we hope you have lots of fun with it! This time around we're going to be asking you to mix it up a little--each fanwork posted for this round will be a mish-mash of two different genres, blended together in a delightful incestuous slurry to create an UNSTOPPABLE CREATIVE CONCOCTION--er. Or. Something.
Yeah, we're genre-mixing. That's what we're doing this round.
Rules
- Submit prompts! Prompts should consist of two different genres and one ship. This cannot be your team's ship! These are worth 5 points each, for a maximum of 100 points per team.
- Look through the prompts and fill whichever you like!
- You may not fill prompts for your ship, nor may you fill your own team's prompts.
- Fills should be posted as replies to the prompts which they are for, following the format below. They may be any medium.
Title Format
If you are starting a new thread, please use this format in your title.
Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team YOU belong to; please use the characters and quadrant, not whatever portmanteau or nickname you've come up with.
If your team name is not in this format and in the title we cannot guarantee that it will be counted.
If you are filling a prompt, use this format in your title.
Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team YOU belong to; please use the characters and quadrant, not whatever portmanteau or nickname you've come up with.
If your team name is not in this format and in the title we cannot guarantee that it will be counted.
Posts not using this format in the title will be understood to be unofficial discussion posts, no matter what they contain. They, like all comments on the comm, are subject to the Wank Policy.
Scoring
For prompt posts: 5 points each (maximum of 100 per team)
For fills (as stated here):
First 5 entries in each post: 30 (per entry)
Entries 6-10 in each post: 20 (per entry)
Entries 11-15 in each post: 10 (per entry)
Entries 16+ in each post: 5 (per entry)
All scored content must be created/assembled new for this round.
If you have any questions, please ask them at the FAQ post here, or email them to us (homestuck.shipping at gmail). Otherwise, we cannot guarantee that we will see them in a timely fashion!
PROMPT: TEAM GAMZEE<>KARKAT
FILL: TEAM Aradia<>Dave
The lady talks and drinks like a sailor, but I'm willing to bet she's never gone out to sea a day in her life. The martini glass screams of class, but I'm not sure yet it that's authentic or a stinking farce.
From the piece she's hanging on to in her other hand, I can tell this doll means business.
She drops her gun and stalks towards my desk. Her drink splashes on my papers, smearing the ink on the report of my last job. She pushes up her golden locks and leans towards me.
"You arre Dirk Strider, right?"
"That I am, ma'am. What can I do you for?"
"I gots me a problem I cant go to teh coppers for and I hear you just might be the man for the jyob."
Her voice isn't sultry like you might expect slipping from lips that jet, but there's something in her pink eyes that makes me believe that I really am the only one who can help her.
"Tell me more, ma'am."
"First ya gotta stop callin me ma'am. I'm not my mom. The name's Roxy Lalonde, Mr. Private Eye Guy. And I think you're gonna wanna sit doiwn for this."
I look at her puzzled because I am sitting. But I motion for the broad to go on. She's got me hooked and curious now. She winks at me, but that might have just been a drunken twitch.
"I was down at the soup kitchen, passing out some pumpkin pies I had my gurl janey bake up. When all of a sudden!"
"All of a sudden?"
"All of a sudden some man walks in, bloody all over his clthoes. When we ask what's wrong, mister, are ya hurting somewhere?"
Now I'm really intrigued by her story. She's leaning closer and closer now, and I, enraptured, find myself leaning closer as well. Our foreheads meet, she stares me down and silently dares me to ask more questions. My throat is dryer than Death Valley and I couldn't form words even if I wanted to.
"He said," she whispers with intensity, "There's zombies out theer! Then he just collopsies on the floor in front of me. I nearly fainted, detectiv! Fainted! I only usually pass out when I'm drinking that much on purpose!"
I reach my hand up and stroke her silken hair, shushing her like I'm comforting a child. After a few comforting words offered to her, she stands upright.
And wouldn't ya know it, that Roxy slams back the rest of her martini. Olive between her teeth, she grins devilishly at me and slips the toothpick out.
From around the olive she demands, "We gotta go get those zombies, Dirk! I haven't even started passing out mai weekly pumpkins yet and these ppl are gonna start straving!"
"Alright, Roxy. We'll get these zombies."
I march like a man with a purpose and grab some decorative sword off the wall as we exit my office. I slip on my fedora and sunglasses, all gussied up for a night on the town stopping the zombies from disrupting Roxy helping those poor lost souls. Headed down the stairs, a thought strikes me like a red-head in a slinky dress across the street.
"Say, Roxy... What are zombies anyway?"
She throws her head back in a laugh and slips her arm through mine.
I don't give it another thought, and I wonder why I trust this boozer. But I do, and maybe I shouldn't question it. Maybe I should just go along for the ride and see what these zombies are for myself soon enough.
Nonetheless, I think Roxy and I are scheduled up for some bloodshed and general wrecking of their shit. And after, well, maybe we can see about getting her off that merry-go-round for a while.
Re: FILL: TEAM Aradia<>Dave
Re: FILL: TEAM Aradia<>Dave
Re: PROMPT: TEAM GAMZEE<>KARKAT
Re: PROMPT: TEAM GAMZEE<>KARKAT
Re: PROMPT: TEAM GAMZEE<>KARKAT
Re: PROMPT: TEAM GAMZEE<>KARKAT
Re: PROMPT: TEAM GAMZEE<>KARKAT
FILL: TEAM Dave<3Rose<3Terezi
~*~
A Rotten Crime
or
the best story EVR!
It was a lazy summer afternoon when the drunken baby giraffe commonly known as Roxy Lalonde wandered into my office. This, of course, was not an uncommon occurrence. Whenever I saw the dame there was and approximately nine out of ten chance that she would be drunk off her ass- and it was generally the one out of ten times she was sober that something was wrong. Still, something about the frantic way she kept looking over her shoulder told me that for once, trouble had found her while drunk.
“youve gotta help me mr super cool privet detective!” said the toatally hot and foxy babe “a zombuie just ate jane!”
*zomie
*zomuie
*zombie
(Uh, Rox? How did you get into my computer? Whatever, I can work with this.)
I looked skeptically at the dame. A zombie? Really? I wasn’t even sure the term zombie was a widely term that existed at the time this piece of fiction takes place that that would allow me to even understand what she was talking about. (Oh, hey, just looked it up, I guess it was. That’s lucky. Although I think that the Zombies back then were mostly caused by witchcraft and magic? So I guess I’ll work that in.)
Anyways, the very idea of a zombie existing in real life seemed ludicrous. Everyone knows that the kind of magic and voodoo that would be needed to create one is fakey fakey fake. (See? Worked it in.) Even though Roxy had been trustworthy enough in the past, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was all the product of a drunken imagination.
but the privet detective thn realised there was no way th super valent and trustworthy roxy would lie too him and roxy draged him off to the SCENE OF THe CRIME befor he could get away with any more time waisting monologging!!
*monologing
(Hey, Rox, don’t hate on the monologuing. It’s a staple of the genre.)
its BORRING
(And it wouldn’t be Film Noir without it.)
After practically getting my arm wrenched off by the young Ms. Lalonde we finally arrived at the location of Jane’s freshly mutilated body. And the zombie that was still currently feeding on it.
“Well. Would you look at that. A real life zombie.” I said, astonished. “Now if only you had given me time to prepare. I might have had time to grab my gun and be able to now shoot this zombie in the head. Unfortunately, you rushed ahead, leaving us now doomed and defenseless against zombie attack."
but luckly roxy never had any less then 5 guns in her srife spesibus like any sane person! she struck a heroic pose lik the hero she was and shot the zomue to redeth!
*redeath
But then, as she turned around, she discovered that I was now a zombie too! The only way she could survive would be to shoot the zombie that I had become! But could she really kill a fiend wearing my face?
and then she hugged dirk and tld him to stop being so silly and to go back too being a nice privet detective.
*told
And that worked for some reason, I guess. I suppose we might as well bring Jane back to life, while we’re at it.
and thn they all lived happly ever after!
The End.
Re: FILL: TEAM Dave<3Rose<3Terezi
FILL: Team Dave<3Rose<3Terezi
--
It’s been two hours since you left the liquor store; for every achievement you’ve been hit by another setback, and the image of broken bottles and splintered shelves hangs heavy in your mind like the clouds gathering ominously above the downtown skyline. Turning your coat collar up and glancing over your shoulder at the quiet street, you slip through the door of one of the more discerning of the city’s shady waterholes, surreptitiously bolting it behind you.
Lalonde’s at the bar, of course, one leg tangled over the other as though to root her to the stool, a half-empty martini glass in her hand. The bartender is presumably occupied elsewhere; you glance through the door into the back room and see a few heavy-set people huddled in a corner, but apart from that the place is empty. Convenient.
You lean insouciantly against the bar next to her, your arms folded across your chest. “Maybe I’ve got a job for you,” you tell her.
Roxy tilts her glass back and forth, her head on one side as though she’s not even registered your presence, and then downs what’s left of it in one. You raise your eyebrows. She spins the barstool to face you, swaying slightly, one hand braced on the bar and the other splayed across the trilby motif on your coat pocket, and says, “Hit me.”
“Lester’s missing,” you say, deadpan, “and his shop’s completely fucking wrecked. The fuzz says it’s suicide. He drank himself crazy, destroyed his storerooms, and offed himself afterwards. Something about the unbearable pressures of a life of ignominy.”
She frowns. “Bullshit. Lester was the comfortablest ignormin- ignor- crook I ever met.”
“Exactly. So I went and checked it out, and I found this.” You pull the clear plastic wallet out of your coat pocket and drop it on the bar in front of her. It’s cold as death, which is pretty appropriate- hasn’t got any warmer for being a couple of layers of fabric away from your skin. If you thought more about that it might make you a little uncomfortable, but you’ve got bigger fish to fry.
Roxy leans over it, squinting. “Is that a fninger?”
“Something like that.”
“Where’d you find it?”
“Out the back of Lester’s storeroom, kicked under a shelf. The back door was pulled off its hinges, covered in dirt, and the dust on the floor was full of bootprints. The cops got there before me, Rox, and I’m pretty sure they’re covering up something big. But I guess they missed this one.”
She reaches inside her skirt pocket, drops an assortment of instruments onto the table. Pushing out of the way a petri dish and what looks like a pH scale, she pulls on a pair of white latex gloves and peers through a magnifying glass at Exhibit A., decomposing human digit, biting her lip thoughtfully.
“This is old,” she says, turning it over. “Like… weeks, months dead? Maybe. Seriously old. And there’s dirt on it, kinda clay dirt they have north-west of town. But wet. New dirt, hasn’t died- dried, yet. Like someone’s exum- ex, uh- dug it up.”
“North-west,” you say quietly, “is where the cemetery is.”
You’re about to formulate another hypothesis when the finger starts wriggling.
Roxy yelps, jumps backwards in alarm, overbalances off the barstool- you catch her, but she’s dropped the finger and it’s hit the floor, dragging itself along like a jointed caterpillar, trailing grave mud behind it.
“What the actual fucking fuck,” says Roxy, steadying herself against the bar, her eyes wide. The finger’s flopping more like a fish than a worm, now, towards the door to the back room—
A horrible possibility occurs to you, and you don’t have time to verbalise it, because the heavy-set people you noticed sitting in the other room earlier are stumbling through the doorway, filthy and moaning, and one of them only has half a face.
“Oh, hell”, you murmur under your breath, taking in the torn, mud-spattered clothing, the decaying skin, limbs bent at unnatural angles, ripped and bloodless wounds, red-stained mouths.
You reckon you know what happened to Lester.
They’re slow, though, and still across the room from you. Your mind catches up to the situation, notes pedantically that maybe calling them people was incorrect, but the last thing you want to get into now is a discussion with yourself on the nature of human identity. You adjust your glasses.
“You up for a fight, Lalonde?” you ask, reaching behind your head to pull your sword from its harness at your back (if you’ve learnt one thing in this line of work, it’s that you can hide anything under the right trenchcoat).
“Like you even need to ask,” she says. You can hear the grin in her voice. When you glance over, she’s emerging from under the bar, locking the clip into an assault rifle that she’s slung over her shoulder. Christ, are you glad to have her around at times like this.
Because whatever’s going on-- well, you’re pretty sure this is only the beginning.
Re: FILL: Team Dave<3Rose<3Terezi
Re: FILL: Team Dave<3Rose<3Terezi
Re: FILL: Team Dave<3Rose<3Terezi
Re: FILL: Team Dave<3Rose<3Terezi