The Guilty Tool

Colonel Mustard liked sleeping on the window seat in the study. He especially liked it just after three in the afternoon because the sun would shine through the large panes of glass precisely into the right spot. It was a quarter to four in the middle of his nap when it happened. When everything went absolutely disastrous. At first, only a shadow flitted by the window but soon it turned into a small tapping noise that gradually grew louder and louder. Now the Colonel slept quite heavily when he got going but even the soundest sleepers would wake up to glass shattering all over there face. The thing that really woke poor Mustard were the sharp shards that had caught him snoring. In a split he was off his makeshift bed, his tired darting around the room while he spat diamonds out of his mouth. He took in a heavy breath, regaining his composure and that was when he found the culprit. There was a small toy wrench right beside the window seat, and he knew that it had not been there before he began his daily ritual. Now the only thing to do would be to find the guilty object's partner or in terms of crime, his accomplice.

Colonel Mustard very carefully peered out the window, and saw a mass of brown tousled hair disappear behind his favourite lilac bush. He pocketed the small tool and a small smile crept onto the military commander's face. He headed out of the study quietly whistling to himself.

A/N: This is the second Clue piece I have done. Again, this is a game played for Cafe Chi.

Quinn's Interview

Hi, this is Lynn Spunk and I am here today with Quinn, who is currently embarking on a journey with our intrepid fairy. Luckily, he was able to take a break from that to come and answer a few questions for us.

Lynn: So is Quinn your real name or just a nickname?

Quinn: My full name is Graham Quinton Thatch, but everyone calls me Quinn.

Lynn: I see. Is there a particular reason you go by a shortened version of your middle name?

Quinn: I was named after my grandfather on my side of the family because my grandmother insisted that his named needed to be passed on to the first born son. My mom is not very fond of the name Graham and so my dad and her decided that they would call me by middle name which happens to be my grandfather's name on my dad's side of the family. The reason for shortening it to Quinn was because I think Quinton sounds too old fashioned.

Lynn: Which parent do you look the most alike?

Quinn: It is hard to say. Both of my parents have dark brown hair and I have blonde which is a distinct difference that most people will comment on when they see me with my family. I have been asked if I was adopted before and before you ask, I wasn't. My family assumes that I got the blonde hair from my mom's side as her dad has blonde or at least he did. I could have gotten blue eyes from either one of my parents as they both have blue, which is probably not too surprising. Actually, I think I look the most like my grandpa Quinton, which is funny because my dad looks nothing like him. I got a square jaw and my dad has a more round face. My mom's face is more heart-shaped.

Lynn: Do you have any defining physical features?

Quinn: I have a scar just above my right eyebrow.

Lynn: Look at that you do. It looks like it probably hurt, what happened?

Quinn: I was riding my bike when I was ten and my front wheel hit a rock, and in turn that sent me flying into a neighbours fence. Next thing I knew I was laying on the ground with a giant gash in my head. Had to get seven stitches.

Lynn: That does not sound like fun.

Quinn: It wasn't.

Lynn: Do you have any siblings?

Quinn: I have one older sister.

Lynn: How old is she?

Quinn: Twenty-six.

Lynn: And you're twenty-two, right? So that would be a four year age difference.

Quinn: Yeah, I am twenty-two.

Lynn: Are you and your sister close?

Quinn: As close as any brother and sister. She has that tendency to be bossy, and I like pushing her buttons.

Lynn: Are there any unique characteristics that you would say you have in your relationship with her.

Quinn: We never have yelling matches, which I hear a lot of siblings do.

Lynn: I am glad you can joke about your condition. Speaking of, how long have you been mute?

Boiling Pot

Jump up! Quick! Dash!

It smells suspicious in here.

What is that?

The pot is there.

Pour the pasta in!

Spaghetti and macaroni too.

No! Not yet!

Oh pot! Boil a foolish thing!

Alas, my poor stomach.

I stare, stand, wait, sit.

This goes on for days.

For weeks!

FOR YEARS!

Oh look the plates are lonely.

Here you go mister spoon,

Just the perfect friend for you.

The wooden utensil quietly swims,

Laying in wait.

Wait! Look!

Oh boiling pot,

At last you have come to greet me, friend!

OUCH!

A/N: Snap your fingers! Haha! This was for bad poetry night, the second one we have had as Cafe Chi-ers, but my first.

NaNoWrimo Update

Lately my writing project has been finishing my NaNoWrimo that I started in November. I seem to have found myself at a very tricky point in the plot, the climax. So basically everything that I have been writing thus far was to lead me directly here. I cannot remember whether I have mentioned this before but I am a part of a writing which calls itself Cafe Chi. Every week we meet as a group and make new goals, and a couple of months I have made the same goal every week and that is to resolve the pirate situation. I set abstract goals like this because I feel it should help me obtain more satisfaction by completing a plot than a set number of words; therefore, leading me to work harder to finish my goals, at least that is the theory. It worked quite well with my last goal, which was to find the princess. But it seems the climax is not as easy to tackle as I had thought it would be a few months ago. The biggest of my problems have been the distractions, my baby being the worst of them. Now, before anyone starts thinking that I secretly got married or something... my baby is NOT an actually human baby. It is the novel that I keep close to my chest and believe will be my greatest piece of writing. It has the potential to be so important to me that I would become unable to even try and publish it. Hence, I treat it like a mother would her baby.

Dani

Before Captain Vane

“RUAIRI?” She had been calling the young boy for the past five minutes, “RUAIRI! YOU COME IN RIGHT NOW! YOU HEAR ME?”

A little boy with dark hair scampered into the hovel that they called their home. He was covered from head to toe in mud. His bright blue eyes peaked out under dark lashes. He bit his lip while looking up at his mother. With a deep sigh she knelt down in front of him with a dirty cloth in her hand.

“My dear boy,” His mother scowled, “how on this good earth did you become such a mess? I swear that if I did not know any better I would say you were one of Mister Bugnot’s pigs and not my own little boy.”

The five year old giggled at his mother’s words and covered his mouth with his hand. She gently removed his hand from his face and started to scrub the dirt off it. When she had cleaned the little face as best she could she stood.

“Go change into something decent,” She gave him a little push to the door on the opposite side of the room, “your father will be home soon and you know how he feels about keeping a clean and tidy house, which includes you.”

Ruairi ran into his room, no larger than a closet. He quickly removed clothes that were covered in dry mud and pushed them under his small bed. He opened the trunk, it was the only other object in the room besides the bed, and pulled out a clean tunic and trousers. He quickly put them on and hurried out into the main room. He peaked over the table to watch what his mother cooking their evening meal.

The young boy jumped as the front door burst open and in walked his father. The man stood staring around the room before closing the door shut behind him. He shut it a little harsher than was needed and his son felt a shiver run down his spine. His father walked over to the table, his boots thundering with each step. He looked at what his wife was cooking for dinner and scoffed but said nothing. He then turned to Ruairi, who shrunk under his gaze. He took in the mud caked into his son’s hair and the guilty look on his face.

“And what have you been up to today?” His whisper rumbled through the house. He reached out and touched the boy’s hair, “Boy, why is your hair filthy?”

Ruairi stared at his father, his lip quivered a little, “I was playing outside and fell.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, “what a clumsy son I have.”

His father’s hand came up, Ruairi flinched. WHACK! The slap across his face sent the boy sprawling to the floor. His mother came around the table and stood between the two.

“Mariam,” The man said angrily, “Get out of the way, the boy needs to learn.”

“Not like this,” She placed her hands on her hips, “he is just a child.”

WHACK! Mariam raised her hand to her face. It was already a violent red.

“You do not talk back to me, Woman!” His voice shook the entire house. Ruairi whimpered from the floor.

The Freaks

“Poor Billy-Jo,” Eric said sitting down next to Ivy under their favourite tree. The afternoon sun was slowly getting lower in the sky.

“Hmmm?” She glanced up from her book, but only for a moment.

“You know, my little sister?” Eric leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Mmmm...?” Ivy closed her book and stared at him intently.

“Do you understand why half the village is born with abnormalities?” He frowned, his eyes still closed as he took in a heavy breath. “It is no wonder that people come from all around to see the town of freaks.”

Ivy made a muffled growl from the back of her throat.

Eric sat up, looked at and shrugged his shoulders, “ I know you do not like it, but that is what people call this place. I am not saying that you are a freak or anything, but you have to admit that you a different than most people and to some they consider that to freakish.”

The young girl slumped against the trees and put her book down. She breathed deeply and touched Eric's arm.

“She was running around again and broke my mom's favourite vase,” He gently patted Ivy's hand, “it really is not her fault. I mean, how is it fair that she cannot be like a normal kid just because she was born without bones in her arms. You know if I could I would trade arms with her.”

Ivy tilted her head and her eyes sparkled at him.

“Thanks Ivy,” The Older boy smiled back at her, “you know I would help you too. Actually, I was talking to one of the travellers who was in town a few days, he said there is this amazing doctor he met in...”

Eric's furrowed his brows in concentration, while Ivy raised a brow at him.

“JOFELL,” He exclaimed, “I am sure that was the name of the city. Anyway, I am sure he would be able to solve your problem.”

Ivy looked at him sceptically.

“I am serious,” Eric sat up straight, “the traveller told me some incredible stories. Apparently this doctor he managed take replace someone's ear back. And he also figured out a way to help a person breath through their nose even though before they could only breathe through their month.”

Ivy let her fingers dance briefly above her head.

“No, not magic,” this time he patted her head, “science.”

Ivy stared at him blankly.

“What? That is what the traveller called it,” Eric shrugged.

A/N: Another Cafe Chi piece. This was based off Characters for an epic tale. I was given the Freaks. Here is the picture that I am talking about:

It comes from this website:
http://www.cabanonpress.com/tomsshed/3.EPIC.htm