Um... hm.

Subject: Um... hm.
Author: Huinesoron
Posted on: 2018-08-13 15:23:00 UTC

Okay, so here's my thoughts:

-I recognise you, you've participated here, all good on that front.

-Your spelling is generally okay, though your punctuation is a bit erratic: '“So?” Replied the lizard-man.' should take a lowercase R. Also: Daniel Pinkwater's book is entitled Borgel, not Borgle. Creating a mini for a new canon in your Permission post is a bit of a red flag.

-I'm... iffy on your understanding of the PPC canon. Prompt 2 pretty much ignores the PPC, except in that it has a General Store and consoles (which should be pretty easy to spot, actually). As an example: the mention of 'liquor taxes' doesn't really fit with PPC HQ, and the whole concept of nasty homebrewed alcohol goes out of the window when Rudi's sells every drink in the multiverse... but if we just assume Bradbury doesn't know that, it still sort of works.

Prompt 1 also mostly ignores the PPC, but where it does touch it, I'm still iffy. Bradbury's recruitment kind of works, though I'm not at all convinced by Nirvana's switch from 'that's classified' to 'want a job?' (and I don't know why you think PPC Intelligence is interested in acquiring a single broken dimension-hopping van). Gibbs, on the other hand, is conscripted to the PPC, which doesn't sit terribly well with me.

Okay, moving on:

-Your characters. They have rather opposing problems.

--Bradbury is actually quite good, as a 19th Century British explorer. Except... you claim he's Argentine, despite his name and attitude. It's like you smashed two characters together: one a Victorian colonel who would talk unironically about 'pygmies', and one a time-traveller who has spent enough time in the 2050s to be cybernetically enhanced. Those two halves simply don't fit for me.

--Gibbs... well, take a look at Prompt 2: Delete the words 'reptilian' and 'lizard', and you can't tell that he's anything other than human. You've set up a rather interesting backstory for him, but you've not made the slightest use of it. He's a seven feet tall highly-trained gunslinger who is (I assume) part of a cabal that secretly controls the world! So why write him as if you could replace him with Agent Joe Bloggs?

(Also on a character note: you inserted two random, single-use PPC agents, and made both of them male. The only instance of a female pronoun in either of your prompts is the story about the Russian woman. Given that PPC HQ is probably still majority female, that's a habit you should break yourself of.)

-Moving onto the stories... Prompt 1 is really disjointed. What you've written is one story, and then a couple of lines on the end to meet the prompt. I don't like that approach; a story should be a unified whole. I've already mentioned the problems I have with the representation of the PPC, so I won't belabour that point.

Prompt 2 does hang together as a single story, though there's nothing to really embed it in the PPC, as I said before. And... I feel like in both stories, you missed multiple chances to write humour. A striking example is the bottle of whiskey at the end of 2: was that meant to be a punchline? If so, it needs more development, because it falls utterly flat. If not... why not? Because it absolutely should be.

You have some lines that ought to be funny ('co-dependent parrots'), but there's just nothing to carry the joke. Take a look at this exchange:

“Bear fruit? Isn’t that the one that mauls people?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes, but you can drive it off by throwing zucchinis at it,” replied Bradbury.

What are we reading here? Is Gibbs an unintentional straight-man who actually does think 'Bear fruit' is a thing, with Bradbury winding him up? Was he trying to make a joke to get to know Bradbury? Are they both joking and laughing together, mugging like loons?

We don't know. 'Asked'. 'Replied'. That's all we get.

As an example, assuming the first scenario is correct, here's a rough alternate take on those two lines:

"Bear... fruit?" Gibbs rolled the words around his mouth as if tasting them. "Does it maul people, perhaps?"

"Absolutely." Bradbury put on his most serious expression. "But you can drive it off by throwing zucchinis at it."

Do you see the difference? This version gives the characters personality, rather than just assigning them lines. It provides something for the readers to latch onto, rather than just being a vehicle for getting to the end of the story.

Overall, it's not looking too good, but... I think you can do better. So here's what I'm going to ask for:

Please write another short story, under 1000 words, responding to the following prompt:

While carrying their first batch of homebrew to the cafeteria, Bradbury and Gibbs encounter someone in the corridor.

I don't mind who they meet: feel free to create your own character, use a free-use NPC (which includes the Flowers), or (for the purposes of this non-canonical scene only) borrow any of my characters. My wording shouldn't be construed to indicate only one person can encounter them, either.

I will be looking to see if this piece addresses my concerns listed above, including but not limited to: showing your understanding of the PPC, writing your agents with their backstories in mind, and writing with at least some humour and engagement. Making sure your punctuation around dialogue is correct would also be good.

(And, probably not relatedly, but please decide whether Bradbury is Argentine or Victorian English, and adjust his description accordingly.)

hS

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Permission attempt part 1 by 61516 on 2018-08-13 14:26:00 UTC Reply

Agent Bios

Name: Colonel Caleb Bradbury

Species: Human

Age: 56

Sex: Male

Home Continuum: An unpublished fanfic based on Daniel Pinkwater's "Borgle".

Personality: Bradbury is what is known as a “character”. He has a strange ability to procure just about anything just about anywhere, and a related ability to establish himself as an authority figure even in situations totally unfamiliar to him.

Appearance: The colonel is a gaunt man, just shy of two meters tall. His head is very round, a feature accentuated by his rather severe buzz-cut. He has a short beard, skin on the brown side, and a generally weathered look. He is a good bit more athletic than one would expect from a man his age, thanks to the medical and cybernetic science of the 2050s.

History: In his many years he has been not just an officer in the Argentine army, but also a grave digger, stamp forger, purveyor of shoddy knockoff products, piano tuner, ticket scalper, blackjack dealer, and many other things. He spent an elliptical number of years (time is elliptical in his home continuum) traveling through space, time, and the other by means of a television-detector van equipped with a Hydramatic drive, partly in search of adventure, partly to escape the repercussions of some ill-thought-out business ventures.

Name: Rasputin Gibbs

Species: Draconian

Age: 24

Sex: Male

Home Continuum: World 1.963, the world that exists in certain conspiracy theories.

Personality: On some deep level, Gibbs wants to be in a Sergio Leone movie. He doesn’t speak much, he wears a stetson, and he seems terminally calm. His interest in cookery according to the Galenic theory is just a bonus. He uses Draconian expressions in his speech, such as the greeting “Bast Chauble” and the philosophical concept of going “even more unto Yark.”

Appearance: Gibbs is a seven foot tall reptilian humanoid with a hunched posture, dark green scales, and a nice set of fangs. He is rarely seen without his stetson, and his eyes hold a look of steely determination that took him years to perfect.

History: Gibbs spent many years working as a security guard in Dulce base, a joint human-draconian military base located under Archuleta Mesa. He held himself to a very high standard, and soon became known as one of the most capable officers on the security team. With this good mixture of skill and expendability, Gibbs was an ideal candidate to send on a test jaunt through the base’s new portal. He came unstuck in space and time, and learned of Sues, or, as he called them, reality-warping entities. When we meet him, he has several unlicensed Sue killings under his belt, and has consequently attracted the attention of the PPC.

Part 2 by 61516 on 2018-08-13 14:27:00 UTC Reply

This is based on the control prompt "we see both agents recruited."

Colonel Caleb Bradbury, veteran of thirty years and uncounted battles, was having a very confusing day. He guessed that he had taken a wrong turn on the interstate, because now he was in some sort of idyllic countryside, and his preliminary scouting efforts had revealed a village home to some interestingly-dressed pygmies. Given that some of the houses appeared to be mostly underground, he did not entirely discard the notion that he had landed in Matamata, New Zealand, while the Fellowship Of the Ring was being filmed. Space-Time-and-The-Other tourism had taken him to stranger places, though the credibility of that particular place as the destination of this particular detour was somewhat lowered by the extreme realism of the area and the apparent lack of a camera crew. His only way to know would be to check if the buildings had interiors, and he wasn’t willing to risk detection.

Of course, Bradbury had not risen through the ranks of the Argentine army by losing his head in unfamiliar situations. So, while he was confused, he didn’t show it. Instead, he occupied himself with concealing his vehicle. A television detector van, let alone one fitted with a Hydramatic drive, would cause some awkward questions in what could be a medieval society. His attempt to hide it proved futile, however, as he had only the entrenching tool he had brought with him, and he was trying to hide a van. Instead, he unpacked his gear and made camp for the night. This consisted of hiding inside his overturned van and eating a protein bar. As both a soldier and a time tourist, he had gained the ability to sleep just about anywhere, so he quickly drifted off.

The next morning the Colonel awoke to someone knocking on the door above him. He looked up to see one of the locals, and he unlocked the door. The humanoid quickly opened the door and climbed from the door frame into the van, using the seats as handholds. Bradbury thought briefly, unsure how to speak to the locals, then said: “Hail and hello, kind sirrah. I bideth thee good tidings. Prithee, what bringest thou to mine cave of steel?” The creature pulled a notebook from one of his pockets, and began to write. Bradbury could hear him mutter:
“Encountered extra-canonical humanoid… Seems to have caught sunstroke… In possession of high-value asset… Hydramatic drive... currently damaged.”

“I assure you,” said Colonel Bradbury, “I am in full possession of all my faculties, except the faculty of the department of engineering, who could probably help me. But I digress. Perhaps you, in the absence of the faculty, could furnish aid?”
The man put away his notebook and looked at Bradbury as if he had just noticed him.
“Yes… I think we can come to some sort of deal. How about I take this wreck off your hands and get you out of here?”
“I accept this, but before we go, I have some questions. First: Where am I? Second: Why are you here? Third: How do we leave? And finally: Who are you?” asked Bradbury, never one to go into situations blindly.
“Hobbiton; that’s classified; through a portal; and Allen I. Nirvana, department of Intelligence, PPC.”
Bradbury considered this for a moment, then spoke: “Excellent. Let’s get out of here.”
Nirvana started to remove an object from his waistband, paused, and asked Bradbury a very significant question:
“Tell me, are you interested in a job?”

Rasputin Gibbs lay in wait. Flashgun at the ready, he scanned the horizon for the shape of his target. Ever since the accident, this had been his life: the glitter-monsters were an affront to reality, so he killed them. It was simple, so it brought him comfort, and a creature in his situation needed a routine. As the thing came into view, he readied his weapon and prepared to make the kill. Then a teenager walked up to the thing that should not exist, and began to talk to it, getting in the way of his shot.

Gibbs held back. He didn’t kill people. As he waited, the kid finished talking, the monster said something, and then the kid unsheathed a knife and stabbed it about six times, at which point it crumpled to the ground, bleeding sparkles. Gibbs went to compliment him on his work, but as Gibbs approached, the kid turned and spoke to him: “Rasputin Gibbs, you have been charged with making a nuisance and vigilante Sue killing. You are sentenced to conscription into the PPC. Look this way, please.”
Gibbs started to speak:
“Wait, wh-”

Part 3 by 61516 on 2018-08-13 14:32:00 UTC Reply

This is based on the control prompt "One agent tries to convince another to help with some kind of business venture."

As bases of operations went, Response Center 9-unreadable-smudge wasn’t among the best. To be fair, it had floor space, but most of it was occupied. This occupying force was led by a vanguard of random trash, with specialist support provided by the remains of shelves, and an armored division of broken machinery interspersed the ranks, as if to cow would-be cleaners into submission. On the edge of this cave of non-wonders was a small circle where the debris had been cleared, occupied by reptilian gunslinger Rasputin Gibbs and his human associate, Colonel Caleb Bradbury. After a long silence, the Colonel spoke:

“So.”

“So?” Replied the lizard-man.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

For a few moments, both considered the conversation, then Bradbury took the initiative: “Shall we keep talking in circles like co-dependent parrots, or shall we occupy our time with something more likely to bear fruit?”

“Bear fruit? Isn’t that the one that mauls people?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes, but you can drive it off by throwing zucchinis at it,” replied Bradbury.

“Zucchinis?”

“Yes, I once heard a story about a Russian woman who, when menaced by a bear that had broken into her home, chased it out by throwing several zucchinis at it,” said Bradbury, as if what he had just said made some sort of sense.

“Anyway, what is this dumb scheme that you have in mind?”

“Alcohol. It’s the best bartering commodity we can feasibly get, and our key into this place’s informal power structure. By making it right here in HQ we can undercut the prices of any competitor. Also, liquor taxes are for chumps.” As Bradbury spoke, he waved his hands in the air like some kind of TV alien hunter.

“Hmm… Have you done this before, or are we going to blind our coworkers?” asked the skeptical lizard-man.

“It’s fine. I learned how to do this years ago. We just need water, sugar, and yeast. I once did this with bread mold and ketchup.”

“That must be sheer murder on the humors,” said Gibbs, obviously disgusted.

“Don’t worry, I’m never doing that again.”

“So how do we make this happen?”

“I think there’s a general store somewhere in HQ. You can probably get stuff there,” said the human. “You head over there, I’ll try to find this alleged ‘console’ thing.”

“It’s your funeral.”

The lizard-man left, and several hours passed. When he returned, he could see that the Colonel’s attempts at his Sisyphean task had been in vain.

“I’m back!” shouted Gibbs as he opened the door, burlap sack in hand.

“Any luck?” asked Bradbury as he attempted to move an overturned oil drum whose presence in the RC must have made sense to someone at some point.

“Yeah, they had a good deal on baking stuff.” As he spoke, he placed an object on the floor next to the man: “Also, I got a bottle of whiskey, ‘cause it seems like this is gonna take a while.”

Um... hm. by Huinesoron on 2018-08-13 15:23:00 UTC Reply

Okay, so here's my thoughts:

-I recognise you, you've participated here, all good on that front.

-Your spelling is generally okay, though your punctuation is a bit erratic: '“So?” Replied the lizard-man.' should take a lowercase R. Also: Daniel Pinkwater's book is entitled Borgel, not Borgle. Creating a mini for a new canon in your Permission post is a bit of a red flag.

-I'm... iffy on your understanding of the PPC canon. Prompt 2 pretty much ignores the PPC, except in that it has a General Store and consoles (which should be pretty easy to spot, actually). As an example: the mention of 'liquor taxes' doesn't really fit with PPC HQ, and the whole concept of nasty homebrewed alcohol goes out of the window when Rudi's sells every drink in the multiverse... but if we just assume Bradbury doesn't know that, it still sort of works.

Prompt 1 also mostly ignores the PPC, but where it does touch it, I'm still iffy. Bradbury's recruitment kind of works, though I'm not at all convinced by Nirvana's switch from 'that's classified' to 'want a job?' (and I don't know why you think PPC Intelligence is interested in acquiring a single broken dimension-hopping van). Gibbs, on the other hand, is conscripted to the PPC, which doesn't sit terribly well with me.

Okay, moving on:

-Your characters. They have rather opposing problems.

--Bradbury is actually quite good, as a 19th Century British explorer. Except... you claim he's Argentine, despite his name and attitude. It's like you smashed two characters together: one a Victorian colonel who would talk unironically about 'pygmies', and one a time-traveller who has spent enough time in the 2050s to be cybernetically enhanced. Those two halves simply don't fit for me.

--Gibbs... well, take a look at Prompt 2: Delete the words 'reptilian' and 'lizard', and you can't tell that he's anything other than human. You've set up a rather interesting backstory for him, but you've not made the slightest use of it. He's a seven feet tall highly-trained gunslinger who is (I assume) part of a cabal that secretly controls the world! So why write him as if you could replace him with Agent Joe Bloggs?

(Also on a character note: you inserted two random, single-use PPC agents, and made both of them male. The only instance of a female pronoun in either of your prompts is the story about the Russian woman. Given that PPC HQ is probably still majority female, that's a habit you should break yourself of.)

-Moving onto the stories... Prompt 1 is really disjointed. What you've written is one story, and then a couple of lines on the end to meet the prompt. I don't like that approach; a story should be a unified whole. I've already mentioned the problems I have with the representation of the PPC, so I won't belabour that point.

Prompt 2 does hang together as a single story, though there's nothing to really embed it in the PPC, as I said before. And... I feel like in both stories, you missed multiple chances to write humour. A striking example is the bottle of whiskey at the end of 2: was that meant to be a punchline? If so, it needs more development, because it falls utterly flat. If not... why not? Because it absolutely should be.

You have some lines that ought to be funny ('co-dependent parrots'), but there's just nothing to carry the joke. Take a look at this exchange:

“Bear fruit? Isn’t that the one that mauls people?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes, but you can drive it off by throwing zucchinis at it,” replied Bradbury.

What are we reading here? Is Gibbs an unintentional straight-man who actually does think 'Bear fruit' is a thing, with Bradbury winding him up? Was he trying to make a joke to get to know Bradbury? Are they both joking and laughing together, mugging like loons?

We don't know. 'Asked'. 'Replied'. That's all we get.

As an example, assuming the first scenario is correct, here's a rough alternate take on those two lines:

"Bear... fruit?" Gibbs rolled the words around his mouth as if tasting them. "Does it maul people, perhaps?"

"Absolutely." Bradbury put on his most serious expression. "But you can drive it off by throwing zucchinis at it."

Do you see the difference? This version gives the characters personality, rather than just assigning them lines. It provides something for the readers to latch onto, rather than just being a vehicle for getting to the end of the story.

Overall, it's not looking too good, but... I think you can do better. So here's what I'm going to ask for:

Please write another short story, under 1000 words, responding to the following prompt:

While carrying their first batch of homebrew to the cafeteria, Bradbury and Gibbs encounter someone in the corridor.

I don't mind who they meet: feel free to create your own character, use a free-use NPC (which includes the Flowers), or (for the purposes of this non-canonical scene only) borrow any of my characters. My wording shouldn't be construed to indicate only one person can encounter them, either.

I will be looking to see if this piece addresses my concerns listed above, including but not limited to: showing your understanding of the PPC, writing your agents with their backstories in mind, and writing with at least some humour and engagement. Making sure your punctuation around dialogue is correct would also be good.

(And, probably not relatedly, but please decide whether Bradbury is Argentine or Victorian English, and adjust his description accordingly.)

hS

Ok, I'll be back in under 1000 words. (nm) by 61516 on 2018-08-13 16:36:00 UTC Reply

Well here we are... by 61516 on 2018-09-10 02:50:00 UTC Reply

Rasputin Gibbs would have felt a lot better about life if he had known where he was, but the featureless corridors of the PPC headquarters seemed intent on getting him lost. On the plus side, Colonel Bradbury had a seemingly endless supply of anecdotes, so what could have been total boredom had turned into a fairly educational delve into his partner’s psyche.

“So I had about half a minute to create an explanation for the non-existence of the Bureau of Military Acupuncture, and all I could get out of my mouth was ‘503.’ The Policía Militar thug paused in confusion, and this gave me enough time to turn my random utterance into something I could use. So I said I wanted a signed 503 and an initialed 22b or I would court martial the poor schmuck. Now, that was in no way within my power, but I figured that anyone who got sent to deal with stuff this dumb wouldn’t know that.”

At this point Gibbs interrupted him: “Wait, so you just made up a branch of Sanitary and Health Command?”

Bradbury didn’t answer, instead holding up a closed fist in the universal gesture for “stop.” He then turned and whispered to Gibbs: “There’s someone up ahead. I think we have a problem.”

“I see someone,” said Gibbs, “but not the problem.”

Gibbs looked again at the agent approaching them, just to check, but from his limited experience she seemed to be a standard PPC agent: a frazzled-looking human female with glasses.

Bradbury’s voice took on a more urgent tone, his mind buzzing with the application of inapplicable life experience. “We’re about to have authority abused at us.”

Gibbs was about to reply when the human coming towards them noticed the crate Bradbury held, and asked with mild interest: “Running errands?”

Bradbury knew how this would go. In his hind-brain this was 2022, he was a Subteniente being hassled by someone more seasoned, and it wouldn’t end well. The important thing was to confuse the issue.

This line of non-thought led to his next utterance: “Drain cleaner.”

The agent looked at him for a moment, one eyebrow raised: “Then why do they have hand-written labels saying: ‘Colonel Bradbury’s Old White Lightning’?”

Bradbury didn’t even blink. “I’m smuggling it. For the good of society. I’m thwarting the tyrannical excise-man and bringing cheap goods to those who need them.”

The agent’s mild curiosity had turned into severe confusion. “You do realize no government has jurisdiction in HQ, right? There’s no one who can tax goods.”

Bradbury took this curve-ball and, to mix a metaphor, ran with it. “Exactly. I can buy and sell anything here totally duty-free. Why do impede me in my quest? Do you hate the poor? Are you some kind of Communist? Are you some kind of Capitalist?! DO YOU WANT THE POOR TO HAVE MOLDY PLUMBING?!”

Gibbs wondered what it was like to be an awkward twenty-something confronted by an old guy shouting for no reason. It was all he could do not to explode into a pile of laughter, or whatever it was humans said.

Bradbury turned and whispered to Gibbs, total calm in his voice: “On my count, run. One. Two. Three. Now.”

Bradbury dropped the box and ran headlong down the corridor. Gibbs went with the flow, but managed to get out an incongruously cheerful “Bast Chauble!” before he left the bewildered young agent’s hearing range.

After they had gotten themselves even more thoroughly lost, Gibbs turned to Bradbury: “So, in the end, how did that whole Military Acupuncture thing play out?”

Bradbury thought about this.

“Upon reflection, it doesn't seem that important.”

(Words in Spanish were originally italicized.)