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Name That Voice! - The Return of the Guessing Game

TheEarl

TheEarl

Occasional visitor
Joined
Apr 1, 2002
Posts
9,808
Here it is: the grand return of the ‘Name That Voice’ competition. Since I shouted first and loudest, I get to be the ‘moderatrix’ this time. The idea, for those who were hiding in a cave during the first competition, is that you write a bit of flash fiction and PM it to me. I will then post it anonymously on this thread.

The topic for this week is ‘Spotting someone across a crowded room.’ Submissions must be under 700 words; I’ve given you an extra 200 words than Imp, so I’m not quite as evil as her, but I won’t tolerate extras (no matter how much bribery is employed). Anything larger will be ruthlessly cut at the 700th word.

Submissions must be finished and PM-ed to me by 9.00pm Thursday evening (GMT) and a list of participants (with a few decoys) will be posted up then.

Good luck.

The Earl
 
Earl

I won't be entering this one, no time over next few days. I'd rather formed the impression people were looking at making this a monthly event, may be wrong. Maybe a longer time between 'games' will keep the idea fresh, but heck, if people want to go again, that's great as well.
 
I was under the impression that people were impatient to start again and the monthly idea was scrapped on that basis. Ho well, we're here now.

Except no-one seems to be entering <sniff>

The Earl
 
English Lady said:
Patience Earl Love..it's a Sunday, AH is always quiet on a Sunday :)
Click to expand...

Tell that to the rowdy lot that have hijacked the Meet and Greet thread. Oh yeah, I'm one of them. :D



Earl, I'll give it some thought after tomorrow. Count me in, I just have other things on my mind at the mo. ;)
 
Some of us - well, me - are trying to finish a student submission and get it out of the way before changing hats and being swamped by student submissions in my tutor capacity. I'll try to get one to you, but unlikely before Tuesday/Wednesday.

Alex
 
TheEarl said:
I was under the impression that people were impatient to start again and the monthly idea was scrapped on that basis. Ho well, we're here now.

Except no-one seems to be entering <sniff>

The Earl
Click to expand...

Dear TheEarl,

I'd like to take this opportunity to humbly request a return of your 'manly chest AV'. True, 'tis a double edged sword - a feast for the eyes but only a tease in the case of touch - but 'tis a sting I would willingly accept.

Ever yours,
Lady J
 
Earl, I'm in. Just give me a day or so to get something written, sweets.
 
Two to be going on with:

Contestant no 1:

It was difficult to believe at first and wholly inappropriate anyway. I kept staring out of the picture window at the aeroplane snails leaving their sticky, criss-crossing cloud trails.

Two hours before my own flight of fancy.

If I'd looked to my left at that exact point I would never have made the trip, as it was I looked to the right.

It's not often that I'm frightened, it's even less often that I'm instantly attracted. Getting both from the blaze of one pair of eyes came as a blow.

The stem of the cocktail glass in my left hand broke cleanly through a missed crizzle, it wouldn't have broken otherwise, I'm as weak as a wet Wednesday these days.

I never did notice the carmine blotches across the expensive soft white leather of my Carl Harries. I was more immediately concerned with the flame which had sprung from vapour hovering over the drink.

Obviously my first thought was the cigarette in my right hand. But those fingers, with the offensive yellowing stains were pressed lightly to the window as though I were trying to read the contrails outside to divine their destination, as a child follows a line of words to extract meaning.

When I at last managed to tear my eyes away from the pyrotechnic display in my hand, never once attempting to damp the fire, she was no longer there. I did notice that I was now the centre of a small knot of attention, standing like some undersized Liberty amazed at the scrutiny of the wretched.

"And for my next trick" I announced and then drank down the fiery liquid. When I opened my eyes I was met again with that distressing gaze, it waited for a beat before turning and slipping through the door.

Up ending the glass on a handy table I said to anyone still listening (there were still a few) "I've been ChilledVodka four, I'll be here all week."

I ran.

The Earl
 
Contestant no 2:

Sally left to “pay a visit” half an hour ago and has yet to return. No doubt that red head of hers has been turned by something young and firm and juicy. I guess that means I’m off home via the 24 hour Tesco for wine and several blocks of chocolate.

I don’t know what made me look up at just that moment, but making contact with those powerful green eyes, I’d not be surprised if I’d been hypnotised into it.

It is difficult to see much in a club where bodies sway and thrash to the music accompanied by flashing lights and enwreathed in a veil of stale cigarette smoke; but those eyes, oh those eyes, seem to have beamed through all of that. Maybe that’s just the “sex on the beach” talking though.

Anyhow there is no denying that those eyes are green, not like Jim Carrey in the mask green, but more like that dark green you often see in velvet; that dark, middle of the rainforest green. And those cool on a hot summers day eyes are fixed on me.

I mean really fixed. Not just an accidental crossing of gaze but a definite stare in my direction. My cheeks are burning, they feel like they’ve been baking in the sun and I know they‘ll be glowing like a neon light in a kebab shop.

I drop my eyes and take a breath. When I look back up I expect him to have looked away, but no, he’s still looking at me. I don’t feel weirded out by his gaze, just a little uncomfortable. I wonder what he find so fascinating about me? My hair is not quite brown but not quite blonde. My eyes are blue, not azure blue or stormy skies blue, just middle of the road, kiddie picture blue. My face is round, leaning towards chubby and my features are plain. I’m honestly and truthfully very average.

Steve was always saying so. He said I was the most averagely beautiful girl he ever met. I always thought he was being cute, then he ran off with a stunningly gorgeous model and I realised I had been a stop gap. Any port in a storm, you might say.

I wonder if Green Eyes will come over to me? I flick my line of sight rapidly up to the sleek black hair, ruffled and not overly styled, back to the eyes - yup he’s still staring. My gaze flicks down to the soft sensual lips, thin then suddenly plump then thin again, and lower to the little dimple in his tapered, clean shaven chin.

Green Eyes is hot! Now I am not sure what to do. He’s been staring at me for what? Two maybe three minutes and he hasn’t made a move. Is he shy? Those eyes don’t seem shy, they’re fixed right on me for a start. That doesn’t shout “Shy” to me. Why isn’t he coming over then? Is he staring in horror? Have I got something between my teeth or around my face?

I slip my hand up my chest and to my chin then subtly rub at my cheek and face. Nope, nothing obvious there and what? Is he smiling at me? I see it in those evergreen eyes first, then at his lips. A smile, a sexy smile, and unless I’m much mistaken, a suggestive smile.

I feel a corner of my mouth lifting in a sly, knowing smirk. I look into those deep eyes and take an even deeper breath. I know this is the cocktails working but I lift a finger in front of me, right in the middle of our joined gaze and beckon him over, still smiling.

My heart hammers, louder than the thumping disco music, (or so it seems) I lick my lips nervously, my gaze dropping from his, unable to maintain the stare through my nerves. Will he come over?

The Earl
 
Sheesh. Already? Don't you people think we should have at least a week's rest? :confused:

Edited to add:

Also, not offense, The, but the theme is a bit limitative, in my opinion. For some (*cough*Colly*cough*) 700 words to describe "spotting someone across a crowded room" might be just right, but for half of us, a mere "spotting someone across a crowded room" wouldn't normally take more than 50 words, let alone 500 or 700... I don't think I can write a "spotting someone across a crowded room" half that long in my own voice, unless I went on some wild tangent that had absolutely nothing to do with the scene. :D
 
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Lauren Hynde said:
Sheesh. Already? Don't you people think we should have at least a week's rest? :confused:

Edited to add:

Also, not offense, The, but the theme is a bit limitative, in my opinion. For some (*cough*Colly*cough*) 700 words to describe "spotting someone across a crowded room" might be just right, but for half of us, a mere "spotting someone across a crowded room" wouldn't normally take more than 50 words, let alone 500 or 700... I don't think I can write a "spotting someone across a crowded room" half that long in my own voice, unless I went on some wild tangent that had absolutely nothing to do with the scene. :D
Click to expand...


Not even sure I can devote 700 words to spotting someone, but I am sure you can fill in the rest with what takes place pre and post spotting :D
 
Lauren Hynde said:
Sheesh. Already? Don't you people think we should have at least a week's rest? :confused:

Edited to add:

Also, not offense, The, but the theme is a bit limitative, in my opinion. For some (*cough*Colly*cough*) 700 words to describe "spotting someone across a crowded room" might be just right, but for half of us, a mere "spotting someone across a crowded room" wouldn't normally take more than 50 words, let alone 500 or 700... I don't think I can write a "spotting someone across a crowded room" half that long in my own voice, unless I went on some wild tangent that had absolutely nothing to do with the scene. :D
Click to expand...

Fair nuff, but the spotting may just be the kick-off for your story. It's not necessarily meant to be all about the spotting; just use the theme to run from.

And 700 words isn't a minimum, or a target, just a max limit. As the very-well-disguised Contestant No 1 has shown, it can be done in 357 words. Shall we say at least 200 words?

The Earl
 
Colleen Thomas said:
Not even sure I can devote 700 words to spotting someone, but I am sure you can fill in the rest with what takes place pre and post spotting :D
Click to expand...

I'm sure you could if you wanted to. :D
 
TheEarl said:
Fair nuff, but the spotting may just be the kick-off for your story. It's not necessarily meant to be all about the spotting; just use the theme to run from.

And 700 words isn't a minimum, or a target, just a max limit. As the very-well-disguised Contestant No 1 has shown, it can be done in 357 words. Shall we say at least 200 words?

The Earl
Click to expand...
Cool, I can live with that. :catroar: :D
 
Something of a public apology

Was under the impression that impatient people (not mentioning any Lou's) were waiting eagerly for the next installment, hence why it's here now. Sorry if it's rushed, but in true Mastermind tradition "I've started, so I'll finish."

The Earl
 
TheEarl said:
Was under the impression that impatient people (not mentioning any Lou's) were waiting eagerly for the next installment, hence why it's here now. Sorry if it's rushed, but in true Mastermind tradition "I've started, so I'll finish."

The Earl
Click to expand...

You apologize too much, Earl. :rose:

Just tell 'em to take the challenge and like it, dammit! :D

:heart:
 
Contestant no 3: who actually wrote 1,350 words and forced me to cut an absolutely beautiful sex scene.

You get all kinds at the truck stop if it's the only place open serving a hot meal after midnight. A place to eat in the middle of the night is a serious resource. There are plenty of truckers, too, of course, but every night owl in the county might be there.

So there she sat, alone at a small table along the windows. And she was fabulous. What I mean, clear your mind of the thought of every previous woman. What I am describing here was ideal made flesh. Your ideal woman may look different from mine; I sure hope so, anyway. But the important thing about her was she was exactly mine.

It made me keep looking. I didn't want to stare, but I kept turning again and again for another look. Maybe the wagging of my head tipped her off I was there; I did it enough to be noticed, I suppose. And this woman met my eye. I smiled without even thinking about it, I was so pleased it had happened. Then I realized I was grinning like some kind of puppy and broke the contact. I'd acted entirely without calculation, the woman surprised me into unguarded behavior.

She stifled a laugh. I looked again, and it was me she was laughing at, no question. I deserved it. My second smile was more rueful. I made a decision: I got up and went over there. Do we live? Or do we merely spectate?

"You're pretty bold," she remarked when I'd come within her distance.

"That's from you. I have something to ask you, if you won't mind. One of my characters is a high school senior who is so good looking it has affected how she lives life. She's just incredibly striking, radiant. And it affects everyone around her, they treat her differently. Maybe not a lot, but always a little, and not only to her good. Her idea of the world is bound to be different than other people's." She was still willing to hear me out, so I continued.

"So I wanted to ask someone like her how it really is. How do you think it has affected your life?"

Well, she had to say something to that, and she did, which let me know she'd gotten it.

"High school would maybe be best, but anything you can tell me. Please? You must have had an interesting life."

"I don't think... Just a minute! What are you saying, one of my characters? What characters?"

"Well, she's a high school student. She gets involved in something bigger than herself, it stretches her mind. She admires someone who's heading it up, it makes her re-evaluate what she wants a man to be like, too."

"But what characters, I mean. What are you doing, writing a book?"

"Yeah. But I need to know about how this girl lives, you can see that. Can I sit down?"

"Sure, here." She moved her purse out of the way and I sat down across from her. She looked even better.

I just waited.

"Do I get to know who you are?" she asked.

"Oh! Sorry. I'm Jeff Saxon."

"I've never heard of that name. You write books?"

"This is my first big one, I've done articles very occasionally. And I just started writing it one day; I've been working on it for maybe a year."

"You don't make it sound like writing is what you do for a living."

"No, for a living I'm an entrepreneur."

"Stocks and bonds, boards of directors?" She wrinkled her nose. "Get better clothes."

"No, those guys are capitalists for a living. An entrepreneur starts a business."

"Ah." She studied me.

"I started a little restaurant, a coffee shop, I thought the area needed one open late at night, and the big boys thought I was too much competition and bought me out. Did that twice."

"Okay, and you also write."

"Yeah, I cook, too. I promise not to use your name, but can I ask?"

That was how I met Barbara, and one thing led to another.


The Earl
 
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Contestant no 4:

I'd better come clean from the beginning. I was on the pull. I'd ditched my last girlfriend weeks ago and was shopping around. I'd seen this girl a couple of times, we catch the underground at the same station, and thought I'd try my luck.

I stood opposite her doing an appraisal. Absolute honey when you see her close up. Hardly any make-up, I like that, just a trace of lipstick, a faint perfume smell.

I'd given her space so I could look at her properly, holding my briefcase in front of me to deter anyone else from squeezing between us, then gave her my best smile, not too open, just friendly, to see if she'd respond.

Nice, a pretty smile, lights her face up. Good. Phase one accomplished. Now I look away, watch her in the reflection in the window. She's looking, sizing me up. I'm cool, look back and catch her eyes, shrug the shoulders, hot, crowded, doesn't matter what, just making contact.

She's petite, and I'm betting from looking at her that she's a fireball in bed; that 'butter wouldn't melt in her mouth' look is all show. Her hairstyle is a give-away, short, kind of unkempt like she's just got out of bed, or wants to get into bed more like. Nice blouse, pretty skirt, silk isn't it, clings sexily across her hips.

Oh oh. She's showing me an engagement ring. Christ she caught on quick! She's saying no. Ok, lets have a look around and see who else is in the carriage. What the fuck… !

In a split second, I'm tumbling through the air and end up with my head on her shoulder and my briefcase wedged between her legs.

I don't want to move. It's nice here. She smells… divine, the days stress on her skin barely masked by a trace of perfume. My hand is wedged between her legs gripping my briefcase handle and touching her cunt. To stop me falling she's clamping the briefcase between her legs and has an arm under me straining to hold on to me. Christ! You are one hot babe, bet that's sticky and sweet.

"I'm so sorry! I'll try and move." I say, whispering the words against her neck, I can feel her tremble.

We wrestle me into a position of tentative stability, and I kind-of drag my hand against her as I pull my briefcase out, and stand close to her, still touching her. She looks up at my face, a quizzical expression as if trying to decide what to do and gently pushes me away, though my hand lingers for a fraction of a second, and I can feel her tummy push against it.

I say, "I'm really sorry, the train… I lost balance."

She shifts a bit uncomfortably; probably got her panties wedged up there.

"Are you ok, you're not hurt?" I asked, putting on my most serious concerned voice.

She's looking down, looking where my briefcase had been. Ok, I'm thinking, I'll look to. Looks fine to me, though I'd like to see it a lot closer. I wonder if she wants me to kiss it better? Aww, she's blushing.

"You sure you are ok?" I ask again. "That was quite a blow. Maybe I can take you somewhere, get that looked at."

She saw straight through that, she was trying hard not to laugh. She shook her head in mock disgust turning to leave as the train pulled into a station. We held eye contact until the departing train vanished her from my view.

The Earl
 
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