Ok, we had a little fun in the chat today with putting characters on the scene in the Manderville Murder Mystery... and apparently, it's taken off.
Post a paragraph of how your character, or someone else's, might be described in a Noir story.
Here's the ones I did today that prompted the thread:
Coatleque Crofte:
"Of course I noticed the redhead. Half the slackjaws and randy Lalafell in the joint had, too, from the way they were gradually circling around her like moths to a chandelier. They say she used to be decorated, one of Thanalan's best, but now... scandal, uncertainty, and whispers followed her like dust behind a wagon in the desert. Still, she could be deadly. Best I just stayed camouflaged with the other moths until she made a move. Nice gams, though."
Warren Castille:
"As if I didn't feel like a minnow in a shark tank already, -he- showed up. The Arbitrator, the man on whose shoulders Pain and Glory sat taking turns to see who was going to tongue-kiss the next bright-eyed fighter to take up a sword and lose all sense. But this was no place for him. There was no glory of combat here, no sweat or grunts or ringing of steel for him to orchestrate from his rock in the Wash. No. He was just a spectator, this time. This was death in its most insipid, and if I was just patient, he'd leave, taking his throng of groupies with him, and let me do my job in peace."
Flynt and Ritsu Knoltros;
"Yeah, that was him. Knoltros. Trouble followed him like a Peiste stalking lost lalafell on the way to Horizon. They say he made people laugh, made 'em smile, wherever he went. Not a likely suspect, but too much of a distraction. Of course, I wasn't watching him for long, not when that long legged dame of his came strutting up behind him, a woman out of a fairy story, all sweetness and light and somehow entangled with this guy like a bird of paradise sitting in a dead tree. I was going to need another cigarette."
Leggerless (Elise Wolfe):
"Wolfe. Elise Wolfe. The name came bounding out of memory like a coeurl kit chasing a dying bird. Always had it together, that one - contained, tight, every move orchestrated, as if life were a play and she had overrehearsed. She could pass for a noble, in the right outfit, except for that glint in her eye. That look... that was a look that hawks gave to doves, that, indeed, wolves give to hares. There was no question in my mind - she could kill. But did she? I hoped I wouldn't have to ask."
Post a paragraph of how your character, or someone else's, might be described in a Noir story.
Here's the ones I did today that prompted the thread:
Coatleque Crofte:
"Of course I noticed the redhead. Half the slackjaws and randy Lalafell in the joint had, too, from the way they were gradually circling around her like moths to a chandelier. They say she used to be decorated, one of Thanalan's best, but now... scandal, uncertainty, and whispers followed her like dust behind a wagon in the desert. Still, she could be deadly. Best I just stayed camouflaged with the other moths until she made a move. Nice gams, though."
Warren Castille:
"As if I didn't feel like a minnow in a shark tank already, -he- showed up. The Arbitrator, the man on whose shoulders Pain and Glory sat taking turns to see who was going to tongue-kiss the next bright-eyed fighter to take up a sword and lose all sense. But this was no place for him. There was no glory of combat here, no sweat or grunts or ringing of steel for him to orchestrate from his rock in the Wash. No. He was just a spectator, this time. This was death in its most insipid, and if I was just patient, he'd leave, taking his throng of groupies with him, and let me do my job in peace."
Flynt and Ritsu Knoltros;
"Yeah, that was him. Knoltros. Trouble followed him like a Peiste stalking lost lalafell on the way to Horizon. They say he made people laugh, made 'em smile, wherever he went. Not a likely suspect, but too much of a distraction. Of course, I wasn't watching him for long, not when that long legged dame of his came strutting up behind him, a woman out of a fairy story, all sweetness and light and somehow entangled with this guy like a bird of paradise sitting in a dead tree. I was going to need another cigarette."
Leggerless (Elise Wolfe):
"Wolfe. Elise Wolfe. The name came bounding out of memory like a coeurl kit chasing a dying bird. Always had it together, that one - contained, tight, every move orchestrated, as if life were a play and she had overrehearsed. She could pass for a noble, in the right outfit, except for that glint in her eye. That look... that was a look that hawks gave to doves, that, indeed, wolves give to hares. There was no question in my mind - she could kill. But did she? I hoped I wouldn't have to ask."
"But in the laugh there was another voice. A clearer laugh, an ironic laugh. A laugh which laughs because it chooses not to weep."