The Writer's thread (Authors, Screenwriters, playwrights, etc.)) - Part 1

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The Writer's thread (Authors, Screenwriters, playwrights, etc.))

It was an idea started in the SuperheroSkype thread by ComicChick and I think it's great idea to implement. So let's talk about writing! What do you guys write about? How much do you write a day? What is your process when coming up with ideas? How do you juggle writing with other commitments...

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Original Thread Found Here - CC

 

[Mrs. Sawyer]

It was an idea started in the SuperheroSkype thread by ComicChick and I think it's great idea to implement.

So let's talk about writing! What do you guys write about? How much do you write a day? What is your process when coming up with ideas? How do you juggle writing with other commitments? What advice would you have for other writers? Where does your inspiration comes from?

 

[Kyle]

I'd have to read it to be able to judge it, because it feels like it can go one way or another. Right now the original beginning is a great opening because it's immediate with a grisly image that stands out. An impact that hearing the howl then dialogue doesn't seem like it would necessarily have, unless accompanied by something that's as strikingly visual.

 

[Victarion]

Something will come out as I revise, I'm sure. Thanks again Kyle for being so receptive to my piece and followup questions.

 

[wnjcwjkk]

Inspirational thread. Really cool reading about all you creative folks developing ideas that may one day be shared with the world, working towards a dream. It's amazing, the infinite amount of stories out there, floating in the ether, waiting for someone to reach in and grab it and make it real by sharing it with others.


Since I was old enough to remember, I was obsessed with stories, fantasy, adventure, mysteries, heroes and villains. I could entertain myself for hours, with my toys, telling complete stories, playing out full movies in my head, writing little books and drawing comic books, I even started filming my own movies with friends when I was 9-12 or so. But then in my teens, I "grew up" and stopped creating stories, maybe i was just too self conscious and didn't have the motivation. But, I still have that creative urge. I often think about how much I loved storytelling and being creative, how I had a whole world that I could access inside my imagination, and I think about how much potential I had as a storyteller, in one way or another. I'm in my late 20s now, and I often think about sitting down and seriously trying to write, see what comes out if I truly tried to access that part of my creativity. Lack of confidence, motivation, free time, feeling like it's a waste of time or nobody would want to hear that story, feeling like it's too late to start now, are all obstacles that can easily be overcome. The worst that could happen, I wrote a story I don't like. It's definitely never a waste of time when you're being creative and using that part of your brain. So I commend all of you who have a story in your head and are working to make it a reality. Takes a lot.

 

[Victarion]

My latest rough draft of a short I'm calling Better Angels

Spoiler

[FONT=&quot]Quell weathered the Cleric-in-Chief’s storm of racial epithets in silence. His sleek ivory mask hid a contorted face that twitched with each of her slurs. Training kept Quell rigid as a gargoyle while the Cleric-in-Chief paced, her stout body bent like a drake studying fresh carrion. She grabbed objects from her desk and tossed them against her office wall to punctuate her rage.

“Bunch of ****ing ignorant morons – what do they know about running a blossoming nation?” Her voice had lost its veneer of grandmotherly kindness for façade of artificiality. She stopped, looked up at Quell. “Well, are you going to do your job not?”

“Cleric-in-Chief, I am a tool awaiting its proper usage.” Quell gave a half-bow.

The Cleric-in-Chief’s hands jerked into hooked claws. She raked a missive from her desk and thrust it at Quell’s mask. “Read it! Use your Primeval-given magic and bring these degenerates to justice!”

Quell took the missive, skimmed it. “Cleric-in-Chief, these folks simply want what you promised them.” He cocked his head. “Does an employer asking the employee to produce make the employer a degenerate?”

“It does when you pull **** like this! Just look at it, these scrying images!” The Cleric-in-Chief threw them at Quell. Then she poured a stiff drink and downed it in one go.

Quell did. He erected a shield against the grisly display: Their money is being dumped into your war while their heroes go to rot in your chapels, Cleric-in-Chief. Quell winced at the lie. Their heroes die in your chapels, get repurposed by the sculptors, and trotted out as the gods incarnate of your manufactured faith.

Quell found his shield of truth lacking in the face of the brutal executions depicted in the scrying images. An ache began growing in his temple. Why does it have to be so difficult?

“How long has this been going on?” Quell said, hesitantly. He had a good idea of the timeframe.

The Cleric-in-Chief gave the answer Quell dreaded. Since I rained magic down on their neck of Jungko.

“Deploy me, Cleric-in-Chief. I will see to it that justice is served.”

The Cleric-in-Chief’s haggard face pulled a smile that stopped short of her eyes. “Very good, Angel-in-Exile.”

Quell winced. He didn’t like the way she spat out his title. It is who I am. Why does it give you offense?

*
North of the Cleric-in-Chief’s cathedral of arches, flying buttresses and onion-dome turrets rose three casinos stocked with slots, tables, and delicacies imported from around the world. Sprawled in the darkness between was a network of streets leading to a hustler club whose façade was in disrepair. Demon hatchetmen stalking in the shadows trembled at the emanations from the oni statue hidden within Boss Urai’s hustler club.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
Boss Urai’s fingers brushed the statue of the chained oni as he reached for his ledger. He started at the faint, demonic chuckle in his ear. The slam of the book’s cover silenced it. The numbers in the ledger kept Urai tied to the thing sitting across from him.

“There’s no need for violence.” She leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs. “Primevals know this land’s seen enough of it.” The purple silk of her robes emphasized curves in all the right places.

Veil caught Urai eyeing her, leaned forward giving him a view of her cleavage while she took his oni statue. A black-gloved finger teased at the demon’s chains.

“The Prisoner, here,” she indicated the oni statue, “loves what you’ve done. He’s a runner for the oni kings in Eberrai. Smuggling minor demons to any interested in striking a bargain. Needless to say, he’s also upset at your desire to end the Cleric-in-Chief’s war.”

“My books have seen enough of this war.” Urai said. “Its hard enough keeping the other bosses from swooping in on my operations while the ****storm of war rages on.” He waved at this sumptuously furnished office. “All of this? It’s a reminder of where I came from. And, what I do not intend to return to.”

The Veil of Night nodded. “That’s more of less how your patron oni feels. Only, I need it back in Eberrai. The Naga are wrecking my homeland with privation. Their Orochi thralls have become wellsprings of toxic virtues. The humans there are looking for a juicy infernal pact or two to spice things up.”

“Well hey, then, today’s their lucky day.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
“Really, now?” The Veil of Night laughed. “The swirl of emotions is why the Prisoner is so fond of you, Urai. Putting on the wise mentor guise and convincing your newest acquisitions that they would avenge their dead parents, that takes—”

“Shut it, lady.” Urai reached into a drawer and took out a contract. “Its all numbers.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
“Exactly that, Boss,” the Veil of Night said as she signed the proffered contract. “Price and respect.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]*[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The Cleric-in-Chief locked her liquor cabinet. The knock at her door sent her hand back to the key. It lingered, shaking. She made a fist, dropped it at her side and said, “Enter!”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]An odor of reptilian oil crept in ahead of her visitor. He entered in a hiss of blue snakeskin leather, a broad albino whose sun-bleached hair scraped the room’s ceiling. The exarch held a bestial mask – a manned dragon with a square, fanged snout.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Its getting ugly down south.” The Exarch’s baritone voice eased the Cleric-in-Chief’s fist. His mouth hung open in a slight smile.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The Cleric-in-Chief massaged her temple. “It’s been ugly since time began. Why am I peddling excuses for the armies from Eberrai, Kargathdra, and Primevals know who else when they can’t maintain the peace?”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The exarch shrugged. “My clerics have a fresh clutch of your laboratory-grown gods prepped according to the description in the southland tribes’ holy books.” He proffered the dragon mask. “Don’t be too hard on the soldiers – the Navajko proclivity for violence is probably inbred by this point. The gene’s probably the same that encodes the extra digits.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The Cleric-in-Chief took the mask. “You can expect a fresh batch of soldiers for the EC program. The idiots need a reminder – if they fail, then I fail – and we’re all for the gallows if that happens.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The exarch nodded. “We’ll fulfill the inbreds’ end-world prophecies and all will be well. Nothing brings compliance like one’s gods returning triumphant.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
*

Veil of Night crossed the ruins of Jungko’s interior under the cover of night. Among the skeletons of academia she saw the banners of a dozen foreign nations. Colonnades were vandalized with the graffiti of traffickers, drug runners, and other pressgangs hiding behind the false flag of refugee relief. In the shadows Veil of Night picked out the natives. They were as prisoners, hiding in the lee of the Eyes of the Cleric.

Dawn heralded the end of Veil of Night’s quest. Within a jungle ravine she found the ziggurat and its surrounding village. She approached quietly. In the moldering village Veil of Night marked the hiding inhabitants. A red glow surrounded her gloved hands. Within the bundles of magic reptilian horrors probed their mystic prison. The grotesque hybrids of wingless dragon and lamprey were hungry. The threat of violence kept the locals in line.

Veil stopped at the fence surrounding the ziggurat. Confidence is what’s keeping them from attacking little ol’ five-foot nothing me. Soldiers were impaled on an arc of stakes. Bandoliers of ammunition ran the length of the execution. Among the soldiers were corpses with Boss Urai’s brand tattooed on their necks. A lot of help you were, Boss.

A snap behind her caused Veil to start, her finger depressing the mystic trigger keeping her sorcery in check. In a flash of red her horrors were freed. The pale creatures crouched, muscles trembling with weakness from disuse. Black eyes along their necks and lampreylike snouts blinked against dawn’s light.

Villagers rushed from cover, wielding axes, sickles, and hoes. Veil activated a pair of charms from Kargathdra. The first, hurled, hit the mass of horrors. It birthed a fiery serpent that devoured horrors and villagers whole. The second charm hit, releasing a black mist of leechlike tendrils that expunged the village of the sorcery’s residue. The threats cleared, her footprints wiped clean, Veil slipped between links of artillery and entered the ziggurat.

At the ziggurat’s heart lay a jitte inscribed with glowing green runes. Veil tapped into the mountains of distant Kargathdra and shattered the jitte with a slash of her hand. Green mist bled from the broken artifact.

“Welcome back, Elri.” Veil bowed to the creature that emerged from the green mist. Eyes burning like green coals swept the ziggurat. Slit nostrils in its blunt snout flared.

“It hurts.” Elri’s eyes narrowed. It grunted. “Primordials and Primevals does it hurt.”

“Yes, it does, Engineer.” Veil said. Cloak the lie in just enough truth. Just in case.

“Do not call me that. I’ve failed –”

“Throw a pity party and I’m throwing you back into the jitte. I’m not here to play your politics.” Veil laughed and shrugged. “I’m here to help, believe it or not.”

“I would hardly call summoning a host of Forerunners ‘help’.”

“Is that what you call those dragon-lampreys? Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of them.” Veil smiled. “I’m here to help you make a home. You would like that, yes?”

Elri nodded, leaning apelike on his knuckles. “That’s all any of us want. A place away from the wars.”

“Walk with me, Engineer.” Veil offered her arm. Elri’s scaley green one twined with hers. Together they walked from the ziggurat. Villagers had come out of hiding to congregate around the barrier of impaled soldiers. Awe of Elri bent their knees. The engineer loped forward, landed on squat froglike legs and pointed its staff at the corpse-fence.

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]A blast discharged from the staff. Clotted blood snaked from the corpses, wrapped with green fire, slithering among the ravine’s rocks. Blood magic woke elementals of mountain and jungle.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Veil let the crowd of Navajko villagers swallow her and Elri, then slipped away while the Engineer healed their hurts. Beyond the village’s walls she discharged her summoning spell. The dragon-lampreys groveled and mewled at her boots.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“Bring us the Cleric-in-Chief. You’ll know her by the scent of her ghosts.” Veil stroked a dragon-lamprey’s head. “They’re her favorite analgesic.”[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Veil cracked her knuckles, watching the Forerunners scuttle out of sight. She felt a tug on her snug dress and looked down. A kid, all skin and bones hidden in a shell of bone armor.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Of course there’s a kid, [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Veil thought. She pulled a smile and got eye-level with the little reminder of why she did what she was doing. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“Lady, please, can you help me?”[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“My, aren’t you a smart little one! You know the Eberraiese language!”[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“My mommy taught me.” Eyes shone with excitement. Voice brimming with eagerness, he said, “She bought me books from the seaside citadels!” His face fell, he sniffled. “She’s gone.”[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]The world’s history in three words: children are dying. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Veil pulled what she hoped was a sympathetic mask and took the little boy in an embrace. It would be my fortune to get cornered by a living one. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“I’m going to do what I can.” She felt the boy shaking in her arms. The *****-in-chief is first on my list. Lady’s going to fall, hard. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Veil tightened her hug, whispered what she thought a mother would to console her frightened child. How many like this one have I created, running my operations across this world?[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]The thought sent a bolt of impotent rage through Veil.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

*

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Quell walked the roads of the Cleric-in-Chief’s capital city. He felt the gaze of her Eyes of the Cleric tracking his progress. The Cleric-in-Chief’s aura didn’t radiate from her malformed corpse-gods. Their flesh glowed with white-hot anger for the Cleric-in-Chief.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]To the Ivory Tower, dear angel, [/FONT][FONT=&quot]was the prevailing thought coming from the ECs. The voices behind the thoughts were slow, heavy as if coming from someone fighting against a drug-induced coma. Their information was good. We are tired of her wars.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Quell entered the tower, found a library and settled in for a long night of research. He learned of the Navajko tribes that once inhabited a ravine. The same ravine to which the Cleric-in-Chief believed she had sent Quell. In the ziggurat they conjured a dirty bomb disguised as a nineteen-headed hydra. They tricked their enemies into killing the hydra, triggering the enchantment within the creature. Hate in their hearts motivated it. He pulled over a volume describing the interplay of magic with physics. Reverse spell engineering…I’m going to need some scratch paper.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Quell went to find paper and a writing utensil. On the way back to his hideaway, he stopped and glanced out a grimy window. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Always, it seems, there is sorcery. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]The glow of life coming from the capital city was strong. How many down there really agree with the Cleric-in-Chief….not many, I’m sure. He squared his shoulders and returned to the hideaway in the ivory tower. Always a sorcery.[/FONT][FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]His mind wandered into the past, to the skies above where he had soared on angel’s wings, blazing sword cutting a great black-and-red dragon to bits. At his command the sun’s light lashed the dragon, the flare cutting it to fiery chunks of burnt meat. The angel cast the molten rain across Jungko, razing the lands of native and invader alike.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]None of them were totally clean. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Quell leaned forward, breathed deep the musty air to remind him of what awaited the folk of Jungko if he failed in his duty to the Cleric-in-Chief. Not even me – that sorcery made it worse – but here’s the salve.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]He began learning the summons he would need to pull off the Cleric-in-Chief’s requested justice.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]*[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]The Cleric-in-Chief’s feather-winged elemental soared beyond the towers of her capital, southbound for the Navajko tribal lands. There the ruins turned to seas of saprolings crashing into her progress engines. The sentient flora was tearing into the manaline construction sites as easily as they shredded the multinational armies she’d brought in to oversee the line’s development.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]This is the **** I put up with. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]She clenched the talons of her elemental in a white-knuckled grip. These savages have got to learn what’s good for them. Her eyes widened when she saw the reddish-green projectile coming at her elemental. The elemental sensed her fear and flickered away from the spell. An explosion and shriek of convoy elemental told the Cleric that her EC transporters were under attack from a barrage of sorcery. [/FONT]

 

[Hellion]

Again, you're a great world builder Vic.

 

[Victarion]

Thanks. It isn't done yet. The last segment is where I start bringing it all together.

edit: Do the characters seem too sleezy? I tried making even the worst of them, at least, understandable.

 

[The Squirrel]

This might have been discussed before, but what programs do you write in? Do you just stick with Microsoft Word?

 

[DarthDaveBanner]

Anyone taking part in NaNoWriMo this year? It's my first time and I'm kind of nervous.

 

[Hellion]

This might have been discussed before, but what programs do you write in? Do you just stick with Microsoft Word?

Word and Final Draft mostly.

I had a script template six years ago... that I created in Word... and it took hours to get all the commands... but now I mostly use Final Draft. I still have the template saved, but mostly as a reminder for the day I spent making it.



Onto my work, with my superhero story, I've been told if I want to do that story outside of a comic book or graphic novel, it would help to do a graphic novel/comic book so you can package those materials as inspired by/base on...

So, the learning adventure begins again and I'm looking into comic writing... the other side of that is also finding and creating a team for the other components... art, etc. Fun.

 

[The Squirrel]

I really wanna get back into writing. My script ideas have kinda dried up, but I have a book idea I want to explore more. I just need to get disciplined in spending my time better. Also thought it would be good to just start with some basic creative writing exercises.

 

[KevanG]

For those writing Superhero stories, does anyone else find that the regular Super stuff you see in comics isn't anywhere near as interesting as the day to day stuff that's rarely mentioned?

It's one of the reasons I love reading the movie novelizations and originals novels Marvel/DC/whoever put out. We get to see a bit more behind the curtain that we almost never get to see.

I'm much more interested in how the government is dealing with mutants in the X-Men movies than seeing Wolverine go stab more folks. How does insurance work when you can get your house demolished by a giant green rage monster when some random guy stubs his toe? What laws are in effect when Supers are involved?

I know Astro City did some stuff with the idea and it's one of the reasons I love the series.

 

[Victarion]

I might be feeling that, Kevan.

In the Suicide Squad issues that the movie drew from - where Task Force X goes to Hell to square off with Incubus and Enchantress - there's a subplot where Waller's dealing with another gov't official that was blackmailing her into helping him get into some office or another. It was almost as intriguing as the actual fight against Incubus and his sis'.

As far as novelizations go, Peter David's Spider-Man 3 novel did a better job than Raimi of tying together the movie's villains into the plot.

 

[KevanG]

Speaking of movie novelizations, I picked up a copy of the Wes Cravens New Nightmare novel today. It's my fourth Freddy movie novel. I have the combo pack of 4/5 and Freddy vs Jason. I are happy. t:

I also have an omnibus of the books put out a few years back.

 

[Victarion]

The beginning of a short story, Untitled so far:

Spoiler

Out of one hole, into another.

Moga got a cigar from the cabinet by the winerack and went to his usual spot. There beneath the boss’s office he had a full view of the patrons’ tables, bar, and stage with its glitzy poles. Smoke from his cigar joined the sea of smoke in which swam the sharks. My prey’s run from the great hole in Kargathdra to this little rat’s’s nest in Jungko – right into the hustler joint at the heart of the entertainment district. His eyes searched the club. He’s here, swimming with the chum.

Chum, chum, chum, chums everywhere, Moga thought. Their badly tailored suits, mismatched armor, twitchy and jerky movement brought a sneer to his face. Chum waiting to be devoured by the sharks. He marked the underworld’s movers and shakers by their languid postures, relaxed body language as they spoke with their clients beneath the din of the night.

A thump snapped Moga to attention. One of the chums, Eberraiese from his looks, starred daggers at a wobbly wasted lady. She reached for his dreadlocks with a shaky hand. He slapped it away, shouted at her – his voice was shrieking, the words lost by the club’s steady beat. Taking a pull on his cigar, Moga slipped into their fight.

“Yoooor wun of them!” the lady said, throwing herself at the Eberraiese. Her fingers brushed his dusky face. He grabbed her tiny wrist in a fist. She screamed.

“Calm down,” Moga put out an arm to restrain the lady.

 

[Kyle]

One piece of advice I can give for emotional scenes is allow yourself to fully be in the moment. Any time after an emotional scene, I pull so much out of myself that I'm emotionally spent and depressed as hell. How do you get there? I'd say just find your connection into whatever it is that's going on. It's like acting in that sense.

 

[Victarion]

This Boss Urai/Veil of Night/Quell story is going to turn into a nano wrimo project, I think. The excerpt I posted right above Kyle's post, as it turns out, is happening in Boss Urai's hustler club shortly before, and during, the Boss's meeting with Veil.

 

[Ruth Fisher]

I have decided to write my own film but i don't know how to fill in the gaps you know what i mean

like i know how i want it to start and i know the big incident i want to happen but i need to think a little more!

 

[Victarion]

You should just get it on paper, then revise it.

 

[Kyle]

I have decided to write my own film but i don't know how to fill in the gaps you know what i mean

like i know how i want it to start and i know the big incident i want to happen but i need to think a little more!

Study script structure. At this point I would strongly advise against seeking to be revolutionary and break any rules. Stick to classic structure. As the saying goes first you need to know the rules in order to break them and that is beyond true.

 

[Ruth Fisher]

Yes, thank you guys. I have done some research, and I will do more but for now I am feeling very inspired <3

 

[Victarion]

Write like the wind. Just write and you can revise later. That's my game.

And if you are looking to sell your script, keep in mind what Kyle said - write by the rules, because I can't see a studio picking up a risky script from an untried talent.

 

[KevanG]

So I'm thinking of putting my book on Amazon but I'd like to get some reviews (not for amazon, just personal ones) on how it is and what people think about it. A few people on the Hype and that I know offline have a copy but I'd like to get some more feedback on it from people.

Right now it's in MS Word since I haven't gotten around to formatting it into an e-reader format.

If anyone's interested then let me know.

 

[Victarion]

Lovecraft inspired piece:

Spoiler

Out of one hole, into another.

Moga got a cigar from the cabinet by the winerack and went to his usual spot. He had a full view of the patrons’ tables, bar, and stage with its glitzy poles. Smoke from his cigar joined the sea of smoke in which swam the sharks. My prey’s run from the great hole in Kargathdra to this little rat’s’s nest in Jungko – right into the hustler joint at the heart of the entertainment district. His eyes searched the club. He’s here, swimming with the chum.

Chum, chum, chum, chums everywhere, Moga thought. Their badly tailored attire and jerky movement brought a sneer to his face. Chum waiting to be devoured by the sharks. He marked the underworld’s movers and shakers by their languid postures, relaxed body language as they spoke with their clients beneath the din of the night.

A thump snapped Moga to attention. One of the chums, Eberraiese from his looks, starred daggers at a wobbly wasted lady. She reached for his dreadlocks with a shaky hand. He slapped it away, shouted at her – his voice was shrieking, the words lost by the club’s steady beat. Taking a pull on his cigar, Moga slipped into their fight.

“Yoooor wun of them!” the lady said, throwing herself at the Eberraiese. Her fingers brushed his dusky face. He grabbed her tiny wrist in a fist. She screamed and started swatting him with her free hand.

“Calm down,” Moga put out an arm to restrain the lady. Her nails raked against his bare forearm. She jerked her hand back. The droplets of her blood smeared across Moga’s skin, but she was too wasted to notice. He saw the fear in his target’s eyes – in a blur of blue leathers Moga ripped away the disguise.

Gotcha, prey.

The prey’s wig, stage prosthetics and suit revealed the scarlet banner and slashed-eye sigil of Kargathdra’s Crimson Company. Behind him Moga heard the thump of boots running and the fading babbles of the drunk lady, gone to find a new plaything.

“’Ware the viashino! Swarthy man’s a viashino!” She flung an arm back at Moga’s prey, preaching about hidden cults where humans mated with pit dragons.

Bless their silly folklore, Moga thought, allowing himself a grin. My tastes are more unique than those rabid lizards. It telegraphed his wrongness, for the edges of his lips extended, downturned, and just shy of his earlobes. A cocktail of fear and anger poured from the prey’s pores. The taste kept him in a good mood.

“You’ve come to stop Night’s work.” Moga said. He darted around his prey, staying close, and locked his grip around the prey’s arms. The prey screamed as Moga held him. “That’s not happening -”

The prey let his legs give out, landed in a crouch and grabbed a handful of Moga’s blue leathers. Using Moga as a pivot the prey hauled on the predator. Leather ripped and Moga remained immovable as a mountain. The prey stumbled forward when Moga released him, eyes wide at the fresh leather growing to replace what he’d torn from the predator’s uniform.

The hatchetmen arrived, the thump of their halt like nails in a coffin. “What’s going on here?”

Moga stepped aside, allowing Boss Urai’s hulking hatchetmen to surround the prey.

“I’ve gotten complaints from the girls.” Moga nodded to one of the many human trafficking posters plastered to the walls near the entrance, restrooms and private rooms. “We’ve got a zero tolerance policy to maintain.”

The hatchetmen seized the prey and hauled him away, one of them slamming a large palm across his face to silence his protests.

Moga said, “Let’s put this one on ice until the authorities arrive.”