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Eyes so Blue 2.0/ Trying to find one's inner writer #4



Publisher: "You forgot one thing, Sherlock."
Me: -re-reads his notes- "What did I forget?"
Publisher: "NAMES! Not a single one of your bloody characters has a name!"
Me: "Frank is bloody and he has a name. And Charles-"
Publisher: -face palm- "Let me rephrase it: no one of your MAIN characters has a name."
Me: "So?"
Publisher: "You can't keep calling them 'the lady with the black gloves', 'host', etc." (¬_¬)
Me: "What if I use capitals like 'the Lady with the Black Gloves'?"
Publisher: "No shit, Sherlock. Get me some REAL names!"
Me: -_________________-"

Me: "Alright. The host is called....Heathcliff. No comment?" -looks at the publisher-
Publisher: "Why are you looking at me? It's your story..." (¬_¬)
Me: "And the lady with the black gloves is Lady Lampoo."
Publisher: "OBJECTION!"
Me: "I like that name." (¬_¬)
Publisher: "It's 'shampoo' with an 'L' instead of the 'SH'."(¬_¬)
Me: "I know." ^w^
Publisher: "Give that woman another name!"
Me: "Lady Madeline?"
Publisher: "Is that the best you can come up with?"
Me: "Yes." -____________________________________-"
Publisher: "Granted. Continue the story."


As you wish...


Charles returns to the party.

"Have you found my beautiful wife?" Heathcliff asks the butler.
"There's something you should know, sir." Charles feels like informing his master about what happened in the Scarlet Room.
"She ran off," the lady with the black gloves intervenes.

The host is confused.

"Let's discuss it in your study, dear. The guests don't have to know this," Lady Madeline hushes her son.

Once in the host's study Heathcliff and Lady Madeline continue their conversation.

"Your wife packed her stuff and ran off with one of the servants," she says.
Heathcliff wants to know which servant betrayed him.
"She ran off with Frank," is the answer the cold blooded murderer gives him.

"She left me for pimple face?!" he's in shock.
"Some women like them young," the lady with the black gloves grins.
The host gets pissed: "You're not helping, mother."
"Good riddance, I would say," she grabs some champagne glasses.

Heathcliff sinks in his arm chair. "Where's Charles? He must inform the guests the party is over." The host burries his head in his hands.
"Au contraire, loverboy," mommy laughs, "It's just getting started. Have some champagne. Let's celebrate you're single once again."


Publisher: "I like that woman. How old is she?"
Me: "Ancient. She's about your age."
Publisher: "I'm not ancient." (¬_¬)
Me: "Oh, please. You could have been my grandfather." (¬_¬)
Publisher: "And I would have been, if your grandma didn't keep rejecting me."
Me: "Can't blame her."
Publisher: (¬_¬)



(image found at: www.bunnyrace.com)


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