Introduction #3 - Mad Max
Jul. 5th, 2006 10:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellyssianBarely even a tentative title - just for identification purposes - this tale has been told before. I've always liked the Mad Max stories, particularly how Max becomes an unwilling hero, destined to walk away on his own at the end. That's what this will be about. Mad Max, minus the internal combustion engines, set in a post-apocalyptic world (or not) some 100-200 years ago, with steam powered road engines. Not sure if there will be anything magical or fey in this one. Might be closer to an alternate history than anything else - this one is going to take a wee bit of research. Might wind up with demons in the firebox ala Howl's Moving Castle, but until those types of things start appearing I want it to be as accurate as possible.
Oh yeah, and Max, in this one, is not a he.
"That's women's work, wot it is, 'ave at it, Maxie ol' girl."
The hush that fell in the station roadhouse was as palpable as the dirty toothed smile that seemed to fill the room.
After several painful moments, sweat dripping from brows nearly as loud as the tap-tapping of fresh draft gone to waste, a delicate young flower of a girl threw back her pretty little head and laughed loudly and unashamedly. Those nearest to that particular section of the bar started to breathe again.
"Good one there, Earl, good one!" she clapped him on his back with a resounding thump, dust clouds billowing out from his long leather coat. The bartender stopped calculating the cost of anticipated repairs and pulled another pint. Tentative conversation picked up where it had left off – the usual topics: long drives, dust storms, tonnage taxes, wildly unlikely road kill, wells gone dry, hot nights and hotter days, omens and signs, rumours and lies.
She had just put the pint to her lips – made up like the best roadhouse tart – when he spoke again.
"I weren't joshin' none."
And with that, an almost complete silence fell.
She finished draining the pint, set it down, and then sent Earl flying off the stool, all two dozen some stone of him. The bartender counted off the tables and chairs destroyed in Earl's flight in sterling, his frown deepening with every addition. He issued a sigh of relief when Earl stopped short of the frame window, and then he handed the pint down to where she lay on the floor.
"That's one of her trademarks, you see. Picked it up from the roos, and she made it work for her." Martin leaned forward, confiding to Ol' Pete, who knew it well enough. Most of them did, although foresight never helped those targeted by the technique in avoiding it. Ever the fount of the obvious wisdom, Martin couldn't help himself, "Earl thought he was good, settin' next to her right proper, an' up 'gainst the bar. Earl thought wrong."
Both of her feet had hit Earl in the stomach, that's what had sent him flying. Of course, first she had taken his lunch, mashed it in his face, yanked him off the stool and spun him in front of her, kicked her own stool aside, and rolled on her back, her skirts fluttering back indecently.
Oh yeah, and Max, in this one, is not a he.
"That's women's work, wot it is, 'ave at it, Maxie ol' girl."
The hush that fell in the station roadhouse was as palpable as the dirty toothed smile that seemed to fill the room.
After several painful moments, sweat dripping from brows nearly as loud as the tap-tapping of fresh draft gone to waste, a delicate young flower of a girl threw back her pretty little head and laughed loudly and unashamedly. Those nearest to that particular section of the bar started to breathe again.
"Good one there, Earl, good one!" she clapped him on his back with a resounding thump, dust clouds billowing out from his long leather coat. The bartender stopped calculating the cost of anticipated repairs and pulled another pint. Tentative conversation picked up where it had left off – the usual topics: long drives, dust storms, tonnage taxes, wildly unlikely road kill, wells gone dry, hot nights and hotter days, omens and signs, rumours and lies.
She had just put the pint to her lips – made up like the best roadhouse tart – when he spoke again.
"I weren't joshin' none."
And with that, an almost complete silence fell.
She finished draining the pint, set it down, and then sent Earl flying off the stool, all two dozen some stone of him. The bartender counted off the tables and chairs destroyed in Earl's flight in sterling, his frown deepening with every addition. He issued a sigh of relief when Earl stopped short of the frame window, and then he handed the pint down to where she lay on the floor.
"That's one of her trademarks, you see. Picked it up from the roos, and she made it work for her." Martin leaned forward, confiding to Ol' Pete, who knew it well enough. Most of them did, although foresight never helped those targeted by the technique in avoiding it. Ever the fount of the obvious wisdom, Martin couldn't help himself, "Earl thought he was good, settin' next to her right proper, an' up 'gainst the bar. Earl thought wrong."
Both of her feet had hit Earl in the stomach, that's what had sent him flying. Of course, first she had taken his lunch, mashed it in his face, yanked him off the stool and spun him in front of her, kicked her own stool aside, and rolled on her back, her skirts fluttering back indecently.
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(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-06 12:16 am (UTC)I think it's "threw" not "through".
Also, wouldn't 300 stone be something like 6000 pounds? I think a stone is 20 lbs.
Nonetheless, it's an intriguing set-up! I'm curious to learn more...
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-06 01:20 pm (UTC)I was using "stone" as a direct substitute for "pound", but as this story has a stronger technical nature, I need to be accurate in such things. Thanks for pointing that out!
I do most of the writing up in the bedroom, and teh intarweb connection is downstairs... much fun when I can't think of a word and just need dictionary.com or thesarus.com, or need to look up a more involved reference. Full Moon Poetry still has one thing that says "pantsslacksDESIGNERBRAND" or something like that. I expect even more research needed for this piece, especially in regards to steam tech and the experience of running a road engine.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-09 04:16 am (UTC)Oops.
I fixed it to two dozen or so stone, which is closer to what I wanted. Changed the through to threw.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-09 12:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-10 01:26 am (UTC)(The "ooops" was supposed to indicate "6000 pounds is much closer to 4200 than 300 is, so you were closer to an accurate answer than I was." )