Writing Prompts w Jobe

Just a couple days ago I posted this on Facebook:

This is awesome, but I’m upping the stakes. You intro me, I’ll intro you.

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The results have been unbelievably fun! Enjoy:


Kyle: I challenge you to introduce me and kill me in the same passage.

Agent R was on the case. His white tuxedo shone like the moonlight as he searched the crowd at the gala, his modern frames only serving to accentuate his dark eyes. His deep-toned skin had ladies of all shades catching their breath and staring, one even daring to brush his hardened bicep with her hand in passing. Sheesh, Agent, better turn it down a notch or it’s going to get a little steamy! Wait, steamy? Why was there suddenly a spray of steam in his face? The woman–it wasn’t a love squeeze, he realized too late, but the breaking open of a poison capsule, releasing the lethal dose right into his breath. No, Agent, it can’t end this way–


Ryan & Paige: The room suddenly exploded with color. Libraries are not normally known for their exciting or vibrant nature, but this appeared to be an exception. Having never seen color in action, they were caught unawares when a rainbow tsunami introduced herself to the room as a whole. “Hi! I’m Jasmine.” Before exiting just as swiftly as she entered.

Somehow, you never noticed the dullness of a room till all the excess color had been removed.

A flash of color and she was gone. “Was that a person? Did I just see a unicorn? Am I having a stroke?”

“Oh her? Nah just a highly caffeinated rainbow nerd.”

The tall lean man in jeans and form fitting black tee tips a hat at the passing rainbow, then sets his hat on the bar to run his fingers through his silky brown curls. He narrows his gaze, scanning the room with his big browns until they alight upon a figure across the bar. He walks purposefully toward her, his gait strong and unhurried.

The curvy coquette rolls her grey eyes, bored with the gawking crowds. Her form fitting red dress screams 1940s temptress, her dark curling tresses tamed in a complex binding of plaits. She sips her Manhattan, the perfect red of her lush lips leaving no mark on the glass. When the cowboy reaches her, she takes him in a passionate embrace that leaves him breathless, and he reaches for his mouth, curious at the object left there. A cherry stem, tied in a knot by the vixen’s skillful tongue.


Laura:  And suddenly the room was a little brighter, the air a little lighter, and I couldn’t stop the smile that grew on my face as I saw Jasmine enter the room.

Laura stood tall and slight of frame, comfortable in her easy farm clothes.

“I’m here to see a gal about a horse,” the brightly-colored new arrival grinned, and Laura nodded sagely, pushing her brown hair back out of her eyes and motioning for the gal to follow her outside. There the stables were breathtakingly filled with the most glorious mounts know to woman. Mares of all breeds and colors, and Laura knew each one by heart, having raised them each since birth. The stranger gasped, delighted, eager to select one. The walked down the row together, the one wide-eyed at the newness of it, the other completely comfortable in herself. The horse whisperer smelled of apple blossom and cedar. The visitor stopped in front of a pale pink mount, admiring its pearlescent horn.

“May I?” she whispered.

And Laura nodded, unlatching the gate and soothing the mare with knowing care.


Sam: The band played a lively dance number. Two strangers at the bar spoke briefly with the barkeep, who pointed toward the cloaked figure at the table in the corner. The men approached. “The barkeep says you can help us.”

Jasmine looked up from her drink.  “Five thousand credits.”

One of the strangers sat down. “You don’t know what we want.”

Jasmine shrugged. “I make problems go away. You’ve got one or you wouldn’t be looking for me.”

The two men exchanged a nervous glance before nodding in terse agreement, and the larger of the two spoke.

“I’m Sam,” he offered his hand, and she shook it. He was big and tall, a sturdy frame, and his deep browns shone out from a face dominated by a mighty beard. “The authorities have been -tracking- our movements of late. And we can’t allow Free Speech to be silenced, you understand?”

The woman sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re the poets, aren’t you?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, eyes darting suspiciously all around. “Word is you’re at the front of the Resistance. Is it true?”

The man blushed, tipping his hat in acknowledgement. “We do what we can, ma’am. Thing is, we’ve got something big on the horizon, and the opposition is getting too close. We need a decoy, a distraction, a–”

“Red Herring,” she supplied, deep in thought. “I’m in,” she stood and grabbed her coat, clinking a few credits on the table. “And this one’s pro bono. Let’s go.”


Rem: A high, girlish giggle drew my attention to the end of the table. A woman sat there, hands folded under her chin as she listen to her veritable viking of a husband talk. She grinned like an imp, dimples on her cheeks making me smile. Her colored hair was tucked behind her ear, and as I watched, she took the ends in her fingers and twisted it. She was like a little girl, full of glee, and in turn, her mood was infectious.

She could feel the man watching her, delighting in the attention of his glances. She looked over and winked, waving a little tinkle of her fingertips, and examined the man further. He was slight of frame, smaller than she might’ve expected, with a shock of brown hair obscuring one side of his face. He looked nimble, like the recline could be relinquished at any moment and the man would blur into action. He wore a whip on one side of his belt and a wicked knife on his other. The girl clapped her hands and tugged on the Viking’s sleeve, motioning toward the stranger.


Cody: She welcomed me into her warmly colorful home with open arms. Though I had never met her before, she seemed to be a friend from moment one. I was dazzled by the many versions of “rainbow” represented within her domicile, and jealous of the beautiful glow that exuded from her welcoming smile.

The small woman had the face of a changeling, pixie-like in high cheekbones and impish grins. He hair was long and flowing and her dress plain, but on her it shone, because she shone, and she could make a rag look like a gown. She seemed taut with unspent energy, ready to burst at any moment.


Karen: She entered with subtle confidence. Her pace was steady and assured. This girl was on a mission, seeking something, and her bright eyes widened on spotting her target. Me. I felt the color tickle at my cheeks when she approached. Her energy overflowed and her aura, warm and yellow like the rising sun, brushed my wide sense of personal space. She oozed vitality and vigor and I was overcome and nervous. Then she smiled, and I was at ease.

“Hi! I’m Jasmine, or Jazz, or Jobe. I work upstairs. Are you the new girl?”

“Yeah!” I could feel myself becoming stronger and more confident to mirror her. “I’m Karen. It’s nice to meet you.” Her energy was seeping into my senses and I was unaware at how widely I was smiling.

“Do you want to get lunch sometime?”

“Sure! I’d love that!!”

Her eyes squinted as her smile curled up. “Cool, just e-mail me when you want to go. Or come find me.” Jazz turned away and almost seemed to be skipping as she went back to the elevator.

Her absence leaving me surprised and oddly chilled. My co-worker returned and smiled and I asked him, “Do you know Jazz?”

He nodded, “She’s cool. A little odd. Her hair changes color all the time.”

I looked down, my eyes wide, a familiar feeling tickled and I thought, “Nerds. Is it that obvious that I’m one of them? They always seem to find me!”

Thinking back on that first lunch made her smile. Jazz always felt that gleeful energy when Karen was near. Karen was like an anime character–her face full of expression, the bounce in her step, the emotion she poured into whatever she was doing. Every new hair cut or hair style just exponentially multiplied her adore-ability, and how did that even continue to be mathematically possible?!?

Now Jazz was on her way back from Hot Springs with Chris and Conan, and Karen had agreed to meet up for lunch! Jazz made a show of breathing nervously, practically hyperventilating. “Okay, remember you guys, I did NOT just spend the last three days telling you guys how madly in love with her I am, okay?!?!?”
 
Chris frowned. “But you totally did.”
 
Conan agreed. “Yeah. I heard you.”
 
Chris continued, “What was it you said? That she had perfect hair and a perfect face and a perfect body and perfect AHEMS?”
 
Jazz died.
 
Conan continued, “What was it you were saying about her being the Lady Princess Love of Your Heart, or something?”
 
Jazz put on her best pouty-face, crossed her arms, and stomped a foot for emphasis. “You GUYS, you can’t SAY that stuff! I would be soooooo embarrassed. I would be mortified. I would LITERALLY DIE.”
 
Chris narrowed his gaze. “So Karen doesn’t have perfect little apple cheeks you could just bite?”
 
“Well she does, but–“
 
Conan tried to stifle a grin. “And you definitely don’t dream about if you were her knight in shining–“
 
“OKAY SHUT UP YOU GUYS! SHE’LL HEAR YOU!!!!!” The color drained from her face as they entered the gallery. “No more from you, Peanut Gallery.” She glared them down until they’d fastened their best straight and deadpan faces.
 
Jazz whimpered a little before steeling herself once more. “It’s just Karen,” she told herself. “It’s just your super adorable, completely amazing, unbelievably awesome friend Karen. No big deal. Breathe in, breathe out…”
 
Jazz walked up to the desk and cleared her throat to draw attention, leaning her elbow casually against the counter top. “Oh. Hey Karen. What’s up,” Jazz asked nonchalantly.


 

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