-
NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
Fall Ceramic DM - Final Round Judgment Posted!
- Thread starter mythago
- Start date
Halivar
First Post
Holy cow. I can't believed I "proofed" my story twice. There are "sentences" in their that I don't even understand, now. Must have been dead-tired when I finished.
My favorite: "It was midnight, almost 11 o'clock..." Looks like I forgot to do some editting. Real shoddy work, on my part.
My favorite: "It was midnight, almost 11 o'clock..." Looks like I forgot to do some editting. Real shoddy work, on my part.
BSF
Explorer
Heh - Welcome to the joys of Ceramic DM Halivar. After posting a story I have found entire sentences that were missing. I could have sworn I wrote them, but they aren't there. I have found temporary gender changes as well as grammatical and spelling errors galore. You really want to be done a day early so you can proofread on a good night's rest. But the story doesn't always come as quick as you would like.
alsih2o
First Post
Doo do doo do
Jaimie gripped at the aluminum bar as he heard the words come over the radio again.
“Jamie Summers, scandal ridden actor, seems to have escaped indictment yet again…”
“Hi Me.” Thought Jaimie, not Jay Me.
The press had adored him and reviled him. They also made a good bit of money on covering his life. The bastards still got his name wrong though.
He yanked the bar to the left and swung wide over the beach, listening to the nylon wings shudder against the wind.
“I am not the problem!” he screamed to noone in particular.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fourteen months had passed since the video hit the Internet and still he seemed to always be in the news. He had donated an entire wing to the children’s hospital and got 20 seconds on the local news. When he had dated the leggy actress form his last movie it was worth several minutes to the entertainment reporters. When he was discovered in Guatemala they had all adored him.
Now people just wanted to talk about the sex tape.
In the foggy recesses of his memory he could almost recall the picture being taken. The army had only recently set up camp near his village. They had brought a wondrous variety of toys with them. As his peers had climbed over the cannons and trucks Jaime was always just outside the commanders tent, listening intently to the radio.
That radio was the greatest wonder to him. With a seemingly effortless style he had learned the music that came in short bursts between the speakers. Those speakers would drone for what seemed forever and then it would come. That sweet, sweet music. Never more than a few seconds worth and then it was right back to the men rambling in their foreign tongue.
He would wait patiently and when the drums came he knew the music was on its way.
Doo do doo do do do doo doo, do doo do doo do doo..
He had no idea who had written the music, at that young age he wasn’t even aware that music could be written down, but he loved it. It was happy, quick and to the point.
Standing outside the crowded tent he was playing along with the music when he heard the white man singing along. “My bologna has a first name..”
He turned to see the man and before he could remove the pipes form his lips the flash hit his eyes. His mother said he hid in the house for 3 days after that. Scared of the man with the lightning box.
Weeks passed, months. And the rains came. Most of his village was destroyed but when the aid workers came they all smiled at Jaime. They had a book. A magical book full of colorful pictures.
One of the pictures was of Jaime.{boy with pipes pic} He stood there looking fat in the face as his cheeks puffed to fill his pipes. The workers seemed thrilled to find him alive and well. They all posed for pictures with him and insisted on him playing his pipes for them over and over.
This was his first taste of fame and he liked it. He would play the foreigners songs and they would clap and smile and feed him anything he wanted. And when they discovered his parents had died in the slides he was given very special treatment. They took him with them.
America. He was evidently going to a place called America. The plane scared him, the height scared him, the noise scared him, but oh, what a treat when he landed. It was obviously paradise. Just like his father had told him when he couldn’t sleep, lights everywhere- even at night!
It seemed everyone in the country had fallen in love with his picture when it appeared in the magazine. His rescue by the aid workers had been dubbed a miracle and his new country quickly embraced him.
He was trotted out in front of large crowds to play his tunes. Commercials they called them. The hosts of several shows adored him and it didn’t hurt at all that advertisers embraced him so thoroughly. Providing a service for free to rich people gains a certain measure of exposure.
Eventually, a starlet adopted him. Her career didn’t go much of anywhere but she seemed to have a certain knack for placing him in the right place at the right time.
Some kiddy underwear ads, a few small plays and the next thing you know he had a regular role on a soap opera. This led to a small movie and then a bigger one. The next thing Jaime knew he was 22, tall and handsome, earning more money than he knew what to do with.
Two blockbusters followed. His natural grace and stunning dark looks kept him a step ahead of the competition. They also kept him in the media spotlight. He made huge donations to children’s funds, threw lavish parties and gained a reputation as a generous, if a bit wild, young star. And all that is available with the lifestyle came to him.
Women especially.
He started hang-gliding and racing cars. He enormous bar tabs surrounded by extreme sports stars and adoring groupies and he paid them with flourish. With his strong Latin looks, dangerous airborne lifestyle and clean glow he became irresistible to his public. Nubile young models, gifted actresses and constant propositions from women on the streets distracted him, but only away form work. At work he was all business.
If only he had been at work.
When works makes you popular people have a habit of finding new work for you to do. Opportunities and requests to back all kinds of causes get sent your way. Some of them quite worthwhile like his work with the children’s hospital.
Work. Jaime and his agent always referred to it as his charity work. Signing the check was extent of the effort. He intended to do good things and his money did do a lot of good things. It is just that Jaime was usually busy somewhere else.
Then it got personal.
When working the crowd at a fundraiser a young woman carrying a sheaf of papers approached him. She had presented herself as an activist for Planet One, a radical environmental group.
What she showed him finally got him involved. Satellite photos, geological samples, everything was laid out right in front of him and for only him. This girl had done her homework.
Regular Oil had caused the landslide that destroyed his home village. Poor safety practices in by their exploration unit had eroded the hill above them until the rains brought it down. What was worse was the money. This lanky, scrubby girl had documented a clear paper trail showing that Regular Oil had avoided any punishment by greasing the right palms. Particularly greasing the palm of Senator Greg Storros.
“Where do I know that name?” he asked.
The young lady tried not rolling her eyes. “He is running for president.”
That is when his work changed. He was sly about it. First he signed a multimillion-dollar contract to star in Ra: Sun God. The picture was budgeted at over 100 million dollars and practically guaranteed him a place in the spotlight for months to come.
Then he set about giving speeches, and raising money. He was relatively quiet about it at first, not really leaving his home state much but eventually he started getting national attention for much more than his good looks.
Rallies and commercials mixed in with post- production work on the last film he finished Inch, where he played a man shrunk to the height of a bug. He had enjoyed working with the elaborate sets, even going so far to keep a giant ink quill used as a prop in one scene.
As the election wore on he became more and more prominent in his party, gathering large crowds wherever he spoke. As his popularity grew more evident to the party they invited him to speak at their convention. His dalliances with various women were smoothly glossed over by the party machinery and he found that his image was enhanced by his stance as a moral example.
Jaime wasn’t the only one who noticed. Peter Cole, the brain behind Senator Storros, quickly took notice of Jamie’s efforts. A popular, handsome, bilingual star was not part of his campaign plan. So he hatched a new plan, his favorite kind- cheap, easy and genius with the added benefit of noone knowing it was his.
Jaime spent the weekend before the convention literally strapped to a table.
“Hold still!”
He was sure he had heard it 1000 times today and this was only his 3rd session, four were scheduled. The lady had seemed nice when he first met her.
“My name is Diana” She pronounced it Doy-ah-nuh “and I am going to make you Ra, baby!” Her energy and charm encouraged him. If he was going to spend 30 hours having a costume custom made to fit every nook and cranny of him at least it would be with someone interesting.
Turns out the woman was some kind of Costume Nazi. As soon as introductions were over she started slowly into the instructions. Somewhere along the way she had started with orders and then demands as the pinched and pulled at him, pulling his body into ridiculous contortions or demanding that he hold perfectly still.
“Hold still! Do you wanna look like a Sun God or just some idiot painted gold?” she pronounced it Go-Wuld.
It was taxing and he only survived the last few hours by planning out his night ahead. He would pick up his glider and hit the hill. An hour or so in the air, maybe swinging over his beach house, and it was off on the boat. Preferably with a young lady.
Jaime thought luck was with him. As he cruised high over the beach that day he could see a group of young ladies sunning themselves on his beach. It was a private stretch of beach and when someone found their way onto it they were usually rabid fans or ladies with few requirements outside his presence. He was hoping for the latter.
He swung wide and arched down over the surf. By pulling hard on the nose he was able to land on the beach the short way, facing inland. The girls were suitable impressed.
“Hi.” Said the blonde. “We’ve got a camera.” She said, holding a small digital video cam shoulder high with a limp wrist.
“And…urges.” said her friend, resting a hand on the other shoulder.
He read the blondes shirt “Phi Gamma Beta. Tell me, would you like to come inside?”
He awoke to a beautiful morning and found that the girls were doing exactly what he always wanted his conquests to do in the morning hours- be someplace else. The doors were locked and nothing seemed to be missing.
Jaime chuckled to himself “Long way from grass skirts.”
He took a long shower and had Bloody Mary. Things definitely looked well, one last day of sitting at the beach, a quick speech on opening night at the convention and off to make a blockbuster.
Late in the day, as he began to think about driving into town for dinner, the call came.
“Jaime, have you seen the news?” he recognized the voice; it was the party’s press representative.
He flipped on the television and quickly muted it, hoping she didn’t recognize the noises from the porn channel it had been left on. He channel surfed down to the all news network and saw himself. It was a stock photo from Inch, he was leaning against the 8-foot tall ink quill he had upstairs.
And there were the girls from last night. They were crying as their parents spoke.
“High school girls! Young innocent under-age girls!” screamed the man.
“I’ll call you back.” Said the press rep.
It took a few minutes before he realized she wasn’t going to be calling back. Several frantic attempts also revealed that his agent wanted little to do with him anymore either.
Jaime was forced into watching the convention from his couch. He hadn’t dared leave the house; the press was parked all over his street. He had seen a chance to make a difference in a legitimate way for once and he had seen it squandered.
A second rate third baseman for a has-been team was warming up the crowd in his spot when the call came form the studio. It seems that the possibility of lawsuits was forcing the insurance company to separate from the project; Ra: Sun God was on indefinite hiatus. This was Hollywood for cancelled.
He bided his time, and stretched his money. He hadn’t been a miser but he had set back a small bit and he was sure it would last until this blew over. This became a problem he had not seen coming.
It seems one of Senator Storros’ favorite causes was safety and Peter Cole had more tricks in store. Several lawsuits came, one after another. His Xtreme video game endorsement dried up, then he was sued in conjunction with his helmet endorsement. Combined with a lack of work coming in he started to buckle, financially and mentally.
“It’s just the house now Jaime.” said his accountant.
“How can that be?!” he cried
“Look, it happens. You had it; you worked it, now it ain’t happening. No biggie.” He had always hated this man who reminded him more of a loan shark than an accountant. “You’ll come back, kid. Nobody ever gets unfamous. Worse comes to worse you already know how to live in a hut, right?”
Jaime shuddered and hung up on the man. He grabbed the closest bottle and tilted it towards the night sky. When it had nothing left to offer him he grabbed another.
The bleariness that surrounded him gave way to a booming, insistent voice.
“It is their morality, or rather the lack thereof that should shock us! It is their morals, or what passes for them that we should stand against! It is the loose ways of people like Jaime Summers that will corrupt all of us if left unchecked!” boomed the voice to an appreciative and convinced crowd.
It was Candidate Storros, speaking at the Hollywood bowl. His voice echoed out over the open-air theater. “Are we going to allow these people, bought and paid for, to tread on our flag?”
Jaime slammed his foot into the top of the TV and as it hurdled off the stand he saw the swath of rainbow riding the ocean beyond it. His home, his last worldly symbol of what he had become wash being washed against by a high tide covered in the broadly colored palette of an oil slick. Beyond the protective cover of the beaches arms swinging widely around the bay limped a gargantuan ship spewing raw crude into the sea.
He ran to the porch and swung the telescope he had bought to impress an egghead date with a short dress out, aiming it at the horizon. The ships side read The Regular Cortez.
He snapped.
Jaime ran for the 1st story, grabbing gear on his way. He arrived in the garage to his fully packed SUV and jumped in.
He struck 3 reporters and a photographer with his truck as he tore out the garage door and across his small lawn. Without a pause he tore down the street and headed inland making a mental inventory of everything he would need. A thought struck him and he banked hard northwards across 3 lanes of traffic. He headed uphill towards the studio.
“Dude! Cool suit!”{goldguy pic} said the young boys riding their mountain bikes by as he prepped on the hilltop.
“
off!” he replied, his voice a growl compared to the saccharine sweet tone of his characters.
“Dude, is that like a gun, or, like a lance like one of those knight guys use or what dude?” drawled the muddy boy on the bike as Jaime checked his cables one last time.
“It’s a quill you illiterate schmo. Do you even know what a quill is?”{quill pic}
“Ain’t that, like, a porcupine thing, dude?” asked the biker.
“No, it is an idiot gun you moron, shut up before it goes off in your direction.” Jaime was practically frothing.
The boys rode off, one hollering back over their shoulder “You looked like a fag in Dating Misty!”
He secured his cargo and began running down the hill. As soon as he could feel the lift sufficiently he pulled up his feet and watched the earth fall away. He felt safe for the first time in days.
With 40 miles to cover and a scant hour of sunlight left he banked towards the ocean and followed the beach towards his destination. He reached to his waist and turned on his satellite radio.
Jaimie gripped at the aluminum bar as he heard the words come over the radio again.
“Jamie Summers, former actor, seems to have escaped indictment yet again…”
“Hi Me.” Thought Jaimie, not Jay Me.
The press had adored him and reviled him. They also made a good bit of money on covering his life. The bastards still got his name wrong though.
He yanked the bar to the left and swung wide over the beach, listening to the nylon wings shudder against the wind.
“I am not the problem!” he screamed to noone in particular.
He swept down to risky level to view the beach near his house one more time. He felt the sickness rise in his stomach as he saw the colors spreading through the water. {beach pic} Swinging inland he caught a thermal and rose high over the mansions beneath him.
The thermals carried well up and over the low hills that made the valley barrier, when he broke over the edge he could see the amphitheater less than a mile ahead. He tightened his grip on the quill and, for the first time, practiced sighting down its tip.
He was swaying and tilting, attempting to gain some control over his aim when the panic first struck him. He lifted hard and out of control, the harness straining against his weight and the breath was sucked form as he caught the wash of a jet.
He accepted the possibility that he would be seen, but not this far out. As he regained control of the craft he cursed his decision to wear the mask, it blocked his vision, making it hard to steer.
He was struggling to remove it when the first round struck him. He wasn’t even aware that he had been shot. It felt like a blunt blow, like a bird had struck him. The steady scarlet stream running out of his golden shirt was his only clue. As he watched the trickle increase he became aware of the fire.
Rounds ripped through the carriage and him, he lost his grip and the quill fell. He could almost hear the silence of it passing through all that empty space when the clatter of the cars it struck below jarred him back.
It finally began to burn. He had played out the moment of being shot many times in his films but he had never seriously considered the possibility. It struck him now that the feeling was not unlike a stinging nettle. It was akin to a burning rash on a bruise and he stared at the open gaps of his flesh with a surreal detachment that was broken only when his world began to tumble around him.
He slammed to a stop against a news van. The stench of oil and the hot exhaust on his wounds began to orient him to what had happened when he realized he couldn’t remember to breathe.
The reporters rushed form the van and stared down in shock at the golden figure bleeding at their feet in the dying sun.
The rhythmic beating of booted feet rushing toward the scene mixed with the voice form the radio.
“Mr. Summers was unavailable for comment. As soon as a statement becomes available form Jaime we will pass it on to you.”
Jaimie gripped at the aluminum bar as he heard the words come over the radio again.
“Jamie Summers, scandal ridden actor, seems to have escaped indictment yet again…”
“Hi Me.” Thought Jaimie, not Jay Me.
The press had adored him and reviled him. They also made a good bit of money on covering his life. The bastards still got his name wrong though.
He yanked the bar to the left and swung wide over the beach, listening to the nylon wings shudder against the wind.
“I am not the problem!” he screamed to noone in particular.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fourteen months had passed since the video hit the Internet and still he seemed to always be in the news. He had donated an entire wing to the children’s hospital and got 20 seconds on the local news. When he had dated the leggy actress form his last movie it was worth several minutes to the entertainment reporters. When he was discovered in Guatemala they had all adored him.
Now people just wanted to talk about the sex tape.
In the foggy recesses of his memory he could almost recall the picture being taken. The army had only recently set up camp near his village. They had brought a wondrous variety of toys with them. As his peers had climbed over the cannons and trucks Jaime was always just outside the commanders tent, listening intently to the radio.
That radio was the greatest wonder to him. With a seemingly effortless style he had learned the music that came in short bursts between the speakers. Those speakers would drone for what seemed forever and then it would come. That sweet, sweet music. Never more than a few seconds worth and then it was right back to the men rambling in their foreign tongue.
He would wait patiently and when the drums came he knew the music was on its way.
Doo do doo do do do doo doo, do doo do doo do doo..
He had no idea who had written the music, at that young age he wasn’t even aware that music could be written down, but he loved it. It was happy, quick and to the point.
Standing outside the crowded tent he was playing along with the music when he heard the white man singing along. “My bologna has a first name..”
He turned to see the man and before he could remove the pipes form his lips the flash hit his eyes. His mother said he hid in the house for 3 days after that. Scared of the man with the lightning box.
Weeks passed, months. And the rains came. Most of his village was destroyed but when the aid workers came they all smiled at Jaime. They had a book. A magical book full of colorful pictures.
One of the pictures was of Jaime.{boy with pipes pic} He stood there looking fat in the face as his cheeks puffed to fill his pipes. The workers seemed thrilled to find him alive and well. They all posed for pictures with him and insisted on him playing his pipes for them over and over.
This was his first taste of fame and he liked it. He would play the foreigners songs and they would clap and smile and feed him anything he wanted. And when they discovered his parents had died in the slides he was given very special treatment. They took him with them.
America. He was evidently going to a place called America. The plane scared him, the height scared him, the noise scared him, but oh, what a treat when he landed. It was obviously paradise. Just like his father had told him when he couldn’t sleep, lights everywhere- even at night!
It seemed everyone in the country had fallen in love with his picture when it appeared in the magazine. His rescue by the aid workers had been dubbed a miracle and his new country quickly embraced him.
He was trotted out in front of large crowds to play his tunes. Commercials they called them. The hosts of several shows adored him and it didn’t hurt at all that advertisers embraced him so thoroughly. Providing a service for free to rich people gains a certain measure of exposure.
Eventually, a starlet adopted him. Her career didn’t go much of anywhere but she seemed to have a certain knack for placing him in the right place at the right time.
Some kiddy underwear ads, a few small plays and the next thing you know he had a regular role on a soap opera. This led to a small movie and then a bigger one. The next thing Jaime knew he was 22, tall and handsome, earning more money than he knew what to do with.
Two blockbusters followed. His natural grace and stunning dark looks kept him a step ahead of the competition. They also kept him in the media spotlight. He made huge donations to children’s funds, threw lavish parties and gained a reputation as a generous, if a bit wild, young star. And all that is available with the lifestyle came to him.
Women especially.
He started hang-gliding and racing cars. He enormous bar tabs surrounded by extreme sports stars and adoring groupies and he paid them with flourish. With his strong Latin looks, dangerous airborne lifestyle and clean glow he became irresistible to his public. Nubile young models, gifted actresses and constant propositions from women on the streets distracted him, but only away form work. At work he was all business.
If only he had been at work.
When works makes you popular people have a habit of finding new work for you to do. Opportunities and requests to back all kinds of causes get sent your way. Some of them quite worthwhile like his work with the children’s hospital.
Work. Jaime and his agent always referred to it as his charity work. Signing the check was extent of the effort. He intended to do good things and his money did do a lot of good things. It is just that Jaime was usually busy somewhere else.
Then it got personal.
When working the crowd at a fundraiser a young woman carrying a sheaf of papers approached him. She had presented herself as an activist for Planet One, a radical environmental group.
What she showed him finally got him involved. Satellite photos, geological samples, everything was laid out right in front of him and for only him. This girl had done her homework.
Regular Oil had caused the landslide that destroyed his home village. Poor safety practices in by their exploration unit had eroded the hill above them until the rains brought it down. What was worse was the money. This lanky, scrubby girl had documented a clear paper trail showing that Regular Oil had avoided any punishment by greasing the right palms. Particularly greasing the palm of Senator Greg Storros.
“Where do I know that name?” he asked.
The young lady tried not rolling her eyes. “He is running for president.”
That is when his work changed. He was sly about it. First he signed a multimillion-dollar contract to star in Ra: Sun God. The picture was budgeted at over 100 million dollars and practically guaranteed him a place in the spotlight for months to come.
Then he set about giving speeches, and raising money. He was relatively quiet about it at first, not really leaving his home state much but eventually he started getting national attention for much more than his good looks.
Rallies and commercials mixed in with post- production work on the last film he finished Inch, where he played a man shrunk to the height of a bug. He had enjoyed working with the elaborate sets, even going so far to keep a giant ink quill used as a prop in one scene.
As the election wore on he became more and more prominent in his party, gathering large crowds wherever he spoke. As his popularity grew more evident to the party they invited him to speak at their convention. His dalliances with various women were smoothly glossed over by the party machinery and he found that his image was enhanced by his stance as a moral example.
Jaime wasn’t the only one who noticed. Peter Cole, the brain behind Senator Storros, quickly took notice of Jamie’s efforts. A popular, handsome, bilingual star was not part of his campaign plan. So he hatched a new plan, his favorite kind- cheap, easy and genius with the added benefit of noone knowing it was his.
Jaime spent the weekend before the convention literally strapped to a table.
“Hold still!”
He was sure he had heard it 1000 times today and this was only his 3rd session, four were scheduled. The lady had seemed nice when he first met her.
“My name is Diana” She pronounced it Doy-ah-nuh “and I am going to make you Ra, baby!” Her energy and charm encouraged him. If he was going to spend 30 hours having a costume custom made to fit every nook and cranny of him at least it would be with someone interesting.
Turns out the woman was some kind of Costume Nazi. As soon as introductions were over she started slowly into the instructions. Somewhere along the way she had started with orders and then demands as the pinched and pulled at him, pulling his body into ridiculous contortions or demanding that he hold perfectly still.
“Hold still! Do you wanna look like a Sun God or just some idiot painted gold?” she pronounced it Go-Wuld.
It was taxing and he only survived the last few hours by planning out his night ahead. He would pick up his glider and hit the hill. An hour or so in the air, maybe swinging over his beach house, and it was off on the boat. Preferably with a young lady.
Jaime thought luck was with him. As he cruised high over the beach that day he could see a group of young ladies sunning themselves on his beach. It was a private stretch of beach and when someone found their way onto it they were usually rabid fans or ladies with few requirements outside his presence. He was hoping for the latter.
He swung wide and arched down over the surf. By pulling hard on the nose he was able to land on the beach the short way, facing inland. The girls were suitable impressed.
“Hi.” Said the blonde. “We’ve got a camera.” She said, holding a small digital video cam shoulder high with a limp wrist.
“And…urges.” said her friend, resting a hand on the other shoulder.
He read the blondes shirt “Phi Gamma Beta. Tell me, would you like to come inside?”
He awoke to a beautiful morning and found that the girls were doing exactly what he always wanted his conquests to do in the morning hours- be someplace else. The doors were locked and nothing seemed to be missing.
Jaime chuckled to himself “Long way from grass skirts.”
He took a long shower and had Bloody Mary. Things definitely looked well, one last day of sitting at the beach, a quick speech on opening night at the convention and off to make a blockbuster.
Late in the day, as he began to think about driving into town for dinner, the call came.
“Jaime, have you seen the news?” he recognized the voice; it was the party’s press representative.
He flipped on the television and quickly muted it, hoping she didn’t recognize the noises from the porn channel it had been left on. He channel surfed down to the all news network and saw himself. It was a stock photo from Inch, he was leaning against the 8-foot tall ink quill he had upstairs.
And there were the girls from last night. They were crying as their parents spoke.
“High school girls! Young innocent under-age girls!” screamed the man.
“I’ll call you back.” Said the press rep.
It took a few minutes before he realized she wasn’t going to be calling back. Several frantic attempts also revealed that his agent wanted little to do with him anymore either.
Jaime was forced into watching the convention from his couch. He hadn’t dared leave the house; the press was parked all over his street. He had seen a chance to make a difference in a legitimate way for once and he had seen it squandered.
A second rate third baseman for a has-been team was warming up the crowd in his spot when the call came form the studio. It seems that the possibility of lawsuits was forcing the insurance company to separate from the project; Ra: Sun God was on indefinite hiatus. This was Hollywood for cancelled.
He bided his time, and stretched his money. He hadn’t been a miser but he had set back a small bit and he was sure it would last until this blew over. This became a problem he had not seen coming.
It seems one of Senator Storros’ favorite causes was safety and Peter Cole had more tricks in store. Several lawsuits came, one after another. His Xtreme video game endorsement dried up, then he was sued in conjunction with his helmet endorsement. Combined with a lack of work coming in he started to buckle, financially and mentally.
“It’s just the house now Jaime.” said his accountant.
“How can that be?!” he cried
“Look, it happens. You had it; you worked it, now it ain’t happening. No biggie.” He had always hated this man who reminded him more of a loan shark than an accountant. “You’ll come back, kid. Nobody ever gets unfamous. Worse comes to worse you already know how to live in a hut, right?”
Jaime shuddered and hung up on the man. He grabbed the closest bottle and tilted it towards the night sky. When it had nothing left to offer him he grabbed another.
The bleariness that surrounded him gave way to a booming, insistent voice.
“It is their morality, or rather the lack thereof that should shock us! It is their morals, or what passes for them that we should stand against! It is the loose ways of people like Jaime Summers that will corrupt all of us if left unchecked!” boomed the voice to an appreciative and convinced crowd.
It was Candidate Storros, speaking at the Hollywood bowl. His voice echoed out over the open-air theater. “Are we going to allow these people, bought and paid for, to tread on our flag?”
Jaime slammed his foot into the top of the TV and as it hurdled off the stand he saw the swath of rainbow riding the ocean beyond it. His home, his last worldly symbol of what he had become wash being washed against by a high tide covered in the broadly colored palette of an oil slick. Beyond the protective cover of the beaches arms swinging widely around the bay limped a gargantuan ship spewing raw crude into the sea.
He ran to the porch and swung the telescope he had bought to impress an egghead date with a short dress out, aiming it at the horizon. The ships side read The Regular Cortez.
He snapped.
Jaime ran for the 1st story, grabbing gear on his way. He arrived in the garage to his fully packed SUV and jumped in.
He struck 3 reporters and a photographer with his truck as he tore out the garage door and across his small lawn. Without a pause he tore down the street and headed inland making a mental inventory of everything he would need. A thought struck him and he banked hard northwards across 3 lanes of traffic. He headed uphill towards the studio.
“Dude! Cool suit!”{goldguy pic} said the young boys riding their mountain bikes by as he prepped on the hilltop.
“
off!” he replied, his voice a growl compared to the saccharine sweet tone of his characters.“Dude, is that like a gun, or, like a lance like one of those knight guys use or what dude?” drawled the muddy boy on the bike as Jaime checked his cables one last time.
“It’s a quill you illiterate schmo. Do you even know what a quill is?”{quill pic}
“Ain’t that, like, a porcupine thing, dude?” asked the biker.
“No, it is an idiot gun you moron, shut up before it goes off in your direction.” Jaime was practically frothing.
The boys rode off, one hollering back over their shoulder “You looked like a fag in Dating Misty!”
He secured his cargo and began running down the hill. As soon as he could feel the lift sufficiently he pulled up his feet and watched the earth fall away. He felt safe for the first time in days.
With 40 miles to cover and a scant hour of sunlight left he banked towards the ocean and followed the beach towards his destination. He reached to his waist and turned on his satellite radio.
Jaimie gripped at the aluminum bar as he heard the words come over the radio again.
“Jamie Summers, former actor, seems to have escaped indictment yet again…”
“Hi Me.” Thought Jaimie, not Jay Me.
The press had adored him and reviled him. They also made a good bit of money on covering his life. The bastards still got his name wrong though.
He yanked the bar to the left and swung wide over the beach, listening to the nylon wings shudder against the wind.
“I am not the problem!” he screamed to noone in particular.
He swept down to risky level to view the beach near his house one more time. He felt the sickness rise in his stomach as he saw the colors spreading through the water. {beach pic} Swinging inland he caught a thermal and rose high over the mansions beneath him.
The thermals carried well up and over the low hills that made the valley barrier, when he broke over the edge he could see the amphitheater less than a mile ahead. He tightened his grip on the quill and, for the first time, practiced sighting down its tip.
He was swaying and tilting, attempting to gain some control over his aim when the panic first struck him. He lifted hard and out of control, the harness straining against his weight and the breath was sucked form as he caught the wash of a jet.
He accepted the possibility that he would be seen, but not this far out. As he regained control of the craft he cursed his decision to wear the mask, it blocked his vision, making it hard to steer.
He was struggling to remove it when the first round struck him. He wasn’t even aware that he had been shot. It felt like a blunt blow, like a bird had struck him. The steady scarlet stream running out of his golden shirt was his only clue. As he watched the trickle increase he became aware of the fire.
Rounds ripped through the carriage and him, he lost his grip and the quill fell. He could almost hear the silence of it passing through all that empty space when the clatter of the cars it struck below jarred him back.
It finally began to burn. He had played out the moment of being shot many times in his films but he had never seriously considered the possibility. It struck him now that the feeling was not unlike a stinging nettle. It was akin to a burning rash on a bruise and he stared at the open gaps of his flesh with a surreal detachment that was broken only when his world began to tumble around him.
He slammed to a stop against a news van. The stench of oil and the hot exhaust on his wounds began to orient him to what had happened when he realized he couldn’t remember to breathe.
The reporters rushed form the van and stared down in shock at the golden figure bleeding at their feet in the dying sun.
The rhythmic beating of booted feet rushing toward the scene mixed with the voice form the radio.
“Mr. Summers was unavailable for comment. As soon as a statement becomes available form Jaime we will pass it on to you.”
