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The Tattoo Engineer - 3.1



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Thu Jun 30, 2011 7:36 pm
ultraviolet says...



JOIN THE CLUB =3

Summary:

Spoiler! :
Adah Edric, a once-banished princess, has returned home to train as a soldier in an all-men army. Upon arrival, she attends a feast where an unseen person explodes a grenade above her.


Thousands of bits of wood, plaster, and metal rain down like hail, accompanied by a boom that knocks me to the ground. I struggle to my feet, spitting out the dust and debris that flew into my mouth instead of settling on and all around me. I see in my side view that all of the guests are thrown in disarray; the ground level’s chaos; I turn around and can still hear the pandemonium.
I walk briskly along the rail on the second floor, searching for the room Vanadis is in, desperate for someone to confer with. Coming from nowhere, another bomb explodes just behind me. I break into a run.
I duck down a long hallway that leads to the back of the castle. Behind me, I hear quick footsteps. I glance back and see a man, dressed in all black and wearing a mask, rushing after me; strapped to his belt are half a dozen grenades.
Where the hell did he get those?
At the end of the hall I hesitate, kicking off my shoes and gathering up my skirt. I launch up a spiral metal staircase, sprinting in circles, higher and higher. The man stops at the base of the case, and before I can realize how horrible of a mistake it was to choose this route, he takes a grenade from his belt and pulls out the pin. He lops it as high as he can. I grab at the hand rail moments before the grenade blows out the stairs below me.
As I’m dangling in midair, clawing for purchase amidst the rattling metal, it strikes me; why would he blast his only way of following me? Then I look back and watch him dash up the stairs, and I realize he’s going to chance a jump. Desperate, I haul myself over the stairs and fervently climb the rest. When I’m at the top, I see him leap the chasm - and narrowly make it. He charges after me.
Without thinking, I run for one of the towers in the end of the castle. I weave my way through an intricate maze of halls and rooms, but I don’t lose the pursuer. I burst through to a bedroom suite in the third tower, barring the door with a flat-backed chair. I hurry to the window - opening it, swinging out onto the six-foot ledge, and closing it in one swift motion. I sit down at the edge, take a deep breath, and I jump.
Pain striking my ankle, I land on the second ledge - a slightly larger one I once thought was for decoration - and back away into the shadows closest to the castle wall.
Though muffled, I can hear the assailant breaking down the door.
My heart thudding, I clumsily try to maneuver through a hole in the second ledge about the size of a square yard that leads to nothing. I slip my feet to where blocks of the stone wall are missing; hand and footholds for the escape route no one knows about.
Descended fully from the second ledge, I cling to the handholds, hoping the assailant won’t think to check outside, hoping he won’t know about the second ledge or its escape route, hoping the shadows hide my shaking form. There’s so much riding on hope.
The window above me slides open. I hold my breath as I hear him step out onto the first ledge, as his footsteps get nearer the edge, as he drops onto the second ledge - doesn’t just lean over and look as I’d hoped.
My mind blares. I’m dead. Dear God.
I see the shadows darken half a shade as he grows closer, too close, with me too helpless.
Then I see his face.
For the heartbeat I miss, I consider letting go and dropping to my doom.
He leans down so half his body is through the hole; his face is inches from mine. My mind shuts off and all I can hear is a high-pitched buzzing; all I can see are his incredibly blue eyes. I want to lunge at him, to throttle him; I want to grab him by the neck and pull him down to his doom as well; I want to do anything before I die.
He slips a small envelope in my hand and disappears.



I pace the bedchamber on shaky feet. I can’t get my heart to stop skittering; my breaths are all ragged, like I’m enclosed in a glass box and I’m slowly running out of oxygen. Every so often I have to stop and grasp a dresser, a table, anything to steady myself as a wave of vertigo ripples through me.
It shouldn’t be this hard to regain composure; I shouldn’t be this unnerved. The fact that I am is unnerving in and of itself. I massage my temples and try to figure out what’s so wrong about this.
It’s not that several bombs exploded around me; it’s not that I was chased through my castle with the threat of death looming; it’s not even that I was caught, trapped, and basically at the mercy of a stranger poised to kill.
It’s not that he let me go.
Maybe it’s the letter? I clutch it in a sweaty hand, not daring open it now, not until I’m alone in my room; maybe not then. But something tells me I’d be no different without a letter.
The only other thing I can think of is his stare. When he was sliding the letter under my red hand, his gaze was locked on mine; his eyes were solid blue, brown eyelashes framing them; they were pleading, almost, as though begging me to stop some nonsense and follow the right path, the one he’s on. To realize my folly, give up everything I have, and run away after him. The stare was too imminent.
Everything slides around as I’m encompassed once again in dizziness. Distantly, I can hear someone calling my name. My knees buckle and in moments I’m on the floor, head between legs, breathing steadily, deeply. Waiting for the vertigo to pass. Waiting for it all to make sense. The person calls out louder.
I imagine myself coming in from the rain; I imagine myself shooting a bow in the woods; I imagine myself downing one of Acksel’s shots. Clearing my expression, I stand up. I’m fine.
Before I leave the room, I realize I’m still holding the letter. Without thinking, I hide it the only place my strapless dress will allow; down the front. I walk outside the suite, into the hall, to find a small party searching for me.
Vanadis notices me and steps in front of the group. “There you are. Where’s the assailant?” he asks, as though it’s assumed I’ve been keeping tabs on him.
“I-” For a split second I consider telling the truth. “I lost him. Back by the spiral staircase. He blew up the stairs and didn‘t have another way to follow me. I was on my way to the safety chambers when I thought I heard a noise, so I hid here.” I gesture to the suite I was in.
Most of the people in the group accept my story easily - they probably saw the stairs, and if that’s true, what’s to say the rest isn’t? - all but Vanadis. His face is unreadable, and for some reason I really wish it wasn’t.
“Good,” he says flatly. “Soldier Farandol, could you escort the princess back to her suite? Adah, you’re to stay there guarded by armed soldiers until the rest of the castle can be searched.” He turns to Paylor. “When you’re done, there‘ll be a meeting about this in the war rooms. Understand?”
“No,” I cut in. “I’m going to the meeting.” I try to sound firm.
“No, you’re not. You’re a princess; haven’t you learned by now that war rooms aren’t your place?” Vanadis’s voice is almost mocking but… not quite convicted.
“But they are the place of a soldier.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, child.” A stocky man presents himself from the group, and I grimly recognize him; General Lout, Gavin’s father. “You’re not a soldier, you’re just a girl; a woman can never be a real soldier. You’ve not even completed initiation. Now go back to your room, where you belong.”
I ball my fists. “No,” I say. “I’m going.”
“Child, don’t press me.”
I’m about to challenge him when I catch Vanadis’s eyes; his eyebrows are furrowed slightly and his lips are pursed, like he’s telling me Don’t do it. I don’t think I can trust anyone here, but ever since I met him, something in me’s always says to listen to him.
I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding. “Fine.”
General Lout smirks, making me want to take back what I said. “Well then, you two are dismissed.”
My eyes are steel as we walk down the hall towards the third of five back towers, where my old suite is.
I wonder if it’s the same as before, if they left it alone; if my old clothes are all still hanging in my wardrobe; if my old books are still stacked on the shelves; if all my old soaps and perfumes are still in the bathroom; if the walls are still cream, and the floor still copper, and the furniture still a mish-mash of bronze and chocolate; or if they tore all that down when I left. Maybe they burned all my belongings, took down the plaster wall panels and the thick carpet, revealing the stone beneath. Maybe it all sits bare and raw.
We reach the large wooden door and Paylor pushes it open. I brace myself and peer inside.
Empty.
The walls, floor, and furniture is the same, but everything’s gone; all the stuff that made up my first fourteen years. Cleaned out. Thrown away. Discarded. And why not? It’s not like I was ever coming back…
Paylor’s about to leave for the meeting when I say, “Can you unbutton my dress?” I don’t want to ring a servant to undo the dozens of buttons scaling the back of my gown. That would take too long, and Paylor would be too close to the war rooms when they finish.
He nods politely. His fingers caress my back as he works the small beads from their loops. Once he’s done a few, I have to hold the front of my gown to keep it from falling down; I can feel the letter scrape my skin. He finishes and opens the door to exit, but hesitates, leaning against the frame. He looks like he’s fighting himself on whether to say something.
“Princess?”
He can see he has my attention.
“What you did back there, standing up to the general… It was risky. And you couldn’t win. Was it worth it?”
“What do you mean?” I’m still clutching my dress.
“Was it worth getting on his bad side? Was it worth looking difficult? Because if you ever do anything that stupid that could put me and Acksel in danger, it better be worth it. Because if it isn’t - you’ll have to answer to me.”
He closes the door hard behind him.
I have no idea what he was talking about - how anything I do could affect them specifically - and I don’t have time to ponder it. I let my dress drop, the letter with it, and pray there’s some clothes in my dresser. There is, and I quickly change into tough jeans and a black shirt. I want gloves and a hat, but I don’t have them, so I go as is.
I climb out the window to do something risky and stupid, and not once do I stop and ask if it’s worth it.

So. I'm very on-the-edge with the whole action scene at the beginning - action's never been my strong suit, and I'm not sure how well I'm translating the scene from my head. Also, how's the dialogue in the hall, and Paylor's dialogue? And then, I guess, anything else you notice/want to point out.
"Blah blah blah. You feel trapped in your life. Here is what I am hearing: happiness isn't worth any inconvenience."

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Thu Jun 30, 2011 7:52 pm
klotrox16 says...



You have a great skill. I love how you developed the chracter and made them seem to raw and real. The imagery was so clear and vivid, I could just see the setting. You crafted the plot really well, and it was totally original. Continue making installments becuasse this is really good stuff. I haven't read anything else like this. Hope this helps with encouragement :)
-Klotrox
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Tue Jul 05, 2011 4:49 pm
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Sins says...



YO. 8)

I greatly apologise for taking 823783278 years to get to this. Better late than never though, eh? With any luck, I'll be of some use here, so it'll be worth the wait. I have no idea how likely that is though, but hey, we'll see how things go. As always, if you have any questions or anything about this review when it's done, let me know because I'd be happy to answer them!

I'm very on-the-edge with the whole action scene at the beginning - action's never been my strong suit, and I'm not sure how well I'm translating the scene from my head.


Admittedly, it wasn't insanely easy to follow everything Adah was doing, but I wouldn't say that it was terrible or anything. I myself struggle when it comes to actions, which is pretty annoying considering I seem to have a lot of action in my stories, but hey, that's life. As for you though, I don't think you should worry about it too much because it's not so bad that the reader ends up being completely lost.

The problem is that I'm not sure what I can suggest for you to do because like I said above, action certainly isn't my forte. Hmmm... okay. I guess you just need to try and be as detailed as possible, but at the same time, be careful not to make it sound as though you've got a giant clump of descriptions anywhere or anything. For example, take the scene where a grenade is blown which results in Adah dangling in mid air. I'm not quite sure how she ended up dangling in mid air. You went from saying how the grenade blew up and then moved straight on to the fact that she was dangling in mid air without any details of how it happened exactly in-between.

Speaking of actions, I found the assailant's behaviour and actions really weird. xD I mean, one moment, he was trying to kill Adah, but when he finally found her, he just gave her a letter. Unless it's actually a different guy that was trying to bomb her, that just seems really weird. I'm not going to be too judgemental about this whole scenario though because it is a mysterious occurrence, so there are probably details that we don't know yet. On a similar note, I have some interesting suspicions about the assailant, so I'm interested in seeing if he's going to show up again. (I like finding out that I guessed something right in a novel because it makes me feel smart)

Still ont he subject of the action scene at the beginning, I found it a bit odd that Adah was able to run so... easily, I suppose. I mean, a number of grenades blew up, plus one resulted in her dangling off something, yet she didn't seem to be in any pain or anything. I mean, you didn't mention her getting any bruises, grazes, or spraining her wrist or anything during this scene. I suppose the adrenaline of the situation may have distracted her from any pain, but I do find it a bit weird that there aren't any mentions of any physical damage at all. You do mention her spraining her ankle, but that's when she jumps onto a ledge. So yeah, there's something you could think about. :)

Aaaaaand! Finally! One thing I noticed you didn't' mention was people's reactions to all of this, as in the people around Adah. You do mention how things are chaotic, but you don't really show us that or anything. I mean, what are people doing when the dude's chasing after Adah? She is the princess, after all, so you'd think that there would be at least a bit of a frenzy. Even if you just mention how some people are screaming now and then, or mention how Adah can see faces of panicked people flash past as she runs e.t.c. Just anything along those kind of lines would let us readers know about how the other people in the room are reacting to everything. That may help make the action scene clearer too. If we can see what's going on around Adah, what's happening overall should become clearer.

As for the dialogue, I don't think I saw any problems there. :) I'm quite bad at critiquing dialogue in general, but I really don't think you have a huge issue or anything there. If anything, I think your dialogue is really good. xD

Negatives aside, I think this was a really good chapter, Ultra-v! I'm loving how you're blowing things up because as I've said before, anything that blows up is glorious. I can happily say that I definitely prefer this version of the novel compared to the last, not that the last was bad at all, so I'm glad you've done an edit. Awesome job, my home dawg.

Keep writing,

xoxo Skins
I didn't know what to put here so I put this.
  





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Mon Aug 01, 2011 10:54 pm
RacheDrache says...



I didn't know this was posted. I swear. In the future, notify me. Pwease?

First, I agree with Skinny Jeans in the whole. I wasn't sitting here on the edge of my seat, and I did have to reread a spot or two, but the action was far from shaky. I'll come back to that. And I agree about the other people's reactions. I mean, they were just attacked in the palace, right? While I can understand the military people being stoic about it it, and Adah being stoic about it (her deattachedness is really growing on me)... wait, it was a military event. Well, even so, there are servants. And even if it isn't OMGWE'REALLGOINGTODIEPANIC, there could probably be some sense of rushing and urgency.

Can I just say I love the ending, though? Paylor's last line, I mean. She doesn't know what he meant by it, and I don't know what he meant by it, and if the dude with the intense blue eyes and the grenades wasn't enough to show we readers that crazy stuff is going down in the political world, that comment is.

And him unbuttoning her dress. Was that the continuation of a little spark we saw at that dinner table? Hm? *is going to watch those two*

Grammarnag:

That would take too long, and Paylor would be too close to the war rooms when they finish.


By 'they', do you mean servant? And if so, do you mean plural servants? And regardless, I think you mean 'finished' there because Paylor will be too close to the war rooms when the servants finished unbuttoning her dress.

Boy, was that nitpick express, but it caught my eye and some part of me plucked it.

Dialogue... I loved Paylor's little exchange at the end. He's gone and made himself all intense and layered and mysterious with a few bits of speech, so that was sort of incredible.

Dialogue in the hall I'm less sure about. Probably because whenever the issue of gender roles come up in any book, I'm on guard. Because I can only read the same 'girls can fight just as well as boys' or 'a girl's place is not on the battlefield' type arguments before my head wants to implode. You tempered it some, since Adah lost and Paylor commented on not the truth or untruth of what she said but the wisdom of it. I'd temper it more, if I were in your spot (I don't write teen or adult female characters for a reason), and I'd probably go after the big response he has where he calls her a poor imitation of a soldier and woman. I liked the line about her being a poor imitation (can he really say that to a princess?!?) but maybe you could cut or trim or modify the parts that are sort of the typical argument? I dunno. That's seriously just me and my issues with the topic when it comes up in literature.

Okie dokies, the action scene now.

My usual advice on anything actiony is to may particular attention to your verbs and use the most descriptive ones possible; the bland ones don't add much spice, hence the term bland. Additional advice is to examine sentence structure, because action scenes are a perfect place to have fun with syntax. Unfortunately, there's no one right way to get jiggy with syntax in an action scene. Short sentences are dramatic. They're also easy to follow. They keep the actor at the front doing something. The verb is prevalent.

But, then again, according to some people, and according to my own observations, and sort of according to logic, the periodic sentence can also be useful. In this construction, which is at least one main clause and at least one subordinate clause, possibly many more, all the spare details come first. As a result, since the reader has to go through all of the additional first to get to the main point, a sort of suspense is created.

Run-on sentences also have their uses because they make the reader feel as if he or she is never going to catch his or her breath because even though they'll piss off the grammatically strict they keep going on and on and on and perhaps there's not even a comma for a bit of a stop. What can also help is taking the conjunction out of a list so that the wooden roller coaster effect continues, persists, doesn't stop.

Not in the end particularly recommended, that. But, fragments. Curious things. Broken sentences. Incomplete. Sharp. Like a character's breath.

...okay, so perhaps I had a little too much fun with that, since this is just a review. But, perhaps pick up a favorite action sequence and look at the verbs that author uses, the types of sentences. When paragraphs are broken, how much description is employed.

What I can say is that the part where she goes into the hole thing was unclear to me. My imagination got around it in its own right, but it was still unclear, so that could perhaps use with some... well, clarification.

My last comment is in regards to something I don't know what to call. First person narrative loyalty? Realism? Something like that.

My eyes are steel as we walk down the hall towards the third of five back towers, where my old suite is.


I’m about to challenge him when I catch Vanadis’s eyes; his eyebrows are furrowed slightly and his lips are pursed, like he’s telling me Don’t do it. I don’t think I can trust anyone here, but ever since I met him, something in me’s always says to listen to him.


they were pleading, almost, as though begging me to stop some nonsense and follow the right path, the one he’s on. To realize my folly, give up everything I have, and run away after him. The stare was too imminent.


My response to those three quotes is, "But what does that meaaaaaaan?" Of course, I *know* what it means. It means that Adah's pissed off as she's walking off to her room, and that something V-dawg did convinced Adah to shut up, and that something in the assailant's face made her question what she's doing.

The thing about her eyes being steel is easier to talk about. If you mean they look like steel, have a steeling glare to them--how the heck does she know that? She can't see her eyes. If you mean they feel or seem like steel to her... I don't know what that means, though I know what you intended it to mean. So, perhaps just say what you mean instead?

Now, the other two comments. The one with the assailant bothers me more, because my reaction is, "Oh, really?" She really got all that out of a look? Prove it. Or, more jargonly speaking, show me. Show me exactly what it is that makes her think that.

Now, with Vanadis... I know the shut-up glare. I've gotten it many a times. Still, though, it's something to watch.

That all said and done and written out, I think I'm done. You know the drill if you have questions :D

Rach
I don't fangirl. I fandragon.

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Pain is filtered in a poem so that it becomes finally, in the end, pleasure.
— Mark Strand