The "Creative Writing" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
For reference:
Part 1 - Click Here
Part 2 - Click Here
A dull ache covered Monique van Buren’s body as she carefully unwrapped the sweat-slicked black PVC that passed for an outfit. Red lines snaked up her clammy skin where the wrapping had been, and as her circulation slowly returned, her left foot lost all sensation bar a rhythmic stabbing of tiny, imaginary needles.
She sat alone in what was for this morning at least the band’s dressing room. Chasing Velvet were small time, and new to the scene. In an hour or so, the room would belong to another band on the payroll of Ruby’s Café as they prepared their set in front of a lunchtime audience. The small, square room wasn’t designed with intersolar superstars in mind. There was barely enough space to fit all five of the band and their respective odds and ends. The walls were a very familiar shade of off-white, with the exception of a large rectangular mirror on the wall to the right of the door which was actually the entrance to the shower. The mirror was one way, so you could see out, but mercifully, not in.
The other band members hadn’t hung around after this morning’s performance. The guys had come back to the dressing room, picked up their gear and left Monique to sort herself out.
Despite the aches and pains, she was glad that she hadn’t had to spell out that she wanted to be alone while she undressed. If it could be called undressing that is, it was more like peeling off a thoroughly uncomfortable layer of skin. Any other day she’d have just worn the same kind of gear as the rest of the gang; torn jeans and playful, colourful tops. But that was before she started taking career advice from Dawson Roberts-Haw. The man was a bloated pervert, but he was, after all, the Ruby’s general manager. He’d launched a hundred music careers and said he knew what it takes. Apparently, it takes little more than baring an embarrassing amount of skin on stage.
She unwound the last of the wrap from around her breasts and let the PVC fall to the floor. Walking gingerly thanks to the pins and needles in her foot, she moved across the room and into the shower. The cool water worked off the fatigue from a long morning on the stage, and washed away the heat still burning her cheeks from having two thousand pairs of eyes working with what little imagination her outfit left them. She didn’t normally mind anybody imagining whatever they wanted, but when she was on-stage, she wanted people to like her for her singing talent, not because she was dressed like a pornstar. The boys in the band didn’t say anything, but why would they? They probably enjoyed the view as much as anyone else. It was hard sometimes, she reflected as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her waist, being the only girl in a band otherwise composed almost entirely of testosterone.
As Monique towelled off, a beep sounded, and a blue icon began flashing in the corner of the viewscreen at the far end of the room. She sighed loudly, and retied the towel around her so that it covered her chest, before sitting in front of the screen and thumbing it.
“Hi chaps,” a throaty voice boomed through the screen as a round, plump face complete with charming smile lines and deep brown eyes resolved itself “how’re you… Monique! You look positively ravishing!”
“Dawson,” she replied. She let her eyes glance at the time on the screen “good morning.”
“Good morning to you too. Seriously,” his face loomed larger as though he were putting it right up against the screen on his end. He probably was. ”I think it’s the hair,” Dawson’s jaw worked silently from side to side as the silence stretched into uncomfortable seconds.
“Did you watch the set this morning Dawson?” Monique said to break the quiet.
“Ha!” he barked, a huge smile spreading across his face that seemed to emphasise his baldness “Me and half the city. Say, where’s the rest of the crew?”
“They didn’t hang around,” she wanted to scowl at the image of Dawson Roberts-Haw, but decided it wasn’t a wise career move.
“Not a problem. I’ll catch up to them later. I just wanted to give you the bad news in person.”
Monique sat back in her chair, hands moving to ensure the towel covered everything “What bad news?”
“I’m afraid I’ve had to cancel your evening performance in the Basement.”
Monique cursed mentally. It’d taken what seemed ages to get even this far, and this sounded like two steps backwards. A performance in Ruby’s Basement was like gold-dust for almost all the aspiring bands in the city. Chasing Velvet had been granted a slot in primetime party hours. It had seemed too good to be true.
Dawson seemed to hear her thoughts.
“It’s not what you think babe,” he winced, realising too late that Monique hated being called that “there’s been a development, and I need a tougher line-up.”
“What development?” She said, feigning boredom. Chances were she was just getting passed an excuse for the administrative error that had landed them the slot in the first place.
“Artemis is manoeuvring tonight.” He said seriously “A complete U-turn. You know what that means. It’ll be like New Year’s down there, complete madness.”
Monique did know what that meant. Firstly it must be true, because it was too obvious to lie about without getting caught. Secondly, her hopes of jumping ship with the band during the Nomia rendezvous had just gone up in smoke. Thirdly, and as far as Dawson was likely concerned, most importantly, it would mean a party of epic proportions right across the city. Artemis’ Artificial Gravity generators were good, but not so good you could turn the whole ship around at a couple of billion miles an hour without the generators struggling to keep up. The result was, invariably, gravitational anomalies that had you floating, falling, jerking and swaying for a good couple of hours. City routes were standard and monotonous enough to make the need for such manoeuvres rare, and always cause for joyous, drunken, drug-enhanced celebration. She knew it was a business opportunity Dawson would never risk by having a rookie in his line-up. He’d have the cream of his acts working through the night, and Chasing Velvet didn’t fit the bill. Monique wondered silently why the hell the city was changing course, other than to deliberately ruin her life.
“Look,” Dawson started calmly “I know you’re disappointed. Believe me, I wanted you guys to get that chance. And you will get a chance.”
“Right.” Monique looked away from the screen “Just as soon as I take off even more clothes, huh Dawson?”
His eyes widened “I knew you didn’t trust me on that!” he exclaimed “Well…”
“Well, what Dawson?” she said angrily “I look like a goddamn hooker out there on your advice, and then we still lose our spot at the Basement?”
“You think it’s like that do you?” a more sinister smile spread across his lips “Maybe it’s just as well the rest of your little band aren’t here, because I’ve got some news for you, my pretty.”
Part 1 - Click Here
Part 2 - Click Here
A dull ache covered Monique van Buren’s body as she carefully unwrapped the sweat-slicked black PVC that passed for an outfit. Red lines snaked up her clammy skin where the wrapping had been, and as her circulation slowly returned, her left foot lost all sensation bar a rhythmic stabbing of tiny, imaginary needles.
She sat alone in what was for this morning at least the band’s dressing room. Chasing Velvet were small time, and new to the scene. In an hour or so, the room would belong to another band on the payroll of Ruby’s Café as they prepared their set in front of a lunchtime audience. The small, square room wasn’t designed with intersolar superstars in mind. There was barely enough space to fit all five of the band and their respective odds and ends. The walls were a very familiar shade of off-white, with the exception of a large rectangular mirror on the wall to the right of the door which was actually the entrance to the shower. The mirror was one way, so you could see out, but mercifully, not in.
The other band members hadn’t hung around after this morning’s performance. The guys had come back to the dressing room, picked up their gear and left Monique to sort herself out.
Despite the aches and pains, she was glad that she hadn’t had to spell out that she wanted to be alone while she undressed. If it could be called undressing that is, it was more like peeling off a thoroughly uncomfortable layer of skin. Any other day she’d have just worn the same kind of gear as the rest of the gang; torn jeans and playful, colourful tops. But that was before she started taking career advice from Dawson Roberts-Haw. The man was a bloated pervert, but he was, after all, the Ruby’s general manager. He’d launched a hundred music careers and said he knew what it takes. Apparently, it takes little more than baring an embarrassing amount of skin on stage.
She unwound the last of the wrap from around her breasts and let the PVC fall to the floor. Walking gingerly thanks to the pins and needles in her foot, she moved across the room and into the shower. The cool water worked off the fatigue from a long morning on the stage, and washed away the heat still burning her cheeks from having two thousand pairs of eyes working with what little imagination her outfit left them. She didn’t normally mind anybody imagining whatever they wanted, but when she was on-stage, she wanted people to like her for her singing talent, not because she was dressed like a pornstar. The boys in the band didn’t say anything, but why would they? They probably enjoyed the view as much as anyone else. It was hard sometimes, she reflected as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her waist, being the only girl in a band otherwise composed almost entirely of testosterone.
As Monique towelled off, a beep sounded, and a blue icon began flashing in the corner of the viewscreen at the far end of the room. She sighed loudly, and retied the towel around her so that it covered her chest, before sitting in front of the screen and thumbing it.
“Hi chaps,” a throaty voice boomed through the screen as a round, plump face complete with charming smile lines and deep brown eyes resolved itself “how’re you… Monique! You look positively ravishing!”
“Dawson,” she replied. She let her eyes glance at the time on the screen “good morning.”
“Good morning to you too. Seriously,” his face loomed larger as though he were putting it right up against the screen on his end. He probably was. ”I think it’s the hair,” Dawson’s jaw worked silently from side to side as the silence stretched into uncomfortable seconds.
“Did you watch the set this morning Dawson?” Monique said to break the quiet.
“Ha!” he barked, a huge smile spreading across his face that seemed to emphasise his baldness “Me and half the city. Say, where’s the rest of the crew?”
“They didn’t hang around,” she wanted to scowl at the image of Dawson Roberts-Haw, but decided it wasn’t a wise career move.
“Not a problem. I’ll catch up to them later. I just wanted to give you the bad news in person.”
Monique sat back in her chair, hands moving to ensure the towel covered everything “What bad news?”
“I’m afraid I’ve had to cancel your evening performance in the Basement.”
Monique cursed mentally. It’d taken what seemed ages to get even this far, and this sounded like two steps backwards. A performance in Ruby’s Basement was like gold-dust for almost all the aspiring bands in the city. Chasing Velvet had been granted a slot in primetime party hours. It had seemed too good to be true.
Dawson seemed to hear her thoughts.
“It’s not what you think babe,” he winced, realising too late that Monique hated being called that “there’s been a development, and I need a tougher line-up.”
“What development?” She said, feigning boredom. Chances were she was just getting passed an excuse for the administrative error that had landed them the slot in the first place.
“Artemis is manoeuvring tonight.” He said seriously “A complete U-turn. You know what that means. It’ll be like New Year’s down there, complete madness.”
Monique did know what that meant. Firstly it must be true, because it was too obvious to lie about without getting caught. Secondly, her hopes of jumping ship with the band during the Nomia rendezvous had just gone up in smoke. Thirdly, and as far as Dawson was likely concerned, most importantly, it would mean a party of epic proportions right across the city. Artemis’ Artificial Gravity generators were good, but not so good you could turn the whole ship around at a couple of billion miles an hour without the generators struggling to keep up. The result was, invariably, gravitational anomalies that had you floating, falling, jerking and swaying for a good couple of hours. City routes were standard and monotonous enough to make the need for such manoeuvres rare, and always cause for joyous, drunken, drug-enhanced celebration. She knew it was a business opportunity Dawson would never risk by having a rookie in his line-up. He’d have the cream of his acts working through the night, and Chasing Velvet didn’t fit the bill. Monique wondered silently why the hell the city was changing course, other than to deliberately ruin her life.
“Look,” Dawson started calmly “I know you’re disappointed. Believe me, I wanted you guys to get that chance. And you will get a chance.”
“Right.” Monique looked away from the screen “Just as soon as I take off even more clothes, huh Dawson?”
His eyes widened “I knew you didn’t trust me on that!” he exclaimed “Well…”
“Well, what Dawson?” she said angrily “I look like a goddamn hooker out there on your advice, and then we still lose our spot at the Basement?”
“You think it’s like that do you?” a more sinister smile spread across his lips “Maybe it’s just as well the rest of your little band aren’t here, because I’ve got some news for you, my pretty.”
This is going well. I'm interested to see how it progresses.
For reference:
Part 1 - Click Here
Part 2 - Click Here
A dull ache covered Monique van Buren’s body as she carefully unwrapped the sweat-slicked black PVC that passed for an outfit. Red lines snaked up her clammy skin where the wrapping had been, and as her circulation slowly returned, her left foot lost all sensation bar a rhythmic stabbing of tiny, imaginary needles.
She sat alone in what was for this morning at least the band’s dressing room. Chasing Velvet were small time, and new to the scene. In an hour or so, the room would belong to another band on the payroll of Ruby’s Café as they prepared their set in front of a lunchtime audience. The small, square room wasn’t designed with intersolar superstars in mind. There was barely enough space to fit all five of the band and their respective odds and ends. The walls were a very familiar shade of off-white, with the exception of a large rectangular mirror on the wall to the right of the door which was actually the entrance to the shower. The mirror was one way, so you could see out, but mercifully, not in.
The other band members hadn’t hung around after this morning’s performance. The guys had come back to the dressing room, picked up their gear and left Monique to sort herself out.
Despite the aches and pains, she was glad that she hadn’t had to spell out that she wanted to be alone while she undressed. If it could be called undressing that is, it was more like peeling off a thoroughly uncomfortable layer of skin. Any other day she’d have just worn the same kind of gear as the rest of the gang; torn jeans and playful, colourful tops. But that was before she started taking career advice from Dawson Roberts-Haw. The man was a bloated pervert, but he was, after all, the Ruby’s general manager. He’d launched a hundred music careers and said he knew what it takes. Apparently, it takes little more than baring an embarrassing amount of skin on stage.
She unwound the last of the wrap from around her breasts and let the PVC fall to the floor. Walking gingerly thanks to the pins and needles in her foot, she moved across the room and into the shower. The cool water worked off the fatigue from a long morning on the stage, and washed away the heat still burning her cheeks from having two thousand pairs of eyes working with what little imagination her outfit left them. She didn’t normally mind anybody imagining whatever they wanted, but when she was on-stage, she wanted people to like her for her singing talent, not because she was dressed like a pornstar. The boys in the band didn’t say anything, but why would they? They probably enjoyed the view as much as anyone else. It was hard sometimes, she reflected as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her waist, being the only girl in a band otherwise composed almost entirely of testosterone.
As Monique towelled off, a beep sounded, and a blue icon began flashing in the corner of the viewscreen at the far end of the room. She sighed loudly, and retied the towel around her so that it covered her chest, before sitting in front of the screen and thumbing it.
“Hi chaps,” a throaty voice boomed through the screen as a round, plump face complete with charming smile lines and deep brown eyes resolved itself “how’re you… Monique! You look positively ravishing!”
“Dawson,” she replied. She let her eyes glance at the time on the screen “good morning.”
“Good morning to you too. Seriously,” his face loomed larger as though he were putting it right up against the screen on his end. He probably was. ”I think it’s the hair,” Dawson’s jaw worked silently from side to side as the silence stretched into uncomfortable seconds.
“Did you watch the set this morning Dawson?” Monique said to break the quiet.
“Ha!” he barked, a huge smile spreading across his face that seemed to emphasise his baldness “Me and half the city. Say, where’s the rest of the crew?”
“They didn’t hang around,” she wanted to scowl at the image of Dawson Roberts-Haw, but decided it wasn’t a wise career move.
“Not a problem. I’ll catch up to them later. I just wanted to give you the bad news in person.”
Monique sat back in her chair, hands moving to ensure the towel covered everything “What bad news?”
“I’m afraid I’ve had to cancel your evening performance in the Basement.”
Monique cursed mentally. It’d taken what seemed ages to get even this far, and this sounded like two steps backwards. A performance in Ruby’s Basement was like gold-dust for almost all the aspiring bands in the city. Chasing Velvet had been granted a slot in primetime party hours. It had seemed too good to be true.
Dawson seemed to hear her thoughts.
“It’s not what you think babe,” he winced, realising too late that Monique hated being called that “there’s been a development, and I need a tougher line-up.”
“What development?” She said, feigning boredom. Chances were she was just getting passed an excuse for the administrative error that had landed them the slot in the first place.
“Artemis is manoeuvring tonight.” He said seriously “A complete U-turn. You know what that means. It’ll be like New Year’s down there, complete madness.”
Monique did know what that meant. Firstly it must be true, because it was too obvious to lie about without getting caught. Secondly, her hopes of jumping ship with the band during the Nomia rendezvous had just gone up in smoke. Thirdly, and as far as Dawson was likely concerned, most importantly, it would mean a party of epic proportions right across the city. Artemis’ Artificial Gravity generators were good, but not so good you could turn the whole ship around at a couple of billion miles an hour without the generators struggling to keep up. The result was, invariably, gravitational anomalies that had you floating, falling, jerking and swaying for a good couple of hours. City routes were standard and monotonous enough to make the need for such manoeuvres rare, and always cause for joyous, drunken, drug-enhanced celebration. She knew it was a business opportunity Dawson would never risk by having a rookie in his line-up. He’d have the cream of his acts working through the night, and Chasing Velvet didn’t fit the bill. Monique wondered silently why the hell the city was changing course, other than to deliberately ruin her life.
“Look,” Dawson started calmly “I know you’re disappointed. Believe me, I wanted you guys to get that chance. And you will get a chance.”
“Right.” Monique looked away from the screen “Just as soon as I take off even more clothes, huh Dawson?”
His eyes widened “I knew you didn’t trust me on that!” he exclaimed “Well…”
“Well, what Dawson?” she said angrily “I look like a goddamn hooker out there on your advice, and then we still lose our spot at the Basement?”
“You think it’s like that do you?” a more sinister smile spread across his lips “Maybe it’s just as well the rest of your little band aren’t here, because I’ve got some news for you, my pretty.”
Part 1 - Click Here
Part 2 - Click Here
A dull ache covered Monique van Buren’s body as she carefully unwrapped the sweat-slicked black PVC that passed for an outfit. Red lines snaked up her clammy skin where the wrapping had been, and as her circulation slowly returned, her left foot lost all sensation bar a rhythmic stabbing of tiny, imaginary needles.
She sat alone in what was for this morning at least the band’s dressing room. Chasing Velvet were small time, and new to the scene. In an hour or so, the room would belong to another band on the payroll of Ruby’s Café as they prepared their set in front of a lunchtime audience. The small, square room wasn’t designed with intersolar superstars in mind. There was barely enough space to fit all five of the band and their respective odds and ends. The walls were a very familiar shade of off-white, with the exception of a large rectangular mirror on the wall to the right of the door which was actually the entrance to the shower. The mirror was one way, so you could see out, but mercifully, not in.
The other band members hadn’t hung around after this morning’s performance. The guys had come back to the dressing room, picked up their gear and left Monique to sort herself out.
Despite the aches and pains, she was glad that she hadn’t had to spell out that she wanted to be alone while she undressed. If it could be called undressing that is, it was more like peeling off a thoroughly uncomfortable layer of skin. Any other day she’d have just worn the same kind of gear as the rest of the gang; torn jeans and playful, colourful tops. But that was before she started taking career advice from Dawson Roberts-Haw. The man was a bloated pervert, but he was, after all, the Ruby’s general manager. He’d launched a hundred music careers and said he knew what it takes. Apparently, it takes little more than baring an embarrassing amount of skin on stage.
She unwound the last of the wrap from around her breasts and let the PVC fall to the floor. Walking gingerly thanks to the pins and needles in her foot, she moved across the room and into the shower. The cool water worked off the fatigue from a long morning on the stage, and washed away the heat still burning her cheeks from having two thousand pairs of eyes working with what little imagination her outfit left them. She didn’t normally mind anybody imagining whatever they wanted, but when she was on-stage, she wanted people to like her for her singing talent, not because she was dressed like a pornstar. The boys in the band didn’t say anything, but why would they? They probably enjoyed the view as much as anyone else. It was hard sometimes, she reflected as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her waist, being the only girl in a band otherwise composed almost entirely of testosterone.
As Monique towelled off, a beep sounded, and a blue icon began flashing in the corner of the viewscreen at the far end of the room. She sighed loudly, and retied the towel around her so that it covered her chest, before sitting in front of the screen and thumbing it.
“Hi chaps,” a throaty voice boomed through the screen as a round, plump face complete with charming smile lines and deep brown eyes resolved itself “how’re you… Monique! You look positively ravishing!”
“Dawson,” she replied. She let her eyes glance at the time on the screen “good morning.”
“Good morning to you too. Seriously,” his face loomed larger as though he were putting it right up against the screen on his end. He probably was. ”I think it’s the hair,” Dawson’s jaw worked silently from side to side as the silence stretched into uncomfortable seconds.
“Did you watch the set this morning Dawson?” Monique said to break the quiet.
“Ha!” he barked, a huge smile spreading across his face that seemed to emphasise his baldness “Me and half the city. Say, where’s the rest of the crew?”
“They didn’t hang around,” she wanted to scowl at the image of Dawson Roberts-Haw, but decided it wasn’t a wise career move.
“Not a problem. I’ll catch up to them later. I just wanted to give you the bad news in person.”
Monique sat back in her chair, hands moving to ensure the towel covered everything “What bad news?”
“I’m afraid I’ve had to cancel your evening performance in the Basement.”
Monique cursed mentally. It’d taken what seemed ages to get even this far, and this sounded like two steps backwards. A performance in Ruby’s Basement was like gold-dust for almost all the aspiring bands in the city. Chasing Velvet had been granted a slot in primetime party hours. It had seemed too good to be true.
Dawson seemed to hear her thoughts.
“It’s not what you think babe,” he winced, realising too late that Monique hated being called that “there’s been a development, and I need a tougher line-up.”
“What development?” She said, feigning boredom. Chances were she was just getting passed an excuse for the administrative error that had landed them the slot in the first place.
“Artemis is manoeuvring tonight.” He said seriously “A complete U-turn. You know what that means. It’ll be like New Year’s down there, complete madness.”
Monique did know what that meant. Firstly it must be true, because it was too obvious to lie about without getting caught. Secondly, her hopes of jumping ship with the band during the Nomia rendezvous had just gone up in smoke. Thirdly, and as far as Dawson was likely concerned, most importantly, it would mean a party of epic proportions right across the city. Artemis’ Artificial Gravity generators were good, but not so good you could turn the whole ship around at a couple of billion miles an hour without the generators struggling to keep up. The result was, invariably, gravitational anomalies that had you floating, falling, jerking and swaying for a good couple of hours. City routes were standard and monotonous enough to make the need for such manoeuvres rare, and always cause for joyous, drunken, drug-enhanced celebration. She knew it was a business opportunity Dawson would never risk by having a rookie in his line-up. He’d have the cream of his acts working through the night, and Chasing Velvet didn’t fit the bill. Monique wondered silently why the hell the city was changing course, other than to deliberately ruin her life.
“Look,” Dawson started calmly “I know you’re disappointed. Believe me, I wanted you guys to get that chance. And you will get a chance.”
“Right.” Monique looked away from the screen “Just as soon as I take off even more clothes, huh Dawson?”
His eyes widened “I knew you didn’t trust me on that!” he exclaimed “Well…”
“Well, what Dawson?” she said angrily “I look like a goddamn hooker out there on your advice, and then we still lose our spot at the Basement?”
“You think it’s like that do you?” a more sinister smile spread across his lips “Maybe it’s just as well the rest of your little band aren’t here, because I’ve got some news for you, my pretty.”