Today two "dialogue only" stories.
From Brandon Sanderson's writing exercise. Which was:
Write a two-character dialogue with no tags or blocking. Try to evoke character, conflict, and plot using only dialogue. Include: a problem, two distinct individuals, a fantasy/sf element. Avoid: long monologues, exposition. Use context, not explanations.
The Syfter
“What is that?”
“What?”
“That.”
“Oh... that's nothing.”
“
That is nothing?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you stupid?”
“No.”
“Then you know its a Siftyr.”
“Oh,
that.”
“Yes, that!”
“I thought you meant the toaster.”
“No, the Siftyr.”
“Well, if you know what it is, why are you asking me 'what is that'?”
“Sorry, I didn't mean 'what is that'. What I meant was: Why, under the Breath of Thought, would you, or anyone with half a head, have
that just lying there, next to your chair? With a sandwich on top of it.”
“I found it.”
“You found it? Where?”
“In the fridge.”
“No. The Reaver. The Siftyr. Where did you get it?”
“Goodwill.”
“Oh right, I forgot about the 'Mindbendingly Rare & Evil Contraptions section' in the back next to the brik-a-brak. Well, grab your sandwhich, I'm going to destroy it. The Siftyr I mean, not the sandwich.”
“Wait.”
“Do you know what it does?
“It looks kinda like a space thing, a Buck Rogers future-that-never-was device of some sort, but it has these wires and the jars and its got that metal plate that says 'Siftyr' on it...? So, no.”
“That, my dear damned friend, is a Soul Harvestor. It sucks souls out of bodies. And stuffs them into little jars. Then it sucks all the water out of your body and scatters you to nothing. Well, close to nothing anyway... And you see the sweat on the thing? That's people residue. That's reminents of soul juice. And its seeping into your sandwich.”
“So, what do I do?”
“Well first
move the sandwich, and then if you want to suck yer own soul out, make it all neat and travel-sized, press that little blue button with the ghost thing on it. I will be running and screaming.”
“I don't think that's what I want.”
“Well then move. I have to smash it.”
“You're fucking with me, right?”
“No.”
“You
are. You're just fucking with me.”
“I promise I am not fucking with you. Now move.”
“Stop. I don't want it smashed.”
“Move.”
“No. I like it.”
“Its evil. It takes souls at the touch of a button.”
“I don't believe you. I think its pretty.”
“It rips the living essence from you, and then turns you to dust.”
“I'm going to turn it on.”
“
What?!”
“I'm going to turn it on.”
“Oh, there I go saying 'what' again when what I meant was: Please, under the Breath of Thought, don't turn the thing on. It will do very bad things to us. It is not meant for this world. It should be broken past any hope of repair. Let me break it.”
“One.”
“Don't do it. It will Reave you. You cannot begin to think this is a good idea. Come on. Don't do it. There is no point.”
“Two.”
“Why would you gamble, not only the life and body you know and the experiences that live in your future, but also that bit of you that is everlasting? Your eternal bit. The thing you share with the universe. Your soul. Throwing such a gift on the chopman's block, just to see if you can pull it back in time, or to see if just maybe he's got a foam axe. Disgusting. If you press that button and I happen to be wrong, remind me to never take you to Vegas.”
“Three.”
“...”
“...”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“.............weird....”
“Ooooooohh...”
“...Ahhhhh.”
“AAAAaaaaaarrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...”
“Ahh ahhh ahh ahhh ooooaa aghh aghh aaaghh...”
“Whaaaaaaaaaaattttttttthhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh...”
“Hhhhhhhhhhoooooolllly Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittttt!!!!!”
“--oh fuck-- --oh fuck-- --oh fuck-- ”
“Aahhhhhhrrrrr..”
“...”
“What a waste of a sandwich.”
Pray Tell
“Dear God. Well, as you must know I have some stuff going on--”
“What kinda stuff?”
“I do believe I said, 'Dear
God'.”
“And what am I?
“Not.”
“But I am an Angel.”
“And?”
“You don't believe me?”
“Oh, I believe you sure. I don't think you made those wings. I don't think that you are some creep that dresses up in a spectacular angel costume and sneaks into girls' bedrooms at night.”
“So fill me in. Let me get a word to Big Pop.”
“Well, when I pray isn't that talking directly to Him?”
“Uh, yeah, technically.”
“So, why would I talk to you to talk to Him, when I can just talk to Him?.”
“Maybe
I can help with something.”
“Nah, I don't think so.”
“Why?”
“You don't get it.”
“How do you know? You didn't even tell me what's going on.”
“You're an angel right?”
“Yup.”
“So you don't know what its like to be human. I'm sure you could give some bang-up angel advice with all the know how and ins and outs and such, but these issues I have are human issues, deep and mortal. Bloody even. It would be like a monkey asking for beaver advice.”
“Hmmm”
“And there, not even a hint of a smile. You didn't even think of a vagina did you?”
“What?”
“Beavers, sometimes we call vaginas bevears.”
“I know that.”
“But your mind didn't automatically go there. Mine did. I thought of a monkey and a vagina talking. Or maybe a monkey asking advice on vaginas.”
“Hmm. I see what you mean.”
“Yeah.”
“But that doens't mean I can't help. I can provide a perspecitve you would never be able to see from. Just like that monkey. He could provide some excellent perspective to that little vagina.”
“Haaahahaahhahahahahaaaahhhahaaa... 'little'?”
“I was thinking comparatively to the monkey... Did you know that a lot of people would do some interesting things just to talk to an angel?”
“Yeah, well I don't have to do anything and I can talk to God.”
“But not in person.”
“...touché.”
“OK then, lay it on me. What stuff do you have going on?”
“Well, first of all, I can't stop.”
