John Noble (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jackofallgeeks) wrote2004-02-11 10:02 pm
jackofallgeeks) wrote2004-02-11 10:02 pm
The Ascension: It Begins
Finally got some writing done. This afternoon I only had that first paragraph and an idea on where I want it to go. Now, well... I think maybe I can start going somewhere with this! This is the novel I want to write -- God willing, maybe I will.
The Ascension: It Begins
The latch popped as he slammed his shoulder into the steel door, a hollow boom echoing back down the stairwell as he launched outside onto the roof, the soles of his sneakers sliding over the rain-wet gravel. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth into his stubbly brown goatee and his dirty-blonde bangs hung down over his piercing blue eyes, already drenched by the downpour of the storm-torn night. He brushed his dripping bangs out of his face and searched the roof as sounds rumbled up from the open doorway behind him. The Operatives were closing in now, and they would have him if he didn't move.
He staggered across the rooftop, clutching a hand over his cramped side, his hooded sweatshirt heavy with rain, and the gravel crunched wetly under his footfalls. The sapphire teardrop pendant he wore around his neck bounced off his chest in an off-beat rhythm. His legs were leaden long before he got to the large, dark, blocky air-conditioning unit only a dozen feet from the door. He pulled himself around to its back side, away from the stairwell, and slid down to the ground, trying to catch his breath and take in the rooftop all at once.
Several other air-conditioning units stood at odd intervals around the rooftop, ducts and pipes sinking into the roof and steamy vapor rising into the churning mass of purple and grey above the roof. The rain poured down, pooling beneath the gravel on the roof, and running in icy rivulets down his neck and along his spine. The sparse noises of traffic rose up from the streets far below.
Just on the other side of the roof, a ladder clung to the edge of the building, scrapping metallically against the brick siding in the sharp wind. It dipped down between two buildings; if he got to it he could climb into the alley below and escape his pursuers on the ground of the city.
He stood up, and was just about to leave his spot behind the air-conditioning unit when three figures appeared out of the stairwell.
The first one on the left was tall and pale, his circular glasses flashing blue in the odd light of the night. His head was completely bald, and he had a neatly-cropped black beard around his mouth. A haughty smirk seemed perpetually on his face, and he stood there, his white lab coat blowing in the wind, as though he owned the place. He probably did.
The second one, standing on the right, was clean-shaven and short – he seemed shorter due to his stoutness, and shorter still because of his hunched-over manner. He held his arms away from his body like a bear might, if a bear were dressed in a back sweater and heavy brown cargo pants. A dark grey visor obscured his eyes, which itself was obscured by his shaggy, wildly-blown brown hair. He wore a pair of bulky-looking metal boots with chromed struts. His visored gaze swept the rooftop from side to side, like an animal on the scent of his prey.
The third man stood behind the other two, like a large, ominous shadow. His charcoal Armani suit matched his dark skin; he looked as though he’d been carved from a single block of obsidian. His head, too, was completely bald, and his rock-like jaw was clean-shaven. A pair of black sunglasses completed his visage, streaks of purple lightning reflecting back periodically. His thick arms were held loosely at his side, and he clutched his hands at his waist, looking as though he had just entered a negotiations meeting with a rival company.
The Ascension: It Begins
The latch popped as he slammed his shoulder into the steel door, a hollow boom echoing back down the stairwell as he launched outside onto the roof, the soles of his sneakers sliding over the rain-wet gravel. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth into his stubbly brown goatee and his dirty-blonde bangs hung down over his piercing blue eyes, already drenched by the downpour of the storm-torn night. He brushed his dripping bangs out of his face and searched the roof as sounds rumbled up from the open doorway behind him. The Operatives were closing in now, and they would have him if he didn't move.
He staggered across the rooftop, clutching a hand over his cramped side, his hooded sweatshirt heavy with rain, and the gravel crunched wetly under his footfalls. The sapphire teardrop pendant he wore around his neck bounced off his chest in an off-beat rhythm. His legs were leaden long before he got to the large, dark, blocky air-conditioning unit only a dozen feet from the door. He pulled himself around to its back side, away from the stairwell, and slid down to the ground, trying to catch his breath and take in the rooftop all at once.
Several other air-conditioning units stood at odd intervals around the rooftop, ducts and pipes sinking into the roof and steamy vapor rising into the churning mass of purple and grey above the roof. The rain poured down, pooling beneath the gravel on the roof, and running in icy rivulets down his neck and along his spine. The sparse noises of traffic rose up from the streets far below.
Just on the other side of the roof, a ladder clung to the edge of the building, scrapping metallically against the brick siding in the sharp wind. It dipped down between two buildings; if he got to it he could climb into the alley below and escape his pursuers on the ground of the city.
He stood up, and was just about to leave his spot behind the air-conditioning unit when three figures appeared out of the stairwell.
The first one on the left was tall and pale, his circular glasses flashing blue in the odd light of the night. His head was completely bald, and he had a neatly-cropped black beard around his mouth. A haughty smirk seemed perpetually on his face, and he stood there, his white lab coat blowing in the wind, as though he owned the place. He probably did.
The second one, standing on the right, was clean-shaven and short – he seemed shorter due to his stoutness, and shorter still because of his hunched-over manner. He held his arms away from his body like a bear might, if a bear were dressed in a back sweater and heavy brown cargo pants. A dark grey visor obscured his eyes, which itself was obscured by his shaggy, wildly-blown brown hair. He wore a pair of bulky-looking metal boots with chromed struts. His visored gaze swept the rooftop from side to side, like an animal on the scent of his prey.
The third man stood behind the other two, like a large, ominous shadow. His charcoal Armani suit matched his dark skin; he looked as though he’d been carved from a single block of obsidian. His head, too, was completely bald, and his rock-like jaw was clean-shaven. A pair of black sunglasses completed his visage, streaks of purple lightning reflecting back periodically. His thick arms were held loosely at his side, and he clutched his hands at his waist, looking as though he had just entered a negotiations meeting with a rival company.
Re:
I just felt slightly bothered by some words I felt redundant. It can slow down the reading of it, and that can annoy the reader.
I also now noticed that perhaps "launched himself" would be better in the first sentence... otherwise it's sort of incomplete: "as he launched outside onto the roof" Launched himself.. or lunged forward. Maybe lunged would be a better verb for this.
Goatees I never picture as mangy... if they're to the point of being mangy, it's more of a beard than a goatee.. I can't recall ever seeing a goatee that looked slick.. wouldn't that require moose or something? Do people actually do that? And what's a cropped or scruffy goatee look like? Maybe I lack in seeing the full fashion display of goatees, but am I really the only one?
Rain-wet just seems like trying too hard... it has rained. It's still raining. He's got water dripping off his face.. what else would it be? A hose or water pipe exploded on the roof? You have to watch it on giving detail.. if you give TOO much, that also can annoy the reader because it sounds like you're assuming they're an idiot, or simply because it doesn't leave room for their own imagination to work with your idea.
So exactly what do you mean by him having 'piercing' eyes?
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As for piecring eyes... sharp. A gaze that could pin you to the wall, or cut you to your soul. I'm sure you've seen the sort. They aren't the soft or warm eyes that some have, but hard and cold. Those eyes. Not that he's a mean guy, mind you... perhapse 'intense' is a better word.
Re:
I would save describing it as 'piercing' until another part where he actually DOES look at someone then. Then you'll be able to describe it full force to explain what you mean.. but for now it kind of just sounds silly, like laser beams will shoot out and cut holes in buildings.