Right, now we've created our characters, it's time to do something with them!
Using the character that you created last time, write an account of them at a family dinner. Decide who their family is, what kind of a house it is, what they eat, etc. How do they react when eating dinner? What do they talk about? Use your imagination, but make your character real!
Tuesday 4th June challenge
ReplyDeleteElliot sighed as he stood in front of the house. His aunts had never taken care of it. The path was strewn with tulips and nettles to a point where it was invisible. Roses had grown over the door and it was an effort to open it.
Inside was in complete contrast to the garden. The whole place was clean and the smell of air freshener caught in Elliot’s throat and nearly made him cough. The sofas in the front room were an odd shade of pink that hurt the eyes. The paintings on the walls all showed various animals in profile. The light was a dappled green as ivy had shrouded the window.
Elliot kicked his shoes off as quietly as he could. He always had a problem disturbing his aunts, even though they did not.
His feet making no noise on the ankle deep, cream carpet, Elliot made his way through the doorway to the dining room. There were no doors in the house. His aunts had something against doors and only let the front one remain because it stopped the draughts.
His aunts were already sitting at the table, as was his uncle. There are some people who suit mutton-chops and a goatee, there are some on which the elaborate beard style looks like a werewolf has been attacked by hair clippers, but just made Thaddeus Sinclair look evil. The curving scar from the corner of his eye to the side of his mouth didn’t help.
Sitting in the middle of the table, steaming and smelling of brandy, was a Christmas pudding. The middle of august, the first course, and Aunt Joseph, short for Josephine, but she didn’t like that, or Jo, so she was called Joseph, was waiting expectantly over it with a knife.
As soon as Elliot entered, she looked up at him and brought the knife down. There was a pop as whatever she put in the middle of the pudding exploded. ‘Elliot!’ she shrieked, throwing the knife behind her, where it stuck in the wall. She wrapped him in a strangling hug.
‘Hello, Aunt Joseph. Aunt Jennifer. Aunt Genevieve. Thaddeus.’
‘Elliot!’
‘Ellis!’
‘Boy.’
‘Sorry I’m late. What are we eating?’
‘Christmas pudding, and roast beef for dessert.’ Aunt Joseph took her normal approach to cooking, which was that they ate whatever came out the oven when it came out the oven, even if that meant the Christmas pudding was served with gravy.
They ate in silence. Thaddeus kept glaring across at Elliot. His aunts kept nattering about just about everything that came to their mind, talking over each other at points. Elliot tried to offer something to the ‘conversation’ sometimes but he was all but ignored. There was the odd ‘That’s nice, dear,’ or ‘Ask your Uncle Thaddeus,’ but that was as far as it got.
After they had eaten, Thaddeus said, ‘Perhaps the boy would like to see the portrait gallery.’ This was code for ‘I would like a private word with the boy, probably concerning his inheritance, backed up by threats.’ His aunts never remembered that he had seen the portrait gallery every time he had been and thought seeing his family history would be good for him.
The flight of steps led down into the passageway-like basement below the house. The only sound was the whir of a dehumidifier.
The door slammed shut, making Elliot jump. ‘Now, boy, I have an offer for you…’
Lin’s head ached. The hum of low-level noise that suffused the dining room was beginning to have an effect. She could be talking to any of seven or eight of the USA’s most influential politicians right now, but instead she had chosen to accede to her brother’s request – simple enough, or so she had supposed. Now, a dull pain throbbed at her temples and she longed for the sophisticated conversation of her working peers.
ReplyDeleteRyan grinned at her from behind a glass of champagne. He’d had three already, and it was starting to take its toll on his better judgement. He peered at her owlishly and she noticed her subconscious gravitation towards invisibility. Her head was bowed; she lifted it, and smiled back at her brother. Her posture was tense and small; she uncurled her limbs and uncrossed her legs, loosening tendons.
Her slightly senile mother raised a toast at one end of the table, apparently not caring that no one was joining in.
“To… Queen Victoria,” she slurred, and lifted her glass with an unsteady hand. Briefly Lin wondered who had decided it was a good idea to let the demented old bat near the whisky cupboard – or what had come over Geoffrey to leave it unlocked. She made a mental note to remind her irresponsible little brother that whatever else their mother might have, she certainly did not possess a head for her drink.
Before Lin could voice her thoughts, her mother stood shakily, warbled a slightly altered and certainly less ceremonious version of ‘God Save the Queen’ and then promptly collapsed.
Lin sighed and decided the best course of action in this situation was to remove all alcoholic beverages from the immediate vicinity at once.
She did so, locked the cupboard and quietly hung the key over the mantelpiece. Ryan was drunkenly trying to help their mother up; Geoffrey was ignoring the whole situation and tossing back another drink with Myra, who had probably long passed the point of no return with the tequila.
Lin slipped out the door.