Through the Liquor Glass (Part 2)

This isn't really in a very good chapter format, because the story was never intended to be divided into the chapters; I just needed a suitable place to stop so I could upload it.

I'm not really sure about this part, but I want to finish the entire thing before I do any real editing. I feel like there's a disconnect from the characters here, and I know that I never really established Jim's character as an asshole, so this seems to me like more of a breakdown than business as usual for the guy.

Lemme know what you think, but like I said, I know it isn't that good, so I'm looking more for issues and advice with regard to plot and characters than anything really about the writing.

Jim stepped through, and the ambience suddenly changed; the chirping birds and gentle breezes of the path were gone, replaced by the metropolitan clamor of the city. People of all shapes and colors walked by, dressed in bright colors and Prince-like outfits, and mixed among the crowd were upright animals and strange fantasy creatures the likes of which he had only seen in movies and hallucinations.

“Those two were certainly fearsome,” Thoroughgood said, casting a nervous glance at the gate over his shoulder. Jim grunted, hardly paying attention to the giant bottle as he took in the strange sights and surprisingly pleasant smells of the city. Everything was clean plaster and smooth stone, with brightly-colored minarets spiraling up into the sky above onion-dome roofs and grand, arching bridges. The incredible foreignness of the place made him uneasy, in a way that no city ever had before, and he felt incredibly unprepared for whatever it was he was about to do.

“Shit,” he muttered, watching a cat-woman in a bright blue dress walk by. “I need a fucking cigarette.”

“Pardon?” Thoroughgood looked up at Jim.

“Nothin’,” he shook his head. “Let’s just go see this wizard guy.”

“Right-oh!” Thoroughgood exclaimed, bouncing forward and pointing ahead to the heart of the city. “This way!” Jim followed after him, staring about like a culture-shocked tourist on his first day in New York.

The streets were more and more crowded the farther they got into the city, and before long Jim found his shoulders brushing against silk shirts and bared fur, and more than once he was shoved out of the way by some absurdly sized man-bear-pig that probably couldn’t even speak. He was exhausted and soaked with sweat by the time they finally reached a plaza where they could stop, and he sat down heavily on the stone ledge of a gigantic fountain, his head hanging down almost between his legs.

“Holy shit,” he gasped. “I’m gonna die.” Thoroughgood stood in front of him, concern clear on his label.

“What’s wrong, Jim?” he asked, tilting himself to try and see the man’s face.

“It’s too fuckin’ hot, man,” he said, words nearly lost in his panting. “I can’t take this shit right now.”

“But Jim,” Thoroughgood said. “We’ve only gone a block. The wizard’s temple is on the other end of the city.” Jim looked up slowly. His met with the ones on Thoroughgoods label, and he dropped his head into his hands with a groan that sounded suspiciously like the word fuck.

“Gimme a minute,” he said tiredly, composing himself mentally to stand back up. His head was throbbing, his stomach was churning ominously, his legs burned, and every breath he took tasted like hot vomit. He forced himself to stand, straightening as much as he could and not quite making it all the way. Slouching there like a wet sack of puke-flavored shit, he began searching through his coat pockets; he had to have a pack of cigarettes somewhere.

“C’mon,” he muttered under his breath as he reached into his jacket. With a frustrated grunt, he switched to patting his pants pockets. He finally found something in his back pocket, and gingerly pulled out a flattened pack of Camel 100s. Ignoring the fact that he smoked Marlboros, he carefully squeezed the box back into a closer approximation of its original shape and opened it. Thoroughgood watched him quizzically as he threw a dozen crushed and mangled cigarettes onto the ground with increasingly violence. He was cursing out loud by the time he finally found one that wasn’t ruined,

“Fuckin’ A,” he muttered, pulling his Led Zeppelin zippo from his pocket and flicking it open. As he sparked it, a feeling came over him stronger than he had ever felt looking into a woman’s eyes, but no flame started. He muttered around the cigarette in his mouth as he kept trying, watching the futile sparks with increasing anger. If he could just light the cigarette, he would be fine. But his lighter was empty. He snapped it closed and returned it to his pocket, seething with cold fury. Thoroughgood saw the look in his eyes and shied away slightly, the uncharacteristic nervousness he had displayed at the gate returning to the face on his label. Jim stood there for a moment, unlit cigarette hanging limply from lips, his mind running through a litany of baseless hatred of biblical proportions.

“Jim?” Thoroughgood asked tentatively, and Jim snapped. He hurled the cigarette to the ground.

“Fuck!” he shouted, casting about for something to kick. “Fucking-asshole-cock-sucking-mother-fucker-god-damn-piece-of –shit-cunts!” Thoroughgood stepped backward, frightened by the sudden outburst but unwilling to flee from his new friend. “What the fuck!” Jim hollered at no one in particular. “What the fuck! Crazy fucking bullshit, can’t even light a fucking cigarette! What is this shit?” He was stomping on the fountain ledge, putting all his anger at his friends for abandoning him, at his lighter for failing him into every kick, channeling all of his pent-up confusion at his situation through his foot and into the polished marble. He had devolved into a string of obscenities, no longer saying anything coherent, and a crowd had started to form around him, Thoroughgood at the center trying to calm him with unheard words. Jim looked around at the inhuman faces, the fur-covered bodies and the outrageous outfits, and stopped his useless violence.

“What the fuck are you looking at,” he demanded of them. “You fucking freaks, you look like a bunch of faggot nip trekkies.” He singled out a tiger-man from the crowd. “What the fuck are you, anyway? You fuckin’ hairy freak, go lick your fuckin’ balls or something, ya faggot. All of you, get the fuck outta here, you god-damn Muppet mother-fuckers. Lookin’ at me like I’m the freak, you fuckin’ cock-suckers.” A path cleared through the crowd as he lashed out, and a group of dog-men in blue uniforms and bobby-hats approached brandishing billy-clubs. Jim took one look at them and laughed.

“What is this,” he scoffed. “The fuckin’ faggot patrol?” He shoved his right hand into his jacket-pocket and slipped on a pair of black brass knuckles. “Come on, you fuckin’ pussies, I’ll break your fuckin’ heads.” Thoroughgood seemed on the verge of running away, trembling where he stood off to the side. The entire crowd was silent save for Jim hurling insults and challenges at the dog-police encircling him, and as one of them stepped forward with his hands in a show of peace, opening his mouth to say something, Jim swung. The dog-man went down in a heap, fur and pointed-teeth flying through the air as the brass-knuckles connected with his jaw, and the last thing Jim saw before everything went black was a wooden stick speeding toward his head.

“Jim stepped through, and the ambience suddenly changed; the chirping birds and gentle breezes of the path were gone, replaced by the metropolitan clamor of the city.” I think that semicolon works better as a colon. But eh, either works.

“People of all shapes and colors walked by, dressed in bright colors and Prince-like outfits…” – colors x2. Do you mean the Artist Formerly Known as Prince? or like clothing fit for royalty? And also, does Jim fit in / feel comfortable? Do people stare at him as being too plain, or is he just another body?

“…staring about like a culture-shocked tourist on his first day in New York.” New York City I think you mean.

I think you could use a little more description of the occupants of the city. Rather than just generalities, give us some specifics. Right now they’re just a blur of colors to me. Is there a sidewalk for pedestrians and a center boulevard for larger, faster moving things, or is it just all a crowd? You could also stick in some more juxtapositions – like, he sees something that looks like a monster from a horror film with 7 ½ arms, but it’s selling candy apples and knitting socks. I dunno. Just a few specific examples of the people/creatures and what they’re doing would make it feel more alive and real, but not too many or it would slow down too much.

“But Jim,” Thoroughgood said. “We’ve only gone a block.… - said should have a comma after it, we’ve lower case, as it’s one sentence.

“His head was throbbing, his stomach was churning ominously, his legs burned, and every breath he took tasted like hot vomit.” – I’d make this consistent tense/wording – that is, write it “His head throbbed, his stomach churned ominously, his legs burned, and every breath he took tasted like hot vomit.” Up to you of course.

“…he began searching through his coat pockets; he had to have a pack of cigarettes somewhere.” – is he wearing his jacket? I seem to recall him carrying it.

Aha we’ve all had days like Jim’s. Ok, well maybe not quite like Jim’s, but I know exactly how he’s feeling when he snaps without you having to tell me, and that humanness transcends the weirdness and otherworldliness, yeah yeah?

“He was stomping on the fountain ledge, putting all his anger at his friends for abandoning him, at his lighter for failing him into every kick, channeling all of his pent-up confusion at his situation through his foot and into the polished marble.” – I don’t like the word “putting” in there… maybe directing?

(shouldn’t trekkies be capitalized?)

“What is this,” he scoffed. “The fuckin’ faggot patrol?” – scoffed should have a comma after, and the should be lower case – again, as its one sentence.

As to Jim’s behavior – I can totally understand his breakdown and hissy fit, but his violence didn’t so much work for me. It made me like him less, mostly because he was the one to initiate the violence, rather than him defending himself.

Thoroughgood is quite entertaining. I think your characterization of him is very consistent.

Bartender, I'd like another shot when you get around to it...
Good work, etc etc.


This city desert makes you feel so cold,
Casey

Just a quick comment on one thing you pointed out, because I pretty much agree with everything else you said.

As to Jim’s behavior – I can totally understand his breakdown and hissy fit, but his violence didn’t so much work for me. It made me like him less, mostly because he was the one to initiate the violence, rather than him defending himself.

This is kind of the point; Jim isn't exactly a sympathetic character. He's kind of a douchebag. I plan on going back and making this clearer in the beginning of the story, because obviously it isn't really coming through too clearly as it is.

This is kind of the point; Jim isn't exactly a sympathetic character. He's kind of a douchebag. I plan on going back and making this clearer in the beginning of the story, because obviously it isn't really coming through too clearly as it is.

Yes yes, as you say, if that's what you want then you should go back and tweak it to make Jim's douchebaggery more apparent. Because as it is, I quite liked Jim up to the point where he decided it would be a good idea to hit the equivalent of a copper.

But do you mean that you don't want the reader to like Jim? Are we not supposed to sympathize with him?