Young Writers Society

This is a writing activity where the first person chooses a scene and each person chooses a character from something they're writing, and together we write a scene where all the characters meet. If you weren't part of the first one please see that thread here and read the beginning so that you can better understand what this is.

Rules:
1) Try only to give information that would be visible to someone watching the scene. Don't tell us what the character is thinking, but try to show us.
2) Write in present tense.
3) Whoever starts should state the setting and genre (last time it was the beach and all genres). Also state any rules you might like to add.
4) Only one or two characters per person.
5) You can only write what your character says or does, not others.

Who wants to start?

Ooh, I remember having a lot of fun with this. You start J; I don't want to pick the scene. Maybe it could be a party or something, so that a lot of people could be there in and out of different rooms without it being weird.

I've never tried this before, but it looks like a lot of fun!

A party of some sort does seem appropriate ... how about a wedding? Wedding's are always interesting in some way, shape or form -- they can bring out the best or worst in people.

Also, does the character need to be from a story on this website?

Weddings? I LOVE weddings! *grins* I'm pretty sure the character(s) can be from anything.

I'd start it, but I'm a bit pressed for time right now.

[Okay, I think I'll give this a shot! Forgive me if I make a mistake in starting this, but this is my first attempt at this sort of activity. I won't go with a wedding scene, because that would probably be complicated about who's the bride and who's the groom and so forth ...]

The scene is at a club, buried in the depths of New York City. Night has fallen and the club is full of people, looking for an evening of dancing and socializing. This is all genres, but no controlling other people's characters, since that's unfair to the person playing him or her or it. Otherwise, I say we just see what this becomes!

Lights are flashing, music is pumping and the walls shake with the song's pumping rhythm. Hordes of people occupy the dance floor, swaying their hips to the beat, casting curious glances around them. Some are confident as they dance, while others remain wallflowers, watching others steal the limelight. A woman in her twenties remains in the middle, hovering on the edge of the dance floor.

She watches with raised eyebrows at the women so openly catching the eyes of other men. Skepticism is clearly etched in her angular facial details, from her glowing blue eyes to her thin frowning lips. She drums her long fingers on her hip, her midnight black hair falling to her shoulders and going well with her all-black outfit and cape. High-heeled boots give her more height than the others around her.

Sighing out of boredom, yet not daring to put a toe onto the dance floor, she raises her fingertips and summons a glass from the bar, which the bartender has just filled. People are bewildered, but the blaise expression she wears proves that the world she has landed in is not exciting enough to hold her interest for too long. She takes a sip, wrinking her nose at the bitter drink.

Two guys, one who looks about twenty and one who looks about seventeen, have just gotten into the club. The older one, tall, muscular, blond-haired, and blue-eyed, goes straight to the bar, and the younger, shorter one follows.

"Can I have a Zombie?" the blond one says to the bartender.

He hands her a ten-dollar bill. She makes sure he has the twenty-one-and-over wristband.

"I'm gonna go see if I can find everybody, okay?" says his friend, a brown-haired Italian-looking guy with a heavy Brooklyn accent.

The blond guy watches the bartender pour his drink, and then glances at the girl with the black hair and all-black clothing. He then looks back at the bartender, takes his drink, and thanks her. She tries to give him the change and he tells her she can keep it. He turns around and leans against the bar, drinking quickly. He seems to be looking for people he's supposed to meet. He makes sure the friend he entered with is in eyesight.

"Just keep your mouth shut and keep a low profile, okay?"

"God, you are no fun at all."

"Do I look like I care? I'm doing you a favour as it is."

Two girls are coming off the dance floor. One is dark-haired, tall, fair-skinned and dark-eyed with curves that make men stare and an even gaze that makes them back off in quick succession. Her skirt is short, but her top is modest, and though she's not flaunting her chest, guys stare anyway. The other girl is her opposite: blonde, short, slim, blue eyes, tanned, bronzed skin, and a grin on her face that makes eyes slide from her sister to her and remain.

The younger girl is eighteen; her dark-eyed sister is twenty and not happy about being talked into taking the younger to this club.

"I'm thirsty," says the blonde loudly, over the music.

"Too bad," retorts the other. "Because now I'm mad at you. Do the words 'low profile' mean absolutely nothing to you? Just because you're eighteen doesn't mean you're free of mom and dad yet, and if they find out I brought you they'll keep you at home until you're thirty. Now shut up and follow me."

The blonde rolls her eyes and follows her sister, relishing the stares the two girls are drawing.

Meanwhile, the brown-haired boy returns to the bar.

"Nevermind. I just talked to Adriana on the phone. They're not even here yet," he says to the guy drinking the Zombie.

"What? They left before us."

The blond guy does not share the same Brooklyn accent, except maybe slightly on a few words.

There's a pause, and then the brown-haired guy says, with some sarcasm, "Thanks for not getting us kicked out of the line this time."

The other laughs. He starts checking out the two sisters a few yards away. He's almost finished his drink already.

Disgusted by the drink that has been allowed access to her tastebuds, the woman scrapes her teeth against her tongue, trying to rid herself of the bitterness. Her nails tip tap on the glass as she shakes her head and goes to return it to the bar, planning on abandoning it so someone else can sweep by and clean it up for her. She passes two girls as she walks, one with dark hair and the other a blonde. The smaller one seems to enjoy the attention the men are giving her; the woman rolls her eyes. She shoves her way through the throngs of people, bumping into a blond man gazing at the two women as she reaches the bar at last.

"Pardon," she says carelessly, her eyes traveling up and down the man, taking in his features, "I can get rather distracted when there are drinks involved,"

When stuck in a foreign world, it seems best for her to blend in, as to not attract any unwanted attention. Even it includes resembling the women she wrinkles her nose at in this night club.

He smiles.

"It's okay. I certainly know what you mean."

His smile gives way to his naturally serious expression, one of the things that differentiates him from his friend, whose wide smile has rarely wavered.

"What's your name?" he adds, the alcohol making him friendlier.

It appears that he drank before he got here. He doesn't seem to be coming onto her or anything, just trying to start a conversation.

Before the older girl can stop her, the younger girl has butted into the conversation.

"Hi," she says, smiling slowly, a sensual curve of her mouth, and letting her eyes roam wherever they please.

The brunette, her brows creased ever so slightly, stands nearby, ignoring the group but keeping an eye on her sister.

"Hey," says the tall guy, his attention turning completely to the younger girl.

"Hi." The shorter guy's smile gets wider.

A young man of about 25 sits alone at the bar continuously orders shots of his good friend vodka and stares at each empty glass as he puts it back down onto the cold black bar. Occasionally he mutters something about spending millions of dollars on alcohol and perhaps destroying himself with it, but the words are slurred and directed at no one. Someone might have called this drowning sorrows, but Zero knew it as an addiction and a friend. After his seventh shot he stands up, stumbles and starts heading over towards the bathroom. Three wobbly steps into his journey he brushes against a rather short man talking to some girls. With unnecessary loudness he says with an obvious hint of sarcasm, "Terribly SORRY, friend," and continues toward the bathroom, muttering something about buying and selling someone's sorry ass.

A very tall young man with very bright red hair and freckles sat at the bar looking misrable. The bartender looked at him strangly; he was halfway through his fith beer and didn't even seem buzzed.

Sighing the young man stood up and looked around. He spotted two pretty young talking to another guy. "No one ever likes a red head" he told the bartender clearly, but with a very slight new yorker tint. The bartender nodded uncomfortably.

"Hmm" said the tall red head, "do you think i should dye my hair?" Just then the young man spotted his best freind, Robby Baroni. Robby, a young olive skinned ittalian, waved at him from where he stood telling a group of three girls some story or another.