Alright- So you changed your stance completely from your initial stance, which was a boxing stance. If you are going to change that’s fine but you should allude to it somehow. Next you draw and fire…only one shot? I can see your actions but you can clean it up. For instance, when you find cover behind a tree…and both hands on the trigger…small things but they can be tightened up.
My response:
Carl watched the man with a curious expressions, but as he reached for his pistol, Carl was already moving. Dropping to his right, he rolled on his shoulder and came up on his feet running towards the tree line. Diving for the trees as the explosion of the shot filled the air, he scrambled until he was up against the trunk of a large, thick oak. Fishing in the left pocket of his shorts, Carl pulled out a snap-lock Tanto knife. The echo of the hand cannon that the man had fired finally diminished. Out of the right he pulled out a taser. Biting his lip, Carl peered out around the trunk trying to locate the man with the gun.
The writer who cares more about words than about characters, action, setting, and atmosphere is unlikely to create a vivid and continuous dream; he gets in his own way too much; in his poetic drunkenness, he can't tell the cart- and its cargo- from the horse.
-John Gardner
"Grieve not, wise warrior. It is better
to avenge one's friend than mourn too much.
Each of us must one day reach the end
Of worldly life, let him who can win
glory before he dies: that lives on
after him, when he lifeless lies."
Where said "yet having the smarts to keep three bullet in the chamber" If I remeber right Magnum Rev. Only has six slots so he fired three. I know I should of put three shots. But i wasn't sureif we was going for 10 lines or not. Okay so now we're doing gun battle or hand to hand? or what ever I can type out to this point?Originally Posted by Skallagrim
You are correct, always mention how many shots you fire. Either is fine, I have a taser and a knife.
The writer who cares more about words than about characters, action, setting, and atmosphere is unlikely to create a vivid and continuous dream; he gets in his own way too much; in his poetic drunkenness, he can't tell the cart- and its cargo- from the horse.
-John Gardner
"Grieve not, wise warrior. It is better
to avenge one's friend than mourn too much.
Each of us must one day reach the end
Of worldly life, let him who can win
glory before he dies: that lives on
after him, when he lifeless lies."
With his back against the fully grown tree. A few Leaf's fall from one of the branch's. All togetter they fall Scattered on the grass near his left foot. He heard Carl getting closer. Hearing him as he stepped on leafs. He closed his eyes. Knowing he might be armed as well. He closed his eyes and spoke the words he had on his mnd. Calmly putting the Magnum down to his gut but with both hands on the trigger. "Do you really wanna go out like this? Two grown men hiding behind a tree. Ready to kill each other." He told calmly and moved away from the tree trunk. A small sweat starts to come down from his forehead. Knowing Carl was on the other side. He back off slowly. Walking backwards. Still having the gun down as good faith if the other man saw him. "Do you know what I need? A good ass whipping. not the kinky kind. The bloody knuckles, to the near death kind. Get me?" The man asked. Still calmy backing away with his focused on the tree trunk. Sweat pooring to his eyes now.
Alright- we are on opposite sides of the same tree. So you are lowering your weapon, and backing away from the tree. I like your touches, the sweat, and how you’re focus on the tree. They add to the scene.
My Response:
The man with the hand cannons spoke from a remarkably close place, close like right around the tree. Shifting his grip in the knife he held it low, and the taser he pulled closer to his body, not wanting to give away that he had such a weapon on him. Licking his lips, Carl heard the man stepping away from the tree, and then as he began placing distance between them, he spoke. It seemed the guy wanted to have an outright brawl. What the hell it had been an odd day anyway. Keeping the taser ready in case it was a trap, Carl leaned around the tree catching a glimpse of the man. “Sure boss, why not.”
The writer who cares more about words than about characters, action, setting, and atmosphere is unlikely to create a vivid and continuous dream; he gets in his own way too much; in his poetic drunkenness, he can't tell the cart- and its cargo- from the horse.
-John Gardner
"Grieve not, wise warrior. It is better
to avenge one's friend than mourn too much.
Each of us must one day reach the end
Of worldly life, let him who can win
glory before he dies: that lives on
after him, when he lifeless lies."
The man smiled, he calmy unloaded the magnum. Shaking the bullets out of the barrel, allthree fell to the groudn infront of him. His eye's still on the tree. Keeping an eye on the other man. The man lift's up his right arm stretched out. Which he is holding the magnum in. The magnum is dangling from his index finger. his left arm staying stright down on his left never moved yet. Just then, his right arm drops. As doe's the magnum on the grass. He licks his upper lip and swollows. Still smiling, he backs up until the man shows himself in full. "I was alway's taught to handle my problems like a man. Anybody can kill anybody with a gun. But fighting, that's real skill. Real strength. The gun was just a mistake. We are all human. I have a bad temper. Bad temper's and guns don't mix...You understand?" Asked the man. He lifts up both of his arms in front of him spreading them not far part. He moves slowly to the left. With a smirk ready for the man to come out.
Last edited by TheDesperado; 01-29-2013 at 05:04 PM.
Carl watched the guy with the hand cannon unload the gun, several bullets falling from the cylinder, landing in the loamy earth. The guy was speaking some soliloquy about facing problems like a man. With a shrug, Carl flipped the tanto shut and pocketed the taser. Rising from his crouch he stepped lightly from the tree, his hands loose, his fists half closed. Right leg forward, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet. Cracking his neck to the left he felt the bones pop and loosen, inhaling deeply he nodded, “Alright hoss, let’s dance.”
The writer who cares more about words than about characters, action, setting, and atmosphere is unlikely to create a vivid and continuous dream; he gets in his own way too much; in his poetic drunkenness, he can't tell the cart- and its cargo- from the horse.
-John Gardner
"Grieve not, wise warrior. It is better
to avenge one's friend than mourn too much.
Each of us must one day reach the end
Of worldly life, let him who can win
glory before he dies: that lives on
after him, when he lifeless lies."
Okay, how is this part gonna go down? Do I say I kick you with my right leg and I type your defense or what?
Well, you type your attack and I handle my defense. You never control someone else' character unless you are doing a collaborative fight and even then it is just minor things.
So for example an attack can be written like so: Guy with skull belt shuffles in close, judging the distance between the two men, then suddenly whips out a right-handed roundhouse, torquing his body and shoulder to generate bone crushing power for the punch towards Carl's head.
The writer who cares more about words than about characters, action, setting, and atmosphere is unlikely to create a vivid and continuous dream; he gets in his own way too much; in his poetic drunkenness, he can't tell the cart- and its cargo- from the horse.
-John Gardner
"Grieve not, wise warrior. It is better
to avenge one's friend than mourn too much.
Each of us must one day reach the end
Of worldly life, let him who can win
glory before he dies: that lives on
after him, when he lifeless lies."
Moving slowly, around him starting from the right. Keeping his defense stance. Yet keeping his distance to medum. More sweat comes down to his eye brows. Completly focused on his opponent "My name is Marcus by the way." he commented. Smiling wide enough you could see his teeth.
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