Prose of the Season #3 - Dramatis Personæ

Prose | of | the | Season​

no. 3
[entries are due on November7th]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ​

Hello one and all and welcome to this Month’s Prose of the Season, number 3! You may have been expecting something to do with horror or fear this month and in that you would be absolutely and totally WRONG!

Following conventions is the last thing we want to do here, and so instead of the usual task to write a piece of prose on a given theme, I thought we should change things up a little this month. Prose and storytelling aren't solely based on plot you know, and this month our theme will be that of Character or more elegantly, Dramatis Personæ.

The task this time around is twofold:

Step 1: Create a bio/profile of a character suitable for the setting of some form of social gathering – for example, an 18th century high society ball, a rave in a nightclub or a friend’s birthday party. Be sure to describe the character’s personality, motivations, likes and dislikes and background as well as their appearance. This is somewhat like creating a character for a Roleplay or Character dump story, but very detailed.

Step 2: Write a short scene involving the character in your chosen setting. This should be short, so as a guide I would say no more than 1500 words. Feel free to go somewhat over if you wish, yet not too far. In this scene, your goal is to demonstrate how the character interacts with other characters, be it ones they admire, are friendly with, are hostile towards etc. The goal here is not plot however, it is in character development. Narration style can be whatever you choose, first person, third person, omnipotent, free indirect discourse, whatever. I am also allowing you to choose form from either prose or drama, how exciting. If you choose prose, standard fair, however if you choose drama, then I will expect stage directions and proper formatting consistent with the genre, so there is an added elemtent of challenge but also benefite. The important part is that you demonstrate how they interact with other characters.

Seeing as there are two parts to this month’s challenge, there may well be two winners. And indeed, there will also be two or more honourable mentions.

- The bio and scene must follow the Creativity Corner's rules and regulations

- If you wish to know the criteria used for judging, you may see it HERE

- You may post in this thread, but please keep it spam free. Discussion is permitted.

Good luck, and I look forward to all of your entries ^_^.

 

Just a reminder, sorry for double post:

All entries must be in by Midnight on the 31st of October [GMT +0], i.e., you have 2 days.

Also, the lovely Jayn will be the guest judge for this round :). Her roleplaying expertise will help in asessing the character driven portion of this month's contest. I look forward to reading all of your entries ... hopefully someone will enter ;___;.

 

Spoiler: Bio

Name: Rosalyn “Rosy†Laurelton

Appearance: Rosy has reddish-brown red hair that reaches down to her shoulders, collecting itself into a neat ponytail behind her neck. Her eyes are, as some people from school have announced, a “sh*t brown colorâ€. She wears a red scarf over a white blouse, believing the combination to pull the attention of onlookers from her face to her hair. A pair of jeans anchor onto her legs. They occasionally restrict her movements when it comes to extraneous activities, but allow just enough room to let her skin breathe. She wears a pair of red and white tap shoes, a hobby which she gave up long ago, but still finds herself dancing on some occasions.

Personality: Rosy is mildly introverted. She tends to keep more of her harsher opinions to herself, and typically speaks her mind when only passionate about something. Most of this passion, however, lies in her poetry. She frequently attends poetry readings at the local beach, and participates fully.

Spoiler: Story

Sand was a canvas. Hues of red, blue and yellow umbrella tops splashed against the tan wall, seeping down the crisp grain, fresh. A square of blue erupted over the canvas, stretching to the upper bounds as if a tarp. White fluffs of cotton sat painted in the blue, eternally shifting from left to right. A girl sat beneath the shade, an orange umbrella overhead swaying gently in the wind. She tapped her foot, brow furrowed tighter than the walls of a dam. On her left, a box of pastries lay on its back; on her right, a paper fluttered beneath the calm breeze. It was one she had been working on for a while; cross outs sprawled across the center of the page, radii reaching out to the edges. Even she was unsure where the poetry began and the mistakes ended. She picked up a handful of sand, watching the grain sift between her spidery fingers.

“Why can’t I do this?†She looked left to right, expecting the words on the paper to answer her question for her. Her eyes fell to the people running around. Most of them were stacked well; the men had muscles and the women were attractive. She looked down to her own arm, a sloppy spaghetti noodle. She sighed as a Frisbee flew over her head. A boy in red swim trunks came dashing at her, his sandy feet burying her paper beneath his weight. She stared at the paper as the boy caught the Frisbee in his hand, looking back to her with a cringe.

“Shit, sorry about that dude.†The boy walked over, picking the paper off the ground and dusting it off with his hands.

“It’s fine. It’s not like I could perform it well or anything.â€

“Well, I can’t say I’m a master of this writing thing, but it sounds like you might be able to pull it off.â€

“You’re reading it?!â€

“I did start to clean it off for you. It’s the least you can do for me in return.†The boy shrugged.

“But that’s only after you stepped all over it!â€

“Details. Anyway, I guess you’re entering that writing and reading thing they’re having down by the yellow umbrellas?â€

“Yes, I’m entering the poetry reading contest†she corrected, snatching the poem from his hand. The boy laughed, the Frisbee wiggling between his fingers.

“Oh yeah. Forgot you writers had fancy terms for everything you do. Well, I guess I’ll wish you good luck then.â€

“Thanks, I guess.†She rose to her feet, packing up her things.

“Oh yeah, by the way, what’s your name? I was thinking we could maybe chill later on.â€

“The name’s Rosy, and you are…?â€

“Daniel, bro.â€

“Well Daniel, maybe when you write me a senryu I’ll consider your little playdate.†Rosy walked off to the yellow tents, smiling. Behind her, she could hear Daniel’s shout pour of the beach;

“The fuck’s a sinrayoo?â€

---​

“I have said that the soul is not more than the body,
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul…â€

A girl was on stage, but Rosy couldn’t concentrate on her. Her hands were at work creasing the mountains in the paper, trying to topple them over. As they kept reforming, she let the paper fall onto her lap, rubbing her temples. The girl on stage was reading Whitman’s Song of Myself, and had been going at it for nearly an hour. Rosy could hear the chorus of snores around her rise with each passing stanza from the girl’s mouth. Even the judges appeared to be falling out, their yawns spilling over into the dead air. Rosy looked at the girl; her grin was as spread as her legs probably would be in another few hours. If it were up to Rosy, people like this wouldn’t be able to participate. People who just find poems and think they sound “kayâ€, then simply read them and go back to exploring the wonderful world of transmittable diseases. It’s these people who make something as fulfilling as a reading just another experience to add onto the things that make people want to die in a hole.

“Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.â€

“And done!†The girl squealed into the microphone. Everyone in the audience jumped at the noise, slowly clapping their hands together. Rosy could hear the judges groan a bit, before the girl handed the microphone to one of them.

“Er…yes. This was a mighty fine performance, and I look forward to seeing if our next contestant will raise the bar even further!†Rosy rose to her feet, clutching the poem in her right hand. Considering it can’t get any lower, it’ll be raised all right. Rosy passed the girl; she could hear a whisper pour into her ear.

“Good luck, loser. Maybe you won’t be as big of a freakish twat onstage. Well, until you are that is.†She slapped Rosy on the back, causing her to trip into a man’s chair. The girl laughed as Rosy rose from the man’s lap. Her face was riddled with anger, the tears flowing down her face burning the skin. As she worked her way up front, she could see Daniel approach one of the seats and the girl wrapping her arm around his waist.

“Next up we have Rosy Laurelton, who will perform for us Edna St. Vincent Millay’s work, Dirge Without Music!†People clapped as Rosy accepted the microphone, her head bowed to the ground. Her stomach felt like it was about to collapse into itself. I can’t do this…I can’t…

“Woo, Rosy! Show them that poe tree work!†Rosy looked up to see Daniel, his fist pumping high into the air. The look on Rosy’s face must have matched the look on the girl’s face. She swung her hand out from Daniel, shooting a glare this way. Daniel didn’t even notice; all of his attention was on Rosy. She smiled, he eyes bursting to life. With the paper held in her right hand, Rosy’s voice boomed over the audience.

“I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:â€

Rosy began to walk around the audience, their eyes levitating towards her.

“Into the darkness they go, the wise… and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but… I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you!
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust!â€

Rosy’s finger pointed to the ground, her eyes filled raw nectar of emotion. Daniel looked at her in awe, as if she were a different person altogether. And that’s what she felt; she felt powerful on the stage, taking and trying on the different masks of others, past and present spirits, ideas of the future. She embraced these personae, knowing deep down that she could connect with them, could feel what they felt.

“A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase… remains, --- but the best is lost.
The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone! They have gone to feed the roses! Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all…â€

Rosy stopped in front of Daniel, their eyes reflecting each other across lines upon lines of color. “The roses in the world.†The words came out in a whisper. Rosy shook her head, beginning her walk back towards the stage. She took a deep breath, spinning on her heel, her hair whipping across her face.

“Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave!
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent… the witty… the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I… am not resigned.â€

Applause exploded from the crowd. Rosy felt her chest rise and fall with each breath, a smile forming on her face. The other girl was long gone, her figure a speck in the distance. Daniel ran up to Rosy, wrapping his arms around her.

“Dude that was fantastic! I didn’t know you could spit bars like that!â€

“That was called slam poetry, which I guess is a form of rap music.†Rosy giggled, putting her arms around Daniel. The judges ran over to the two, presenting Rosy with an award for “making their summer days judging actually mean something!â€. The moment they left, Rosy punched Daniel in the arm.

“What was that for?â€

“You said you wan chill, correct?â€

“Oh, uh, yeah! I-I did.â€

“Don’t tell me the great Daniel is getting nervous around a female.â€

“Heh, let’s see you crack jokes after we have ourselves a rap battle ne day.â€

“You know,†Rosy said, grabbing his hand. She pulled him forward as they began to walk away from the beach, the sun shining down on her hair;

“I’m not resigned to that.â€

 

So ... due to lack of Participants, entries are now open until the 7th of November. OP edited.

 

I HATE YOU ALL

Anyway... I guess since there was only one entry, congratulations to Suzuha Amane.

Note: There is still a pin in the works, so please be patient until it is finished.

Poetic ars nova Season #3 will be up tomorrow, so get those keyboards ready!