Post by RoughWriters on Dec 8, 2011 17:20:59 GMT -6
We each secretly chose a historical figure and wrote in a collaborative document together as if we all went to a waiting room when we died.
Edward was Napoleon.
So was Scott.
Tiffany was Paul Revere
Chelsey was Jane Austin
Dr. Robinson was Winston Churchill
Here is the results of our endeavor:
*Buh du buh du buh du bud du* (Waiting Room Music)
"Well this seems to be a very fascinating place. A very drab interior though. Nothing like my palace at all." He looked around at the other people in the room. "Seems rather low class in fact." He stroked the edge of his cape. He had always been considered
A very short man in a military uniform suddenly appeared in one of the seats of the room. He seemed confused, but addressed the caped figure as if he had heard him the entire time, "Hm, indeed. Though I must say it is not much worse than St. Helena. Ah, Paris, when will I once again parade your gilded streets?"
“A play?” exclaimed a man nearby. “Why, there’s no time for that! Didn’t you know? The British are coming!”
A small, unobtrusive woman in the corner looked up at that point. “Coming? Aren’t they already here? I’m here after all. And I’ve seen several officers come through in the two hours I’ve been sitting here.” She coughed into a small white handkerchief after that, clearly spent.
The short military figure with the hawkish nose eyed the man and woman, “And I thought I was confused. Where are we?”
“A hundred days and all I could gather was that rabble. The french will never have my respect again. Even my wife left me. The Island wasn’t that bad. What are you in for?”
The short man turned with a start, “What! How dare you, sir!”
“Gentlemen, please,” the short bald man said, standing. “I’ve seen this all before. ‘Peace in our time,’ he said. We ended up fighting them on the beaches, fighting them on the landing fields. Join with me....we will never surrender....” He looked around. “Does anyone have a cigar to spare?”
“A good man, you are!” cried the old man nearby. “Peace! Yes, that is what we fight for! Peace, and liberty, and justice for all! We shall never surrender!”
“Gentlemen, must we talk of war in a place such as this. Obviously, this is some sort of parlor. Perhaps we are in Bath...a new style they’ve brought in from Paris maybe? No matter, let us amuse ourselves with other pursuits. A game of whist anyone?” the middle aged woman glanced around hopefully.
“Whist? What sort of game is that? I only know the games of royalty and supremacy. I hear there is a new game called Risk. Assuredly I should have Europe.” With a calculate move he sidled next to the woman.
The military man stalked up to the other, both at near the exact same height, which was to say short, though one was sitting. Glaring into his eyes he said, “Sir, explain your words. Are you a man of France or no?”
“Poppythingy, I say, old man,” the balding man said. “The French are in a sorry plight, that’s for sure. By the way, you remind me of that dreadful man Stalin.”
“Stalin?” querried the old man with the loud voice. “I have never heard that name before. But as for the French, they have always been a flaky sort, though I wouldn’t mind if they kept the British busy for a while. We’ve had quite enough of trouble from them of late.”
Inching away from the short Frenchman, the lady shot a frustrated look toward the older man. “Sir, please stop demeaning the British. I don’t appreciate my people being maligned. And as for you, stand back. I do have connections with the Leigh family and I will use them if I must.” She huffed in annoyance.
“The British were my greatest enemy during my campaign. I don’t know why we are here though, together. In this small dank room. You sir,” gesturing to the man of similar height, “know you how you came here? To this place of ill-repute. And why my french sounds suspiciously like English?”
“You do have a strangely familiar appearance…” The short military man squinted at him and stroked his chin, “No, no I don’t believe I know you. You do cut a fine figure though, if I may say so.” He leaned over to the other figure and whispered, “I do believe we are surrounded by Englishmen,” He turned and glared at the short pudgy Englishman, “and possibly an American. Thus it follows that there are only us two who are sane. Do as I say, and we shall beat them yet.”
Edward was Napoleon.
So was Scott.
Tiffany was Paul Revere
Chelsey was Jane Austin
Dr. Robinson was Winston Churchill
Here is the results of our endeavor:
*Buh du buh du buh du bud du* (Waiting Room Music)
"Well this seems to be a very fascinating place. A very drab interior though. Nothing like my palace at all." He looked around at the other people in the room. "Seems rather low class in fact." He stroked the edge of his cape. He had always been considered
A very short man in a military uniform suddenly appeared in one of the seats of the room. He seemed confused, but addressed the caped figure as if he had heard him the entire time, "Hm, indeed. Though I must say it is not much worse than St. Helena. Ah, Paris, when will I once again parade your gilded streets?"
“A play?” exclaimed a man nearby. “Why, there’s no time for that! Didn’t you know? The British are coming!”
A small, unobtrusive woman in the corner looked up at that point. “Coming? Aren’t they already here? I’m here after all. And I’ve seen several officers come through in the two hours I’ve been sitting here.” She coughed into a small white handkerchief after that, clearly spent.
The short military figure with the hawkish nose eyed the man and woman, “And I thought I was confused. Where are we?”
“A hundred days and all I could gather was that rabble. The french will never have my respect again. Even my wife left me. The Island wasn’t that bad. What are you in for?”
The short man turned with a start, “What! How dare you, sir!”
“Gentlemen, please,” the short bald man said, standing. “I’ve seen this all before. ‘Peace in our time,’ he said. We ended up fighting them on the beaches, fighting them on the landing fields. Join with me....we will never surrender....” He looked around. “Does anyone have a cigar to spare?”
“A good man, you are!” cried the old man nearby. “Peace! Yes, that is what we fight for! Peace, and liberty, and justice for all! We shall never surrender!”
“Gentlemen, must we talk of war in a place such as this. Obviously, this is some sort of parlor. Perhaps we are in Bath...a new style they’ve brought in from Paris maybe? No matter, let us amuse ourselves with other pursuits. A game of whist anyone?” the middle aged woman glanced around hopefully.
“Whist? What sort of game is that? I only know the games of royalty and supremacy. I hear there is a new game called Risk. Assuredly I should have Europe.” With a calculate move he sidled next to the woman.
The military man stalked up to the other, both at near the exact same height, which was to say short, though one was sitting. Glaring into his eyes he said, “Sir, explain your words. Are you a man of France or no?”
“Poppythingy, I say, old man,” the balding man said. “The French are in a sorry plight, that’s for sure. By the way, you remind me of that dreadful man Stalin.”
“Stalin?” querried the old man with the loud voice. “I have never heard that name before. But as for the French, they have always been a flaky sort, though I wouldn’t mind if they kept the British busy for a while. We’ve had quite enough of trouble from them of late.”
Inching away from the short Frenchman, the lady shot a frustrated look toward the older man. “Sir, please stop demeaning the British. I don’t appreciate my people being maligned. And as for you, stand back. I do have connections with the Leigh family and I will use them if I must.” She huffed in annoyance.
“The British were my greatest enemy during my campaign. I don’t know why we are here though, together. In this small dank room. You sir,” gesturing to the man of similar height, “know you how you came here? To this place of ill-repute. And why my french sounds suspiciously like English?”
“You do have a strangely familiar appearance…” The short military man squinted at him and stroked his chin, “No, no I don’t believe I know you. You do cut a fine figure though, if I may say so.” He leaned over to the other figure and whispered, “I do believe we are surrounded by Englishmen,” He turned and glared at the short pudgy Englishman, “and possibly an American. Thus it follows that there are only us two who are sane. Do as I say, and we shall beat them yet.”