From SKY SEEDS

[lin robinson]

Benito and his buddies are young Mexican border toughs who have hijacked a means of transporting between planets and are using to ply their old trades or dealing drugs and smuggling illegal aliens.



Everybody in the place had flat, blue-black skin, slitted eyes, and heads shaved bald except for elaborately lacquered topknots that added almost a foot to their height. They were also uniformly roughneck scoundrels. Even here in Minius, the most rugged ratnest of rascals they’d happened on yet, this bar stood out as degenerate and dangerous. Even the wall art advertised the general orientation of the place. Lots of bars have paintings of naked women, but usually not being sliced bloody with knives.



Ben and Monke held firearms cocked in their laps, ugly revolvers with huge cylinders and bamboo handles. The other partiers at their table were sleek black local drug fiends, laughing with pointed yellow teeth as they tossed off odd liquors and smoked from stubby blue pipes like clay kazoos.


Nabo stood squarely behind them, making no secret of what he held under the bright blue brocade ceremonial robe. His counterpart stood opposite, also advertising being armed, vigilant, and a hair from going off. He scowled at Nabo, a ghastly display of ridges and teeth that would have intimidated many a strong man. Nabo flashed him a friendly grin. The counterpart blinked, thought it over, then returned a merry smile, marred only slightly by his collection of welts and scars.


A drug fiend with a white rosette pattern etched into his face passed Monke a bottle of pinkish liquid with some vaguely aquatic creature moving inside it. Monke tipped it up and knocked back a swig. He handed the bottle, carefully masking his disgust in order to set Ben up. Ben took it, squinted at the struggling mollusk, and tilted it up for a deep draught. He masked his reaction, but Monke had been watching and caught the flutter of his throat muscles. Ben kissed the glass outside the imprint of the suction pseudopod and passed the bottle on. Meanwhile the tattooed fiend was examining the low stone bowl of golden herb. He sniffed at it, examined some on his finger. He spoke laconically to Ben in the lilting local jive.


“No way,” Ben told him. “Totally organic. Look at this.”


He reached into his robe, drawing a flicker of attention from Nabo’s counterpart, and slowly drew out a large, golden marijuana leaf, which he passed to the fiend.


“See. It’s all herbs and spices, Tats.”


The leaf was sniffed, stroked, nibbled, and tugged at by the tattooed fiend and his circle of attendant fiends. Ben took out another whole leaf and ground it between his palms. He dusted the crushed herb into the bowl of a huge Max Ernst hookah in the middle of the table, motioned the Tattooed Man to the ivory mouthpiece beside him, and leaned over to light the weed up.



The smoking tube passed from mouth to mouth with mellowing results and smiling nods. Nothing too crazy. Good for mellowing out or having some nice, violent sex. The lead fiend looked at the leaf again, stroked it, scrutinized the contents of the bowl. He jabbered again, cat cries in the night.


“Michoacan”, Ben said, drawing a blank.



The tattoos clumped together as the local tried to place the name. He spoke again.


“Hell, no,” Ben replied indignantly. “We’re from the Distrito Federal.”


Finally hearing words he understood, Nabo chimed in, “Damn straight. Red-boned chilangos, that's us.”


The fiend nodded judiciously, now understanding all. He held the bowl up in one hand, waved at it with the other as though trying to make it disappear in a puff of smoke, and yowled more jive at Ben.


“We’ve got a buttload of it,” Ben said. “Actually, three buttloads.”


Grinning, the fiend flashed a role of bright blue banknotes, raising his eyebrows to redraw the white lines of his forehead. Ben shook his head. What these worlds needed was a central bank. The fiend clapped his hands twice and a very snaky dancing girl undulated over to the table and showed her wares to the boys. Not too bad, Nabo thought. Except for the badly healed knife cuts.



Ben smiled at the dancer, but politely shook his head at TatMan. Frowning, the fiend pulled a finely worked leather pouch from his robe and let it roll out on the table. Inside were a bundle of what looked like large porcupine quills. He mimed stabbing one of the quills into his forearm, then held it up close to Ben’s face. He squeezed it lightly and a tiny drop of green fluid appeared, quivering on the needle-sharp point.


“Oh, no. Not that **** again,” Nabo groaned.


“We know where we can double up on it,” Monke told Ben. “Take it.”


“You test the sample,” Nabo snarled. “I’m not touching that psycho cagada.”


“What a puss,” Ben said, offhandedly.


“**** it,” Nabo snapped. “If I have wetdreams I want them to be human. At least mammals.”


“A bigot, as well,” Monke intoned sorrowfully. “Sad.”

[LloB1]

Hi lin Robinson Ive read parts of the extract you have posted. I believe you do create a sense of tension with your characters and an air of suspense and anticipation of what is going to happen. However i also believe your extract is riddled with gramatical errors. For example in your first paragraph.

Even here in Minius, the most rugged ratnest of rascals they’d happened on yet, this bar stood out as degenerate and dangerous.

This sentence is a bit hard to follow and has coma's in the wrong place. Who are you refering to when you say 'They'd happened on'

You also seem to add quite a few throw away comments that seem to come from you and not mesh with the story, here are two of them:

Paragrapgh 1: Lots of bars have paintings of naked women, but usually not being sliced bloody with knives

Paragraph 7: Good for mellowing out or having some nice, violent sex.


Again in the third paragraph this sentence is hard to follow, especially the ending of the sentence.

His counterpart stood opposite, also advertising being armed, vigilant, and a hair from going off.

Im not sure if your writing in the 'voice of god' style but when i read this third paragraph I thought I was in Nabo's POV but then you tell us the counterpart thought something over. You could have shown us in an expression on the chracters face or something

The counterpart blinked, thought it over, then returned a merry smile, marred only slightly by his collection of welts and scars.

When the tatooed fiend examines the drugs I dont get the impression from your words that he is disputing the organicness of the compound. I would add more expression in the characters face or something. Did he look grumpy or unamused or stare at Ben totally unconvinced by what he saw.

In this small section there are also so many characters coming through but they dont seem to speak an I find myself trying to connect the dots of how they really fit. If this makes sence.

Because i am only seeing a small excerpt in isolation I maybe wrong about the confusing characters.

Keep up the story though regardless of the criticism you may get.

[Dafydd Cymraeg]

Originally Posted by lin robinson

Everybody in the place had flat, blue-black skin, slitted eyes, and heads shaved bald except for elaborately lacquered topknots that added almost a foot to their height. They were also uniformly roughneck scoundrels. Even here in Minius, the most rugged ratnest of rascals they’d happened on yet, this bar stood out as degenerate and dangerous. Even the wall art advertised the general orientation of the place. Lots of bars have paintings of naked women, but usually not being sliced bloody with knives.

Change the last sentence slightly to keep the logic:

... Even the wall art advertised the general orientation of the place. Lots of bars [they visited had] paintings of naked women, but usually not being sliced bloody with knives.

Ben and Monke held firearms cocked in their laps, ugly revolvers with huge cylinders and bamboo handles. The other partiers at their table were sleek black local drug fiends, laughing with pointed yellow teeth as they tossed off odd liquors and smoked from stubby blue pipes like clay kazoos.

Move this paragraph up so it becomes the first one - it fixes most of what Llob says, and answer's the question, 'Who is They?' in the current first para.

Nabo stood squarely behind them, making no secret of what he held under the bright blue brocade ceremonial robe.

We don't know which 'them' this refers to as the last people you mentioned are 'the other partiers'. Maybe say 'Nabo stood squarely behind Monke,'

...Meanwhile the tattooed fiend was examining the low stone bowl of golden herb. He sniffed at it, examined some on his finger. He spoke laconically to Ben in the lilting local jive.

If he spoke, what did he say?

“No way,” Ben told him. “Totally organic. Look at this.”

...

“See. It’s all herbs and spices, Tats.”

You need to introduce who 'Tats' is before this. If this is supposed to be the tattooed man, it doesn't link well enough to make that connection (I originally thought this referred to TatMan mentioned later -another character, but I think both references are to the tattooed man now - and neither work for me).

The leaf was sniffed, stroked, nibbled, and tugged at by the tattooed fiend and his circle of attendant fiends. Ben took out another whole leaf and ground it between his palms. He dusted the crushed herb into the bowl of a huge Max Ernst hookah in the middle of the table, motioned the Tattooed Man to the ivory mouthpiece beside him, and leaned over to light the weed up.

The marijuana leaves need some extra thought. I can't see Ben keeping two leaves intact in his coat when he can easily grind them into dust between his palms. Also, having only three buttloads makes this sound like a very minor-league transaction going down (I have no concept of how much a buttload is, but it doesn't sound like much).

The smoking tube passed from mouth to mouth with mellowing results and smiling nods. Nothing too crazy. Good for mellowing out or having some nice, violent sex. The lead fiend looked at the leaf again, stroked it, scrutinized the contents of the bowl. He jabbered again, cat cries in the night.

The mellowing out and violent sex does seem to be a contradiction. If you mention the sex as a directional thing for the later conversation about the quills, then maybe it needs to be along the lines of 'Good for mellowing out or participating in some relaxing, [deep throated/pompoir] sex.'

“Michoacan”, Ben said, drawing a blank.

Also, this bit is confusing, as there is no reference to grasp what or who 'Michoacan' is; and why would Ben draw a blank - is it because of the drugs?

The tattoos clumped together as the local tried to place the name. He spoke again.

Where did the tattoos come from? And Tat hasn't spoken at all yet, so he can't speak again.

The conversation needs some work. It is either all one sided, with only Ben talking, or it may be hinting that Ben is receiving his answers telepathically - but if he is, his replies do not include enough information to keep the conversation understandable.

“Hell, no,” Ben replied indignantly. “We’re from the Distrito Federal.”

Finally hearing words he understood, Nabo chimed in, “Damn straight. Red-boned chilangos, that's us.”

Nabo may understand this, but I don't. You need to expand on the meanings of mexican terminology - if that's what it is.

...

“Oh, no. Not that **** again,” Nabo groaned.

“We know where we can double up on it,” Monke told Ben. “Take it.”

“You test the sample,” Nabo snarled. “I’m not touching that psycho cagada.”

Why is Nabo speaking here, when the conversation was between Monke and Ben?

Lin, overall this was an interesting scene, but you definitely need to do some work on the conversation. You need to pull more details out of the scene in your head, where you can picture who is saying what and to whom, and include them in the writing to give us readers more help.

Put some more work into your explanations, a bit of spelling and grammar work, and this should come out fine.

[mosaix]

Not sure I agree with Dafydd's request for more explanations. Often I enjoy a read more if there's something to be worked out or something left to my imagination.

I liked it.

[lin robinson]

Thanks everybody. (Some of dafydd's objections are answered when the piece is in the context... Chilango--being a person from MExico CIty--has been introduced and the fact these guys are Mexicans is know)

One I mention here because it's kind of cute. The buttload thing (buttload or shitload is american slang for "a lot", don't know if it's common in UK) is because their smuggling requires them to either eat, then pass jewels, etc. or carry them inside body cavities. It's a running gag: a previous deal with a jeweler who offers to pay them in credits, then in gold, Nabo says, "Do you have anything that's kind of cylindrical and smooth?"

I generally feel I should contradict or object to anything when asking for free feedback, but:

Tat hasn't spoken at all yet, so he can't speak again.

You just noted him speaking about six lines above.

Thanks again, everybody

[areader]

I didn't have to understand the conversation entirely to keep reading what was going on...has character enough to carry it and things generally clarified along the way.