I had an idea, and anyone can join in. Basically, a Round Robin fic where a writer starts a story and different writer writes the next chapter, and so on. So that, in the end, a bunch of different authors have contributed to the over all story. It will be slash, of course, and open to every pairing possible.
Basically, I wrote the first chapter of a story, and have no idea where to go from there, and it got me wondering where other people would take this, which lead me to consider how much fun a round robin could be.
The rules:
No writer can write more than 1 chapter in a row, in fact it's better if each writer sticks with one chapter.
No crack, because if one chapter is suddenly crack the tone of everything has been altered, and I'd like to see how we do at building a serious story.
Any rating, any pairing.
Keep it third person past tense, but each chapter can be from a different character's perspective or as distant or close as you want.
Chapter 1:
Hints of one sided Luke/Sylar
“You’re Luke Campbell?” asked the man. He had approached him at the bus station.
“What are you a cop?” the boy asked, the tone of his voice indicating that he didn’t care, he wasn’t afraid. He came across as a petulant teenager, and the well dressed man with glasses who had approached him came across as falsely paternal, more patronizing than anything. It reminded the boy of a teacher at a conference, playing the nice guy in front of mom, acting like they just wanted to help, because they were “concerned”.
He smiled, “No, I’m not with the police.”
The boy looked apprehensive, “government?” He didn’t trust the government, and considering that he’d been shot at, and tazed by federal agents. He’d also killed a federal agent, which probably meant a death penalty if they brought him in. Then again, the agents had disappeared months ago, there’d been some stuff one the news, pardoning of fugitives who were unfairly apprehended, some Senator on TV talking about bad intelligence, and the promise of an investigation. Never really said what had happened exactly, most people assumed some sort of cover up, spouting off about abu grave and gitmo. Luke knew it had nothing to do with terrorism, it was them, and according to the TV it was over.
Not that he had could go back to his life. At first, he’d had no intention to, he’d hated it back home. His mom who didn’t care if he existed except if he was in trouble, school where everyone liked to play kick the crap out of the queer. A smirk had come to face when he thought of going back, of how he’d end the fights differently, maybe blow the whole f**king school up. Still, he hadn’t been serious about going home, but he found he could only get by so well on what he could pan handle or swipe. He’d considered robbery, and maybe murder to go with it, but he was more tough talk than a real criminal type. He’d only ever killed in self defense, or whatever you’d call protecting someone else. Some people might even call that heroism.
His mom wasn’t one of those people.
He’d finally given up and decided to come home. The trip took awhile, hitchhiking and scrounging for bus fare between trying to get find a place to sleep and get food. He was good at conning people out of money, and that’s been lucky. When Luke finally had arrived home, however, he hadn’t gotten the welcome he’d been expecting.
Luke wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Not a warm welcome, maybe indifference or getting chewed out. At best, he’d hope for worried, maybe even a hug, glad you’re alive, that sort of thing, and even at worst he didn’t think she’d pull a knife on him. He’d let himself in with the key he’d kept for some reason. It was a habit of his, keeping things like a little pack rat. Not just potentially useful things like keys either, lots of junk. In any case, he’d had the key, and he’d used to go right in, maybe he should have called.
She’d been in the kitchen, and when she saw him, his mother had gone white.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, “You aren’t welcome in this house, get out. I’ll call the police I swear!”
“Mom,”
“You aren’t my son!” she snapped, “You killed a man, stole my car, and who left with that psychopath. What else have you done? Huh? I don’t even know you anymore. I want…I want you to leave.”
He stepped forward, a feeble explanation or maybe an apology forming on his lips, though for the first time in his life he wasn’t sure what he would say.
She’d picked up the knife she’d been using in the kitchen, holding it out in front of her in self defense. “Don’t come any closer.”
“I could kill you from here if I wanted,” he retorted, before quickly leaving. He’d wiped tears from his cheeks and pretended what happened hadn’t hurt him. Parents sucked, he’d always known that, it was stupid to care anyway.
Maybe it wasn't about her, maybe he just didn't like being kicked to the curb. It had hurt when his father left, even though the man was more likely to kick him across the room as to hug him. The only thing his father had ever given him were the scars on his arms from the cigarette burns, but it still hurt Luke when he left. His mom, she'd never cared, she'd let his dad hurt him, let him wander the neighborhood unsupervised. He'd spent most of his childhood with Samson Grey, who had taught Luke to watch birds and how to kill small animals. In retrospect, Samson probably wasn't the best father figure, and his mother was never concerned about how much time he spent with Samson. Nothing happened, but it could of, the point was, she didn't care about him. Then why did it so hurt so much that she no longer wanted him?
Why did it hurt so much that Sylar left him. He didn't expect anything from him, not love, not connection. He'd expected to be killed, and didn't care, it was worth the risk to be with him. In his fantasies, Sylar was going to be the brother he never had, the best friend. He'd guide him, and maybe even me more. Luke had barely been able to keep his eyes off Sylar some times. Luke was gay, and Sylar was eveyrthing he could have dreamed of in a man. He'd wondered what it would have been like to be with him, even if it hurt, he'd have taken anything. Stupid fantasies, but he still considered Sylar his friend, and loved him in the most pathetic way possible.
Everyone hurts you, maybe that's the only thing you ever learn in life.
So Luke had been dumped by Sylar,and made it home only to be told to scram. He hadn’t been sure where to go from there, and was thinking maybe he’d try making in New York, it sounded cool. He’d spent the night sleeping in the park, saving his money for bus fair, determined to make things up as he went. It was there the man had found him.
“You aren’t in any sort of trouble.” The man assured him, “I’m actually here because we need your help.”
“I think you’ve got the wrong person, listen, my dad’s supposed to be picking me up here soon, I’d probably better go look for him.”
“Now Luke,” he’d said, “there’s no need to lie. I know all about you.” The man had obviously seen him stiffen, because he held up a hand, as if to say calm down, hear me out. “you’re special Luke, very special, in fact you’re exactly the person we need. You can help a lot of people, save lives, be a hero.”
“I’m listening,” he said.
The man slid him a manila folder, this was like something out of a movie, and Luke loved it for that fact. Inside there were pictures of a woman, “she’s hot,” he commented, “like download-able hot, who is she?”
“A very dangerous person responsible for several murders,” he explained, “she has the ability to manipulate water and become water.”
“As in shape of puddle, Alex Mac kind of stuff, or as in terminator liquid shape?” he’d asked, either way this was cool.
“Terminator is an apt choice of words, as I said, she’s very dangerous, and because of her ability she’d virtually unstoppable.”
“Couldn’t you like use electricity, like with you know like a toaster in a bathtub, water plus electrify equals bad.”
“For the toaster, and the person in the bathtub, but not for the water, water conducts electricity, like metal, which is why lightening rods work.”
“Oh,” he said, feeling dumb.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “my son didn’t do so well in chemistry either.”
“You have kids?”
“Yeah, one just about your age.” He smiled, “which is why I have every confidence that you’ll do fine if you take this assignment. Some would say you’re too young, but—”
“I’m not too young, I can handle anything, and I get what you’re saying. She’s water, I can make water boil, no problem.” He was confident, almost giddy, and completely unaware he'd been manipulated, every word the man had said was perfectly chosen. To gain his flatter him, connect to him, gain his trust, and goad him into agreement, because the company he represented was new and needed recruits, because the woman, Tracy, had become a problem, and Luke could be the solution.
Basically, I wrote the first chapter of a story, and have no idea where to go from there, and it got me wondering where other people would take this, which lead me to consider how much fun a round robin could be.
The rules:
No writer can write more than 1 chapter in a row, in fact it's better if each writer sticks with one chapter.
No crack, because if one chapter is suddenly crack the tone of everything has been altered, and I'd like to see how we do at building a serious story.
Any rating, any pairing.
Keep it third person past tense, but each chapter can be from a different character's perspective or as distant or close as you want.
Chapter 1:
Hints of one sided Luke/Sylar
“You’re Luke Campbell?” asked the man. He had approached him at the bus station.
“What are you a cop?” the boy asked, the tone of his voice indicating that he didn’t care, he wasn’t afraid. He came across as a petulant teenager, and the well dressed man with glasses who had approached him came across as falsely paternal, more patronizing than anything. It reminded the boy of a teacher at a conference, playing the nice guy in front of mom, acting like they just wanted to help, because they were “concerned”.
He smiled, “No, I’m not with the police.”
The boy looked apprehensive, “government?” He didn’t trust the government, and considering that he’d been shot at, and tazed by federal agents. He’d also killed a federal agent, which probably meant a death penalty if they brought him in. Then again, the agents had disappeared months ago, there’d been some stuff one the news, pardoning of fugitives who were unfairly apprehended, some Senator on TV talking about bad intelligence, and the promise of an investigation. Never really said what had happened exactly, most people assumed some sort of cover up, spouting off about abu grave and gitmo. Luke knew it had nothing to do with terrorism, it was them, and according to the TV it was over.
Not that he had could go back to his life. At first, he’d had no intention to, he’d hated it back home. His mom who didn’t care if he existed except if he was in trouble, school where everyone liked to play kick the crap out of the queer. A smirk had come to face when he thought of going back, of how he’d end the fights differently, maybe blow the whole f**king school up. Still, he hadn’t been serious about going home, but he found he could only get by so well on what he could pan handle or swipe. He’d considered robbery, and maybe murder to go with it, but he was more tough talk than a real criminal type. He’d only ever killed in self defense, or whatever you’d call protecting someone else. Some people might even call that heroism.
His mom wasn’t one of those people.
He’d finally given up and decided to come home. The trip took awhile, hitchhiking and scrounging for bus fare between trying to get find a place to sleep and get food. He was good at conning people out of money, and that’s been lucky. When Luke finally had arrived home, however, he hadn’t gotten the welcome he’d been expecting.
Luke wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Not a warm welcome, maybe indifference or getting chewed out. At best, he’d hope for worried, maybe even a hug, glad you’re alive, that sort of thing, and even at worst he didn’t think she’d pull a knife on him. He’d let himself in with the key he’d kept for some reason. It was a habit of his, keeping things like a little pack rat. Not just potentially useful things like keys either, lots of junk. In any case, he’d had the key, and he’d used to go right in, maybe he should have called.
She’d been in the kitchen, and when she saw him, his mother had gone white.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, “You aren’t welcome in this house, get out. I’ll call the police I swear!”
“Mom,”
“You aren’t my son!” she snapped, “You killed a man, stole my car, and who left with that psychopath. What else have you done? Huh? I don’t even know you anymore. I want…I want you to leave.”
He stepped forward, a feeble explanation or maybe an apology forming on his lips, though for the first time in his life he wasn’t sure what he would say.
She’d picked up the knife she’d been using in the kitchen, holding it out in front of her in self defense. “Don’t come any closer.”
“I could kill you from here if I wanted,” he retorted, before quickly leaving. He’d wiped tears from his cheeks and pretended what happened hadn’t hurt him. Parents sucked, he’d always known that, it was stupid to care anyway.
Maybe it wasn't about her, maybe he just didn't like being kicked to the curb. It had hurt when his father left, even though the man was more likely to kick him across the room as to hug him. The only thing his father had ever given him were the scars on his arms from the cigarette burns, but it still hurt Luke when he left. His mom, she'd never cared, she'd let his dad hurt him, let him wander the neighborhood unsupervised. He'd spent most of his childhood with Samson Grey, who had taught Luke to watch birds and how to kill small animals. In retrospect, Samson probably wasn't the best father figure, and his mother was never concerned about how much time he spent with Samson. Nothing happened, but it could of, the point was, she didn't care about him. Then why did it so hurt so much that she no longer wanted him?
Why did it hurt so much that Sylar left him. He didn't expect anything from him, not love, not connection. He'd expected to be killed, and didn't care, it was worth the risk to be with him. In his fantasies, Sylar was going to be the brother he never had, the best friend. He'd guide him, and maybe even me more. Luke had barely been able to keep his eyes off Sylar some times. Luke was gay, and Sylar was eveyrthing he could have dreamed of in a man. He'd wondered what it would have been like to be with him, even if it hurt, he'd have taken anything. Stupid fantasies, but he still considered Sylar his friend, and loved him in the most pathetic way possible.
Everyone hurts you, maybe that's the only thing you ever learn in life.
So Luke had been dumped by Sylar,and made it home only to be told to scram. He hadn’t been sure where to go from there, and was thinking maybe he’d try making in New York, it sounded cool. He’d spent the night sleeping in the park, saving his money for bus fair, determined to make things up as he went. It was there the man had found him.
“You aren’t in any sort of trouble.” The man assured him, “I’m actually here because we need your help.”
“I think you’ve got the wrong person, listen, my dad’s supposed to be picking me up here soon, I’d probably better go look for him.”
“Now Luke,” he’d said, “there’s no need to lie. I know all about you.” The man had obviously seen him stiffen, because he held up a hand, as if to say calm down, hear me out. “you’re special Luke, very special, in fact you’re exactly the person we need. You can help a lot of people, save lives, be a hero.”
“I’m listening,” he said.
The man slid him a manila folder, this was like something out of a movie, and Luke loved it for that fact. Inside there were pictures of a woman, “she’s hot,” he commented, “like download-able hot, who is she?”
“A very dangerous person responsible for several murders,” he explained, “she has the ability to manipulate water and become water.”
“As in shape of puddle, Alex Mac kind of stuff, or as in terminator liquid shape?” he’d asked, either way this was cool.
“Terminator is an apt choice of words, as I said, she’s very dangerous, and because of her ability she’d virtually unstoppable.”
“Couldn’t you like use electricity, like with you know like a toaster in a bathtub, water plus electrify equals bad.”
“For the toaster, and the person in the bathtub, but not for the water, water conducts electricity, like metal, which is why lightening rods work.”
“Oh,” he said, feeling dumb.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “my son didn’t do so well in chemistry either.”
“You have kids?”
“Yeah, one just about your age.” He smiled, “which is why I have every confidence that you’ll do fine if you take this assignment. Some would say you’re too young, but—”
“I’m not too young, I can handle anything, and I get what you’re saying. She’s water, I can make water boil, no problem.” He was confident, almost giddy, and completely unaware he'd been manipulated, every word the man had said was perfectly chosen. To gain his flatter him, connect to him, gain his trust, and goad him into agreement, because the company he represented was new and needed recruits, because the woman, Tracy, had become a problem, and Luke could be the solution.