Copycat, copycat, where have you been?

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

Following on from lanfykins's post yesterday - I'm in work without much to do today and so am looking for distractions.

I'd therefore love some direction on what kind of IC tat prose to write.

The criteria are the same as Sarah's.

Just tell me:

1. which character you'd like to hear about
2. in which context
3. with what theme or feeling to the story.

Ie - I'd like to hear about Meg, and that time she cursed MRT with perpetual baldness, and I'd like it to be as funny as you can make it.

As Sarah has promised, if I write your story, I can make a similar request of you, although you don't have to do it or we'll all be caught in a neverending loop of IC tat prose.

As requested by ksirafai

[lanfykins.livejournal.com]

( Predator )

Unity

[ksirafai.livejournal.com]

February 2008:
'Trade unions are leading regional campaigns and they are fostering support for local campaigns, led by trades councils and other local people, as a way of building lasting alternatives to the politics of hatred.

'London's trade unions are proud of their city's reputation for multiculturalism, diversity and progressive politics. That reputation must be robustly defended. Unions have led campaigns to defeat the far right before and we are determined to do it again.'

The woman's pre-prepared statement was barely audible over the shouts of the crowd; maybe three hundred people in a room small enough to feel cramped and overwhelming. The meeting management had done perfectly to make sure that everyone who came felt the power of the people, the call and stamp of voices and feet Making a Difference.

The next woman has done speaking tours across Europe, and knows how to gauge the mood of a crowd. She looks out at them shouting together and grins, all steel-honed presence. Tearing up her notes, she steps out in front of the podium and claps her hands above her head in rhythm. The crowd follows, converting the individual shouts to a single purpose, speeding up and bursting out in a cheer together before settling into silence to listen to her extemporise.

The speech she gives no one can remember later, but the key points have hammered themselves into the audience's psyches. That any leadership that refuses to allow its people freedom should be torn down. That the group should keep faith with one another, protect each other, support each other. That the principles of freedom and unity are more important than personal matters.

That the spirit of freedom be the fundamental principle; that everyone should expect and demand freedom from their leaders.

That everyone should prove themselves worthy of their freedom.

She comes down to people chanting a made up name and moves through the crowd to listen to later speakers who rail against the new rise of Fascism (she remembering the first time the word came to prominence) and the fear of the alien which creates racism, violence and hate. Once the speeches are over, a couple of people corner her and start talking eagerly. How do personal freedoms mesh with personal responsibilities? How can we create a society where everyone believes that we can be stronger if we help one another? How can we make everyone understand?

She rubs a thumb over the palm of her hand and the black ink there, then rests her fingertips on the pulse-point at her wrist (which almost flutters as she pretends to breathe) and smiles.

Come with me. Come with me, and I'll show you how it works.

Trust me.

For castorlion

[lanfykins.livejournal.com]

( Showing your throat. )

I think Natasha may be becoming a little screwed up.