I PMed Krunk asking if being late was okay. I've been slammed by the Mod Queue of late, not to mention uni. Either way, I'm in now. Judges, don't read this until I get the "OK" from Krunk, I don't want to potentially win by cheating. Nope, it's good to go.
I'm free to admit, I ate the word count alive on this one, all the way up to 1,500 words, which was my cut-off. It's pretty hard to squeeze that much exposition in, plus I wanted to do my thing with Harold's friends. I could've cut that and been over by only 200 words, but I feel like Harold as a character isn't the same without that dynamic.
Anyway, it's in late, hope it's worth the effort of reading it. And if the judges do end up looking over it, sorry it's so long. Hopefully my word limit will be bigger next time around.
Thump thump thump.
The treadmill thumped in time with Elise's steps. Her legs churned, keeping pace with the belt beneath her feet. Aside from the hard run, and the omnipresent bounce of her body, she was at peace within the cool air of the local gym.
Thump thump thump.
That is, until the television on the treadmill kicked on. Inside was a shifting room of indeterminable color and material. Just gray. She subconscious recognized the man, and consciously recognized the voice. It had a Croatian, Cuban, Californian, and Canadian accent. ?Good evening Elise. Don't bother speaking, just consider if you will the one thing that Harold would fight to accomplish. His drive in life to do something unlike any of the nothing he does every day. Think hard on the sort of thing, image a Harold energetic, vibrant, powerful, and demanding. Image a Harold whose feet demolished the pavement as he ran, did, accomplished.?
Thump thump thump.
?Now, in your mind, stop to think about what would happen if Harold actually did something overt, actionable, and enduring.?
Elise couldn't help ignoring the voice, and soon, she was awash in visions of Harold doing, accomplishing. It's not that he wasn't bright, just that he put forth no effort. CEO, maybe. Possibly even owning his own business. Hell he could even-
Thump... Thump... Crash!
Elise landed in a sprawl on the padded floor of the health club, treadmill belt spinning at full speed in front of her. The television wasn't even on.
Harold admitted to himself that this was the usual Friday activity, even if it wasn't the usual Friday setting. He had a warm leather couch, but that was where the warm stopped. His surroundings were bright, in the same way that hospitals are bright. In the same way that the sun isn't. It was too sterile.
The walls were white, the cheap carpet the same monster he had worked in once. A management firm. Internal management, budgetary concerns . A form of hell that was well air-conditioned, well lit, but somehow freezing and dark.
Harold felt like this room sucked. Can't do much for suck, except get away from it. ?Too much effort,? Harold noted, trudging down the hall. He counted three doors, and went into the fourth. It was a nice, warm room. Reds and browns, low lighting, but complimented the textures. Brown-red leather, dark-stained wood, a space heater, and television.
He sat down, grabbing the remote. The television came on, and the History Channel greeted him with a Modern Marvels episode. Simple enough, good show.
David couldn't help but feel a little alien here. His phone calls were getting nowhere, though they would've had he actually been able to get any through. The office wasn't a bad space to be trying to get work done. The computer was functional, even fast. His work was backed up online services, so reaching his files wasn't difficult, and the view outside was blue, bright, and crisp. He just wished his phone's reception was better. ?This is hopeless.? One can't do his financial work without a line to his clients.
He sighed, and double-checked his records online. Immaculate, as usual. The profit numbers looked a little off for one client, and he considered calling, see if he can squeeze a few more millions before the stock crashed. It was showing instability, near future, but one was never too sure. Good warning signs though. He'd drop this client soon.
He looked up, and let a frustrated sigh escape. The window had the allure of a world less isolated, and he spotted something in the distance. Red? He looked closer. It looked like it could be a cell tower. Perfect!
David got to his feet, and strode to the end of the hall. Fourth door on the left, and he would be as close to the tower as possible. The cool air hissed as he opened the door, and he was hit with an unnaturally warm gust. The air pressures equalized oddly, and his suit became uncomfortable. Astride the windows in the back of the room, a listless man sat slumped on the leather couch. The television he was watching was too large, too distracting, and too inefficient. ?Wasteful.? David couldn't help but wish that people were more productive.
Harold twitched, his ears burning. The show was getting to be monotonous. More side information than required. Meandering. The television flicked off with contempt. Harold stood, adjusting his shirt. Man, when did he get this slovenly? He'd need to get cleaned up before too long, otherwise he suspect he might go insane. Clients can't take people seriously if they judge them before the first word is spoken. Too inefficient.
Harold noticed the other man in the room. His suit was immaculate, his expression serene, and the phone to his ear. He could barely make out the conversation, but he could tell a lie when he heard it. That client was going to get a few millions from the deal, and then he'd have to get out. It was on CNN. Businesses like those capsize before too long, and the artificial bubble that Wall Street was building would collapse. That client stood to lose millions within the month. The smart bet was to sell early, and put his liquid into something with more growth potential. The initial gain would be slower, but the long term spike would have three incomes instead of just one. If applies right, each of those could feed each other.
A lot of capital, and a slight risk in investment, but one can always use the small bubbles to rise and fall. Was just better business sense. Don't ride any bubble too hard.
David killed the line, and adjusted his mental sheet accordingly. The majority of the work was done, and he started back to the office. The slovenly man stopped him, and held a hand out. ?Terribly sorry,? the man said, ?I'm in a bit of a rush, and my phone's at home in suburbia, can I borrow yours??
David didn't like it, and said as much.
?I know, I'm sorry. I'm just going to call my wife. Five minutes.?
?Alright,? David said, looking at the door. It was uncomfortable in this room. ?I need to run to my office, you have five minutes until I need it back.?
?Done.? Harold said, while the man in the well-cut suit stormed down the hall. Moved fast, good business. Not bad. The redial occurred immediately. ?Hello??
?Hi there, my name's Harold, and I'm a business adviser. The stock you've been pouring money into is going to burst. I can get you out without suspicion, but you have to trust me on that.? He read out his cell number. ?Check the news sites, check financial records. CNN has a good article on the business you've invested in. If you think your stock is secure, leave it be. If not, call me back in an hour. I'm certain we can do business.? The line disconnected quickly, and Harold sat back down on the couch, tired, but fulfilled. The Bluetooth transfer of the address book was going very quickly. He counted the seconds in his head. Three, two...
David began gliding into the room, noting the slovenly man had gotten back onto the couch, and was toying listlessly with the remote. His phone was nowhere in sight. Damned slackers. He thrust his arm out. ?Phone.? The man fished the phone from his pocket, and put it in David's waiting palm. ?Thanks, man. It's pot roast night. Sounds good, doesn't it??
?Sure,? David said, wishing and hoping that reception follows him into the hall. The man on the couch was nothing but wasted energy. Productivity is key.
Harold palmed his phone. Immediately, he was fielding calls with all of the suit's clients, asking about their current situations. Most were very well-off, and couldn't be poached, but some had little tweaks that could be made. Harold made good on those immediately, judging from loose verbal cues as to how happy they were with the man in the suit. Many would switch just for the fact that Harold offered them the ability to constantly check on their revenues, but didn't have to do anything more than let their money grow. It's easy to appeal to the laziness inherent in everyone. Troubles are better off as someone else's than one's own, and that was the biggest selling point in Harold's playbook.
The clients moved one by one, and David was on the verge of crashing. Not much could be done from here. ?Shit.? Not to mention his clients were flooding out in droves. What the hell? Was Keeynes behind this? Something was up, and he needed to get a hold of his clients, which meant leaving here. He hit the stairs, and was out the door in record time, halfway back to his office before the effects of the Plane left Harold's mind.
Productivity is key, certainly, but only if one wanted the lifestyle. Harold didn't. He wished he didn't. It's what you make of it in the Astral Plane, and without David's influence, Harold didn't make anything of it but a good show.
And hey, Modern Marvels was on.
Simple enough. Good show.
The treadmill thumped in time with Elise's steps. Her legs churned, keeping pace with the belt beneath her feet. Aside from the hard run, and the omnipresent bounce of her body, she was at peace within the cool air of the local gym.
Thump thump thump.
That is, until the television on the treadmill kicked on. Inside was a shifting room of indeterminable color and material. Just gray. She subconscious recognized the man, and consciously recognized the voice. It had a Croatian, Cuban, Californian, and Canadian accent. ?Good evening Elise. Don't bother speaking, just consider if you will the one thing that Harold would fight to accomplish. His drive in life to do something unlike any of the nothing he does every day. Think hard on the sort of thing, image a Harold energetic, vibrant, powerful, and demanding. Image a Harold whose feet demolished the pavement as he ran, did, accomplished.?
Thump thump thump.
?Now, in your mind, stop to think about what would happen if Harold actually did something overt, actionable, and enduring.?
Elise couldn't help ignoring the voice, and soon, she was awash in visions of Harold doing, accomplishing. It's not that he wasn't bright, just that he put forth no effort. CEO, maybe. Possibly even owning his own business. Hell he could even-
Thump... Thump... Crash!
Elise landed in a sprawl on the padded floor of the health club, treadmill belt spinning at full speed in front of her. The television wasn't even on.
Harold admitted to himself that this was the usual Friday activity, even if it wasn't the usual Friday setting. He had a warm leather couch, but that was where the warm stopped. His surroundings were bright, in the same way that hospitals are bright. In the same way that the sun isn't. It was too sterile.
The walls were white, the cheap carpet the same monster he had worked in once. A management firm. Internal management, budgetary concerns . A form of hell that was well air-conditioned, well lit, but somehow freezing and dark.
Harold felt like this room sucked. Can't do much for suck, except get away from it. ?Too much effort,? Harold noted, trudging down the hall. He counted three doors, and went into the fourth. It was a nice, warm room. Reds and browns, low lighting, but complimented the textures. Brown-red leather, dark-stained wood, a space heater, and television.
He sat down, grabbing the remote. The television came on, and the History Channel greeted him with a Modern Marvels episode. Simple enough, good show.
David couldn't help but feel a little alien here. His phone calls were getting nowhere, though they would've had he actually been able to get any through. The office wasn't a bad space to be trying to get work done. The computer was functional, even fast. His work was backed up online services, so reaching his files wasn't difficult, and the view outside was blue, bright, and crisp. He just wished his phone's reception was better. ?This is hopeless.? One can't do his financial work without a line to his clients.
He sighed, and double-checked his records online. Immaculate, as usual. The profit numbers looked a little off for one client, and he considered calling, see if he can squeeze a few more millions before the stock crashed. It was showing instability, near future, but one was never too sure. Good warning signs though. He'd drop this client soon.
He looked up, and let a frustrated sigh escape. The window had the allure of a world less isolated, and he spotted something in the distance. Red? He looked closer. It looked like it could be a cell tower. Perfect!
David got to his feet, and strode to the end of the hall. Fourth door on the left, and he would be as close to the tower as possible. The cool air hissed as he opened the door, and he was hit with an unnaturally warm gust. The air pressures equalized oddly, and his suit became uncomfortable. Astride the windows in the back of the room, a listless man sat slumped on the leather couch. The television he was watching was too large, too distracting, and too inefficient. ?Wasteful.? David couldn't help but wish that people were more productive.
Harold twitched, his ears burning. The show was getting to be monotonous. More side information than required. Meandering. The television flicked off with contempt. Harold stood, adjusting his shirt. Man, when did he get this slovenly? He'd need to get cleaned up before too long, otherwise he suspect he might go insane. Clients can't take people seriously if they judge them before the first word is spoken. Too inefficient.
Harold noticed the other man in the room. His suit was immaculate, his expression serene, and the phone to his ear. He could barely make out the conversation, but he could tell a lie when he heard it. That client was going to get a few millions from the deal, and then he'd have to get out. It was on CNN. Businesses like those capsize before too long, and the artificial bubble that Wall Street was building would collapse. That client stood to lose millions within the month. The smart bet was to sell early, and put his liquid into something with more growth potential. The initial gain would be slower, but the long term spike would have three incomes instead of just one. If applies right, each of those could feed each other.
A lot of capital, and a slight risk in investment, but one can always use the small bubbles to rise and fall. Was just better business sense. Don't ride any bubble too hard.
David killed the line, and adjusted his mental sheet accordingly. The majority of the work was done, and he started back to the office. The slovenly man stopped him, and held a hand out. ?Terribly sorry,? the man said, ?I'm in a bit of a rush, and my phone's at home in suburbia, can I borrow yours??
David didn't like it, and said as much.
?I know, I'm sorry. I'm just going to call my wife. Five minutes.?
?Alright,? David said, looking at the door. It was uncomfortable in this room. ?I need to run to my office, you have five minutes until I need it back.?
?Done.? Harold said, while the man in the well-cut suit stormed down the hall. Moved fast, good business. Not bad. The redial occurred immediately. ?Hello??
?Hi there, my name's Harold, and I'm a business adviser. The stock you've been pouring money into is going to burst. I can get you out without suspicion, but you have to trust me on that.? He read out his cell number. ?Check the news sites, check financial records. CNN has a good article on the business you've invested in. If you think your stock is secure, leave it be. If not, call me back in an hour. I'm certain we can do business.? The line disconnected quickly, and Harold sat back down on the couch, tired, but fulfilled. The Bluetooth transfer of the address book was going very quickly. He counted the seconds in his head. Three, two...
David began gliding into the room, noting the slovenly man had gotten back onto the couch, and was toying listlessly with the remote. His phone was nowhere in sight. Damned slackers. He thrust his arm out. ?Phone.? The man fished the phone from his pocket, and put it in David's waiting palm. ?Thanks, man. It's pot roast night. Sounds good, doesn't it??
?Sure,? David said, wishing and hoping that reception follows him into the hall. The man on the couch was nothing but wasted energy. Productivity is key.
Harold palmed his phone. Immediately, he was fielding calls with all of the suit's clients, asking about their current situations. Most were very well-off, and couldn't be poached, but some had little tweaks that could be made. Harold made good on those immediately, judging from loose verbal cues as to how happy they were with the man in the suit. Many would switch just for the fact that Harold offered them the ability to constantly check on their revenues, but didn't have to do anything more than let their money grow. It's easy to appeal to the laziness inherent in everyone. Troubles are better off as someone else's than one's own, and that was the biggest selling point in Harold's playbook.
The clients moved one by one, and David was on the verge of crashing. Not much could be done from here. ?Shit.? Not to mention his clients were flooding out in droves. What the hell? Was Keeynes behind this? Something was up, and he needed to get a hold of his clients, which meant leaving here. He hit the stairs, and was out the door in record time, halfway back to his office before the effects of the Plane left Harold's mind.
Productivity is key, certainly, but only if one wanted the lifestyle. Harold didn't. He wished he didn't. It's what you make of it in the Astral Plane, and without David's influence, Harold didn't make anything of it but a good show.
And hey, Modern Marvels was on.
Simple enough. Good show.
I'm free to admit, I ate the word count alive on this one, all the way up to 1,500 words, which was my cut-off. It's pretty hard to squeeze that much exposition in, plus I wanted to do my thing with Harold's friends. I could've cut that and been over by only 200 words, but I feel like Harold as a character isn't the same without that dynamic.
Anyway, it's in late, hope it's worth the effort of reading it. And if the judges do end up looking over it, sorry it's so long. Hopefully my word limit will be bigger next time around.
