Ultracondensed characterization
Dec. 4th, 2013 04:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
magibrainRandom question, but I need it for reasons research.
If you had to sell me on two characters – gen or ship – and you only had 500 words or a 30-second video clip to convince me that they were the best no seriously really... what clips or works or excerpts of works would you point me toward?
I am going to think on this and see what I can come up with... after I sleep for a while.
(Context is that I'm playing with a story-in-the-background-of-a-story in one of the things I'm working on, and I want to pick apart some mechanics of what makes for minimum effective doses of getting people engaged with characters.)
If you had to sell me on two characters – gen or ship – and you only had 500 words or a 30-second video clip to convince me that they were the best no seriously really... what clips or works or excerpts of works would you point me toward?
I am going to think on this and see what I can come up with... after I sleep for a while.
(Context is that I'm playing with a story-in-the-background-of-a-story in one of the things I'm working on, and I want to pick apart some mechanics of what makes for minimum effective doses of getting people engaged with characters.)
no subject
Date: 2014-04-16 04:07 am (UTC)There's also this excerpt from an NCIS fanfic by sequitur. Context- Tony is recovering from the Plague.
They set up Oregon Trail, arguing all the while—Pete wants their character to be a banker, because money solves all problems, and Tony wants him to be a doctor, so fewer people will die. Pete looks again at Tony’s cherry-colored lips and still alive expression, and decides that he might have a soft spot for doctors, and anyway, the salaries are close. They wriggle embarrassing confessions out of each other as they dart the mouse back and forth between their respective seats, naming their wagon team and collecting their pounds of flour and bacon. Pete used to play Africa Trail. Tony gets depressed with the oxen die. Neither of them have ever used the cheat codes.
The weather is warm. Their pace is fast.
“Carmen Sandiego, next,” Pete says. “World, not USA.”
Tony shakes his head. “You Don’t Know Jack,” he says.
“That’s so rude.”
At the first river, they both decline to ford the river (“Death trap,” Tony sing-songs, and they bump fists) but then get into an argument over whether to hire a ferry or to caulk the wagon and float it. Pete votes for the ferry—Tony claims that it’s a waste of money, Pete claims that it wouldn’t have been a problem if they’d been bankers, Tony claims that Pete whines too much, Pete retaliates by suggesting that Tony shut up before Pete starts killing off the oxen just to be vindictive, and after that it gets kind of ugly.
“Give me one good reason not to caulk the wagon and float it,” Tony says.
“Water moccasins.”
Tony stared at him. “I’m sorry, what?”
They pause the game to Google water moccasins. Enough pictures of snakes lounging in water convince Tony to never, ever ford the river.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-16 04:09 am (UTC)“Your cat,” says Jasper very, very calmly, which means that he’s either very, very pissed or very, very amused.
Phil raises an eyebrow as acknowledgement. “Your cat just terrorised an entire office of junior agents today.”
Phil finally looks up, and lets out an ungainly snort. Clint is perched on the top of Jasper’s bald head, happily flicking his tail back and forth. Jasper is somehow ignoring him, which gives him many points in Phil’s book. “An entire office?” He prompts.
“There they are, chipping away at their paperwork, or at least pretending to, when there is a hollow thunk that resonates around the room,” says Jasper, deadpan. He’s very good at storytelling.
“Followed by a loud hiss, there’s this horrible crunch and then a very smug ‘miaow’ that roils across the room. Guns were drawn.”
Phil considers the story for a moment and hazards a guess. “The ventilation shafts?”
“The ventilation shafts,” confirms Jasper as Clint leaps off his head, limps around the computer monitor in his casts and proudly deposits a mostly intact mouse on Phil’s mousepad.
The overriding thought running through Phil’s mind right now is that Jasper’s just had a dead mouse on his head for at least five minutes. He’s taking it very well.
“Good boy,” he tells Clint quite seriously, and tries to remember which form he needs to requisition a bottle of disinfectant.