Writing Exercise 6 - Losing a Game

Think about the last time you lost a game. What was the process of thought that led to your loss? Now, replicate that moment in the dramatic structure of the story, except the story isn’t about games.

Writing Excuses 10.6: The Worldbuilding Revolves Around Me (“The Magical 1%”) Link

Well, thinking about the last time I lost a game was easy. I remember it very clearly since it was very recently and I played one of my most beloved games, The Resistance – Avalon.

It’s a social deduction game where the good guys need to figure out who among the group are spies (or bad guys), among the good guys there’s a Merlin that knows about all the bad guys but if the evil people manages to guess who Merlin is at the end of the game the bad guys win no matter what. So Merlin needs to be vague, the good guys need to analyze and the bad guys need to lie with a straight face. I’ve played this game for over several years now, I’ve played it with the same people and introduced it to new friends, it’s simple to explain but oh so hard to master.

If you don’t want to spoil the main part of the coming story, jump to the three dashes!

So what happened in the game?

Well, we were a group of veterans and a single newbie, who we will call Bob. I was among the good guys and had my guesses on who was evil, I was especially suspicious about Bob since he had blurted out that he was Merlin on several occasions. Sure I know it’s a strategy the good guys can do, everyone chimes in on being Merlin to confuse the bad guys. But something about his way of exclaiming being Merlin was…strange. He was looking for reactions from the same group of people, one of the people in the group whom I suspected was the real Merlin. A good guy pretending to be Merlin would look for the reaction of all the people playing, not solely home in on a certain group. This made me believe that Bob was a spy and I rallied the majority of the players to stand behind me and mark Bob as a spy.

Bob howled and accused me of being stupid (no worries, we all act out like drama queens in this game, we just laugh it off afterwards). He once again exclaimed that he was Merlin, I accused him on the premise I previously presented and he explained that he merely was looking at how the spies reacted. I ignored his claim and bulldozed through the game with my guesses, convinced that I was right.

Well, guess who was Merlin? Yupp, it was Bob.

So let’s put this tension and drama into a story!

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There was a cough and everybody froze. The group looked at each other, finding out that the culprit was the doctor who said “Sorry, too much dust in here,” as the group relaxed their bodies but their minds continuing to furiously find out who chucked the dynamite on the exit, resulting in a cave in.

It was supposed to be an easy exploration down the new found cavern, rumoured to hide treasures of forgotten ages. The group consisted of a doctor, Mister Waldrof the sponsor, three guards and a native guide we hired from the nearest town. There was of course me, the person who found this unvisited place but enough with the presentation. Someone in the group had closed our exit for unknown reasons. Sure, I could probably come up with a few but the more alarming question was who.

As we continued downwards the cavern I tried to list who was the most suspicious.

There was of course Mister Waldrof, if there were any sign of danger from the doctor or guide, the exploration would have been called off until we’ve gotten further backup and resources. That could have taken more time and cost than Waldrof could have managed, so he chucked a dynamite to force us to continue with the exploration no matter the consequence. The journey would have been quick if we discovered nothing, and it would be joyous if we did discover treasures.

The more I thought about the idea the more plausible it seemed.

A tap on my shoulder made me look back into the old eyes of Mr Waldrof. His bushy brows were lowered, as was his voice when he whispered to me: “Careful of the guards. I think they did it.”

The guards? Why would they do that? That didn’t make any sense unless it was a way for Mr Waldrof to throw the suspicion off himself. Yeah…

I yanked his tie closer to me and growled into his ears loud and clear: “I believe you are the culprit Mr Waldrof.”

The group came to a halt by my accusation. Mr Waldrof’s eyes bulged in panic and surprise.

“Are you insane?” he screamed. “Why would I sabotage my own explorations?”

“Simple,” I responded and laid out my theories to everyone to hear. There were some agreements and nods towards my thought process. Only the accused shook his head  violently denying the claims.

“You’re a moron,” the sponsor spat out. “Think of the repercussions if I was found out. The risk would have been too big compared to the gains!”

“Not unless you have some sources that strongly implies that there are treasures down 

here,” I continued smoothly.

Mr Waldrof was furious and exasperated. He shook his head in bewilderment, clutching his own head and rubbing his temples with great vigour. All these motions together with words of “Stop”, “Listen,” “No that’s wrong,” “You’re a moron,” and more.

It was here that Waldrof suddenly pointed a hard finger on the guards and screamed: “They are the culprit! I saw one of them throw the dynamite, but didn’t dare to say it out loud since they are the armed ones. You got to believe me!”

Now it was my turn to shake my head.

“Come on, now you’re the one losing it Mr Waldrof,” I said. “If they really were the culprits, why didn’t they just kill me and you since we’re disposables. For this exploration only needs a guide and a doctor. The rest is only for smaller details. Plus without you and me, there would be less risk of revolt since it would be three guards versus two instead of four.”

Nothing were said for a moment, only stares and baffled faces.

“You know, that's not a bad idea,” one of the guards rumbled. “What you guys think of this?”

“Sounds good to me,” agreed the second guard.

“Alright,” continued the third guard. “Let’s shoot these two idiots dead.”

Ops.

Writing Challenge 3 - A story pre-1950

When I sat down to write this challenge my first thought was to write about medieval stuff, with knights and priest just without magic. High fantasy has always been a genre I loved, but for this one, I tried to simply pick a topic I barely knew about or even had any practice writing. My favourite genres would be horror, fantasy and comedy. I barely touched on sci-fi, war, crime or romance, not that I disliked them. It's just that when I could choose to read a book, I would choose a genre I knew I liked instead of trying out something different. Simply put, being comfortable. 

But these back and forth writings with my friend has been very fun. Especially when we both can see the ideas and thought poured into the stories. It makes me want to try new things.

Here's my story from pre-1950, during the second world war.

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Before the Fears

I could hear nothing but the waves crashing onto the Higgin’s boat and my own heart beating with such intensity as if it would escape from my chest. Reaching for the canteen to quench my dry lips I noticed that my fingers trembled and could barely unscrew it. Seeking for hope from the other members in the boat didn’t make my heart any calmer. All soldiers had eyes that spoke of death.

Their anxieties showed in different ways, some bit their religious necklace, some tried to gulp down the fears like I did, and then there were some who let it flow out all over the boat and on the boots of some men. Not like the ones with stained boots noticed, they were also too distracted by their own mortality.

Our platoon of thirty-six soldiers was led by Lieutenant Attaway. I usually had trouble remembering the names of the officers but Lieutenant Attaway had a catchphrase that he loved to use, if someone called for him he would always sneak in ‘on the way’. He’s a nice guy, with a cheeky smile and always confident in his orders.

That smile and confidence were now gone as if they were washed away by the waves.

I could see his lips move and his arms motioning and pointing on certain things in the air. I couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t matter. The instructions had been drilled into each soldier's mind for weeks. We knew it by heart.

The 1st Infantry Division and the 29th Infantry Division would on the sixth of June invade Omaha Beach and remove the Nazi-occupation. The infantries would be provided with air support in both offensive and defensive measures. Dropping bombs and providing obstacles on the beach. Our landing crafts would reach the beach in the morning, oh seven hundred, and from there we had to push through the Nazi's defensive towers, which had its supplies cut off through paratroopers. The estimated offensive strength from our side were 43 000, theirs were 8 000. We had the advantage. The sixth of June would be the day we liberate the northern Europe from the claws of Nazi-Germany.

I knew all this by heart. But I also knew that I would die today.

The currents were difficult to maneuver, we all stood on the boat not buckling down to the crashing waves that threw in the water on us. The naive would call us brave. The reality was that we were petrified.

Lieutenant Attaway motioned for attention again. This time I tried to focus on what he had to say but it was all in vain. The sound of people being sick in the background and currents pushing us around were too much. From his fingers, I discerned: Oh. Seven. One. Seven. Estimated time to arrive I guess, probably because the currents made us slower to reach the beach.

We are probably closer now because the sound of crashing waves was mixed with the piercing sound of gunfire. I squeezed my gun tighter, squeezing it so hard that my knuckles turned white. The water which was pale blue turned slowly dusty as we reached the beach, probably because of the sand but mostly because of the blood.

Lieutenant Attaway was saying something again, I couldn’t hear it. My heart was all I could hear.

As the doors of our landing craft opened, the nightmare began.

Writing Challenge 2 - Write a fanfiction

Oh boy, I was quite eager to write to do this challenge but when I sat down my mind was blank. I had no idea what sort of fan fiction I wanted to write nor did I know from which source material I wanted.
Scanning through my room I chose an all time favourite, Harry Potter. But my memories of the characters weren't as sharp as before, I don't remember when the characters had their birthdays or what their favorite school subject was. 
So I took the easy way out and came up with my own character, an elderly wizard that missed his train back to wizard-world and had to walk around a muggle town.

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The Wizard and the Street Singer

“Please be in time, please be in time,” muttered the old man to himself as he rushed towards the train station. It was apparent that this old man was in a hurry, and it was also apparent that no one dared to be in his way. Disheveled gray hair, fuzzy eyebrows, and eyes that seemed to turn glassy every now and then. His big black robe flapped with great vigor, one hand holding tight to a purple top hat, the other clutching a weary bag that seemed to have lived a longer life than its owner.

People would afterward say that not even the turnstile dared to oppose him, seeing the elder pass through the machine ticket control without even showing a ticket. But as sudden the elder appeared in front of everyone, he disappeared. What happened to the old man? He was seen taking the escalator down, but never arriving at the bottom…

“I’m sorry, Mr. Vandiril,” said the conductor as the old man tried to catch his breath. “But the train has already left the station.”

“But I can still see it!” exclaimed Vandiril. “Hang on, I just need to…”

“No,” said the conductor sternly and put a hand on Vandiril from raising his wand. “No apparition. You wait for the next train like everyone else.”

Vandiril put down his wand with a grunt. “How long until the next one?”

“Two hours,” said the conductor bracing himself for the incoming complaints.

“WHAT!?” screamed Vandiril. “What am I supposed to do during these two hours?!”

“Sightseeing of course,” said the conductor. “It’s your first time in the city, right? Have a look around.”

The old man wandered grumpily down the streets, the pavement colored in black and white. The stores were bustling with life and the people were busy with their own lives. One thing Vandiril understood about the place was that the location was filled with variations. He had difficulty to pinpoint what sort of culture was typical here since he noticed tendencies and habits from all over the world. Just through the main street, the encounters were filled with restaurants from Italy, China, Thailand and countries from the middle-east. The stores were all sorts, from electronics, costumes, and medicines to hotels and sports gears. “It’s like an advanced form of a flea market,” Vandiril thought to himself.

Wandering through the bustling streets, a catchy tune grabbed the attention of the old man. It was flirty, mysterious and a baseline filled with tension. As the intro ended, a voice started to sing, stumbling on the words and hesitating to sing more resolute. Vandiril followed the music and a few minutes later found the source blocked by a circle of streetwalkers that was just as curious as Vandiril to know more about who was behind the music.

It was a girl barely of teenage years. Dressed in an oversized jacket and worn out jeans, holding a guitar too big for her size, singing for whoever wanted to listen. Her brown hair framed a pair of almond shaped eyes darting from the guitar to the people and then to the ground. The girl's voice would rise and then falter, wavering as the curious bystanders continue with their walks.

Vandiril gave out a holler and started to clap in rhythm with the music. The girl flinched at the sound and sought out the old man’s eyes. Vandiril, in turn, gave out a big smile and started to move in a dance around the girl, holding an imaginary partner. The girl had to stop with her singing to laugh out loud over the bizarre situation.

The other onlookers gave a hearty laugh seeing the old man dancing so passionately, they continued to also clap in rhythm with Vandirils dancing.

The girl was unsure about what to do. She stood still and clapped along with the others to the elder, but Vandiril danced closer to the girl and nudged at her guitar followed with a joyful wink.

The youngling understood and picked up the tune once again. The song was more upbeat, more fun, her voice was also much more confident. The voice was sweet and calming, like a hot butterbeer on a cold day. The voice was precious. All the participants shared this joyous moment, forgetting about their own lives to spend some of their cherished time with strangers. As the song ended, the applause increased in volume.

The old man dropped to the ground, noticing that his feet were a little bit more tired than he expected, heaving and panting for air.

The young girl went around the spectators with a cap which they gladly dropped some coins in. Some even asked for a handshake and took out a small metal-box which made the young girl hold out two fingers in a ‘v’ and smile towards the box.

Well, the moment was over and the public moved on with their lives. Vandiril stood up and grabbed his bag which he dropped on the ground as he started to dance. A few pokes on his side made him jerk and noticed that the girl was behind him. She gave a curtsy and handed him something.

“It’s a CD with my songs and a few covers,” said the girl with a small smile. “Thank you, it was really fun!”

“It was a pleasure,” said Vandiril returning the smile. “Didn’t want to let the magic moment slip.”

She gave a laugh and picked up her guitar, thanking Vandiril once again before leaving.

The old man waved towards the small back of the girl. His eyes then narrowed as he looked more closely at the present the girl gave him.

“What in Merlin’s beard is a CD?”

Inspiration from Reddit 4

The hero values friends more than anything else, but he no longer has any 

Submitted by Umbra_R (r/Writingprompts)

The gesture was sweet. The hero declined the riches and titles from the King. Instead, he demanded more soldiers posted in his hometown, or repairing the old worn-down buildings. People would say how noble the hero was, how he still stuck to the roots even after everything that happened. The hero would still remember to be modest and thankful to his friends and family.

As demanded, the hero’s hometown was enriched. The small town was happy.

One day, while walking around the town the hero overheard how some of his friends were talking about ambitious dreams of becoming a soldier or a noble, the things young people would chat about. Seeing the twinkle in his friend's eyes, the hero took on a quest, too dangerous for anyone or even any country to take on.

Several months passed by and the hero returned. He had finished his quest!

In the court and in front of the King of the Country, he demanded that his friend who had just enlisted in the army to be promoted to Captain, give the title of a Noble to another and give the prize money from the mission to his other friends who dreamed of a better life.

The hero was showered with thanks, but the eyes of his friends changed. Whenever the hero walked around they would join him, or invite him to a drink at the bar. During these times the friends would complain and sigh over how tough it was, that they wished a happier life, suggesting that they didn’t live well enough.

The hero once again took on a dangerous mission, only to return after a year later, with huge success.

Once again in the court, the hero demanded the Captain be promoted to General, his now noble friend to earn the title of Baron granted more land under his rule and build new glorious houses for his other friends. The hero was once again showered in thanks from his friends, and people hearing about the hero’s generosity flocked to him. They would all join him on his walks around town or treat him to drinks in a bar, hoping to become another friend to the hero.

The friends were happy.

The hero walked his hometown once again, to hear from his friends complaining about not being part of the royalty. And the hero traveled again on a dangerous mission.

Upon returning to the court after finishing his dangerous expedition, he got to hear that his friends have died in accidents on the road. Not knowing what to do with his boon from the king, he once again asked for prosperity in his hometown.

The hero went for a walk as usual but this time something was different. The people of the small town would greet him and shower him with thanks, but they no longer strived to become friends with the hero. No one would share a drink with the hero, or follow him on his walk to strike up conversations. Merely greeting and thanking from a distance.

The hero could do nothing but walk to the graves of his fallen comrades every day, wishing them a happy afterlife.

The hero didn’t have any friends anymore, and the country was happy.

A spontaneous poem

Hello, just a surprise post here.

I've dabbled a little bit with poetry and when I met up with an old friend of mine she told me a little story about a tree that inspired me to write it in poetry form. Here is "The Tree of Might"!

Tree of Might

I wish I could climb up that tree of might,

Filled with dreams and wonders ever wanted,

Not with stress and pain but magic and flight,

Reason is, it had for years me daunted.

I set my mind to climb that tree of might,

My life and potential was the offer,

I could care less, nothing else was in sight,

Quick - before I end up in my coffer!

With blood, sweat and tears I climb up that tree,

Losing my limbs on the way to the crown,

Didn’t matter, I gladly paid the fee,

Failure meant forever being a clown.

I’m up, even above the tree’s own crown,

Why, am I wishing I was on the ground?

Hope you like it!

Writing Exercise 5 - Conveying Character

Take three different characters and walk them through a scene. Convey their emotional states, their jobs, and their hobbies without directly stating any of those. The scene in question: walking through a marketplace, and they need to do a dead-drop.

[From Writing Excuses 10.5: What Do You Mean My Character is Boring? - Link]

To show and not tell is something that I struggle with in writing. It's so much easier to say "Annie is confused" than describe a scene that conveys the emotion. But by doing so the reader loses his or her immersion. 

I really liked this challenge because I had no idea what a dead-drop was, after a minute of Google-fu I was both excited and a bit intimidated. I was a bit bolder this time and used a name generator to get the names of my three characters. Afterward, I just wrote spontaneously whatever my mind came up with.

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The sun kissed the skin on Reudi as he strolled around the lively market wearing only two things. Speedos and sunglasses. Oh, he was also carrying a shoddy backpack and holding a yellow surfboard but the people around him had their attention on his…proportions. They gave him judging glances mixed with awkwardness and envy which Reudi responded back with a smile as he made eye contact with some. He strolled to a food vendor and picked a fresh mango, took a sniff and exhaled deeply.

“Ma'am, your mangos are as sweet as ever!” he exclaimed, as he gave the seller a coin and then bit down on the fruit, juices flying everywhere. The woman blushed red and a small smile could be seen before she covered her face with her hands. Reudi finished the mango in place, threw the seed in a nearby trash can and moved on.

Let’s see, south west from the fruit store, behind the ice cream truck… He thought to himself as he surveyed the surrounding only to find the spot was occupied by a group of teenagers.

He marched into the group with a big smile and open arms, striking up a conversation while the people teenagers gasped in excitement and begged for autographs and photos. Reudi accepted all the requests and then invited the teenagers to an event, a few weren’t that interested and the group parted ways, Reudi with his fans and the rest waving goodbye. No one noticed that Reudi no longer carried the shoddy backpack.

Claudio treated the customers like he treated ants, with indifference at first and annoyance when they finally got his attention. He almost threw the ice cream cones on them, which made the owner livid and almost kicked Claudio from the truck. The young boy sighed as he joined his group of friends, surprised that he already got his break since he barely started. 

As Claudio explained the situation a man of godly proportions approached them, some kind of movie-star if Claudio remembers correctly, his friends knew more about them. A few of them seemed to faint as the star approached. He didn’t care so much of the movie star, his focus was more on the surfboard that the man was holding. A Weirdo Ripper, Yadin Nicoles ride of choice. 

Claudio nodded approvingly on the choice of gear before the group separated, half of them following Reudi to an event. The other half, which Claudio was part of, decided to head to the water and take a swim. Claudio adjusted his shoddy backpack and followed.

The elder known as Finlay was sunbathing before being disturbed by a group of people blocking the rays from the sun and also managing to splash water even though he had positioned himself several meters from the shore.

As he removed his sunglasses to get a closer look on who dared to disturb him, his eyes softened as he noticed it was a group of younglings, teenagers. You can’t be too angry at them, they have it difficult already, both emotionally and physically. He’s been there and knows, he’s also been on the other side, having to explain to his children about…hormones.

Finally simply gave the group a cheerful wave and returned to his sunbathing. But not even a minute managed to pass when his cell phone demanded his attention.

“I told you not to disturb me,” growled Finlay into the cell phone. “I’m sunbathing.”

“I know, just checking if the eggs have hatched,” said a nervous voice from the other side.

“I will tell when it happens,” said Finlay. “It shouldn’t take much longer, just relax and wait for a few more…” But before Finlay managed to finish his sentence, a big plastic ball attacked him.

There wasn’t much force, but the sudden attack made Finlay stagger and roll over the sand while looking around with alertness.

It was the teenagers again. They were playing around with the swim ball, throwing and passing it to each other, the only teenager that sported a backpack tried to do a kick pass but missed horribly. Instead of passing to a friend, the ball attacked an elder.

The group of teenagers ran to Finlay, asking if he was okay and said many apologies. Finlay politely said with half a smile that he was fine and that they should play more carefully and not to disturb the surroundings too much. The group apologized once more before returning to the waters with the ball.

Finlay scratched on the backside of his head while looking thoughtfully on the younglings. He then shrugged his shoulder and casually grabbed the backpack that was left in the sand while he picked up his cell phone.

“Hey, it’s King here,” said Finlay to the receiver. “The eggs have hatched.”

Writing Challenge 1 - Rewrite a Classic Fairy Tale

Hey again, long time no see!

I've been away for some time due to negligence but now I'm back!

My motivation has been a bit lacking but it's on the upswing.

What is this writing challenge? Well, a friend suggested that we should write together as a source of motivation. We have write-mission twice each week were we have to hand in our stories to each other before deadline. Knowing that another person is doing the same thing that I'm doing and might struggle as I do is actually really helpful and sort of comforting. So let's see how this goes!

I will continue post Writing Prompts from Reddit and Writing Exercises, they won't disappear!

So the first challenge was to rewrite a classic story, spin it in your own words. I didn't add any twists on my rewrite, I was more focused on using words and phrases that suited me more. Comment how you liked it!

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The Cunning Little Tailor (Household Tales by the Brothers Grimm)

Source

Once upon a time in a land far away, there lived a princess proudest of them all. She would test every potential partner's wit by giving out a riddle for them to guess, she promised to marry if they answered correctly but if wrong, they would be sent away with shame upon their shoulders.

Three tailors decided to try out their luck, the two eldest believing that their success in the business could correlate well with the ability to solve riddles. The third tailor was of small stature and body, a traveling vagabond barely staying alive on the roads and towns he visits by repairing the elder and poor one's clothes for whatever the customer wanted to pay, a rotten apple, a loaf of bread or even a single worn out boot. When the other two tailors saw the shaggy outfit the small tailor was wearing they recommended this poor sod to go back home since he probably didn’t stand a chance. Unwavering, the little tailor joined with the other two and went to see this proud princess.

The three tailors arrived at the castle and managed to get an audience with the princess. She was hidden behind a black mask covering both the face and the hair, but the clothes she wore told of royalty and riches. The tailors gave their compliments and encouraged the princess to give out the riddle. The princess politely accepted the sweet words from each tailor and then continued with the test:

“I have two kinds of hair on my head, of what color is it?” she said simply.

This confused the tailors since they expected a problem that needed calculations and logical thinking, not a guessing game.

The first tailor knew that the majority of the royal lineage had black hair and therefore guessed: “I believe you have the colors of black and white in your head.”

The princess shook her head slowly. “Wrong, anyone else wants to try?”

The second tailor has heard some rumors that about once in a blue moon, a child with hair like flames would be born in the royal household and took a leap of faith:

“I believe your hair has the colors of red and orange,” he guessed.

The princess shook her head once again. “Wrong.” She turned her head towards the third tailor. “You want to take a guess?”

The small tailor shrugged his shoulders and said half-jokingly: “Since princess is a royalty, it wouldn’t surprise me if your hair would be gold and silver.”

A gasp echoed around the royal hall as the maidens and knights around did a sharp intake of breath. The small tailor had guessed right!

The princess nodded. “Correct.” She then turned around showing her back to the three tailors. “However, the test is still not done. Now I know your wit, but I need to know your courage. Captain, I leave the rest of the instructions to you.”

As the princess left, an elderly man clad in armor started to explain to the small tailor what more he needed to do.

“Beneath us, is a stable with a vicious bear, your second test is to spend one night in the stable together with the bear,” the old soldier explained. “If the princess wakes up in the morning tomorrow and finds you still alive in the stable, she will marry you. Will you accept the challenge?”

The small tailor let out a smile of delight as he quickly accepted the challenge and ventured to the stable.

Evening came and the small tailor entered the stable and the bear, both big and frightening, didn’t waste a second to greet the small tailor with its paws.

The small tailor managed to avoid the love taps of the beast and started casually without any fears or anxieties in the world crack open some kernels, eating them with loud smacking as if they were the most precious and delicious of treats.

The bear, puzzled by the small man’s reactions, looked at the seeds with curiosity and signaled to the tailor that it wanted to try some of it.

The tailor reached into his pocket and gave the animal a handful, but what the bear didn’t know was that the tailor gave pebbles, not snacks. The bear took a bite but the hard pebbles remained intact. The beast crunched down with all its strength but to no avail, leaving the bear sad and begging the tailor for help.

This time the tailor took a handful of real nuts and cracked them with his bare hands, giving them to the bear. The bear impressed by the feat of strength ate the seeds happily.

The tailor then pulled out a violin out from his shaggy cloak and started playing soothing music. It was a happy lullaby, which made the bear drowsy and its eyelids heavy. It didn’t take long until the bear started to snore loudly.

Morning came and as soon as the princess woke up she hurried down to the stable, only to see the tailor sleeping soundly on top of the bear’s belly.

Impressed by the tailor's courage she asked the soldiers to get the small tailor out of the stable and make him ready for the marriage.

The ceremony went over fast, and the last I remember of the small tailor was him riding in a horse carriage with a happy smile on his face, a beautiful wife next to him and the other two tailors scowling.