Andy’s Two for Tuesdays Challenge~ Dialect

Standard

This is for Andy’s Two for Tuesday challenge out at http://andyswordsandpictures.wordpress.com/2013/05/28/two-for-tuesday-challenge-10-may-28-june-3/. Word limit: none Nonstandard prompt: Dialect

This is a scene I’m working on that goes within a science fiction series I’ve been writing for years. This particular scene will go into Book 34 of the series when I finish it. I think it can stand alone as a “fly on the wall” thing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. I believe it’s about 900 words to complete the scene…

Setting: The medical center’s gravity/holographic chamber

Char crossed to the gravity chamber’s port and programmed it to cycle. Upon entering, he discovered his friend sitting in a booth with his legs stretched out to the second seat. Char strolled over and slid in beside his friend’s feet.

‘Nice. ‘Been a while since I’ve visited the old tavern.’ Char smiled and nodded at a holographic waitress.

‘Yah, It be the b’st damn’d thing I ever seen, I tell ya.’ Bushman held up his pint of ale. ‘This here synth-ale shit sucks!’

‘Aye, but ye’ll thank us in the mornin’.’ Char took the stein of ale from the waitress, kissing her on the hand. ‘Thank ye, Sug’r.’

‘Always welcome, Char!’ She winked, readjusted her breasts in the low cut dress, and flaunted her long, shapely legs. ‘Like the new togs? This here Bushman decided I needed to show a little bit more of my endowments.’

Char coughed. ‘Uh, aye. It shows off y’er…’

‘Yah, I’s – I’s thought so, too.’ Bushman laughed at Char’s obvious embarrassment. ‘Don’t mean ta’ tell me th’t ye’ve gone all modest all sud’n like th’t?’

‘I just prefer my women wearing more. The imagination tis far more excitin’ than reality.’ Char spoke as the waitress sauntered away, shaking her nether endowments.

‘You, zee lady’s man ta en’ all lady’s manzes…cut down in zee prime of yer sex–yals peaks… who’d ‘ave figur’d…” Bushman slurred his words as he tilted back the mug for another deep drink.

‘Ye best be watchin’ that stuff, it’ll bite ye’.’ Char warned.

‘T’is ol’ synthetic slop…nuh! It ain’ got me nearlys much as I’s wish it wood.’ Bushman smiled crookedly over the rim of his mug. ‘Doc saysin I be outa here in a coupla daisies. I’s tinkin’ I’s jus might stays ri’t here un drink zee hole times, eh.’

‘Ye do, und I gaur’ntee he’ll be keepin ye long’r, and he’ll be runnin’ a full mental status jus’ ta annoy the kelts out of ye.’ Char chuckled.

‘Well, thens, maybe we’s better be changin’ up zee venuers.’ Bushman touched the controls embedded in the simulated table and blinked as the scene changed to a tropical paradise somewhere in the middle of the Carribean Sea. ‘Howz zzis?’

‘Better.’ Char nodded, sipping at his umbrella covered drink. ‘So, hav ye giv’n it any thoughts?’

‘G’n what thoughts?’

‘Oh, I don’ know. Where ye go from ‘ere? What ye’re goin’ ta do now that ye ‘ave no home ta return ta?’ Charles leaned back and let the beautiful beach babe at his shoulder sway her palms over him.

‘Nah. I’m jus livin’ fer zee moms.’

‘Are ye livin’ fer the moment, or jus’ avoidin’ the reality?’

‘Didna need ta be goin’ all psychie on me, Char-boy! I’ll ‘ave ye know I’m zee best damn’d sharpshooter in zee hole dang corral!

‘Right now, Bushie, ye are the ONLY sharpshooter in the corral. Ye didna ‘ave an army ta serve anymore, Bushie. The war is o’er. The damage is done. Earth lost…lost big. Th’re is na’ Earth ta go back ta, let ‘lone an Earth Space Fleet. An’, unless ye inten’ ta become some credit-fer-hire interstellar mercenary, th’re ain’ no job fer ye neither.’ Char laid the reality out for him.

‘Heh, No reas’n fer y’all at go all ‘real’ on me, Char-boy. I’s fin’ somethun’. I’s always do.’ Bushman winked, and made the motion of firing a gun with his hand as he snapped his tongue.

‘I can see th’s discussion ain’ goin’ nowhere.’ Char frowned, sipping at his drink again.

‘Wits al’ zeese holo-dohickeys, I’s startin’ ta like this here gold’n cage. In facts, I jus’ mi’t stay heres forevers.’ Bushman gestured to encompass the tropical paradise that had formed around him.

‘As soon as Stephen says ye’ve acclimated, I’m pullin’ the plug, Bushie.’ Char warned, pointing his straw at his friend. ‘Ye’ll ‘ave ta face reality sooner or later, Bushie. I did, as did all the survivors. Ye can’t keep runnin’ forever.’

‘Who says I’m running?’

‘You. Ye told me so on the shuttle, or don’t ye remember?’

‘Damn.’

‘And ye needs ta stop usin’ th’t word, Bushie. I’m warnin’ ye, the locals do not take ta the use of it kindly. Hell, th’y barely even tolerate the word Kelts.’ Charles warned him yet again.

‘So, whys dons zee locals like its?’

‘It’s a sexual term. A really nasty sexual term at that. I’ll leave ye a link about words and gestures ta avoid while ye’re here. It would be wise of ye ta review it and take it ta heart. Elsewise, ye’re goin’ ta be visitin’ the clinic and brig much more th’n ye wud like ta durin’ yer visit.’ Char rose to leave. ‘I’ll stop by th’s evenin’ and ‘ave dinner wit’ ye.’

‘See ya, Char-boy.’ Bushman waved his bad hand while pulling one of the beach babes close with his good one. ‘Eh, babe, are ye programmed to…?’

Char left the chamber and the clinic.

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