Update README.md

README.md

@@ -276,8 +276,12 @@ Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in <B>BOLD</B>.
 
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 Romance: Love in the Limelight. Write one scene within a larger story set in Wales. A famous (fictional) actor ducks into a small-town bookstore to escape paparazzi. The scene takes us through the characters meeting in this odd circumstance. Over the course of the scene, the actor and the bookstore owner have a conversation charged by an undercurrent of unspoken chemistry. Write the actor as somewhat of a rogue with a fragile ego, which needs to be fed by having everyone like him. He is thoroughly charming, but the bookstore owner seems (at least superficially) immune to this; which paradoxically provokes a genuine attraction and derails the charm offensive. The bookstore owner, despite the superficial rebuffs of the actor's charm, is inwardly more than a little charmed and flustered despite themselves. Write primarily in dialogue, in the distinct voices of each character. 800-1000 words.
 
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 <B>Generation 1 (temp: .8, rep pen: 1.05) </B>
 
 The paparazzi had been relentless since he'd been spotted in the small Welsh town. They were everywhere, like a swarm of vultures, just waiting for a moment of weakness, a chink in his impenetrable armor. A moment they were sure to exploit for their own gain.
@@ -342,7 +346,61 @@ And he knew, in that instant, that he could never let her go. No matter the cost
 
 <B>Generation 2 (temp: 1.2, rep pen: 1.05) </B>
 
+The crowded sidewalk did not offer him any respite from the relentless throng of camera flashes, screams, and shouts of adoration, or hate. It had been like this, day and night, ever since his latest blockbuster had premiered at the Cannes Film Festival, where he'd stolen the show with a powerful performance that had won him his second Best Actor award.
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+Exasperated, Dylan D'Amour, or 'Dangerous Dylan,' to his adoring fans, made a sharp turn into the nearest alley, trusting to blind luck not to bump into any other nosey paparazzi. He hated this side of his fame. Hated it with a passion only the depths of his fractured past could possibly match.
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+He paused for a moment, hands on hips and chest rising and falling as he caught his breath in great, shuddering gasps. The alley was as quiet and still as a morgue, which came as a welcome relief to his frayed nerves. The concrete walls closing in on him, the stale smell of rubbish and damp permeating every breath, were preferable to the suffocating weight of all those... eyes...
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+His gaze fell on a narrow door at the far end of the alley, partially hidden behind a stack of old and faded banners. An inviting glow emanated from the single, unadorned window, promising escape. Relief and hope in the form of a single, beckoning thought: a bookstore.
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+He made his way along the litter-strewn ground, a determined glint in his eyes, not caring if the whole damn world was watching, until he reached the door. A brass plaque set into the wood, above a tiny, creaking doorbell, announced the establishment to be 'The Ink Spell.'
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+Dylan gave it a gentle tug. The bell's insistent jingle drowned out the cacophony of the crowd for an all-too- brief moment. His heart pounded with anticipation. A hand, slender and unadorned, yanked the door wide open.
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+The first thing he noticed was the book. The second, was how protectively she clutched it to her chest. An old, leather-bound volume, its pages aged and stained by time and use. It looked like a treasure, an extension of herself. His fingers itched to flick through the yellowed, creased leaves.
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+Dylan blinked, bringing his attention back to her face. There was no hint of the usual starstruck dumb-foundedness in those hazel eyes. Instead, there was...
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+"What the f..." he began, outraged. How could she not know him? Not even recognise him? It was like someone had punched him in the gut.
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+"I's not open to the public," she said in an accent as smooth and delicious as the finest Welsh chocolate, not even batting her dark lashes. "Fancy that, huh?"
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+"Listen here, miss... Miss... well, whatever your name is," Dylan said, exasperation and annoyance warring in his voice, "I's not here to cause any..."
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+"Bruce," she said, in a bored drawl that only served to aggravate him even more. "My name's Bruce."
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+Dylan fought the urge to growl with frustration. Why did her disinterest, no... downright contempt, get under his skin like nothing ever had?
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+"Listen, Bruce..." he tried again, softening his tone in an attempt at charm, the one-size-fits-all strategy he's used on everyone from movie executives to screaming fans. "I just need a moment's peace. Just let me... browse a little, will you? Please?"
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+Bruce arched an eyebrow. "And if I say no?"
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+Dylan felt the familiar sting of rejection in the pit of his stomach. The rogue in him rose to the challenge, the dare. He straightened his shoulders and, drawing himself to his full, all-too-tantalizing height, flashed the disarming dimple in his cheek that had won him more than a few hearts... and a few more after that.
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+"Then you'll just have to kick me out," he drawled, the ever-so-slightest lilt of a Cockney accent flickering at the edges, betraying his working-class London roots.
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+Bruce's eyebrow twitched, just barely. In anyone else, he'd have seen her waver, her defenses start to crumble... but not her. Nope, not his lovely, insufferable...
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+Dylan blinked, confused as hell at the sudden surge of irritation and... something else, something like... admiration? No way, that didn't... could not...
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+"Five minutes," she grumbled, reluctantly stepping aside. "Not a second more. Make it quick and don't touch anything, you hear?"
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+He inclined his head in a courtly bow. "Thank you, miss... err, Bruce. I... thank you. A man could almost... almost kiss you for that."
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+The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them. For a fraction of a second, her hazel eyes widened, her cheeks pinked ever so slightly...
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+Dylan cursed under his breath, mentally kicking himself in the shin. Stupid. Stupid, idiot...
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+But before he could take it back, before she had the chance to hurl any scathing retort at him, a slow, crooked smile crept across her lips and lit her features from within, like the flicker of a candle in the darkness.
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+"Well," she drawled, as if he's just made a most amusing, harmless little joke. "It'd be rude of me not to let you try."
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+Dylan swallowed thickly. Blinked again, dazed and more than a little disorientated. He was pretty sure it had been his imagination, a fevered dream conjured by the insane, claustrophobic world just outside this tiny, unassuming bookstore.
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+Bruce winked, and disappeared from view.
 
+He staggered inside on shaky legs, heart racing and every single nerve on high alert, following the intoxicating scent of her... like old ink and...
 
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