Anyone can join, with a 50-word vignette in the comments. Your vignette does not have to include the prompt term.
In an hour, they arrived at the fort more messy than after three day's journey through the desert, and Rose felt glad that she did not see any mirrors. Colonel Gold sent them off to wash in rainwater, though Rose concluded her most careful efforts could not make her neat.
Josette glared at her. For some reason that made her look much less neat than she had only moments ago.
Though tramping through the forest would no doubt make them look even less neat, Lilac told herself. They could console themselves with the prospect of baths and newly laundered clothes at the end.
Edmund blinked. For some reason, Dr. Dombrey looked neater than he had back in the laboratory. More sane could not explain that.
"Have you seen my -- " He hesitated.
"No," said Edmund. "I regret to say that I also arrived alone, and I have not seen her since. And I also arrived speaking the language."
The raft did not look neat, or even sea-worthy, when a crack of a gun make Mark's head jerk up. Carstairs fell without a word. The blood spread steadily though slowly, dark crimson. Mark threw himself onto the raft when another bullet cracked. It shifted the raft forward onto the rising tide.
She hoped it would be possible to write neatly. She had heard bad things about inkwells.
But what Corridon proffered her was a mess of crow's feathers.
"Goose feathers work, also," said Artos, conscientiously. "But crow are better."
She started to write. And black started to flow from the feather. Its tip turned snow white.