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Saturday, November 1st, 2008
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11:45 pm
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"You miss her, huh?"
"No." It's a simple answer, empty of passion. "You can't miss something that's part of your soul. It never really leaves."
"That's so sweet."
"It sucks." A startled look. "Knowing it's not there, that you can never have it again, and yet it just won't go away... I want to rip her out of me and feed it to the fishes."
"You don't mean that."
"The fuck I don't."
There's a pause while one of them contemplates the other in a new light. "Funny. I thought you loved her."
"Who says I didn't?"
"I could never wish to get rid of a love, even one I lost."
"You could." Absolute conviction in that. "When it starts to eat you alive, you will."
current mood: morose
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, July 17th, 2008
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12:54 am - Ends.
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| Tuesday, August 29th, 2006
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2:29 pm - Club.
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| Monday, July 10th, 2006
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7:31 pm - oneword.com drabble: SAGE
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People always thought it was odd when they found out her name was Sage. She was far too fiery-tempered to be called wise, and nothing about her remotely resembled the herb; true, her eyes were green, but of a shade closer to a peacock's shimmering tailfeather than to the plant.
(Can I just say how hard I laughed when that prompt came up?)
current mood: amused current music: Poe - "Not A Virgin"
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| Friday, June 16th, 2006
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11:06 am - oneword.com drabble - FREE
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He'd never known anything of freedom. His family had been born into bondage for more generations than any of them could count. He'd never thought about it, never questioned it; he had no frame of reference to even understand the concept. If one of the newly "recruited" v'cheiri spoke to him in whispers of the world beyond the space station's walls, he could merely stare blankly. For Reinhardt, nothing existed outside the steel corridors. He had never even seen a window.
current music: Voltaire - "When You're Evil"
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, June 15th, 2006
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10:54 am - oneword.com drabble - FACES
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I've got so many of them - one for each person I know. People who think they know me may not recognize the face they see if they watch me interact with someone else. I can't seem to help it; I mirror people. I tune in to them, figure out what I think they want to see, and project that image.
current music: Vixtrola - "Gunboat"
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, June 13th, 2006
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5:22 pm - Writer's Block? Meet your new worst enemy.
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So thanks to a friend I discovered oneword.com today. Every day they post a single word, and give you sixty seconds to hammer out whatever comes into your head when you see it. Then you post it on their archive, or just let it wash away into oblivion.
I'd like to make this part of my daily ritual, so with that in mind, here's today's drabble.
====================
I feel like I should say something to you, but how do you apologize for murder? After all, I was the one standing there with the knife. What difference does it make if I only meant to scare you. If I was pushed, and that's the only reason you're lying here now with blood and life flowing out of you like... I don't know. My thoughts are too fuzzy to come up with metaphors. All I can see is you, there, and the blood, and the knife in my hand.
...I'm sorry...
current mood: chipper
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Saturday, January 7th, 2006
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2:26 am - Firefly/Serenity ficcage. Still need to find a title for this...
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Small excerpt from latest fanfic project, as I'm feeling exceptionally proud of the way I wrote River and would appreciate being told whether I am merely deluding myself or whether I actually got it across decently well. So, comments & reviews if you would be so kind.
( She'd thought it was the Blue Gloves, at first. )
current mood: refreshed current music: Rihanna - "Pon De Replay"
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(9 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, November 3rd, 2005
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8:33 pm - School.
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9:12 am - Beginnings
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9:07 am - Here we go 'round the mulberry bush!
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H'okay, so! I am trying something a tad different for NaNo this year. I'm going to use fanfic100's table of 100 prompt words, and see if I can write 100 separate scenes from my novel to match each of the prompts. According to the community, the rule is that each ficlet has only to be over 100 words. I'm trying to make each over 500 words, so I can keep my NaNo word count up, but thus far no such luck. I'm not gonna sweat it yet. There are chunks of this story that'll take pages rather than paragraphs. So here's the table, and I'll link to each piece of the story as I go. (Keep in mind that the word prompt order is NOT the order the scenes belong in for the book. I'll post the whole story - or whatever I've got of it - at the end of the month.)
| 001. | Beginnings. |
002. | Middles. |
003. | Ends. |
004. | Insides. |
005. | Outsides. |
| 006. | Hours. |
007. | Days. |
008. | Weeks. |
009. | Months. |
010. | Years. |
| 011. | Red. |
012. | Orange. |
013. | Yellow. |
014. | Green. |
015. | Blue. |
| 016. | Purple. |
017. | Brown. |
018. | Black. |
019. | White. |
020. | Colourless. |
| 021. | Friends. |
022. | Enemies. |
023. | Lovers. |
024. | Family. |
025. | Strangers. |
| 026. | Teammates. |
027. | Parents. |
028. | Children. |
029. | Birth. |
030. | Death. |
| 031. | Sunrise. |
032. | Sunset. |
033. | Too Much. |
034. | Not Enough. |
035. | Sixth Sense. |
| 036. | Smell. |
037. | Sound. |
038. | Touch. |
039. | Taste. |
040. | Sight. |
| 041. | Shapes. |
042. | Triangle. |
043. | Square. |
044. | Circle. |
045. | Moon. |
| 046. | Star. |
047. | Heart. |
048. | Diamond. |
049. | Club. |
050. | Spade. |
| 051. | Water. |
052. | Fire. |
053. | Earth. |
054. | Air. |
055. | Spirit. |
| 056. | Breakfast. |
057. | Lunch. |
058. | Dinner. |
059. | Food. |
060. | Drink. |
| 061. | Winter. |
062. | Spring. |
063. | Summer. |
064. | Fall. |
065. | Passing. |
| 066. | Rain. |
067. | Snow. |
068. | Lightening. |
069. | Thunder. |
070. | Storm. |
| 071. | Broken. |
072. | Fixed. |
073. | Light. |
074. | Dark. |
075. | Shade. |
| 076. | Who? |
077. | What? |
078. | Where? |
079. | When? |
080. | Why? |
| 081. | How? |
082. | If. |
083. | And. |
084. | He. |
085. | She. |
| 086. | Choices. |
087. | Life. |
088. | School. |
089. | Work. |
090. | Home. |
| 091. | Birthday. |
092. | Christmas. |
093. | Thanksgiving. |
094. | Independence. |
095. | New Year. |
| 096. | Writer's Choice. |
097. | Writer's Choice. |
098. | Writer's Choice. |
099. | Writer's Choice. |
100. | Writer's Choice. |
current mood: creative current music: Saint-Saens - "Danse Macabre"
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, May 22nd, 2005
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2:46 am - What He Meant By 'Brother'
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| Thursday, May 12th, 2005
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11:14 pm
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ANGELS DON'T KILL Chapter: 1 - 2
-THE MURDER-
"Jesus, Pez, I thought you'd be happy. Isn't this the guy you've been after since he killed your friend?"
"Yeah, Jake. It is."
"Then why are you so upset?"
"Upset? You think I'm upset because that bastard got himself shot? Please."
"I'm just saying, you sure look--"
"I am upset because I didn't get to be the one who pulled the fucking trigger."
"...oh." Jake McCartey swallowed hard and glanced away from his training officer. He was not, by any means, a stranger to murderous thoughts; they were common enough among the officers of Manhattan's 11th Precinct. It was not a pleasant district, and even the most charitable of the boys in blue was occasionally pushed over the edge by the violence and callous cruelty they dealt with every day. Yet somehow, it deeply unnerved Jake to see Detective Sara Pezzini so furious. It shouldn't have - Sara's temper was notorious - but somehow she had always seemed above such anger. After all, she'd been the voice of reason when her partner, Detective Woo, had nearly killed Carl Dalek...
Beside Jake, Sara's angry expression melted, and she sighed. "Sorry, McCartey. It's just been a..." She paused.
"Bad day?" Jake suggested.
"Very."
Sara's partner arrived then, fortuitously interrupting the awkward silence that had descended. "Whew," said Danny Woo, shaking his head as he approached. "There's one hell of a crowd outside. I'm surprised I even made it in."
"Spectators?" asked Jake. When Danny nodded, he groaned. "Just once, I'd like to be able to tick over a crime scene in peace."
"You can't really blame them," Danny said with a shrug as Sara snorted derisively. "One of the most notorious crime bosses in the city turns up dead, there's a lot of people gonna want to know what happened."
Yeah, so they can give the guy that did it a medal! Sara snapped her mouth shut to avoid voicing the thought. She was on edge tonight, and understandably so - she'd just been called in to investigate the death of the man who had murdered her best friend. But she knew that scaring her partners by playing Bad Cop was not likely to improve anything. She settled instead for muttering, "Including me, so can we get down to work here, boys?"
Tommy Gallo's body lay in a congealing puddle of blood; both eyes had been blown out of their sockets by bullets, but his eyebrows were raised and his mouth formed a slight O, implying an expression closer to surprise than fear. Around him lay several other corpses that Sara recognized as Gallo's employees. Clearly the hit had been premeditated, and it was almost certainly professional - the chances that a pissed-off civilian could have pulled a gun and popped five bodyguards and Gallo without taking a bullet were so minute they were almost laughable.
"Three shots to the back of the head," commented Jake. "Execution style. Somebody had to've been pretty damn good to pull this one off."
Danny, who had been examining one of the bodyguards, put in, "Not these guys. Just the usual body bullets here. Although..." The others turned to look at him quizzically as his sentence trailed off. "Hmm. Unusually sharp downward trajectory on the bullets. Which means the shooter was probably standing--" Danny swiveled, eyes turning upward to scan the buildings on either side of the small alley, "--up there." In unison Sara and Jake's gazes slid up the walls to a fire escape landing.
"But then how'd they get down here in time to pop Gallo?" Jake frowned. "They can't have taken the stairs. Tommy Gallo wasn't stupid, he wouldn't have waited around to chat with someone who'd just killed off his protection."
"I don't think waiting was his idea." Vicky Po, the 11th Precinct's on-call medical examiner, leaned in over the detectives' heads and pointed at the crime lord's body. The legs of his trousers sported dark bloodstains. "Shooters took out both his ankles. He wasn't going anywhere."
"Ouch." All three detectives winced.
Vicky nodded. "And judging by the amount of blood he lost through these wounds, he was waiting a while for our shooters to finish him off."
"Hang on," Danny interrupted. "Did you say shooters? As in, plural?"
"Yep," confirmed Vicky. "Ballistics just came back, we've got three separate guns here. First one took out those two," and she gestured at two bodyguards, "the second downed those," a sweep of her arm indicated two more, "and the third killed that guy there. But Gallo got the special treatment - all three of 'em at once."
"Three?" Jake repeated, sounding incredulous. "Three separate guys shot Gallo all at once?"
"You got it. Gun A was this bullet," Vicky pointed to the corpse's missing left eye, "Gun B was this one," and she pointed to the right, "and Gun C made this hole here," indicating the underside of Gallo's chin. "Now that last one entered the skull up here, which means this shooter was considerably taller than the other two. But basically what you've got is, three guys put guns to Gallo's head and pulled the trigger in unison."
"Damn," commented Sara. "Someone was pissed."
"Yeah, or they figured they were doing a public service," said Vicky, rolling her eyes.
"Alright," Danny said, mentally summing up the current evidence, "we've got three shooters on the fire escape. They knock off the bodyguards, then two of them put bullets through Tommy's ankles. From there they take their own sweet time coming down and finishing the job."
"Confident, but not careless," nodded Sara in agreement.
"Well," said Vicky, glancing at her friends, "at least you guys have a normal case on your hands this time, huh?"
Danny snorted. "You just had to say that, didn't you Po-Po? Now something's sure to throw us for a loop."
He was right, too; as the fingers of her right hand brushed against Tommy Gallo's ankle, Sara's world tilted abruptly and flickers of red engulfed the corners of her vision. She found herself staring once more up at the fire escape, and this time she could see figures perched there - three men all in black. Light from the setting sun flickered around them, lending them an aura of glitter and magic, as if they were avenging angels swathed in fire. Descending the stairs swiftly and hauling Gallo to a kneeling position, each man leveled a gun at the crime lord's head. They were speaking, something foreign that Sara couldn't understand at first - and then she caught it. "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Latin. Was this some sort of ritual killing?
They pulled the triggers and Sara slammed back into her own body with the sounds of the shots still ringing in her ears. "The pennies," she croaked. "Where are the pennies that were on their eyes?"
Once upon a time, that comment would have made the others' jaws drop. But all three investigators had grown so accustomed to Sara's uncanny knack for picking up details at crime scenes that it barely raised eyebrows this time around.
"Jones had 'em," Vicky informed the detective. "Took 'em back to the lab for fingerprinting and such."
"Right," murmured Sara. Glancing down, she saw the red stone of her Witchblade was aglow and swirling violently with flecks of light. She sighed. Cases were never normal, anymore. "Let's get back to the precinct, guys. I'll bet my badge we've got some serious research to do."
current mood: bored current music: Seether - "Remedy"
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(5 comments | comment on this)
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3:06 pm
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ANGELS DON'T KILL
Chapter: 1 - 2 DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Saints or anything related thereto; they are
the property of Troy Duffy. Nor do I own Witchblade, which belongs to
Top Cow Comics and Warner Bros. The characters Lyanka Graves and Elrianra Menekh
originated in Sparks Donnen's fic Parallel Eternities, but they really
belong to themselves more than to Sparks or to me.
-PROLOGUE- They told stories about Witchblades, once -- shining bracelets of silver and
stone that became swords beneath a woman's touch, weapons of tremendous beauty
and terrifying power which could only be worn by a select few. All over the
world, legends are told of women warriors against whom no foe could stand. From
Cleopatra to Boudicca, Hua Mu-Lan to Jeanne D'Arc, a common thread links all
their tales: the myth of a mystical weapon which gave its wielder unearthly
abilities. For thousands of years the Witchblades have criscrossed the globe,
affecting the tides of power and influence, altering the odds in favor of their
chosen Wielders. Symbiotic and supernatural, a Blade grants its Wielder
unimaginable gifts, but its power is not without its price -- in return for
power, protection and preternatural Sight, a Wielder must sometimes serve the
Witchblade's purpose. These days, the tales of the Witchblades are all but lost. They've faded to vague
footnotes on the pages of history – when they're noted at all. Scholars
discredit the legends, and a society dedicated to science rejects the whispers
of magic in favor of more logical interpretations. But the fact that they have
been forgotten does not mean that they no longer exist. And now, in this bright
new century, three Blades are rising once more from the darkness of myth to
fight a battle no one knows is coming... Woman. Warrior. Wielder. Sara Pezzini is a New York City homicide detective.
She's good at what she does, too, although she won't be winning any awards for
Employee of the Month -- she's too smart, too snarky, and steps on too many
toes to be popular. But she gets the job done, and her colleagues respect her
even if they're not about to invite her out for coffee after work. Her only good friends are her
partner, Danny Woo, and Jake McCartey, the rookie cop they've been assigned to
train. There are others; Gabriel Bowman, a young artifacts dealer who knows too
much for his own good, and Vicky Po, the alcoholic medical examiner with a
sharp wit and high tolerance for the unusual. And sometimes Ian Nottingham, the
dark and mysterious watcher who answers every question with a riddle. But she
does not trust easily, and few people ever get close enough to hurt her. Sara doesn't watch the news much. She doesn’t make time for a life outside
of work, except the occasional long motorcycle ride or a trip to the precinct’s
gym. So she never heard the stories about the Boondock Saints, vigilantes who
took justice into their own hands and tore through Boston, killing killers. If
a colleague at the precinct ever mentioned it to her, she didn't pay much
attention. But the stories are about to leap off the page in a way she never realized
was possible. Soon, Sara will get an up close and personal view of the Saints' whirlwind
world. Because the Saints have fled Boston and come to New York, and although
it is Sara's job as a police officer to track them down, she is also a Wielder. And her Witchblade has drastically different plans...
current mood: hopeful current music: Dalida - "Salma Ya Salama"
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, February 12th, 2005
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1:36 am - The Blossoms (help me out gals, need a title for this!)
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| Tuesday, February 8th, 2005
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2:55 pm - A good beginning to a bad story
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They were called Il Fiori, and there were four of them.
They were all thirteen years old, which made them some of the youngest pupils at Madame March's Select Seminary for Little Ladies. And they were all very clever, which was considered both an accomplishment and a great nuisance. And they were all named after flowers, which was where they had acquired the nickname Il Fiori - that is Italian for "the flowers."
But for all their similarities, they were four very different little girls.
Violet, for example, was the youngest. She had large almond-brown eyes, and shining black hair which she liked to tie up with a blue satin ribbon. The first thing most people noticed about Violet was ______________. She was fond of drawing; often she would be seen with a sketch pad in hand and a pencil over one ear. She attended Madame March's because her father had a great deal of money but did not know very much about little girls, and he had not known what else to do with her after her mother died.
Even though she was older than Violet, Rose was the smallest. Everything about her was tiny and dainty, from nose to toes, except for her voice, which was very loud indeed. She was a student at the Seminary because her mother had been, and her mother had gone to the Seminary because her mother had, and so on for four generations. Rose's family believed in tradition.
Daisy was generally agreed to be the prettiest of Il Fiori. She was all curves, even her hair, which was dark brown and very curly. She had been sent to school at Madame March's because it had a reputation as the finest girls' finishing school in the country, and her parents (who were very wealthy) were adamant that Daisy should have the best of everything.
Nightshade was rather different from her friends. To begin with, she was an orphan, and to be going on with, her family had not had much money even when they were alive.
current mood: relaxed
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(7 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, December 2nd, 2004
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9:10 am
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Okay, I know this segment's a bit of a cop-out since part of it's been posted before, but it's important to get it in context and the segment coming after it was too long to include with this piece. So, here be Aspen and Thaddeus (who are suddenly starting to remind me WAY too much of Claire/Diana and Austin from Tanya Huff's "Summon The Keeper" books...)
( In which we arrive at Tavier Castle )
Again - suggestions! Grammar, spelling, punctuation, sentence flow: if you see anything you'd change, let me know!
current mood: cheerful current music: Green Day - "Boulevard of Broken Dreams"
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, November 30th, 2004
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6:17 pm - And so it begins...
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| Tuesday, November 9th, 2004
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11:17 pm
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| Wednesday, November 3rd, 2004
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11:11 am - Introduction of Skyre "Blaze" Notalder
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"Bugger." The word fell curiously flat in the little clearing, as if the thick grass, or the surrounding oaks, or perhaps the overhanging thunderclouds were soaking up the echoes. Skyre Notalder glanced sullenly upwards as several fat raindrops landed in his cupped palms, extinguishing the fire he'd been cradling there. Fitful sparks flicked between his fingers, trying to rekindle the flames, but it was no use; the rain was coming down harder now, and Skyre gave up with a sigh, knowing future attempts would be useless. He would have to wait until his hands were dry to try again, and that would require getting indoors - it was now raining so hard that even the thick-leaved branches of the oaks were offering no shelter. He hopped down from the tree stump upon which he'd been sitting with a muffled curse and a scowl firmly in place. He's been so sure that today was going to be the day he got it right, and then the bloody weather had had to go and spoil it. Reaching the edge of the clearing, he pulled his cloak tighter about himself and muttered, "I'm finished, Wendilly." Immediately there was a distinct shift in the quality of the air, as if some giant enclosing bubble had been invisibly and soundlessly popped. A breeze sprang up, and the sounds of the forest suddenly seemed to have their echoes back. A little girl of approximately twelve, swathed in a blue cloak that matched Skyre's (but which, unlike Skyre's, was several sizes too large for her) appeared from behind a nearby tree trunk and beamed at him. "Oh, good!" she piped up. "I was hoping you'd finish before noonmeal was over. I'm starving." Without another word she turned and started off, back down the path she and Skyre had followed into the little wood. With a second heavy sigh, Skyre strode off after her.
current mood: blah current music: BOWI Band - "Workin' The Anaconda Mine"
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(12 comments | comment on this)
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