Grumblings, and a couple of memes
Aug. 3rd, 2007 11:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pensnestWe were woken at four o'clock this morning by a helicopter circling interminably and with a great deal of noise over this area. Possibilities seem to be a massive traffic pile-up (at four in the morning? no, probably not) or some kind of hunt for criminal (or terrorist?). Have heard nothing to indicate any reasons, and am Not Happy. I hate being woken in the middle of the night.
Brain not really working, so I shall meme.
PIF meme: I will send a handmade gift to the first 3 people who leave a comment requesting to join this PIF exchange. I don't know what that gift will be yet, but you will receive it within 365 days. The only thing you have to do in return is "pay it forward" by making a similar agreement on your blog.
The "gift" you send doesn't have to be handmade. It can be fic, icons, whatever.
Also,
I don't have many WIPs, though the ideas file has a few inspirations in which have not been written up at all.
The Dragon in the Woods
"I have to see the Tower Master," Chris muttered almost apologetically as he slid off his horse in the courtyard. Lancyn made a face at him, but took Horse's rein without complaint and led the beasts into the stables. He hoped Chris would have time to alert the housekeeper to their presence, for he was extremely hungry.
He'd never seen a Tower stable so full before. The stablekeeper tutted but managed to find a corner stall for the two animals to share. Lancyn gave their saddles and bridles into the care of the duty apprentice, and watched the girl carefully as she fetched food and water. Eventually satisfied, Lancyn patted Brown's glossy neck, admonished Horse to behave, and made his way inside to the kitchen, where the housekeeper was ladling hot soup into bowls, a loaf, butter, and a bowl of apples were laid out on the table, and Chris was standing by the huge open fire, in conversation with a tall, lordly man Lancyn had never seen before. Certainly Elite, Lancyn thought. The stranger looked like the embodiment of all the knightly virtues, elegant and handsome, exactly as Lancyn had always imagined knights looked, before he met Chrisfer.
Of course, he knew better, now.
"Spiced wine, dear?" the housekeeper greeted him. Lancyn thanked her as he took a cup from her tray, and inhaled the rich scent of the hot brew before taking a cautious sip. There had been no snow on their journey, and enough lambstails in the hedgerows and yellow spikes gleaming in amongst the grass to signal the arrival of Spring, but still, it was not warm outside, and his chilly hands folded eagerly round the cup.
"... and your tisane, Ser Kevyn," the housekeeper was saying as she offer the last cup on her tray to the lordly stranger.
A tisane? When there was spiced wine? Oh well, no accounting for tastes, Lancyn thought, and caught Chris's eye for a moment. From the deliberately bland expression in those cynical brown eyes, Chris entirely agreed with him. Lancyn hid his grin in the cup.
The tall knight coughed politely.
"Um. Yes. Ser Kevyn, my squire Lancyn," said Chrisfer, and Lancyn put down his wine and crossed to exchange the ritual greeting.
"I didn't see you here yesterday," Ser Kevyn remarked. "Did you have a good day?"
"Lancyn's not entered," said Chrisfer, just as Lancyn said, "We only just got here."
Straight (unless I can think of a more plausible title)
The trouble was, AJ had atrocious luck at cards.
No, the trouble was, AJ just wasn't a very good poker player. AJ had a dashing, reckless style that too often involved insane bets on ridiculous bluffs or quite ordinary hands, which sometimes paid off big time, but mostly resulted in his losing his shirt.
See, the trouble was, AJ looked like the kind of ultra-cool dude whose face would reveal nothing, but in fact, AJ's features—unbeknown to AJ—were so expressive that there were times when his hand might just as well have been laid face up on the table. Whereas Lance's poker face was exactly like his everyday face—deceptively candid, and giving nothing away that he did not care to reveal. A full house, a pair, a handful of nothing, all looked the same when reflected in Lance's easy smile.
The trouble was, winning was so rewarding. Having AJ pliant and more-or-less submissive in his bed, having license to do as he would with that fabulous lithe body... the prize was too tempting. And Lance really did enjoy being in control. He enjoyed being able to push AJ into helpless pleasure. The visuals, the sound effects, the whole deal, was too good to resist. Plus, the trouble was, Lance had a competitive streak that just wouldn't quit. Losing at cards, when he could win...
But if he didn't lose, and lose without AJ figuring out that he'd meant to lose, the two of them might never get beyond incredible sex to—to whatever it was that Lance wanted. Hell, being a sex slave couldn't be so bad. It wasn't as if AJ was helpless, after all, every moment was a decision to acquiesce. Wasn't like not being in control.
So tonight, Lance was determined. He was going to lose, whatever it took . He cast a slow, deliberate smile at AJ, letting his gaze sweep lazily over AJ's lean, tattooed body in a possessive, provocative way, and dealt the first hand.
And my Wallow:
"Chris?"
He managed not to flinch.
"The others left," she said gently, and crouched beside him, put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
He couldn't bear to look up at her. Eyes the wrong colour in that so-familiar face, and she looked older, so much older than she should. He wondered if he looked old too. Maybe he did. Maybe that's how people looked, when this happened. He remembered his own mother's eyes, sunken and bruised, after that stupid selfish shit had killed himself. She had looked older, he supposed. Had that felt anything like this?
Mom would be waiting for him now, back at the hotel. He should go.
Chris didn't move.
"Come into the house, honey. There'll be photographers over the wall any minute."
Mutely, he nodded, and got stiffly to his feet. Bent to pick up the white envelope. Turned towards the house. He let her lead him inside, settle him in a chair, even accepted another cup of warm coffee, and drank half of it before the vile unsweetened taste registered. He put the cup down.
"Thank you for singing. It was beautiful."
"That's, uh. We never did sound right without him." Worst performance of their lives, and he'd wanted to be anywhere but there, but he'd kept it going when the others choked, and sung the reprise of the first verse on his own in the silence of the crowded church. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound. Yeah, he'd always wanted solos.
Brain not really working, so I shall meme.
PIF meme: I will send a handmade gift to the first 3 people who leave a comment requesting to join this PIF exchange. I don't know what that gift will be yet, but you will receive it within 365 days. The only thing you have to do in return is "pay it forward" by making a similar agreement on your blog.
The "gift" you send doesn't have to be handmade. It can be fic, icons, whatever.
Also,
I don't have many WIPs, though the ideas file has a few inspirations in which have not been written up at all.
The Dragon in the Woods
"I have to see the Tower Master," Chris muttered almost apologetically as he slid off his horse in the courtyard. Lancyn made a face at him, but took Horse's rein without complaint and led the beasts into the stables. He hoped Chris would have time to alert the housekeeper to their presence, for he was extremely hungry.
He'd never seen a Tower stable so full before. The stablekeeper tutted but managed to find a corner stall for the two animals to share. Lancyn gave their saddles and bridles into the care of the duty apprentice, and watched the girl carefully as she fetched food and water. Eventually satisfied, Lancyn patted Brown's glossy neck, admonished Horse to behave, and made his way inside to the kitchen, where the housekeeper was ladling hot soup into bowls, a loaf, butter, and a bowl of apples were laid out on the table, and Chris was standing by the huge open fire, in conversation with a tall, lordly man Lancyn had never seen before. Certainly Elite, Lancyn thought. The stranger looked like the embodiment of all the knightly virtues, elegant and handsome, exactly as Lancyn had always imagined knights looked, before he met Chrisfer.
Of course, he knew better, now.
"Spiced wine, dear?" the housekeeper greeted him. Lancyn thanked her as he took a cup from her tray, and inhaled the rich scent of the hot brew before taking a cautious sip. There had been no snow on their journey, and enough lambstails in the hedgerows and yellow spikes gleaming in amongst the grass to signal the arrival of Spring, but still, it was not warm outside, and his chilly hands folded eagerly round the cup.
"... and your tisane, Ser Kevyn," the housekeeper was saying as she offer the last cup on her tray to the lordly stranger.
A tisane? When there was spiced wine? Oh well, no accounting for tastes, Lancyn thought, and caught Chris's eye for a moment. From the deliberately bland expression in those cynical brown eyes, Chris entirely agreed with him. Lancyn hid his grin in the cup.
The tall knight coughed politely.
"Um. Yes. Ser Kevyn, my squire Lancyn," said Chrisfer, and Lancyn put down his wine and crossed to exchange the ritual greeting.
"I didn't see you here yesterday," Ser Kevyn remarked. "Did you have a good day?"
"Lancyn's not entered," said Chrisfer, just as Lancyn said, "We only just got here."
Straight (unless I can think of a more plausible title)
The trouble was, AJ had atrocious luck at cards.
No, the trouble was, AJ just wasn't a very good poker player. AJ had a dashing, reckless style that too often involved insane bets on ridiculous bluffs or quite ordinary hands, which sometimes paid off big time, but mostly resulted in his losing his shirt.
See, the trouble was, AJ looked like the kind of ultra-cool dude whose face would reveal nothing, but in fact, AJ's features—unbeknown to AJ—were so expressive that there were times when his hand might just as well have been laid face up on the table. Whereas Lance's poker face was exactly like his everyday face—deceptively candid, and giving nothing away that he did not care to reveal. A full house, a pair, a handful of nothing, all looked the same when reflected in Lance's easy smile.
The trouble was, winning was so rewarding. Having AJ pliant and more-or-less submissive in his bed, having license to do as he would with that fabulous lithe body... the prize was too tempting. And Lance really did enjoy being in control. He enjoyed being able to push AJ into helpless pleasure. The visuals, the sound effects, the whole deal, was too good to resist. Plus, the trouble was, Lance had a competitive streak that just wouldn't quit. Losing at cards, when he could win...
But if he didn't lose, and lose without AJ figuring out that he'd meant to lose, the two of them might never get beyond incredible sex to—to whatever it was that Lance wanted. Hell, being a sex slave couldn't be so bad. It wasn't as if AJ was helpless, after all, every moment was a decision to acquiesce. Wasn't like not being in control.
So tonight, Lance was determined. He was going to lose, whatever it took . He cast a slow, deliberate smile at AJ, letting his gaze sweep lazily over AJ's lean, tattooed body in a possessive, provocative way, and dealt the first hand.
And my Wallow:
"Chris?"
He managed not to flinch.
"The others left," she said gently, and crouched beside him, put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
He couldn't bear to look up at her. Eyes the wrong colour in that so-familiar face, and she looked older, so much older than she should. He wondered if he looked old too. Maybe he did. Maybe that's how people looked, when this happened. He remembered his own mother's eyes, sunken and bruised, after that stupid selfish shit had killed himself. She had looked older, he supposed. Had that felt anything like this?
Mom would be waiting for him now, back at the hotel. He should go.
Chris didn't move.
"Come into the house, honey. There'll be photographers over the wall any minute."
Mutely, he nodded, and got stiffly to his feet. Bent to pick up the white envelope. Turned towards the house. He let her lead him inside, settle him in a chair, even accepted another cup of warm coffee, and drank half of it before the vile unsweetened taste registered. He put the cup down.
"Thank you for singing. It was beautiful."
"That's, uh. We never did sound right without him." Worst performance of their lives, and he'd wanted to be anywhere but there, but he'd kept it going when the others choked, and sung the reprise of the first verse on his own in the silence of the crowded church. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound. Yeah, he'd always wanted solos.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-08-03 11:24 am (UTC)But ouch. Your Wallow is going to be one powerful story.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-03 07:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-03 02:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-03 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-03 08:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-03 09:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-03 03:07 pm (UTC)I'd love a something! :-)
no subject
Date: 2007-08-03 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-03 05:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-03 09:24 pm (UTC)...and that'll be my ADD acting up. In summary, OMG finish that!
no subject
Date: 2007-08-04 09:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-03 10:50 pm (UTC)Can I add my 25c (with inflation) for you to finish Wallow? PLEASE? Cos I'm on the verge of crying now and that was just a snippet.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-04 09:16 am (UTC)