![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
revenaI'm staying home sick from work today with a sore throat. I have to teach a class tonight, and I'd really like to be healthy enough to do it, so I'm mostly just sitting around and willing myself to feel better. Maybe this'll give me a chance to get some writing done, as that's a nice, sedentary-type activity, suitable for an invalid. Right? Right?
Well, anyway, in the meantime, here's an interesting meme:
If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, post one sentence/paragraph/whatever from each of your current work(s) in progress. Mention the title if you like, but don't mention anything else.
Without titles, so you can have some fun guessing, if you like:
1.
There was a man dressed in official-looking black robes waiting in the Grand Mother’s audience hall when they arrived. He held a scroll rolled up in his hands. On a table next to him rested a long bundle wrapped in black cloth and tied with a silvery cord.
“Aunt Kelda Seffsdottir?” he asked, when Kelda and Tourmaline entered the room.
Kelda nodded, numbly. It seemed to be the only reaction she could manage.
The man looked surprised. Perhaps he had expected someone older. Someone old enough to be Latham’s mother, maybe.
“I am a representative of His Majesty, King Valerian the Third, here on the business of the court,” the man said, as if he said the same phrase many times a day.
He unrolled the scroll with a decorous flourish, and read from it.
“One Latham Seffssen, a mercenary in the hire of the Valerian Army, has named you, Aunt Kelda Seffsdottir, as his next-of-kin.”
He paused while Kelda exhaled shakily, almost sobbing. She was dizzy. She wanted to sit down. To lie down. To run away. To be anywhere, anything, anyone, but here and now and hearing what the man had to say.
Tourmaline gripped her arm, holding her up.
“Go on,” the half-elf snapped, “get it over with, you great bloody vulture!”
The court official blinked, and then returned his gaze to his scroll.
“The Court of King Valerian the Third regrets to inform Aunt Kelda Seffsdottir that Latham Seffssen was killed one week ago in battle over the contested lands surrounding the city that once was Sulwyn. We extend our sympathies to you, the bereaved. All Valerians mourn your loss.”
The man rolled the scroll back up, wrapping the red cord that bound it around the parchment with studied, practiced movements. Kelda stared at his hands, entranced. He placed the roll onto the table, next to the bundle.
“Are… are you sure?” Kelda asked, whispering.
The man looked at her, and his face softened. His voice lost some of its official tone.
“His unit saw him fall, Aunt Seffsdottir,” he said. “There’s no doubt. I am most truly sorry.”
2.
He pulls her into the room, and then presses her up against the wall, kissing her ferociously, bruisingly. She is willing enough, but nowhere near as eager as he. She is detached, somehow. It is nothing like what he remembers of their passion.
3.
“I can do it,” I said, pulling away from her slightly.
“I haven’t seen you in seven years. The least you can do is to let me braid your hair,” she replied.
4.
“I won’t,” he panted, lunging forward suddenly, “let a girl beat me!”
He caught the trailing end of my skirt and tugged, hard. I kept running, dragging him with me a few paces, intent on winning the race despite his cheating interference. It only took a moment more, and then I was reaching out to slap the side of the barn with the palm of my hand.
Gavin barreled into me before I could make contact, and I stumbled, turning to face him. When I hit the wall, it was not with my hand, but with my back, Gavin’s bodyweight slamming me into it. He drove the breath from my lungs, and I leaned gratefully against the wooden structure, gasping for breath for a moment.
“Whether you allow it or not,” I said, after a moment of recovery, “I beat you.”
He shoved against my shoulders with his hands, pinning me to the side of the barn.
“No!” he said. “We touched it at the same time! It’s a tie.”
“Because you cheated,” I pointed out. “Anyway, what’s the matter with you? You’re all upset that a girl beat you, and I wouldn’t have raced you in the first place except that you were calling me a boy. Which is it?”
He looked down at his feet, panting, and didn’t answer me. His hands were still on my shoulders, and I wriggled against them impatiently, trying to move away from the side of the barn.
“Well?” I demanded. “Am I a boy?”
“No,” Gavin hissed, and pushed me firmly back against the wall.
Before I could react, he was leaning forward, pressing his mouth against mine.
Well, anyway, in the meantime, here's an interesting meme:
If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, post one sentence/paragraph/whatever from each of your current work(s) in progress. Mention the title if you like, but don't mention anything else.
Without titles, so you can have some fun guessing, if you like:
1.
There was a man dressed in official-looking black robes waiting in the Grand Mother’s audience hall when they arrived. He held a scroll rolled up in his hands. On a table next to him rested a long bundle wrapped in black cloth and tied with a silvery cord.
“Aunt Kelda Seffsdottir?” he asked, when Kelda and Tourmaline entered the room.
Kelda nodded, numbly. It seemed to be the only reaction she could manage.
The man looked surprised. Perhaps he had expected someone older. Someone old enough to be Latham’s mother, maybe.
“I am a representative of His Majesty, King Valerian the Third, here on the business of the court,” the man said, as if he said the same phrase many times a day.
He unrolled the scroll with a decorous flourish, and read from it.
“One Latham Seffssen, a mercenary in the hire of the Valerian Army, has named you, Aunt Kelda Seffsdottir, as his next-of-kin.”
He paused while Kelda exhaled shakily, almost sobbing. She was dizzy. She wanted to sit down. To lie down. To run away. To be anywhere, anything, anyone, but here and now and hearing what the man had to say.
Tourmaline gripped her arm, holding her up.
“Go on,” the half-elf snapped, “get it over with, you great bloody vulture!”
The court official blinked, and then returned his gaze to his scroll.
“The Court of King Valerian the Third regrets to inform Aunt Kelda Seffsdottir that Latham Seffssen was killed one week ago in battle over the contested lands surrounding the city that once was Sulwyn. We extend our sympathies to you, the bereaved. All Valerians mourn your loss.”
The man rolled the scroll back up, wrapping the red cord that bound it around the parchment with studied, practiced movements. Kelda stared at his hands, entranced. He placed the roll onto the table, next to the bundle.
“Are… are you sure?” Kelda asked, whispering.
The man looked at her, and his face softened. His voice lost some of its official tone.
“His unit saw him fall, Aunt Seffsdottir,” he said. “There’s no doubt. I am most truly sorry.”
2.
He pulls her into the room, and then presses her up against the wall, kissing her ferociously, bruisingly. She is willing enough, but nowhere near as eager as he. She is detached, somehow. It is nothing like what he remembers of their passion.
3.
“I can do it,” I said, pulling away from her slightly.
“I haven’t seen you in seven years. The least you can do is to let me braid your hair,” she replied.
4.
“I won’t,” he panted, lunging forward suddenly, “let a girl beat me!”
He caught the trailing end of my skirt and tugged, hard. I kept running, dragging him with me a few paces, intent on winning the race despite his cheating interference. It only took a moment more, and then I was reaching out to slap the side of the barn with the palm of my hand.
Gavin barreled into me before I could make contact, and I stumbled, turning to face him. When I hit the wall, it was not with my hand, but with my back, Gavin’s bodyweight slamming me into it. He drove the breath from my lungs, and I leaned gratefully against the wooden structure, gasping for breath for a moment.
“Whether you allow it or not,” I said, after a moment of recovery, “I beat you.”
He shoved against my shoulders with his hands, pinning me to the side of the barn.
“No!” he said. “We touched it at the same time! It’s a tie.”
“Because you cheated,” I pointed out. “Anyway, what’s the matter with you? You’re all upset that a girl beat you, and I wouldn’t have raced you in the first place except that you were calling me a boy. Which is it?”
He looked down at his feet, panting, and didn’t answer me. His hands were still on my shoulders, and I wriggled against them impatiently, trying to move away from the side of the barn.
“Well?” I demanded. “Am I a boy?”
“No,” Gavin hissed, and pushed me firmly back against the wall.
Before I could react, he was leaning forward, pressing his mouth against mine.
