"Your daughter is not your daughter and the money that used to be the diamonds is now ladies underwear!"
Wherein Jack has mixed emotions.
I'm not even sure where I want to go with this post. It will be my last till the New Year and I should end 2013 on some clever note which will leave you all in awe and tears. However, I watched 11 die, I got some new book ideas, and I've nearly caught up on my Beta reading which means I have time for another book this week. (One I do not have to edit, not that I dislike editing, because I was sent some wonderful books to edit.) In short, I'm a jumble of giggling and crying emotions and most of them are because of the Doctor. (Because 11 and Clara were fantastic together and I will miss 11 so very much, but 12, from what was shown, is going to be just as amazing and I am going to love him to bits.)Fellow Whovains understand this pain and happiness.
My Doctor troubles aside. I've been trying to think of something special to do for this last post. I was going to mention some of the books I read this year, like I did last year, but that sounds kind of boring. And you've all put up with me this year and my boring posts - I am getting better though, at balancing writing and school so hopefully things around here won't be so dull and I won't go AWOL. But I wanted to thank all of you. For sticking around, for reading my posts, for supporting me through comments and book reviews and reading my books. I couldn't be an author without all of you and since I can't give you pies or cookies, this shall have to do instead as my thank you.
(This is a scene which is not actually in any book yet. I know it is coming because I've had it planned for years. It doesn't give any spoilers away, and even if it did they would likely be forgotten before the book is out. It will appear in one of The Broken Blade books, I'm thinking the third.)
Rangers Don't Wear Pink
Traveling without girls meant you didn't have to worry about changing your socks every day. If Cadie had been there they would have to wash their hair once a week and brush it every morning. But the only one to look after them was Lukeas, and he was too busy running for his life with the rest of them to care about baths and clean shirts.
However, when they finally outstripped their enemies even Striker began to realize just how badly they smelled. Without it needing to be said, it was decided that they all needed to rest and take baths. One layer of dirt might be considered manly. Two, pushing it. Three and they couldn't even stand to be around each other, and that was saying a lot.
Ryder-Adair was the one who finally found a passable river and they all took turns scrubbing as much of the dirt off themselves as they could get. They even went so far as to wash everything - their clothes, spare clothing, and blankets. When they were done Striker no longer wanted to keep a ten foot distance between himself and the others.
When they were done they laid out in the sun to dry themselves and the wet clothes they were wearing. Around them their spare clothes were scattered.
"Where do we go from here?" BenArgon asked.
"We already talked about this," Trystan grumbled from a few feet away, "we're going to the dwarves."
"I know we talked about it," BenArgon retorted, "I was just hoping everyone had changed their minds since we lost - whoever it is who is following us."
"We're going to the dwarves," Lukeas said, using his tone no one dared to argue with, "so stop trying to get out of it."
"It should be fine - as long as we can keep Striker from punching anyone," Fagan muttered.
Striker felt the need to defend himself. "I keep telling everyone, he started it. Besides, dwarves are real men, they can take it without whimpering for weeks over it."
Trystan turned his head and scowled. "Real men?" he demanded.
"Shut up!" BenArgon shot upright, his tone so urgent no one dared to argue with him. Striker sat as well and looked around, though he already knew what was coming. The look on BenArgon's face was enough.
"They're coming!"
That's was all that needed to be said. If BenArgon could hear them they were still a ways off, but Striker - nor any of the others - wanted to wait around for them to get any closer. They all got to their feet, stuffed their belongings back into their packs without sorting them, and left the river as fast as they could without once looking back.*** It was two days later before they thought to unpack their spare clothing. They'd only thought of it because the still damp things were starting to stink. When night fell and they stopped to rest, Striker helped Ryder-Adair dump everything out onto the ground. Then, in the light of the setting sun, they began to spread it all out in the hopes it could actually dry this time.
Most of it was the shirts they wore under their outer ones when it got cold. They were all off white, except for the red one BenArgon had insisted on keeping. He said it reminded him of their time with the elves and since he wore it under his regular shirt it didn't matter if it was bright red. (He also liked to add that colour didn't matter to him since he was blind anyways.)
When Striker found the red shirt he tossed it over one of the bushes, away from everything else, in the hopes he could pretend to forget it in the morning. He wasn't even sure why it bugged him, it just looked insanely ridiculous, not like something someone should be wearing on a quest to find an ancient sword. He turned back to snatch up some more shirts and that was when he saw it. Half buried, it was hard to be sure at first, especially in the dim light. He squinted at it, wondering how it had even gotten there. None of them would even think of owning something pink, but he couldn't deny the hint of colour which was peeking up through the off white of everything else.
Reaching down, he pulled it free and held it up. He expected a scarf, maybe belonging to the elven queen. After the way they had run from the forest there was a good chance something elven had gotten mixed up with their things. No one had really taken the time to pack properly, after all. However, now that he was holding it up, there could be no mistaking what it was. He quickly tried to hide it behind his back before anyone else saw, but he wasn't fast enough.
"Is that-" "Your shirt?" the twins asked.
"Mine?" Striker tried to play dumb. "Mine? I don't - own a pink shirt."
Everyone else turned to stare and a grin pulled at Ryder's lips but before he could say anything, Fagan spoke. "That is your shirt though!" he exclaimed.
"You have a pink shirt?" BenArgon snorted with laughter even though he couldn't see it.
"I do not!" Striker snapped.
"But, that is your shirt, and it is pink," Lukeas said.
Fagan started to laugh and Striker considered knocking all of his teeth out. He scowled at the shirt, then slow realization began to sink in. The shirt wasn't completely pink, just mostly. He glared at Argon's red shirt. He knew there had been a good reason why he had disliked it. It had faded onto his, and now he was never going to live this one down. He could only think of one option which might make him feel a little better. When everyone fell asleep, he would throw the offending red shirt and its insistence to fade into the river. ***
Happy New Years everyone! I will see you all again in 2014 with some new book news!
Quote is from Oscar, when one of Snaps' henchmen is trying to figure out what is going on in the house. (In other words, if you haven't seen Oscar, go and watch it. It's a very funny movie.)
Allons-y!
I'm not even sure where I want to go with this post. It will be my last till the New Year and I should end 2013 on some clever note which will leave you all in awe and tears. However, I watched 11 die, I got some new book ideas, and I've nearly caught up on my Beta reading which means I have time for another book this week. (One I do not have to edit, not that I dislike editing, because I was sent some wonderful books to edit.) In short, I'm a jumble of giggling and crying emotions and most of them are because of the Doctor. (Because 11 and Clara were fantastic together and I will miss 11 so very much, but 12, from what was shown, is going to be just as amazing and I am going to love him to bits.)Fellow Whovains understand this pain and happiness.
My Doctor troubles aside. I've been trying to think of something special to do for this last post. I was going to mention some of the books I read this year, like I did last year, but that sounds kind of boring. And you've all put up with me this year and my boring posts - I am getting better though, at balancing writing and school so hopefully things around here won't be so dull and I won't go AWOL. But I wanted to thank all of you. For sticking around, for reading my posts, for supporting me through comments and book reviews and reading my books. I couldn't be an author without all of you and since I can't give you pies or cookies, this shall have to do instead as my thank you.
(This is a scene which is not actually in any book yet. I know it is coming because I've had it planned for years. It doesn't give any spoilers away, and even if it did they would likely be forgotten before the book is out. It will appear in one of The Broken Blade books, I'm thinking the third.)
Rangers Don't Wear Pink
Traveling without girls meant you didn't have to worry about changing your socks every day. If Cadie had been there they would have to wash their hair once a week and brush it every morning. But the only one to look after them was Lukeas, and he was too busy running for his life with the rest of them to care about baths and clean shirts.
However, when they finally outstripped their enemies even Striker began to realize just how badly they smelled. Without it needing to be said, it was decided that they all needed to rest and take baths. One layer of dirt might be considered manly. Two, pushing it. Three and they couldn't even stand to be around each other, and that was saying a lot.
Ryder-Adair was the one who finally found a passable river and they all took turns scrubbing as much of the dirt off themselves as they could get. They even went so far as to wash everything - their clothes, spare clothing, and blankets. When they were done Striker no longer wanted to keep a ten foot distance between himself and the others.
When they were done they laid out in the sun to dry themselves and the wet clothes they were wearing. Around them their spare clothes were scattered.
"Where do we go from here?" BenArgon asked.
"We already talked about this," Trystan grumbled from a few feet away, "we're going to the dwarves."
"I know we talked about it," BenArgon retorted, "I was just hoping everyone had changed their minds since we lost - whoever it is who is following us."
"We're going to the dwarves," Lukeas said, using his tone no one dared to argue with, "so stop trying to get out of it."
"It should be fine - as long as we can keep Striker from punching anyone," Fagan muttered.
Striker felt the need to defend himself. "I keep telling everyone, he started it. Besides, dwarves are real men, they can take it without whimpering for weeks over it."
Trystan turned his head and scowled. "Real men?" he demanded.
"Shut up!" BenArgon shot upright, his tone so urgent no one dared to argue with him. Striker sat as well and looked around, though he already knew what was coming. The look on BenArgon's face was enough.
"They're coming!"
That's was all that needed to be said. If BenArgon could hear them they were still a ways off, but Striker - nor any of the others - wanted to wait around for them to get any closer. They all got to their feet, stuffed their belongings back into their packs without sorting them, and left the river as fast as they could without once looking back.*** It was two days later before they thought to unpack their spare clothing. They'd only thought of it because the still damp things were starting to stink. When night fell and they stopped to rest, Striker helped Ryder-Adair dump everything out onto the ground. Then, in the light of the setting sun, they began to spread it all out in the hopes it could actually dry this time.
Most of it was the shirts they wore under their outer ones when it got cold. They were all off white, except for the red one BenArgon had insisted on keeping. He said it reminded him of their time with the elves and since he wore it under his regular shirt it didn't matter if it was bright red. (He also liked to add that colour didn't matter to him since he was blind anyways.)
When Striker found the red shirt he tossed it over one of the bushes, away from everything else, in the hopes he could pretend to forget it in the morning. He wasn't even sure why it bugged him, it just looked insanely ridiculous, not like something someone should be wearing on a quest to find an ancient sword. He turned back to snatch up some more shirts and that was when he saw it. Half buried, it was hard to be sure at first, especially in the dim light. He squinted at it, wondering how it had even gotten there. None of them would even think of owning something pink, but he couldn't deny the hint of colour which was peeking up through the off white of everything else.
Reaching down, he pulled it free and held it up. He expected a scarf, maybe belonging to the elven queen. After the way they had run from the forest there was a good chance something elven had gotten mixed up with their things. No one had really taken the time to pack properly, after all. However, now that he was holding it up, there could be no mistaking what it was. He quickly tried to hide it behind his back before anyone else saw, but he wasn't fast enough.
"Is that-" "Your shirt?" the twins asked.
"Mine?" Striker tried to play dumb. "Mine? I don't - own a pink shirt."
Everyone else turned to stare and a grin pulled at Ryder's lips but before he could say anything, Fagan spoke. "That is your shirt though!" he exclaimed.
"You have a pink shirt?" BenArgon snorted with laughter even though he couldn't see it.
"I do not!" Striker snapped.
"But, that is your shirt, and it is pink," Lukeas said.
Fagan started to laugh and Striker considered knocking all of his teeth out. He scowled at the shirt, then slow realization began to sink in. The shirt wasn't completely pink, just mostly. He glared at Argon's red shirt. He knew there had been a good reason why he had disliked it. It had faded onto his, and now he was never going to live this one down. He could only think of one option which might make him feel a little better. When everyone fell asleep, he would throw the offending red shirt and its insistence to fade into the river. ***
Happy New Years everyone! I will see you all again in 2014 with some new book news!
Quote is from Oscar, when one of Snaps' henchmen is trying to figure out what is going on in the house. (In other words, if you haven't seen Oscar, go and watch it. It's a very funny movie.)
Allons-y!
No comments have been added yet.
