Snippet Saturday!
Hi, Chambliss! Let's have a scene from your POV, shall we?
Chambliss noted his friend's expression with mild amusement. Bickford really should, he thought, be used to things like this by now. "You can't be serious," Bickford said, on the other side of the mirror.
"I'm quite serious. The young man has one foot in an insane asylum and the other at the brink of a precipice. He needs to be pulled back from both, and there's none to do it but me."
Bickford ran a distracted hand through his hair, mussing it thoroughly. "But why? Your exile is nearly over, James. This would extend it another fifty years, at least, not to mention the physical toll. Don't tell me you've got attached to these people. They're barely people."
Chambliss smiled. "Oh, they're very much people. And yes, I've grown rather fond of this little family. Ben, in particular, reminds me of us, back when we had ideals."
"Back when we were young and naïve," Bickford snorted. "Look at us now. I'm playing both ends against the middle, trying desperately not to get caught. You're a bleeding butler in another dimension, keeping a rich playboy from breaking his neck in lunatic stunt after lunatic stunt. And now you're nursemaiding a sodding werewolf?"
"The wolves here are different from ours. Domesticated." He paused. "Mostly. And Alex Jarrett is far more than a rich playboy, else I'd have left his employ long ago."
In other news, the Hubby and I have discussed a trip to Costa Rica in (possibly) May of next year. It'd be the trip of a lifetime, at a time in Da Boy's life when he might actually remember it, and at a time in ours where we're still physically capable of semi-strenuous activity. Win. Now I need a passport for me and Da Boy.
In other other news, I've figured out where in the narrative a certain scene that's been bugging me to write it can actually go. It's a scene in the wrong story, but considering the fact that I haven't actually written anything this week...yay for scene?
*headdesks repeatedly*
Chambliss noted his friend's expression with mild amusement. Bickford really should, he thought, be used to things like this by now. "You can't be serious," Bickford said, on the other side of the mirror.
"I'm quite serious. The young man has one foot in an insane asylum and the other at the brink of a precipice. He needs to be pulled back from both, and there's none to do it but me."
Bickford ran a distracted hand through his hair, mussing it thoroughly. "But why? Your exile is nearly over, James. This would extend it another fifty years, at least, not to mention the physical toll. Don't tell me you've got attached to these people. They're barely people."
Chambliss smiled. "Oh, they're very much people. And yes, I've grown rather fond of this little family. Ben, in particular, reminds me of us, back when we had ideals."
"Back when we were young and naïve," Bickford snorted. "Look at us now. I'm playing both ends against the middle, trying desperately not to get caught. You're a bleeding butler in another dimension, keeping a rich playboy from breaking his neck in lunatic stunt after lunatic stunt. And now you're nursemaiding a sodding werewolf?"
"The wolves here are different from ours. Domesticated." He paused. "Mostly. And Alex Jarrett is far more than a rich playboy, else I'd have left his employ long ago."
In other news, the Hubby and I have discussed a trip to Costa Rica in (possibly) May of next year. It'd be the trip of a lifetime, at a time in Da Boy's life when he might actually remember it, and at a time in ours where we're still physically capable of semi-strenuous activity. Win. Now I need a passport for me and Da Boy.
In other other news, I've figured out where in the narrative a certain scene that's been bugging me to write it can actually go. It's a scene in the wrong story, but considering the fact that I haven't actually written anything this week...yay for scene?
*headdesks repeatedly*