I guess I expected more of a reaction - panic maybe.*
Life today involved waking up late and editing unceasingly because I couldn't bear to work on the gorram program no more.
Nano today involved a flashback which avoided describing the baddies, Chip arriving to Kansas City, and the introduction of the dying angel into the plot. Translation: win.
Nano Extracts of the Day:
Chip quickly stuffed the towel into his duffel - so what if it was stained all manner of colours? - and eased it over his shoulder. Just how quickly he needed to make a getaway depended on basically one thing: friend or foe? Distance or direction of approach wasn’t something he took the time to consider. If some poor soul was around, you got out of there. If one of those crazy bastards was around, you got out of there in double-quick time.
Turns out the voices were closer that he’d judged and most definitely not from souls, poor or otherwise. Chip’s memory of what happened between him opening the door and seeing - and worse, being seen - just how fucking close the things were and him wiping blood off the steering wheel several miles later is choppy at best.
He’ll remember some of it, then black it back out again. He remembers sensations, mostly. Hands pulling on his jacket, his knees jarring as he jumped down the stairs three and four at a time, fingers slipping into his hair, the sting in his back as he swung the crowbar, the slippery-thick wetness making his fingers glide over the iron. Sounds come to him too, sometimes. Wet thunks, squealing tennis soles, the horrifying jangle of keys hitting the pavement, groans and growls that couldn’t possibly come from human throuts, and sobbing screams that he feels sure came from him.
Choppy though they are, these memories continually burst out of wherever he’s stuffed them and drown him, coming at him in waves with sinister undertows, leaving him drenched in sweat and panting for breath.
Chip came out of the latest tumble down memory lane just after the Roosterville Airport sign. Now that his body was no longer on autopilot while his mind had a good time screaming, exhaustion fell on him like a fire-blanket, leaving him smoldering and spent. He stopped the car, not bothering to turn it off the road, just leaving it there smack in the middle of the highway, and pressed his head against the steering wheel until he remembered what it had felt like to drive it with blood on his hands, so he lay his head back against the headrest, still feeling vulnerable with his neck exposed but at least he wasn’t thinking about the steering wheel.
Chip’s eyes burned. He hadn’t sleept in over twenty-four hours, and what little sleep he had stored in his sleep-bank barely covered his needs. He took out his map and traced his path down from Cameron. Damnit, he was past the 116 going east. Now he had to go to Kansas City - no going back, don’t you dare go back - which, he figured, wasn’t going to kill him. Well...
4583 / 50000 words. 9% done!
Links of the Day:
lessrest's Supernatural Icons
chasingtides's Supernatural Meta: Brains Trumps Legs and Wheelchairs and Shotguns
XKCD's Movie Character Interactions Along Time - Awesomesauce! Has LotR, Star Wars, Jurassic Park, 12 Angry Men and Primer
Movies with Jon Stewart, because obsessions are healthy: Death to Smoochy ; Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (also with Eliza Dushku and Ali Larter)
IMDB's The Irrefutable Truth About Demons - Karl Urban, anthropoligist, vs. Satanic Cult. Awesome or Fail?
Zombie-Quote Shirts of Win
Lolcats Guide to Surviving a Zombie Infestation
* Sam, "The End", Supernatural
Nano today involved a flashback which avoided describing the baddies, Chip arriving to Kansas City, and the introduction of the dying angel into the plot. Translation: win.
Nano Extracts of the Day:
Chip quickly stuffed the towel into his duffel - so what if it was stained all manner of colours? - and eased it over his shoulder. Just how quickly he needed to make a getaway depended on basically one thing: friend or foe? Distance or direction of approach wasn’t something he took the time to consider. If some poor soul was around, you got out of there. If one of those crazy bastards was around, you got out of there in double-quick time.
Turns out the voices were closer that he’d judged and most definitely not from souls, poor or otherwise. Chip’s memory of what happened between him opening the door and seeing - and worse, being seen - just how fucking close the things were and him wiping blood off the steering wheel several miles later is choppy at best.
He’ll remember some of it, then black it back out again. He remembers sensations, mostly. Hands pulling on his jacket, his knees jarring as he jumped down the stairs three and four at a time, fingers slipping into his hair, the sting in his back as he swung the crowbar, the slippery-thick wetness making his fingers glide over the iron. Sounds come to him too, sometimes. Wet thunks, squealing tennis soles, the horrifying jangle of keys hitting the pavement, groans and growls that couldn’t possibly come from human throuts, and sobbing screams that he feels sure came from him.
Choppy though they are, these memories continually burst out of wherever he’s stuffed them and drown him, coming at him in waves with sinister undertows, leaving him drenched in sweat and panting for breath.
Chip came out of the latest tumble down memory lane just after the Roosterville Airport sign. Now that his body was no longer on autopilot while his mind had a good time screaming, exhaustion fell on him like a fire-blanket, leaving him smoldering and spent. He stopped the car, not bothering to turn it off the road, just leaving it there smack in the middle of the highway, and pressed his head against the steering wheel until he remembered what it had felt like to drive it with blood on his hands, so he lay his head back against the headrest, still feeling vulnerable with his neck exposed but at least he wasn’t thinking about the steering wheel.
Chip’s eyes burned. He hadn’t sleept in over twenty-four hours, and what little sleep he had stored in his sleep-bank barely covered his needs. He took out his map and traced his path down from Cameron. Damnit, he was past the 116 going east. Now he had to go to Kansas City - no going back, don’t you dare go back - which, he figured, wasn’t going to kill him. Well...
4583 / 50000 words. 9% done!
Links of the Day:
lessrest's Supernatural Icons
chasingtides's Supernatural Meta: Brains Trumps Legs and Wheelchairs and Shotguns
XKCD's Movie Character Interactions Along Time - Awesomesauce! Has LotR, Star Wars, Jurassic Park, 12 Angry Men and Primer
Movies with Jon Stewart, because obsessions are healthy: Death to Smoochy ; Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (also with Eliza Dushku and Ali Larter)
IMDB's The Irrefutable Truth About Demons - Karl Urban, anthropoligist, vs. Satanic Cult. Awesome or Fail?
Zombie-Quote Shirts of Win
Lolcats Guide to Surviving a Zombie Infestation
* Sam, "The End", Supernatural