12 Hour Music Video Shoot
I just had the busiest day of my life. More on that later.
For now, here's my historical fiction:
The Admiral's Enemies
It is three in the morning, and the less than powerful vessel is just now slipping into port. It can’t dock here; it’s just looking to dump someone off. I have met Anamaria in this very spot for near to a year now, and each time it gets harder. This port is a myriad of the rich and paranoid, those who await Anamaria’s cargo, and the common folk, who are vastly ignorant of the other two.
When Anamaria does arrive, she is smiling white teeth, saying “Hello, Duncan.” Quietly. She can’t be heard; or seen, for that matter. I bring with me a black winter coat, the kind widows and funeral women wear. She doesn’t like it, but she needs it. Anamaria’s skin is not black, nor is it white. She is so pale and yet so dark, depending merely on the light or day that I have often wondered if she isn’t both.
Anamaria and I set off into the night, slipping past Lieutenants and, finally, into a brightly lit unnamed pub. Perhaps it has a name, but the sign has long been down. The place, however, stays in relatively good business. I think quickly about the H.M.S. Dauntless before motioning to the back of the pub (her eye sight being impaired by the coat), where her companions wait. On the way, she steals a beer from an unstable-looking wooden table. If the ship is ruined, I am ruined, but it is the same with Anamaria. She’s half or more of my salary.
I have gotten to know few of her companions well, but their personalities are not forgettable or slight. Andrew Gillington is tall, fair, and red headed. I think he was once a Lieutenant. Daniel, whose last name I do not know, is Indian, though easily passes for white. He is fond of making Fay, a strikingly beautiful girl in the crew, slap him. Fay is beautiful, but she is not wise, and I know that Anamaria worries about her. Jack, the last one, sitting near the end, a smug smile on his face, is the most curious to me. Jack is either completely insane or brilliant. Though cleanly shave, his short brown hair is in a matted tangle.
Anamaria begins telling them of the plan, one which I have mostly contrived, and I know it’s time for me to leave, to go see the buyer. I walk out into the hot summer air, and swelter under layers, clutching my thirty pieces of silver tightly in my hand.
For now, here's my historical fiction:
The Admiral's Enemies
It is three in the morning, and the less than powerful vessel is just now slipping into port. It can’t dock here; it’s just looking to dump someone off. I have met Anamaria in this very spot for near to a year now, and each time it gets harder. This port is a myriad of the rich and paranoid, those who await Anamaria’s cargo, and the common folk, who are vastly ignorant of the other two.
When Anamaria does arrive, she is smiling white teeth, saying “Hello, Duncan.” Quietly. She can’t be heard; or seen, for that matter. I bring with me a black winter coat, the kind widows and funeral women wear. She doesn’t like it, but she needs it. Anamaria’s skin is not black, nor is it white. She is so pale and yet so dark, depending merely on the light or day that I have often wondered if she isn’t both.
Anamaria and I set off into the night, slipping past Lieutenants and, finally, into a brightly lit unnamed pub. Perhaps it has a name, but the sign has long been down. The place, however, stays in relatively good business. I think quickly about the H.M.S. Dauntless before motioning to the back of the pub (her eye sight being impaired by the coat), where her companions wait. On the way, she steals a beer from an unstable-looking wooden table. If the ship is ruined, I am ruined, but it is the same with Anamaria. She’s half or more of my salary.
I have gotten to know few of her companions well, but their personalities are not forgettable or slight. Andrew Gillington is tall, fair, and red headed. I think he was once a Lieutenant. Daniel, whose last name I do not know, is Indian, though easily passes for white. He is fond of making Fay, a strikingly beautiful girl in the crew, slap him. Fay is beautiful, but she is not wise, and I know that Anamaria worries about her. Jack, the last one, sitting near the end, a smug smile on his face, is the most curious to me. Jack is either completely insane or brilliant. Though cleanly shave, his short brown hair is in a matted tangle.
Anamaria begins telling them of the plan, one which I have mostly contrived, and I know it’s time for me to leave, to go see the buyer. I walk out into the hot summer air, and swelter under layers, clutching my thirty pieces of silver tightly in my hand.