First Sentence Meme
I saw this a couple of different places and it looked interesting so I finally decided to post my version. Obviously I mostly write Winifred fic and I'm not a prolific writer, but it's still kind of fun. :)
It goes oldest to newest.
Post the first lines of your last 21 fics.
***
1.) Ivy is there--leaning against the fence rail, a far-away look on her face, pieces of straw stuck here and there on her old t-shirt and worn jeans, smudges of muck and dust streaking her bare arms and one cheek, hair pulled back in a wispy ponytail.
She's so pretty.
2.) "Aw, Hell."
"There does seem to be a hint of brimstone along with the garlic," Winifred agreed, silently gliding into the kitchen.
3.) "Oops!" Shasta backed away, blushing profusely. Winifred was the first to respond to their unexpected visitor. "Oh... hello, my dear," she said, quite flustered and trying not to show it.
4.) Winifred walked briskly, the hood of her cloak pulled over her hair and drawn close with one hand. She wanted to put distance between herself and the village market as quickly as possible.
5.) The door slamming open followed by the clomp of boot heels caused Winifred to jump slightly, effectively ruining the potion she'd been carefully tending.
Ah, damn, three drops instead of two.
6.) ... The arrow flew and she met it. No time for shielding nor magics; it was a purely physical response. She had meant with every fiber of her being to save him. He would not die. Her soul wailed at the very idea. How DARE they take him from her!
7.) Lord Bainbridge often infuriated Winifred--and had done so nearly from the moment that they'd met, a scant month before.
"Have you decided?" he asked, one elegant brow raised in mild query.
8.) Winifred spread her fingers, lightly pressing their tips against the springy, cool covering of moss on the oak's massive trunk. Mam had gone on ahead a ways and she was alone for a moment.
9.) "Why meet here, my lady?" There was a different tone in his voice when he called her 'my lady' this time, the usual teasing quality all but gone, the question ending soft and low, almost gently.
10.) Rapid pounding and muffled cries brought Winifred out of her dreams abruptly and she sat up with a start.
"Sorceress!" The voice came again. It was familiar.
11.) Winifred moved through her garden slowly, stopping here to pluck away a dead leaf and there pulling out a stem to make way for new. After a time, she fell into a rhythm, her worries and confusion beginning to recede. She wished not to dwell on the very brief conversation she'd had earlier in the day.
12.) A beautiful woman moved slowly through the dimly lit room, guttering candle-light playing softly over her bare skin--momentarily gilding the curve of a breast before slipping down to brush feathers of gold over a gently swaying hip. "Harry," she called. "Don't you ever clean this place?" Her fingertips ran along the edge of the wooden desk as she walked, then came to rest next to one of the more curious objects she'd come across so far.
13.) Bob stood ramrod straight, still and silent, dark suit impeccable, not a white hair out of place, completely unaware (probably) of Shasta's presence as he surveyed the newly fallen snow blanketing every available village surface. Today would be as good a day as any to show his mentor how much fun could be had in winter. The old guy was not looking in his direction and seemed lost in thought.
14.) A door slammed at the front, announcing the arrival of two people in heated discussion. "Dresden, seriously, you've gotta be kidding."
15.) Winifred had abandoned waiting some time ago. Her home felt empty and she was restless.
He is not coming.
16.) Winifred walked through the wood slowly; ancient yew, tall straight ash and massive, gnarled oak towered above her, canopy leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Slanting rays of sunlight shimmered and shifted around her as a butterfly--wings the color of Summer's sky mixed with buttery yellow and sparks of orange--fluttered by.
17.) Winifred shifted back to sit on her heels as she poured the last handful of dried nettle seed into the bottom of the wooden sieve, working it through briskly and efficiently, and sighing as another itchy cloud of broken hairs rose and dusted her face.
18.) "Well, now your reputation is assured, my lord," Winifred commented dryly.
"How so, my heart?" Hrothbert stood in the doorway, carefully removing his cloak with one hand, re-capturing a squirming, scrabbling bit of black fuzz with the other. "It is but a small thing."
19.) The slightly damp sand felt cool and crumbly between Winifred's bare toes, softer than the hot, restrictive leather of her shoes and itchy hose, and a luxurious relief that bordered on carnal pleasure.
20.) Winifred half-woke to a tickle along her cheekbone, instinctively raising her hand to brush away whatever it was, knuckles lightly tapping the end of a nose.
21.) Winifred had not meant to linger in the village after fetching her supplies. An uncomfortable feeling kept her at the fringe of the market, hood of her cloak over her hair and face shadowed, observing. Perhaps it was something about the way she'd noticed a group of children dogging the steps of another child, shuffling and whispering and giggling as he plodded from one stall to another.
It goes oldest to newest.
Post the first lines of your last 21 fics.
***
1.) Ivy is there--leaning against the fence rail, a far-away look on her face, pieces of straw stuck here and there on her old t-shirt and worn jeans, smudges of muck and dust streaking her bare arms and one cheek, hair pulled back in a wispy ponytail.
She's so pretty.
2.) "Aw, Hell."
"There does seem to be a hint of brimstone along with the garlic," Winifred agreed, silently gliding into the kitchen.
3.) "Oops!" Shasta backed away, blushing profusely. Winifred was the first to respond to their unexpected visitor. "Oh... hello, my dear," she said, quite flustered and trying not to show it.
4.) Winifred walked briskly, the hood of her cloak pulled over her hair and drawn close with one hand. She wanted to put distance between herself and the village market as quickly as possible.
5.) The door slamming open followed by the clomp of boot heels caused Winifred to jump slightly, effectively ruining the potion she'd been carefully tending.
Ah, damn, three drops instead of two.
6.) ... The arrow flew and she met it. No time for shielding nor magics; it was a purely physical response. She had meant with every fiber of her being to save him. He would not die. Her soul wailed at the very idea. How DARE they take him from her!
7.) Lord Bainbridge often infuriated Winifred--and had done so nearly from the moment that they'd met, a scant month before.
"Have you decided?" he asked, one elegant brow raised in mild query.
8.) Winifred spread her fingers, lightly pressing their tips against the springy, cool covering of moss on the oak's massive trunk. Mam had gone on ahead a ways and she was alone for a moment.
9.) "Why meet here, my lady?" There was a different tone in his voice when he called her 'my lady' this time, the usual teasing quality all but gone, the question ending soft and low, almost gently.
10.) Rapid pounding and muffled cries brought Winifred out of her dreams abruptly and she sat up with a start.
"Sorceress!" The voice came again. It was familiar.
11.) Winifred moved through her garden slowly, stopping here to pluck away a dead leaf and there pulling out a stem to make way for new. After a time, she fell into a rhythm, her worries and confusion beginning to recede. She wished not to dwell on the very brief conversation she'd had earlier in the day.
12.) A beautiful woman moved slowly through the dimly lit room, guttering candle-light playing softly over her bare skin--momentarily gilding the curve of a breast before slipping down to brush feathers of gold over a gently swaying hip. "Harry," she called. "Don't you ever clean this place?" Her fingertips ran along the edge of the wooden desk as she walked, then came to rest next to one of the more curious objects she'd come across so far.
13.) Bob stood ramrod straight, still and silent, dark suit impeccable, not a white hair out of place, completely unaware (probably) of Shasta's presence as he surveyed the newly fallen snow blanketing every available village surface. Today would be as good a day as any to show his mentor how much fun could be had in winter. The old guy was not looking in his direction and seemed lost in thought.
14.) A door slammed at the front, announcing the arrival of two people in heated discussion. "Dresden, seriously, you've gotta be kidding."
15.) Winifred had abandoned waiting some time ago. Her home felt empty and she was restless.
He is not coming.
16.) Winifred walked through the wood slowly; ancient yew, tall straight ash and massive, gnarled oak towered above her, canopy leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Slanting rays of sunlight shimmered and shifted around her as a butterfly--wings the color of Summer's sky mixed with buttery yellow and sparks of orange--fluttered by.
17.) Winifred shifted back to sit on her heels as she poured the last handful of dried nettle seed into the bottom of the wooden sieve, working it through briskly and efficiently, and sighing as another itchy cloud of broken hairs rose and dusted her face.
18.) "Well, now your reputation is assured, my lord," Winifred commented dryly.
"How so, my heart?" Hrothbert stood in the doorway, carefully removing his cloak with one hand, re-capturing a squirming, scrabbling bit of black fuzz with the other. "It is but a small thing."
19.) The slightly damp sand felt cool and crumbly between Winifred's bare toes, softer than the hot, restrictive leather of her shoes and itchy hose, and a luxurious relief that bordered on carnal pleasure.
20.) Winifred half-woke to a tickle along her cheekbone, instinctively raising her hand to brush away whatever it was, knuckles lightly tapping the end of a nose.
21.) Winifred had not meant to linger in the village after fetching her supplies. An uncomfortable feeling kept her at the fringe of the market, hood of her cloak over her hair and face shadowed, observing. Perhaps it was something about the way she'd noticed a group of children dogging the steps of another child, shuffling and whispering and giggling as he plodded from one stall to another.