NaNoWriMo - Day 1
"I love you," she said, rolling onto her side to kiss him good morning.
"Mmm and I you, dear heart." It was the same thing they always said in the morning, when there was no rush. IT was comfortable, familiar, safe. He didn't have to be anyone else around her; he was just himself.
She held him close as he sat up, draping her arm over his shoulder, resting her hand on his bare chest. He kept himself fit. She had always appreciated that, loving the soft texture of his skin, concealing the hard muscles underneath, the hit of power as he stretched around her, leaning his head back slowly, languidly, to kiss her neck. It was an awkward position, but neither of them seemed to notice. Whether this was because they enjoyed unusual positions, or because they simply didn't care about such physical, mundane issues in each other's presence, an observer would be hard pressed to discern. "Sweetheart," she said at length, "we ought to get up ..."
“Do we have to?” he groaned. “If we stay here,” he paused, turning to face her, “we could stay together ...” he gently pressed her onto her back, trailing soft kisses from her neck, down her left shoulder and upper arm, and back again. “All.” Kiss. “Day.” Kiss. “Together.” The last kiss landed on her lips. Her reply was lost for a moment, until she willed her mind back to the present. “Enough!” she giggled as she playfully shoved him away. He looked dejected, and she knew he was preparing to unleash the dreaded Puppy Dog Face to get his way. She turned her back on him, and his skillful facial manipulations were to no avail. He sighed and scooted closer to her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her and planting a soft kiss on the back of her neck before giving in. “As you wish, my love. What's the plan then?” he asked, rolling out of bed and struggling his pants on.
“Well, we should probably do what we always do. You check in, I'll fix up some breakfast.” With that, she got up and in one fluid motion wrapped her bathrobe around herself and flowed out of the bedroom, toward the kitchen. He paused getting his clothes on to watch her. He thought to himself that there was nothing better than the sight of his wife leaving a room, save of course for her entrance. No matter how many times he watch her, he was never able to emulate her careful grace, the simple ease with which she carried herself.
After she left, he finished dressing in his usual fare; a white, long-sleeved dress shirt over a white cotton t-shirt, black slacks covered his boxers, a stylish belt to hold the pants in place. He cast his eyes about the room for one of his black ties, wondering how they always manage to disappear on him every morning. After finding a tie, he went to the dresser and turned on the laptop computer they had been issued. He killed time while the machine booted by tying the tie in the dresser mirror, a simple square not. He didn't bother to look at the screen as it chimed a welcome, instead announcing in a clear voice “Sundog and FemaleLead checking in for the day.”
“Voice authorization required,” came the computer's smooth, emotionless reply.
Sundog cursed under his breath before speaking again in the clear, even tones he used before. “Authorize: Sundog Alpha Echo Three Niner.”
“Recognize: Sundog status changed to Active.”
He bent down to pull a pair of socks out of the top drawer, clearing this throat. “Authorize: FemaleLead Bravo Tango Two Five” The voice was hers, but the sound issued from Sundog's mouth. He grinned as the computer's reply came. “Recognize: FemaleLead status changed to Active.” He may not be able to emulate her movements, but he was justifiably proud that the computer couldn't tell she wasn't really there.
She came into the room as he sat on the edge of the still unmade bed, pulling on his left shoe. “Are we checked in for the day?” One bare foot padded in front of the other, her bath robe opening and closing up to her knee with each step, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her legs to him.
He nearly dropped the black Italian leather oxford as his body went limp at the sight of her. She sauntered slightly, carrying two mugs of coffee, one black, the other with two scoops of sugar, and a splash of milk. “Yes, yes we are,” he stammered, regaining his composure. “How is it,” he asked, rebuilding the inner calm that was the core of his cool exterior, “that I married the only woman I've ever met who can shatter my act just by walking into the room?”
She chuckled, handing him his coffee mug. He sipped at the hot, black liquid as she spoke. “Because I can, I think. You wanted to make sure you knew exactly where someone who had that much power over you was at all times. Didn't you?” He frowned into his cup.
“If I had to guess, I'd say it's because I can't be anyone but myself when we're together. It's incredibly liberating to not have to conform to any preconceived notions the people around me have about who I am. I've told you about who I was before I met you, haven't I?” He asked, setting the half empty mug on the dresser before tying the bow on in his shoe lace.
“Many times. But it's one of my favorite stories about you,” she nearly beamed. He stood and went to the mirror again, picking up the comb to tame his wild, if short, brown hair. His eyes naturally drifted away from the part he was trying to line up on his left, and settled on his wife, sitting cross legged on the bed. The way she sat, huddled around her cup of coffee, the duvet bunched up around her, a child like wonderment in her eyes and a broad smile on her lips, he was instantly disarmed by her mere appearance again, and gave up reconstructing his outward personality for the morning.
“Long ago,” he began, resuming the work of making his part perfectly straight, “when I was just a little boy, I found I was never as cold as my friends and family were during the winter, nor as hot during the summer. While they all complained of the dreadful heat, or the frightful chill, I would often run around in little more than my bed clothes. No one thought much of this. In elementary school, I became the class clown with fair imitations of my teachers and other school staff. When I was a little older, a little wiser, and beginning my high school years, I was fascinated by acting. I went out for a bit part in the school play, Fiddler on the roof.” She set her empty mug down on the night stand, folding her arms under her chin and continuing to listen with rapt attention. She knew all of this by heart, of course, but no one could tell this story the way he could. “I sat in the back of the auditorium, watching the other young actors trying out for their parts. I paid particular attention to the other fellows going for the same part I wanted, not realizing at the time I was making careful note of their movements, the subconscious cues their bodies gave off.”
His hair tamed, he sat once more on the bed, his right leg folded underneath his left as it dangled off the foot of the bed. He reached his right hand for hers, clasping it gently before leaning forward and leaving a feathery kiss on the back of her hand. “When it finally came time for me to get up on stage, I could hardly walk straight I was so nervous. I stood there, frozen in the stage lights, as the director and his assistants watched. I could hear them whispering, and shuffling their papers. Someone back stage coughed and it echoed throughout the room like a gunshot. I cleared my throat and stood tall, knowing they were expecting something from me. I read the lines and paced about the stage as the scene's direction called for, and when I was finished I bowed quickly and stood frozen in the lights again. The director seemed speechless, finally croaking 'Er.. Thank you, Mr. SundogsLastName. That was .. uh .. which part were you trying for?' 'Constable' I replied, my voice cracking slightly. 'Yes .. yes ... very well. We'll post the cast list in two days. You may go.' the gruff assistant said and I stepped off the stage. I knew I didn't get the part. I told myself I'd give up these dreams of acting and focus on my school work instead. I had almost forgotten about my terrible performance by the time the cast list was posted.
“Jim called out to me at lunch, 'Hey, SundogsFirstName! Didja see the list?' He was so excited I didn't have the heart to tell him I hadn't planned to, that I was sure I'd performed so poorly that I wouldn't even have been considered for the part. 'Not yet ...' I mumbled, staring at my sandwich. 'You made it!' 'I ... What?' I said. 'I'm the constable?'” She listed patiently, marveling at how each voice in the story had a unique and distinct voice. She doubted they were far off from their owners' actual voices, but she hadn't met any of the players, so it remained an unconfirmed suspicion. “'No, you're Tevye!' I was floored. I had tried out for a minor role, and ended up being cast in the lead? It was inconceivable, to say the least. That simple moment defined my life from then on, as so many of our high school moments are wont to do. I managed to keep up my studies while acting in every play our school put on, and went to Juilliard on an drama scholarship, though the comedies were always my favorites.”
She interrupted him long enough to steal a kiss before she got to her feet and began dressing for the day. He sat in silence as she stood with her back to him, letting the robe fall slowly from her shoulders, revealing her naked back inch by inch. “You would have been great, honey,” she added, tossing the discarded rob onto his head, temporarily blinding him.
“Yeah. It was the summer after I graduated Juilliard that the Tyrathi came, you know. Changed everything.”
She shuddered almost imperceptibly and her reply had a touch of frost. “Yes dear, I know ...” He instinctively reached out to comfort her, but pulled himself back. They'd been through this moment before. The best he could do was move the conversation along.
He allowed a quick, “I'm sorry” before resuming the story. “By that time, I found I had other talents besides acting, and stepped up to the call for heroes to stand ready against the invaders. From then on, I was always playing the part of someone else, whatever the situation demanded. Most often I was the charismatic leader, convincing citizens to leave an area quickly and orderly. I thought about calling myself Shepherd because of that, but decided against it. Sometimes I'd be called on to slip into an enemy group, so I considered Infilitrator. Eventually I settled on Sundog, and after a while lost track of who I used to be, moving from one role to the next. I was beginning to be as dark and brooding at my core as Lightning Shard, but one day, sitting in a bar, charming information out of a drunken contact, my eyes caught on the most beautiful woman I could have imagined as she walked into the room. Framed in the doorway and back lit by the setting sun, she was a vision more exquisitely breathtaking than Michelangelo himself could hope to capture. I excused myself from my contact, who helped himself to my untouched pint of beer, and made my way across the room to this goddess.
“Without saying a word to her, I brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and pressed my lips to hers, wrapping my arms around her.”
She chuckled as she turned to face him, her loose green silk skirt flowing around her shapely legs before resting its hem just above her ankles. “It's a damn good thing for you I knew who you were, or you wouldn't have been standing much longer.”
I'd post a spiffy word count / progress bar icon from nanowrimo.org, but the site is extremely slow at the moment. Maybe tomorrow.
Forcing myself to not edit while I write feels weird ... but I really like how this is turning out so far.
Comments are appreciated, but I'm not going to post a quality poll with these, since the goal is to write 50,000 words, not necessarily 50,000 "good" words.
"Mmm and I you, dear heart." It was the same thing they always said in the morning, when there was no rush. IT was comfortable, familiar, safe. He didn't have to be anyone else around her; he was just himself.
She held him close as he sat up, draping her arm over his shoulder, resting her hand on his bare chest. He kept himself fit. She had always appreciated that, loving the soft texture of his skin, concealing the hard muscles underneath, the hit of power as he stretched around her, leaning his head back slowly, languidly, to kiss her neck. It was an awkward position, but neither of them seemed to notice. Whether this was because they enjoyed unusual positions, or because they simply didn't care about such physical, mundane issues in each other's presence, an observer would be hard pressed to discern. "Sweetheart," she said at length, "we ought to get up ..."
“Do we have to?” he groaned. “If we stay here,” he paused, turning to face her, “we could stay together ...” he gently pressed her onto her back, trailing soft kisses from her neck, down her left shoulder and upper arm, and back again. “All.” Kiss. “Day.” Kiss. “Together.” The last kiss landed on her lips. Her reply was lost for a moment, until she willed her mind back to the present. “Enough!” she giggled as she playfully shoved him away. He looked dejected, and she knew he was preparing to unleash the dreaded Puppy Dog Face to get his way. She turned her back on him, and his skillful facial manipulations were to no avail. He sighed and scooted closer to her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her and planting a soft kiss on the back of her neck before giving in. “As you wish, my love. What's the plan then?” he asked, rolling out of bed and struggling his pants on.
“Well, we should probably do what we always do. You check in, I'll fix up some breakfast.” With that, she got up and in one fluid motion wrapped her bathrobe around herself and flowed out of the bedroom, toward the kitchen. He paused getting his clothes on to watch her. He thought to himself that there was nothing better than the sight of his wife leaving a room, save of course for her entrance. No matter how many times he watch her, he was never able to emulate her careful grace, the simple ease with which she carried herself.
After she left, he finished dressing in his usual fare; a white, long-sleeved dress shirt over a white cotton t-shirt, black slacks covered his boxers, a stylish belt to hold the pants in place. He cast his eyes about the room for one of his black ties, wondering how they always manage to disappear on him every morning. After finding a tie, he went to the dresser and turned on the laptop computer they had been issued. He killed time while the machine booted by tying the tie in the dresser mirror, a simple square not. He didn't bother to look at the screen as it chimed a welcome, instead announcing in a clear voice “Sundog and FemaleLead checking in for the day.”
“Voice authorization required,” came the computer's smooth, emotionless reply.
Sundog cursed under his breath before speaking again in the clear, even tones he used before. “Authorize: Sundog Alpha Echo Three Niner.”
“Recognize: Sundog status changed to Active.”
He bent down to pull a pair of socks out of the top drawer, clearing this throat. “Authorize: FemaleLead Bravo Tango Two Five” The voice was hers, but the sound issued from Sundog's mouth. He grinned as the computer's reply came. “Recognize: FemaleLead status changed to Active.” He may not be able to emulate her movements, but he was justifiably proud that the computer couldn't tell she wasn't really there.
She came into the room as he sat on the edge of the still unmade bed, pulling on his left shoe. “Are we checked in for the day?” One bare foot padded in front of the other, her bath robe opening and closing up to her knee with each step, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her legs to him.
He nearly dropped the black Italian leather oxford as his body went limp at the sight of her. She sauntered slightly, carrying two mugs of coffee, one black, the other with two scoops of sugar, and a splash of milk. “Yes, yes we are,” he stammered, regaining his composure. “How is it,” he asked, rebuilding the inner calm that was the core of his cool exterior, “that I married the only woman I've ever met who can shatter my act just by walking into the room?”
She chuckled, handing him his coffee mug. He sipped at the hot, black liquid as she spoke. “Because I can, I think. You wanted to make sure you knew exactly where someone who had that much power over you was at all times. Didn't you?” He frowned into his cup.
“If I had to guess, I'd say it's because I can't be anyone but myself when we're together. It's incredibly liberating to not have to conform to any preconceived notions the people around me have about who I am. I've told you about who I was before I met you, haven't I?” He asked, setting the half empty mug on the dresser before tying the bow on in his shoe lace.
“Many times. But it's one of my favorite stories about you,” she nearly beamed. He stood and went to the mirror again, picking up the comb to tame his wild, if short, brown hair. His eyes naturally drifted away from the part he was trying to line up on his left, and settled on his wife, sitting cross legged on the bed. The way she sat, huddled around her cup of coffee, the duvet bunched up around her, a child like wonderment in her eyes and a broad smile on her lips, he was instantly disarmed by her mere appearance again, and gave up reconstructing his outward personality for the morning.
“Long ago,” he began, resuming the work of making his part perfectly straight, “when I was just a little boy, I found I was never as cold as my friends and family were during the winter, nor as hot during the summer. While they all complained of the dreadful heat, or the frightful chill, I would often run around in little more than my bed clothes. No one thought much of this. In elementary school, I became the class clown with fair imitations of my teachers and other school staff. When I was a little older, a little wiser, and beginning my high school years, I was fascinated by acting. I went out for a bit part in the school play, Fiddler on the roof.” She set her empty mug down on the night stand, folding her arms under her chin and continuing to listen with rapt attention. She knew all of this by heart, of course, but no one could tell this story the way he could. “I sat in the back of the auditorium, watching the other young actors trying out for their parts. I paid particular attention to the other fellows going for the same part I wanted, not realizing at the time I was making careful note of their movements, the subconscious cues their bodies gave off.”
His hair tamed, he sat once more on the bed, his right leg folded underneath his left as it dangled off the foot of the bed. He reached his right hand for hers, clasping it gently before leaning forward and leaving a feathery kiss on the back of her hand. “When it finally came time for me to get up on stage, I could hardly walk straight I was so nervous. I stood there, frozen in the stage lights, as the director and his assistants watched. I could hear them whispering, and shuffling their papers. Someone back stage coughed and it echoed throughout the room like a gunshot. I cleared my throat and stood tall, knowing they were expecting something from me. I read the lines and paced about the stage as the scene's direction called for, and when I was finished I bowed quickly and stood frozen in the lights again. The director seemed speechless, finally croaking 'Er.. Thank you, Mr. SundogsLastName. That was .. uh .. which part were you trying for?' 'Constable' I replied, my voice cracking slightly. 'Yes .. yes ... very well. We'll post the cast list in two days. You may go.' the gruff assistant said and I stepped off the stage. I knew I didn't get the part. I told myself I'd give up these dreams of acting and focus on my school work instead. I had almost forgotten about my terrible performance by the time the cast list was posted.
“Jim called out to me at lunch, 'Hey, SundogsFirstName! Didja see the list?' He was so excited I didn't have the heart to tell him I hadn't planned to, that I was sure I'd performed so poorly that I wouldn't even have been considered for the part. 'Not yet ...' I mumbled, staring at my sandwich. 'You made it!' 'I ... What?' I said. 'I'm the constable?'” She listed patiently, marveling at how each voice in the story had a unique and distinct voice. She doubted they were far off from their owners' actual voices, but she hadn't met any of the players, so it remained an unconfirmed suspicion. “'No, you're Tevye!' I was floored. I had tried out for a minor role, and ended up being cast in the lead? It was inconceivable, to say the least. That simple moment defined my life from then on, as so many of our high school moments are wont to do. I managed to keep up my studies while acting in every play our school put on, and went to Juilliard on an drama scholarship, though the comedies were always my favorites.”
She interrupted him long enough to steal a kiss before she got to her feet and began dressing for the day. He sat in silence as she stood with her back to him, letting the robe fall slowly from her shoulders, revealing her naked back inch by inch. “You would have been great, honey,” she added, tossing the discarded rob onto his head, temporarily blinding him.
“Yeah. It was the summer after I graduated Juilliard that the Tyrathi came, you know. Changed everything.”
She shuddered almost imperceptibly and her reply had a touch of frost. “Yes dear, I know ...” He instinctively reached out to comfort her, but pulled himself back. They'd been through this moment before. The best he could do was move the conversation along.
He allowed a quick, “I'm sorry” before resuming the story. “By that time, I found I had other talents besides acting, and stepped up to the call for heroes to stand ready against the invaders. From then on, I was always playing the part of someone else, whatever the situation demanded. Most often I was the charismatic leader, convincing citizens to leave an area quickly and orderly. I thought about calling myself Shepherd because of that, but decided against it. Sometimes I'd be called on to slip into an enemy group, so I considered Infilitrator. Eventually I settled on Sundog, and after a while lost track of who I used to be, moving from one role to the next. I was beginning to be as dark and brooding at my core as Lightning Shard, but one day, sitting in a bar, charming information out of a drunken contact, my eyes caught on the most beautiful woman I could have imagined as she walked into the room. Framed in the doorway and back lit by the setting sun, she was a vision more exquisitely breathtaking than Michelangelo himself could hope to capture. I excused myself from my contact, who helped himself to my untouched pint of beer, and made my way across the room to this goddess.
“Without saying a word to her, I brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and pressed my lips to hers, wrapping my arms around her.”
She chuckled as she turned to face him, her loose green silk skirt flowing around her shapely legs before resting its hem just above her ankles. “It's a damn good thing for you I knew who you were, or you wouldn't have been standing much longer.”
I'd post a spiffy word count / progress bar icon from nanowrimo.org, but the site is extremely slow at the moment. Maybe tomorrow.
Forcing myself to not edit while I write feels weird ... but I really like how this is turning out so far.
Comments are appreciated, but I'm not going to post a quality poll with these, since the goal is to write 50,000 words, not necessarily 50,000 "good" words.