The WiP meme
Taken from luthien, fabularasa and various others on my flist: post a paragraph or small excerpt from each of your works in progress.
I've only got two going now, and they're both on hold until mid-September, but hey, if I can't write, I can at least advertise.
Untitled PotC fic
The fires in the harbor are still raging, more than ten hours after the first blaze had ignited. More than twenty vessels lost now, from the Dauntless in all her majesty to the humblest fishing sloops tied up in the shallows. God only knows how many men are dead. Though the shutters on the infirmary windows are tightly closed, I can still smell the smoke. I believe I shall always smell it, always find a whiff of it in every breath I take for the remainder of my life. There's more to its bitter black stench than the familiar flavours of burning wood and hemp and tar, but my mind shies away from any attempt to isolate the odour, to consider what might be -- must be, else all this loss has been for nothing -- going up in flames this morning along with the ships of Port Royal.
In the bed across from me, the Commodore is aloof and silent. His right arm is bandaged from shoulder to fingertip; the left one is undamaged. Yet it's his left hand he keeps holding up in front of his face, turning it this way and that, examining the unmarred flesh as if determined to find something amiss with it. I've tried to speak with him several times, but he will not answer. I don't think he shall ever forgive himself for not going down with the Dauntless. I don't think he shall ever forgive me for not letting him do it.
Untitled O11 fic
"Let's see if I'm following this right," Danny said. "I went to prison for four years and you went to Tijuana, got drunk on bad tequila and fucked my evil twin Skippy."
"Crudely put," said Rusty, "but essentially accurate."
"Well, here's something else I'm going to put crudely. What the fuck were you thinking?"
Rusty took another swallow of his Corona, rested the bottle against his knee and picked at the edge of the label with his thumbnail. "I thought it was none of your business who I sleep with. You were very clear about that three days ago."
"Most of the time that would be true," Danny admitted. "Then again, most of the time you don't sleep with crazy mass murderers."
"Seth isn't crazy."
"I remember the news stories, Rusty. He and his psycho brother went on a murder spree across four states!"
"Three."
"What?"
"Three states. And I wouldn't bring up the psycho brother in casual conversation if I were you. He's dead, and Seth is kinda touchy about it."
"Right." Danny manfully resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall behind him. "We're stuck in a mudhole in the middle of nowhere with your mass-murdering ex-boyfriend, and he's touchy. That's just perfect."
"I think you're totally overreacting," Rusty said.
Danny didn't think he was overreacting at all. "The Interpol cop was bad enough, but at least I could be reasonably sure she wasn't going to slit our throats while we slept."
"Don't be such a drama queen." Rusty grinned and tapped the beer bottle against his leg. "Seth isn't going to slit our throats while we sleep. Well... not mine, anyway."
Yes, my brain appears to be in cracktastic crossover mode. No, I don't know why that is.
I've only got two going now, and they're both on hold until mid-September, but hey, if I can't write, I can at least advertise.
Untitled PotC fic
The fires in the harbor are still raging, more than ten hours after the first blaze had ignited. More than twenty vessels lost now, from the Dauntless in all her majesty to the humblest fishing sloops tied up in the shallows. God only knows how many men are dead. Though the shutters on the infirmary windows are tightly closed, I can still smell the smoke. I believe I shall always smell it, always find a whiff of it in every breath I take for the remainder of my life. There's more to its bitter black stench than the familiar flavours of burning wood and hemp and tar, but my mind shies away from any attempt to isolate the odour, to consider what might be -- must be, else all this loss has been for nothing -- going up in flames this morning along with the ships of Port Royal.
In the bed across from me, the Commodore is aloof and silent. His right arm is bandaged from shoulder to fingertip; the left one is undamaged. Yet it's his left hand he keeps holding up in front of his face, turning it this way and that, examining the unmarred flesh as if determined to find something amiss with it. I've tried to speak with him several times, but he will not answer. I don't think he shall ever forgive himself for not going down with the Dauntless. I don't think he shall ever forgive me for not letting him do it.
Untitled O11 fic
"Let's see if I'm following this right," Danny said. "I went to prison for four years and you went to Tijuana, got drunk on bad tequila and fucked my evil twin Skippy."
"Crudely put," said Rusty, "but essentially accurate."
"Well, here's something else I'm going to put crudely. What the fuck were you thinking?"
Rusty took another swallow of his Corona, rested the bottle against his knee and picked at the edge of the label with his thumbnail. "I thought it was none of your business who I sleep with. You were very clear about that three days ago."
"Most of the time that would be true," Danny admitted. "Then again, most of the time you don't sleep with crazy mass murderers."
"Seth isn't crazy."
"I remember the news stories, Rusty. He and his psycho brother went on a murder spree across four states!"
"Three."
"What?"
"Three states. And I wouldn't bring up the psycho brother in casual conversation if I were you. He's dead, and Seth is kinda touchy about it."
"Right." Danny manfully resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall behind him. "We're stuck in a mudhole in the middle of nowhere with your mass-murdering ex-boyfriend, and he's touchy. That's just perfect."
"I think you're totally overreacting," Rusty said.
Danny didn't think he was overreacting at all. "The Interpol cop was bad enough, but at least I could be reasonably sure she wasn't going to slit our throats while we slept."
"Don't be such a drama queen." Rusty grinned and tapped the beer bottle against his leg. "Seth isn't going to slit our throats while we sleep. Well... not mine, anyway."
Yes, my brain appears to be in cracktastic crossover mode. No, I don't know why that is.