Progress
Well, the rewrite goes fairly well:
Look at that! 1/3 of the way done!
Ahead of them, Reaper had stepped around the corner. His muscular, lean build and economy of movement were unmistakable, his gate relaxed and easy despite the unexpected burden he carried, one that stopped Mercy dead.
In his arms was a little girl, a child of no more than three or four, as out of place on this ship full of rough and deadly pirates as she would have been on the decks of Rescue One, or the Typhus. Red-gold curls formed a riotous crown around her head, her arms and pale blue smock smeared with contrasting blotches of primary colors - blue, yellow, and red. An odd streak of violet tipped her delicate little chin, and she was giggling, a high pitched song of innocence and joy.
Reaper laughed with her. Reaper laughed. It looked odd and out of place on him. Everything about him until this moment had been reserved and controlled.
Demon said something to her, but the words didn’t penetrate.
The smudges of color marred Reaper’s black shirt, too, where the child’s hands clung to him. Paint, Mercy figured. Kids liked to play with paint, didn’t they? In one thin arm, she clutched a stuffed animal of some kind, felt ears bent and wrinkled from constant wear, the face obscured by her hold.
Reaper saw them, and the laugh died to a smile. The child turned her head, and together they looked at Mercy and Demon with identical blue eyes, the exact shade of topaz currently popular with the wealthy elite throughout the Commonwealth. Brilliant, rare, and distinctive.
Her throat closed. Reaper had a daughter?
Look at that! 1/3 of the way done!
Ahead of them, Reaper had stepped around the corner. His muscular, lean build and economy of movement were unmistakable, his gate relaxed and easy despite the unexpected burden he carried, one that stopped Mercy dead.
In his arms was a little girl, a child of no more than three or four, as out of place on this ship full of rough and deadly pirates as she would have been on the decks of Rescue One, or the Typhus. Red-gold curls formed a riotous crown around her head, her arms and pale blue smock smeared with contrasting blotches of primary colors - blue, yellow, and red. An odd streak of violet tipped her delicate little chin, and she was giggling, a high pitched song of innocence and joy.
Reaper laughed with her. Reaper laughed. It looked odd and out of place on him. Everything about him until this moment had been reserved and controlled.
Demon said something to her, but the words didn’t penetrate.
The smudges of color marred Reaper’s black shirt, too, where the child’s hands clung to him. Paint, Mercy figured. Kids liked to play with paint, didn’t they? In one thin arm, she clutched a stuffed animal of some kind, felt ears bent and wrinkled from constant wear, the face obscured by her hold.
Reaper saw them, and the laugh died to a smile. The child turned her head, and together they looked at Mercy and Demon with identical blue eyes, the exact shade of topaz currently popular with the wealthy elite throughout the Commonwealth. Brilliant, rare, and distinctive.
Her throat closed. Reaper had a daughter?