Snippet
I am sorry to say due to various and sundry life related distractions, the next chapter of "Letters" has been delayed, probably until this weekend. I am working on it when I can.
Here is a snippet:
"But Rogue,” Remy leaned across the table and grasped one of her gloved hands in his. It was such a natural movement that Rogue scarcely realized her had done it until her hand was secured in his. “Y’ need t’ tell me about dis, chere. I need t’ know, for me. And y’…you need t’ talk about it.”
Rogue tugged on her hand but found that he only dug his fingers lightly into her pressure points in response. “Xavier set up stress counseling. Ah don’t need ta talk about it anymore.”
"Stress counseling?” Remy snorted. “Where y’ just sat across from de shrink an’ glared at ‘im, or told ‘‘im so much merde he didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. Ah know y’ too, chere, an’ Ah know dat y’ haven’t talked t’ anyone ‘bout dis.”
“Your concern is touching. Really. Now let go of mah hand before Ah do some touching back.”
He flashed her a grin, “Any time, ma belle.”
--
I'm working on it, really, I promise!
Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, the lyrics I've taken the past few chapter names from are from this Dead Poetic song:
You're all just staring, angry faces, begging for a place to die.
Or I could leave you where you stand,
Up upon that hill that'll fall to the wayside.
This hoax to live for, dictating regulation of thoughts.
This hoax to live for, the very plague that kills us all.
And in this scene, I play the protagonist, and as well I play the opposed.
Or I could leave you where you stand.
All alone in the hall, your trap for the meantime.
And you call this home, no home I've ever known.
This hoax to live for, dictating regulation of thoughts.
This hoax to live for, the very plague that kills us all.
This isn't war, but these are still battles
And battles make it all die out.
This hoax to live for, dictating regulation of thoughts.
This hoax to live for, the very plague that kills us all.
Here is a snippet:
"But Rogue,” Remy leaned across the table and grasped one of her gloved hands in his. It was such a natural movement that Rogue scarcely realized her had done it until her hand was secured in his. “Y’ need t’ tell me about dis, chere. I need t’ know, for me. And y’…you need t’ talk about it.”
Rogue tugged on her hand but found that he only dug his fingers lightly into her pressure points in response. “Xavier set up stress counseling. Ah don’t need ta talk about it anymore.”
"Stress counseling?” Remy snorted. “Where y’ just sat across from de shrink an’ glared at ‘im, or told ‘‘im so much merde he didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. Ah know y’ too, chere, an’ Ah know dat y’ haven’t talked t’ anyone ‘bout dis.”
“Your concern is touching. Really. Now let go of mah hand before Ah do some touching back.”
He flashed her a grin, “Any time, ma belle.”
--
I'm working on it, really, I promise!
Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, the lyrics I've taken the past few chapter names from are from this Dead Poetic song:
You're all just staring, angry faces, begging for a place to die.
Or I could leave you where you stand,
Up upon that hill that'll fall to the wayside.
This hoax to live for, dictating regulation of thoughts.
This hoax to live for, the very plague that kills us all.
And in this scene, I play the protagonist, and as well I play the opposed.
Or I could leave you where you stand.
All alone in the hall, your trap for the meantime.
And you call this home, no home I've ever known.
This hoax to live for, dictating regulation of thoughts.
This hoax to live for, the very plague that kills us all.
This isn't war, but these are still battles
And battles make it all die out.
This hoax to live for, dictating regulation of thoughts.
This hoax to live for, the very plague that kills us all.