I Am Verbose Today, Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying And Make A Poll
Because I literally cannot finish anything unless I’ve got some out-of-self imposed deadline or goal (ie. parts of this are posted therefore I should add more! Which is why fp.com works so well for me) and so I thought I'd share some current projects and maybe get some opinions on what sounds most interesting. This will also just prove how much crap I write. I mean, it’s a lot. Really seriously a lot.
L&S and lolvampires are already totally in, obviously. So they're not in the poll.
All are sci-fi/fantasy, all have the gay. So there’s really no choice on that. Not that I think you'd really be here if you didn't want any of that in the first place.
I do not pay for my little journal here so I cannot make a real poll. So I will make a fake poll, answerable by convenient LJ comment box. Actually, two polls. We’ll call it Short Things Poll and Long Things Poll. Short Things Poll is for immediate gratification and Long Things Poll is for what I’ll start working on after L&S is done (so, like, a good ways into the future).
Ideally I would like to write all of them, but I just need some guided focus so I stop bouncing around between all of them at once. Because nothing is ever ever ever ever going to get done that way. All of these (except one) were started at least a year ago. To be fair to myself L&S is a time-sucking life-consumer, but whatever.
So check these out and maybe drop a little opinion or something if you feel so inclined. Even if you just lurk this journal feel free to comment! I don't think I've got this blocked to anonymous commenters. I'm pretty sure I don't...
Short Things Poll
1. Ex Legis
This is a one-shot/novella side story to my NaNo ’08 novel, taking place in an AU England in the late 1800s/early 1900s. It’s the backstory/how-we-met-and-started-our-business-and-maybekindafellinlove story to two minor characters who operate a huge money/guns/whorehouse/anything illegal you can think of trade business all over Alternate Late 1800s Europe. So it’s like, gangstery/heist/semi-but-not-really-steampunk/adventure/period piece with somewhat wonky rules and terms because the world isn’t exactly the same. It’s not very heavy or deep and basically it’s two guys running around and stealing shit and shooting things and sexing each other up a bit in their spare time.
Excerpt:
“Drop it to me,” Ezra called up in a harsh whisper.
This was the telling moment. Emmerich drew in a breath, and dropped the pillowcase down into the dark. He heard the flumph of it landing in Ezra’s arms, and nothing else. Silence, and the hollow drip of the drainpipe. There was nothing left to do but to swing his legs out the window and start climbing down the face of the building himself.
The bricks were old, sticking out like jumbled teeth, and he could hardly get enough purchase on them with the tips of his boots. He gripped at the windowsill with his hands, moved them down to the raised moldings running down the face of the old building. Ezra was either down below, waiting in the dark with an armful of the possibility to change both of their lives-or he was gone, sucked into the shadows of the city and twice the richer man for it.
Emmerich’s boot slipped on a crumbling, loose brick. He grabbed at the wall, caught a niche, lost it, nails dragging against grout. He only had a few meters to fall, but he fell hard, landing on his back, breath bursting out of him. His vision swooped grey at the corners, blurred, then danced with yellow and pink spots as his head started to ache. The cobblestones were cold and hard beneath him and water from the gutter was running into the top of one of his boots. He wasn’t sure if he should move. And he didn’t see Ezra.
Then he heard footsteps near his head, the shift of fabric as someone knelt beside him, and a duller impact as something large and heavy dropped to the cobblestone beside his leg.
“Hey,” Ezra said. His face loomed oddly white and drawn out of the dark. He’d dropped the pillowcase at his side, and it had wilted over, sagging formlessly against Ezra’s thigh. “You all right?”
2. Duel
This is a backstory to Kir and Darban's relationship from L&S. Bits of this story get mentioned throughout the main series but the whoooole looooong thiiiiiing is written out here in deeeeetail. It’s another novella length thing (are any of my Short Things actually short? Probably not) and it’s just a lot of angst, a lot of repression, a lot of sexual tension, a lot of why-oh-why-must-this-beeeee-our-tragic-love-is-tragic and it’s not very happy at all. Also there’s some other backstory stuff with…I don’t know, more stuff. Sort of. it's tragic!
Excerpt:
Darban saw instantly that Kir’s footing was bad; he was too heavy on his back leg and not balancing his weight evenly. And Ored saw it too. He took his natural advantage, stamping the ground once with a boot before thrusting forward in a fast, long-reaching lunge. Kir was forced to leap back and parry, but with his weight already heavy on his back leg, he overbalanced.
Kir fell hard to the ground, landing on his back and elbows and skidding in the dust. He was panting, chest heaving, and he had dropped the practice sword when he fell, which now lay a little distance away in the dirt. Darban was beside him at once, catching his arms and keeping him up. He gripped Kir’s shoulders, bracing his knee against the middle of the boy’s spine. Just to steady him more, he spread one hand over the front of Kir’s chest, feeling his heart beating beneath in rhythmic, powerful thumps. He leant forward to mutter in Kir’s ear, “watch your footing.”
Kir jerked away from him and scrambled to his feet so abruptly that Darban almost lost his own balance. Kir’s boot scuffed in the dirt of the training field and Darban got a mouthful of it, feeling grit and dust coat on his tongue and nose.
“Don’t,” Kir said, so sharply it was nearly a bark. “Don’t-touch me-don’t tell me what to do!”
Darban gaped at him, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. He had never heard Kireylas raise his voice like this. The other boy was always so quiet and respectful and...mild.
“I was trying to help y-“ Darban started, and Kir took another step back.
“Well, don’t,” he said.
3. Alpha
This is a pre-story backstory to Simon from my whole werewolfy thing. Basically it’s about him and his (ex)boyfriend and how the whole lycanthropy thing went down. That’s really all I can say about it other than Simon wasn’t always so mean and withdrawn, so he’s kind of different and it’s not as crabby and cynical as a story centered on him might sound like. And his boyfriend isn't as much of a douchenozzle as it seemed like in the other stories.
Excerpt:
Simon sat, swaying, in the middle of the floor. His massacred shoulder was hot and wet and more and more hot wet redness just seemed to keep coming out of it, gushing between his fingers and sliding down his chest. His eyes couldn’t focus and everything inside his head was burning up with heat. An acrid sharp scent of gunpowder crowded in on him, dizzying and cloying. Something heavy and metal clattered to the wood floorboards, somewhere distant, maybe even miles away. Then someone dropped down next to him, firm hands touching him all over, feeling him, skin feverishly hot, cupping his face and raking through his hair.
“Oh, fuck, you’re bleeding so much,” said Jake’s voice, sounding very small and rough. “Simon, can you hear me? Simon, hey, are you okay, goddammit? Say something.”
“I think I’m going to throw up,” Simon heard himself saying, thick and far away. And then he did. The wet splatting sounds on the wood boards only made him feel more nauseated, and it was worse when he opened his eyes and saw pale beige chunks mixed with dark blood on the floor. He turned away, dry-heaving and shaking. Jake’s hand stayed warm and firm on his back, the only thing that felt real.
Long Things Poll
1. Gyrovagues
Fittingly related to #1 of Short Things Poll, this is Project NaNo 2008. I got very discouraged after writing it (like always) and kind of left off it, but I completely enjoy the world (I world build like nobody’s business, it’s almost a separate hobby from writing) and I recently was thinking about some things that would make one character much more interesting and got some plot elements straightened out so I think I’m totally up for tackling this thing again because I really loved it when I was writing it.
The story is about a missionary crew on a sailing ship that flies (but not very high, think DeNiro’s ship in Stardust), again in Alternate Universe Early 1900s Vaguely Steampunk Europe. The missionary thing sounds cooler than it is, religion and government have essentially become the same thing, and therefore they are basically expanding the empire by religious conversion. Two competing religious governments equals constant state of near-war which makes missionaries a hell of a lot of things; diplomats, soldiers, peace keepers, couriers, translators, etc. The plot is politics, a Plague Epidemic Not Unlike The Black Death, more politics, Everybody Has At Least One Extreme Issue, and a lot of stuff I really can’t summarize in a paragraph. Small ensemble cast of five main characters (six, sort of, if you count the sentient ship) and a hell of a lot of secondary characters. Sort of action/adventure/mystery/political/drama/sci-fi/historical….thing.
Excerpt:
There was a large pile of something that looked like intricately sculpted together fabric and ornaments, all in pale tans and reds, placed on a raised platform just behind the priests. It had a large ornate hat, and a white mask that vaguely resembled a human face nestled deep within several layers of high collars. It didn’t move at all, and Quillion didn’t think it was alive. More like an iconoclastic totem for this heathen outland territory. It was noticeably tall, especially with the hat, and managed to distract even from the three brightly-robed priests. It would have been better off left in a corner cupboard somewhere, Quillion thought, tuning his attention back to the mission at hand.
“We’ve come to request a trade let,” he heard Leisel say, easily acting her role as stand-in analyiat. “As acting neutral members of the Black Order we will abstain from performing any missionary oblations while on the provisions of the let, with regard to the non-associative status of Bhathal city proper.”
“A trade let?” said the center priest. “What does an Order mission need with a trade let?”
“The transpastrical nature of our travels creates simple opportunities to assist those who otherwise can’t afford general cargo rates on a general merchant schooner,” Leisel said without pause. “The Order endeavors to deliver in ways other than God.”
None of the priests spoke for a moment, and Quill wondered if they were puzzling over the meaning of Leisel’s favorite invented word, transpastrical. Finally, the center priest cleared his throat lightly, and refolded his hands in front of him.
“You, of course, will conduct this trade through all proper legal channels,” he said, gesturing briefly to the right as though legal trade was hovering just outside the high glass windows.
“Of course,” Leisel said, sounding just the proper amount of appalled. “The red market holds no honor for us nor the Order.”
The priests all paused again, falling into a shared contemplative silence. Quillion looked back to the intricate totem behind them, squinting at the white mask that sat above the shape of the shoulders in the place of a human face. The mask had only an expressively enlarged nose and no mouth, three vertical red lines painted there instead of one. It didn’t form the whole shape of the face-it ended above the nose, but there were no visible eyes, just two pits of black shadows. A cool shiver traced its way down Quillion's spine, and he looked away.
2. Nightingale Floors
This is Project NaNo 2009 and all I want to say is ALCHEMY!
All right, I’ll say more, but honestly alchemy just about sums it up. Also there’s some like, crime solving and mildly crazy megalomaniac stopping and some vampires showing up sometimes and a guy with severe personality splits and maybe some demons or something and it’s actually taking place in like, the real world and not an AU or a made-up place. New York. Which I have been to many times but don’t live in. So it should be mildly accurate. This is why I call it Urban Alchemy. Also this is the one with the straight MC so holy shit there’s some real like, het but the gay factor is definitely not absent. Three main characters, a couuuuple of secondary characters but a pretty small contained cast. The MC is also British, which I totally am not, so his narrative voice is kind of different, but really fun. I already posted the unicorn except but here’s another.
Excerpt:
Out on the street in front of Braum's apartment, the early morning was chilled and overcast, the sky low and bulging with grey, coiling clouds. There was no sign of Braum. The thin-trunked trees lining the streets rustled agitatedly in the bitter breeze, and Jerome stuck his hands deep in his pockets and hunched his shoulders up against his neck. He could practically smell the cold, a crisp and dry scent across his face. He kicked an old, blackened penny from the curb into the gutter and watched it roll a meter until flopping defeatedly onto one side. A door closed somewhere down the street, and Jerome watched a middle-aged woman bustle out of her own building, wrapped up in a long dark overcoat, and stride away down the street.
He heard a mild puttering roar in the distance, coming closer, and a few seconds later a dark shape rushed up along the curb and blurred to a halt in front of him, smelling of rubber and petrol. Braum sat astride the back of a shuddering black and silver motorbike, his leather jacket with the odd collar now closed fully up the front and around his neck. A motorcycle jacket, because Braum drove a motorcycle. Of course he did, Jerome thought with resignation. It would have been that, or a Hummer. The bike was a massive, expansive machine of sleek lines and shining chrome, with a large leathery seat and a huge bulky container box mounted on the back. Braum pulled on the clutch and revved the engine several times.
"Get on," he said. He was wearing sunglasses, despite the gloomy darkness of the morning, and his usually neat-slicked blond hair was a little ruffled and wild.
"I don't-" Jerome said, and Braum pulled back on the clutch again.
"What?" he said. "Can't hear you. Better get on."
"Jesus," Jerome said, and did. He threw a leg over the remaining free space of the seat and tried not to sit very close to Braum at all. He put tentative hands on Braum's sides, just below his ribs, because he would have to hold on somewhere, and Braum was all there was.
"You are going to fall directly off, kid," Braum said over his shoulder, and even though Jerome wasn't really looking at him, he could just hear the smirk. "Get friendlier."
3. Elba
Show me another Alternate Universe Europe in the 1900s! *ding* Except this one is totally different, with AU discrepancies beginning in WWI and thus changing the outcome of the war and thus changing, hmm, many things. Thus it’s early 1940s and Europe’s map has been redrawn and for some reason there are airships or whatever, Germany and France/UK are in a standoff over borderlines and both sides are doing a good imitation of the US and USSR during the Cold War, building up rabidly but not making moves. Also there’s some stuff about being able to channel and capture deceased souls and cause them to be reborn inside new bodies and thus there’s all these reincarnated famous people running around and the main character is kind of Napoleon. Only he’s a 23 year old British guy (yeah, British again, what?) who is tall. Plot is politics, more politics, war politics, ethical politics, gender politics, science politics, and…stuff about nature vs nurture. Sort of. Mostly it’s Napoleon. Being Napoleon-y. And…other cool historical figures some of which’ve got their genders and nationalities mixed up a bit. Cast is pretty large but heavily focused on two characters, the Napoleon guy and a guy on the German side who is also....somebody historical. This one I did not write for NaNo and thus is much shorter, but I’ve got the whole thing plotted out and it just got wedged into the drainpipe of backlog and I haven’t rescued it yet.
Excerpt:
There was an unnie woman blocking the passenger door, clutching a large square of cardboard reading “Stop Aethercast’s perversion of nature!” and a black slash through a crudely done rendition of the company’s symbol. She called his name and reached for him-Leon dodged her and pulled open the back door instead, diving headfirst onto the seats.
“Go, go already!” he said to Salis, who obligingly floored the pedals. The tires spun for a moment in the mud before finding purchase and lurching forward. Leon pulled the door shut as unnies tumbled and fled before the quarot’s hood. Salis had his palm jammed against the horn, bellowing curses and promises to run over every goddamn unnie who didn’t have the brains to get out of the goddamn way.
An open path cleared between bodies and signs, and Salis took it, mud spraying from under the wheels onto some of the closer protestors. Leon’s shoulder and head struck the window as Salis took a hard turn around one of the depot buildings, rumbling the quarot down a minimally drier alley. He slid towards the center of the seat, shoving aside a peacoat that was crumpled there, and Salis’s black wood cane on top of it. Then he got to his knees to peer over the high backs of the seat and through the foggy rear window.
“They’re not following.”
“No, they’ll probably just bawl at the walls for a while, get tired, and go home.” Salis twisted the rearview mirror, angling it so that Leon could see the reflected faded blue of his eyes. “You all right?"
"Lost my coat," Leon muttered, and clambered through the opening between the two front seats. "Liked that coat." His knee banged into Salis's arm on the gear shift, and the quarot lurched and wobbled.
"Hey, hey!" Salis said. "Watch it."
"Sorry." Leon dropped himself into the passenger seat, the leather squeaking beneath him. The hanger and its adjacent buildings fell away behind them as Salis turned the vehicle onto the muddy road that cut through the countryside, back towards the royal city. A wet breeze from the moors blew in the open window, and Leon reached to crank the handle that rolled it back up, his skin still rippling from the touch of concerned fanatical strangers.
So I just picked three for each and honestly I don't even want to mention about how this is maybe a third of the WIP stuff I've got. These are just the ones I'm most likely to write right now. So if one of these sounds minutely more interesting than the other two...please mention it. That would be lovely. :)
L&S and lolvampires are already totally in, obviously. So they're not in the poll.
All are sci-fi/fantasy, all have the gay. So there’s really no choice on that. Not that I think you'd really be here if you didn't want any of that in the first place.
I do not pay for my little journal here so I cannot make a real poll. So I will make a fake poll, answerable by convenient LJ comment box. Actually, two polls. We’ll call it Short Things Poll and Long Things Poll. Short Things Poll is for immediate gratification and Long Things Poll is for what I’ll start working on after L&S is done (so, like, a good ways into the future).
Ideally I would like to write all of them, but I just need some guided focus so I stop bouncing around between all of them at once. Because nothing is ever ever ever ever going to get done that way. All of these (except one) were started at least a year ago. To be fair to myself L&S is a time-sucking life-consumer, but whatever.
So check these out and maybe drop a little opinion or something if you feel so inclined. Even if you just lurk this journal feel free to comment! I don't think I've got this blocked to anonymous commenters. I'm pretty sure I don't...
Short Things Poll
1. Ex Legis
This is a one-shot/novella side story to my NaNo ’08 novel, taking place in an AU England in the late 1800s/early 1900s. It’s the backstory/how-we-met-and-started-our-business-and-maybekindafellinlove story to two minor characters who operate a huge money/guns/whorehouse/anything illegal you can think of trade business all over Alternate Late 1800s Europe. So it’s like, gangstery/heist/semi-but-not-really-steampunk/adventure/period piece with somewhat wonky rules and terms because the world isn’t exactly the same. It’s not very heavy or deep and basically it’s two guys running around and stealing shit and shooting things and sexing each other up a bit in their spare time.
Excerpt:
“Drop it to me,” Ezra called up in a harsh whisper.
This was the telling moment. Emmerich drew in a breath, and dropped the pillowcase down into the dark. He heard the flumph of it landing in Ezra’s arms, and nothing else. Silence, and the hollow drip of the drainpipe. There was nothing left to do but to swing his legs out the window and start climbing down the face of the building himself.
The bricks were old, sticking out like jumbled teeth, and he could hardly get enough purchase on them with the tips of his boots. He gripped at the windowsill with his hands, moved them down to the raised moldings running down the face of the old building. Ezra was either down below, waiting in the dark with an armful of the possibility to change both of their lives-or he was gone, sucked into the shadows of the city and twice the richer man for it.
Emmerich’s boot slipped on a crumbling, loose brick. He grabbed at the wall, caught a niche, lost it, nails dragging against grout. He only had a few meters to fall, but he fell hard, landing on his back, breath bursting out of him. His vision swooped grey at the corners, blurred, then danced with yellow and pink spots as his head started to ache. The cobblestones were cold and hard beneath him and water from the gutter was running into the top of one of his boots. He wasn’t sure if he should move. And he didn’t see Ezra.
Then he heard footsteps near his head, the shift of fabric as someone knelt beside him, and a duller impact as something large and heavy dropped to the cobblestone beside his leg.
“Hey,” Ezra said. His face loomed oddly white and drawn out of the dark. He’d dropped the pillowcase at his side, and it had wilted over, sagging formlessly against Ezra’s thigh. “You all right?”
2. Duel
This is a backstory to Kir and Darban's relationship from L&S. Bits of this story get mentioned throughout the main series but the whoooole looooong thiiiiiing is written out here in deeeeetail. It’s another novella length thing (are any of my Short Things actually short? Probably not) and it’s just a lot of angst, a lot of repression, a lot of sexual tension, a lot of why-oh-why-must-this-beeeee-our-tragic-love-is-tragic and it’s not very happy at all. Also there’s some other backstory stuff with…I don’t know, more stuff. Sort of. it's tragic!
Excerpt:
Darban saw instantly that Kir’s footing was bad; he was too heavy on his back leg and not balancing his weight evenly. And Ored saw it too. He took his natural advantage, stamping the ground once with a boot before thrusting forward in a fast, long-reaching lunge. Kir was forced to leap back and parry, but with his weight already heavy on his back leg, he overbalanced.
Kir fell hard to the ground, landing on his back and elbows and skidding in the dust. He was panting, chest heaving, and he had dropped the practice sword when he fell, which now lay a little distance away in the dirt. Darban was beside him at once, catching his arms and keeping him up. He gripped Kir’s shoulders, bracing his knee against the middle of the boy’s spine. Just to steady him more, he spread one hand over the front of Kir’s chest, feeling his heart beating beneath in rhythmic, powerful thumps. He leant forward to mutter in Kir’s ear, “watch your footing.”
Kir jerked away from him and scrambled to his feet so abruptly that Darban almost lost his own balance. Kir’s boot scuffed in the dirt of the training field and Darban got a mouthful of it, feeling grit and dust coat on his tongue and nose.
“Don’t,” Kir said, so sharply it was nearly a bark. “Don’t-touch me-don’t tell me what to do!”
Darban gaped at him, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. He had never heard Kireylas raise his voice like this. The other boy was always so quiet and respectful and...mild.
“I was trying to help y-“ Darban started, and Kir took another step back.
“Well, don’t,” he said.
3. Alpha
This is a pre-story backstory to Simon from my whole werewolfy thing. Basically it’s about him and his (ex)boyfriend and how the whole lycanthropy thing went down. That’s really all I can say about it other than Simon wasn’t always so mean and withdrawn, so he’s kind of different and it’s not as crabby and cynical as a story centered on him might sound like. And his boyfriend isn't as much of a douchenozzle as it seemed like in the other stories.
Excerpt:
Simon sat, swaying, in the middle of the floor. His massacred shoulder was hot and wet and more and more hot wet redness just seemed to keep coming out of it, gushing between his fingers and sliding down his chest. His eyes couldn’t focus and everything inside his head was burning up with heat. An acrid sharp scent of gunpowder crowded in on him, dizzying and cloying. Something heavy and metal clattered to the wood floorboards, somewhere distant, maybe even miles away. Then someone dropped down next to him, firm hands touching him all over, feeling him, skin feverishly hot, cupping his face and raking through his hair.
“Oh, fuck, you’re bleeding so much,” said Jake’s voice, sounding very small and rough. “Simon, can you hear me? Simon, hey, are you okay, goddammit? Say something.”
“I think I’m going to throw up,” Simon heard himself saying, thick and far away. And then he did. The wet splatting sounds on the wood boards only made him feel more nauseated, and it was worse when he opened his eyes and saw pale beige chunks mixed with dark blood on the floor. He turned away, dry-heaving and shaking. Jake’s hand stayed warm and firm on his back, the only thing that felt real.
Long Things Poll
1. Gyrovagues
Fittingly related to #1 of Short Things Poll, this is Project NaNo 2008. I got very discouraged after writing it (like always) and kind of left off it, but I completely enjoy the world (I world build like nobody’s business, it’s almost a separate hobby from writing) and I recently was thinking about some things that would make one character much more interesting and got some plot elements straightened out so I think I’m totally up for tackling this thing again because I really loved it when I was writing it.
The story is about a missionary crew on a sailing ship that flies (but not very high, think DeNiro’s ship in Stardust), again in Alternate Universe Early 1900s Vaguely Steampunk Europe. The missionary thing sounds cooler than it is, religion and government have essentially become the same thing, and therefore they are basically expanding the empire by religious conversion. Two competing religious governments equals constant state of near-war which makes missionaries a hell of a lot of things; diplomats, soldiers, peace keepers, couriers, translators, etc. The plot is politics, a Plague Epidemic Not Unlike The Black Death, more politics, Everybody Has At Least One Extreme Issue, and a lot of stuff I really can’t summarize in a paragraph. Small ensemble cast of five main characters (six, sort of, if you count the sentient ship) and a hell of a lot of secondary characters. Sort of action/adventure/mystery/political/drama/sci-fi/historical….thing.
Excerpt:
There was a large pile of something that looked like intricately sculpted together fabric and ornaments, all in pale tans and reds, placed on a raised platform just behind the priests. It had a large ornate hat, and a white mask that vaguely resembled a human face nestled deep within several layers of high collars. It didn’t move at all, and Quillion didn’t think it was alive. More like an iconoclastic totem for this heathen outland territory. It was noticeably tall, especially with the hat, and managed to distract even from the three brightly-robed priests. It would have been better off left in a corner cupboard somewhere, Quillion thought, tuning his attention back to the mission at hand.
“We’ve come to request a trade let,” he heard Leisel say, easily acting her role as stand-in analyiat. “As acting neutral members of the Black Order we will abstain from performing any missionary oblations while on the provisions of the let, with regard to the non-associative status of Bhathal city proper.”
“A trade let?” said the center priest. “What does an Order mission need with a trade let?”
“The transpastrical nature of our travels creates simple opportunities to assist those who otherwise can’t afford general cargo rates on a general merchant schooner,” Leisel said without pause. “The Order endeavors to deliver in ways other than God.”
None of the priests spoke for a moment, and Quill wondered if they were puzzling over the meaning of Leisel’s favorite invented word, transpastrical. Finally, the center priest cleared his throat lightly, and refolded his hands in front of him.
“You, of course, will conduct this trade through all proper legal channels,” he said, gesturing briefly to the right as though legal trade was hovering just outside the high glass windows.
“Of course,” Leisel said, sounding just the proper amount of appalled. “The red market holds no honor for us nor the Order.”
The priests all paused again, falling into a shared contemplative silence. Quillion looked back to the intricate totem behind them, squinting at the white mask that sat above the shape of the shoulders in the place of a human face. The mask had only an expressively enlarged nose and no mouth, three vertical red lines painted there instead of one. It didn’t form the whole shape of the face-it ended above the nose, but there were no visible eyes, just two pits of black shadows. A cool shiver traced its way down Quillion's spine, and he looked away.
2. Nightingale Floors
This is Project NaNo 2009 and all I want to say is ALCHEMY!
All right, I’ll say more, but honestly alchemy just about sums it up. Also there’s some like, crime solving and mildly crazy megalomaniac stopping and some vampires showing up sometimes and a guy with severe personality splits and maybe some demons or something and it’s actually taking place in like, the real world and not an AU or a made-up place. New York. Which I have been to many times but don’t live in. So it should be mildly accurate. This is why I call it Urban Alchemy. Also this is the one with the straight MC so holy shit there’s some real like, het but the gay factor is definitely not absent. Three main characters, a couuuuple of secondary characters but a pretty small contained cast. The MC is also British, which I totally am not, so his narrative voice is kind of different, but really fun. I already posted the unicorn except but here’s another.
Excerpt:
Out on the street in front of Braum's apartment, the early morning was chilled and overcast, the sky low and bulging with grey, coiling clouds. There was no sign of Braum. The thin-trunked trees lining the streets rustled agitatedly in the bitter breeze, and Jerome stuck his hands deep in his pockets and hunched his shoulders up against his neck. He could practically smell the cold, a crisp and dry scent across his face. He kicked an old, blackened penny from the curb into the gutter and watched it roll a meter until flopping defeatedly onto one side. A door closed somewhere down the street, and Jerome watched a middle-aged woman bustle out of her own building, wrapped up in a long dark overcoat, and stride away down the street.
He heard a mild puttering roar in the distance, coming closer, and a few seconds later a dark shape rushed up along the curb and blurred to a halt in front of him, smelling of rubber and petrol. Braum sat astride the back of a shuddering black and silver motorbike, his leather jacket with the odd collar now closed fully up the front and around his neck. A motorcycle jacket, because Braum drove a motorcycle. Of course he did, Jerome thought with resignation. It would have been that, or a Hummer. The bike was a massive, expansive machine of sleek lines and shining chrome, with a large leathery seat and a huge bulky container box mounted on the back. Braum pulled on the clutch and revved the engine several times.
"Get on," he said. He was wearing sunglasses, despite the gloomy darkness of the morning, and his usually neat-slicked blond hair was a little ruffled and wild.
"I don't-" Jerome said, and Braum pulled back on the clutch again.
"What?" he said. "Can't hear you. Better get on."
"Jesus," Jerome said, and did. He threw a leg over the remaining free space of the seat and tried not to sit very close to Braum at all. He put tentative hands on Braum's sides, just below his ribs, because he would have to hold on somewhere, and Braum was all there was.
"You are going to fall directly off, kid," Braum said over his shoulder, and even though Jerome wasn't really looking at him, he could just hear the smirk. "Get friendlier."
3. Elba
Show me another Alternate Universe Europe in the 1900s! *ding* Except this one is totally different, with AU discrepancies beginning in WWI and thus changing the outcome of the war and thus changing, hmm, many things. Thus it’s early 1940s and Europe’s map has been redrawn and for some reason there are airships or whatever, Germany and France/UK are in a standoff over borderlines and both sides are doing a good imitation of the US and USSR during the Cold War, building up rabidly but not making moves. Also there’s some stuff about being able to channel and capture deceased souls and cause them to be reborn inside new bodies and thus there’s all these reincarnated famous people running around and the main character is kind of Napoleon. Only he’s a 23 year old British guy (yeah, British again, what?) who is tall. Plot is politics, more politics, war politics, ethical politics, gender politics, science politics, and…stuff about nature vs nurture. Sort of. Mostly it’s Napoleon. Being Napoleon-y. And…other cool historical figures some of which’ve got their genders and nationalities mixed up a bit. Cast is pretty large but heavily focused on two characters, the Napoleon guy and a guy on the German side who is also....somebody historical. This one I did not write for NaNo and thus is much shorter, but I’ve got the whole thing plotted out and it just got wedged into the drainpipe of backlog and I haven’t rescued it yet.
Excerpt:
There was an unnie woman blocking the passenger door, clutching a large square of cardboard reading “Stop Aethercast’s perversion of nature!” and a black slash through a crudely done rendition of the company’s symbol. She called his name and reached for him-Leon dodged her and pulled open the back door instead, diving headfirst onto the seats.
“Go, go already!” he said to Salis, who obligingly floored the pedals. The tires spun for a moment in the mud before finding purchase and lurching forward. Leon pulled the door shut as unnies tumbled and fled before the quarot’s hood. Salis had his palm jammed against the horn, bellowing curses and promises to run over every goddamn unnie who didn’t have the brains to get out of the goddamn way.
An open path cleared between bodies and signs, and Salis took it, mud spraying from under the wheels onto some of the closer protestors. Leon’s shoulder and head struck the window as Salis took a hard turn around one of the depot buildings, rumbling the quarot down a minimally drier alley. He slid towards the center of the seat, shoving aside a peacoat that was crumpled there, and Salis’s black wood cane on top of it. Then he got to his knees to peer over the high backs of the seat and through the foggy rear window.
“They’re not following.”
“No, they’ll probably just bawl at the walls for a while, get tired, and go home.” Salis twisted the rearview mirror, angling it so that Leon could see the reflected faded blue of his eyes. “You all right?"
"Lost my coat," Leon muttered, and clambered through the opening between the two front seats. "Liked that coat." His knee banged into Salis's arm on the gear shift, and the quarot lurched and wobbled.
"Hey, hey!" Salis said. "Watch it."
"Sorry." Leon dropped himself into the passenger seat, the leather squeaking beneath him. The hanger and its adjacent buildings fell away behind them as Salis turned the vehicle onto the muddy road that cut through the countryside, back towards the royal city. A wet breeze from the moors blew in the open window, and Leon reached to crank the handle that rolled it back up, his skin still rippling from the touch of concerned fanatical strangers.
So I just picked three for each and honestly I don't even want to mention about how this is maybe a third of the WIP stuff I've got. These are just the ones I'm most likely to write right now. So if one of these sounds minutely more interesting than the other two...please mention it. That would be lovely. :)