(So, thanks, you guys, for your happy-making lists, and also for sharing your awesome 90s music and reminiscences with me over the past couple days. Today was a lot better; just trying to keep everything in perspective
( Read more... )
"Leave me alone!" I hurled a tattered paperback novel towards the other end of the parking lot. "Go! Go get the book! That's a good Muse!" With this momentary distraction, I had just enough time to duck into the car and slam the door shut. However, as I started the engine, I could see her sitting on the hood, grinning at me through the windshield...
Valacar coughed again, convulsively. "And who ever said this would be a good idea, again?"
"It might not be so dangerous," Firiel remarked, "if you weren't drinking all the damn time." She sighed and sat down. "Those lions were a nightmare today! We've got to give them more tranquilizers, or something."
"Wouldn't work. They're enraged by the scent of chamomile and desperation."
She was about to hurl a glove at him, when the taunts of drunken revelers drifted in their direction: "Stupid carnies!"
"Fuck you!" she said.
"Yeah!" he added. "It's 'Itinerant recreation professionals,' to you!"
She gazed through the thick glass of the bear habitat, intent. Always the same, every day when she came to do the feedings. Those large eyes, sparking with an intelligent soulfulness. The strong muscles, rippling beneath the thick, glistening coat. The powerful paws. She could swear, the animal was watching her right back...
Okay am legit actually going to hell for that one...
The voice was soft but unmistakeable. It vied with the call of the Stone beneath his hand, the thing they said had pushed his father to the brink. And over.
My son.
One look, he thought. To see that which might aid his people; his City.
Seek beyond yourself, his mother said, and she sounded gentle but firm. But know your limit.
The palantir was warm under his palm, as if beckoning. No, he thought. My limit is here.
"Thank you," he said to the air. (The air and something more?) And he turned away and went back to the gardens.
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"It might not be so dangerous," Firiel remarked, "if you weren't drinking all the damn time." She sighed and sat down. "Those lions were a nightmare today! We've got to give them more tranquilizers, or something."
"Wouldn't work. They're enraged by the scent of chamomile and desperation."
She was about to hurl a glove at him, when the taunts of drunken revelers drifted in their direction: "Stupid carnies!"
"Fuck you!" she said.
"Yeah!" he added. "It's 'Itinerant recreation professionals,' to you!"
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Ha!
"It might not be so dangerous," Firiel remarked, "if you weren't drinking all the damn time." She sighed and sat down.
Valacar: You can't breathe fire if you don't drink alcohol! This is part of the businessleavemealone!
"Wouldn't work. They're enraged by the scent of chamomile and desperation."
And bwah! Deadpan delivery and ludicrous notions come smoothly together and deliver hysterically!
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And you also can't do appendectomies! I'm a doctor, I know what I'm talking about.
Thanks, glad you like Valacar + Firiel as much as I do. One of these days I'm going to write a whole novel just about them.
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Okay am legit actually going to hell for that one...
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Well good, I'm sure that's where I'm bound and I'd be sad if you weren't there.
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Faramir.
The voice was soft but unmistakeable. It vied with the call of the Stone beneath his hand, the thing they said had pushed his father to the brink. And over.
My son.
One look, he thought. To see that which might aid his people; his City.
Seek beyond yourself, his mother said, and she sounded gentle but firm. But know your limit.
The palantir was warm under his palm, as if beckoning. No, he thought. My limit is here.
"Thank you," he said to the air. (The air and something more?) And he turned away and went back to the gardens.
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