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Flavor of the Day - 09/12/09 - Inure
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1264
Word Count : 353
Word of the Day : Inure - to make accustomed or used to something painful, difficult, or inconvenient; to harden; to habituate;
I had thought this might be a series, but I got two out of it and thought more might be overkill and that the two were rather disjointed anyway. So here is part 1.
Hand wrapped tight around her glass, Lyssa stared into the depths of the still, red spirits within. The stool beneath her felt solid enough, and the counter against her arm. The rest of the world she wasn’t so sure about. There was a man behind the bar, shuffling about, with the drip and plop of liquid on liquid, the clink of glass and clatter of coins. The crowd behind her hummed on the periphery of her hearing, voices flowing together into a soft buzz like so many insects.
She scrunched her nose and squinted her eyes, as if contorting her face might help her pick any one voice from the multitude, as if it mattered what any of them were saying anyway. She blinked. The glass rocked in her grasp, its contents rippled. She shook her head, forced the noise back to its obnoxious, half-heard drone, and shifted shakily in her seat.
The toe of her boot scuffed against the floor, waves of pins and needles shooting up her calf through a fog. Lovely time to fall asleep. As if getting back to her room wasn’t going to be enough trouble already. She frowned, gave her foot a bit of a jiggle, and teetered on the stool.
There was still something there, a gnawing in her stomach, a pull just under her eye, that distinct cry at the back of her muddled mind that kept reminding her that by noon tomorrow she should be home. Well, more like be evening after she’d slept this off, but what’s a few hours, anyway?
The stool ground against her rear as she shifted her weight again. Noon, evening. It wasn’t like anyone expected her to be on time. Her hand tensed aroung the glass. She threw her head back, downed it in one gulp. That would show the anxious growl in her stomach. She clutched the edge of the bar as her head snapped back, blinking at the slowly swaying room.
Lyssa banged the empty mug down on the counter and caught the barkeeper with a bleary stare. Another round would show that voice as well.
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1264
Word Count : 353
Word of the Day : Inure - to make accustomed or used to something painful, difficult, or inconvenient; to harden; to habituate;
I had thought this might be a series, but I got two out of it and thought more might be overkill and that the two were rather disjointed anyway. So here is part 1.
Hand wrapped tight around her glass, Lyssa stared into the depths of the still, red spirits within. The stool beneath her felt solid enough, and the counter against her arm. The rest of the world she wasn’t so sure about. There was a man behind the bar, shuffling about, with the drip and plop of liquid on liquid, the clink of glass and clatter of coins. The crowd behind her hummed on the periphery of her hearing, voices flowing together into a soft buzz like so many insects.
She scrunched her nose and squinted her eyes, as if contorting her face might help her pick any one voice from the multitude, as if it mattered what any of them were saying anyway. She blinked. The glass rocked in her grasp, its contents rippled. She shook her head, forced the noise back to its obnoxious, half-heard drone, and shifted shakily in her seat.
The toe of her boot scuffed against the floor, waves of pins and needles shooting up her calf through a fog. Lovely time to fall asleep. As if getting back to her room wasn’t going to be enough trouble already. She frowned, gave her foot a bit of a jiggle, and teetered on the stool.
There was still something there, a gnawing in her stomach, a pull just under her eye, that distinct cry at the back of her muddled mind that kept reminding her that by noon tomorrow she should be home. Well, more like be evening after she’d slept this off, but what’s a few hours, anyway?
The stool ground against her rear as she shifted her weight again. Noon, evening. It wasn’t like anyone expected her to be on time. Her hand tensed aroung the glass. She threw her head back, downed it in one gulp. That would show the anxious growl in her stomach. She clutched the edge of the bar as her head snapped back, blinking at the slowly swaying room.
Lyssa banged the empty mug down on the counter and caught the barkeeper with a bleary stare. Another round would show that voice as well.