I was out for most of the day rehearsing for tomorrow’s dance performance (why I’ve been put in a dance performance when I can’t walk five steps without tripping over is beyond me, but I digress), so all I managed was 1.1k written during a thirty-minute sprint with Bran Lindy Ayres. Still, that brings me up to 21.2k. Tomorrow will likely be a slow writing day, too, but then I’ve got a few more days after that before I go back to school on Tuesday.
Since I wrote less today, I wasn’t exactly spoiled for choice regarding excerpts. But I found something. Darian is less than impressed with recent developments and more than willing to punch people in the face:
Raoul was Darian’s most consistent companion. He always brought her an extra scarf, or a cup of soup he’d begged off someone on lunch duty.
Darian blew on the surface of the chicken soup he’d brought on this particular day, the steam from her breath mingling with the steam from the soup. They stood at the stern of the ship, watching the propellers churn the water below, leaving a v-shaped wake.
“We’ll be there in a few days,” Raoul said.
“Thank the gods,” Darian muttered. The sooner they got off this ship, the better.
“We’ve got clearance to see what the team’s found, and to visit the excavation site itself. Let me deal with any headaches from the staff.”
“I’ll give you five minutes to deal with it,” Darian replied. “Then I’m stepping in. I’ve had enough of this shit.”
Raoul chuckled, with only the barest trace of real humour. “I believe you. Gods, what a mess.”
“Is Dave coming to the research station?”
Raoul grimaced. “Yes. It’s a large station. We’ll make sure he stays away. I can’t imagine he’s dying to go another round with you.”
“Well, I am.”
“And that’s why he’ll steer clear. I’m certainly not going to hold you back.” Raoul took a long sip of his soup. “Ooh, that’s hot.”
Darian snorted. “Oh, really?”
“Quiet, you. Respect your elders.”
“I’m not a terribly respectful person, as you may have noticed.”
“I have. It’s refreshing.”