The Line of the Day--NO CRITTING

heyjude said:

And THAT was a good LOTD.

Take a bow, my dear.

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Holy s**t - Mike was choking.
No, not just choking, but choking to death.
On one of those radium orange marshmallow candies.
He was choking to death on a goddamned Circus Peanut.

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The palm strap was clever enough as innovations went, but Tombs turned the bracer from physical aid into serious weapon by adding two of the Voivodkin claws where my knuckles would hit if I punched something. I made a fist and struck at the air.

“Screw Wolverine and his adamantium. I got dragon claws.”

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In all her years on the job, Kelli had seen some gruesome crime scenes, but this had to be the worst. Now she felt like a rookie, leaning against the front of the house, bent over and puking.

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With a slight limp, he wove through the spectators until he reached me. "Did you notice anything odd in Placida's walk when you brought her back to the barn? I must have missed something."

I shook my head. "I didn't have time to notice much." I smiled. "Not even to peek underneath to see if she was a mare or a stallion." When he didn't smile in return, I continued, "She seemed agitated. But I don't know her as well as you do, so she could always act that way." I pointed hesitantly at his chin. "You're bleeding."

He dabbed at his jaw with the back of his hand. "It's nothing." He watched the volunteer veterinary staff load the bay mare onto the equine ambulance. He called after them, "I want a copy of your report."

He turned to me again and regarded me with a softer expression. He said in a low voice, "I forgot to thank you properly for taking care of Placida. She’s been with me a long time." As the public address announcer informed everyone half time would be a few minutes early, he added, "Maybe you’d like to have some champagne and stomp some divots with me."

I grinned. "But we just met." He now smelled like Burberry mixed with soap and grass.

Glancing at his watch, he added, "Actually, can you take a rain check? I need to get back to the guys and rustle up a substitute pony. Can you handle the divots on your own?"

I grinned. "I'll do my best. After all, we don't want you landing on your face again."

He laughed. "Just don’t step on the steaming ones."

I glanced at Lilian, who stood nearby looking at me with naked hate. As I returned her stare, she quickly assumed a grimace that I suppose passed for a smile, and hid behind her sunglasses again.

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heyjude said:

Excellent, Nightingale and Chumplet!

Nightingale, I was gasping along with your character. Nice imagery.

Chumplet, I love the brewing romance and conflict.

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recurry said:

Here's my favorite bit from a story I've been working on:

At least, it started out as a single line...

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heyjude said:

Hee. I crack me up.

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Every challenge I posed to Pagan, he met with more complications and higher stakes. As isolated as he'd been, undercover for so long, he'd lost his touchstone. He saw the world through distrustful eyes, and it colored everything. Pagan lived now in an alternative reality, where the facts were twisted to serve his paranoia and the conspiracy that grew to accommodate those facts.

How much of what he'd told me was true and how much fabrication? Had he set himself on a path to martyrdom at the hands of his imagined evil? Or was the heart honest and only the edges bent to his vision?

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