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nanowrimo_lj2008-11-13 12:33 pm
alison-sky.livejournal.com) wrote in nanowrimo_lj2008-11-13 12:33 pm
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Daily Excerpt - November 13th
POST YOUR NOVEL EXCERPT HERE!!!!
Please keep it relatively short, and only in this thread. Thanks!
No more than 4000 words, and please no multiple posts!
Also! Need help with a plot point? Want something to do while you procrastinate? Please utilize the Weekly Plot Help thread to get and give help!
And if this is your first time in the community, feel free to introduce yourself in this thread.
Community Rules
Please keep it relatively short, and only in this thread. Thanks!
No more than 4000 words, and please no multiple posts!
Also! Need help with a plot point? Want something to do while you procrastinate? Please utilize the Weekly Plot Help thread to get and give help!
And if this is your first time in the community, feel free to introduce yourself in this thread.
Community Rules
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Nicholas looked pained at Travis for a brief moment before getting to his feet, slowly walking across the cafeteria.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Janine demanded before Nicholas even got to her table. "Nicholas, we're done."
"When are you going to want to talk?" he asked.
"With you?" Janine asked. "Never."
"We can't just keep ignoring things!" Nicholas insisted. He heard his mobile go off behind him, but ignored it. Travis picked it up, mashing the answer button by accident, aiming for the command to ignore the call.
"Shit," he hissed, bringing it to his ear. "Nick's mobile. He's busy right now being yelled at by his ex." He hung it up as he jumped to his feet, rushing over to Nicholas. He grabbed the inspector by the shoulders, trying to pull him away. When Nicholas refused to move, Travis turned to face Janine. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded. "I understand you're upset, but you've just been a bitch for no reason."
Janine got to her feet, stepping close to the men. Travis could feel Nicholas finally giving in, taking a step back, but Travis held his ground, keeping a tight hold on Nicholas' shoulders. "Travis, this is none of your goddamn business," she hissed.
"It is!" Travis snapped back. "I've known him a hell of a lot longer than you have, so I'd like to think I've got an invested interest in his well being." Nicholas tried to duck away, but Travis tightened his hold. "It hurt all of us; not just you."
"I didn't even want you in the family," Janine spat. "You were only named godfather because your dick was so far up his arse --"
"Never!" Nicholas barked, trying to lunge forward. It was a fair wrestle, but Travis managed to keep his hold on Nicholas, keeping he and Janine a safe distance.
"He never touched me when he was with you," Travis said. "And not since, like it even matters at this point." He and Janine stared heatedly at one another before Travis finally gave Nicholas a nudge toward the door. "S'go home, Nick," he said. Nicholas resisted a few moments before letting himself be led away. Travis glared across the room, making sure anyone who wasn't pretending their their muffins were the most interesting things in the world at that moment knew to keep their mouths shut long enough for them to leave.
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I'd really like to read this. It looks interesting ♥
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http://zeddish.livejournal.com/tag/lamp+light
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It almost doesn’t matter what the person is actually trying to sell, because in each ad is the same who, what, when, where, and how much. No one ever bothers to say why – that sort of thing is entirely understood, it’s all about money. It’s about loneliness. It’s about having no other options. Classifieds are almost as fascinating to read as the actual headliner of the newspaper because in any given twenty words, you can almost always put two and two together. I used to play this game for hours when I had nothing to do. Teenager wanting to give her baby up for a loving home always translated to something like ’16-year-old prostitute who’s eight months along needs to give this child away before her pimp beats it out of her’. When it’s a man seeking his soul mate, it’s really ‘Overweight drug addict looking for a woman to compensate for both his Erectile dysfunction and his lack of money’. I could do this kind of thing all day, between the exotic birds and the adult gigs.
These ads are created by the honest, hardworking peoples of anywhere. The buyers and sellers, always willing to take something off your hands, always willing to give you something new. Certain ads are code for prostitution. An advertisement for something no one would ever by, call Miranda at this number, and she’ll show up at your house ready to tie you up and sew your testicles to your thighs, for a reasonable price. This kind of thing is way more common than you’d expect, and most of time, you’d never know. If, by some miracle, you ever accidentally called that number, she’d breathily answer the phone, and quote her prices. A normal human being would immediately hang up, horrified, thinking it was some kind of joke, on the rare occasion they’d feel the need to buy a gently used beautiful ceramic replica of some celebrity that doesn’t exist.
In the back of the Wisconsin State Journal, in the housing section, was where I met Aaron Bolton. He sold me with the idea of a spacious apartment with a walk out patio. One room for me, one for him, one bathroom to share. Yes, it was fully furnished. Yes, there was parking, cable, utilities, laundry in the building, high speed internet, and air conditioning. Yes, it was on South Park Street, which would eventually become North Park Street, which intersected University Avenue and fell right into campus. Like myself, he was an older freshman, and he needed someone to share the rent with because his original roommate got offered a better place and artfully ducked out on him. In thirty words, he managed to successfully convey his desperation, his highly negotiable price, and all of the perks of living with him in his sweet little apartment on South Park.
I called him.
random!
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"Dodging you say? And why would you dodge when you could very simply tell them there was a dragon about the nearest kingdom, or an animal skinned alive?"
"Are those the newest of the rumors?"
"They are, and they are getting more fantastical by the moment. I have to say though; I never knew some of these people to have such an imagination. Why just a moment ago one of the Squire's that had led the offending drunkards into the Hall was telling a young maiden that he himself was going to be asked by the High Court to take care of a rouge assassin that was killing in outlying villages. No doubt he was trying a little too hard to impress the lass, and yet I believe she fell for it."
Sophia did not doubt that. It seemed people would believe anything without the truth there to counteract the rumors. "How is it that no one has patience to wait for the truth?"
"I suppose you would have that patience?" Tristan asked, his lips curling in a small smile. Her belly flipped at that smile and she had to hide her blush behind the act of taking a drink.
"You would suppose correctly," she said finally.
"Do you not wonder then?" he asked, leaning across the table so that he was closer to her. With the light streaming through the windows along the walls, she could see there were some golden highlights to his hair that matched the specks in his eyes. Oh but she was a horrible person to not look away.
"Of course I wonder," Sophia said finally, afraid she had stared too long, however when she looked up at him again, he was still smiling. "But that does not mean I have to go about giving every outlandish reason possible."
"And what outlandish reasons would those be?"
"What are your theories?" she asked, turning the tables on him. His voice was smooth, soft and masculine. It made her belly tingle and her skin flush to listen to him speak and to know that he was not speaking to another, but to her. Again she reminded herself silently that nothing could come of such a foolish wish. They both were in line as possible High Magi. Their lives already decided for them. It was a wondrous and sad thing.
"I believe that it is nothing more than possibly a King in another kingdom passing away, and so it is sad news, but nothing compared to that of a dragon."
"Dragon's don't exist."
"Don't they?"
"Have you seen one?"
"Not as of yet, but simply because it is not there to be seen does not mean it cannot be seen."
"But isn't the act of not seeing the same as not being there at all and thusly not existing?"
"Only if you believe that they are not there to be seen for reasons other than them choosing not to be seen."
"You make my head spin," Sophia said, putting two fingers to her temple and rubbing in slow circles.
"Good," Tristan said, smiling and leaning back a little. He raised his arms above his head and stretched, showing the lean line of his chest and stomach. A sight that Sophia would not soon forget.
"Do you do this on purpose then? Speak in circles so that one does not know up or down nor can they contest what you have said until they have figured it out."
"It works, most of the time. My Lady Veshar knows what I say."
"She speaks in riddles as well," Sophia said. The High Magi of Wind was so very apart from everything else it seemed, as though she were in a world all her own and saw no one until she chose to see them. Other Novitiate's that were not of the Court of Wind did not often associate with her nor speak to her for that reason. Sophia could count on one hand the number of times she had been in a conversation with Veshar.
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"C'mon Vivian," she encouraged as she came back to help her. "We can't stop now, we're not far enough away yet."
"Far enough away from what?" Vivian choked out.
Just then there was an ear splitting screech from the direction that they had come from. Vivian gasped and both Aurora and Tels both stopped in their tracks.
"Vivian, T, just sit down where you are," Aurora ordered. Tels obeyed, but Vivian was confused.
"What?" she questioned, "Shouldn't we be sprinting off again now? Sure, I think it probably wasn't smart running out here in the first place, but I figure you know what you're doing and we're not just going to sit here now and give up are we?"
"I know exactly what I'm doing," Aurora could not help but snap. They were all scared. "Now, just sit, turn around, and look."
This time, Vivian did as she was told. Off in the distance, at the hill that they had just come from, were figures flying through the air and screaming. They were still close enough that she could make out details of their appearance.
They were human, though about twice as large as any that she had ever seen, and were very pale skinned. They wore some sort of tattered, yet still tight fitting, tan clothing. Not two, but four, powerful golden wings protruded from their backs, and their faces... Vivian could not see their eyes, but she could tell that there was something wrong with their faces.
"They have no ears, and they are all but blind," Aurora explained suddenly. "Our people don't know exactly where they came from, but legend has it that they rose from underground. Others say that they were created then spawned. Either story would support their defects and pale skin. We sit here now because they can not see well in light. They can only see objects well in shadow when they themselves are in shadow. We are still close enough to be at risk of becoming spotted, but if we remain still then chances are they won't even notice us. Thankfully, they also incapable of hearing. Their sense of touch however... they can feel vibrations in the air all around them and their strength makes them lethal hunters."
Just like sharks, Vivian could not help but think.
"I presume that they have a good sense of smell and taste too," Aurora continued, "But I'm glad that I am unable to tell you if that is true or not."
Vivian eyed the Moki with a new found fear. This was too much, she just wanted to go home. She missed Ashton, and Jason, and Taylor. But all she could do was sit there in agony.
"How long will we have to wait?" she whispered to Aurora.
"It depends," she answered, "The Moki like fire and explosions. If they don't suspect that we're still nearby then they will just fly off again."
"And if they think that we're still around?"
"Then they start a search grid, fly out in circles from the mountain, rain down electrical charges at strategic points in an attempt to get us to move. The moment that they spot us, they attack. And once that happens, it's all over."
phone conversation
“Whoa, Rachel,” I blurted, interrupting her. “You don’t have to get that honest with me.”
“Shut up, perv. I’m serious. The coldest bath I ever had was at the beach last summer. You know Venice Beach?”
“Duh.”
“Yeah okay well. I live in Venice with my mom, right? And sometimes when I’m bored I walk out over to the beach and just hang out. So one afternoon I was walking out there and they had that drum circle thing that the hippies do. Just like, everyone has a drum and they just keep making this beat, on and on, never stopping for anything. And I dunno, I’d been out there a million times in my life, and I’d seen them out there drumming a million times too. But that afternoon, I don’t know. It was hot and muggy and everyone walking around the beach felt heavy. You know? Heavy.”
“Okay.”
“So I don’t know why, I was on the boardwalk and I just started running out onto the sand towards the drummers. And I got into the middle of it were everyone’s dancing together, and the drummers were going on and on, and the beat would change and evolve and shift and they would just keep going and I just kept dancing. And all of a sudden I felt the urge to just run into the ocean, with all my clothes on and everything. So I ran right in, and the water was freezing. It was so fucking cold. That’s what your story reminded me of, the cold water. Anyways, I didn’t care, I just floated in the water on my back, feeling the waves carry me out to sea. My ears were underwater so all I could hear was the ocean, and all I could see was the sun.”
“Carry you out to sea? Didn’t a lifeguard come and stop you or anything?”
“Yeah well, I thought the waves were carrying me out to sea but really they threw me back onto the sand.”
“Maybe the ocean was trying to tell you something.”
“Hmm, maybe. My body didn’t forgive me for the rest of the day though. I must have shivered for hours afterwards.”
A pause.
“Hey, you still drinking the wine?”
I looked at my glass and the half-empty bottle. “Yep.”
“Are you drunk yet?”
“Not really. It’s not very strong. You’d probably like it actually.”
“I’m glad it isn’t strong. I don’t want to talk to you tomorrow and find out that you don’t remember anything about our conversation because you were too drunk or something.”
I laughed out loud. “You really don’t know much about being drunk, do you?”
“I’m only fourteen, dude.”
“Huh. I thought you were younger.”
“Everyone says that. I look ten years old. I hate it.”
“No, you don’t look ten.”
“I totally do!”
“I thought you were thirteen.”
She thought about that. “Hm. That’s not too bad.”
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Copyright © 2008 by Lois Eighmy.
You can read more in my journal (http://lmeighmy.livejournal.com)...
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He was bent double in front of the open refridgerator, trying to find something that looked nutritious enough to feed Emily. There were cheese slices, and yogurt in plastic cups, and a container of leftover spaghetti sauce, but none of these things were appropriate. Or were they? He couldn’t certain, as he had no experience in this field. Katherine had always packed Emily’s lunch.
As if she could smell his frustration, Emily appeared in the doorway, silent and ghostly. “Mommy usually gave me a sandwich and a piece of fruit, and cookies for dessert,” she explained slowly, as if Malcolm were the child and she were the adult.
“Right,” he replied, trying to sound as if he’d known that all along. “What kind of sandwich would you like today? Salami and cheese? Peanut butter and jelly?”
Emily stared at him with empty eyes for a long moment before replying. “Peanut butter and honey and banana.”
He cocked an eyebrow at the odd combination, but he wasn’t about to challenge her. If she’d wanted peanut butter and mustard, he would’ve given it to her. He would’ve given her anything that was in his power to give. But he knew that the one thing she truly needed was the one thing he couldn’t bring back: her mother.
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You have another word! :D
(I really like it, btw. The last paragraph was really heart wrenching to me.)
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The fresh rose smell filled her nostrils. Lavender calmed her senses as she layed down in the grass. A butterfly wondered past her looking for just the right flower. Every follower had it's own taste. You had to find just the right one. It was like looking for the perfectly made roll on the buffet line.
The fresh air filled her longs passing on it's regenative energy. She could be here forever. Maybe she had been there forever. She didn't know and she didn't care. Time stood still for her. The wind stopped and all the flowers swayed together and rested. Like a perfect orchestra.
She was laying on the ground looking at the clouds in the sky. A lion passed her, then a car. A face formed. It reminded her of the lion king. The face took detail and started looking familiar. The hair formed into short flat hair that strained to cover the face but could never quite reach. The eyes sunken but in a pretty way. The face formed and she realized why it looked so familiar. It was Jerome. She was laying on the ground, and Jerome was looking back at her from the clouds.
She sat up. It couldn't really be Jerome. It was a cloud. She watched as the face stood still in the sky and other clouds joined it. Shoulders and arms formed in the sky. The arms where long and moved slowly but remand arms none the less. Another object started to form in the sky. It was cigar shaped and moved towards Jeromes cloudy face. Jeromes left arm slowly moved up to the object. The object formed into a hand gun. A small bit of clould came off of Jeromes face. it floated away and formed into a tear shape. The arm reached the gun and the two formed a hand around the handle.
Jennis skin crawled. The air temperature dropped and the color leached from the the flowers. Dripping down form the pettels onto the stems and into the ground. it was like melting wax. Goose bumps crawled all over her skin making her shiver to try and brush them off.
The gun was pushed back and a small cloud came from the tip. It formed into a small cigar shape and flew into Jeromes head. The clouds broke up on impact creating a large whole in his head. Hair went flying in all directions and eye sockets bursted open and flew apart.
The sun was covered by the clouds. It was pitch black and Jenni couldn't see anything anymore. The flowers where gone and barren sand was left in it's place. She crawled along the sand, blinded and reaching out for anything. Something to regain her balance and stand up. But there was nothing there. All the light had drained from the world, and the life turned to dust. She was alone in nothingness. It was unbearable. She layed down on her back and closed her eyes. Anything to take her away from this place. Anything to take her back to Jerome. Something must still be alive, there's always hope if you look.
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“A friend showed him the places where I started to slice them opened~.” The small smile became a grin. The growing look of horror and anger on his face was so pretty. “If you want to be the hero you’re going to have to make sacrifices. Maybe even losing the ones you love for the greater good so to speak.”
“I don’t want to be the hero.”
“Yes, yes you do. I can see it. Your eyes have always been so expressive.”
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“Ask away, son,” said Mr McKinney jovially. “Can’t promise you that we’ll answer, but ask.”
“Where’s Lord Robert’s family?” Edward burst out with no more preliminaries. “I mean, he’s the Lord of the Realm, right -- but where’s his father? His mother? His, his siblings? Grandparents? I mean, I’m pretty sure his Lordship didn’t just spring out of the rose garden as he is now, did he? Where are they? What’s happened to them?”
Mr and Mrs McKinney exchanged a look, clearly wondering whether or not to tell Edward anything. Edward shovelled more food into his mouth, and slurped tea from his mug, waiting.
“All right,” said Mrs McKinney after a while, stepping away from the dishwasher and settling herself in the chair opposite where Edward was sitting at the big kitchen table. “I’ll tell you some of it, to get the edge off your curiosity. But remember, Edward -- this is something that you’re not to splash around, and most definitely never mention it to the master. Not with so much as a word! Get it? He does not like being reminded of those times.”
Reaching the Isles
“Sit here and let me trim your hair.” She pulled out a knife. I stood and backed away from her, shaking my head.
“I will not.”
“We need to change your appearance to make you as unrecognizable as possible. Come on.” She said soothingly.
“I cannot change my face nor my body, I will not change anything else.” I said.
“If you are recognized we will all die.” She said.
“No one has seen me, and what they have seen was nothing as I am now.”
“We can’t afford to lose everything now.” She said impatiently.
“I refuse to allow you to cut my hair.” It was not that long anyway. I did not care that my hair was long, I had no preference, but in my heart I felt I needed to establish myself. I, unfortunately, picked an absurd thing to insist on.
She sighed. “Fine. At least tie it back.”
I agreed to do that and she handed me a leather strand. With all the preparations complete, and all the goods to be sold gathered, we watched as the shore neared. The closer we got to it, the more I noticed a stench coming from the shore. It was an awful smell; rotten fish and too many filthy people together, sewage, animal feaces, things I was sure I did not want to identify.
“Are you all right?” A sailor beside me asked. I shook my head.
“Can you not smell that stench?” I asked him incredously.
“No, we aren’t even close enough to see the people on shore, that’s when we smell it.”
I stared at him in disgusted horror. Beside me, Byrde laughed.
“Someone better fetch him a scarf, I think he’ll lose his breakfast if you don’t.”
“What would I say? That I had an unlucky accident that caused me pain when I breathed their stench?” I asked. Byrde roared with laughter, as did a few other sailors.
“No, that wouldn’t work. We’ll just say you have a disfiguring scar.” The sailor offered. I was handed the scarf and I wrapped it as we did when we raided. The sailor unwrapped it and redid it for me in the style favored on the isles.
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“Eighty-nine minutes. REM sleep was achieved. Activity in the hypothalamus indicates you were dreaming. Dream sequence was recorded to the main drive. Would you like it to be played back for you?”
“No,” Zak said a bit too firmly. “How did I fall asleep?”
“Analyzations indicate the transgression was sudden. There was no prior indication of decreasing sensual aptitude. Presence of an unknown codestream may have contributed to the rapid transgression.”
“Did you analyze it?”
“Affirmative. Stream had no traceable origins. The protocol was foreign in nature.”
Zak stared. “That’s not possible. I programmed you to recognize all possible constructions of data. You could even have a conversation with a food dispenser, and you know how screwed their programming is.”
“I could not communicate with the code stream. It had incompatible protocol of non-basic origin.”
“It didn’t create itself.” Zak tangled his fingers in his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “It must have had a scrambler on it. What’s your theory of how it could induce the state I was in?”
“The codestream analyzation results compared it to organic life. Hence, it is considered by the database to be compatible with organic matter. Since it is a viral stream, it infected you.”
“That makes no sense. I don’t have software for it to execute on.”
“It was executed on my database, which you were connected to via link-up. It transferred over into your cerebral cortex.”
“Forgetting the part about me being infected by an electronic, non-living virus, that means your sick. Makes sense why you’re talking like a system past its obsoletion date. I need to fix you.”
“Negative," the system defended. "I am functioning at 100 percent. I will not permit you to perform maintenance.”
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The prince glanced at his childhood companion. “What is it, Seanán?”
“Whate’er ’appens this day, m’lord, trust t’ know tha’ yer m’friend more’n an’thin’ else.”
Ruaidhrí was silent for a long time. Neither he nor Seanán had spoken in the commoner’s tongue while making conversation since they went to war together for the first time. For an instant, only briefly, the prince felt as though he were but a lad of nine once again, rushing to the castle for his afternoon lesson with the monk Fionn, little Seanán trailing along behind him after a fight with a Norman boy new to Gael. Though it lasted only seconds, the memory, the sensation it caused, brought a soft smile to Ruaidhrí’s face.
“Aye, an’ ye be th’ same t’ me, Seanán. M’life be in yer hands.”
Seanán grinned. “An’ mine in yers.”
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"I'm not sure, Aislin."
The figure suddenly moved and started moving towards them. Aislin and Angus sat paralyzed in fear, unable to call for help. The figure came closer and closer. Suddenly there was a flash of light and a loud bang. AIslin turned around and saw a white robbed council member standing in front of her.
"Come, Aislin and friend, this is not a good time for you to be outside." THe council member scouped up Aislin and Angus and led them to his office in Tiekrom. The walk was silent except for the soft footsepts on the tile floors.
The council member finally stopped at a tall, large wooden door. He muttered something softly and the door opened.
"Faun, wait outside," ordered the council member to Angus.
"Yes, your honor."
"Aislin, come have a seat."
Aislin sat down on one of the big, red plush arm chairs in the corner of the room.
"I am Ospar Dusaro, a council member under Artoonte's rule. I am the weapon smith on this planet."
Aislin looked at Osaro and noticed for the first time that he was young. A few years older than her, but not that much older. He had dark tan skin, jet black hair rand bright emerald green eyes.
"How did you get to be on the council at such a young age?" asked Aislin.
Osparo chuckled and smiled, "I am Artoonte's son and Artoonte is my father."
"Oh!" exclaimed Aislin.
"Yes Now, you'll meet me back here tomorrow to start your training sessions. As a warrior one musc handle all types of weapons."
The door suddenly burst open.
"Father!"
"Thank the gods Aislin is safe! Did you know how dangerous it is for her?"
"Father, Braud is alive and on this planet."
"No! Impossible! He was destroyed with Planet Agora! Oh dear..."
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Trigger and Slim had stayed on the edges of the gathering all night, moving in to score some of the succulent pork and sneak a couple of beers out of Kenny's trunk. But as they were licking the grease and sauce from their fingers and watching the stars rise over the bayou and Lake Jolie Chene, Aubert appeared out of nowhere like a spirit. He smiled, and sat near them, holding a glass of iced tea. Neither of the young men had met him formally, though they'd heard almost as much about Rueben Aubert as about Ms. Albertha Levant. Slim figured he was going to die soon, with so many holy people so soon. He hid his embarrassment by chewing on a rib bone.
"I know you boys already heard what happened tonight, yeah?" Aubert kept his tone light. He even smiled. They slouched a little, and relaxed.
"Yeah, we know. We sorry, too, the Ranger man don' told us. If we'd ha' known, we'd have let him be." Trigger was quick to say. Slim added, "He shoulda said somethin'."
"I agree, Dwan." Aubert used Slim's real name, and looked him in the eye. "He shoulda, but of'times a man don't like to complain. Ain't in his nature to ask favors or tell his problems. Sometimes that works agin’ him, like this time. But you oughta know. Jus' because he don't say don't mean the problem ain't there."
They had stopped staring at their plates and now stared at Aubert. They'd expected an ass-chewing like Porter had treated them to. The pale-white Cajun still sounded friendly. Trigger thought, That's how Dad used to sound when we did wrong.
"I know you boys. Know'd your mamas. Slim, Ms. Angela's a good woman, and she worked hard at the shrimp plant until her diabetes took that foot. You was a small thing then. I know she raised you right, though. Troy, I know you good, you come from a family would rather die than say a lie or steal a penny. Both you know better."
He was still smiling, but slightly, and he sipped his tea. They were both far more ashamed than when they'd confronted Porter - he'd just been scary. But this man knew them, knew their families. He sighed.
"I expect better from you two. Havin' fun is one thing, and it'd be a poor life without a joke. But next time, y'all take care. You about killed a man. A law man from over Texas way that don't know us. It'd look a shame if he'd died."
There was a long pause, and as the three looked at each other and the young men felt their faces grow hot, a stray cat begged for Slim's leftover bones. Aubert waved a bug away.
"Now, don't brood. I'm goin' back to get some of that chicken. And you boys best come get back in with the crowd, y'hear?"
They jumped off the porch rail and followed, the cat bringing up the rear now that she smelled fresh meat.
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He leaned over towards her and offered a hand. “Good morning.”
“Go to hell.”
Oh yes, a wonderful way to start the morning.
He sighed and gave the girl that was only clad in a button down shirt that was far too large for her and a pair of his gym shorts a stern look. “Do not talk that way to me, Candice,” he scolded.
Her upper lip curled in a snarl. “What the hell am I doing here?” The brunette’s voice was clipped, and she did not bother to disguise her ire. She knew where she had been the day before. She had been right where she wanted to be, and he knew it.
“You almost died,” he started apathetically.
“You know what the hell I meant!” she interrupted. Her long hair was messy from sleep and lack of proper care. They had begun to remedy that the day before, but it would take a long time before it was back to the silky mass that he remembered.
He slid his body towards the other side of the bed and sat up. Azmyth reached for the petite woman, but she scrambled backwards until she hit the glass wall that kept her from falling to her doom. The man frowned and snatched her ankle. The shirt hid the shorts that she was wearing, making her appear naked under the button-downed shirt. Until he got her clothes of her own, Candice would have to wear Azmyth’s. The shirt’s sleeves were so long that only the tips of her fingers were visible.
The man kept her still and slid down onto the floor with her. She wanted to be upset? Fine, so would he. His grip was tight on her small ankle, and Candice must have sensed the change in his mood. She pressed herself into the window to try to keep some distance between them, but she still kicked at him a little with her free foot. Before her bare foot could connect with a vital part of the man, he pinned her leg down and kept it down with his own leg.
“You almost died,” he started again. “We brought you back here after we got the water out of your lungs.”
She scowled at him as he leaned closer to her. His voice was low, and Candice could hear anger dripping from it. Candice pretended not to notice and kept up her angry front. He would not hurt her. He had never done so before, so why would he, now?
“Eric checked you over and made sure you were fine. For a full week you had us chasing you around, and you think that you have a right to be upset?”