Daily Excerpt Post: 4 November

[jupitersings.livejournal.com]

This is your Daily Excerpt Post!
Post an excerpt of your novel here rather than anywhere else!
Please try to keep it under 1500 words. Thanks!

Comments

[novelized.livejournal.com]

He thinks it's pretty awkward to acknowledge the girls who are clearly only there for the night, so he doesn't. Even if he'll see them in class on Monday. Even if it's someone he's known for more than three years now. It's easy enough to pretend they're not there, though the guys exchange quiet glances when the girls aren't looking. Peter's got his blanket and pillow scrunched up under his arm, trooping down to the empty room at the end of the hall, because his roommate, Jason, has a girlfriend that's apparently trying to set a record for most nights not spent in her own room.

Charlie stops short at his door and watches him for a moment, like she wants to make sure he's not going to topple over or crack his head open on the wall. “Can you make it to bed okay?” she asks, because even though she likes to make it look like she's a tough hardass, she's actually a big softy at heart.

Scott nods and reaches for the handle. He's not that drunk. And his bed's only a short ten feet across the room. “I'm good. Promise.”

“Kay, good. Sleep tight, buttmunch.”

“You too, Chuck.”

She unhooks her arm from around his waist and heads back down the hall, and Scott watches her until she disappears outside. He doesn't have to worry about her, not in Brumley. There are only three dorms, and they make a U-shape at the north end of campus. The upperclassmen girls are only twenty feet from the upperclassmen guys – as if mere brick and plaster could keep them apart – and the freshmen round them out from behind, because there's no better hazing than segregating the newbies.

Scott checks his watch. Quarter til five. He has to wake up in four hours, and he's not even remotely tired yet. But he locks the door behind him, strips down to his boxers, and crawls into bed. Everyone complained about the twin-sized frames at first, the paper-thin mattresses, but he's used to them now. Now, they feel like home. He thinks he'll see if he was wrong about Ben in the morning – if he's in his room, they can ride together. Ben's practically one of the family, and even though his dad always complains about obtaining an extra son that he didn't even help procreate, he knows he doesn't actually mind. And his little brothers love Ben. More than they love Scott, somedays. He's okay with that.

He scrunches his pillow up under his head and stares at the smooth ceramic ceiling. He thinks about the fact that he's still got makeup on his face, though by now it's probably flaked off and runny, caked on below his forehead where he'd been sweating the most. He thinks about the lab report due Tuesday that he hasn't even started yet. He thinks about what Liana Burke would look like naked. He thinks about the fact that he's going to need a haircut soon, and then he stops thinking, and his breathing slows down and labors into loud, heavy snores.

[reynardo.livejournal.com]

The whitewashed room was very sparsely furnished, with only an iron bedstead, two small tables and a couple of simple chairs. The walls showed signs of having been panelled at one stage, but the panelling had been pulled off and the plaster had been Kalsomined. The bed was covered in a dust sheet, and a thin layer of dust covered everything and showed no-one had been in this room for a while. The window's hangings were, by contrast, a fine brocade in what must have been a deep green, now faded. They covered most of the windows, having not been drawn back for some time, and the gloom made it very hard to see much else in the room. Robert strode over to them and went to open them.

"I wouldn't be doing that, sir..."

Rosie's warning came a moment too late. The fabric, damaged beyond recovery, shattered into flakes in Robert's hands and came fluttering down in a shower of faded green. The two looked at each other in horror then burst into peals of laughter.

"Them old hangings have been like that for years. Hain't been any reason to change them, this room not being used. We just dust it every month, and take care not to touch the windows. You look summat strange there, sir!"

"I feel rather silly, Rosie, and that's the truth. Never mind – I shall confess to Mr Briggs, and I'm sure my sister has some old curtains she can donate. Shall we go on?"

[ayumidah.livejournal.com]

There's a soft clicking noise nearby and Nick holds his breath, uncertain if it's friend or foe, but his answer comes quickly when a soft red dot appears between the thief's eyes. The look on Nick's face must give it away as the targeted man looks up and immediately freaks out. "No!"

"Drop your gun," Nick orders tightly, uncertain where the laser is coming from but willing to take the advantage. "Drop it! NOW!" With a jerky motion from the man, the younger thief drops his gun thankfully. "Now you," he repeats, gun still leveled at the leader's chest. "Don't make me say it a third time."

"I'll get you, cop," the thief growls before reluctantly letting the gun drop from lax fingers. As soon as it hits pavement, the laser point disappears completely, as quickly as it arrived earlier. Nick notes what direction it had to have been coming from before collecting his handcuffs and working on securing all three men before backup could arrive.

"He's my brother," the youngest thief whispers sadly, his voice cracking mid-way through the sentence, his large blue eyes pitiful behind the mask. "All I have left... I'm sorry." Nick's heart goes out for the kid but there's little he can do for him now; he'll be in juvenile detention before night's end.

[draken-write.livejournal.com]

NaNoWriMo Username:drakenhart
Any background information: Dark Elves - styled after the older myths of the Norse/German peoples. Lots of Norse, German, Dutch, Swedish etc word usage mixed in with a dash of Gaelic for flavor. Words in (parentheses) are to be replaced with words from their language once it has been worked up more.
Excerpt:
Hexer slowly regained consciousness, as his mind swam upward and outward once more through the hazed brain-fog. His senses were dulled, and fear twisted his heart into tight knots. He knew he had been poisoned as it wasn't the first time such a thing was attempted. However he never felt so horrible, so distant from his senses, and so weak in limb and mind. He likened it to being an infant not able to crawl, walk, talk, or move. The sheets against his body felt like leaden weight meant to hold him in place. The urge to fight against them and kick them off rose very strongly in his heart and mind, however his muscles didn't respond but for the slightest twitch. Regaining contorl of his body and mind felt like swimming through thick sludge, and his chest hitched as he instinctively gulped for a breath of air.

He sensed someone nearby, but was unable to make out just who it was. The sound of their movement grated on his nerves and a sense of nausea rose violently to the forfront of his senses. He fought it down with all of his will. No need to make things worse after all, to have a healer or worse his own sister clean him as if he were an infant. Such a thought sent electric chills down his spine in revulsion. Some of this negative emotion helped him to further combat the sluggsih rise to conciousness.

His mind was slow and feeble, he was extremely physically tired, his body ached in places he never knew existed, and his vision blurry beyond any measure he understood. Slowly, at a slug's pace, some minor recognition lit his mind and brought him some relief to the horrible feelings developing within his heart. There was a white-gray softness above him he recognized as a tent cloth. Blinking his eyes he forced himself to concentrate harder. Squinting he made out the poles and supports of an inner-tent structure. His brain rolled around with this concept and decided it was the roof of a tent in fact. It took a few mroe heartbeats for his mind to decipher that he was in fact laying down. Suddenly, a wave of vertigo swept over him and he moaned softly as his whole world twisted around. The nausea rose again at this realization, suddenly and violently. This time he felt the bile as it too rose in the back of his throat. It took a force of will to swallow it back down and keep it down.

A feminine shape appeared next to him and softly placed hands on his face, neck, and hands. The texture was soft and somewhat pleasant, but the pressure applied was too much for him to handle. He reasoned to the best of his ability, that the touch was soft for the sensation was that of a healer checking him over. However such a soft touch sent waves of pain through his body the likes of which he knew only when being lashed for disobedience. He moaned again, and the sound of it grated on his alreayd raw nervous system.

When he blinked his eyes again, he made out a familar shape that sent waves of revulsion down his spine and into his stomach. It was Idonea. It must be Idonea if he was this ill, because his sister never let anyone else near either of them excpet that infuriating and flightly healer and by the All-Mother did he hate her. The idea of him so weak under her care, no matter her skill or understanding, made him feel all the worse. For a brief moment he entertained the idea of asking the All-Mother to just let him die. But that was a freedom he was not blessed to obtain. Not yet anyway.

Helias' Children: Grey Daughter

[fluffygremlin.livejournal.com]

NaNoWriMo Username: FluffyGremlin
Any background information: The people were torn apart. Some felt themselves drawn to the night times, always in service of Rath and Ar. Those who were warmed by the sun shied away from the cold darkness and followed the ways of Liau and Agne. There were those, however, who found themselves stuck in the middle grounds, forever staying in the dawns and twilights, praying to Feos and Sio as they worked to make the world at peace.

Excerpt:
Melli thought she could make out a smirk on Rymyn’s face. She could definitely see him nod before he walked past her and Deacon. He stopped in front of the large doorway and stood studying it for a moment before giving a ring on the front a violent tug. The door came open slowly, revealing an ever widening stream of light and warmth as it did.

She hesitated going towards the well-lit room and moved closer to Deacon unconsciously. As much as she disliked the tall man his arrogant air was almost comforting in such an alien place. Rymyn watched the pair of them, his face hidden in shadows. Taking a few deep breaths, Melli walked forward.

She paused next to Rymyn and tried to get her eyes to adjust to the odd half-light of the hallway outside of the room before stepping into the full glare.

“I think your friend is pouting,” Rymyn said to her, leaning in slightly so that he could whisper. Melli shivered in response.
“He isn’t a friend,” she said curtly, “or even an acquaintance. His master does business with my father and he wasn’t given much choice about escorting me tonight.”

“So much for Deacon Humblehearted then,” Rymyn grinned. Melli tried not to stare at his pale eyes as they gleamed in the lamplight. The man glanced back at where the third member of their party was still standing, hand on wounded cheek. Deacon glared back and began walking towards them in a long, slow stride.

Melli turned towards the room and grit her teeth. She refused to be thrust in the middle of the bickering between the Light and the Dark as the Grey People always were. Flicking wet hair over her shoulder, she walked forward.

[fenrischained.livejournal.com]

My breath hung frozen in the air as I walked out on the deck, treading carefully for fear of ice, and leant a moment on the frosty rail, my hands deep in my coat pockets in a vain attempt to ward off the cold. Had they told me our destination – had they even known it – I should have bought furs and thicker gloves in Oxford Street; instead, I was dressed for an English winter, and an English winter, moreover, which I had hardly expected to last beyond November – for then I should have been home, I thought, and able to get my own things back.

Instead, I was somewhere which, by the looks of it, would be hard for any man to survive without great difficulty, and extremes of weather have never been my forte. Stamping my feet for warmth, I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to stop my teeth from chattering.

“You look cold,” Ari remarked, from behind me. I turned at once, a sarcastic response already rising to my lips – of course I was bloody cold! – but bit it back at the last moment. She had, it seemed, been avoiding me since the night she had come to my bedside – if, of course, that had really happened – and I didn’t much enjoy the idea of making it worse by slighting her again.

[altahe.livejournal.com]

The sight of an abandoned cart jolted Shepard from the memory. The cart was shoved to the side near the end of the aisle, halfway hidden between the shelves and several half-unpacked boxes of goods. Two lonely cans of soup perched forlornly in the child seat. Shepard sidled over to the cart as subtly as she could, watching Garrus as he debated aloud the merits of two competing brands of packaged shrimp. He was too engrossed to notice her intentions until it was too late.

“AAAAAAIIEEEEEEE,” screamed Shepard as she launched herself and the cart down the aisle in a thunder of malfunctioning wheels and squealing metal. Together they flew down the length of the shelves, sending innocent shoppers diving out of the way with shouts of surprise. Shepard’s maniacal laughter followed in her wake. The cans of soup sailed from the cart and smashed into the peanut butter display.

Behind her, Garrus sighed and closed his eyes, the packages of shrimp still clutched in his hands.

“Youuu’re jusst enviouuuuus!….” Bluejay’s voice drifted to his ears from the next aisle over, accompanied by the sound of the scene repeating itself.

“Shepard,” he said to the packages of shrimp, “I love you dearly, but I have never desired to ride the shopping carts.”

[tehexile]

“We were looking for you!” piped up another, even larger man, who was completely bald and gave the impression that he had some kind of subdermal plating in his scalp. His lance was technically for use mounted, but Oswald had long ago abandoned his search for a horse that could recognise Hein as a human being.

“And what makes you think I would be in the inn?”

“Well...”

“Are you saying that you believe your Captain, the legendary Oswald the Impenetrable, would do something as shameful as abandon his post to nip down to Gregorio's for a pint?

“No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“S... sir!” yelled Wulfric, pointing with a plated gauntlet at the cell behind Oswald.

“What is it now?”

“The prisoner has escaped!”

“Oh, for the love of...” Oswald turned around to see the cell bereft of both summoner and Goddess, “Men, I will pursue the prisoner! He is still able to cast spells and is therefore very dangerous to those who aren't well defended against magic!”

“Do you want us to escort the deportee out of the gates, sir?”

“Go back to your posts, for Spatula's sake! We can't all be chasing around town while an invading army walks through the front gates!” he roared.

“Spatula?” asked Hein.

“Um... I mean... come on, Lionel, help me find where the idiots have run off to.”

“We're not going to stay and have fun in the dungeon? But you promised!” Lionel glared at Wulfric and sulked, “Oswald-darling never breaks his promises to me! He said he would return for me, and...”

“NOW!” he roared, grabbing Lionel by the arm and clanking back up the stairs, looking for all the world like the main character of Ghouls 'n Ghosts except that Oswald wasn't daft and had his armour doused with holy water every night and his undies reinforced, just in case.

Oswald grabbed a torch from a brace on the wall – plunging the others into sudden darkness that caused Wulfric to fall straight on top of Hein and sending them both down the stairs with a noise like two wrecking balls having an argument. Then they ran into the night.

(( <3 the Ludicrously Heavy Armour Division. Also <3 Lionel's ourageous flirting.))

[starsandauras]

Gilbert made a noise that sounded like agreement or understanding in the back of his throat before suddenly reaching out and dragging Arthur across the desk by his collar. “Now you fucking listen to me, Brows,” he said lowly, dangerously. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on over here, but my current boss only needs a reason, any goddamned excuse to come and invade your sorry tea-swilling ass. I’m more than perfectly willing to make your sister that excuse; it would be so good for my reputation, helping a Nation escape your grasp every century or so. Can you imagine how popular that would make me, and how weak that would make you look, hm?”

[ravenlowe.livejournal.com]

Nero sat alone in the library. He liked coming here to think, as few others often ventured inside. The atmosphere was welcoming, and more importantly it was quiet. This was his room.

Tired, he closed his eyes for a moment enjoying the solitude. When his eyes opened again, the library was gone. He was no longer in the manor, the city or even the country. No, he was home. The familiar pillars called to him. It was just how he left it. Mystified, he stood and took in the wonders around him, breathing the clean air that was blessedly free of modern pollutants. How was this possible?

From over his shoulder a silver butterfly flew past, leaving a glowing trail in it's wake. A feeling of weightlessness overcame him, and he eagerly followed it outdoors into the sunlight heedless of the danger that it represented for him.

He was momentarily blinded by the glare, but slowly his eyes adjusted to the brightness and the landscape before him left him stunned. It was the ocean. Glittering blue and magnificent, it stretched on forever into the horizon. He stumbled forward needing to be closer. There was no place else like this. He was home.

“Nero!” Suddenly the vision wavered before his eyes as a weight plowed into his side sending him sprawling on the ground. The ocean filled his sight for moment longer before the real world faded back into view. Adrien was standing in the shadows next to him, horrified.

Nero looked from the other vampire to their surroundings, confused. They were in the foyer, and somehow the door had been opened, letting deadly sunlight into the manor. The elder vampire was stunned with shock. How had he gotten here? “I was home,” he stammered.

The younger vampire closed the door, then offered a hand to the master. “Come, I shall take you to Ophelia,” he said softly, pity lacing his tone.

The elder nodded as he took the hand and stood. He rather wanted to see Ophelia.