when you see this post a snippet of your WIP
“Afternoon, lovebird.” Valerian did not seem to mind being second best. “I come bearing news well and ill. Which do you want first? Oh! Look at all the colors on your leg, sir. Are you out to be a magician next, starting on transforming your own flesh? Looks about the blue-black of eel skin to me.”
“Good afternoon, Valerian. Which is more urgent? The good or bad?”
“The bad, unfortunately. So the good news is, I’ve got you a new mount. A pretty Andalusian mare. She came off of one of Vendave’s soldiers that Constantine saw fit to strip of his rank. Some offense along the trail against a child, it seemed. So, she’s yours now.” He sat down beside the knight, watching as his bruised leg was wrapped again with a cool salve rubbed into the skin.
“I had hoped you would tell me the more urgent news first,” Alastair admitted through gritted teeth.
Breakfast is cooking. The smell of eggs frying wafts down the hall, along with the morning sounds made by people eating and preparing for the day. Over it all, Nahne is humming happily to himself, stopping only when Garren snaps at him to stop daydreaming and come to the table.
“Save that last bit of marmalade for the boy,” Wil says. “He’s wild for it.”
“You shouldn’t be indulging his sweet tooth. You’ll spoil him.”
“He’s so well behaved, Master. I thought he deserved a treat.”
“Anybody’s well behaved when they can’t move,” Cheeky grumbles. “I like marmalade, too.”
“There’s honey left in the pantry,” Wil offers. “You take that, and I’ll give the marmalade to Darkling. Maybe some sugar will sweeten up your tart mouth.”
“My mouth isn’t *tart.* I just don’t think he should get special treatment if he isn’t special.”
“You’re right, Cheeky.” There’s a weary amusement in Garren’s voice. “He isn’t special, and nor are you, though Wil treats the three of you like his pets. Think of how fortunate you are, to have him looking after you and making sure you have something to be grateful for.” It’s a clear warning. Cheeky murmurs his ‘yes sir’ and soon the only sounds from the kitchen are the clink and scrape of utensils on plates. After a few minutes Wil and Garren turn to talking about the inventory in the shop, and Nahne starts up humming again.
[The first paragraphs I wrote today]
White light flared against her closed eyelids. She could hear running water. The air smelled faintly of flowers.
She opened her eyes. A waterfall trickled over smooth stones. Flowers spread through the grass, swaying with the breeze. Tall trees brushed the sky, and the sun shone high above.
Beside her, Ember lay in the grass, among the flowers. His eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell steadily. He wore a white gown, the collar embroidered with gold.
She reached out for him, but something held her in place. She struggled, trying to get free, but she couldn’t move—couldn’t get far enough to touch him.
Where am I? What’s happening?
Then she glimpsed the gold and purple stars beneath the shifting shades of grass, and she realized it wasn’t real. Those stars were intimately familiar, as she’d often been in the infirmary as a child to get “patched up” as her father euphemistically called it.
Her heart ached for Ember—to see his eyes, to know he was okay—but she didn’t want to wake him. He needed to heal.
“You can’t smoke out here.”
Grayson turned, plucking the cigarette from his mouth only to see Melodi standing in the poorly lit doorway. He retreated from the hall out into the alleyway to smoke in peace while he waited for Melodi’s next show to start.
“You’re confusing ‘can’t with ‘not supposed to’.” Grayson scoffed with a playful smirk and replaced the cigarette between his lips, taking a short draw on it before exhaling the smoke, as if to illustrate the difference. Melodi stepped out of the doorway, made sure it wouldn’t close behind them fully and walked over to stand beside him as he continued to smoke. “This is the last set right?”
“Yeah,” She moved her long black hair to one shoulder, the soft waves watching the poor light and making them shine softly. “Then we can go home and I can get out of these terrible shoes.” Grayson, on instinct, looked down at her feet. The shoes were red, like her dress and had a stiletto heel, making her appear taller than normal. “You should really put that out.” He looked up as she gestured to his cigarette with a nod of her head.
Grayson exhaled softly into her face, blowing smoke that parted and curled around her face. She closed her eyes as she inhaled and then sighed slowly.
“What,” Gray teased, “You gonna snitch on me?” He chuckled but stared in shock as Melodi plucked it from his mouth and placed it in her own, taking in a long drag. “Hey!” He protested, “You can’t smoke, you gotta sing!” Melodi removed the cigarette from her mouth and smiled slyly.
“I think,” She puckered her lips softly and blew the smoke into Grayson’s face slowly as he had done to her, “You are confusing ‘not supposed to’ with ‘can’t’.” Gray opened his mouth but watched in silence as she took another draw on it before handing it back to him and blowing the smoke out away from them both. “Knock when you’re back.”
She turned on her heels and strode through the door, fixing her hair as she went so it laid behind her, covering the low cut out back. Grayson watched her leave and then looked down to the cigarette in his hands, her signature redwood lipstick stain marked where her lips touched the filter. With a soft, disbelieving scoff, Grayson put it between his lips and held it there.