When I was in high school, working construction part-time (among many other things) we were coming home from a job along the shore. The posted speed limit was low, the truck was seriously overloaded, and we were towing equipment so we were really towing the line, trying to fly under radar. It was one of the reasons we were hugging the coast instead of taking main thoroughfares if you get what I mean.
Seeing how the truck was about fifteen years old and the only form of air conditioning involved rolling down the window - all were down and we were hanging out hoping nature would pity us and send a breeze our way. The job we were headed home from had been in a more "southern" clime and it was warmer than we were accustomed to on top of us being beat-tired and sweated through from work.
That was when we spotted the family off an old rickety boat dock. They had this shiny, pomaded up fiberglass boat sitting deep in the water, clearing her throat with guttural bursts. That's what caught our attention. That and the steady lurch of the truck as we had to almost stop to go over the dratted speed bumps and inevitable koi pond sized potholes that accompanied the same. While the driver cursed we watched and listened as the family readied a wanna-be-water-skier on the dock. A part of me had my jaw hanging thinking, "Oh man, that is so wrong, you got to start in the water..." Another part, most likely the demonic imp that dances on my shoulders just said, "Get ready to watch tis babe!"
The guy on the boat hollered back, "Are you ready Water King?" to which his brightly hued, life-vested, straw hat-wearing, ski-laden, adrenaline junkie - clueless in the art of waterskiing replied, "I am READY!!!"
And the boat took off. Full throttle for all she was worth, all 90-horses screaming, twisting water, sending the boating on a pell-mell course that ran not quite straight but jack rabbited a tad before the pilot got it under control and he spun it out into the open channel. The skier? Um, yeah. He was in the middle of the dock when the growl of the motor signaled all systems go and the fool bent his knees. From there he duck-stepped once, twice, then lost a ski in between the boards of the grey-hued weathered dock planking. Never letting go of the pull rope, he was jerked off his remaining foot, went sky-born for a brief moment, then skipped like a stone across the water as the boat did that odd jig-jag I noted...at that point the boat slalomed him across a sandbar where he lost the second ski - it popped into the air like a toothpick. As the boat caught it's pace - so did the skier - as a kite tail behind the bright skimming silverfish. The Water King never once thought to let go of the pull rope.
I don't know what was worse, the fact that no one on the boat ever looked back to see how he was doing, or that all of his friends on the shore were laughing as hard as us in the truck (who, incidentally almost wrecked said vehicle watching the spectacle). Yes, it eventually all sorted out, but the guy looked like he went five rounds with Ali.
Over the years I wondered, 'why didn't anyone tell him what he was doing wrong?' Was it because of the nickname? There are plenty of people who think they know everything, to the point where the only way to let them learn the opposite is to have them make their own mistakes. Was that it? But...why didn't he just let go? There was even a night where I had a dream where I was in the same position, every time the motor turned on - I dropped the line. On a lark I sat and meditated, put myself in that position... My first roadblock was trust. I don't have a wealth of it. Not for anyone. Certainly not in that type of situation. Given my dislike of water, it took a long time to get to the stage where I could re-enact the scene.
Anticipation, wanting something so much then having it within your grasp then - BAM! - shock as everything goes from standing still to instantly moving faster than perception can adjust, faster than the body can move. Breath burns, shoulders tear, body attempts to keep up - failure! Pain as one ski is ripped off. Then hit the water. Not a soft hit but like razors, the surface hitting the body with wet slaps and smacks a moment before rolling you across a dirt and sand riddled bar then tearing forward again, this time pulling off sections of skin from arms and legs and the head. All the while looking at the back of the boat, the instrument pulling you - something that was intended to be fun but what is now torturous - and wondering at all the averted faces...why haven't they looked back once? Has it been that fast? Or has it just seemed that long to me?
Now, are you ready for your decisions in life? Sure not everything needs thought out like the Water Kind should have done, but you'd be astounded how often small things should be given that kind of attention. You know, 'the butterfly effect'. Only I like to think of it as, 'are you ready Water King?' Well? Are you ready? Things are getting pretty real out there to make bad decisions let alone to hold on way too long.
Just something to think about while I work on type-type-typing.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Friday, April 19, 2013
stress buster
With all the insanity that's been going on this week - the bombing in Boston, the ricin laden letters, the horrific explosion in Texas - it has been pretty impossible not to sit in front of the television and overdose on news or turn on the radio, blissing out on a buffet of all-day talk show buzzwords. At one point I thought my blood pressure was going to hit critical mass.
Worst was, I couldn't play my violin, we have peeps in the pantry again...lol. Last week it was duck peeps, this week we are on chicken peeps - golden sonic and a variety of Chinese cuties that are simply darling, plus four Guineas. The ducklings have been moved to the bird barn, so no outdoor playing, I don't need to freak out the farm animals. Not yet at any rate.
So, here I was stressed like a kettle on boil with no way to let off steam and writing wasn't working. In a last ditch effort I called a friend who laughed and told me to "just make something crafty, you know, you are pretty creative..." Then it hit me, I could draw and do so many things! But I also had way too much energy to settle for that. Grabbing my Illustration Now! Portraits book I plunked down on the couch and dug in, looking for inspiration. Instead I found the peace I'd been looking for, and not a bit of inspiration as I filled some pages of a notebook with ideas with plotlines and characters and settings.
Tonight I thought to share with you some of the artists from the book in case you feel an urge to wander the 'net to have a look/see for yourself.
Lisel Ashlock has a wonderfully real texture to her work, the colors are vibrant, earthen, organic. Portraits always seem to have an element to them that an observer would see but dismiss until later when the nature of the symbol clicks with subject. Brilliant and beautiful.
In the work of Montse Bernal there are focal points within the portraits, highlighted by the mixed media: embroidery, pen, color pencils, collage. Lips are stained blood red, eyes kohl black, a shirt in vibrant hues, hair done in sausage curls - so many points of accent but never garishly so.
The pop surreal painting portraiture of Lesja Chernish - very much like Mark Ryden. My favorite in the book is that of the Sisters, the pair look so tranquil they'd be very much at home in a Verse Advice tale. Snaps to anyone who gets the reference.
When it comes to the portrait art of Alexandra Compain-Tissier, I have to admit a bit of a preference - in that for me, it is her pencil on paper art or nothing. She truly does seem to have a gift for capturing faces best in the media - at least to me, Infernal Affairs speaks for itself.
There are maybe five more artists in the book that can capture my attention for hours, but of those one of my favorites has to be Tomer Hanuka. If Hanuka has ever done an ink/digital combo that doesn't please the eye, I've yet to have see it. I can sit and marvel at The White Stripes and find something new to appreciate no matter how many times I return to it - it's outstanding. Kill Bill is just a work of freaking art.
When I'm not nearly mellow enough to create my own art, I seriously love to mellow out with these guys. Can't recommend getting to know them and their compatriots any higher. It's well worth your time.
Worst was, I couldn't play my violin, we have peeps in the pantry again...lol. Last week it was duck peeps, this week we are on chicken peeps - golden sonic and a variety of Chinese cuties that are simply darling, plus four Guineas. The ducklings have been moved to the bird barn, so no outdoor playing, I don't need to freak out the farm animals. Not yet at any rate.
So, here I was stressed like a kettle on boil with no way to let off steam and writing wasn't working. In a last ditch effort I called a friend who laughed and told me to "just make something crafty, you know, you are pretty creative..." Then it hit me, I could draw and do so many things! But I also had way too much energy to settle for that. Grabbing my Illustration Now! Portraits book I plunked down on the couch and dug in, looking for inspiration. Instead I found the peace I'd been looking for, and not a bit of inspiration as I filled some pages of a notebook with ideas with plotlines and characters and settings.
Tonight I thought to share with you some of the artists from the book in case you feel an urge to wander the 'net to have a look/see for yourself.
Lisel Ashlock has a wonderfully real texture to her work, the colors are vibrant, earthen, organic. Portraits always seem to have an element to them that an observer would see but dismiss until later when the nature of the symbol clicks with subject. Brilliant and beautiful.
In the work of Montse Bernal there are focal points within the portraits, highlighted by the mixed media: embroidery, pen, color pencils, collage. Lips are stained blood red, eyes kohl black, a shirt in vibrant hues, hair done in sausage curls - so many points of accent but never garishly so.
The pop surreal painting portraiture of Lesja Chernish - very much like Mark Ryden. My favorite in the book is that of the Sisters, the pair look so tranquil they'd be very much at home in a Verse Advice tale. Snaps to anyone who gets the reference.
When it comes to the portrait art of Alexandra Compain-Tissier, I have to admit a bit of a preference - in that for me, it is her pencil on paper art or nothing. She truly does seem to have a gift for capturing faces best in the media - at least to me, Infernal Affairs speaks for itself.
There are maybe five more artists in the book that can capture my attention for hours, but of those one of my favorites has to be Tomer Hanuka. If Hanuka has ever done an ink/digital combo that doesn't please the eye, I've yet to have see it. I can sit and marvel at The White Stripes and find something new to appreciate no matter how many times I return to it - it's outstanding. Kill Bill is just a work of freaking art.
When I'm not nearly mellow enough to create my own art, I seriously love to mellow out with these guys. Can't recommend getting to know them and their compatriots any higher. It's well worth your time.
Monday, April 15, 2013
death of Hope (part 1)
Audience participation time! This is something I've been contemplating for a while, writing from the point of the dog. Now, as you can see from the title the planned ending is a bit...grim. Only you the reader can change that. So unless you comment and get involved it's going to end ugly for our puppy. Not necessarily as foreshadowing here indicates either. It's all to raise awareness for animal abuse, so it is for a good cause. Think of this like a BIG 'Choose Your Own Adventure' story. but if you don't play you can't complain if it doesn't turn out any better than you want it to.
... ... ...
... ... ...
Snuffling
warmth, in a pile of furry paws and tails the others shift hoping for a bit of
mom’s affection. Stretching and yawning, falling out of the pile and into the
sunlight something new, foreign snakes across my path. Curious, my teeth worry the
intruder until it’s pulled sharply from my mouth causing pain and a yip as I
scurry back to my worried mother.
Only the
opening to the box has been closed. My nose bumps into a solid wall. Scared, I
whine as my bladder lets go, it’s instinct to show I’m not top dog. There are
loud noises above me – thunderous. My body shakes harder. My tail tucks hard
against my belly, I’m all wet and scared.
Hands reach
down and pick me up, dragging me up towards those loud frightening noises.
Please, just let me go back to my mother. Just let me go back to where it’s
safe and warm, my heart cries. Lifted up, the world sways, sickeningly so, but
I can see for a heart-stopping moment the nest I knew, the warmth, the love all
the licks of her tongue, the nips of her teeth, the liquid love of her eyes. Then
came the slam of the door and the cold bite of air as the swaying noisome things
clutching me made for a foul smelling box that hurt my eyes. But it was strange
this air, it burned my nose, made it sneeze and itch. I wanted to cry but the
creature holding me made growling sounds that scared me. Sounds that made my
heart tremble and beat crazy fast.
Clambering
into the shining box, I couldn’t hold in my cries, the creature holding me
wrapped something around me, they closed us in and my howls echoed back making
me even more afraid. I felt like the only dog in the world. Light glinted, reflected
and exploded, heat built up, and I bark and cried, but it only made me
exhausted. The creature held me tight, the shining box swayed and bucked and
lurched. Pant…pant…pant…
Awake!
What is this thing around my neck and
why is it so heavy?! The creature put me down – outside! In the grass and dirt –
yes! But I have this heavy thing
around my neck. I try to step and for every third step I fall on my face.
Looking down I can see I’m dragging something. What…? The creature picks me up
and puts me in this huge cold box with a roof. It smells of another dog. Slowly
I investigate. The creature keeps chanting some noise.
“Hope,
Hope, c’mere here, girl. Hope, come on,” the rattle of something gets my
attention and I look up. It smells like food, I try to bite but the pieces are
too big and too hard. Loud noises sound over my head as I worry at the pieces
of food, treating them as toys. Feeling thirsty, I look for another bowl, but
don’t see any water.
Thirsty, I
lift my head and sniff the air. So many scents! Grass, wood, rot, the
creatures, and more, but my belly rumbled and my mouth was dry so I sniffed and
scented again and again looking for the tang of water, whimpering when I couldn’t
find what I wanted. Hopping down, I walked out until I couldn’t go anymore then
dragged myself one way then the other looking for water. In the end there was
something that slaked my thirst, but it wasn’t very good and it made my belly
hurt.
The light
was getting low. I was all alone. It was cold. The food was no good. I wanted
to go home. Turning I saw the covered box I had left. Tail low, I drag/tripped
back inside and cried my sadness to the heavens. Still not a dog replied. Was I
the only dog left?
“Hope, c’mon,
wake up Hope…” the noise started again today. So tired. So hungry. So cold. Shivering
and stumbling, I made my way over to the two-legged one crouched by the food
pan. Maybe today it put something there I could eat? Hope bloomed in my heart
only long enough to see that nothing new was there. Just the same too hard to
eat pieces. Not even water. Crying, I went and stood over the pan, but the
creature didn’t seem to understand. It touched my head and walked away.
Three
days later…
Rain pattered
on the top of the box. The smell of water surrounded was everywhere, wriggling forward;
she licked the food pan and whined at the salty flavor. Her stomach ached from
too many days of drinking out of the polluted puddles in the yard. No food to
balance out the toxic mix hadn’t helped. Now the rain water softened up the old
hard dry so her milk teeth could tear it to bits.
Bright
lights flashed in her eyes and she growled at the sharp invasion, barking madly
defending her only meal in so long. A two-legged creature stood in the rain
leaning over, peering into her box. It spoke low, calmly. Still she barked,
this was her meal!
* * *
A week on
the road and he had to come home to this, no doubt his wife was having
hysterics already. Knocking on the neighbor’s door, he plastered a fake smile
on his face. “Heya, Earl. Didn’t know ya got a new dog.”
“Yeah,
got me a beagle pup, named her, Hope ‘cause I hope she’s a good one.”
“Well,
don’t forget you got to train her up properly, and they need a special diet.
You can’t just take them out in the woods and instantly get rabbits and birds,
you know.” Jim smiled affably wanting nothing more than to punch this moron
right square in the face.
“Nah, it
ain’t all that, Jimbo,” he brayed like a jackass swatting his knee. “You just
take ‘em out into the woods, let ‘em do their thing. It’s second nature.”
James
sighed. He hated the “Jimbo” thing. “And what if it isn’t ‘second nature’ Earl,
what then?”
“Why then
it’s even easier,” his neighbor smiled in that loose way that signaled no one
was home at all, “you just come home empty handed.” With that he shut the door
in his face.
James was
almost home before he realized that was what happened with the last hound,
Pete. The hunting trip where Earl had gone out with a dog and come home with ‘empty
hands.’
Sunday, April 14, 2013
my inner nerd
Color me a touch heartbroken the other day, but after reading the pitiful articles covering the media event, I've almost decided whatever eventuality awaits humankind has been earned by our ignorance and arrogance. Every article had the same singular quote from Hawking. Why even bother repeating it here? There wasn't even a reference to any science! It was like no one present asked him a question, like, "Sir, what did you base this hypothesis on?"
Given the way the reporters all pitied the man by disparaging how long he's lived with ALS beyond the average life expectancy, it's a wonder none of them suggested dragging him into the street like a mortally wounded animal needing put down. The rest just snootily condescended how we've managed to overcome greenhouse gas emissions with the latest technology and the like.
Um, hello?! Look at the Universe. Look at our planet. Look at the debris field in space and the size of the floating mound of crap in the Pacific Ocean and feel a wealth of pride. Never mind. What he had to say wasn't merely about pollution. It had so much more weight behind it. If you think on the scale of a Universe, then you have to think BIG. Now look at this world, this planet, think of the fragility of life, what it takes for life. NEEDS versus WANTS. For life you need air and water. Without air and water we as a species cannot survive, correct?
What will happen in the next thousand to perhaps ten thousand years? The process of the magnetic poles for the planet will begin reversing - at least that is the speculation based on the change in size of the planet and its revolution path. Something I've been tracking as fodder in one of the data folders for my science-fiction trilogy, Havoc. (Havoc's file is immense and fun for any geek to read.) Even if changes start small in a thousand years time, small changes will be catastrophic for living organisms. Meaning? Some speculate increased geothermal activity translating to shifting tectonics aka earthquakes, and upper atmospheric changes as well as rotation slows, but that is much farther into the future when the ice-walls build on the planet surface...you know, the next ice age. All of this could last a hundred years or a millennia, based on evidence found in the ice caps which show these periods of transition happen with regularity. Only it hasn't happened in a time since man emerged from the primordial ooze so we've gotten cocky. Face it. We ARE cocky. It happens since we're at the top of the food chain. And at this point I'm sort of aggravated and disgusted with my own species blind stupidity. Perhaps as Mr. Beagle once said in The Last Unicorn, (and I'm paraphrasing here) 'maybe one day when rabbits write books they'll think kindly on us.'
I've often wondered, after watching admirable people like Mr. Hawking tenaciously work on in their fields despite debilitating illness, if there wasn't something to the need to see your genes pass on. Why it's harder to kill some of us than others. Genetic imperative, sort of like the biological clock, the drive to preserve life. Why some last longer than others - proving even the "law of the fittest" completely and utterly wrong. Unless of course they can circumvent that, by pure deviousness and cunning and intellect. Not every village needs a swordsman.
Given the way the reporters all pitied the man by disparaging how long he's lived with ALS beyond the average life expectancy, it's a wonder none of them suggested dragging him into the street like a mortally wounded animal needing put down. The rest just snootily condescended how we've managed to overcome greenhouse gas emissions with the latest technology and the like.
Um, hello?! Look at the Universe. Look at our planet. Look at the debris field in space and the size of the floating mound of crap in the Pacific Ocean and feel a wealth of pride. Never mind. What he had to say wasn't merely about pollution. It had so much more weight behind it. If you think on the scale of a Universe, then you have to think BIG. Now look at this world, this planet, think of the fragility of life, what it takes for life. NEEDS versus WANTS. For life you need air and water. Without air and water we as a species cannot survive, correct?
What will happen in the next thousand to perhaps ten thousand years? The process of the magnetic poles for the planet will begin reversing - at least that is the speculation based on the change in size of the planet and its revolution path. Something I've been tracking as fodder in one of the data folders for my science-fiction trilogy, Havoc. (Havoc's file is immense and fun for any geek to read.) Even if changes start small in a thousand years time, small changes will be catastrophic for living organisms. Meaning? Some speculate increased geothermal activity translating to shifting tectonics aka earthquakes, and upper atmospheric changes as well as rotation slows, but that is much farther into the future when the ice-walls build on the planet surface...you know, the next ice age. All of this could last a hundred years or a millennia, based on evidence found in the ice caps which show these periods of transition happen with regularity. Only it hasn't happened in a time since man emerged from the primordial ooze so we've gotten cocky. Face it. We ARE cocky. It happens since we're at the top of the food chain. And at this point I'm sort of aggravated and disgusted with my own species blind stupidity. Perhaps as Mr. Beagle once said in The Last Unicorn, (and I'm paraphrasing here) 'maybe one day when rabbits write books they'll think kindly on us.'
I've often wondered, after watching admirable people like Mr. Hawking tenaciously work on in their fields despite debilitating illness, if there wasn't something to the need to see your genes pass on. Why it's harder to kill some of us than others. Genetic imperative, sort of like the biological clock, the drive to preserve life. Why some last longer than others - proving even the "law of the fittest" completely and utterly wrong. Unless of course they can circumvent that, by pure deviousness and cunning and intellect. Not every village needs a swordsman.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Friday Flash - a taste of Fang Tower
Sorry this Friday flash is on central or west coast time, but my internet ran out, had to wait for free time. This is a sneak-peek at Fang Tower, Dog Wild book 4, so yeah, it's not written in stone. Next week maybe you'll get a look at one of the other volumes I'm working on at the same time: two I'm actively working on and a third I'm about two thousand words into with plot-lines started, so... ask! The titles are Crazy Cat Lady, Legal Beagle, and Cool Rider.
Beyond that, here's your eye candy.
* * *
Beyond that, here's your eye candy.
* * *
The hands of the
clock near the door showed a few seconds past four when the ever-perky Nurse
Joy sailed through for Gail’s hourly check. Every hour on the hour Joy swept
into the room with her cute little chipmunk cheeks dimpled in a happy smile and
began the process of poking, prodding and monitor checking. True to form, the cartoon
clad nurse shone a light in her eyes and grabbed a wrist lightly humming in
tune to the piped in music still circulating over the speakers.
“I thought the
reason people stayed was to get rest,” Gail was pissed. Her voice still slurred,
her head still hurt and things seemed to have a weird aura to them. She was
starting to look forward to seeing the big orderly who pushed her bed around
with all the empathy of a grocery cart. He at least, still appeared perfectly
normal when she looked at him. The doctor had this funny glow and good old Joy
practically gave off light in the dark, it was an odd greenish glow that didn’t
touch her skin or looks but was just there. Like a nimbus or a corona. After a
few seconds of staring the haze faded and Gail felt her hopes rise. Maybe it
was just a side effect of the concussion or the anesthetic.
“I am sorry, but I
do have to wake you every hour to
make sure you sleep normally and don’t fall into a coma.” Gail stared slack
jawed at the peevish teacher-like voice. Hello? Just because she had a
concussion didn’t mean she was knocked brainless. She was pissy and hurt, she
should be allowed to bitch. Joy picked that moment to poke her fingers at the
base of Gail’s skull. Reflexively, she grabbed the smaller woman’s wrist and
squeezed. Hard.
“I do unnerstan’.
But let me explain somethin’ to you.” Gail fought to keep her voice strong; her
traitorous tongue wanted to do the Tequila Tango. “That fuckin’ hurts, it hurt
an hour ago, and it’ll hurt an hour from now. Leave it the fuck alone.” Gail
nearly dropped the woman’s wrist as the glow flared back into existence turning
from lime green to a weird pumpkin. Instead of shimmering it pulsed in time to
Joy’s heartbeat. Slightly freaked she dropped her grip.
“Jesus…nurse Joy
and pumpkin bolts of lightning...Raichu isn’t it? I see it now, this is like a
joke. I am stuck in some Pokémon nightmare.” Almost instantly the glow steadied
and resumed the green shimmer before fading.
“I hear the
Pokémon thing a lot more when I work pediatrics. That’s my regular beat if you
can tell.” The younger woman attempted a strained smile as she indicated her
cartooned uniform. “I didn’t know you had a kid. You know, to know about Nurse
Joy.” Gail’s eyes drooped. The need for sleep was winning out over her pain and
irritation.
“No kids, guys on
crew…I babysit some…go birthdays.” It seemed like all she did was blink and the
clock went from reading quarter past four to five and again to six. Someone
must have taken pity because the next time Gail pried her eyes open sunlight
flooded the room through half-closed window slats.
“Gail,” breathed a
voice from the shadows, “how are you girl?” She squinted at the dark shape in
the chair.
“Mr. Seiff?” her
voice sounded froggy. Reaching unsteadily she found a small plastic cup, beaded
with moisture sporting a straw. The water tasted better than it should have and
she nearly forgot about her visitor as she looked around for a way to refill
the now empty cup.
“Ah, here you go,
Gail.” He stood up and set something on her knees as he picked up a mauve
colored plastic pitcher and refilled her cup. “I wanted to ask you what you
remembered from yesterday. And to show you how lucky you were just to have a
concussion.”
Gail struggled to work
the confusing buttons on the bed to allow her to sit without turning
contortionist. Something of her feelings must have shown on her face because
the careworn features of her boss broke into a huge smile. “Hospital beds
bite,” he agreed as she wrestled with the sheet and alleged blanket.
“What’s this?” she
gripped a broken piece of bloody plastic in her hand.
“That, Ms.
Hardesty, is what is left of your hard hat.” The voice came from her left,
startling her so much she nearly fell out of the bed as she jerked in reaction.
It was an incredible voice, dark and deep like an opera singer, full bodied.
The man, however, was unusually ordinary. Dark brown hair framed an almost perfect
face. The lines of his cheeks, nose and jaw had a rugged cast rather than
scalpel smooth flawlessness turning what could have been breath-taking male
beauty down the road to regular Joe.
Yet, there was
something that drew her gaze, changed her heartbeat and made her hormones want
to howl at the moon. Blinking, Gail tried to understand her reaction to the
stranger sitting relaxed at her bedside. Then it struck her, the weird aura
thing she’d been experiencing didn’t just surround him like an indelible line,
it played along his features like a lover’s paintbrush. There was a bluish cast
to the skin of his tented fingers and relaxed face. Yet around his eyes and
mouth there was a crimson film. For a moment she could have sworn that the gold
of his irises actually glowed under his dark brows.
Without thinking
she shook her head to clear it and nearly bit off the tip of her tongue as pain
exploded behind her eyes. Like the night before it seemed to want to rip
through the top of her head at the one spot on the left. “Son of a bitch,” she
moaned massaging her fingers around her eyes and cheeks trying to loosen some
of the excruciating pressure-pain.
“Ms. Hardesty?”
the incredibly sexy voice drew her like a magnet, regardless of the throbbing. His
voice had texture, she marveled between heartbeats of misery. Then she nearly
lost the battle between her heaving stomach and the titling room as she looked
at the unknown man again. The burst of aural color had fled and this time his
skin tinged blue, eyes glowed gold and the sharp, bloodstained teeth of a
predator smiled at her as the shadows coalesced into the shape of dark wings.
Gail screamed in terror before her mind short circuited sending her into
oblivion.
“Women
don’t usually fall at my feet,” Kyle Atwood joked. He had just barely managed
to grab the woman’s shoulders before she could tumble out of the bed. She had
been as much a surprise to the vampire prince.
“Damn,
I hope that head injury didn’t screw her up permanently. We need her,” Sieff
patted a pale hand, tucking it beneath the covers as he pushed the alert button
next to the bed summoning a nurse. Kyle arched a dark brow at the other man’s
skewed sense of concern. For millennia humanity had accused his people of being
unfeeling, but nothing compared to modern America for a true lack of
compassion.
“Oh
don’t get me wrong,” the older man caught the look of amused disgust on Kyle’s
face. “Gail is a great lady. She’s more than just a construction project
manager to me. Almost like a daughter, I’ve known her so long, but I know how
bad she hates being laid up. Last year some fool accidentally shot her in the
leg with a nail gun.” With a shake of his salt and pepper head over the memory,
Sieff grinned in pride at the limp woman. “Never known for her fainting, she’s
plenty tough. That day she gritted her teeth, glared down the cowboy with the gun
and picked up a claw hammer cool as you please and pulled the nail out.”
Kyle
stepped back from the bed, at once repulsed by the casual pride the other man
took in the woman’s unfeminine spirit yet oddly attracted to her strength. It
seemed like only yesterday that women were feted and cosseted, every whim
indulged and every injury fretted over with the greatest of care in regard to
their more delicate constitution. In the space of a mere handful of years woman
had truly evolved into the more deadly of the species of man.
Curiously
he stared at her true face revealed under the duress of pain and wondered if
she would be the one. Marble cool skin the color of unpainted porcelain slid
smoothly under a questing fingertip. She glowed with life, energy and potential
as brilliantly as the moon. For all he knew, she could be equally unattainable.
A
heavyset nurse bustled into the room with a scowl on her face. Breathing deeply
Kyle read the woman in consternation. She was more concerned with merely
shutting off the alarm and returning to her romance novel secreted in the stock
closet where she was supposed to be doing inventory. Disregard and a lack of
caring flowed from her pores like a tang of filth.
Stepping
to the side he allowed the slovenly woman to brush against his clothes and
stiffened in revulsion. She was utterly focused on the value of her paycheck
and the expensive quality to the ‘harlot’s’ visitors. The woman had a penchant
for “tidying” the personal effects of patients and visitors alike. A sudden
wave of protective warmth rose and flooded his mind with the need to keep the
greedy thief from inflicting harm on the woman before him. Instinctively Kyle
stepped forward and plucked the sweaty plump hand from Gail’s.
“Get
a doctor. Now.” He growled through teeth bared in a parody of a smile.
Incredibly the woman still tried a pathetic attempt at an old pickpocket
maneuver, the bump and dip, as she moved to leave the room. Kyle forced icy
calm through his veins and allowed the foolish woman to win a small token piece
of jewelry, a gold cufflink. His dogs would track the scent back and render
proper judgment.
A
younger harried looking doctor walked into the door and paused, staring wide-eyed.
Kyle gave an imperceptible nod and the young neurologist hastened forward
frowning lightly. Even to one of the lesser bloods Kyle mused, her identity was
revealed by scent, appearance and her very touch. Lightly her eyes fluttered
and opened. Dilated with shock and something more, the warm hazel orbs had
drained in color showing only the brilliant red-gold threads gleaming fire,
bright against the muddy green humanity boiling away from her very soul.
Silently
he stared, considering Gail Hardesty, the future and all it could hold.
Clasping Sieff’s shoulder in a gesture of support he turned directing a final
fulminating glance at the dazed prone woman before leaving. There were many,
interesting things for his attention. Things like the worm Cody Barnett and his
unusual hold over men who should have been more loyal to the stricken Gail
Hardesty.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
the vagaries of service
I'd love to have a real and I do mean interesting reason for why I haven't posted since last Friday. Sure, I could blame the fact we started construction on the bird barn. Most would call the new edifice a chicken coop, but since it'll be home to a combination of ducks, chickens and geese...well, I'm calling it a bird barn. That did take up a good part of an unusually balmy weekend, but it wasn't the reason I was frustrated in posting.
For some reason once the sun came out - the internet service died. We watched as our service bar was totally filled, yet a mysterious little yellow pentagon with an exclamation point just surfaced on the bottom of the screen, informing us that while we had internet, we didn't have internet.
So I took the time to work on my projects...and obsess on that damned little symbol in the corner of the screen thwarting me from doing what I said I was going to do. It was aggravating, irritating, and worst of all - frustrating!
Today on the way back from a doctor's visit, I was stuck in traffic (tis the season for construction), there was a big dust up about people feeling how they were being short changed in terms of service at a certain fast food chain. How the workers weren't happy, not greeting customers happily. That sort of thing. I cracked up. Just before going to the doctor I had a stop at a lab for blood work so I made to detour through a local drive-thru for something to eat. My blood labs can take a lot of vials so I tend to want to eat and have a bottle or two of water. Thank goodness mine are non-fasting! There was no line and I had some time so I thought, I'll just pop in. HAH! Twenty-six minute wait, got cold food when the girl remembered I was there, between trips to wherever she was haring off to and her gossipy friend and her manager watched the whole thing. Her comment? She could have made better use of her time by cleaning her station. Yeah. I don't think the greeting is their major malfunction. Sort of like my internet interruption there is another problem that needs exploring.
At least we managed to fix our problem by getting the dish realigned. Now, service again! However long it lasts...that is another mystery. But I am back peoples!
For some reason once the sun came out - the internet service died. We watched as our service bar was totally filled, yet a mysterious little yellow pentagon with an exclamation point just surfaced on the bottom of the screen, informing us that while we had internet, we didn't have internet.
So I took the time to work on my projects...and obsess on that damned little symbol in the corner of the screen thwarting me from doing what I said I was going to do. It was aggravating, irritating, and worst of all - frustrating!
Today on the way back from a doctor's visit, I was stuck in traffic (tis the season for construction), there was a big dust up about people feeling how they were being short changed in terms of service at a certain fast food chain. How the workers weren't happy, not greeting customers happily. That sort of thing. I cracked up. Just before going to the doctor I had a stop at a lab for blood work so I made to detour through a local drive-thru for something to eat. My blood labs can take a lot of vials so I tend to want to eat and have a bottle or two of water. Thank goodness mine are non-fasting! There was no line and I had some time so I thought, I'll just pop in. HAH! Twenty-six minute wait, got cold food when the girl remembered I was there, between trips to wherever she was haring off to and her gossipy friend and her manager watched the whole thing. Her comment? She could have made better use of her time by cleaning her station. Yeah. I don't think the greeting is their major malfunction. Sort of like my internet interruption there is another problem that needs exploring.
At least we managed to fix our problem by getting the dish realigned. Now, service again! However long it lasts...that is another mystery. But I am back peoples!
Friday, April 05, 2013
Friday flash...tease
Many apologies, there would have been a post yesterday, but I ran out of internet. I've noted how I'm in a pretty rural area, so my connection is through a satellite uplink, meaning a metered connection. My daily allotment was gobbled up when my computer decided - all on its own, I may note - to do a Windows update. I had turned that annoying function off. The computer and I are going to have words, in the programming language once I get back from the neurologist this afternoon. *scowls*
Now, I finally got that scene typed up in Trickster's Folly. Go me. So proud of myself. With no internet I didn't have anything else to do. Other than read 'Survivals of Roman Religion' for the umpteenth time, but only I'd enjoy that dusty tome that much, but I digress. Keep in mind, this is a quasi PG-13 clip and it hasn't been edited to my normal OCD levels. It's just a teaser.
Happy Friday, folks!
* * *
Now, I finally got that scene typed up in Trickster's Folly. Go me. So proud of myself. With no internet I didn't have anything else to do. Other than read 'Survivals of Roman Religion' for the umpteenth time, but only I'd enjoy that dusty tome that much, but I digress. Keep in mind, this is a quasi PG-13 clip and it hasn't been edited to my normal OCD levels. It's just a teaser.
Happy Friday, folks!
* * *
“I
can’t believe you signed those divorce papers.” Rayna emerged from the bathroom
posed artfully, one arched foot on top of the cream colored seat of dressing
stool. The twisty vines of metal forming the base accenting her other calf as
it narrowed into a two-toned emerald and taupe shoe made of multiple, thin
straps which had to have graced a denuded street hustler somewhere.
Up
and up, Amber’s tired eyes dragged as more than her libido woke following lithe
lines of knee to thigh to where lush loveliness disappeared underneath a shell
of matching green dress. “Your dress is really pretty, even if it is kind of
crooked. It’s a nice green color.” From the sudden bloom of red high on Rayna’s
cheeks, Amber’s customary lack of fashion sense turned the smaller woman’s
crank – again.
“This
is a Grecian style, it is meant to be off one shoulder. It is an elegant style
you heathen – it is not crooked.” Her
sharp little nose popped right into the air, damn but it was sexy. It was all
she could do to keep herself sprawled on the floor at Rayna’s feet, to keep
acting like she was bored out of her mind by the frippery, and just a bit
amused when all she wanted to do was muss that fine dress while Rayna’s leg stayed
hiked up in that vulgar way.
“Oh,
it’s Greek. That’s why it’s olive
colored,” Amber nodded and stared at Rayna’s foot like it was fascinating.
“It
is not olive! It is sea green, there is a huge difference! One would think you
were completely color blind!” She huffed tossing her arms, which caught Amber’s
eye. One hand held the second shoe, the other a slim bit of yellow colored
leather. Whatever could that be for,
she mused?
“Aren’t you ever going to get dressed?” Rayna
might be thrilled as a pig in poop to attend the black-tie fundraiser for animals’
rights groups, but Amber was getting the impression she was probably the only
one. Well, Rayna, and possibly Princess Pain-in-the-ass, Celena. But still,
Amber would rather sit at home with Huginn and Steve and watch her toenails
grow.
Grumbling,
she pulled off her bathrobe to reveal she was still wearing her vambraces, the
leather vest that protected her shoulders against Hugs claws, and bikini
underwear. “I’ve showered before you. Can you make me presentable in the time
given, oh, my queen?”
“Yes,
smarty pants,” the answering smile was soft, playful and full of hidden
meaning. Quickly Rayna slid on her second shoe then walked over, stride slow,
measured. With a quick furtive movement she slid her hands around Amber’s neck.
If it were not for decades of trust, Amber would have pulled away, but she
didn’t. She stayed, trusting, loving the tiny woman in front of her more than
anything possible. When she felt something small, thing and almost tight cinch
around her neck, she had an odd notion of what it was, a sort of collar, if she
was right. Looming over Amber, Rayna swallowed nervously, smiled, and then
commanded, “Take out your braid, and let your hair fall naturally over your
skin.” Perking a brow at the order, but interested at this change of pace Amber
did as directed.
Keeping
her golden eyes on Rayna’s limpid brown one’s, she unhurriedly freed the elastic
end then used her fingers to brush the entwined length into a long curtain of
waves flowing over her back, over her shoulders, down her arms. It itched, brushing
over her skin, and she wished it was elsewhere, but if it made her lover happy,
she was more than content to indulge Rayna’s fantasy.
A
click sounded almost overloud in the small room. From somewhere Rayna had found
a length of gold-plated chain and attached it to the collar now clasped around
Amber’s neck. Really into this ‘amber for
Amber’ theme aren’t you, she chuckled inwardly. “Take off the vest,” Rayna
ordered, her voice low, cracking with emotion.
Amber
nearly grinned. The last time Rayna tried to top from the bottom she made it
about this far and then just started begging for what she wanted. Not a
problem, not like Amber had any qualms about giving the goddess trying not to
bite her lip in sudden indecision exactly
what she wanted, but then again if being in control or in charge was part of
what she wanted…how to make her curb this indecisiveness? Amber’s inner sadist
woke and howled with glee.
Sitting
back on her haunches, Amber let her weight rest on her heels. She kept her gaze
on the throbbing pulse point in Rayna’s throat, her body loose, elbows down,
shoulders flat, posture almost as perfect as if she were trying out for a
swimsuit model piece on the beach – the only difference being her hands were
slowly, deftly moving to pop the buttons one at a time from bottom to top. As
if Rayna realized and reacted even harder to the impersonal show, Amber frowned
and pulled back.
“You’ve
gotta be kidding,” she pouted, angling a glance upward through dark lashes.
Holding the top buttons, she arched her back, tilted her hips, and pulled out
every trick she could recall seeing a stripper toss in her direction while
stuck in the same direction. When Rayna’s eyes nearly popped, Amber smiled slow
and hot.
“Uh,
uh. No way. You wanted to master this beast, remember?” Her muscular arms
stretched out, then folded back, submissive. “You got the chain, you’re in
control.” On her knees she crowded closer, using her nose, she rubbed the soft
flesh of Rayna’s knee, slipping the silk of her dress higher, but still not breaking
eye contact. “You wanted to be in control then do it.” Amber’s breath fanned
out between Rayna’s spread thighs, ah the naughty girl was only wearing the
tiniest of lace thongs. If it weren’t for the liner on the dress, the silk
would be ruined with a single wrong placed lick. “Can you do it? Can you bring
me to heel?”
Rayna
shook like a palsy victim. Absently her left hand spooled the slack of the
chain as she bent over her lover and would-be-slave. “I think I can handle
this, so kiss me – now.” Grinning like a sinner, Amber leaned in and gave her exactly what she asked for.
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