I've gotten no writing done at all. Again. Pretty sure it's a sign I should just pack it in.
But on the up side, I'm now trained in more aspects of one particular project I'm on.
WiPpet Wednesday is a blog hop hosted by the ever-brilliant K. L. Schwengel where participants post snippets of their Works in Progress, with the twist that each snippet shared must in some way relate to the date. It can be either via simple maths, like 27 sentences for the 27th, or via circuitous WiPpet Maths. You can find out more, read other participants' entries and sign up for yourself over here.
And I really need to apologise 'cause I got around to absolutely no blogs whatsoever last week, which I am very much not happy about.
I'm just going to sit over here with a half-crocheted wrap over my head, that I've also not been able to do any work on, and sulk.
SO! Today's snippet is quite long at 27 + 5 + 2 + 0 + 1 + 5 for 38 sentences that follow almost straight on from last week's, and Fayth has just offered RQ his choice of rooms. Well. His choice of one of two, anyway.
He gave Fayth another long, slow and completely indecipherable look, then said, “thank you,” and vanished into the tidy right-hand room, sliding the door shut behind him.
Well, it was gratitude of a sort, he supposed. At least he hadn’t taken the room Fayth had been using ever since he bought the ship—and with it the offer of sharing. He shook his head at his stupidity and ducked into his room. Now was as good a time as any to put a shirt back on.
He was back in the cockpit when the Rose Queen reappeared, dressed in a loose white shirt and dark trousers that were only slightly too tight across the hips. “Thank you for the clothes,” he said, sliding into the co-pilot’s seat and settling himself more comfortably against the fabric. “That is,” he suddenly hesitated, “if they were meant for me?”
Fayth swallowed in the face of the Rose Queen’s wide eyes and bitten lower lip. Did he even know what he looked like when he did that? The thoughts that raced through Fayth’s head? And, worse, his shy nervousness screamed that his expression had nothing to do with flirting, that he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. “No. I mean, yes, they’re for you, but...” His eyes flicked down to the thigh-hugging navy trousers, then—God only knew how—he managed to drag his stare back to his face. “But I was told—I thought you were a woman, so they’re a bit...”
“Oh. I did wonder.” The Rose Queen looked down at himself with a faint smile, pulling at the front of his shirt; Fayth wondered if another sarcastic comment would be forthcoming. “It’s roomier than I expected. They told you I was a woman?”
“No. Well, not in so many words.” He frowned down at the controls. They didn’t need touching when the course was already set, but fiddling with them gave him something to do. “Not in any words, in fact. No mention of your sex was given at all, so I just assumed... I mean, the name...”
He’d thought it odd at the time that the dossier on the person he was supposed to be rescuing was little more than a sheet of paper, but Matthew hadn’t been able to dig up anything relevant either. The Rose Queen as a person was one of the most secretive in the known universe—not that that squared with the man sat beside him, watching Fayth’s aimless toying with the controls with curiosity. When he spoke again, Fayth’s startled finger very almost switched off the cockpit light. “Captain Medworth felt pretty much the same way when he first saw me.”
“He went to all the effort to steal you without knowing anything about you?”
“So did you,” the Rose Queen said pointedly.
“Yeah, well.” Fayth fidgeted in his seat. “I’m being paid to return you. That’s different.”
The curve of the Rose Queen’s lips told Fayth exactly what he thought of that argument. “They wanted someone to look after the tree. I don’t think they really cared what shape the gardener came in.”