And to add insult to injury, it's too hot. I mean, this is England. It's not supposed to be hot.
Lastly, it's also the start of Camp NaNo, which I and a couple of others are trying to entirely hand-write. ...I have no idea what I'm writing. I've barely even made progress with my RSW projects this week.
I think I'm just going to melt into a puddle and slime away.
WiPpet Wednesday is a weekly blog-hop hosted by our gracious ...host... K. L. Schwengel where participants share excerpts from their Works in Progress that in some way relate to the date, either via simple maths (like 20 sentences for the 20th) or somewhat less simple maths such as dividing the date by the month for 4 paragraphs. You can find out more, read other participants' entries and join in yourself here.
Ahh, WiPpet Maths in order to get my way... Today is the 1st July 2015 - 01-07-2015 - so today we're going for 7 × 2 = 14. 1 - 1 = 0. 14 + 0 + 5 = 19, for 19 paragraphs. (Don't worry, they're mostly pretty short.)
So, last week Fayth handed RQ over and had some very badly phrased thoughts about RQ that neglected a lot of things, including that he was born on a planet and RQ very likely wasn't, and finished off with a vague sense of anti-climax. Now he's got no idea what to do with himself... (Also, profanity warning.)
There was a small open-fronted café near the docking bays and while Fayth hadn’t exactly been allowed to stop for a meal there, no one had exactly said he couldn’t either. The thought of going back to his empty ship, where one room smelled very faintly of a stranger, was distinctly unappealing. Putting it off was futile. Childish. Fayth pushed a forkful of cream cake around his plate and decided he didn’t really care.
It wasn’t even a nice cream cake, to add insult to injury. The cream tasted awful; not a surprise, considering it was almost exactly the same as liquefied nutrient mash, and that stuff tasted like shit even when it was flavoured. This tasted like someone had forgotten the flavour.
A shadow fell across him. Fayth didn’t even bother looking up.
“This seat taken?”
The voice was soft, familiar. Fayth glanced up from under his lashes, and the spark of hope in his chest was extinguished by the face of the crewman he’d asked directions from. He looked pointedly around at the scattered tables and chairs, all empty, and returned his attention to the half-eaten cake. “Knock yourself out.”
The chair scraped back loud enough to make Fayth wince as the crewman sat opposite, regarding Fayth’s cake with a distinctly despondent expression. “They’re still selling that?”
“Damn.” He stared at the cake a little longer, then gave Fayth a carefully appraising look. “We’re all impressed that you could bring RQ back, you know. The Powers That Be tried looking for him after the break-in, but no joy.”
Fayth grunted. “It’s what I’m paid for.”
“He looked so well too. After how they took him, we all kinda thought... well, we didn’t think he’d be coming back.” He continued to stare morosely at Fayth’s cake.
Fayth shoved it towards the crewman. “Have it.”
The plate came back towards him with indecent haste. “Hell no!”
Well, he couldn’t blame him for it. Fayth himself was increasingly regretting his decision to buy it but a quick look around the café revealed it to still be deserted and therefore devoid of anyone else he could fob it off onto.
The crewman sighed, looking from the cake to the empty counter where staff should have been, but had clearly decided a deserted café wasn’t worth sticking around for, then pulled the cake back over again. “Might as well. Shame you went to all that effort for nothing though.”
Swallowing, Fayth took a deep breath and tried to ignore the way his heart started hammering fit to break free. “Nothing?”
“Yeah. They said there’s no further use for him, so he’s scheduled for execution.” The crewman dipped his finger into the cream. His grimace made it obvious he felt the same way about the taste.
Fayth didn’t notice. “...What?”
The crewman’s eyes flicked up to Fayth again. He paled. “Oh fuck, you weren’t supposed to know, were you? I just—forget I said anything. I—”
His words broke off at the pressure of the fork’s points against his jugular. Nose inches from his horrified face, Fayth snarled down at him, “find me a gun, before I really lose my temper.”