Happy birthday to
coffee_and_ink
Feb. 5th, 2005 02:53 pmBelow the cut-tag are a couple of paragraphs of the short story I'm writing for
sdn. Of course anybody may look at them who is interested, and indeed I hope suddenly that they may please my wonderful editor while she's waiting for me to finish the hell up, but I am posting them for
coffee_and_ink's birthday specially. I don't think that they are spoilerish, but if you are very rigid about the matter, you might.
So Dri, whose childhood ambition had been to own and pull a footcab, catching nefarious villains in the process, came to work for the Red Temple. In the event she did not ask about reading the archives. Mundri, the chief librarian of this branch of the Red Temple's documents, was almost as forbidding as Dri's not-hated, non-arguing aunt. Mundri did not brook much argument either. When Dri pointed out that one's spiritual advisors told one to argue, Mundri said dryly that Dri could argue with the priests all she liked, but she was not to argue in the library.
Dri liked her priest, a young placid woman called Atliae. Atli argued with her, but Atli also let her talk. At home, unless one happened to be bleeding heavily or running a fever, it was more or less impossible to speak more than a sentence without having it discussed in detail. Their mother had had to be very firm repeatedly before the bleeding and the fevers were let off the general requirement of discussion. Dri enjoyed home quite a lot, but talking about herself in paragraphs was enchanting, like eating as many cinnamon cakes as you wanted and neither being scolded nor ending up with a stomach-ache.
Pamela
So Dri, whose childhood ambition had been to own and pull a footcab, catching nefarious villains in the process, came to work for the Red Temple. In the event she did not ask about reading the archives. Mundri, the chief librarian of this branch of the Red Temple's documents, was almost as forbidding as Dri's not-hated, non-arguing aunt. Mundri did not brook much argument either. When Dri pointed out that one's spiritual advisors told one to argue, Mundri said dryly that Dri could argue with the priests all she liked, but she was not to argue in the library.
Dri liked her priest, a young placid woman called Atliae. Atli argued with her, but Atli also let her talk. At home, unless one happened to be bleeding heavily or running a fever, it was more or less impossible to speak more than a sentence without having it discussed in detail. Their mother had had to be very firm repeatedly before the bleeding and the fevers were let off the general requirement of discussion. Dri enjoyed home quite a lot, but talking about herself in paragraphs was enchanting, like eating as many cinnamon cakes as you wanted and neither being scolded nor ending up with a stomach-ache.
Pamela