Amaretto Sour

#^__^#

2009-11-16T23:09:21Z

Okay, I was in a totally shitty mood, but someone on ff.net said my DwtD reminded her of the Nero Wolfe - especially Archie Goodwin. It's not true, I'm not even a tenth that good, but it was really fucking neat to hear anyway ^_____^

Man, I'm slipping ^__^

2009-11-16T01:27:18Z

I am way too obsessed with the new Sherlock Holmes movie. I finally had to make myself pretend to forget all about it, so I totally missed the new movie poster and the new trailer *_* I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks, this movie and variation on Holmes & Watson looks fucking kickass. Argh, Christmas, you are still entirely too far away.

My idea to do list for the week

2009-11-15T22:46:00Z

1. Finish Addison's story
~~2. Transcribe epilogue of Huntsman that's been sitting in notebook forever~~
3. Finish setting up Embrace for print
4. Finally read The Dome. It's been sitting in the living room taunting me forever, and I really really want to read it, and argh if I can get the rest of it done, I finally can.

And hopefully in the next month or so I'll have the Midsummer stories up, and maybe find time to fix the Wick stories. And maybe finally actually write something I can put up as a freebie, since my every attempt at something cute and short and perfect winds up 50+ pages long and better off sold x.x

argh

2009-11-12T11:49:11Z

You know what's fun? Waking up with a headache that usually only comes with lack of sleep. There are so many things wrong with that.

Less Than Three Press - Anthology: That Famous Happy End

2009-11-11T15:13:10Z

Less Than Three Press announces its first anthology: That Famous Happy End.

Nothing is sweeter than following a story and its characters through all the ups and downs, the trials, the pains, and seeing them finally reach that moment, that day, that place they worked so hard to gain. Be it by way of murder, magic, misunderstanding, mischief, or mayhem, we like to see them suffer. We want the struggle, the grief, the fight. We want to see them angry, confused, hurt, battered, and on the verge of giving up.

But most of all we want to see all that toil and strife worth something. We want to see them get what they earned.

So put your characters through the wringer, make them suffer and work for it, and then give us that famous happy end.

Submission details for this anthology can be found here.
Further information regarding general submission and content guidelines may be found here and here.

Less Than Three Press will be accepting submissions through January 1, 2010.

If you have any questions or concerns regarding this anthology or general submissions or compensation, please contact editor@lessthanthreepress.com.

Happy Birthday United States Marine Corp! \o/

2009-11-11T01:01:53Z

And to all kick-ass Marines everywhere.

In honor of that, a convo via text I had with my father today :3

Me: Changed my mind about Christmas. I was a special Aston Martin that goes for $1.4 mil. It's shiny
Dad: Yeah, and I want the new G-V jet with teak wood flight deck
Me: That sounds fun
Dad: Only 35 mil
Me: Chump change
Dad: Then please allow me to add a braburn yacht for 6.2 mil
Me: Go for it. But I'm borrowing it.
Dad: Cool. I will let the pool boy go with you
Me: You're such a good father :D He'd better not be a sixty year old pool boy
Dad: 18 with a speedo and a twin brother that does hair. Quit drooling it ill becomes you
Me: *dies of laughter* Does your jet come with girls to do maintenance? ;3
Dad: I always have women to turn my wrench and blow my super charger
Me: Stop making me snort coffee

Argh I hate when I forget something, and then almost remember

2009-11-10T01:24:22Z

And then it gets away from me because keep fucking talking and won't let me think.

One of my roomies made a crack about two serial killers meeting on the road - like, one picking the other up, and I thought they were talking about an actual story cause I've read it (or maybe watched it, I can never fucking remember all the mediums of the different stories I recall, how sad is that?).

There's obviously more than one out there, it's a premise I'm sure has been done plenty, but the one I'm thinking of, one of the killers definitely had a guitar case and I would swear she was a chick, but I just don't recall for certain.

It's going to drive me crazy now -__-

maderr @ 2009-11-08T13:05:00

2009-11-08T18:05:44Z

Ugh. It takes me way too fucking long to transcribe. I'm just not good at it. I don't have the patience and I'm constantly reading/changing everything as I go.

Ah, well.

There is a sad lack of biscuits in my life. I think I shall make some, and then go back to writing by hand.

At least the stupd transcribing is done for now.

maderr @ 2009-11-08T11:05:00

2009-11-08T16:05:33Z

Argh. There is nothing more irritating than trying to type with cold-stiff hands.

Because I know you peeps love pictures of my cat :3

2009-11-08T03:45:23Z

Though, there's slightly more than my cat here ^_~

This is Kipling, nikerymis's cat ^__^

This is Kipling and Tony, who belongs to Judy, my other roomie

These are the flowers my family got me for my birthday #____^# You can't tell in this pick, sadly, but it really did look exactly like a slice of cake.

My kitty, Pumpernickel. Also known as Bitchcat

My cat again, laying on my legs

And me, with my cat on my legs, while I write ^__^ It's such exciting work to watch, I know :3 My kitty is so cute, I luffs him.

snippets

2009-11-06T12:36:46Z

Some of these you may have seen before, so I apologize if it's just a lot of repeat. I honestly do not remember what I've put up here.

(Untitled - Addison's story)

Addison sighed as he read the letter over again, though he had all the important bits memorized. He'd known what the letter would say even before he'd foolishly opened it. Obtain an Earl indeed. He snorted softly, almost amused, except that the tacit or don't bother coming home rather depressed any good humor he had not yet lost.

How, he wondered morosely, did he get himself into these situations?

Even if he pretended for a moment that a lord or even a wealthy merchant or some such would want him, there was no way he could ever dare to seek one out with the hope of a match. It was generous of his Uncle to have been willing to pay for him to join them in the city, as a companion to his cousin—but everyone knew that Addison had been granted the honor only because he stood no chance whatsoever of outshining his handsome, outgoing cousin.

What was he to do? If he came all this way and simply went back, nothing gained, his family would be furious—for all the wrong reasons, of course, but furious all the same. They expected him to waltz into the city and make a good match, and bring the new wealth home.

Yet if he dared to do anything but cater to the every whim of his cousin, his Uncle would send him home with ears ringing from a sound boxing. There was no possible way his Uncle would tolerate Addison doing better and succeeding where Blaine, despite his many charms, was still failing.

Once he stopped pretending that anyone would want him, the matter went from hopeless to nigh on pathetic.

Really, all he'd wanted was a chance to see the city, take in some sights he would never see again, once his Uncle had no further use for him, and he retired to his small town and resumed his duties at the post office.

He kicked idly at the stone path which wended its way through the park. It was nothing but small footpaths here, well away from the main thoroughfare where everyone walked to show off and make fun of those not quite up to par.

Addison was sick of it. Sick of the parties. Sick of watching his cousin charm and cozen every available person in his vicinity. Sick of being the ugly, unfortunate cousin on whom his Uncle had been considerate enough to take pity.

Maybe Blaine would stay sick another couple of days, and Addison would be able to sneak about doing as he pleased. But he suspected he was lucky to have gotten this one day. He still had not decided quite how to spend it, though he would milk every possible second.

Breakfast, definitely. Now that it was growing light out, he could slip off to a coffee shop or something and have breakfast out for once. Then perhaps a bookstore or two, or maybe he'd just go straight on to the museums, the royal library…

He pushed restlessly at his glasses, swearing softly at the cursed things. Perhaps he should go by the Jewelers and have the dratted things refitted; he had enough spare coin for that he wouldn't have to bother Uncle about it.

The sound of boots scuffing on stone drew his attention, and he looked up just in time to see someone come through the hedges. A lord, by the look of him, but Addison barely had time to look before the man was abruptly sitting next to him.

"I apologize in advance for my forwardness," the man murmured—and then kissed him.

Addison made a choked, muffled noise, and tried to pull away, but found himself impeded. Long fingers sank into his hair, curling along the back of his head, keeping him perfectly angled as his mouth was thoroughly plundered by a perfect stranger.

"Well, I never!" said a sharp, ringing voice.

Startled, Addison again tried to pull away, but the man kissing him was having none of that.

Not really certain what else to do, Addison went along with it, hoping that if he was agreeable long enough eventually the man would unhand him.

Despite his reluctance in the venture, going along with it was not a terrible ordeal. No one had ever died from being kissed after all, and he could think of any number of worse ways for a stranger to bother him. And it was not a terrible kiss at all, though Addison conceded he had no kisses to which to compare it.

Still.

The mouth moving with his was warm and soft, and tasted of cinnamon and coffee, and Addison flushed to realize he was noticing how a man tasted but it was becoming more and more difficult to pull away from the mouth feasting upon his and when precisely had he tangled his fingers in the front of the man's jacket?"

"Honestly, Jewell!"

Finally tearing away, the man—Jewell—smiled ever so fleetingly at Addison, then turned toward the woman doing the shrieking. "What, Tina?"

The mysterious Tina, well turned out in a bright red walking dress, matching feathers bobbing from a pert hat, had white-gloved hands planted on her ample hips. Blue eyes were narrowed at Jewell, mouth pinched, cheeks pink with anger. "I cannot believe you."

"Yes, you have said that several times this morning alone," Jewell said, sliding the hand in Addison's hair down his back, to curl lightly around his waist.

Addison wondered if it might not be time to make a discreet departure, but the hand resting lightly on his hip squeezed when he shifted.

"I cannot believe—and in the park! Right where anyone can see! You and this—this—this strumpet!"

Though he preferred not to get himself mired in altercations, Addison was only willing to endure so much. "I beg your pardon, but I am not a strumpet—"

"Shut it," the woman said curtly. "Anyone who would behave in so crass a manner—"

"You shut it," Jewell snapped, standing up after another squeeze. "If you want to pick a fight with me and call me names, Tina, you go ahead and do that. Do not, however, speak so rudely to strangers. The only thing that has you angry here is that you are not the one on the bench exchanging kisses with some handsome lord, preferably gullible and malleable, which I am not and that irks you. Go harangue someone else and stop making him think we are both quite mad.

"Too late," Addison muttered before he caught himself. He flushed, mortified at falling into behaving rudely—and flushed all the darker when Jewell turned and flashed him a quick, bright smile.

Tina said something foul, hands dropping from her hips to ball into little fists. "You! We are to be married—"

"No, we are most certainly not," Jewell snarled. "I do not give a buggering fuck what your mother and my father are plotting, Tina, I am not marrying you. One of us would murder the other in less than a day just attempting to plan the damned wedding. Go. Away."

For a moment, Addison really thought Tina was going to launch herself at Jewell and beat him to death with the reticule he only then saw she was clutching in one hand. But then she lobbed a few more choice words, before turning sharply on the heel of her smart white boot, and marched off as crisply as any well-trained soldier.

Jewell let out a long sigh and dropped back down on the bench, raking hands through his mass of tight gold curls. Then he turned to Addison and smiled sheepishly. "I am extremely sorry you were dragged into all that. I did not think she would linger, seeing me kissing you. My apologies also for such forwardness, good sir, and you shall have to let me thank you for being so unbelievably tolerant." His smiled widened. "Though, I understand if you want nothing more than to part ways and neither to see nor hear me ever again."

"Um—" Addison tried to figure out what to say, but he was not even certain where to put his thoughts, never mind organize them sufficiently to put thoughts into words. "What's going on?"

Laughing, Jewell raked a hand through his hair again and said, "An explanation seems more than fair. If you're willing, how about over breakfast? I know a wonderful coffee house not too far from here. It seems the least I can do, and I promise not to take liberties without express permission." He smiled in sheepish apology. "Desperate times, desperate measures, you know?"

"Um—yes, I suppose?" Addison agreed, though he didn't know that he'd ever been in a situation so desperate and strange he thought kissing a complete stranger would resolve the matter. And it was stupid and pointless and he should know better, really, but he still wondered wistfully what it might be like to have Jewell kiss him because he wanted to, not because he was desperate.

"Splendid!" Jewell said, and rose, dragging Addison up with him. Only then did Addison realize his agreement sounded like it had gone with the coffee house bit. "Oh! My name is Jewell Kelley. It is an honor to make the acquaintance of a Saint, which you must be, not to have bloodied my nose over my behavior."

Addison's mouth twitched, amused despite himself—then he realized Jewell was waiting patiently for his reply. "Oh—uh. My name is Addison Dewhurst. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. Uh, my lord?" Of a sudden, he felt as shy and anxious and lost as ever, if not more so. Please, dear gods, please don't let him have just failed to recognize some earl or marquis or Duke, oh that would be his luck.

Jewell laughed. "I think under the circumstances, my dear, you might as well just use my given name. May I call you Addison? There, then, that is my manners for the day, my mother would be so proud." He laughed again.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he had a pretty mouth, and Addison really wished he had not noticed either of those things. Or that Jewell's eyes were the most beautiful shade of brown, dark gold with lighter shades of honey and a deep, almost red color.

"Now, the coffee house is just this way, and I shall attempt to convince you I am not entirely mad—merely half."

Too confused and overwhelmed and curious to even think of refusing, Addison went along as Jewell all but dragged him away from the park and down the street.

The coffee house they went to was not one of the many he had eyed before, but at just a glance it seemed infinitely better. It was small, warm, and cozy—and practically deserted given the early hour.

"Now, then," Jewell said after they had settled in. "I will apologize again for my behavior, as well as Tina's. Her parents and mine are all old friends, and they have it in their heads that we are meant to be together, unite the families, so on and so forth. Tina has decided it would suit her purposes to go along with their plotting, because she likes the idea of gaining a great deal more with very little effort, and is wholly ignoring the fact we can't stand each other." He grimaced.

"I see," Addison said, though the only thing he really saw was that he probably was sitting with some powerful noble in a coffee house and his Uncle was going to kill him.

"She follows me everywhere, like some dog and me the poor fox," Jewell went on. "I didn't think she'd be up this early but not a quarter mile from my house I caught sight of her following me. I panicked and made for the park, since none of my clubs was close, mores the pity. Came upon you, and thought suddenly that maybe she'd leave me alone if she thought I had a lover. Don’t' know why I didn't think of it sooner." He grinned, and winked. "I am sorry it didn't work out, but to be honest I'm not at all sorry I tried."

Addison flushed and stared at his coffee. "Um—well, no harm done?"

Jewell laughed softly, so gently that Addison found himself looking up and smiling shyly back.

"So what did I interrupt you doing, when I came upon you? You looked as though you were reading a letter or something."

"My letter!" Addison exclaimed, only then realizing he'd left it in the park.

"Should we go back for it?" Jewell asked, and made to stand.

"No-not, it's fine. Only a letter from my mother," Addison assured, not quite able to stifle a sigh as he recalled the contents of the letter.

"Ah, parents," Jewell said with sympathy. "Mine want me to marry a demon. What do yours want? A prince? A Duke?"

Addison flushed, humiliated that he was so easily pegged. "They said an Earl would do nicely; I think they would die from shock if I managed to attract a Duke. I think they'd die of shock if I caught anyone. I would be," he added morosely—then winced as he realized he'd said that aloud. "Um—but I don't want anyone. I'm here for my cousin." He shut his mouth before anything else fell out of it and made a bigger fool of him. But he opened it again briefly to add a belated, "Sorry."

"Not at all," Jewell said warmly. "Sent to catch a big fish in the city, then?"

"That obvious?"

Jewell smiled. "You're too nice to be a city-bred spouse hunter. Any one of them would have used that kiss I stole to finagle an invitation to something, at the very least. Anyway, no visitor to the city finds that remote corner of the park unless he is attempting to avoid the city."

Addison could only cringe back in his seat, and hang his head in humiliation, staring at his coffee and wishing he were anywhere else.

Then a warm, gloved hand covered one of his own, and Jewell asked with what seemed to Addison a shocking amount of kindness, "So why are you here to catch an earl, my friend, when you obviously want nothing of the sort? A cousin, you said."

Friend. That sounded nice. He had none of those here, and no real close ones back home. Even if it probably wasn't true, and Jewell was just being nice—

"You look like you want to talk," Jewell said. "You can talk to me." He winked when Addison slowly looked up. "If I do or say anything untoward, you can tell my parents how wretched I've been to you." He made a face. "If Tina has not already ratted me out, the fiend."

Addison laughed briefly at the put out expression on his face—and then the words came tumbling out, all of it; being stuck with his cousin, his odious Uncle, his too-eager parents wanting a match, his Uncle sure to beat him if he stole away any prospects from his cousin.

When he finally ran out of words, he realized he felt a lot better. "Sor—"

"Do not be sorry," Jewell cut in before he could finish the apology. "You've no reason to be. I will say my life seems a good deal more tolerable, of a sudden. I don't suppose you're interested in marrying a harpy? No? Ah, well." He grinned. "Parents and marriage; two of life's greatest trials."

Addison smiled faintly, and finally managed to take a proper sip of coffee. He set his coffee down again after a moment and tried to think of something to say, but he had never been much good at polite conversation.

"So what else are you doing today?" Jewell asked. "How long have you been in the city? Have you gotten to see any of it, or has it all been drawing rooms and dance floors?"

Though Addison said nothing, by the way Jewell snickered, his expression must have said it all. "I should be attending all those wretched affairs myself," Jewell said, "but a fox does not elude the hounds by going into the kennels, eh?"

Addison laughed before he could catch himself.

Looking decidedly pleased with himself, Jewell continued, "Anyway. Have you plans for the day? I've none myself, past 'avoid dogs' if you'd like a proper tour? I've lived here all my life; no one knows the city better, I promise. Anything you've been hoping to see? The Gardens? The playhouses?"

"Umm—the museums, actually," Addison said, brightening a bit as he thought of them, even as he braced for the inevitable sneering and dismissing.

But Jewell only continued to smile. "They've just added a mummy exhibit at the Farther Museum. It's not even public yet. I was going to go see it sometime this week. Hang on, then." Before Addison could utter so much as a syllable, he'd stood and darted off to speak with a man who had the look of an owner about him, and who brought Jewell pen, paper, and wax.

Several minutes and what looked like at least three letters later, Jewell finally returned to the table. "All set then?"

"Um-yes?" Addison said, and cried out in surprise as Jewell then all but pulled him from his seat. He stumbled from the abrupt movement, bumping into Jewell, who reached out hands to steady him. "Sorry."

Jewell only smiled, and slowly drew back the hands he'd extended to steady Addison. "Not at all."

"You don't have to take me to museums or anything else," Addison said. "Really."

"Mm," Jewell said, as they stepped outside. He settled Addison's arm in his own and only beamed, and Addison had the sudden thought that Jewell got himself into a great many scrapes, and that smile probably got him out of them again. "But I want to; it's never any fun going to such places alone, which I all too often do, you know?"

What could Addison do, but agree? It was true. "Yes," he said quietly. "I know."

"Then off we go," Jewell said.

---

The Duke's Bonded - Prologue

Cohea bit back a scream of pain as they broke his arm.

The moment they let him go, however, he could not keep himself from tossing up his lunch all over the boots of his nearest tormentor. Disgusted, the man gave him a swift kick—thankfully missing his arm, but leaving what would be a sizable bruise upon his thigh.

Dizzy and sick with pain, Cohea scarcely noticed. He wished they would just get it over with, already. He would never tell them what they wanted to know, which made killing him the next logical step. Thinking that made him smile, though, and glance briefly at the gold band on the middle finger of his right hand. I don't care if it's selfish or cruel or mad. You're mine, and I do not want anyone else to have you. I don't want you to live without me, or move on when I'm gone. Live with me, die with me.

He sat gingerly, careful not to jar his broken arm, wishing they would fucking kill him or leave him alone so he might begin discreetly to heal it.

One of the men—the one whose boots were not covered with the tossed up remains of Cohea's breakfast—moved forward, clearly ready to inflict more pain. Cohea bared his teeth in a gruesome smile, daring him to do it. The worst they could do would not make him talk; his only regret was that they'd managed to catch him.

"That's enough," said a cold, clipped voice. Never did that voice raise above a modest tone, but it held all the ice of the frozen north seas. It always had.

Cohea looked up at newly arrived speaker, whose appearance was as modest and cold as his voice—blue-black hair and deep blue eyes, the pale skin and sharp features. Jethue Bittersea, traitor to the crown and exiled five years ago. People were always speculating as to where he had wound up.

"Master Bittersea—"

"Shut up," Bittersea said, voice still level, demeanor never shifting from icy and indifferent as he reached up to casually cuff the man who had dared speak. "We need to know what he knows, you fools. If you hurt him too badly, you'll render him incapable of speaking—if you morons do not manage to accidentally kill him."

"So what do you propose, Jethue?" asked a new voice.

It made Cohea jerk in surprise, and then hiss in pain as the movement jarred his broken arm. He stared in nasty shock at the man who had just entered the hovel of a room in which they had secured him. Broad, tall, with a thick brown beard and eyes the color of the slush that snow became only hours after falling upon a city and being trod upon by people and wagons and horses.

Lysy Fazekas, Laird of Clan Fazekas, one of the High Clans of the kingdom of Terik. Crem's Balls, he had not known Fazekas was ranked amongst the threats to the Crown. If the High Clans managed to get a grip on the throne of Cremisio…

Worse yet, if Lysy was willing to show his face to Cohea, then they had no intention whatsoever of letting him ever again see the light of day. He'd known they wouldn't anyway, but it was no pleasure having it shoved in his face.

Hopefully, he would still be able to get out of this mess. It all depended upon how they decided to handle him.

Jethue flicked a disinterested glance at Cohea, and shrugged in reply to Lysy's question. "Not my job to torture and otherwise coerce spoiled brats into telling secrets. But," he said, clearly irritated despite his voice not changing from its level tone, "every spoiled brat noble has something he values too much. Gold, flesh, a pet, a child, whatever; find that weakness, and torture it. He'll sing as sweetly as an actress in need of a new patron."

Lysy laughed, a cold, repulsive sound, and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Simple, but effective, as always, Jethue." He moved closer to Cohea and knelt. "So, my foolish little Duke, who…" He trailed off, looking in surprise at the one thing Cohea had fervently hoped would go unnoticed—the plain gold band on his right hand. "Surely that is not what I think it is…"

Cohea was silently grateful, as Lysy picked up his right hand, that it was his left arm they'd broken and not the right.

Laughing again, Lysy motioned for Jethue to join him. "I do not believe it. The Fox of Cremisio wears a Bond Ring. A weakness indeed. Jethue, confirm this for me."

Stepping forward, Jethue knelt and obediently examined the ring, squeezing Cohea's hand in a painful grip, making him gasp and attempt to glare—thought what good he thought glaring would do him, he didn't know.

Ignoring him, Jethue said, "It is indeed a Bond Ring. How stupid you are, your grace, to Bond yourself to someone. We find the man or woman who holds your heart," his mouth curved in mocking distaste as he said the words, "and you will tell us the identity of the King's mysterious son. You will tell us everything and anything we wish to know."

"If you can find him," Cohea replied, then when Lysy looked smug at his seeming admission, added, "or her. Love is never stupid, and if you want to find the one who wears the matching ring, you will find yourselves searching only in vain."

Jethue dropped his hand and stood. "By the time we are finished, your grace, you will find that love is very stupid indeed."

"Never," Cohea said fervently.

Turning sharply away, Jethue said to the men who had been torturing him, "Do not touch him further. Feed him twice a day. Ignore him otherwise. Let him wait, and wait, and wait. That will do more damage than breaking his arm. You are dismissed. Lord Fazekas, who shall I send to hunt out his Bonded?"

"Yourself," Fazekas said, smirking at Cohea as he stood. "The Fox of Cremisio is wily. It will take someone of equal cunning to hunt out his weakness. Who better to send than you? A snake knows more about cunning than a fox ever will."

Jethue's frozen features finally cracked the slightest bit, his tone taking on a deeper chill. "There is the matter of my exile, my lord, or did you forget that I killed not one but two peers of the realm and if I dare to show my face in Cremisio again my life is forfeit?"

Lysy shrugged. "Don't let anyone problematic see you. I do not trust anyone else to go. Take whomever you feel you must to assist you. Tend a few other matters while you are there—you know the ones."

"My lord," Jethue replied, then turned sharply on his heel and stalked from the room.

Cohea bared his teeth at Fazekas. "So the High Clans are in on it, after all. Did you assassinate my King? No, too cowardly. You're nothing but a vulture going for the pickings."

Lysy said nothing, simply stepped forward and pressed his boot down heavily on Cohea's broken arm, finally forcing him involuntarily to scream in pain before he blacked out.

---

Untitled - Werewolf/Gremlin story

The sky was overcast, gloomy and gray, quickly defeating any attempts the sun made to break through. It was barely fall, but he could already taste winter on the air. The cool weather was already leeching the bright summer colors from everything, leaving the landscape looking flat, dull, and sleepy looking.

Brayton loved it. He could not wait for the snow. Any season requiring temperatures over seventy was highly overrated. Give him fall and winter. Snow, that's what he really wanted. Feet of it, so much it took 'til May for it to completely melt away, just like in the mountains where he'd grown up.

Geese fussed and pecked through the dry grass in the empty lot at the far side of the deserted parking lot. Fat, city-fed geese. They'd make a decent snack, but he could smell too many humans in the general vicinity. They weren't close enough he could see them, but too close for comfort. Not worth the trouble to shift, not when the fat geese probably tasted like stale french fries.

Instead, he lit a fresh cigarette and blew the smoke out with a sigh, leaning against the driver side of his '67 GTO, his baby. He patted the car with absent fondness, wishing they were driving home and not moldering here in an empty, dirty parking lot next to a long-dead restaurant in the middle of fuck nowhere. His appointment had better show up soon or he was going to tell Carl he'd wasted his favor owed, tough luck.

He was just pulling out his cell phone when he saw a man walking on the side of the road, headed for him—where else would he be headed? Young, glasses, cute enough he supposed. Even at a distance, he smelled like every other gremlin Brayton had ever met—metal and machine oil. As he got closer, though, Brayton saw he was remarkably clean for a gremlin; nary a smudge of grease or oil on him, and the jeans, t-shirt, and jacket were clean and smelled more like detergent than metal. Huh. Who knew?

Pushing off his car, he dropped his cigarette and stamped it out, then stood and waited as the gremlin approached.

Minus the fact he smelled clean, the little thing really was like every other gremlin Brayton had ever met. He was only average height himself, but the gremlin was half a head shorter. Skinny, fidgety, short black hair and dark green eyes behind a slightly bent pair of glasses. His t-shirt was a faded gray with an even more faded logo for some garage, a beat up but well cared-for fleece-lined denim jacket.

Brayton tried not to sneer at that; he was in a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans, nothing more. But the damned thing didn't look like he had a scrap of fat anywhere on him; it was little surprise fifty-five degrees or so made him cold.

"So you're, uh, Ferdinand?" Brayton asked.

The gremlin winced. "Ferdy, please."

Like that was any better? Brayton didn't voice the thought. "Brayton. Carl sent me to help you."

Ferdy nodded, and licked his lips, and Brayton didn't need to smell him to know he was nervous—but that nervousness did not entirely keep him from liking what he saw. Brayton didn't fuck clients, though, and even if he did, itty bitty, starving-to-death-skinny, metallic smelling gremlins were not his thing.

"Yeah," Ferdy replied. "Sorry to be a both—"

"Forget it," Brayton said, not in the mood for pointless apologies and other polite conversation crap. "Carl said you were cursed, and I was the man to break it. What curse was put on you, and by whom?" He could smell there was a curse, though it was faint. That meant it was either poorly done, and there wasn't much to smell, or it was very well done and someone had mostly disguised any hint of it.

Ferdy flinched a bit, and gave a weak laugh that sounded rather pathetic. "Umm—I touch any machine, and it immediately falls apart. Any machine. That's why I walked here."

Brayton stared at him, then back at his baby, then moved them several feet away. "Touch my car, and you die."

"Trust me," Ferdy said, flinching again, "I won't. I've already ruined two of my own cars. And everything else in and around the house." He sighed.

"So who did it? And why, so I know just how much of a headache this is going to be."

"I don't know," Ferdy said, sighing again. "It started happening yesterday. Carl was around, he noticed I was cursed, but—"

But Carl couldn't magic his way out a paper box. The man could smell magic like a bloodhound, but he possessed not so much as a drop. "Look, anyone who can curse a gremlin to fuck up machines is obviously too damned good at what he does for anyone's peace of mind. That means you pissed him off well enough that you should have noticed doing so."

"I don't know," Ferdy repeated. "I just run a fix-it shop. Everything that's come through my door lately, I've fixed or am in the process of fixing. No one has been mad at me about that, and the few times I've gone out, people have barely spoken to me let alone long enough for me to manage to make any of them angry."

One a scale of one to ten, the little gremlin was already proving to be at least an eleven. Brayton bet by the end of it, he'd be more like a seventeen. "I guess we'd better scope you out," he said at last. "Breaking a curse isn't so simple; the person who cast it has to break it, more often than not. I can't do much until I know more about the who and the why." He glanced at his car, then sighed and turned back to Ferdy. "I guess we're walking."

"Sorry."

"Forget it," Brayton said, and led the way from the desolate parking lot.

They hadn't been walking more than twenty minutes when the wind abruptly shifted, and Brayton halted in his tracks. "No one told me a pack lived in this nowheresville town of yours."

Ferdy frowned. "Why does the pack matter?" His eyes widened in sudden comprehension. "Are you a werewolf?"

"What do you mean, am I werewolf? What do I look like? Yes, I'm a werewolf. Carl should have said that, and he should have told me there was pack here. They tend not to like stray wolves just wandering in unannounced." Especially wolves like him.

"Um—the Midsummer pack is pretty laid back. I'm sure they'd understand. Carl might not have known about them, they've only been here about a year, and he only passes through a couple of times a year."

"No pack is so laid back they just don't care when a lone wolf trots into their territory," Brayton growled. "No help for it, at this point. They probably smelled me long before I smelled them." Shrugging, resigned, he resumed walking.

A few minutes later, he realized he was either going to have to figure out how to walk slowly, or carry Ferdy the rest of the way, if they wanted to get there any day this year. He scowled at the little gremlin, nose twitching at the mix of detergent and metal and sweat, a sharp, sour hint of anxiety and unhappiness, and a faint whiff of lingering sexual interest. There was something else, too, he realized, now he was paying closer attention. He couldn't quite catch what it was, though. Not unappealing, exactly, but decidedly strange. Spicy? No. Not sweet either. Too hard to pin it down. Didn't matter, he supposed, but it bugged him.

"So where exactly are we going?" he asked.

"I live on the outskirts of Midsummer, about another two miles," Ferdy replied. I own six acres of land, with my house, shop, and garages on two acres; the rest is all field and a little pond."

"You say the curse started yesterday?"

"Yeah, but not right off. I'd stopped for lunch and went into town to Skip's diner. I was just starting to eat when everything went wrong. My stuff just fell apart; my watch, my mp3 player, my phone, my mini flashlight—nothing but scrap and junk now. Ruined the first car, some other stuff, I'm afraid to go into town anymore." His shoulder hunched, and he stared down at his scuff boots, kicking at the dirt. "Life has really sucked."

"I guess it would," Brayton said. "You can't remember anyone who might be pissed off at you that much? What about your boyfriend?"

Ferdy blanched. "How—"

Brayton bared his teeth in amusement. "I'm a wolf, itty-bitty, I can smell things."

"I don't have a boyfriend," Ferdy said, voice low, face red with humiliation. Then he said bitterly, "He's my ex now, and he wouldn't go to that much trouble."

Brayton grunted at that, and left it alone for the moment. In his experience, though, that kind of ex-boyfriend would be willing to go to a lot of trouble to hurt. "Alright, not the ex. Doing anything special, little gremlin? Some project that someone might not be thrilled you're working on?"

"Huh?" Ferdy said, looking up, flushing pink. He jerked his gaze hastily away again. "Um—just the old town hall clock tower. It's been busted for some fifty years. The whole building was practically condemned, but enough funds were recently raised. In the last week, the tower was made safe enough I was allowed in to start tinkering with the clockwork."

"What are you being paid for that, out of the funds raised?"

"Huh?" Ferdy said again, looking up, and Brayton noticed his cheeks were still a bit flushed and it wasn't really all that bad a look for the little thing, kind of cute, really. And there went that stranger scent again; it was going to drive him crazy until he figured it out.

"I said, what are you getting paid for fixing the clock tower?"

"Nothing? I rarely take money. People just barter and stuff. The clock tower work is volunteer, across the board. No one is getting paid."

Brayton frowned at that. He didn't know much about such things, but he knew enough. Repairs on an historical building? That included a clock tower at least a century old?

And what sort of pint-sized idiot traded good, hard, honest work for 'barter and stuff'?

"So no one would resent the cut you're getting. Sure it's not the boyfriend?"

"I don't have a boyfriend," Ferdy snapped, showing real anger for a moment. Then it just seemed to go right out of him, and he only looked humiliated. "He said—" He stopped, and clamped his mouth shut in a cut, stubborn little pout.

Brayton realized he'd just thought the gremlin cute again. It hadn't been that long since he'd gotten laid, surely.

"So, out of curiosity, if they were paying you, how much would work like that go for?"

"I don't know," Ferdy said, brow furrowing in annoyance.

It was almost—

God above, he was not going to think that word one more time. It was stricken from his vocabulary, starting now.

"So everyone is doing difficult, meticulous, no doubt has to be historically accurate work, and all for free? The funds for that must have been astronomical, even without having to pay people."

Ferdy shrugged. "The local top vampire, Sally, helped out a lot. She's got connections, stuff like that, and I think she contributed most of the cash even though she'd never admit it."

"A what? Godda—you mean to tell me this place is vamp territory? How did I miss that? The only top vamp I know in this area is hours from here."

"Um—she's pretty low key?"

Brayton could feel the beginnings of a headache. Something had better come along in this mess he could see forming to make all the hassle worthwhile. He started to tell Ferdy precisely that, when he caught a whiff of wolf—close and getting closer.

Then the wolf slipped out of the woods, tongue lolling like he had not a care in the world, curious but unconcerned as he spotted Brayton.

Huh. The alpha had come himself, instead of sending lackeys?

The wolf barked, sharp and short, a command to stay put, then slipped back into the woods. A couple of minutes later, a young man slipped out of them, still pulling on a dark green zip up sweater. Brayton waited, tense, as the man drew close.

He really was remarkably young—not more than eighteen, nineteen, if he was a day. Handsome, in a kid next door kind of way. Smelled like medicine, and of sex. Brayton wrinkled his nose. Mated, he suspected. Alphas usually were, before or shortly after they came into their power.

Kid or not, an alpha was an alpha, and only an idiot would dismiss the power radiating off of him for a lack of age.

Purebred, too, Brayton realized. He hadn't seen another purebred in years, never mind one of comparable power—possibly greater. Interesting.

"Hey, Ferdy," the wolf greeted. "You didn't tell me you had a wolf."

Brayton growled.

Ferdy flushed, and looked completely lost. "I-uh-I don't. Carl asked him to help me. Only Carl didn't tell him wolves and vampires lived here."

"Oh," the wolf said, looking puzzled as he glanced each of them, before finally settling on Brayton. "Huh. Uh—my name is Lowell. I'm in charge of the Midsummer pack. There's six of us right now, five men and one woman, and she's six months pregnant—so I guess there's six and two thirds of us right now. Who are you?"

"Brayton Montgomery. I run solo."

Lowell tilted his head, regarding him quizzically. Then his expression suddenly cleared. "Oh! Peter was telling me about that the other day. "You're a true lone, aren't you?"

Wasn't it obvious? Brayton's headache took definite hold of his temples. What sort of question was that for an alpha to ask?

"Yes," he said, itching to light a cigarette, but he didn't smoke around other people. "I'm a true lone."

"What do you do?" Lowell asked.

Brayton shrugged, never entirely certain how to answer that question. "I'm a jack of all trades, if I'm anything. Mostly, I'm a fair hand at solving paranormal riddles, like miniature gremlins who can't figure out why they've been inflicted with a nasty curse."

"I'm not miniature," Ferdy muttered.

Brayton rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, itty-bitty."

Lowell laughed. "Small just means he can, uh, wiggle into places the rest of us can't go? And he's stronger than he looks, I've seen him lift some crazy heavy stuff like it was, uh, a sack of feathers? You should see what he was doing with the old clock tower."

Ferdy flushed, and only shrugged and looked down at his boots again. "I won't be able to do anything else if I can't figure out this stupid curse."

"Well, if Carl sent Mr. Montgomery here, then I'm sure you'll be okay by day's end, yeah?"

"Yeah," Ferdy agreed, but the doubt in his voice could not have been more obvious.

For some reason, it seriously irritated Brayton. The little thing could have a bit more faith—he'd driven all this way, hadn't he? He was walking instead of driving around in his honey, and he hadn't had a cigarette for the better part of an hour. "I'll figure out what's wrong," he snapped, barely keeping the growl from his voice. "It would help if I had something to go on. So far, I've got nothing but a bitchy ex and a moldering old clock tower."

Ferdy cringed.

Lowell frowned at Brayton. "Chill out a bit, yeah? There's no reason to be so mean."

Brayton sneered. "No alpha compulsion is going to work on me, and you should know that."

"Alpha has nothing to do with it," Lowell replied. "You're in my territory and all of Midsummer falls under my protection. Be nice."

Brayton shrugged, irritated. He wasn't being mean; it was hardly picking on the poor baby to say he had no idea yet who Ferdy had pissed off.

Lowell started at him, eyes hard and pensive, before he finally said, "I mean it, loner. Don't hurt or upset him."

"Fine," Brayton snarled "I'm not a damned monster. Gremlins are not my preferred flavor, even if I was. Break the curse, get out of town, I get it."

"No, I don't think you do," Lowell said, "but maybe you will soon. Call me Low. My mate is Peter, the local paranormal doctor. Stop by or call should you need us. Take care." With that, he was gone, vanishing back into the woods.

---

Untitled - Kirby's story

The girl at the counter was quite the sight—beautiful, winsome in a spooky sort of way, and if he had any interest in girls he'd be on her in a New York minute. She wore a cute little dress made of velvet and lace that fell just past mid-thigh, with a wide skirt flounced high by lace petticoats in black, purple, red, and white. Below the skirt, she wore black lace tights and chunky, platform mary janes. More lace adorned her arms in elbow-length gloves, decorated with little gold and silver spiders. More of the spiders were in her hair, which was dyed in stripes of black and violet.

She looked at him in curiosity and amusement. "Hey, there. Um. If you're looking for the denim shop, it's about three doors down. The leather store is across the street, though, if that's what you want."

Kirby smiled sheepishly, wondering just how out of place he looked and deciding he didn't want to know the answer. He took his hat off and raked a hand through his hair. "Howdy. I'm actually looking for Merry Greyling. This is his place, isn't it?"

"Oh!" the girl said, contact-purple eyes popping open wide. Then she whirled around, braced her hands on the door frame to the backrooms, and bellowed, "Hey, Mer! There's a cowboy here to see you!"

The words were almost immediately followed by a crash, the sound of glass breaking. Before Kirby could ask if everything was okay, the little spider girl whipped back around and smiled at him. "He said you were handsome, not that you were hot as hell."

"What—" Kirby blushed, something he hadn't done in years, making her giggle, but really—what? Before he could figure out what to say or do, though, Merry appeared.

Damn it. He'd half hoped his memories had exaggerated the man. If anything, they'd dulled him. Spider webs seemed to be the day's theme. Merry's baggy pants were a deep scarlet underneath, overlaid with black that had spider webs cut out at random intervals. His long-sleeved shirt was tight—extremely tight—black fabric on which had been sewn more spider webs in glittering red glass beads. He wore a black leather choker and spider earrings, black eye shadow, his top lip painted dark red, the bottom one black.

His hair…he had obviously worn it down, but at some point had grown impatient with it and pulled it sloppily up in one of those giant hair clips Ted was always stealing from Cathy at the bakery. It was cute. He could see Merry had forgotten about it.

Merry looked at him, eyes wide for a moment before he got his expression under control. "Kirby. Uh—"

"Howdy," Kirby said again, then didn't know what else to day.

The spider girl giggled. "Oh, my god. It's so cute how you say that. Say it again."

"What—"

"Kimmy," Merry growled. "Go finish up for me in the back. Now."

"Fine, fine," Kimmy said with a pout. "Give me back my hairclip."

"Wha—" Realization dawned and Merry tore the clip out of his hair, throwing it at her.

Giggling again, Kimmy caught the clip and darted off, vanishing into the back.

Merry looked at Kirby again, clearly at a loss. Kirby's heart sank. What had he expected? For Merry to be pleased? He'd probably hoped never to see or hear from Kirby and Midsummer again. "I've got Kerry's things," he finally said. "Went by your place, but your neighbor said you'd be here."

"The majority of my clientele is paranormal, or normals who wish they were. I do a lot of work at weird hours," Merry said, almost smiling. "But you said it's pretty much the same for you."

"Yeah. If you'll tell me where to put the boxes, I'll get out of your hair."

Merry hesitated, then said, "Give me a moment to take care of things here, and we can take them to my house. You didn't have to bring them so quickly."

Kirby shrugged. "I've got the weekend off. A road trip seemed a nice break."

"Are you headed back tonight?"

Kirby studied him, looking for some clue, some indication…but like before, reading Merry was frustratingly impossible. "I hadn't planned anything, really."

"Then the least I can do is offer you a place to crash, since you helped me."

"Does that mean I should copy you and sneak off while you're sleeping?" Kirby asked quietly.

Merry flinched. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Why did you?"

"Because Kerry being dead was harder than I thought it would be, and you shouldn't have had to put up with that."

Kirby studied him again, startled by the honest answer. Finally he nodded, and replaced his hat. "Fair enough. I'll take that offer. Should I wait for you outside/"

"Nah, wait right here," Merry replied. "It'll take me about fifteen minutes, then we can go."

Kirby nodded, but Merry was already gone. Shrugging, he turned and moseyed around the store, poking and prodding at the clothes and other things Merry had on display, for sale, trying not to picture Merry in all of it and failing miserably.

He was staring at a display of lacey things and thinking of Merry in just lace and black lipstick, when he heard someone come up behind him a split second before Merry asked, "See something you like, Sheriff?" I didn't see you as a lace man."

Kirby coughed and barely bit his tongue in time against reply that it depended entirely upon who was wearing the lace. "Not as such, no. It doesn't suit me."

Merry looked at him in amusement and, was that wishful thinking, or had that been a spark of—

Wishful thinking. Had to be. He didn't know how he'd cope if he raised his hopes on wishful thinking and lust, only to have them come crashing down beneath the weight of reality.

"No, you look more like leather than lace," Merry finally replied.

Kirby snorted. "Your little clerk thought the same thing. She told me the leather stuff was across the street."

"I see," Merry said, voice turning cool. "Well, let me know if you decide to go, I can get you a discount there."

"Nah," Kirby said, confused. "End of the day, I’m just a Joe Blow. All set?"

"Yes. This way. You can follow me, though you might already know the way?"

"More or less. You have a nice home."

"It serves its purpose," Merry replied, and pushed the shop door open, leading the way outside.

That's it

2009-11-06T02:40:12Z

When I go home for Christmas, I'm doing a marathon of SPN seaons 4 & 5, cause I'm totally sadface I don't really have time to watch it and am sooo out of the fandom. Plus that will be an awesome fun thing to do while I'm home ^__^

maderr @ 2009-11-05T20:14:00

2009-11-06T01:14:46Z

*work was actually bearable today, though I am utterly sick of the fact my coworker cannot discuss anything other than pregnancy, children, children playing sports, sports, television. It is so painfully obvious my life is black to their white -__-

*King's new book comes out soon ^____^

*I really need more time to write. I have to fix pretty much all of my Wick stories, I've got to finish another novella for the serial stuff, and I've got three short stories IP, not to mention all the other shit I should be doing. I so cannot wait 'til we can afford to hire other writers.

*Though, speaking of that, Sammie and Sasha need to write more too, cause there stuff is all shiny ^__^ I've read the sequel to the story Sasha has running on LT3 now :D and I know a bit about the third, and I know what she's working on now hahahaha but she's in the living room slacking off :3

*It needs to be the weekend, alas, I have one more day of work to get through

*In a couple of weeks, I get to go fetch my littlest sister from school and she is going to hang out with me for a week \o/

*And in a couple of months, I get to go home to hang with my family ^___^

*Hope all nano'ers are going strong ^ __^ Keep it up!!!

*Would anyone want snippets of the stuff I'm working on? I don't recall which things I've posted and which I have not, but if peeps want, I'll post. People are much quieter now that stories are not regularly here, and that makes me sadface, cause I liked chatting and harassing peeps, but I suppose that is the way it goes ^_^ Still, if snippets are wanted, I'll post'em.

*Guess I should stop with the slacking myself now.

*oh, yeah. we had tasty chinese for dinner, and I bought some tasty woodchuck cider that is apparently limited release or something shiny.

*Okay, going now.

Argh fucking car alarm Argh

2009-11-05T05:37:06Z

I was finally asleep. Then I get jerked awake because our stupid fucking vroom vroom neighbors had a car alarm go nuts, and it took them forever to figure it out.

I know shit happens, but argh. I'm so screwed for sleepiung the rest of the night.

In unrelated news

2009-11-02T23:25:49Z

I really am tired of repeating myself. I know people miss stuff, I know people do not pay attention, but I am literally answering the same two questions every week. So:

*I will finish Meant to Be after I rewrite Kidnapped.

*All my stories go straight to LT3 now. I cannot run a business if I post them all here for free. I am sorry this makes people hate me, I'm sorry it makes people cranky, but to be perfectly honest, you're not entitled to anything and have no right to be upset when it's taken away.

I really am sorry if I sound like a raging bitch. I try not to be, but I do get tired of repeating myself and I am really tired of people trying to make me feel guilty over selling my work instead of giving it away. I have posted stuff free for years. I'm not saying I'm the world's best writer - far from it - but I think I'm good enough to ask for a little bit of money. I don't expect everyone to agree with me, but I do expect you to be an adult and accept my decision is made.

Peace out.

maderr @ 2009-11-02T18:19:00

2009-11-02T23:19:12Z

My kitty has been oddly clingy and affectionate lately ^__^ I do not know why, but I luffs it. He might be a bitch, but he luffs me <3

Victoly! \o/

2009-11-02T03:20:06Z

werewolf/gremlin story done \o/ minus a title, argh

now I go back to Addison's story.

then it's back to Duke's Bonded, until the week of Thanksgiving, when I have to flip back to something else.

Then, who knows. I might take a break from new stuff at that point and focus on my rewrite that I've been wanting to do for bloody ever - namely, Treasure, Kidnapped, and Black Magic.

maderr @ 2009-11-01T15:57:00

2009-11-01T20:57:11Z

Argh I hate baby showers. Yet I spent all my extra cash this paycheck to buy chick shiny stuff 'cause I do like her. I just wish I could have dropped the gift and fled.

I am completely peopled out. I need downtime. I cannot stand to endur one more goddamn social engagement. And if one more goddamn person says 'well, it's nice to have something to do' I will lose it. Not even in jest. I'm fucking sick of it. Nothing is more annoying that being upset, and having people laughing at you or trying to say 'there, there, at least X'. Go fuck yourself.

I am done with people. I need to be left the hell alone. I swear to god if anyone tries to make me do shit next weekend, I'm going into hiding. I'm behind on all my work, LT3 really needs me to catch up on that work, and I'm sick of being nice to people I can't stand. Plz to be leaving me alone, kthxbye.

Oh, yeah ^_^

2009-11-01T03:59:04Z

Good luck and have fun to those doing Nano ^_____^

So I get to have a doctor hack at my face

2009-10-27T01:40:42Z

Apparently the nasty sore I get periodically on my cheek is, in fact, a cyst. Awesome! And they cleaned it up and gave me drugs, but the doc said basically to get rid of it forever like, I will need to contact a plastic surgeon and get it cut out. Hooray for facial hacking.

The doctor was full of awesome things to say. Like 'if you don't get it cut out, the (germs or whatever) could infect your blood and get into your brain and that would not be good' and 'if you don't get it taken care of, it could scar. well, it will scar with surgery, but at least it will be a nice, neat straight line'

But, like I told Sammie, I can now start stories with 'When I went to the plastic surgeon' and never say why, and then they can wonder the rest of the night what work I had done :3

Also, she drained the sore and then stuffed it full of gauze. My cheek is stuffed with cloth, this amuses me for no good reason. She has to pull it all back out on Wednesday, I bet that will be awesome to look at.

Also

2009-10-25T17:38:59Z

I managed to successfully make my mom's sweet potato biscuits ^_____^ They are most yummy.

*EDIT*

No recipe, as such. My mom's biscuits are just self-rising flour, shortening, and water. In the case of the sweet potato, she just adds either a couple of small cooked sweet potatoes or a can of precooked ones, and a bit of brown sugar. As to measurements, we've never bothered to measure with biscuits. It's a 'that looks right' sort of thing.

maderr @ 2009-10-25T13:36:00

2009-10-25T17:36:34Z

So I obtained the G.I.Joe movie and watched it

It was very meh, when it should have been so fucking cool. I tried really hard to get into it, I really did. There were bits I liked, but mostly it annoyed me. I didn't like what they did with Duke, I fucking hated what they did with the Baroness, and all the goddamn romance was completely fucking unnecessary.

But I did like that, in the end, the feeble mad scientist was the baddest mother fucker on the block. And that Cobra is slick as fuck and totally got away with it.

Now I totally want to write a story about evil masterind!/mad scientist, where they are maybe not the so evil ones after all, and the mad scientist is hot or something, instead of always a bland geek or hideously disfigured or a crazy old man. There's so much to play with in that role/stereotype.

maderr @ 2009-10-23T08:16:00

2009-10-23T12:16:30Z

Ugh, work. I so can't wait to see how much trouble I'm in, and what they've changed because I'm clearly incompetent, and have I mentioned that I hate my fucking job and I wish LT3 could support me?

Ugh

2009-10-22T11:39:01Z

This week needs to be over.

Weekend recap

2009-10-18T14:01:58Z

Friday I had thought would be pretty quiet, but I wound up going last minute to Indianapolis to see Johnny Socko, who was doing some special reunion for a music festival/fundraiser type thing. They were pretty awesome ^__^ Didn't get home 'til four in the morning, but it was totally worth it.
Saturday I spent way too much money ^__^ I bought new glasses! And prescription sunglasses, which I've never really had (not in recent history anyway) and they totally make me excited. I will make someone get pictures at some point
Then I went shopping for other stuffs. I got a pair of cords, a shirt, and a hoody at Old Navy courtesy of the awesome and too good to me rykaine. Because of her I also got two new pairs of shoes at Payless-some cute little office ballet slippers and some boots for winter \o/
She also got me a gift certificate to B&N, which I spent online to get two slash books I've been meaning to get in print - Caught Running and Cut & Run
We went to The Pub last night and had an awesome time, except starparty is getting out of control now that I am not on the premises to administer her regular beatings :3
The marvelous mechante_fille sent us a house-warming box ^___^ It was full of awesome shineys, and I need to listen to the music today.
We also went out and bought stuff to winterize our house, and we have pretty pretty drapes for the study and living room.
Woke up this morning to see the cats had broken a glass in the kitchen. No wonder they were being so nice to me :3 Silly kitties.
Today I need to get with the writing, cause I have totally slacked for way too long ^__^