But do I really post anything other than sarcastic snippets? Ever?
During my semi-hiatus, I was busy writing. I hadn’t realized it until I hit 140k in The Dying of the Light yesterday and it hit me – oh. Little by little, I HAVE been writing. Huh. [Remember the running joke I mentioned a few months ago where every 10k that gets added to the novel, I see if the gang is together? Eh…they’re still not together. The gang is
basically a conspiracy theory at this point working on it, however. Ever closer. And yes – the goal is still to finish this novel before NaNoWriMo.] That being said, it’s been a while since I’ve posted any snippets, and I hope you enjoy.
He entered the area again with caution, crouching on one knee and drawing his knife from his belt. He inserted the knife into the ground and lifted the blade. It struck nothing but dirt; he placed his knee where the knife had been and once again inserted the blade into the ground. Slowly, foot by foot, he made a clear path toward the Captain.
Tsuchigumo did not speak to him until he was within ten feet of him. Then, in a near-growl, he asked, “Do you think you can disobey my order just because I can’t move?”
Shi straightened and saluted. “Yes, Captain.”
Short notice,” was his only remark as he tucked the knives into the front of his belt and looked at Mustang. “Distraction ready?”
Mustang’s half-smile was tired but set. “I do a pretty mean howler monkey imitation.”
Shi grinned. “I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”
Mustang raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a better idea?”
“Even if I did, I probably wouldn’t tell you. I’m looking forward to your method.”
The cries from the mercenaries were muffled; Shi’s left ear was pressed against Tsuchigumo’s back, his arm covering his other, but one thing he knew – the mine hadn’t exploded.
“Don’t tell me you were standing on a dud the whole time just to be dramatic, Captain,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. A warning gunshot rang out, and he heard the bullet hiss over his head.
“Well,” grunted Tsuchigumo, “not intentionally.”
There was nothing behind him except the open door, and the turned again, moving his finger to the trigger.
“The acoustics in here,” the female voice continued, “are perfect for yodeling.”
“Give me your gun.”
“And why would I do that?”
“So I can see if three bullets are missing from the magazine.”
Hiro turned away from her, tucking the gun back in his belt. “They’re in the locker room.”
“You didn’t shoot them?”
“No, Riza, I didn’t shoot them.”
Silence stretched long and thin. Then Riza said, “I honestly thought you would have.”
The red scales on Hiro’s paper-white skin blurred together in Saizou’s vision, spilling off Hiro’s body, dripping into the floor. The red swallowed everything whole.
“You’re in a good mood,” said Saizou offhandedly, attempting to collect his thoughts, to find something that made sense, something worth saying.
“Not dying usually puts me in a good mood.”
“You think I don’t know you hated me when I first took command?”
“Hate’s a strong word, captain.”
“Are you saying you didn’t?”
A brief half-smile curved Shi’s mouth. “No. It wasn’t just me, though, give the rest of the men some credit. We all hated you.”
Shi nudged his shoulder. “So are you going to get an eye patch like the Prince-Regent’s poisoner?”
Saizou snorted. “Not likely.”
“Matching’s hardly a cardinal sin. Maybe you can spark a trend.”
“I want to spark a rebellion, not a trend.”
Shi eyed Saizou gravely. “Captain,” he said without a trace of humor, “you should embroider that on a pillow.”