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rhienellethWriting is flowing smoothly again today, yay! The book has hit one of those golden strides, where I can't write fast enough to keep up with the stuff tumbling around in my head. Thank God, finally.
To celebrate, a snippet:
“Mercy?”
Drug had paused beside her, and frowned as he followed her gaze to a table, to the men gathered around it.
“What’s wrong? Troopers piss you off lately?” Drug’s question was distant, barely registering, and she didn’t answer.
The shock troops didn’t look over – they were engrossed in a game, and drinks. They weren’t wearing black fatigues, now, just standard issue grays. But she sized them up, imagined them standing, gauged the flex of muscle as they lifted glasses and tossed cards down.
She didn’t realize she’d started for the table until she was almost on top of them. The biggest of the five looked up as the conversation went silent, and she searched her memory for his name. Leos, wasn’t it? Sergeant Leos. He had a mean reputation, she knew that much. More rough looking than the rest, he wore his dark hair too long for military regs, and seemed to cultivate a perpetual unshaven shadow along his jaw. His eyes were dark, a murky blue-green, and she tried to remember if she’d seen them behind a mask last night.
He didn’t say anything, just leaned back in his chair and placed his big hands on his thighs. She imagined them wrapped around one of her arms, and deliberately met his gaze, forcing a smile.
“I think you boys owe me a drink,” she said.
One eyebrow went up, while his men exchanged looks and someone coughed into his hand. Even barring whatever might, or might not, have taken place the night before, pilots and shock troops didn’t mix socially, as a rule. There existed a not-so-friendly rivalry between the two.
“You think?” he drawled slowly.
“Yeah, I do, Sergeant.” She hooked a chair with her foot and pulled it from the table, sat down. “Now, who’s buying?”
For a moment, no one said a damn thing, while she looked around the table and deliberately met every gaze. No one looked away, she had to give them credit for that, but she didn’t think she imagined the guilty looks they exchanged, or the fiddling with empty glasses and shifting in their seats. To her, there was no question these were the men who’d taken her from the brig the night before and helped shove her into an airlock. Or five of the six, anyway.
“Call me Radek.” The comment drew her gaze back to him, and he smiled. Not a friendly smile, exactly, but it seemed to relax his men. “I’ll buy,” he continued, and pressed his thumb against the sensor pad on the side of the table. “What’ll you have?”
To celebrate, a snippet:
“Mercy?”
Drug had paused beside her, and frowned as he followed her gaze to a table, to the men gathered around it.
“What’s wrong? Troopers piss you off lately?” Drug’s question was distant, barely registering, and she didn’t answer.
The shock troops didn’t look over – they were engrossed in a game, and drinks. They weren’t wearing black fatigues, now, just standard issue grays. But she sized them up, imagined them standing, gauged the flex of muscle as they lifted glasses and tossed cards down.
She didn’t realize she’d started for the table until she was almost on top of them. The biggest of the five looked up as the conversation went silent, and she searched her memory for his name. Leos, wasn’t it? Sergeant Leos. He had a mean reputation, she knew that much. More rough looking than the rest, he wore his dark hair too long for military regs, and seemed to cultivate a perpetual unshaven shadow along his jaw. His eyes were dark, a murky blue-green, and she tried to remember if she’d seen them behind a mask last night.
He didn’t say anything, just leaned back in his chair and placed his big hands on his thighs. She imagined them wrapped around one of her arms, and deliberately met his gaze, forcing a smile.
“I think you boys owe me a drink,” she said.
One eyebrow went up, while his men exchanged looks and someone coughed into his hand. Even barring whatever might, or might not, have taken place the night before, pilots and shock troops didn’t mix socially, as a rule. There existed a not-so-friendly rivalry between the two.
“You think?” he drawled slowly.
“Yeah, I do, Sergeant.” She hooked a chair with her foot and pulled it from the table, sat down. “Now, who’s buying?”
For a moment, no one said a damn thing, while she looked around the table and deliberately met every gaze. No one looked away, she had to give them credit for that, but she didn’t think she imagined the guilty looks they exchanged, or the fiddling with empty glasses and shifting in their seats. To her, there was no question these were the men who’d taken her from the brig the night before and helped shove her into an airlock. Or five of the six, anyway.
“Call me Radek.” The comment drew her gaze back to him, and he smiled. Not a friendly smile, exactly, but it seemed to relax his men. “I’ll buy,” he continued, and pressed his thumb against the sensor pad on the side of the table. “What’ll you have?”
