Four months late and a dollar short

Well, so much for February… and March… and April. Not sure where they went. Doctors appointments and allergies, I suspect. I definitely remember losing a few weeks to allergies in there. Privately I suspect that there was a break in the wall between this realm and a hell dimension, and some hell-trees snuck in before it was repaired, loosing their evil pollen on the world, well-disguised by by the similar and slightly less sinister action of spring-blooming earth trees.


Anyways. Some bright soul may have noticed that A Gift of a Name is still up. The reason for this being that the editor I was going to flog it to has a 10,000 minimum word count requirement for short stories and despite additions and edits, so far I’ve only been able to get it up to 7,000 words. This is baffling, since adding words is rarely an issue for me. So, for the meantime, until I get over the creeping urge to scream when I think about it, it’s staying up a while longer.

Meanwhile, writing…

April was CampNano, and I got coaxed into joining a cabin. Since I had nothing in mind, this mostly involved typing up already written but not previously typed stories. I did, however, end up writing on a very wicked space pirate character for a while…until I made the mistake of skimming through Nanowrimo while exhausted.

Let me warn you, skimming down an authors’ discussion thread of any sort can be very, very dangerous when you are loopy-tired, more so if you don’t realize that you’re that tired. I now have an Arthur/Mordred romance short running around in my head, driving me insane, filling in details left and right, demanding ungodly amounts of research into arthurian legends [which I don’t like in the first place, thank you very much], and refusing to be written as of yet. Those threads are dangerous, I’m telling you.

Hm. Excerpt, exerpt… Oh, yes, that’s where March went! Meet Fens, one of several POV characters in this story. So. This story opens with a werewolf in a tattoo shop, getting a tattoo from a Fae tattoo artist. After it’s done, he pays for the work, and when asked he absently replies  that he’s an Arne [omega equivalent]. Turns out that this was not the brightest reply he could have given, as it triggers the Fae’s acquisitive streak.

“You’ve already paid for the work, so I can’t keep you on that basis, but did you know that there’s an agreement between the Fae and the Werr that no one of jinn or lesser rank is to enter a Fae shop unescorted by one of higher rank without previous agreement? If you do, you can be taken in exchange for services provided.” The Fae lifted his hand, but Fens found that he was now held in place by a shackle inexplicably merged with the counter.

“Um.” He swallowed hard. “No, I didn’t. And I already paid.”

“That you did.” The Fae walked away.

“Hey, let me out of this!”

He paused, then turned. “Is that a request for the use of my skills?”

“No.” Fens wasn’t stupid.

“Then if you want out, free yourself. By the way, you won’t be able to shift in that shackle.”

“Great.” He said sarcastically, then muttered, “Lupe take it!” He laid his head down on the counter and sighed. This was going to be a long day.

It was hours later, and he was cold and stiff and ready to cry. Several customers had come and gone without giving any indication of even seeing him. Fae magic at work, obviously.

“So, you’re going to be stubborn. Are you holding out for your true mate or something? Is that why you refuse to give in and become mine?” The Fae sounded a bit offended, maybe even a bit hurt.

Fens lifted his head and glared at the Fae. “You could have just asked.”

“And you would have said ‘yes’?” he sounded surprised and dubious.

Fens regarded him silently for a very long minute. “I don’t like being forced to do things. I really don’t like people who don’t respect my intelligence. That aside, I would have said yes if you’d asked to begin with, though not now, of course.”

“Why would you have said yes?”

He smiled thinly. “Let me out of the shop with no impediment to my leaving, and with all my belongings, and I’ll tell you.”

The Fae looked disappointed, as if robbed of a favorite treat. “Agreed, but if you come back of your own will, I will keep you.” He made a gesture and the shackle disappeared.

Fens put on his shirt and coat and made sure he had his wallet and the instruction paper, then sauntered out of the shop. Once over the threshold, he turned and gazed at the Fae for a long moment, memorizing the ice pale blue eyes, the shoulder length silver blue hair caught back in a ponytail, the almost harsh but beautiful features, and the leanly muscled body.

“I won’t come back. But I would have stayed because you’re my mate. Nice meeting you.” With that, feeling like he was courting danger by doing so, he turned his back and walked away quickly. Why in the pits couldn’t he have had a nice jun-ne as a mate? Someone who could be expected to be a little offended by having a mate, but would get over it in a hurry. Why was he stuck wanting an arrogant, manipulative, possessive Fae he couldn’t have?

A shout of rage from behind him hurried his step.