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View Diary: Write On! Revising, briefly. (47 comments)

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  •  277 words (8+ / 0-)

    I took full advantage of the extra 5.

    Callie tried to move, but her body was stuffed neck deep into the Duffel Bag of Least Resistance, which was nailed to the floor.  She tried to move her head, which only tightened the drawstring around her neck.

    "If she‘s the heir of Togwogmagog, she could be useful." The voice belonged to one of the Corpus sisters, Habea or Delectia.  "We could ransom her to King Yerwizeness in exchange for the spell to activate the Jewel."

    Not a bad idea, Callie mused.  The King could talk for years, burying them in plot exposition.

    A tiny dark shape fluttered past:  Lord Baldwin Twinge, the Least Grebe who acted like the Most Grebe.  "It's too dangerous.   I say we beat her to death with our alligator briefcases and hide the body in the transom."  What the hell was a transom?

    Stout’s face appeared in the window.  He was out on the ledge, trying to tell her something.  Callie moaned loudly to keep her captors looking in her direction.

    "I don't think there's legal precedent for that," said the first voice.  

     Stout was gesturing urgently.  No doubt he was planning to rescue her, but there was something he wanted her to do.  She shook her head slightly, tightening the drawstring again.

    The Solicitress continued, "According to common law, we should throw her into a pit full of alligators after dousing her with barbecue sauce."

    Callie felt like her lungs were being squashed.  She had to keep their attention away from Stout. "Could I offer an opinion here?"  Her voice squeaked.

    Stout gestured again, lost his balance, and tumbled backward off the ledge.  His voice echoed on the way down:  “FROOOOOOOOOOOP!”

    I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his payroll. - Edna St. Vincent Millay

    by Tara the Antisocial Social Worker on Thu Mar 07, 2013 at 07:40:38 PM PST

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