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Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Tuesday blaaaahs...

Most people have contempt for Mondays.  Its a reminder of the end of the weekend.  Generally a day to do things that you put off on Friday. But Mondays don't really bother me. It's Tuesdays that really chap my ass.  I'm just bored and moving slowly.  I'm up to 32K on the newest project, which is great--- but I just wish I could get my ideas down faster.  And today I seem to be in slower motion than usual.  It all started this morning when I was so sleepy I just couldn't stand it.  I wanted to fall asleep standing up. Which is so stupid-- I got more sleep last night than usual.  Anyway-- thanks for listening to my blahs.  As a reward.. here's some of the WIP----->

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Sascha had been a slave at The Golden Goblet Tavern for nearly nine years.  Ever since her father had sold her to Mr. Longwillow just after her mother’s death.  And most of the time, she didn’t mind it too much, but putting up with Penny and Mr. Longwillow’s daughter Sera often became tiresome.  They were always ordering her around; finding the most horrid things for her to do:  scrubbing floors, swabbing out the outhouse, slopping the hogs-- all those things that no one else wanted to do.  And Mr. Longwillow, while he was a nice old man, never seemed to catch them in the act of being unkind.  Of course, he always believed their lies about her as well.  Too many times she’d found herself locked in the broom closet for her imagined infractions.  But such is the life of a slave in the village of Kaspar.  
Sascha moved in and out between the tables, wiping them clean of spilled ale and the occasional blood splatter.  It was pointless work, really.  Almost as soon as she was done, someone would come in and mess it all up again.  As if on cue, Sera shoved past Sascha, making her stumble over a chair.  “Careful, wench,” she said, a mocking smile on her lips.  “You’re in my way.”
Sascha glowered.  “How about looking where you’re going,” she replied in a low mumble.  
“What was that, slave?”  Sera whipped around, a threatening glow in her eyes.  
Sascha straightened up to her full height, staring at the other girl.  “I said, look where you’re going.”  She dropped the rag on the table beside them and balled her fists by her sides.  She wasn’t in the mood to deal with Sera’s wickedness today.
“You should watch your mouth, slave,” Sera snarled, though backing off slightly.  She knew all too well that Sascha could fight like a boy.  Many times in their childhoods had Sascha bloddied Sera’s nose.  And although she’d always been punished, Sera’s nose was still crooked.  
“Yeah,” Penny chimed in.  “Slaves with smart mouths get sent to Lord Marek.”  
Sascha opened her mouth to respond but at the mention of his name, the words died on her lips.  Lord Marek was the most feared man in all of Kaspar.  And with good reason.  He was the ruling entity in this village and that meant that his word was law.  He was rarely seen in town and when he was, he struck an imposing figure.  Standing at over six feet and towering above all the other men in town, his frame was bulky and solid from years of battles.  He had a mane of thick black hair that twisted and curved in unkempt waves all the way to his shoulder.  Beneath that tangle of hair, his golden eyes peered out, seeming to bore right into your soul.  On the rare occasions that he smiled, his lips parted to reveal too many pearl white teeth, highlighted by sharp canines.  But size and teeth aside, Marek was not a man to be trifled with and did not suffer fools.  Men who had foolishly ignited his rage rarely lived to tell the tale.  

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