I've been extremely busy doing absolutely nothing.
My Dad's been off work for the holidays, and in fact, just went back today. Several times I have thought of writing a post, and then had an "OOH! Internet!" moment. so, sorry.
I will now tell you some stuff.
- I dyed my hair blue, except it's really more bluish blackish. here, have a picture:
- I turned 15! I guess you probably figured that out... I had a couple friends over, and we stayed up all night watching movies and learning dirty words in french. No I won't tell you any of them. I will tell you that we watched Labyrinth and Mrs. Doubtfire.
- I got some really cool stuff for the holidays.
- I am now in possession of a stuffed owl named Watson. If you want to know why his name is Watson, I'll tell you the same thing I told my mom and Jayne: Because Holmes isn't a very good name for an owl.
- I'm working on a new story. Ish. at the moment I'm really just coming up with the world, and possibly putting way to much into it.
- I'm starting a psychology class this semester.
- I didn't shower today.
Uh.. I think you're caught up now.
So, I can't think of anything else to write, so I'll give you an excerpt of the main book I've been working on (I'm determined to finish it before the year is over. I've got some time.), a cute picture of Watson, and maybe a crudely drawn picture of a duck. Because I'm like that.
OK, story:
(This is from a chapter that I pretty much wrote for myself. It's really sweet, but it has almost zero relevance unfortunately.)
Three a.m, and Lydia Winnoway is crying on her bed.
She’s crying because she’s afraid.
She’s afraid that the King’s Guards, those silk cloaked little bastards, will catch James. She’s afraid that one day, he’ll be late, because he’s not coming home. That’s why she yelled at him. Because she didn’t know where he was.
It’s been rough lately for Lydia. Her aunt Muriel is won’t stand for Lydia even being around James- and not because he’s a thief. If she knew what Lydia has been hiding from her-and James-she would be beyond furious.
Lydia is almost sure she's pregnant.
Aunt Muriel isn’t the only person who would hate a half clockface baby, even a blood relation. Lydia has seen babies left on the steps of houses. Even left at the inn.
No child can grow up at the inn. Not surrounded by people like her and James. She knows this from experience.
The door creaks open.
“Lydia? Are you awake?”
It’s James.
“Yeah,” Lydia whispers.
James sits on the bed next to her and wraps his arm around her shoulders. She brushes his cheek, her fingers glancing across his hour hand.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you, I was just worried.”
“I deserved it, Love. But I don’t think the whole bar needed to know.”
Lydia laughed and wiped away her tears. “Next time I’ll yell at you in private then.”
“Agreed.”
Lydia chuckles at that.
James loves her so much. Every time he looks at her, he wonders what she’s doing with a wanted clockface criminal when she could have kings and gods bowing down to her.
He’s been in love before, sure, but never the way he loves Lydia.
She reminds him of the fairytales his Cousin Meghan used to tell him. Stories about a princess who ran away to slay a dragon, and never brushed her raven black hair.
Sure, there may be a lot less dragons around the inn then on the floating kingdom of Frisk, and Lydia’s locks may be a tangle of sandy curls, but the fierce look in her eye, and her easy laugh are things James never thought he would find anywhere besides stories.
Watson. Isn't he frickin' ADORABLE? Seriously, I'm hugging him as I write.
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