(no subject)
So . . . they really need to give me more things to do at work.
I managed to finish off a book and write nearly 3500 words on my story Eden (which has been restarted again X_X)
Arman contained a shiver, mentally wincing as his brain sped up, quickly sorting through his options. So there are no more flowery words to waste, Mr. President? No more diplomacy or thinly concealed agendas? Has the time for our battle finally come? He frowned, correcting his logic. No, this is merely a test; he's still playing with me. And so the game continues. Which pawn shall I move this time, I wonder?
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"What happened to your spies, General Chief Dusan?"
[text in here I'm cutting out for this preview]
"Oh, the usual I imagine," he kept his voice casual, as if he were sharing office gossip or something of a more benign nature, "Spies are rarely ever dealt with kindly when caught, you know. I doubt the rebels are up to our level of cruelty, but assuredly we'll never see or hear from those men again." He flashed a mocking smile at the president, as he continued with his sarcastic tirade. "Or do you suppose they intend to pat them on the shoulder and send them back to us? Perhaps we should make preparations for their return? See that their rooms remain unfilled?"
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"I trust you won't be sending out some rejects, General Chief,"the president's tone said very much the opposite of his words, "That's hardly what the situation calls for."
"Oh no," Arman grinned, "Quite the contrary really. They're a minor miracle, despite their . . . ," he paused, searching for the right word, "eccentricities they manage to rank at the top of our Elites. They have . . . chemistry, in a strange, weird way. It's really quite remarkable, if a bit unbelievable. Still, they're consistent enough to rule out being a fluke."
"That doesn't reassure me, Grand Chief," the president remarked blandly, "I'm familiar with your sense of humor."
"Oh, believe me, Mr. President," Arman bared his teeth, "It wasn't supposed to. However, you'll just have to trust me this time."
"And therein lies the problem," the older man muttered, "I don't trust you."
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"Great," Damien muttered, "they're either stupid amateurs--ay kay ay a waste of time--or we're really in for a party."
"I'd guess the latter," Satoru answered distractedly, "Our luck's too bad for the former."
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"You really do have a death wish," Satoru told him, resisting the urge to smack him upside the head. "This is why all our missions turn into absolute disasters, this!"
"Really? I didn't know ringing a door bell was such a perilous thing, I'll have to reconsider knocking next time," the reply was sarcastic and Satoru didn't dignify it with a response.
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"I really, really don't like the feel of this. This doesn't feel like 'trap,' it feels like 'dead.'"
"Us or the convicts?" Satoru muttered.
"Both," Damien shuddered. "You know, illegal constructs aren't always very well behaved . . . ."
Satoru caught the end of the thought, "Shit."
"Yeah. Shit," Damien agreed. "Maybe it'll have a soft spot for pink?"
"Yeah, and maybe it kidnapped everyone for a tea party," Satoru remarked dryly.
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"Hope all you want, just don't get eaten," Satoru-the-ever-practical replied.
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"Ew!" Damien stared at the drained husks that remained of the convicts they were sent to capture, "It doesn't clean up after itself either! Why can't we get a self-cleaning construct?"
"That," Satoru remarked, eyes never leaving the construct,"is asking too much, I think."
I write better when at work, I think. X__x
I managed to finish off a book and write nearly 3500 words on my story Eden (which has been restarted again X_X)
Arman contained a shiver, mentally wincing as his brain sped up, quickly sorting through his options. So there are no more flowery words to waste, Mr. President? No more diplomacy or thinly concealed agendas? Has the time for our battle finally come? He frowned, correcting his logic. No, this is merely a test; he's still playing with me. And so the game continues. Which pawn shall I move this time, I wonder?
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"What happened to your spies, General Chief Dusan?"
[text in here I'm cutting out for this preview]
"Oh, the usual I imagine," he kept his voice casual, as if he were sharing office gossip or something of a more benign nature, "Spies are rarely ever dealt with kindly when caught, you know. I doubt the rebels are up to our level of cruelty, but assuredly we'll never see or hear from those men again." He flashed a mocking smile at the president, as he continued with his sarcastic tirade. "Or do you suppose they intend to pat them on the shoulder and send them back to us? Perhaps we should make preparations for their return? See that their rooms remain unfilled?"
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"I trust you won't be sending out some rejects, General Chief,"the president's tone said very much the opposite of his words, "That's hardly what the situation calls for."
"Oh no," Arman grinned, "Quite the contrary really. They're a minor miracle, despite their . . . ," he paused, searching for the right word, "eccentricities they manage to rank at the top of our Elites. They have . . . chemistry, in a strange, weird way. It's really quite remarkable, if a bit unbelievable. Still, they're consistent enough to rule out being a fluke."
"That doesn't reassure me, Grand Chief," the president remarked blandly, "I'm familiar with your sense of humor."
"Oh, believe me, Mr. President," Arman bared his teeth, "It wasn't supposed to. However, you'll just have to trust me this time."
"And therein lies the problem," the older man muttered, "I don't trust you."
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"Great," Damien muttered, "they're either stupid amateurs--ay kay ay a waste of time--or we're really in for a party."
"I'd guess the latter," Satoru answered distractedly, "Our luck's too bad for the former."
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"You really do have a death wish," Satoru told him, resisting the urge to smack him upside the head. "This is why all our missions turn into absolute disasters, this!"
"Really? I didn't know ringing a door bell was such a perilous thing, I'll have to reconsider knocking next time," the reply was sarcastic and Satoru didn't dignify it with a response.
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"I really, really don't like the feel of this. This doesn't feel like 'trap,' it feels like 'dead.'"
"Us or the convicts?" Satoru muttered.
"Both," Damien shuddered. "You know, illegal constructs aren't always very well behaved . . . ."
Satoru caught the end of the thought, "Shit."
"Yeah. Shit," Damien agreed. "Maybe it'll have a soft spot for pink?"
"Yeah, and maybe it kidnapped everyone for a tea party," Satoru remarked dryly.
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"Hope all you want, just don't get eaten," Satoru-the-ever-practical replied.
__ ____________________________________________________ __
"Ew!" Damien stared at the drained husks that remained of the convicts they were sent to capture, "It doesn't clean up after itself either! Why can't we get a self-cleaning construct?"
"That," Satoru remarked, eyes never leaving the construct,"is asking too much, I think."
I write better when at work, I think. X__x