The exercise:
Write something that has to do with: one on one.
With Kat going out Thursday and Friday evening, and me being out last night, tonight was the first time since Wednesday that we were both home to get the boys to bed.
Having one parent for each child was significantly more manageable than either of us having to get both to bed on our own. We've done it occasionally before, but three nights in a row? We've not been 'going out in the evening' people in a long time.
But perhaps, now that we've got a 7 and 3.5 year old, we're moving toward being those sorts of people again.
3 comments:
Hey, you're getting a social life back! Congratulations :) Incidentally, at which point is Max exactly twice as old as Miles? Clearly they're going to be 8 and 4 for a few months, but it seems like the exact day must be somewhere close.
One on one
“Power,” said War. “Lots of it. Dispersed, and returning to the shrine. Very… odd.” His voice had regained some of its usual timbre now, and the tunnel they were in vibrated gently as it echoed around it.
“What’s odd about it?”
“It’s available,” said War. “It’s… seeking a new home, almost.” He looked over at Famine. “So that’s it,” he said. “You’re being shielded from the outside world by the power, and you’re back to normal?”
“Language,” said Famine, mildly. “I’m always normal, unfortunately; if the world around us is less normal than you’d like you should find another one to inhabit. And no, the power isn’t shielding me exactly, it’s more like I’m going one-on-one with the power and it’s making it easier to be purely me, instead of the expectations of me.”
“Guys?” Scuffles reappeared from around the next turn in the tunnel. “Guys, there’s no generator here. The cable’s just lying on the floor not plugged into anything.”
“What the hol-“ War’s words turned into reverb and rumble as he marched down the tunnel to see for himself. Pestilence looked at Famine and grinned.
“Nice to have you back for a bit,” he said. “Not that I don’t like the other Fam, Fam fam, but I miss this one too.”
Famine shivered. “It’s nice,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure it’ll fade when we’re out of here. And, mutatis mutandis, I don’t really like it down here. There’s not much for me to do, and knowing that Moros and Mercy are fighting in the dark doesn’t reassure me.”
“He’s right!” War stormed back, tiny white sparks of electricity leaping from him to the walls of the tunnel where they wormed their way into the rock. “What the hell is going on here? There’s no way for them to raise the Infanta at all.”
“All a diversion?” Pestilence turned back to lead the way. “Or somehow part of waking Narusheteli? Or… Moros got bored and this is him leaving his toys out?”
“Maybe the generator comes later?” Scuffles sounded hopeful, but War turned on him like a fire-tornado looking for something to burn.
“How?” War’s voice shook the whole tunnel and Scuffles quailed.
They walked the length of the tunnel back in silence, though War’s heavy breathing and near-snorting left no-one in any doubt as to the mood he was in. In the main caldera, the seven old men had sat down on the bed, arrayed around three edges of it. Famine waved, cheerily, and War snarled at him.
“What, sis?” said Famine. “They’re the Seven Sages; don’t tell me you’ve forgotten them? There’s Bill, Henry, Rashid—”
“—the what now?” said Pestilence, just as War spat out, “Them? That’s them? Crows and vultures!”
“Who are they, please?” asked Scuffles. He was staring at his feet and gave off an aura of a schoolboy worried that he was supposed to know the answer himself.
“The Seven Sages,” said Famine, but was interrupted by War.
“They’re supposedly immortal,” he said, “and they turn up at major disasters and catastrophes to gloat.”
“They warn about those disasters and catastrophes in advance,” said Famine, trying hard not to sound like he was reprimanding War. “I don’t think they actually gloat.”
“Rashid does.”
“He’s a bit less sanguine than the others,” conceded Famine. “But don’t tar them all with the same brush.”
“Look, fine,” said Scuffles. “I get that they’re wise and War doesn’t like them. But why are they here then? Is raising the Infanta a catastrophe?”
Emily eyed her mother. They had barely made the ferry back to England, the cab screeching up as the boarding horns sounded. Emily was certain that if she had unpacked, her things would have been left behind. As it was, her mother had consented to her running upstairs, scooping up her battered valise, and running back down to the waiting cab.
"Now, mother, can you tell me what is really going on here?"
Her mother looked around the almost empty ferry. No one much wanted to take the late ferry. The seating hall was almost deserted, the only ones sitting in the booths were them and a builder nodding over a cup of tea at the other end.
She lowered her voice anyway. "I told you. My arch-rivals think that I have told you all my secrets, and if they kidnap you, they can trick you into helping them take over the world."
"But I know nothing of what you do or how to take over the world."
"That is absolutely correct, my dear, but my rivals would never believe it. And that is why we have a problem. Hopefully, we will reach Chris's hiding place well before they do, and then we can ambush them. Now do try and get some rest. Too much excitement is not good for someone in your condition." She sat back and closed her eyes. The conversation was evidently finished for now.
Greg - I think they just passed it. I'd have to break it down by how old they are in months. Hold on.
Okay, had to get it down to days. Sept 16th. Max was 2,504 days old, Miles was 1,252 days old. That surprises me, actually, as I thought it would have been in October sometime.
So strange to have Famine talking normally. Nice, but strange. And I continue to be impressed with how you're developing this tale and adding more depth to it at nearly every turn.
Morganna - yup, really good to be getting back to this. Enjoyed your description of the scene here too.
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