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Jun. 3rd, 2010 01:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lenora_rose1) When I was describing a dragon in one of my stories, I ended up writing this sentence: "More heat flowed off him with each motion, and a scent like candle-smoke, but also, strangely, rather like lilac at the end of its bloom." I wrote that scent, and I thought it seemed crazy. But apt.
Now I can't smell lilacs without thinking of dragons.
2) The flooring is in. The next steps are: cleaning and putting in baseboards. Retouching the paint on the walls. Moving furniture into position (different from the last arrangement; we seem to have decided to flip a lot around.)
My father in law did by far the most of the work. Colin did a lot, including most of the more esoteric and tricky board-cutting and the work on vents and ducts. Two friends, Chris Q and Nathaniel, came by and leant their hands. I made myself available most times I was home, tore up boards, sorted boards, and laid out flooring and cleaned - and did a number of other assorted side activities that were necessary to the job but far from central. And my mother in law occasionally helped and more often cleaned but most often fed the lot of us, full home cooked meals for nearly every single lunch and dinner, which is an impressive amount of work.
I really do feel like they could have done it without me; not because I didn't do anything, but because my jobs were always smaller fussier things. Still, i feel proud looking at the floor.
3) The rain we had last weekend had one effect on the house; the vent leading to the upstairs bathroom fan leaked. Not a little. A whole lot.
To trace the leak, Colin climbed up into the attic. And, knowing he'd have to go back, he left it wide open. Even though he said he'd seen evidence it was occupied.
Result? This is the e-mail I sent Colin today (with one correction, as I didn't take the time to dig up the accent aigu.):
We had the first squirrel in the house.
Élise didn't catch it. Not for lack of interest. She *was* first on
the scene and cornered it on the stairwell post.
I did. With the pink garbage pail so conveniently left in the hallway.
I'll grant Élise the assist, though; it went my way because she was on
the other side, and she did nearly bump her nose on the garbage pail
as it came down on the thing. But I really didn't want it getting past
me into the bedroom.
You mom took it outside (I was still in my nightshirt; this all
happened about five minutes after my alarm went off, while I was still
trying to convince myself to have a shower. Actually, I first thought
the thump in the hall was Adam's door. Until Both cats went on full
alert, and Élise took off.)
She released it some ways away, but I expect it or its fellows will be
back to the attic soon. Granted, between humans and cats, they may not
try to venture down again...
I washed much of the upstairs hallway; it definitely left a couple of
small black things behind it on the floor where it had been trapped,
as well as more insulation. And I teased Élise for not catching it
first. (Not that i think she understood. She did look like she wanted
her toy back.)
Irina never left the bedroom. I'm still not sure if it had got past me
if she'd have jumped at it or away.
Anyhow, in short, if you could try and find the places they get into
the attic and seal them up, tonight seems like a good time.And should
we lay down some of the dessicating poison up there, too?
Turns out I'm slightly wrong, and my mother-in-law handed it to my father-in-law, who, in her polite words, tested how well it could swim (not very), and then got rid of the remains. I can't say I disapprove. I just didn't want it killed in the house. Or toyed with anywhere that I'd regret having to clean.
Colin put a live trap up there instead of poison, as he couldn't find any of the desiccating (Now that I have a spell-check...) kind, and pointed out that he couldn't walk safely across the attic to look for holes without removing all the insulation, as he couldn't see the support beams.And to find the entry from the outside, he'd need a two-storey ladder, and ours was loaned out to *someone* and never returned (We'd have asked if he could remember who had it. But the last one we remember was Augustine United Church, and I distinctly remember carrying it home from there.)
4) I'm still working on the wrong projects. or the wrong parts of the right projects. Argh.
5) Someone asked me recently about putting writing samples on my LJ more often. So. What the heck. This is the opening to Bird of Dusk. (The * is where the guy in Writing Idol stopped reading; though I did change small things since then.)
When the doorbell rang, Harry thumbed the pause button. James D., intent on the video game, swore at him more for habit than rancour.
"You wanted pizza," Harry replied. "Clear a spot on the table, would you?"
He wheeled for the front hall while James and Zachary D. bickered about who should actually do the work. But instead of opening the door to a frazzled pizza delivery, he faced a drenched redhead, so thin there seemed to be nothing to his face but cheekbones. Harry sucked in a breath, hard, as if by doing so he could hide his dismay.
"Finno," he said. Plainly, it had rained since the Ds had arrived, though the sidewalks were drying in patches. "Er, this isn't the best time."
"Sorry," Finno said, and tugged at the screen door. He kept his voice thankfully low. "I just. I need to talk to you right now."
Harry flicked the screen door lock. "Can you make it fast?"
Finno slid inside as if he thought Harry wouldn't want any of the neighbours to see him. He dropped a backpack onto the shoe pile. "Who's here?" he asked.
"The Ds and Faye," Harry said. "Look, what's got your panties in a twist?"
Because Finno, who always looked more sickly than he was, and often far too serious, looked worse than usual. His eyes had gone yellow as an owl's, and his fists were driven hard into his pockets.
*
"It's mom. Look, I'll stay out of the way, but-" His voice cut off as if someone had sliced through the tape.
"That's not pizza," said James D.
Finno closed his eyes as if contemplating suicide.
"I get it," James said. "You meant to hire him as entertainment. Clowns are better than freaks."
"Oh, funny," Harry said. "I'll be back in a minute, okay? Just let us talk."
But Finno's eyes had opened, the yellow searing into blue-white, as Harry had only seen them once before. James leaned forward, almost on his toes, chest out and shoulders broad, as if he needed to look any bigger. Harry checked for flammables -- but the list started with the doorway Finno was braced against.
"Fionchadd," James said. "Come in. Entertain us. It's the least you owe."
"No," Finno twisted away. "Sorry, Harry. I'll go."
"Don't like to face the things you've done?" said James D. He'd lifted his right arm to lean against the archway into the living room, and tipped his blond head towards it to better draw attention to the burn scar that took the shape of a palm and curled fingers, closed tight around his forearm.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow," Finno said to Harry, and managed not to look back, but every line of his body had slumped in retreat, and he wobbled a bit on the steps down. Harry was inches from calling him back, from throwing out the others if that was what it took to get Finno to explain what the hell was going on. James laughed, and Harry swore, and slammed the inside door. The last thing Finno ever needed was to deal with James D. for one more second.
"What was he doing here anyhow?" James asked.
"He comes by three or four times a week," Harry said, too pissed off to lie.
"How come I've never seen him anywhere near you, then?"
Harry shrugged. "I told him we get together Saturdays. It's not like him to forget."
"Yeah, but never at school, either," James said. "I never guessed you were his friend."
Since before kindergarten. Harry avoided James's scrutiny. He let James explain to the others who'd been at the door, let Zachary D. whoop and laugh.
He'd missed the first two weeks of high school, still in rehabilitation, and by then the damage was done. Finno Connery had caused a full scale panic by appearing to drop dead in the middle of the main hallway, and lost all the sympathy he might have gained, once revived, by sulking and cursing at those who'd lingered to help him, then storming from the school. Burning James D.'s arm a week later -- the rumour was that he'd done it with acid stolen from the chemistry lab -- had cemented it. So, for a year and a half, they'd never spoken on school grounds.
It was a thin excuse, however true, that Finno had avoided Harry first, "to give you a fair chance".
"Good riddance," Zachary said, thumping onto the couch and stealing James's controller at the Nintendo.
Faye, who had sprawled in the open space behind the couch to read one of James D's comics, knelt upright to better see the others. "I thought you'd stopped hanging around with him after Junior High."
"If you win," Harry said to Zachary, "It'll only be because James was a mile ahead before you started."
"Bullshit," said Zachary D., younger, bulkier and more petulant than his brother. "I'll whip your ass myself."
"Since when? You suck," James said, then, a bit more mildly. "Sorry, Faye." The girl only quirked her mouth in answer; Harry had said worse about Zachary to her. "So, Harry, why do you let the freak hang out with you?"
"We have - had - a lot in common," Harry said.
"What, you believe in magic?" said Faye, with real scorn.
The brothers D. traded a look so tight and private Harry said, "Well, yes," just to get it to stop.
"Why?" said Faye, looking over her glasses instead of through them, though it only made her look more myopic.
"I've seen it," Harry said. "You only believe what you see, right?"
James D. said, "If magic exists, it sucks, and it sure as hell ain't worth it."
Faye pushed back her braids. "What do you mean, it sucks? I mean, if magic were real, imagine what we could do. Like this." She tapped the comic.
"But we haven't done it," James replied. "We haven't saved train wrecks, or cleaned up the Amazon, or any of that crap. That leaves three options." He lifted his hand, three fingers up. "Magic doesn't exist," He curled down his ring finger. "It exists, but it's too weak to do anything really useful -- which means it sucks." He curled down his index finger, leaving the middle pointing at the ceiling. "It exists, but the people who have it use it all for themselves and to screw over other people, so it makes the world worse. Which means, it sucks."
Harry punched hard at the controller, missed a jump entirely. His mouth had filled with the distinctive tangs of algae-filled water, leaking oil, and wild horse. "James, remind me again why you failed last year?"
"They're teaching us crap," James said, then whooped at the screen. "Good move, Zack! Ass outta there, it's my turn now."
"Take mine," Harry said. He worked his way around to the dining room. It was tricky with Faye curled up in his usual route behind the couch, leaving him to struggle his way behind the TV without snagging a wire in the wheels. He'd rather concentrate on manoeuvering than magic.
The doorbell rang again. "It better be pizza this time," said Zachary D. He grabbed the cash off the top of the TV and went for the door; James immediately accused him of trying to cover his losses. Faye followed, and carried the pizzas to the table while he paid.
Zachary D. reappeared, saying, "Hey, look what I found." He held a backpack, and he'd begun tugging at a zipper before Harry understood. "Let's see what the freak has. Maybe there'll be something worthwhile."
James said, "Leave it alone, Zack."
"I'm just looking," Zachary D. replied, curling his lip at his big brother, the zipper half open. "What do you think he'll have? Magic 101? How To Cast a Spell So People Like You? That would take real magic."
Harry, belatedly, said, "Put it down."
James D. grabbed his brother, jerked his arm up and back. As Zachary yelled, the bag hit the ground, the zipper wide, and the contents spilled out; the bottle of water Finno always carried, and the bags of dried fruit and nuts. A shirt unrolled and toppled free more slowly. A brush, and a clear baggie with a toothbrush and deodorant. More clothes, from the look of it.
"Oh, shit," said James D., before Harry understood. Finno had mentioned his mom, whom he never discussed, and Harry would never ask about.
James swore again, drawling it out, as if he actually sympathized with his own worst enemy. "Harry, if he's run away, where would he stay?"
Harry tried to answer blandly, but his voice betrayed him. "Nowhere," he said. "He has no other friends. He's got nowhere to go."
#
Now I can't smell lilacs without thinking of dragons.
2) The flooring is in. The next steps are: cleaning and putting in baseboards. Retouching the paint on the walls. Moving furniture into position (different from the last arrangement; we seem to have decided to flip a lot around.)
My father in law did by far the most of the work. Colin did a lot, including most of the more esoteric and tricky board-cutting and the work on vents and ducts. Two friends, Chris Q and Nathaniel, came by and leant their hands. I made myself available most times I was home, tore up boards, sorted boards, and laid out flooring and cleaned - and did a number of other assorted side activities that were necessary to the job but far from central. And my mother in law occasionally helped and more often cleaned but most often fed the lot of us, full home cooked meals for nearly every single lunch and dinner, which is an impressive amount of work.
I really do feel like they could have done it without me; not because I didn't do anything, but because my jobs were always smaller fussier things. Still, i feel proud looking at the floor.
3) The rain we had last weekend had one effect on the house; the vent leading to the upstairs bathroom fan leaked. Not a little. A whole lot.
To trace the leak, Colin climbed up into the attic. And, knowing he'd have to go back, he left it wide open. Even though he said he'd seen evidence it was occupied.
Result? This is the e-mail I sent Colin today (with one correction, as I didn't take the time to dig up the accent aigu.):
We had the first squirrel in the house.
Élise didn't catch it. Not for lack of interest. She *was* first on
the scene and cornered it on the stairwell post.
I did. With the pink garbage pail so conveniently left in the hallway.
I'll grant Élise the assist, though; it went my way because she was on
the other side, and she did nearly bump her nose on the garbage pail
as it came down on the thing. But I really didn't want it getting past
me into the bedroom.
You mom took it outside (I was still in my nightshirt; this all
happened about five minutes after my alarm went off, while I was still
trying to convince myself to have a shower. Actually, I first thought
the thump in the hall was Adam's door. Until Both cats went on full
alert, and Élise took off.)
She released it some ways away, but I expect it or its fellows will be
back to the attic soon. Granted, between humans and cats, they may not
try to venture down again...
I washed much of the upstairs hallway; it definitely left a couple of
small black things behind it on the floor where it had been trapped,
as well as more insulation. And I teased Élise for not catching it
first. (Not that i think she understood. She did look like she wanted
her toy back.)
Irina never left the bedroom. I'm still not sure if it had got past me
if she'd have jumped at it or away.
Anyhow, in short, if you could try and find the places they get into
the attic and seal them up, tonight seems like a good time.And should
we lay down some of the dessicating poison up there, too?
Turns out I'm slightly wrong, and my mother-in-law handed it to my father-in-law, who, in her polite words, tested how well it could swim (not very), and then got rid of the remains. I can't say I disapprove. I just didn't want it killed in the house. Or toyed with anywhere that I'd regret having to clean.
Colin put a live trap up there instead of poison, as he couldn't find any of the desiccating (Now that I have a spell-check...) kind, and pointed out that he couldn't walk safely across the attic to look for holes without removing all the insulation, as he couldn't see the support beams.And to find the entry from the outside, he'd need a two-storey ladder, and ours was loaned out to *someone* and never returned (We'd have asked if he could remember who had it. But the last one we remember was Augustine United Church, and I distinctly remember carrying it home from there.)
4) I'm still working on the wrong projects. or the wrong parts of the right projects. Argh.
5) Someone asked me recently about putting writing samples on my LJ more often. So. What the heck. This is the opening to Bird of Dusk. (The * is where the guy in Writing Idol stopped reading; though I did change small things since then.)
When the doorbell rang, Harry thumbed the pause button. James D., intent on the video game, swore at him more for habit than rancour.
"You wanted pizza," Harry replied. "Clear a spot on the table, would you?"
He wheeled for the front hall while James and Zachary D. bickered about who should actually do the work. But instead of opening the door to a frazzled pizza delivery, he faced a drenched redhead, so thin there seemed to be nothing to his face but cheekbones. Harry sucked in a breath, hard, as if by doing so he could hide his dismay.
"Finno," he said. Plainly, it had rained since the Ds had arrived, though the sidewalks were drying in patches. "Er, this isn't the best time."
"Sorry," Finno said, and tugged at the screen door. He kept his voice thankfully low. "I just. I need to talk to you right now."
Harry flicked the screen door lock. "Can you make it fast?"
Finno slid inside as if he thought Harry wouldn't want any of the neighbours to see him. He dropped a backpack onto the shoe pile. "Who's here?" he asked.
"The Ds and Faye," Harry said. "Look, what's got your panties in a twist?"
Because Finno, who always looked more sickly than he was, and often far too serious, looked worse than usual. His eyes had gone yellow as an owl's, and his fists were driven hard into his pockets.
*
"It's mom. Look, I'll stay out of the way, but-" His voice cut off as if someone had sliced through the tape.
"That's not pizza," said James D.
Finno closed his eyes as if contemplating suicide.
"I get it," James said. "You meant to hire him as entertainment. Clowns are better than freaks."
"Oh, funny," Harry said. "I'll be back in a minute, okay? Just let us talk."
But Finno's eyes had opened, the yellow searing into blue-white, as Harry had only seen them once before. James leaned forward, almost on his toes, chest out and shoulders broad, as if he needed to look any bigger. Harry checked for flammables -- but the list started with the doorway Finno was braced against.
"Fionchadd," James said. "Come in. Entertain us. It's the least you owe."
"No," Finno twisted away. "Sorry, Harry. I'll go."
"Don't like to face the things you've done?" said James D. He'd lifted his right arm to lean against the archway into the living room, and tipped his blond head towards it to better draw attention to the burn scar that took the shape of a palm and curled fingers, closed tight around his forearm.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow," Finno said to Harry, and managed not to look back, but every line of his body had slumped in retreat, and he wobbled a bit on the steps down. Harry was inches from calling him back, from throwing out the others if that was what it took to get Finno to explain what the hell was going on. James laughed, and Harry swore, and slammed the inside door. The last thing Finno ever needed was to deal with James D. for one more second.
"What was he doing here anyhow?" James asked.
"He comes by three or four times a week," Harry said, too pissed off to lie.
"How come I've never seen him anywhere near you, then?"
Harry shrugged. "I told him we get together Saturdays. It's not like him to forget."
"Yeah, but never at school, either," James said. "I never guessed you were his friend."
Since before kindergarten. Harry avoided James's scrutiny. He let James explain to the others who'd been at the door, let Zachary D. whoop and laugh.
He'd missed the first two weeks of high school, still in rehabilitation, and by then the damage was done. Finno Connery had caused a full scale panic by appearing to drop dead in the middle of the main hallway, and lost all the sympathy he might have gained, once revived, by sulking and cursing at those who'd lingered to help him, then storming from the school. Burning James D.'s arm a week later -- the rumour was that he'd done it with acid stolen from the chemistry lab -- had cemented it. So, for a year and a half, they'd never spoken on school grounds.
It was a thin excuse, however true, that Finno had avoided Harry first, "to give you a fair chance".
"Good riddance," Zachary said, thumping onto the couch and stealing James's controller at the Nintendo.
Faye, who had sprawled in the open space behind the couch to read one of James D's comics, knelt upright to better see the others. "I thought you'd stopped hanging around with him after Junior High."
"If you win," Harry said to Zachary, "It'll only be because James was a mile ahead before you started."
"Bullshit," said Zachary D., younger, bulkier and more petulant than his brother. "I'll whip your ass myself."
"Since when? You suck," James said, then, a bit more mildly. "Sorry, Faye." The girl only quirked her mouth in answer; Harry had said worse about Zachary to her. "So, Harry, why do you let the freak hang out with you?"
"We have - had - a lot in common," Harry said.
"What, you believe in magic?" said Faye, with real scorn.
The brothers D. traded a look so tight and private Harry said, "Well, yes," just to get it to stop.
"Why?" said Faye, looking over her glasses instead of through them, though it only made her look more myopic.
"I've seen it," Harry said. "You only believe what you see, right?"
James D. said, "If magic exists, it sucks, and it sure as hell ain't worth it."
Faye pushed back her braids. "What do you mean, it sucks? I mean, if magic were real, imagine what we could do. Like this." She tapped the comic.
"But we haven't done it," James replied. "We haven't saved train wrecks, or cleaned up the Amazon, or any of that crap. That leaves three options." He lifted his hand, three fingers up. "Magic doesn't exist," He curled down his ring finger. "It exists, but it's too weak to do anything really useful -- which means it sucks." He curled down his index finger, leaving the middle pointing at the ceiling. "It exists, but the people who have it use it all for themselves and to screw over other people, so it makes the world worse. Which means, it sucks."
Harry punched hard at the controller, missed a jump entirely. His mouth had filled with the distinctive tangs of algae-filled water, leaking oil, and wild horse. "James, remind me again why you failed last year?"
"They're teaching us crap," James said, then whooped at the screen. "Good move, Zack! Ass outta there, it's my turn now."
"Take mine," Harry said. He worked his way around to the dining room. It was tricky with Faye curled up in his usual route behind the couch, leaving him to struggle his way behind the TV without snagging a wire in the wheels. He'd rather concentrate on manoeuvering than magic.
The doorbell rang again. "It better be pizza this time," said Zachary D. He grabbed the cash off the top of the TV and went for the door; James immediately accused him of trying to cover his losses. Faye followed, and carried the pizzas to the table while he paid.
Zachary D. reappeared, saying, "Hey, look what I found." He held a backpack, and he'd begun tugging at a zipper before Harry understood. "Let's see what the freak has. Maybe there'll be something worthwhile."
James said, "Leave it alone, Zack."
"I'm just looking," Zachary D. replied, curling his lip at his big brother, the zipper half open. "What do you think he'll have? Magic 101? How To Cast a Spell So People Like You? That would take real magic."
Harry, belatedly, said, "Put it down."
James D. grabbed his brother, jerked his arm up and back. As Zachary yelled, the bag hit the ground, the zipper wide, and the contents spilled out; the bottle of water Finno always carried, and the bags of dried fruit and nuts. A shirt unrolled and toppled free more slowly. A brush, and a clear baggie with a toothbrush and deodorant. More clothes, from the look of it.
"Oh, shit," said James D., before Harry understood. Finno had mentioned his mom, whom he never discussed, and Harry would never ask about.
James swore again, drawling it out, as if he actually sympathized with his own worst enemy. "Harry, if he's run away, where would he stay?"
Harry tried to answer blandly, but his voice betrayed him. "Nowhere," he said. "He has no other friends. He's got nowhere to go."
#
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-06-03 02:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-03 05:37 pm (UTC)I like the way you make the reader's sympathy jump around from character to character in that excerpt.
no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 05:39 am (UTC)The floors are looking very good, especially now the baseboards are in and mostly caulked. We have one major thing left to do; replace the bottom step of the staircase. (They needed to remove it to get all the old wood out). As the person who staggers down at 7:0 Am to feed the cats, I have to say, I'm really looking forward to having another stair.
Thanks for the comment on the excerpt.
no subject
Date: 2010-06-04 03:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-04 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 05:40 am (UTC)I'll forgive you the apostrophe this time. ;)