Maykirk’s attention drifts past the tattoos unraveling from Your gently curled fingers and palm to Your neck and breasts. He looks into Your eyes, but doesn’t see his death—not certain anyway. He knows Your unseen hand carries a bolter.
The synthetic bedsheets actually smell like cotton; the pillows fluff like down. Maykirk hadn’t expected such niceties on this floater, but guesses any city this large must have an array of services. He’s glad he spring for the room.
“How much time do you need?” Maykirk asks.
Maykirk laughs. “How much time do you need me to wait before I report my cred stolen so that I can get out of this alive? Or are You still pretending this isn’t a Romp and Rob?”
“I am,” You say. “Or I haven’t decided. Last night was pretty good.”
“I guess I should thank you for that?” Maykirk pulls himself up in the bed. You slides the bolter under the sheets and cranes her neck.
Ok. That’s taking too long to get off the ground this morning, and I’ve discovered something about writing You that I hadn’t realized before: you can’t do it in second person unless you’re in that person’s POV. That seems obvious now, but until I tried it—for wahtever reason I tried it—it hadn’t occured to me. It looks like I’ll need to get a name for my You character if I’m ever going to write outside her POV. Or not write outside her POV.
247 words on day 771
A miniskid slides up to your boots. You toss on your duffel and guitar kit and go back to rummaging around the passenger’s side floorboards to find the second of two dead batts you tossed there. Perhaps you’re having trouble finding either of the batts because you’re thinking more about the security for the data-paq you’re couriering: obscurity, stealth, subterfuge, or strong-arm? Or maybe it’s all the food wrappers, the rank and stale sports-bra, and the books getting in your way.
:Yes, there’s one!:
Normally you’d do the obscurity thing without a further thought. It suits your personality and your wallet, but you’re thinking it over anyway. Stealth’s too blown from your ride in. Can’t motor in on a bitchin’ flit like this custom B’bridge and not expect people to notice. You’re too frazzed after the long jump from [planet name here] to bother with the acting that goes along with subterfuge though you could go for some man burning sex-play. Can’t have too many of those notches. Maybe you’ll fit some of that in anyway. That leaves armed guards and an impromptu parade through the core of Okkatu. And endless waiting.
:Screw it. Not waiting. Not after that ride.:
You remove the data-paq from the skid’s safe and stuff it into a day bag with your floorboard trash and laundry.
:There’s the other batt.:
I thought I’d not yet written your deboarding in the hanger, but apparently I had. Maybe I can slot this bit in before that one.
All this mess with Jansa and her mother and Jansa’s drama disabuses me of the joy of theme weeks. Especially if you get a dud—or what you work into a dud. I like the serenity of the Juena character too much to ruin any potential by exploring the hotheaded Jansa further at this time. Theme week ends early this week.
In the housekeeping category I should note that I’ll be out of my usual environs for the weekend and into a more challenging writing situation next week. I’ll do what I can to roll with the change-up, but I think any long time reader of 1000 Days knows whats up ahead for 1KD.
I’d planned to leave off of the shanty thread initially and I will after this brief exception to prove the rule.
You post your black-out welding goggles to your forehead to review your work in real light. The welds tighten better near the end, of course they’re not as crisp as Daddy might have done them, but they’ll work for tonight’s gig. And they’ll hold till you get the gravity guitar back to that shop in Tsarko II.
You untie the leather drape across you face to blow out the bits of slag [find out what thats really called] from the pick-ups. However, eager for a warm-up, you begin tuning her out before taking off your coveralls or gogs.
Much better. That soft G wave tightened up and seems gapped better between the D and the B waves—the E’s not hairy. Your tuner-monitor redundantly agrees with your fingers. A few more strums to be sure everything’s heavy and you grind into “House on Fire” by The Oh Johnny! Girls.
Word count: 286