Beh Lavi at the Bottom

April 18th is my new end date for 1000 Days.

A FANBOY warm up:
Elizabeth and Tony made the lasagna, poured the wine and served the bread, for Gustav and Konstantine had grown too old and too important to bother themselves with such dinner preparation.

The bolter rose slowly to hover above our heads, and Terri flew away.

The servants were not allowed to light the candles to guide the old king’s feet down the hall to his bed, nor were they encouraged to assist him up the uneven steps.

Rajesh intended to prepare the beds for his guests, but the sheets he thought were clean were dusted in ash and sand.

Stan spurred his horse to a throaty gallup, or he would never make the train.

The wind tugged at the candles’ flames like a spinster plucking eyebrows, yet the little fires remained.

The barbarian threw up her shield to block my sword, so I rolled to her side and kicked her feet out from under her.

Some of those coordinating conjunctions, specifically ‘nor’ and ‘for’, are a challenge to write. I’m better at ‘yet’ than I am ‘or’ most times too.

Beh Lavi, Curswoom, Praincala or Pratacalla, Jingle-pants.

Goal: Curswoom, “Woo”, wants to convince the city to increase the water flow for her district for more hours of each day.

“You won’t get in looking like that.” The guard distinctly avoided looking to Curswoom’s uncovered legs or tail. She whisked the auburn tip of it into the edge of his gaze then cracked it’s ropey length on the concrete floor. He continued to stare over her shoulder like a blind man missing all the normal interests.

“They called my number.”

“That just means ‘next’.”

“I can’t afford jingle-pants.”

“None of you Beh Lavi-curs ever can.” He surprised her by using the [proper name of both her race and clan] rather than the denigrating slang: bird-dog. [maybe he wasn’t as bad as she’d assumed].

325 words on day 944

Fanboy Fails to the Rescue

“Hide it.” Narkkid handed the cylinder to Tjon. “Uma, get up out of there and get back to work on that Shortle’s flit. He wants it before noon.

Narkkid was scooping coffee grounds when the police landed…

[describe the pair of cops here]
“Good morning, officer. I’m just making coffee. Would you care…”

“Citizen, please address me as Constable Ock or just Constable.” The marquee on Constable Ock’s chest plate scrolled an echo of his declaration in the three most common languages of [the name of the city] , [Tjon’s native badger language], and MILSpec. Narkkid read each hoping the not impolite delay would give the girl a few more seconds to gain distance or hide.

“Constable Ock, would you like some coffee?” she asked in the [first most common of the three most common]—the same language they’d both used initially.


I’m clearly out of practice writing these days. I’m going to punt with a FANBOY …

for, and, nor, but, or, yet, (so, plus)

Uma toed the foot-shield back and stepped on the button to elevate the Shortle’s another few inches, and Tjon split his attention between a screen and a notepad transcribing the information on one to the other.

Narkkid tried to assure Constable Ock that none of them had a chance to speak to the girl, but she sensed he didn’t believe her.

Neither Uma nor Tjon nor Narkkid had spoken to the girl, for there wasn’t enough time.
Narkkid volunteered many details, but she didn’t mention the cylinder.

Tjon hid the cylinder in their best stash, plus he loaded the gimme-stash with a suitable bribe amount.

Mrs. Crown seemed anxious to interrupt the constable in a number of places, yet she remained quiet till the end.

The constable completed his questioning of Uma, so she returned to her work on the Shortle’s.

Eesh, I’ve even blown that with a couple repeats.


331 words on day 922