4 posts tagged “hpwriting”

Show us a book you wish you had written.

She's Come Undone (Oprah's Book Club)

Wally Lamb

Show us your favorite writer.

Cloudwalker

There she be.

Show us where you write most often.

My Lair

Show us a snippet of something you're writing.

There had been one time when the guys had been staying at Mia’s house for the weekend that Rowen had thought it would be fun to play a joke on Sage.  He’d switched the sugar and salt containers before heading off to bed, expecting to have a good laugh the next morning when Halo poured his tea. 

Of course, Mia had gotten up early that morning to make breakfast, and she’d poured a liberal amount of “sugar” into her coffee, unaware of what Rowen had done.  She’d spit the awful mixture out all over the counter, drinking milk straight from the carton to wash the taste out of her mouth.

The police station coffee sort of tasted like that.

They’d offered her the cup of questionable liquid when they’d first brought her into the interrogation room; she’d accepted politely but wasn’t drinking it, simply letting it cool between her cupped hands as she repeated the same story over and over again.  It had all started badly when they’d called her “Mrs. Koji” and hadn’t liked that she’d corrected them.  She didn’t understand the “good cop, bad cop” scenario people were always talking about.  One of the officers just looked completely bored with her, and the other was treating her like she was a total nuisance, too stupid to know what had happened to her.

She had no idea how long she’d really been sitting there—there was no clock on the bare grey walls, and the high windows gave no clues to the progression of the dark night outside, just black sky beyond the smeary glass.  Sitting almost forlornly on the sill was a plastic basket of plush animals—things like a bunny leaking stuffing from a few burst seams, a long snake with big, googly eyes, a pony whose neck was flopping over from too many instances of being clutched tightly in terror—probably for when they wanted to comfort a child they had to question.  The thought of a child being in this unfriendly room was appalling to Mia, and the battered toys scared her even as her hands itched irrationally to pull one to her chest and hug it.  She was very aware of the absence of White Blaze at her side.  He was the best toy—warm, solid, alive, ready to scratch hell out of anyone who even looked at her funny.

The detectives were looking at her funny.

“And you teach…which subject, Ms. Koji?” the bored detective, who had introduced himself as Detective Shiga, asked.  His hair was clipped very short, leaving his ears marooned on the sides of his head, and Mia wondered exactly how much overtime had conditioned him to keep his appearance as low-maintenance as possible.  His dress shirt was wrinkling beneath the shoulder straps of his holster, adding to the overall air of weariness that shrouded him.

“Romance literature,” Mia repeated, brushing her bangs off her forehead for what felt like the thousandth time.  The interview room was poorly ventilated, and the enclosed space was humid; her skin prickled with heat.  The chair they’d insisted she sit in was straight-backed and stiff, and she resisted a paranoid urge to wipe any fingerprints she might be leaving on the table’s surface away with the sleeve of her jacket.  “Hiro had taken my class.  I wrote him a recommendation for graduate school.  He wanted to cite me as a source on his thesis project, so we agreed to meet on campus.  When he didn’t show up at the appointed time, I remembered he’d mentioned going to the library and went to look for him there.  That’s where I found him.” She’d figured out how to compress the story into a manageable bite by now, but she still couldn’t bring herself to say “the body”.

Detective Kozu was considerably shorter than his partner and reminded Mia of a small, angry puppy.  He was obviously suffering from the heat of the room as well—his shirt was stained dark beneath his arms and his face was shining in the overhead lights.  His hair kept flopping over onto his forehead, and he kept pushing it back, doing his best to show her he could tough it out better than she could.  “And this was strictly a business meeting?” he asked, imbuing the word “business” with half a ton of innuendo as his eyes flickered over the crumpled remains of Mia’s best green suit for about the eighth or ninth time since they’d been questioning her. 

Mia’s glare threatened a lawsuit.

Detective Shiga, apparently envisioning the citizen’s complaint forms flying in, tried to salvage the situation.  “I apologize for my partner, Mrs. Koji.  We didn’t mean to infer—”

Mia interrupted, hands tightening on the Styrofoam cup until coffee lapped out onto the table.  “The listener infers, Detective.  The speaker implies.  And you are speculating.” Her meaning was clear.  “And for the last time, it’s ‘Ms’.”

He sighed, flipping his notepad back a few pages.  “If you could tell us one more time from the beginning…”

Her elbows rapped sharply on the table’s surface as she propped her arms up, but if it hurt her, she didn’t show it.  “I don’t suppose saying ‘Cross my heart and hope to die’ would convince you,” she said.  “I’ve told you what happened over and over again.  I know nothing else.” She offered one hand to the detectives, little finger extended.  “Pinky swear,” she finished whimsically.

Kozu’s face darkened.  “Are you friggin’ kidding us?”

Mia took her hand back.  “No, Detective.  I’m just being as ridiculous as you are.” She pressed her lips together.  “Am I under arrest, or may I go now? My boys are waiting for me.”

The two detectives exchanged glances.  “Sit tight, Mrs. Koji,” Kozu said, and they left her alone in the overheated room, fuming. 

(from Star's massive Ronin fanfic-in-progress, Cross My Heart, Hope to Die, Chapter Two, A Sudden Death)

This will be finished, polished, and posted if it is the absolute last thing I do.  And if the next four months are anything like the last four, it just might be.