Wrod, Bev. Woo hoo! Know who the killer is.

Is it the butler? Or the first character the detective meets? Or the second victim? Or an orangutan?

Now, if I told, what kind of suspense mistress would I be?

My muse is damnedably clever. So far since sitting down with every intention of writing I've

• spent half an hour looking for the details of the Borgia coat of arms (I've learned it contained a golden bull, but no one has seen fit to tell me what the other colors are, argh!)
  
• done my credit card payments
  
• and laughed at the critics and viewers ratings of current movies.

And now I've got the munchies and want to go to the grocery store.

My muse doesn't want to write intricately plotted Renaissance chicanery, she wants to write schmoop. I told her she couldn't write schmoop until we got the Ren-angst out of the way. She's being stubborn. I may have to let her get a little schmoopy scene out of her system. She's normally so dependably angsty. I let her watch "Smile Time", but that apparently isn't enough. I may have to give her "The Girl in Question" and snicker at Italian farce.

The one I think you're talking about, coat of Arms for Pope Alexander VI, can be found here, Connie: [link]

Though there's also this one: [link] which is also said to be the coat of arms of Alexander VI.

Huh, bluehoney is locked. Is that the one on the ceiling in the Vatican, the Alexander's Papal arms? I decided in the end to just finesse it by saying "the colors of Cesar Borgia's household." If he continues to annoy me, those colors are going to be pink and orange.

That's very strange. It came up for me just fine when I searched, but now it says it's locked for me, too. And yes, it was the one on the ceiling. The first one is of the milch creature, and it's orange beast, yellow-gold background, green leaves and grass.

rhythm and blues

We slept under the stage that night, dank with the smell of grease and metal from the lift. The blanket was thin under us, but his skin was warm against mine. I arched my back, fingers splayed against the cold concrete wall; his rhythm was sweet, strong. Our hearts beating, racing.

Later, we were startled awake by the groans of the organ, in the early morning. Doc Runner, getting in a morning's practice before the campus awoke. We held each other, laughing silently, as over our heads the organ galloped and bucked; its rhythm strong, sweet. Our hearts racing, beating.

Liese broke me.

Damn it.

Not on a college campus, but I've done that, a very long time ago.

It was fun. And, gah, could that man play! We stayed down there longer than necessary, just to hear the rest of his rehearsal.

The other fun time was when the stage started to come down and we were still under there. It wouldn't have hurt us, we were under the lift, but the doors automatically lock when the lift moves, so that no one accidentally comes in under there when it's coming down. They didn't actually take into account the fact that someone might already be under there, and locking the doors meant we wouldn't be able to get out! Fortunately, the stagehands were arguing and had forgotten something, so they stopped the stage, and we ran out.

Heh.

(Also, I wrote about sex! Yay me!)