That sounds interesting, Lee. I need fresh inspiration.
Zoe: What's that, sir? Mal: Freedom, is what. Zoe: No, I meant what's that? Mal: Oh. Yeah. Just step around it. I think something must've been living in here.
'Out Of Gas'
The Great Write Way, Chapter Two: Twice upon a time...
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
SailAweigh - Jan 17, 2008 11:37:39 am PST #9645 of 10001
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb
Amy - Jan 17, 2008 1:17:49 pm PST #9646 of 10001
Because books.
I would love to do that!
javachik - Jan 17, 2008 1:34:07 pm PST #9647 of 10001
Our wings are not tired.
Ohh, what a fabulous idear!
Ailleann - Jan 17, 2008 4:08:31 pm PST #9648 of 10001
vanguard of the socialist Hollywood liberal homosexualist agenda
Whee!
Lee - Jan 17, 2008 4:48:24 pm PST #9649 of 10001
The feeling you get when your brain finally lets your heart get in its pants.
If it won't step on any toes I would be happy to post links to 10 on Monday.
Amy - Jan 17, 2008 5:02:16 pm PST #9650 of 10001
Because books.
There are no toes, sweetie. We're currently toeless.
-t - Jan 17, 2008 5:13:39 pm PST #9651 of 10001
I am a woman of various inclinations and only some of the time are they to burn everything down in frustration
Hooray, Lee!
Deena - Jan 18, 2008 6:07:28 am PST #9652 of 10001
How are you me? You need to stop that. Only I can be me. ~Kara
Go Lee with the toesieness!
Lee - Jan 20, 2008 10:44:40 am PST #9653 of 10001
The feeling you get when your brain finally lets your heart get in its pants.
Tomorrow is getting crowded, so I thought I'd post the drabble pictures today instead. Hope no one minds.
SailAweigh - Jan 22, 2008 11:59:34 am PST #9654 of 10001
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb
This photo inspired two drabbles. They may be read alone, but may be read as companion pieces, too.
The Master
He watched the flywheel throw off sparks. This project had been labored over five years, so far. When it was complete, he’d have an iron dragon capable of holding tens of legions of supernatural troops. It wasn’t going to happen soon; he would have to husband his resources.
Turning, he looked at the lead golem stoking the boiler. He estimated this one would last another year before the heat of the boiler reduced him entirely to liquid through transpiration. Cheap casting cost and the creature pulled double duty: manpower and metal for his machining. He congratulated himself on his thriftiness.
The Slave
Heat and flames billowed out of the boiler in front of him. Liquid metal crept down the lead golem’s back; a drip pan under him to collect the effluent. His master would fashion it into ammunition. All shift long he was literally sweating bullets, mundane bullets for human targets. He would be replaced by a silver golem on the next shift, silver bullets for use against supernatural foes.
He was a living, if inorganic, being. To cut pieces off him was painful. The sweat off his back, though, came cheap to his master, if not to him.
The flywheel hummed.