Of course it's sappy. I'm a sappy guy.

Also, I kinda meant it to be over the top.

Don't you ever get super-sappy-gross when you first have a real crush on somebody? Most of the poem is meant to be imagination, the overactive, impossible imagination of somebody (me) when in the earliest, flirtatious, not-even-a-relationship stages of a relationship. A silly dream of the perfection that might be, but probably won't.

Also, I kinda meant it to be over the top.

Oh, good. Then you succeeded!

Wonderful drabbles, everyone. I have a couple of ideas, but I need to think about it a bit more.

The skin of his knuckle is split. He does too many things, presenting his body with myriad opportunities to hurt itself. It will heal, though, and quickly. Speed is one of his talents, always fast to develop, fast to learn, and fast to move.

I look at his calluses; press his work-earned roughness between my softer palms every chance I get. I wonder what they're like when he is unhurried; imagine the slow friction of his fingertips dragging lightly against tender skin. Can they still be sensitive, or would I have to make up for that elsewhere on his body?

Whuh. (fanning self) Hot in here?

Hmmm....

An attempt at a teen girl voice. I don't think I like the voice. Or, at least, don't like the character. But, hey, practice.

His hands? Gross. Especially his nails. Dirty and ragged and obviously unsanitary. Disgusting.

I mean, girls, we work at our hands. Regular scrubbings and twice-daily lotionings. And for nails there's the strengthener, the cuticle softener, and, of course, the weekly-plus ritual of the Nail Polish Change. With Finish. We spend hours turning our hands into perfect objects of desire.

And then they expect to take these beautiful, soft works of art and defile them with their disgustingly dirty fingers?

I don't think so.

Clean your nails, boys. And trim them straight. Only princely guys can hope to touch a princess.

If I had typed up my Sleep Drabble first thing in the morning, I would have been able to post it before the deadline and topic change. Gentle Readers, I cry your pardon: here it is anyway.

Sometimes I have trouble sleeping. On those nights, my cat Mishka comes to my bed, bringing sleep with him, a gift of sleep, gentle sleep like the cloud of his fragrant fur. He purrs contentment, pressing four gentle paws against my skin, and I let go, a sigh of release. I follow him down through shifting layers of consciousness, past the troubles of the day. Small cat Chloe settles on my hip, making sure the bed is weighted down just right. The sheets are smooth and cool under my fingers. We share our mammalian warmth, safe together, voyaging through dream.

Katerina! My cats do that too. You made me very happy just now.

Hands drabble to follow soon.

Another part of "Nihilist Chic" up on LJ. Another character dead (but then, the dead ones keep coming back, don't they?)

If I were a paid LJ member, I think I'd set up a poll to see who thinks which characters are going to die. Might do it on Quizilla or some such, instead.

Hoping for a body count, but then, the story keeps surprising me. Which is funny, as I'm writing it and all.

I've just radically rewritten the opening of my completed novel, and I'm looking for a beta reader who's never read any of the previous version, but is reasonably familiar with historical romances and/or Regency England. Goal is to make sure the new version, which dumps you into the middle of the action and introduces a lot of people in a hurry, makes sense to readers as long as they have the right background to follow this kind of thing. Volunteers? It's just a five-page scene.