Mal ,'War Stories'
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Deb, wasn't erika talking about the crutches belonging to the victim, though?
eta...
I'm thinking, if they were used as, well, a blunt instrument, could you tell they were the vic's? Probably not. They're probably gonna have to find it with blood on itand stuff. Nobody's ever gonna ask me what I'm thinking ever again, are they?
I have a lot to think of... must not be as close to done as I'm thinking. But eventually, I'll be glad I took the time, right?
I'm thinking, if they were used as, well, a blunt instrument, could you tell they were the vic's? Probably not. They're probably gonna have to find it with blood on itand stuff. Nobody's ever gonna ask me what I'm thinking ever again, are they?
(blink)
You're absolutely right. Not the perp's, the vic's. Huh.
Now I'm madly curious to know the circumstances.
Maybe there's such a thing as trying to be too cute. But it did encourage me to ask the questions "Can crutches be a murder weapon?" and "How distinctive are they?" which are important things to know in this situation.
Oh, erika, have them hold the floor end of the crutch and swing like a baseball bat. Mucho deado.
Good to know.
What would someone a few months away from death of tuberculosis look like? Deathly pallor or hectic bloom?
I'd think pallor, but I know in the Anne of Green Gables series, when Anne comes home from college one summer and learns that Ruby Gillis is dying of consumption, there was something about the roses in her cheeks being too bright.
I think that flushed face is in the earlier part of the disease, when there are intermittent fevers. By the end, you get the reason why it's called consumption--weight loss, hollow cheeks, dry skin and the characteristic cough.
eta: Here's a 1907 description [link]
Thanks, Ginger--that's perfect.
I heard what you said, and I know what you meant, and either you're stupid, or you don't know me at all. When you say quality of life, you mean your life. Not mine. You train me to duck and to kick and then you go home to your family. I'm out there, hitting and getting hit, and that's my life. That's my quality, man. So when you tell me the next good hit I take could be my last, I say bring it on. Let him try. But that's how I'm going out, not home, sitting, almost dead forever.