to cut off my writing hands.

I now picture Plei having a box full of multi-purpose hands. Need a screwdriver? Give Plei a second to attach a Phillips or Robertson. Barbeque? Spatula on the left, fork on the right. GoGo GadgetPlei!

I now picture Plei having a box full of multi-purpose hands. Need a screwdriver? Give Plei a second to attach a Phillips or Robertson. Barbeque? Spatula on the left, fork on the right. GoGo GadgetPlei!

Well, you know...

It's steampunk or somethin'.

But, I guess if I cut off the writing hands, I would also lose the hugging hands, and the shampoo hands. Never you mind.

Damn. Yes, I have read them before, but damn. You SO sell me on this pairing, Ple.

And, Connie? Still loving the Ethan. Just gets better on the rereading.

It's very slow, this. Research intensive and not easy to write. Besides the fact that it doesn't yet have a plot.

~~~

The door swung open and they swaggered in, confident beyond anything he’d imagined was possible.

Inside, the museum’s hallowed halls were dark, the stairs wreathed in shadow and the corridors filled with gloom. So many times his father or his grandmother had brought him here, when he was a mere mortal, a puny living thing. Then he’d be awed by the sheer magnificence of the building—from the pillars that flanked the front door to the massive and echoing galleries. Now, in the darkness, the two-day-old vampire found he was no longer in awe.

Drusilla laughed, her head flung back and her eyes wild. A few dancing steps at a time, she floated up the staircase, her eerie laughter rebounding from the stone walls and sending shivers down William’s spine.

“We ought to be quiet,” he said, a little doubt in his voice.

“Quiet? No, William, the moon is singing. Lady Death is holding a party, and she wants me to be there.” She gestured, a wave of her hand that meant ‘the party is upstairs’. “The gentleman must take me up.”

He took her by the arm as he if was taking her into any other dance hall, and the pair paraded along, through the dim corridors, past the rows of glass cabinets. He would have stopped to look at the latest items-- the carvings from the Great Stupa at Amaravati, or the Leadenhall Street mosaic—but she wouldn’t have it. They must dance.

So dance they did, stately ballroom steps, round and round until William was tired and a little dizzy. New-found vampire strength, it seemed, took a while to really settle in. He stumbled, and Drusilla fell, smashing into a cabinet.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, reaching out a hand to try and help her up, but she only smiled at him.

“It glitters,” she said, running a hand through the shards of glass, uncaring that her skin tore and bled. “Like stars on earth.”

Very nice, Am. That looks great.

Plei, you bitch, I'm crying again. That story is really amazingly lovely.

My goodness you guys are incredible. Plei, I'd never read that. Wow, really, really wow (so coherent today). Am, more, please! (You knew I'd say it.)

Thanks, Rebecca. When I write a bit more, would you like to beta it for me? The whole thing could use some good knocking into shape.

Serial: I could have guessed, yes, Deena. But it's nice to hear it anyway.

When I write a bit more, would you like to beta it for me?

Yes.

Thank you. (Just knowing that might help get me started.)