Holy moley, SA, I think that made me sick to my stomach.

Wow.

Making her a dancer is a great touch. The entire predication - hey, lookit, I'm just a nice physically average girl who never really thinks much about her body and suddenly I have super powers!" - is beautifully absent here.

Since I danced for eight years, the punch of this character was just as visceral as Deena said. Imagine knowing every move you can push your body into, and then suddenly finding you know nothing at all?

Damn. I totally didn't check into LJ this weekend.

Here's an autumn drabble:

EQUINOX

She moves through the churchyard, stamping on deadfall.

It's the end of the season, and the time is coming, that moment of the year when she feels it draw in upon itself. She delights in those months between equinox and solstice: shortened days, length of nights when she is quicksilver and fear in the dark restless hours, invisible in alleys and down tree-lined lovers lanes, where the warm pulses beat fast in vital throat. Their scarves, their mufflers, their gloves, will become her trophies.

Dru smiles, trampling brightly vivid leaves, and thinks about how the sound is like necks snapping.

serial:

second Autumn-themed drabble:

Reverie

She hates the countryside.

Mostly, Olivia is a city girl. She was born in London, reared in London, went to school there and took her O and A levels there. She's not a Cockney, you can't hear Bow bells way out at Hammersmith, but still, she feels a proper Londoner.

None of which explains why an October weekend in Dorset, among dreaming towns and moor ponies, should make her miss Rupert with a hot unstoppable tear-heavy ache. Yet the effect is undeniable. She misses him, sees his absent shadow on every tweed-clad rider on every horse down every country lane.

SA, that was really interesting.

And because I don't monopolize enough, I have one. I went over by a word or two. Come Autumn
"cause autumn does come, doesn't it, Kay?" (I know, give it a rest, right)

It's November and cold as Kay goes through her day taking witness statements. Is it fall or winter now? Kay is conscious of time since Crosetti drowned his sorrows--literally, and since she saw there was more of her high school honey than she remembered. If she had married him, she'd be working in a K-mart now. There was a depressing thought. There'd be no doubt in her mind where the bodies would come from then. She hated feeling boxed in and there was nothin' like some rugrats and a dead-end job to do it to you.She pulled her coat tighter.

H:LOTS drabble!

DUDE!

I know! Kay is so demanding!(But any of the others could never finish a thought in 100 words.) Kay is laconic, huh? Which is good for me to practice, cause I'm, like, not?

Drabbles rock. They've become part of my writing exercise bag of tricks.

Aaaaand, last of three on the Autumn theme:

Old Blood

The pumpkin sits on a hideous diner-style table in a motel just outside Lincoln, Nebraska.

They'd had slipped away from the group long since dubbed "Rupert's Travelling Medicine Show", and gone to a local market. They chose the pumpkin; they even remembered a votive candle to light its snaggletoothed, empty-socketed head.

Now, staring at it, Buffy swears. "Damn," she says, "we forgot a carving tool."

"No prob, B." Faith rummages through her surviving wardrobe, and produces a knife; the blade is stained with old blood.

The two Slayers look at each other for a silent moment, each remembering too much.