Shrift, if no one else is up for it, I'll go back and put the Band Candy thing together

Because I also have, er, not had much time, is it all on erika's lj? Because if so, I have no problems assembling it. I am the Speedy Gonzalez of archive formatting.

If it is here, that will take longer, as I do not have the skill of the Nilly.

And re the "but I didn't write Lestat!" thing?

Heh. See, I don't think I did. Although perhaps I should go through my stories to make sure, just in case...

Or maybe I'll just go read more Batman comics.

See, I don't think I did.

(blinkblinkblink)

It's all on erika's lj, but piecemeal; you'd have to go back through the calendar and assemble it. That's the time-thing.

(blinkblinkblink)

What? I write a lot. Of stuff. That sometimes is forgettable.

Oh, I could totally see a "dingdingding, jeeps, I forgot that! Wow! Thanks for reminding me" moment.

It's the "did I write that?" moment that made me blink. Because a) none of your stuff that I've read - only a bit, but more than a lot of peoples' - would be described as forgettable, and b) now I'm wondering what in hell I've written that I've blanked on....

Damn it.

I'm mid-drabble and I don't know for sure how to spell "Sajan" (sahhjan? Sahjean? how the fuckdoyouspellthedamneddemon'sname?!??!?)

i think the canon version is "Sahjan," Deb.

Sahjhan, I believe. Except now that doesn't look right either. Crap.

Okay, I've googled and a bunch of people agree with me, so maybe it's right. But wow, does that word jump the fence into "it looks weird and has lost all meaning" fast.

Er, yep, Katie's right. Nebbermind.

Ha! Take that, traumatic childhood spelling bee loss! (I'm kidding. It wasn't that traumatic.) (On the other hand, I've never forgotten how to spell 'receipt.')

s-a-h-j-h-a-n.

OK. Kewl.

Thanks, with a muchness. And you're both right - it looks weird, no matter how I spell it.

OK. The theme is "prophecy". Not sure this works.

Trouble

He moved through the crowded club, hunting for trouble.

Things were quiet these days. Holtz was dead, Justine had taken her damaged psyche and vanished into the night. He was free now, and looking for some action.

The fight broke out near the door, a joke, a slur, things out of hand. Students started punching, yelling; this, Sahjhan thought, should be fun. He waded in, instigating, laying hands on the wrong girl.

The bottle to his skull took him by surprise and into the world of light. And his killer, Connor by name, stammering and shaking, waited for the sirens.