This week's drabble theme is a scenario: A girl is bleeding, in an alley.
First Breath
They say it never rains in LA.
Rain hits her face, small warm drops. They should be tears; the pain is enough to decimate her. She’s dying, small pieces of her consciousness ebbing out. Except she isn’t, because she can’t. She’s already dead.
Faces surround her. She speaks, pushing out words; if she could only push out this child in a womb never meant for that, this might stop.
There is something pulsing, a rush of blood between her thighs. Only one way to birth him.
The stake to her heart produces a baby boy, and no blood. Only dust.
Drabble the second, same theme:
Goblin Market
The evening had begun well; beers at the Bronze, dancing, even a hottie for a couple of hours of snogging.
Golden eyes, a mask of hideous ridges and the mouth of bestial nightmares were not on her list. Her own blood, smearing those horrifying teeth, took her will from her.
He was strong beyond anything in her experience. She’d given up hope when a small blonde woman picked him up like a rag doll, stabbed him, and reduced him to dust.
Her thanks were cut short. “Go home,” the woman told her. “And stay out of alleys, especially at night.”
Good one. Gotta tell you I'm tempted. I should probably not.
You just know it's gonna be a happy morning when your first thought's Adena Watson. But now she *is* "a girl lay bleeding" for me, so here goes.
It's not as psycho as it sounds...there's a real "Adena".Many, probably, sigh, but that particular case was an actual event.
Some part of Bayliss is always there, that alley where the girl, Adena, lay bleeding. The things that had been done to her, and her body just beginning to change. It was rainy and cold and crime-scene just wanted to go home. Tim wanted to ask them to have respect, but respect isn’t in the manual. There’s nothing in Practical Homicide about reverence. He’s prepared to stay there all night.Each new detail hits Tim in his own heart. The new shoes, the sweater that was never supposed to touch the grimy ground. The earring that reminds him of his own sister. “Release the body,” he says and his voice shakes.
Oh, wow.
That got me remembing things. Wow.
Just a happy thought to start the day with. And here's another one that started. Pellegrini, the real detective, got really sick after he caught that one.Kept going back to the doc, nothing helps. The doctor says "Are you under some kind of unusual stress?"
And the detective facing this screaming redball smiles and says "Who, me? No."
That's what I was remembering - the real-life case it was based on.
I need to re-read Simon's book. It's so damned good.
Yeah. That bastard...Law&Order used to be more satisfying before we met.
And, now, because I must flog Dopplegangland and suck on its bones...the latest Vamp!Munchkin.
KAY
Somehow, I knew costumes would come into my relationship with the Munchkin eventually. It had to happen...he would start mumbling about “tragic inevitability” or something I’m sure. You should count your blessings I’m telling this part cause I’ve heard him go on and on about agave...or something like that. It’s true I owe some wild nights to tequila, but that isn’t the same...tequila’s not Greek, is it? I should ask Billy Constantine over at the 2-7 when I get back to Balmer again. On second thought, this is not a story for the squad.
It started simply enough. Munch, as my witness, was telling me where the evidence was. “I have some,” he said. “It’s back at the lair, though.”
“Hey, there, Little Red Riding Hood.” I quoted.
“What?” he asked, fake-innocent.
“ Get serious, John. Like I’m just gonna go into a vampire’s bedroom. I was born at night, not last night. Buddy, I’d take backup into your place human, huh? Let me just round up Gunn and Wesley, and we’ll hit the ground running.”
“But what about Darla and the minions? If Dirty Harry Potter goes charging in there, things could get ugly.”I give him my “Who gives a shit?” face...third most common detective expression, if you’re playing at home.
“For him, too, I mean,” Munch says. “The Princess smells him, it’s curtains.”
“She could *smell* him? You’re just living all kinds of twisted little fantasies here, aren’t you?”
“ Believe it or not, it has a down side. But I’m not out of suggestions. How do you feel about parties?”
“Have you sucked a pharmacist?”
“Yes. The effect was strangely underwhelming. But that’s a story for another day. Now we must prepare for the Wolfram and Hart Annual Revue. You’re going undercover, babe.”
He shows me the little piece of black dominatrix wear I’d be wearing to this shindig. Tight, and leather, and things. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph...I was embarrassed just looking at it.
”No. Unh huh. Cause you see, Munchkin, undercover usually implies a cover bigger than a rubber postage stamp. My breasts are gonna come in the room five minutes before I do.”
“I’ve noticed.” And the bastard smiles. “Terrible terrible thing...for noble public servant Kay Howard. But not for Kay Howard, fledgling minion.”
“Unbelievable. Gee thinks I’m resting, Munchkin.”
“Don’t forget the shoes,” the putz says, tossing me three inch black hooker spikes.
“Next time I worry about somebody, I suffer in silence.”
“That’s what all my women say.’
Dirty Harry Potter
BWAH!
One small fix (trust me on this one, bebe): Three-inch heels aren't hooker spikes; they're just normal everyday high heels. I think you're looking at five-inch heels, or possibly four, because I doubt Kay could walk in fives.
OK, four. I wasn't sure...spatial issues and heellessness here. I could picture the trampy shoes, though. I've got a real grudge against Howard's feet don't I? Mostly picturing her in the party of demons, cycling between "Yes, Mistress," and "Try that again and you'll lose a tentacle. Got it?"
