And I had to repeatedly bop myself with "You're writing an alternate universe with vampires, Leonardo da Vinci can change his travel plans."

Glad it's not just me! Of course, my AU is just our world if a few events had turned out differently, so I don't have vampires or dragons or anything. OTOH, I do believe in at least partial free will and quite a bit of randomness in the system IRL, so there's no reason not to let my fictional world reflect that...

Never mind that certain people's reputations were made or destroyed in battles, so even if they didn't live or die, the trajectory of their careers could be changed or their rise to the ranks was arrested because their superiors didn't die on schedule...

Heh, Susan did I ever mention the project I am doing with TokyoPop here? The initial concept was based off Antiques Roadshow spot on Davy Crockett's first wedding license which was filed for but never acted upon because the woman got cold feet. If he got married then, would he have gone West... ?

How something like that turned into a steampunk 1830s American with steam drays the size of small ships carving paths through Appalachia is a process I am still not sure I can break down...

There's a show called Connections that shows on PBS--or used to--that would track various technological developments back through history and show the linchpins necessary for that development to occur. So much of development is random that a few tiny rearrangements can open whole new worlds.

With James Burke! I loved that show. It really did open my eyes to the way seemingly small events can affect huge changes--the proverbial butterfly's wings. They rerun it on one of the Discovery channels every now and then. I wish they'd do more of them.

Looks at lack of drabbles

Maybe small, medium, or large instead?

Sorry, meant to post this sooner.

Found

It was recessed in the sofa. In a "sun-don't-shine spot", her husband would say. She'd always been small up there, her "fun-ions", he'd call them. The label confirmed what she'd instantly known.

Her throat tightened painfully. She stumbled outside to take in the night air.

Two weeks with the kids in the country, so he could "gitter done" - that long-gestating project. With the lab partner she'd never met.

She cried for hours, falling asleep on his side of the bed.

In the morning, he was there. Back "from the lab", he claimed, in the wee hours.

She said nothing.

(ETA: changed "chest" to "throat" - Thanks Beverly!)

Nice one, Wolfram.

Thanks. These are fun.

Completely off the cuff, and man is 100 words small today.

---

She adjusts the tablecloth, waits for a knock. Mr. Greaves is on his way, always here at half three like clockwork.

A quick glance in the mirror, final preparation. Her hair loose, a little kohl at the corners of her eyes. The Greek-like tunic isn’t terribly authentic, but no one notices. Maybe next she could try soothsaying. People like variety, after all.

Tap tap, and she schools her face to a droop-eyed look of languor before turning the knob. Greaves is waiting, anxious to “speak” with his wife. She feels a fleeting pang of guilt before she invites him in.