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Blah? Blah? - Diary of a Necromancer
Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up
robling_t
robling_t
Blah? Blah?
I suspect that somewhere, Trevor is very amused by this question.

Today's installment of Muse's ongoing public breakdown may represent the first serious "scene missing" intertitle in relation to the previous part posted; I'd be particularly interested to hear thoughts on whether Readers feel that something's been left out here that affects the flow of the story, or whether it's been set up sufficiently that it doesn't feel like a significant jump that would need to be filled...



***
Tonight's homework involves two cornish game-hens, although I doubt that the part where Jason's got one in each hand making them dance to Girls Just Want To Have Fun is strictly speaking part of the prep for this dish. "Don't play with your food," I say.

Jason lays the birds down in the baking-dish with exaggerated tenderness and looks up to appraise me. Finally he lifts an eyebrow, and says, "T is for Trevor, who's not getting laid."

I turn to look at the poster on the wall behind me, pale Edwardian children coming to ghastly ends, and retreat to my wardrobe to look for something in warmer colours. The best I can do is brown. Sepia appears to be an improvement over pen-and-ink, though, for Jason nods when I come back into the kitchen. "You can just heat yours back up if you get back real late, dude."

I snort.

Everyone meets on neutral ground, these days. Even if we may have more reason. It's easy to find the woman in the coffeehouse watching the doors in a mirror; You must be Trevor, she says as I slip into the seat across a small table already nearly hidden by pastries and her teapot.

Jill the wendigo is attractive, actually. It's not cannibalism if you're not human, she says with a world-weary smile that suggests she's given the same sort of thought to her situation as I have mine. She's originally from Duluth.

Damn Jason, anyway.

My pocket buzzes:

u 2 eat any1 yet

I excuse myself from Jill's amused attention. (Flatmate's checking up, yeah. She allows it's exactly what she'd have arranged, were she in my position.) Type back:

Not on a first date.

When we both rise she just keeps going, until I'm looking at a dimpled chin. She makes a remark about wearing flats next time. Little brown bat.

Apparently there's going to be a next time.

Jason's been waiting up. "How'd it go?"

"You could have mentioned she's six foot tall," I say. Jason shrugs, as if it hadn't struck him as important. I suppose it wouldn't have, they'd have been looking each other in the eye. Modern nutrition.

One tiny chicken is sitting under a glass bowl in the refrigerator. Jason's plating skills are improving, but he's obviously made allowances here for the reheating. My flatmate isn't even trying not to hover. "I'd call this 'early', but within an acceptable range of hitting it off," he says, with an expectant look.

I shrug. "Nobody died," I say, and set the plate into the micro. "I suppose you'll see that as a disappointment."

Jason nods sagely. "Give it time."

I wonder if he's picturing riding shotgun on some Bonnie-and-Clyde spree. Or doing the catering for it. The microwave beeps, and I take my slightly-the-worse-for-wear supper to the table, as Jason gives up on drilling any further details from me and bids me good night.

The evening has disabused me of one notion, though. A wendigo's supposed craving for human flesh is a distorted metaphor, a gloss on the ache to fill that hole within with food or drugs or sex or anything that holds out the promise of not having to listen to one's own voice echoing back again. I can respect that. We're both ridden by spirits of lust.

Not that Jill wouldn't eat someone if it came to it. It's just that she prefers not to live her life so literally.
***



(...Now I desperately want to see the pen-and-ink illustration of Trevor being all sunken-eyed and emo in the Sensible Anorak walking his werewolf on a lead... :) )

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Comments
ashnistrike From: ashnistrike Date: January 25th, 2011 08:39 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
I'm following. And I think I like her.
robling_t From: robling_t Date: January 25th, 2011 08:46 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
It's one of those things where you know that there has to have been a roommately-arm-twisting scene in between there, but as a writer you're never 100% sure that what you've actually got down on the page has done enough set-up without showing it... or if showing it outright would do more harm than good for slowing things down and being cliche! But this is why they pay us the Big Bucks, huh?... Ohwait. :)
trillianastra From: trillianastra Date: February 12th, 2011 06:26 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
if I could draw, I'd attempt that illustration. But I can't, so I'll let someone else go for it.

Jill the wendigo sounds nice. (She might be Jill-the-wendigo in my head for a while, rather than just Jill. Maybe because the last wendigo I came across was in a very early episode of Supernatural.)
robling_t From: robling_t Date: February 13th, 2011 10:42 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Oh, just wait until that thread of this really gets going, there's a certain scene of Jill's that I've been writing from behind the sofa, man... {shudder}
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