#marinating wips

Thanks for these tags, @kitty-is-writing and @willtheweaver!

They eat fluffy pastries stuffed with potato and other vegetables and coarse spiced flatbread spread with ground meat. Quintus eats half of everything and puts the rest on Nikolaos’s plate. Nikolaos waits until he’s not looking and replaces the food with half of his own. Miriam wonders why he doesn’t just tell Quintus to stop. Every time she thinks she’s starting to figure them out, the two of them invent some new and disturbing dance that they insist they’ve been doing the whole time and is perfectly normal. At this point, there’s not much point in mentioning it, but habits linger, so Miriam puts her foot in her mouth and says, “Quintus, why do you feed him like that?” Quintus looks at her. It’s a flat stare, the sort made to intimidate, and Miriam is intimidated, but she does her best not to let it show. “Like what?” he says, the two syllables precise in his mouth. “Isn’t he capable of doing it himself?” And to Nikolaos, because she’s sorry they’re talking about him like he’s an infant, she adds, “Aren’t you?” “Do I tell you what to do?” Quintus demands. Miriam raises an eyebrow. “On the regular, I’m afraid.”

Thank you for the tag @vsnotresponding!! My word is GHOSTS <3

📜 Rules: given a word, find a sentence in your WIP that starts with each letter, then change the word and pass it on!

G. Gingerly, and with no goodwill, Nikolaos lands in the sand besides Quintus, all his usual grace vanished with the heat. He unlaces his boots and tugs his feet from them, removes his stockings, and stretches his toes out, his skin dark against the sand.

H. His collar is soaked with blood and his hair is dark with sweat, but he is himself again, broad shouldered and strong, and he leads the way onward, his sword casting strange shadows on the cobblestones.

O. “Oh, thank god,” Quintus says, his voice breaking, and a suspicious amount of lake water rolling down his cheeks.

S. Spotting a familiar face, Nikolaos staggers over. “Konstantin,” he says in relief.

T. “That the heart signifies affection or romance is no fault of mine, but it’s not anatomically true. Any scientist could tell you –”

S. Slyly, Quintus dives again, propelling himself along the ocean floor until he can wrap a hand around an unsuspecting ankle and tug, dragging Nikolaos under in an explosion of water.

Thanks for this one, many moons ago, @winterandwords! I was on an airplane yesterday, and got so much writing done, which was a lovely achievement! My word today is DAMAGE.

D. “Don’t,” Quintus warns, but Nikolaos pays him no heed. He grabs Quintus and holds him tight, tight enough that Quintus’s boots leave the ground. Quintus’s breathing is hot against Nikolaos’s chainmailed shoulder.

A. Already Quintus can feel his muscles slackening, his limbs growing heavy. He pulls his shirt over his head; it clings to him halfheartedly, and once he’s freed, the sweat on his chest cools slightly.

M. “Mankind’s greatest malady,” Miriam says. “Have you no cure for it then?”

A. Animals seem to be able to smell something about him – Quintus doesn’t flatter himself that it’s some death that’s rubbed off over the years – perhaps they can merely sense his indifference to them. Animals are tools, food, and things that need care. They are predators and prey and mostly get left alone as far as he’s concerned.

G. “Guards –” one official sputters. Over at the door, one of the guards slides to the floor, his own sword sticking through his chest. Nikolaos has the other on his knees.

E. Experimentally, Quintus reaches out internally for the body. The newly dead are unwieldy – always bargaining, clumsy, still too attached to their brains.

Thank you for the words, @vsnotresponding!! I thought these would be excellent Necromancer WIP words, so I have gone hunting on this rainy day...I'm officially in my week-before-tech-week where I have rehearsal every single day except one, but I'm still doing my best to find writing time in between 😭👍

Grave:

Despite his lack of a proper shovel, Nikolaos has done a decent job of preparing a grave. They lie the body to rest and shove clumps of freshly turned earth atop it until there’s nothing left to see but a mound of chilled, rich dirt.

Desire:

You were just brutally murdered, you may have as many moments as you desire. Quintus just nods and squeezes his eyes shut. If they’re closed tightly enough, maybe the mess surrounding them will just go away. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m so sorry, it was an accident, I promise you –” “I know,” Nikolaos rasps. “I know it was, Quintus.”

Kick:

Quintus kicks his captor and then knifes him for good measure. The man curses but slides quietly to the dirt. Quintus drops him and focuses, draining away the commotion of the skirmish. The ground is still beneath his boots, but a few pebbles skitter noisily. Quintus concentrates on the shadowy figures before him, the shapes and sounds of their attackers, and pulls.

Shoulder:

Nikolaos buries his face in Quintus’s shoulder where he knows there are freckles there, beneath his shirt. “I am not going to leave you.” One of Quintus’s sturdy hands appears, claps clumsily at the back of Nikolaos’s head, and stays there. His other snakes around Nikolaos’s waist, tightens possessively. “I am not,” Nikolaos repeats. “I will not.”

Lost:

“Crispy,” Nikolaos says. “But I need a pot, because the last one we had we lost when you used it to smash that mercenary’s skull in.” Quintus sits back and looks at him, slightly exasperated. “I’ll get you a cooking pot, relax.”

Hi guys, I'm alive! Made it through tech and opening weekend and have a few blessed days off of dancing! (now I can focus on things like laundry, making dinner, and hopefully writing) Today's tag is an ancient one from @rjkilroy -- thank you!

Dream:

“Does this happen a lot, with you?” Camille asks quietly as they start forward again. “Sneeze, and a leg bone comes rocketing to your aid? Sleep, and dream corpses into existence?”

Funny:

“Not so funny now, is it?” Nikolaos says, waiting for him, Miriam gleefully dripping by his side, her thick curls damp and limp with the ocean. They’re an amusing pair, her head level with his shoulder, their expressions so vastly opposite. Quintus makes a show of smoothing his hair back. “I found it hilarious.”

Wrong:

Nikolaos stirs, smacking halfheartedly at him. Quintus can’t believe it, can’t be sure it’s real, so he fusses, trying to get a hand on Nikolaos’s neck, to feel for his pulse – “What the devil is wrong with you?” Nikolaos hisses, propping himself up on one arm, glaring with one eye squinted open. Quintus finds the right spot, presses two fingers there and waits, trying to calm his own jittery nerves. He squeezes his eyes shut, listening, listening, and feels it; one two, one two, a rhythmic, constant beat.

Feel:

Quintus looks at his face. It’s a familiar face, and contrary to whatever craziness Nikolaos said, it’s a tired and worn face, and it’s a face that says everything is okay now. Quintus tries to breathe deeply, watching Nikolaos’s face for any signs that things aren’t as they should be. As soon as he’s aware he’s doing it, he feels like a small child, but he can’t quite make himself stop.

@memento-morri-writes tagged me a while back -- thank you! As per usual with these fellows, below are some mentions of violence...

A line about fear:

Oh no. Not a quick death then. Nikolaos starts struggling, real fear stirring in his stomach. If they torture him, throw his ruined limbs in one direction and his severed head in another, how will he say goodbye to Quintus?

A line about pain:

Thus begins one of the longest evenings of Quintus’s life. He ends up on his knees, digging his hands into his upper legs, trying very hard not to scream so he can give Nikolaos important instruction. Quintus isn’t sure who has the harder job, to be honest. Nikolaos is performing the job of three men with only his two hands, while the patient writhes and yells at him; not an enviable task.

A line where someone receives a gift:

Miriam sits up straight and holds out her hands to each of them. Quintus takes his from her, wondering if he’s about to find himself with a spider crawling up his hand. Instead, it’s a beaten circle of silver, punched in the vague shape of a bird of prey – a raven, perhaps?

A line about laughter:

Startled surprise plays across Nikolaos’s face, and then he throws his head back in laughter, his whole frame shaking from the force. Quintus grins, watching him.

@avrablake @isherwoodj @rodentwrites @writeouswriter @winterandwords @revenantlore @indecentpause @akindofmagictoo and anyone else who'd like to join!

Thanks for the tag, @vsnotresponding!! Though it's been many moons since you gave it to me, I'm still delighted to bring something here to share 💛

Night falls as they hike. Nikolaos spots lights in the distance and steers them around what must be a farmhouse of some sort. Miriam pulls her cloak tighter and hunches into it. “This would be a great time to tell me about the magical tracking you and Quintus can do,” she says. Nikolaos’s stomach gets ideas about rumbling. Be silent, he orders it internally, and it obeys. For now. “There is no magical tracking.” “You could still tell me about it,” Miriam says. “Something about how because he’s reanimated you, there’s a link between the two of you, perhaps an emotion link? And he can hear you, or feel you, or, I don’t really care, see you? And he’s coming even now and we’ll all be reunited soon.” “You don’t need me to make up stories when you can hallucinate all by your lonesome.” Miriam swats his arm. “You, Nikolaos, are a barrel of fun, has anyone ever told you that? No? That’s because it’s false.” Nikolaos crests another rise and scans around for signs of life. “You don’t need fun when you’re lost in the woods at night.” “That’s exactly when you need it, you wet blanket,” Miriam mutters, but drops the matter before too long. Just as Nikolaos starts plotting about finding any small rodent that moves, they reach the edge of the forest. Below, the ground slopes down and spreads out. Where it meets the black sea, lights sparkle, a cluster large enough to mean a decent sized coastal town. “Do you think they have someplace warm we could stay for a few hours?” Miriam asks, her voice thick with longing. “Food,” Nikolaos replies succinctly.