It’s excerpt time again, y’all. This is my own writing, taken from my novel-in-progress Satan’s Secretary. A link to my main characters is here and a link to read it on Wattpad is here.
Some context: they’ve been on a trip where they’ve been walking for days, and have just now found a place to rest. Zach came up with the nicknames that Ash and he use; he calls her Silver and she’s supposed to call him Gold, but she substitutes it for “Golden Boy” cuz she’s sarcastically affectionate that way.
@byjillianmaria @eccentricwriterfreak @i-am-zonkoed @blackgirlmagicwrites what do you guys think?
Having food in front of them seems to lighten everyone’s moods. Zach starts cracking jokes, which turns into a competition of “who can tell the worst pun.” The only contribution I make to the mess is a sarcastic, “You know, you guys aren't very humerus.” The one time I speak up, I get blank looks. “Guys. Skeletons. The arm bone? Humorous?”
Willow giggles. “Good one, Ash.”
“I think we’re plenty humorous,” Zach objects. “Where’s your funny bone, Silver?”
I groan. “Maybe I should start calling you Fool’s Gold instead.” Sam chuckles as Zach rocks backward in his chair, throwing his arms up dramatically.Â
“I can’t do it! I can’t beat her! She’s too good! I’ve taken too any hits, somebody call a medic!”
I can’t help it; his antics make me grin, too. “I did receive my doctorate in Pun Making.” Zach slides out of his chair with a defeated moan, crumpling on the floor. Willow and Sam are in hysterics. “You guys liked that one, huh? Well, if it’s medical puns you want, I’m ready: take your best shot, Zach.” This last one pushes me over the edge, too; I’m laughing along with them.
When we calm down enough to talk again, and Zach is up off the floor, Sam looks over at me and says, “I never would’ve pegged ya for the pun type, Ash.”Â
“She’s full of surprises,” Zach mutters, still pretending to be sore over me beating him.
“I’m practically a piñata,” I say with a nod. Unsurprisingly, showing Zach up has put me in a good mood. Competitive? Never heard of the word.
“Are you giving me permission to beat you with a stick?” he asks sourly.
The pout on his face makes me laugh again. “I’d like to see you try. I’ve seen you try and train with Sam, you wouldn’t be able to even get close to me.”
“Don’t you go bringin’ me into this, now,” Sam inserts.
“Did you mean it?” my partner suddenly asks.
“When you said you’d like to see me try. Did you mean it?” He’s doing that thing again where he’s getting super serious out of the blue. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to predict these mood swings, honestly.
“Zach, we just walked for hours, I’m too tired to spar with you now,” I dismiss.
I stand up. “Grab your sword.”
