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“But... all the lights are still on.” Donovan looked around, wide-eyed behind the mostly-obscuring mask of his respirator. “There has to be someone here.” Read more... )

I haven't quit! I'm behind, but I haven't given up!

Wordcount as of November 21: 25,245.
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Ivan Roque stared out across the dark land where it bled into the darker sky, which was starless and glowering. Everything was quiet in the compound.
“How many days?” She'd been able to sneak up on Ivan since highschool, so focussed did he get on the machinations of his inner mind when he thought he was alone. The man stirred slightly, lifting himself away from the casement that he'd leaned against, though he didn't turn to look at her.
“1,647. And counting.” He sighed, shaking a bowed head as he extended an arm toward her. The smaller woman tucked herself easily into his side for a brief squeeze. “It gets stranger every day, doesn't it? This thing...” A long exhallation sighed out through his nose. He looked tired.Read more... )
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Adrian stood at the prow of the boat, a live wire of intention that he had neglected to name to his lietennants, who stood by in a pensive veneer of patience. His eyes were bright across the water, discernably blue-green despite the subfusc, artificial light that radiated eerily off the shore, not too far off. Read more... )
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My flat was empty. I was the only thing that breathed within it, and the air was cold for the open windows and lifeless space. I had sat down on the floor in the middle of my living room, pushed all the furniture out to the pictureless walls. In my mind, I pushed all the furnishings of my life out to the horizons of my consciousness, trying to focus. When I was younger, I couldn't control the things I saw beyond the vision normally granted to humans. It was the one secret I had always kept from my councilors, regardless as to how much or how little I trusted them. There was no frame of reference for how they might take something like that, and I'd grown up with the consciousness of how tenuous my situation at large always was.
Read more... )

I have now lost all pretense of writing this story in order.

Wordcount as of November 9: 13,082
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The scent of blood and crushed flowers lingered in my hair, mixed with the smoke from Adrian's favorite incense, which was burned to excess in the camp that he and 'his people' had had retreated to. I could catch a hint of those mingled odors every time I turned my head too quickly, faint enough to be unidentifiable should one know know where I had just come from. It was cold; the air was damp and electric but it hadn't started to rain yet... I hoped it would hold off until I got home, that would be a stroke of luck.Read more... )

Wordcount as of November 8: 11,352.

I'm a little behind.
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“Roque!” I found myself barking defensively into the telephone, waking to the harsh alarm of its ring. My heart was throbbing painfully in my chest... I had dozed off with my head down on the now-dormant surface of the drafting desk which, when unlit, was nothing more than a matte, gunmetal grey. Gulping down air as subtly as possible and trying to calm myself down, I focused on the voice that came through. Disappointingly, it was not Isolde. Read more... )

Some of this is redundant: I reworked a scene I posted earlier on a bit and tied it to the rest of the beginning. I don't want to leave the big holes for too long or else I'll never tie them in!

Gods, I'm so exhausted... -.-

Wordcount as of November 4th: 8,017
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My palms were cold and sweaty as I broke from Saltarello's room and walked briskly down the hall to the elevators. I was overtaken with suspicion, even paranoia, for no reason I could finger except, perhaps, the basic sleep deprivation that had been plaguing me for days. The tracks through the MDRA building felt like miles as they swam by me. Read more... )

Wordcount as of November 3: 6167 (I barely made it tonight)
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It did not become apparent what degree of a miracle it was that I made it home alive until the anxious rattle of my telephone startled me out of a shallow state of unconsciousness. I was still dressed, sprawled in the tangle of my bedsheets, half-smothered by the cat, which had appointed himself the majority of my pillow. I fumbled for the receiver, collapsing onto my back with barely enough awareness to croak my name.Read more... )

Word count as of November 2: 4,093
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Sally got to work, turning introspectively over the new data I had fed her - drops in the bucket of what we'd already collected. I leaned against the far wall, arms folded tightly in a defensive posturing. I could feel myself about to nod off, and for the first time in years the niggling yearning to go out back and have a cigarette started hitting me right in the base of my neck, the tip of my tongue. That's never a good sign, when you start getting so tired that you forget how far you've come, reverting to an earlier and more ignorant time. That was just the thing, though... I wanted to be more ignorant. I knew too much, and with only some but not all of the answers, it was going to drive me slowly into a bleak and nihilistic kind of insanity. Read more... )

I wrote a little more since I couldn't go to bed.
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Miles of vellum paper had passed, infinitely soft and dry, beneath my fingertips in the last six weeks... Every time I brushed my teeth in the morning I could see the hours of my life churning down the drain between the bubbles of mint-reeking suds and saliva. And there was nothing I had to show for it... we kept mapping and mapping the contact traces and I was only being able to come up with one single, solitary conclusion: this shit is getting out of hand.
Read more... )

Wordcount as of November First: 2,052.

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