#S is from a piece called Nevarran Noble Anatomy and after this there is an adjoining classroom with plenty of space for lovin

[aldisobey]

WIP Word Game!

Always love a tag, and I seriously appreciate it @caffeinatedmunchkin (and also @ollypopwrites because this is the actual game you had tagged me in before). Alright here we go. I’m letting myself be messy here.

Rules:

You will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your WIP(s) that start with each letter of your word.

My key word was S a t i n

I’m breaking the rules and giving you ‘cut content’. I’m toiling over wips in a weird way. I don’t know how else to let some of this see light of day and I’m taking the opportunity to make this what I want. Because these are fun…uh, character studies? These are bits I want to get at, these are things that are true and real for the characters, but I don’t know if I’ll ever have time to flesh it out. They all need editing okay but have fun, here is some writing process, these are all technically 'wips'. You could say they are different stages of stories or scenes. S - is from Nevarran Noble Anatomy, currently dropped shortfic A - is a pulled paragraph from post-epilogue I'm still looking at T - is a silly I - is a look at a dialogue first draft N - is a flowy first draft.

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“See that ya shits? The fuck you think might happen if dead tissue gets in there hmmm? You gonna explain that one to dear old Professor ‘I’m not taking more than ten students’ Volkarin that you killed his lover?” Rook’s entire body went red. “Think that’ll help ya make the list?” the botanist was snapping and pointing her fingers, “Yeah and you! I know your family is gonna have a goddamn inheritance war if you can’t find a competent corpse whisper. Mother’s knickers. Idiots.” “Well he can’t be more than a paramour. A proper Nevarran Necromancer would never fail to lavish a lover.” The noble’s jangling limbs gestured to the bare arms of the Warden, smirk on his face as he sneered towards Emmrich. Rook hopped off the examination table with a heavy thump, slammed that muscled weight down, and strode over to that noble. Spit on his shoe. Locked eyes on the shocked countenance before him as he hissed out a, “Hey, darling dearest heart, can I have a knife back. Please. Time for the practical demonstration. I can show where to stab so he’ll live.” “Rook, I think it’s time we took our leave.” Emmrich finally spoke, voice hushed. Rook leaned forward and grinned wide, “I don’t wear rings for a reason, want to see why?” Smile too wide the Warden extended his hand as if in greeting. The laborious movement drew the eye. Bent, bruised, one could tell numerous bones had healed incorrectly. Movements were stiff, cracking, fresh cuts and life long calluses ran the surface. Menacing. It held an air of strength that promised instant injury if the brat dared lay his own there. Emmrich paused overlong. Mind reeling. Rook didn’t know it, but he faced someone with royal connections. And the necromancer knew that stance, this silence. The gathered Nevarrans might think it acting, bravado. But Rook was still. Quiet. Loose. Every nerve primed for movement. He’d kill that man. And for a moment…Emmrich considered letting that happen. Rook didn’t need the knives. Normally the Warden was kind, de-escalating, talking things out if possible. But the moment a threat appeared he removed it. Mercilessly. And Rook wasn’t wrong, a man such as this would be a threat. But only alone, only if Emmrich were to disappear. This was no trouble, this was a fight won by Professor Volkarin long ago. Emmrich smiled pleasantly and swept in between them, back to the student, took hold of Rook’s outstretched hand in both of his, gave it a gentle squeeze, raised it to his lips and held it there as he cooled the Warden’s gaze in the depths of his longing stare. “You needn’t sully your hands darling.” Emmrich spoke slow into the knuckles. One would think the room had emptied but for the two of them. The professor dropped their hands from his lips, twined his fingers with Rooks, and held firm as he drew the rogue away with a gentle pull, “Come, we have a reservation to make.” Smiling dumb Rook let himself be taken away, threw a bright laugh at the noble over his shoulder. “Ooh, those undead cooks again?” “If you desire it dearest.” And they were gone. Rook forgot his shirt.

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All Rook’s build. Close as possible. Venatori freshly caught. Spaces of the Necropolis were his alone. The peers that dubbed him ‘young Volkarin’ would be the only few that could check, possibly even see. And their attentions were elsewhere for decades. He could keep them here alive. Long as their lives might permit. Had to remain alive. Material. Simple reagents. The shift in Emmrich’s mind came crashing. He’d saved these men. Had saved many in the chaos of the aftermath. They would be dead without him. The moments of life left were owed.

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“Turlum!!” Rook throws a truffle at Davrin, and with a squawk and a ‘dammit Rook’ Davrin never gets to finish the joke he started as he’s smothered in a rush of fur and feathers.

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“It…it’s that, but Emmrich it’s mostly not. I’m worried about you.” -this is Harding- “And Rook.” -taash- “And Rook. But Emmrich look at where we’re at. Why did you want to go to the Deep Roads?” “You’re a bad liar” -taash shrug- “Taash, not helping. But they're right. You’re studying the Blight aren’t you?” “And what of it? I’m researching a cure. Harding. It’s changed. Who knows what it will be tomorrow, someone must endeavor to understand it.” -Emmrich- “Should that someone be you? You might be too close. Maybe…maybe just enjoy what you got with Rook now? And if that blight stuff ever changes I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

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Night never really came to the Lighthouse. The name alone forbid it. Yet dusk arrived. The pots and pans washed and returned, baths steaming but empty, and the warmth of quiet wrapped the near atmosphere. Rook sat on the floor of Emmrich’s study. Cross legged and hunched on a plush rug before the fire, book propped by a pillow before him. The rug was relatively new. Rook had protested. Floor’s fine! I’ve called worse a bed. Sincerity rang in laughter and a chair sat empty across the room so it must be a preference. But Emmrich had taken it upon himself to see to some comforts. Smiled soft from his desk now as he peered up to see it in use. Recalled it’s christening. Oh pretty! Boots had gone flying the first time Rook spotted it, clothes nearly followed but quick words halted the excess, Emmrich, it was a long day in Arlathan, I don’t want to get twigs in it. Emmrich had ‘nearly’ rolled his eyes at that one. Taken Rook by the shoulders and pushed him to it. Darling, I’m a mage, tidying the thing is a triviality. Please. Rook needed no further encouragement, spun in Emmrich’s hands, placed a peck on his nose, and fell back starfished onto the rug. Landed with a loud thud. Barefoot, grinning, and stretching like a mabari in the mud the rogue sank into the fine fibers sighing. That had been some weeks ago. A few pillows and stacks of books surrounded it now. Rook’s back warmed by the fireplace, furrowed brow visible to Emmrich at his desk. The Warden snorted, almost a laugh, shook his head, brow smoothed and smirking he turned the page. “An error darling?” “Hmm?” Rook didn’t catch it at first. Mind taking a moment to shift from realm of reading thought to listening ear. Blinked as those warm round eyes flicked up to the necromancer. “Oh!” It clicked then and Rook chuckled. “It’s entertaining, but they talk too much in the fights.”

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All my moots have been tagged from what I've seen. Okay I haven't seen I'm just not sure who to go to and am crippled by perception and want to throw this out before I don't. use BONES if you see this and want to throw something at me.