A little something special

Sup my miraculous ninjas

Thanks to all of you who responded to the surveeeeeey

I need to know these things to direct my limited energy in productive directions

Once again, you guys are still the only reason I make my rent, so THANK. YOU. FOR. ALL. THIS.

The Chapter is upcoming, and I plan to post a substantial update soon, but in the meantime, I figured I'd let you in on a little something more personal.

An excerpt. From Secondhand Sanctity

You know, from that little thing called a Manuscript that you helped me start.

Draft Excerpt 1: One Two, Step Through

...

“What do you want, O’Duinn?” Kir snaps, not bothering to try and hedge the low growl out of his voice this time. There’s a satisfying intake of breath from Baine’s direction, a short-sharp sound in reflexive fear that makes Kir feel a stomach turning mixture of vindicated and guilty.  He doesn’t want people to be afraid of him, he just wants the clan Duinn heir to get the hells off his back.

But Baine’s response is nothing like the kind of confrontation Kir is half-expecting.

“Show me.”

Kir turns his head enough to actually look at him. The demand is softer than Baine’s arrogance usually allows for, strange, and once Kir actually gets a good look at him, he realizes Baine is actually nervous.

He’s never seen what nervousness looks like on Baine, but this must be it– he’s shifting restlessly from foot to foot, curling and uncurling his fingertips against his broad palms. The silver streak in his hair glints oddly in the low light coming through the slanted windows, like it’s actually metallic. His fur collared vest is absent, as are his torc and wrist cuffs, leaving him in the standard armless undershirt and training leathers.

The whole view is surreal, and Baine looks bizarrely vulnerable, like he’s asking for something he expects Kir to hit him for.

“Show you what?” Kir asks, resigned. He’s tired, too tired to play this head game or to rise to whatever fight Baine might be trying to pick.

But Baine swallows hard, opening his mouth like he’s about to speak. Then he hesitates, closes it again, and sucks his teeth in apparent frustration.

Whatever it is it’s hard for him to ask, to the point where he’s practically chewing on the words– or maybe that’s his pride.

“You… caught me while I was phased.” he says, which is an interesting way to phrase the way Kir had ripped him out of his flash via stranglehold. The bruises are still dark under his chin, blotchy red and angry purple, and Baine reaches up to rub them absently, as though Kir’s attention had reminded him they were there. “I want you to show me how.”

For a minute Kir wants to say something scathing, something vindictive about Baine needing his help for anything, but there’s something in Baine’s eyes that makes him hesitate, another flash of that strange vulnerability. Baine must want to learn very, very badly, to ask Kir of all people for help, and Baine does not strike him as the kind of person to ask for help with much of anything at all.

Kir takes a deep breath, feeling his chest expand with it, and then lets it out on a sigh.