State of the Sooky
Oct. 8th, 2010 11:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdWork: light freight. Much easier to manage.
Med: have the cheaper antibiotic now. Should be healthy soon.
Kids: had dinner with Bun. She's doing well.
Writing:
dystopia: 1417
masquerade 8323
Scent of the day: Danube. Rhododendron and bellflower petals swirl through deep, cool, dark aquatic notes. Strong lasting flowers that do not morph. I like this because it stays the same.
I stumbled into an anteroom and sat down for a minute. I sniffed the air, a little cleaner in here, and smelled it, a common drug, induced light euphoria and lowered inhibitions for mainstock humans. For Cythorians like me, it made us horny as hell and none too picky about number, gender or consent. It was illegal in the whole Farnese cluster for that reason.
I heard a faint rustle from behind me. I whirled, hand on the pistol that looked like a prop.
“Hello, handsome.” The blond young man was painted as a Finarian temple prostitute with a nearly inadequate gold leather pouch barely covering proprieties held by a gold leather harness, low blue boots, and the elaborate gold and blue swirls painted on his face. A little blue thermosilk cape fluttered behind him as he stood up.
“Boy, I'm Cythorian. And they're putting Tucepri in the air.”
He practically purred as he slunk across the room. “Oh really?”
“It's not safe.” I was almost growling now. I pounded one fist against the hatch. It didn't open. I breathed. Sharnil, I reminded myself. My boy was somewhere in this big floating can and I had to find him. But, oh, the pretty blond was getting to me.
“I like living dangerously,” he whispered and tugged the tail of my hair.
“You really shouldn't do things like that,” I ground out, slamming my fist into the bulkhead with each word.
“Plunder me, pirate,” he whispered and licked along my ear. “Make your sacrifice to Finar and the door will open.”
Med: have the cheaper antibiotic now. Should be healthy soon.
Kids: had dinner with Bun. She's doing well.
Writing:
dystopia: 1417
masquerade 8323
Scent of the day: Danube. Rhododendron and bellflower petals swirl through deep, cool, dark aquatic notes. Strong lasting flowers that do not morph. I like this because it stays the same.
I stumbled into an anteroom and sat down for a minute. I sniffed the air, a little cleaner in here, and smelled it, a common drug, induced light euphoria and lowered inhibitions for mainstock humans. For Cythorians like me, it made us horny as hell and none too picky about number, gender or consent. It was illegal in the whole Farnese cluster for that reason.
I heard a faint rustle from behind me. I whirled, hand on the pistol that looked like a prop.
“Hello, handsome.” The blond young man was painted as a Finarian temple prostitute with a nearly inadequate gold leather pouch barely covering proprieties held by a gold leather harness, low blue boots, and the elaborate gold and blue swirls painted on his face. A little blue thermosilk cape fluttered behind him as he stood up.
“Boy, I'm Cythorian. And they're putting Tucepri in the air.”
He practically purred as he slunk across the room. “Oh really?”
“It's not safe.” I was almost growling now. I pounded one fist against the hatch. It didn't open. I breathed. Sharnil, I reminded myself. My boy was somewhere in this big floating can and I had to find him. But, oh, the pretty blond was getting to me.
“I like living dangerously,” he whispered and tugged the tail of my hair.
“You really shouldn't do things like that,” I ground out, slamming my fist into the bulkhead with each word.
“Plunder me, pirate,” he whispered and licked along my ear. “Make your sacrifice to Finar and the door will open.”
