valarltd | Abbatoir thoughts

I have officially declared my secession from the female bio-sex. This is ridiculous.
I should be able to dry off after a shower without leaving the bathroom looking like I've been axe murdered.

But, on the plus side, I have a piece in Torquere Press' Fresh off the Vine. Go, read and clamour for more stuff by Angel... /shameless self-pimping.

Nicked from

wickedwords
the "how well do I know what I've written" meme

A-- go to my website and pick out a line or two from one of my stories. No collaborations. And they can't be generic sort of 'Hi!' lines, nor something very vague like "oh god. yeah. there. Fuck!" I'm going to try and give myself a shot at guessing these.)

B-- I will respond with which story I think it's from.

C-- points and a snippet or drabble to the first five who stump me.

The kids got cast in A Christmas Carol. Bun is a solicitor (lawyer, trashminds!) and Jonner and Dollface are Ignorance and Want and get to huddle at the feet of the Ghost of Christmas Present. Obi didn't get cast. But he's cool, since he got such a good bit in Tom Sawyer.

'Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,’ said Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit’s robe, ‘but I see something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw?’

‘It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it,’ was the Spirit’s sorrowful reply. ‘Look here!’

From the foldings of its robe it brought two children, wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.

‘O Man! look here! Look, look down here!’ exclaimed the Ghost.

They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish, but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.

Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.

‘Spirit! are they yours?’ Scrooge could say no more.

‘They are Man’s,’ said the Spirit, looking down upon them. ‘And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware of them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it!’ cried the Spirit, stretching out his hand towards the city. ‘Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse! And bide the end!’

‘Have they no refuge or resource?’ cried Scrooge.

‘Are there no prisons?’ said the Spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words. ‘Are there no workhouses?’

The bell struck Twelve.

Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it not. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of old Jacob Marley, and, lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming like a mist along the ground towards him.

Have to get Tom Sawyer costuming around. Bun's skirt needs letting out, Dollface's dress needs some repair and she needs a bonnet. Obi needs a white shirt, a string tie and pants to go with his coat.