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Red Hand, Chapter 22MayfairRed Hand, Chapter 22
When the door of the booth closed, I found myself in pitch darkness. After a moment, I reached to open the door again, thinking the booth had malfunctioned, but the door didn't seem to be there anymore. It also seemed like the seat of the booth had vanished, along with the floor. In fact, the entire booth had vanished, and I was floating in black nothingness.
Well, finding Mayfair was turning out to be as weird as the rest of the crap that had been going on lately.
I floated awhile before an image began appearing, the kind of afterimage that is imprinted on your eyes after staring at a bri
by ~EelRetrac
Red Hand, Chapter 21Home and away againRed Hand, Chapter 21
Forty-eight hours after walking out of the desert, I found myself standing with Van Zandt on an odd street corner in one of the newly opened realities on the edge of Congeries space.
The intervening two days had been quite full. I'd intended to get to Grin's place immediately, but the call of a good night's sleep at my place in Paedarc had overrode that impulse. I'd showered, slept, showered again, burned the remnants of clothes I'd walked the desert in, showered a third time, then made my way to the bar. The welcome from Grin and Van Zandt was equal parts 'we're glad to see you' and 'where
by ~EelRetrac
Red Hand, Chapter 20The Long WalkRed Hand, Chapter 20
Even through my dark goggles, the glare of the desert would burn my eyes when the sun was high. From rise to set, the sun would force my eyes into a tight squint and make them water. By the end of each day, each side of my face would have a line of salt running down it, marking the path my tears had taken. The heat of the sand rose through my boots and scorched my feet, and every breath was like inhaling fire while the sun was up. Time was broken not by seconds and minutes, but by single trudging steps taken up and down the slopes of vast sand dunes. For days I had followed the silent man through the desert,
by ~EelRetrac
Red Hand, Chapter 19Thoughts on troublesRed Hand, Chapter 19
I don't know what was kept in the bag before it had been put over my head, but I counted myself lucky it hadn't been anything too stenchful. The ropes around my wrists and the manner I was being transported were both relatively comfortable, too. The Sig Nomad might have not been sure they could trust me, but at least they weren't making the experience of being taken to see their local commander more painful than it had to be. I sat, eyes blinded and wrists bound, in what, from the sound, seemed to be a horse drawn conveyance, listening to the men guarding me chat companionably about this and that, spri
by ~EelRetrac
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- Current Residence: Reno, NV
- deviantWEAR sizing preference: Anything that minimizes my gut
- Interests: Good books, good movies, good comics, good conversation, GOOD FRIENDS
- Favourite movie: The Maltese Falcon, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls
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- Favourite poet or writer: Jorge Borges, Robert Heinlein, Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett, Simon R. Greene...
- MP3 player of choice: The dulcet tones of my own voicebox
- Shell of choice: Lobster
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- Personal Quote: "What, me infallible?" Pope Stephen
- Tools of the Trade: Axons and Dendrites
- Website: http://carterlee-redhand.blogspot.com
- Email: lee_carter@hotmail.com
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Indeed.
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Pants go on your legs?! You're worse than my therapist.
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Pedro G. Moran
[link]
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Nostalgia ain't what it used to be.
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truth in our hearts
strength in our hands
consistency in our tongues
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well hellooo Mr. fancy pants!
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