Addiction

I think I have one. But it's an odd one.

I'm addicted to Masterchef Australia.

Well, just food programmes in general.

It is a rather masochistic thing though, because I always think I'll never be good enough to cook to that level myself. My best mate calls it food porn, and I guess in a weird way it is.

I guess it's along the same lines as writing; to get better, you've got to read, and read a ridiculous amount. The same with cooking, which I love; I read cookbooks as though they were novels, and will lost entire nights of my life watching the Hairy Bikers and Masterchef Australia.

Like the crazy spanish dude Miguel who's just made paella. It's almost worth moving to Australia just to go to his restaurant.

I hate people who say food is just for fuel, and shouldn't be anything special. That's a daft attitude to have; fair enough eating is something we just have to do, but why not make it exciting while we're at it? I for one cannot wait to get my own kitchen, I'll be having dinner parties all the time.

My other blog is obstensibly a foodie blog, when I remember to update it, recording my experiments, mishaps and discoveries. Feel free to tell me if I'm doing anything wrong, or if you have ideas you'd like me to try. I am always open to suggestions.


On a different note, my last post was a tribute to a great racer and human being. The tragic accident that took Marco Simoncelli's life horribly involved his best mate, Valentino Rossi. This has to be one of the saddest, yet most beautiful things I have ever seen: http://www.valentinorossi.com/index-en.html

Tribute

Today MotoGP lost one of its brightest stars at age 24. He was involved in a horrific crash with his best mate Valentino Rossi and the Texas Tornado Colin Edwards. He was destined to be a champion, but sadly his time with us was cut short.

R.I.P. Marco Simoncelli, the world is a sadder place without you in it.

My Brain Doesn't Work On A Friday

None of what follows will likely make any sense, or relate to anything. Friday's are brain-dead days, especially when I've been working a double shift.

Though to do with work, it's payday this week coming. Means I can go buy all my pretty things from Lush. I love the fact that in this age of science there is still a company making products with the actual items they are meant to smell of, rather than the chemical equivalent. My ginger needs treated anyway, starting to look washed out. Like the rest of me.

There is a perfume called "The Smell of Weather Turning". I think I might be in love.

I feel I may need to make more of a return to hand-written work, some days I sit at the screen for ages and nothing happens, yet if I sit with a pen in my hand I can write all day long. Or at least until my hand seizes. Happens a lot more now I'm not in uni. Let it be a word of caution to you; keep writing by hand, even if you have a computer.

Someone told me there was a new type of Scrabble today. Why? Why can't Scrabble just be left alone? Apparently there's a new version of Connect4 as well. What is wrong with the world? Jeez.

That said, the new Monopoly with the cards instead of money is a good idea; less pieces to lose and no more of the banker cheating and sneaking money out of the box when everyone else is busy looking at other things.

Oh, wait, Friday, that means it's Qi night! If you are able to and don't watch this programme, there is something not quite right there. Fix it. Please.

I am now just rambling, fantastic. I should find something interesting to leave on.

Here is an awesome piece of art an awesome friend of mine did of my OCs, Eva and Jem. Go to http://neilak20.deviantart.com/ and give her some love, the girl is amazing. Night all.

To Be Read List

New Day, New Blog. On a cheerier note that yesterday, let's talk books.

I am a bookworm. I should probably get a t-shirt made up saying as such, but then to look at me it's pretty obvious; I'm a nerd, and there's always a novel sticking out of my bag. A discussion with my bestie earlier brought us to mention our TBR lists, to be read lists, of which mine seems to get longer by the day. This is not helped by Amazon frequently showing me offers on really neat looking literature. So, I'm going to pass on the annoyingness, and try to add to other people's TBR lists, just because I'm in that sort of mood today.

I'm gonna start of by recommending people go read my favourite novel ever; Alexandre Dumas (Pere)'s "The Three Musketeers. Don't look at me like that, it really is my favourite book ever.

Not to be confused with the Three Mouseketeers. Disney has a lot to answer for.

I'm not entirely sure why I love this novel so much. It's written in rather archaic terms, but that's purely for its time. I think I love it because it never tries to be anything it's not, and it has some of the best characters I have come across in literature. Indeed, my own Eva is loosely based on my favourite of all; Baron du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds. Porthos for those of you who can't be bothered looking it up. It is a classic, and it has long been my favourite, so I do recommend you read it.

Now for something a little more modern.

Lord Sykes, as he is to be known, or Sam on occasion, is one of the most fun writers I've come across in a long while (@SamSykesSwears on Twitter, he is good fun to follow). His first novel, Tome of the Undergates, reads a lot like someone took a transcript of my mates and I trying and failing to play a tabletop game; bickering, name-calling, one big-ass fight, and lots to laugh at. And it has this accompanying map:

The characters are fun, and likeable in their own weird ways; they're the good kind of frustrating, the ones you want to shout at, but like too much to do so. The basic plot is an adventure fetch quest and, while interesting, takes a backseat to these characters, and for me at least, this works really well. Characterisation is Sam's strong point. The second book, Black Halo, picks up where TotU leaves off, though with a slightly more introverted lean, which is no less interesting. The third installment, Skyward Sword, is out in the near future (or the distant, depending what mood Amazon is in).

Another author I've fallen in love with lately is the lovely Mark Charan Newton (@MarkCN on the Twittersphere). His name and indeed books were brought to my attention when the awesome folks at Fantasy-faction.com announced they were going to be the read for the September Book Club. The description had me hooked, so I picked up all three (so far) of the series, The Legends of the Red Sun.

The story in the first novel, Nights of Villajamur, really throws you headlong into this mysterious and intriguing city, and it's not-so-charming-at-times inhabitants. I don't want to spoiler it too much, as this novel, plus its sequels, are well, well worth your time reading. Mark very cleverly makes you like certain characters, and want to hate others, all against a gorgeous backdrop of an empire facing an ice age, it's just...I can't think of words to describe how much I love this serious, go get it.

And last, but certainly by no means least, the ever-so-charming Penmonkey in Chief Chuck Wendig. His blog, Terribleminds (http://terribleminds.com/ramble/) is a must read if you have any interest at all about writing, or even if you don't, as it is funny, at times profane, but always incredibly informative. He's a sweet Penmonkey. He's also on Twitter, @ChuckWendig, well worth a follow.

He writes books too. Double Dead, about a vampire having to keep his human food supply alive during the zombie apocalypse, which looks absolutely amazing, is out next month. Cannot. Wait.

I recently bought and devoured his novella, "Shotgun Gravy" too. And I loved it; it's snappy, in your face, and totally what you could imagine teenagers doing. I highly recommend it. Go get it. Now. No procrastinating.

The Penmonkey series and "250 Things You Should Know About Writing" (which actually contains 275 things, either someone was trying to be cool or someone just can't count) are really good fun reads too. I have them on my Android Kindle and amuse myself by reading through parts of them on my breaks at the cleaning job. I think I accidentally learnt something too. Ta dude.

So yeah, those are my recommendations, for the moment at least. I might come back to this in a little while and add to the list, but first, I need to get cracking and read the heck out of the pile I have. Feel free to tell me off if any of these don't live up to your expectations. I might listen, but chances are I won't. :)

Getting Something Off My Chest

I'm going to start this with a disclaimer: I am not doing this to garner sympathy, or to get anyone upset on my behalf, I just feel this is something I need to talk about, to get it out of my head and let me move on from it. It has been over a year already. So, with that out of the way, let me tell you a story.

Last August I got back to Scotland after an awesome year in Japan, and to celebrate my return a friend insisted I go for a night out. Now, nightclubs have never been my thing, but I hadn't seen them all in a year, so I agreed to go.

Shouldn't have bothered; I had vowed not to drink too much, but I lost part of the night, so I guessed I must have.

Except a friend had my money in his pocket, because I didn't have a small purse to take with me, so I could only buy drinks when I got money from him, and he said I had only had a couple of rum and cokes. So of course, I was confused.

But then when I thought back to what I could remember of the night, there had been a guy bugging me to go dance with him for a long time. We're talking over an hour here. I obviously can't say yes, he definitely slipped me something, but I'm guessing that's what happened. I was unharmed though, so I thought nothing of it.

A few weeks later I moved to my uni accommodation for the year, which was my gran's house, though she was away on holiday for the first couple of weeks. And I was ill, feeling sleepy and being sick, which rarely happens with me. I tried to register with the doctor, but I needed a letter from my gran confirming I was living with her, so that would had to wait 'til she got back. There was a niggling in the back of my mind though, and it was hard to ignore.

My friend had mentioned that at one point in the night, I had said I had a headache, and wanted a glass of water. The people at the bar tried to charge me a silly amount for a glass of water, so I had said I was going to the nearby 24hr store, as it would be cheaper to buy a bottle of water, and the fresh air might help. He then said something that made that niggling all the louder; I had been missing for over half an hour, before I was found sitting on the steps of the club, babbling nonsense to the bouncers.

It was a horrible thought, but I had to be sure, and the test came back positive. The weird thing is, that's not the bit that made me angry. It was the fact that I then had to make the most difficult, selfish decision I've ever had to make. For the sake of my degree and my future career it had to be done, but it was heartbreaking.

It's a hard thing to type, or say, but I need to say it; I was raped,and as a consequence had to have an abortion. You have no idea how cathartic it feels to finally say/type that.

They say the experiences of our life are what make us, and yes, this got me down for a while, I even considered going back on anti-depressants, but I have amazing friends who got me through it without that. Now I don't even feel mad about it, I almost pity the person who felt they needed to do that to me. And if I do get sad about it, it's about the fact that I may have had a child now I could look forward to teaching about the incredible things that are in this world, but that only happens occasionally.

And now that I have put a massive downer on everything, I'm gonna leave, put on some awesome music and read a novel I am enjoying immensely at the moment. There are good things in the world.

Though I did have a question to ask, which has nothing to do with what I was talking about above; when I was in the shower earlier, I was looking in the mirror, as one does, and for whatever reason I was focusing on my eyes. I do like my eyes, even if one of them is squint, but I noticed something I thought was odd; my eyes are the colour of pale pea soup, which is charming I know, but they have rust coloured flecks through them. I was just wondering if anyone else has ever noticed this in their own eyes?

The Soul Asylum; rough intro

Two posts in one day? I know, I must be ill. This is a rough intro to a solo project that's been rattling round my head in various forms for about five years. I think I've finally found a way I like it, but any comments would be appreciated. As I said, this is a very rough intro, but hopefully it'll give an idea of where this is going to go.


Charity looked up from her pile of notes with a sigh, which turned into a groan when she caught sight of the clock. She quickly sorted through the papers, pushing them into the appropriate folders, or what she at least reckoned were the appropriate folders. She pushed her chair back from the desk, stood up, and glared down at it; not a mark on the cushion. Then again, she had been floating three inches above it the entire time she had been sitting here.
Another glance at the clock took her out of her reverie, and she scooped up the folders, flicked off the lights, moved to the door and opened it, stepping out into…
“Oh for the love of!” She shook her foot to dislodge the goo that had newly attached itself, and retreated into her office, cursing the whole way. She dropped the folders back onto the desk, flicked the light back on, and grabbed the telecom. She pushed the button.
“Could a janitor please come to the ground floor? There’s…eurgh, there’s ectoplasm all over the corridor floor again. Thank you.”
She threw the device back onto the desk and moved to the door, leaning on the frame, arms folded as she waited. After a long moment a stooped figure shuffled into view, dragging a mop and bucket behind him.
“Mornin’, Miss Charity.”
She frowned in reply. “Do you know which of the cretin twins dragged this one by?”
“No idea, Miss Charity, I’ve been cleaning out the Hearing Rooms all morning.”
She sighed. “I only agreed to do this job because I thought I was doing some good, Alfie, and look where it’s gotten me…writing up endless notes and walking in…offal!”
He chuckled as he wrung out the mop and began to clean up. “Surely you must have known it wouldn’t be all sunshine and rainbows, pet. These are tortured souls you deal with.”
“I know, I just…well, I guess I thought it’d be a little more glamorous.”
He snorted at the age old conversation, and she winced at the sound of the mop dragging its way through the goo on the floor. “You do a good thing, that should be enough.”
She gave him a small smile. “You do know how to make me feel better, Alfie, ta.”
He doffed an imaginary cap towards her as she returned to her desk and scooped up her folders once more, flicking the light off as she left. “Anytime, Miss Charity. Have a nice day now.”
She laughed, and laid a hand on his shoulder as she passed. “And you.”
The sounds of his mopping followed her all the way along the corridor, and up the first flight of stairs, before it was overtaken by the shrieking. The shrieking blocked everything out at this end of the building, and it never failed to make her shudder. She carried on climbing, coming to the door of The Wing on the second floor. As always, her curiosity overtook her, and she felt compelled to look through the window, just as the yells and screams halted.
In the middle of the floor was a small, huddled figure, resting on its knees, trembling. The others scattered about the room approached, the braver ones getting near enough to prod the newcomer, most simply staring, as though hypnotised, at this new figure. And then, with a keenness that always made her jump, and usually drop whatever she was carrying as well as her glasses, the shrieks began anew, the newcomer all but forgotten as life returned to normal in the madhouse.
“Those poor buggers,” she muttered as she crouched down to retrieve the folders and her glasses. “Those are the one that are never getting out.” Straightening, she spared them one last pitying look before continuing up the stairs.
She found the Sister waiting for her when she gained the fifth floor, hands on hips, usual frown firmly in place. “And what time do you call this?”
“Apologies Sister, there was a problem with-“
“Ectoplasm, I heard. It is being cleaned up?”
“Yes, Alfie is doing it right now, Sister.”
“Good.” She nodded to the folders in the girl’s arms. “Are these the notes for today’s hearings?” A suspicious look. “You did bring the right ones this time?”
“Yes, Sister, I checked them myself, I just finished writing one of them-“
“Enough. Come, we’re late as it is.”
Charity stuck her tongue out at the back of the Sister’s head as she turned towards the Hearing Rooms, and then followed her along the corridor, trying and failing to supress another shudder. She hated Hearings; forced to relive the stories of these souls’ lives with them, nearly all of them gave her nightmares of some sort. “I guess that’s why it’s an asylum for tortured souls…”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing, Sister, sorry, talking to myself.”
The Sister eyed her for a moment, and then swept into a room. Charity rolled her eyes and followed her, taking her customary seat in the corner of the room, depositing her folders on the table next to the seat. She pulled her notebook from the bundle, her pen from her breast pocket, and quickly scribbled the date and time at the top of the page.
“Who’s case are we hearing first, Nurse?”
Charity quickly checked the names on the folders, pulling one from the middle of the pile, and opening it in her lap. “Verity De Fau, Sister.”
“Now you’re just making names up.”
“I’m not!” She remembered herself, and cleared her throat. “She’s been with us a while, Sister, so her name may seem a little outdated.”
“Oh?”
“She came to us from the Bethlem Hospital, Sister. From Bedlam.”
“Ah, I see…” There was a moment’s pause. “Run the main details of her case by me before we get her in here please.”
Charity glared at the Sister, perched like an overlarge frog on her seat at the back of the room, leering over everything, and then looked down at her notes. The colour left her face as she scanned her handwriting. “Oh God, not this case again.”
“Well?”
She cleared her throat. “She was…she was raped, and as a result had a child out of wedlock. This, along with a few other incidents, had her thrown in Bedlam, where she lived the remainder of her life, Sister. She’s had three previous Hearings, and was not deemed fit to leave at any of them.”
“Well clearly child, she’s still here!”
“Yes, Sister.”
“Very well. Are we fit to proceed?”
Charity was quiet for a long moment, her inner voice screaming at her to get up and run from the room, to leave this place and this wretched job behind. She looked up.
“Yes, Sister. I’m ready.”

New Day, New way of belittling characters

I have discovered of late that I am very much a Marvel fangirl, in particular Iron Man. I only say this because he's just told Pepper he'll apologise when he's "not fending off a Hammeroid attack". I'm too immature not to laugh at that.

Also, on that note, you should probably be somewhere else than reading my immature ramblings. If you wish to do so, I suggest Chuck Wendig's blog, Terribleminds (today's post: http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/10/18/25-questions-to-ask-as-you-write/) he says much more intelligent things than I do.

One of the questions Chuck mentions in there today is "what is the conflict?", and I feel it's a really important one to ask yourself when writing. Of course, it changes scene to scene as well as in the overall plot. There are also unlimited ways you can deal with the conflict, and I love the scope that gives the writer.

Take, for example, the scene in Mark and I's work when our 4 little travellers reach the camp of the Gods' avatars. Now, war is coming, and the avatars wish to use the travellers as a secret weapon, to get them an advantage before it starts. So, naturally, they send the big scary guy to greet them.

The three guys in the group are sensible, for the most part; Sael is petrified, so agrees to go with the scary dude, Shakti is too asleep, and Jem, well, he's seen a bit of the world, so figures somethings up. So that's them accounted for.

Now, you'll notice I said FOUR travellers. The fourth is an alcoholic, infamous pirate who is used to getting her own way, so of course, she fights. The scary dude (I should really call him Aeras, he has a name)'s solution; tie her up a tree for the night.

I do find as we are writing Mark and I spend a lot of time pouring over details, but also a great deal of time making ourselves laugh. Like when we wrote the scene I described above; I had tears in my eyes.

The only problem with this is, not that it resolves the conflict in a pretty daft way, but if it will reach readers the same way as it reaches us? Obvious we know these characters inside out, they're our creations and we've spent a lot of time with them, so we can see underlying motivations for their actions pretty easily. But outside readers?

So that's my question for today; is it possible to take characters you know inside out from having created them and make them just as accessible to the readers without outright telling them their motivations? I know I'm gonna have to think on it for a bit.

Notes to Myself

Well, I'm incredibly lax at updating this blog. It's not that I don't want to, it's just...well, I've been letting my moods get in the way of late; fed up with work = no motivation to do anything it seems. And this is wrong, in so many ways. So, time to start over. If I write nothing else in a day, I'm at least going to write something here, weird, dull, contrived as it may be.

There was something going about recently, I believe there is a book and some were published in the Guardian, but they were brought to my attention by Lawerence Pearce (@LawerencePearce, go follow him, he's lovely) and it was this; there were a series of celebrities writing letters to their 16 year old selves.

Now, I feel I'm not far enough beyond 16 to do this yet (it was 6 years ago), and yes, although a lot has happened since, I'm not going to do that. But the idea of writing notes to oneself stuck with me, and I got to thinking about how I could apply it. So here goes; to my daily life, to my writing life, and just little things that come to me whilst sitting at the keyboard.


Notes to me: Daily Life

1. Stop drinking so much fizzy. You can live without Irn Bru, Coke and ginger beer. You'll probably have more actual energy too. And you might sleep a bit better. Think about it.

2. Yes, your job sucks. No, people don't want to hear about it all the time. Quit the whining missus, it's becoming all you're about, and you've never been like that. It used to always be about the weird and wonderful things you'd read/heard/learned from Qi. Get back to that.

3. Wash your car more often. Like when the Scottish weather allows. Not when it's a downpour like it is just now. That would just be silly.

4. Tidy away the books that are somehow all over your room. You wouldn't give yourself a fright in the middle of the night by kicking your copy of The Tale of Genji is it wasn't stashed at the end of your bed, would you? In fact, just tidy your shoebox of a room more often in general.

5. Carry on doing the little things that amuse you everyday. Keep reading TerribleMinds (http://terribleminds.com/ramble/), keep being a Twitter whore, and yes, constantly check the wikis even though you know the people who write on one have actual jobs, and the other is usually updated when Mark and yourself discuss things, but dammit, OCD check that thing anyway. Make people watch FeedDump and Unskippable and Extra Credits just because they crack you up/make you think about things. Smile somehow.

6. Keep cooking. People seem to appreciate it. Don't let Dad put Mum down too much about your cooking being better though. Neither you nor she can help that.

7. Stop getting offended when Mum and Dad slag off the way you look. If you're happy in your leggings, skirt and t combo with oversized beanie and huge earrings, then fine. And don't listen to Dad about make-up, he doesn't know what he's talking about.

Notes to Me: Writing Life

1. You are supposed to love your characters, even if they are a gay, selfish, alcoholic pirate who makes all the wrong choices. Love her, stop slagging her off when you talk about her. And stop laughing at her Welsh accent, it's not actually that funny.

2. WHERE ARE ALL THE UPDATES YOU SAID YOU WOULD PUT ON THE WIKI TO MAKE WRITING EASIER? You think it's bad when you forget details? Mark doesn't even KNOW the details if they're still stuck in your head/notebook.

3. There, you just did it again. Stop getting distracted when you're writing. NO channel-surfing (no tv for that matter), NO messing with iTunes (sort a playlist first), and NO checking Twitter every 5 seconds. It'll still be there when you're finished, honest.

4. Yes, it is weird that you "chat" with your characters. You work in a psych hospital, you should not have needed to ask that.

5. Nothing you write is a waste of time. Yeah, it may never make it into story proper, and yes, it may just be written on a whim, but it might add something to the character, or highlight a problem you want to be paying attention to.

6. Get over this fear you have of people reading your stuff before it's "finished" and sort out some readers. They may spot things you've missed, since you know the characters "behind the scenes". They might say some nice things too, and that's always fun. Get at least one close friend, because they know you well enough to happily criticize you.

7. You can use those "obscure" words in your writing if you like, especially the ones you use on a daily basis. So what if someone doesn't get it straight away? Teach them the word from the context, be clever with it. Have a character question it. Don't dumb yourself down if you don't have to.


Notes to me: random points

1. See when you see something interesting, and tell yourself you're going to learn more about it? Actually do it. Knowledge is power, and it may come in handy for teaching.

2. Finish that PDGE application. Stop being scared of writing a personal statement, man the hell up.

3. Stop buying books on a whim. Read the ones you have first. You've nowhere to store them anyway. (it'll be blue snow before this actually happens.)

4. You are a nerd, regardless what you think. Embrace it, for the love of us all. Wear that Thundercats t-shirt with PRIDE.

5. It is also weird that you stroke books. Stop it.

6. You can have that jolly roger tattoo when you do something to deserve it. Quit whining about it.

7. Remember to pay attention to what you've just written to yourself.

Only Simple Water

Eva’s eyes snapped open, and she immediately winced in pain as the light from the chandelier overhead burned into them. She made to raise a hand and shield her eyes, but found she couldn’t move either limb. Attempting to sit up presented her with the knowledge that there was also an iron band around her neck, holding her to the table she could feel at her back. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and was about to call out for her first mate, when there was a drop of water on her forehead. She looked up, and groaned as she saw the tank, and more importantly the spout, suspended above her.
“Yup, we’re currently guests of Shan’brasik’s unique hospitality.”
“Jem?”
“Right here Evie.”
She sighed. “I assume I was knocked out then? Last thing I rem-“ she spluttered as another drop of water hit her face and rolled down into her mouth. “Last thing I remember was them surrounding the ship.”
“Unsurprisingly, as the captain, you seem to have been their primary target. They took all of us eventually, but not until we’d sunk one of them.”
Another drop of cold water splashed into Eva’s eye as she turned her head slightly, attempting to see where her mate was. “And what about this? I thought water torture had been outlawed by the last High Captain?”
“Clearly Shan’brasik thinks you’re special enough to make an exception.”
“This is stupid, I only nicked his ship.”
“I think it’s the daughter you stole he’s more upset about.”
She sighed, and swallowed the next drop of water as she did so. “Wonder how many days he’s going to waste before he realises this won’t work on us?”
Jem chuckled, and Eva was able to place him as being somewhere above the top of her head, presumably on the other side of the water tank. “It’s Shan’brasik, he’s been after you for years, I’m sure he’ll manage to survive a few more days.”
“I’m more worried about what is going to happen when this water heats up, if my memory serves there’s a window in the top of this cell, so when the sun gets up in the sky…”
“I would blame you for this, but I was stupid enough to go along with it.”
The woman laughed, choking slightly on a drop of water, then closed her eyes. “I’m going to get some sleep while I can, no doubt Shan’brasik will be down in a while to have a gloat.”
“Sounds like a plan. Sweet dreams.”


The door bouncing sharply off the wall, followed by heavy bootsteps on the stone floor brought Eva round. She opened her eyes just as a drop of water fell from the spout, onto the bridge of her nose and into her eyes. She winced in pain, and was treated to a gruff chuckle.
“Irritating, isn’t it?”
“Only when you’re not expecting it, Morgan dear.” She squinted up at the ceiling, trying to judge the time of day from what sunlight was entering the room through the circular window. “It’s after lunch…your food came before me? I’m hurt.” Another drop splashed onto her forehead, and she shook her head slightly to dislodge it before it ran down her face.
“That’ll work just now, Shil’harrel, but a few days of constant dripping…”
“And it’ll be like being back in that relationship with Tarla. How is she, by the way?”
A dark shadow fell over her, and she could feel the point of a blade through her tunic, resting just above her heart. She screwed up her nose as Shan’brasik’s alcohol-laden breath reached her, and looked up into his eyes. She smiled. “That well, huh?”
There was a chuckle from behind her, followed by spluttering as Jem too swallowed water. “Pay no attention to her Morgan, mate, you know what she’s like.”
The knife moved, and the High Captain straightened. “Glad you two find this so funny. Just remember; it may be simple water, but it has broken better people than the two of you.”
He paused long enough to spit on the table Eva was lying on, then stormed out of the room, the echo of the door slamming ringing around the cell long after his departure. The young captain sighed. “He’s always such a ray of sunshine.”


“Jem?”
He sighed. “Yeah Evie?”
“What time is it?”
He groaned, and she could hear him shifting about on his table on the other side of the tank, clearly as uncomfortable as she felt. “About an hour after you last asked. Time isn’t going to go faster just because you keep asking y’know.”
There was a long pause, the silence broken only by the rhythmic dripping of the water from the tank. When Eva did next speak, there was a sob in her voice, and it seemed to catch in her throat. “I don’t…I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, it’s been days.”
Jem coughed away some water, and took a deep breath. “We’ve been through this Evie; outlast this, and he’ll be forced to put us on trial. We can bargain for the crew that way, save all of them! Save Lineel!”
She broke down. “He’s never gonna let them go, you know he won’t! He won’t even make an exception for the fact Lin…he won’t do it Jem, it’s Shan’brasik we’re talking about! The bastard hates us!”
As though summoned by her words, the door to the cell burst open once more, and the heavy footseps echoed about the chamber, marking the High Captain’s entrance. The smirk on his face was evident in his voice as he addressed them.
“Well well, how are we this morning? Sleep well?”
Eva turned her head away from the door as best she could, the tears mingling with the water running down her cheeks, and ignored him. Jem snorted. “Roof’s a bit leaky, seem to be getting wet. Other than that, can’t complain really.”
“I never did like you, Tamarn.” He moved closer to Eva, and she closed her eyes, willing him to leave. “And what about you, Captain”? Is the accommodation up to your usual high standards?”
She continued to ignore him, and he gave a gruff chuckle. “Didn’t think you’d last the whole way, Shil’harrel. Still, you haven’t cried for an ending yet, so let’s make this more interesting.” There was a rustling sound, and Eva opened her eyes to find a vial being waved in front of her face. “Something like this in the water might spice things up a bit.” He moved away.
She broke. “What is that?! Morgan, what are you putting in there? Don’t! The water itself is enough!”
He paused, malicious grin firmly in place. “And how are you going to stop me, Shil’harrel?”
There was the sound of frenzied movement from above her head, and Jem’s furious voice bit into her. “Don’t you dare, Shil’harrel! Don’t you dare give in and sacrifice them!”
“Jem…”
“You can’t do it! Think about all they went through for you, you can’t just throw that away because you can’t handle the pressure! It’s not fair, Eva, and you know that!”
Shan’brasik snorted. “Never knew you were so opinionated, Tamarn.” Eva could feel his eyes burning hungrily into her. “I’ll ask you again, Captain,” she winced at the word. “What are you going to do to stop me?”
“I’ll….I’ll talk.”
“NO! Eva, no, you can’t, you…”
“Guard, get Tamarn out of here, I want to speak to Shil’harrel without interruption.”
“Eva, how could you do this to them, to me?” Jem’s furious tirade continued whilst he was being unshackled and pulled from the table, and whilst his weakened body was dragged from the room. “Eva, you can’t, YOU CAN’T!”
The door closed, bringing a sudden silence down on the cell. Shan’brasik nodded to the remaining guard, who pulled a ring of keys from his belt and began to undo the shackles holding the broken woman to the table. Once freed, the guard pulled her up into a sitting position, and settled her back against the water tank, before moving over to the brazier in the corner of the room and stoking the fire. Shan’brasik sat down where Eva’s feet had been, and untied a flask from his belt, holding it out to her. “Rum, you’re bound to be thirsty.”
“I don’t drink it. I live on water….though maybe not after the last few days.”
“How cute.” He took a large mouthful himself before tying it back to his belt. “So, where shall we begin?”
She regarded him with a hateful glare for a long moment. “I want a deal.”
“Oh?”
“I confess…and the crew walks free. Or at the very least doesn’t hang.” She sniffed, and looked away. “I can’t break Jem’s heart again.”
Morgan regarded her thoughtfully, playing with an unlocked wristband. “And if I agree?”
“I’ll tell you where to find Tarla, and you get to have your public trial and execution of me.” She gave an exhausted sigh. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”
“I get Tamarn too.”
Eva visibly shuddered, as though he had hit her with a hammer in the chest. “You can’t, his wife…”
“Oh, oh, I see…too bad, I can’t really take you without him now, can I? I know you couldn’t possibly have masterminded the theft on your own, so he’s as guilty as you are.”
Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she forced herself to look him in the eye, then she dropped her head as she conceded. “Deal. You can have your trial now.”
He got to his feet, and clapped his hands. “Excellent, knew you’d see it my way in the end. Now, one last thing before I go…”
She looked up to see the guard dragging the brazier closer, then hand Shan’brasik a long, ominous looking iron object. “What…no, you can’t do that, I’m innocent until proven guilty by trial, Shan’brasik, you know that!”
He dropped the round end of the object into the flames as he answered her, taking on an almost fatherly tone that clashed violently with his evil grin. “Now, come Eva, we all know you did it, and you have to be grown up and take your punishment.” He let go of the object for a moment,and rolled up her right sleeve, immune to her weak protests. He stroked her sodden arm gently, causing a shudder to run through her entire body. “This seems like as good a spot as any….”
She tried her best to move off the bench and away from him, but the time restrained had caused her muscles to stiffen, and she could barely move…

As she would tell Jem the next day when she woke up next to him a cell the next morning, the last thing she remembered was a glowing tiger-paw shaped object moving towards her arm, and a searing pain, before she mercifully blacked out, the screaming voices of her crew accompanying her into the darkness.

Bonus chapter, just for you guys!

“If you don’t move you’re getting left behind Evie, come on!”
Jem grabbed both women by the hand and dragged them along behind him, weaving through the maze that was Tretis’ artisan’s district. The clatter of boots behind told him the guards were still following him, and he cursed rapidly in Old Croft under his breath. Eva giggled, and Lineel scoffed.
“Language!”
“Lineel, this is not the time!”
After pulling them into the bustling main market square he paused for a moment, looking around wildly to get his bearings. “Evie, where’s Berit’s place?”
“Next square over, Monkey Face, I told you that already.”
“Then let’s move it!”
He let go of them and set off, trusting that at least his wife would follow him, if not his captain. Gaining the alley he chanced a glance over his shoulder, and saw that both were indeed hot on his heels. Throwing out a hand to catch the post, he threw himself around the corner into the square, and up the first flight of stairs he came across. It wasn’t until he was on the upper level that he realised he was on the wrong side of the square, and the guards were closing in.
“Uh, ladies….we’re taking the scenic route.”
“This is why you don’t get to lead very often, Tamarn!”
Jem stepped back and waved Eva on. “After you.”
She rolled her eyes at him, and pushed past, grabbing the edge and pulling herself up on to the roof. Jem gave Lineel a foot up, and then climbed up himself. Eva was already skipping across the gable, grin slapped across her face.
“Just like the good old days!”
The older woman rolled her eyes at her husband, and set off after their captain. Jem spared one last glance down at the guards arguing below as to how they intended to get on to the roof, and moved off. The tiles were hot on his bare feet, he having lost his boots when attempting to save Eva from the merchant she had ripped off. ‘One day she’ll get over that…’
Up ahead Eva slowed, peering over the edge of the buildings as she gained the far side of the square. Eventually she spotted the window she had been looking for, and squatted down on the edge of the roof. “I think he’s in, Jem.”
“You gonna check?”
“If you’d be so kind.”
Lineel shot them both a confused look, shrugging as Jem knelt down next to his captain, taking the hat she passed him and handing it to his wife. “Wear this a moment babe.” He took hold of Eva’s booted ankles, and shot her a stern look. “No swinging, that’s how you nearly landed on your head last time! Might knock some sense into you right enough…”
“Let’s just get on with this Tamarn.”



Berit looked up, puzzled, as a shadow fell across the table he was counting coins on. He looked to the window, and found his baby sister upside down, waving at him. “What the…”
“Hi Berit. Can we come in?”
“We?”
“Jem and Lineel are here too.”
“What are you doing on my roof?”
“Jem got a bit lost, and there were guards on our tail, so roof was the best option.”
He stared at her for a moment, and sighed. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Eva smiled, and put a hand to her head. “Can you get me down? Blood’s going to my head, I’m getting a bit woozy.”
The pirate sighed, and dragged himself to his feet. Moving to the window, he grabbed Eva’s forearms, then stuck his head out, looking up at Jem’s grinning silhouette. “I’ve got her.”
“You sure?”
“She falls, you gonna cry about it?”
“Not really.”
“Hey!”
They both laughed, and Jem let go of her ankles. She swung down, only just managing to get her feet on the sill, falling back into Berit’s arms. He helped her down, and she threw her arms around his neck. “How’s it going, big bro?”
“Same old.” He stuck his head back out of the window, and pointed to Jem’s right. “There’s a trapdoor about three paces over, if you don’t fancy repeating Trouble’s trick.”
“Cheers.”
He turned back to the table and found Eva slumped in his chair, fiddling with a coin, his tankard in her hand. “Make yourself at home why don’t you.” He moved past her to a cabinet on the wall, pulling out more bottles as Jem and Lineel appeared from the next room. He shook the former’s hand, and planted a kiss on the latter’s cheek, before handing them a bottle each. “What are you still doing following that nutter about?”
“Y’know, I don’t know either.”
“Oh shut it Monkey Face.”
Berit let out a gruff chuckle, and took a seat opposite Eva, taking the coin out of her hand. She glared at him for a second, then looked away. Jem and Lineel perched on the edge of a low cabinet near the door, the woman resting her head on her husband’s shoulder, bottle untouched. He kissed her head, and took a mouthful of his ale. Berit looked across at Eva, a scowl on his face.
“You lose the guards?”
“I think so.”
He took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “So who did you piss off this time? Folks round here don’t set the guard on you without very good reason.”
“That why you set up base here?”
“Just answer the question.”
She sighed herself, draining the tankard and smacking it on the table. “Some jackass merchant who doubled his price between us settling the deal and me finishing loading the ship. I told him I wasn’t paying the extra, and he said he knew who I was, and if I didn’t want the guard on me, I’d pay. And you know that’s never worked on me, so I told him so. And he called the guards.” She shrugged, then looked over at Jem. “Guess that’s another country off the list.”
“Which leaves…the three on Selan-shur. You carry on like this Evie, we’re not going to be safe anywhere!”
“Oh quit your whining, this way life’s more fun.”
“For you maybe, I’m the one cleaning up the mess all the time.”
Lineel nodded. “He’s right, Evie, maybe we should calm it a little, Shan’brasik’s already attempting to set the entire continent on us, no point in helping him along.”
Eva waved a hand, getting to her feet and moving over to the hammock Berit had tied up between two pillars. She flopped down, and closed her eyes. Jem laughed.
“Guess that’s that conversation over then.”
Berit grinned. “I’m guessing you weren’t here just to hide out?”
The mate grinned back, sun shining off his tooth gem. “Got a favour to ask…”


“Ok, if you just try and relax, hopefully this won’t hurt too much.”
Jem rolled his eyes at the young man holding the needle poised over his bicep. “Look son, you’re inking about the only space left on my arm, I can take it.”
The young artist grinned, and set his needle to Jem’s skin. “Just don’t move.”
The mate got as comfortable as he could with his arm in such an awkward position, and closed his eyes. Lineel giggled. “You always fall asleep getting these done, I never understood it.”
“It’s relaxing babe, you should try it some time.”
“No thanks.”
He opened one eye, and grinned at her. “Suit yourself.”
She grinned back, then took to looking out of the window into the street below. Berit looked up from the table as he finished counting his coins, nodded at Jem’s arm. “I assume there’s a story?”
“As always.”
“I ain’t going anywhere, Tamarn.”
“Didn’t know you were one for stories.”
The pirate grinned, raising his bottle to his lips in silent answer. Jem nodded once.
“Well, we were over in Genan before we landed up here, though course Shan’brasik didn’t have the foggiest. Scouting about a bit, we found he’s got some artist he’s kidnapped from somewhere, probably here, to make up these posters. Posters with rewards for us. Needless to say, we found it pretty funny. Graffitied a few, stole a few, just made a lark of it. And on the way over, I figured, if we were gonna be that notorious, I may as well have a tattoo to prove it. So the flag. That lot over there believe only true pirates will fly it.”
Berit coughed, choking on a mouthful of ale as he laughed. “By Zerran’s gunwales, will Shan’brasik never learn?” He cleared his throat. “You got one of them posters about?”
Jem fished in his left pocket, pulling a crumpled sheet of parchment from within, and handing it to the younger man. The pirate burst out laughing as he unfolded it, looking to his sleeping sister, then back at the parchment.
“They’ve got her pretty much spot on.”
“That’s why we decided to keep a couple, couldn’t leave such a flattering portrayal behind.”
Lineel scoffed and moved over from the window, placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder.
“You mean your massive egos wouldn’t let you leave it behind.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist, trying to scowl at her, but finding himself unable. “You always know how to wound me the most.”
“And you freakin’ love it.”
She leant down and kissed him, eliciting a disgusted sound from the smuggler flopped in the hammock behind.
“Go back to sleep Evie, we’ll be a while yet. We’ll wake you before we leave.”
“You be’er.”
Berit nodded, face mock serious. “I don’t care what story you make up Tamarn, don’t leave me stuck with my little sister!”