Sunday, March 27, 2011

Serial Bleeder Ch1

This hasn't been edited much, the book is still in super-alpha stages, but I thought I'd share the first lil chapter. Its tone isn't quite the same as most of the book will be, but when I post some of chapter 2 later, it would help to have a little context. The formatting is a bit of a mess, as blogger doesn't play by the same rules as openoffice, but I left it as it came through; further tampering might bite me in the rear when it gets exported to different sites. Anyway, here we go:

Gavin's eyes darted about suspiciously, and his breathing betrayed his anticipation. Thankfully, no one in the restaurant seemed to notice, allowing him to maintain the delusion that he was playing it cool.

He walked into the washroom and took a quick glance around to see if anyone else was here. He checked the lighter fluid bottles in his jacket pockets for leaks.

Opening every toilet stall, he confirmed beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was alone.

The side panels of the stalls went all the way from floor to ceiling. The doors of the stalls had roughly forty centimetre clearance to the floor and ceiling. This made for a very private stall, and was what attracted him to this location to begin with.

He chose the stall furthest from the door, stepped in, and locked it behind him.

Gavin looked up with a broad, unseemly grin and a twinkle in his eye. This was the day.

He closed the toilet's lid, and spat on it. He used a handful of toiler paper to scrub the top clean. Clean enough. He lifted lid just long enough to toss in the used toilet paper. He took off his shoes, and without touching the doubtlessly germ-ridden floor with his socks, moved the shoes into position. They would serve as decoys. With luck, they might fool anyone who glanced under the door. Hopefully no one would bend over so far that they noticed the lack of feet in the shoes.

Gavin had meant to buy tall rubber boots for this purpose, but then he'd either have to wear them, or find another way of smuggling them around. Neither option lent itself to an inconspicuous entry.

Standing on the toilet seat in his socks, he strained up and found that he reached the smooth, cream coloured ceiling easily. Good. He had considered using latex gloves for this to not leave fingerprints, but it would be a meaningless precaution, given what he was going to do here.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out one of the cheerfully yellow lighter-fluid bottles that held the precious cargo. He loosened the nozzle, careful to not spill a precious drop, and squeezed a little bit of the thick red essence onto two fingers on his opposite hand.

It wasn't warm anymore, but he still felt the urge to give it a little taste. That would be self-defeating. Maybe after the job was done, he'd have a little left. Or maybe he could get a tiny new sample. A fresh one, a warm one. That wouldn't sit well with Evelyntra.

Oh, how warm blood on the tip of one's tongue felt as soothing as an embrace.

Just a tiny bit?

No, not now. Focus on the job at hand.

Reach up, stain, swirl. As his fingers left the mark, he swayed his head to mimic the motion. A quiet little dance with the blood. He smiled proudly.

A little more blood on his fingers. Reach, swirl. There it is.


Blood, reach, swirl. Again. Now smear here, smear there. Now the whole bottom of the fist. Press it up, twist, smack, smack. Time flowed quickly, but he was progressing well. Yes, he'd remembered! It looked right.

It looked right.

Oops, in his vigour, a droplet fell to he floor. Get it later. Open the other bottle, the first was empty.

Now it was down to the easy parts. Smear, smear, dab, a few dozen times. There.

He stepped down off the toilet and sat on it, looking up at his work while squirming his feet back into his shoes. It was great. He needed to get a camera one of these days. Grabbing a little bit of toilet paper, he dabbed up the droplet of wasted blood on the floor.

Gavin stood and smeared the last of the blood onto the door, to form the words;

Dear gentle deficator. Do you like Vincent Van Gogh? Look up. My rendition of 'Starry Night over the Rhone.' You're welcome.”

While he was painting, he had heard several people going in and out of the bathroom, but now he heard no one. Using his clean hand, he went over to the nearest sink, closing the stall door behind him, and rolled up his sleeves to wash the blood off of his painting hand. He had it all off before the next person came into the washrooms.

He watched in the mirror as the newcomer choose a different stall. Half of him wanted to be around when his art was discovered, the other half knew it would be better to get a little distance first.

Gavin's rolled up sleeves chafed uncomfortably against his arms. Ah, that reminded him, it was past the time for his potable from Evelyntra. The little black bottle was a prefect cylinder that seemed to knowingly ignore light.

He unscrewed the top, and downed the sweet yet noxious mire quickly, but with pleasure. He hurriedly rinsed it out in the sink, avoiding future lectures from Evelyntra.

He left the washroom, as the aftertaste slowly faded. He could feel it in him. Thank you Evelyntra.

Gavin owed her so much.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Regan blogs.

Kay, Regan's been on my mind a lot for random reasons lately, and when I got the 'Fantasies' Album by Metric, well, she's just not leaving me alone. She also wants the lead singer's outfit.

Metric indeed rocks. If you ever liked Garbage of Republica, Metric's worth a look. I 'discovered' them via the Scott Pilgrim soundtrack, as Metric made the song sung by 'Clash at Demonhead'. Metric's lent music to a pile of other movies too, including Zombieland, and (gag) Vampire diaries, and.. a pile more. TV too. Grey's Anatomy off the top of my head. They're soooOOOoooOOOoo indie mainstream it hurts. So does that sentence. It's okay, they're Canadian.

Anyway, Regan asked me if she should start her own blog, and I told her that was stupid, and that fictional people can't have blogs, so she threw a plastic bowl at me, but apologized repeatedly before the thing came to a stop on the floor.
So, as a token of peace, I told her should could post on my blog, as long we didn't confuse anyone. That said, here's Regan:

Hi world! Any of you who heard about those pirates who came to my house- don't worry. I haven't heard a peep from any other jack***es since then, and I ordered some fun stuff to make any future problems.. well, less of a problem. What kind of toys? I'm in international waters, so use your imagination.

I was a little surprised that 'Leesh gave my order such a quick thumbs up, but I think she's still feeling protective or guilty or whatever because she wasn't here to help when it all happened. That said, I have to say I kicked some considerable bumbum. I hadn't seen that much action since Meston. I haven't decided what's worse- zomzomz, or having to put lead into live humans to defend myself.

Whatever, it's over. 'Leesh says she wants me to come with her when she goes mainland to teach from now on. I did when she first started those seminars at Yute Central, but I was un-invited after a couple.. incidents. One weepy 'Leesh later, and now I'm back on the Yute trips. But nowhere near the classroom. Erp. CONFERENCE ROOM, Excuuuuuse me. I bought her a pair of fake glasses and a pointer, so she can be 'hot teacher', but the glasses reminded me of Kris.
Elle. Oh. Elle. Once I stopped laughing, we chucked em out.

Speaking of BitchyMcBitcherson, she's coming over for a weekend later in the month. Her and Parker. It'll be awesome to see him again. But I should resist calling Kris names. IT'S JUST SO MUCH FUN! 'Leesh said I should stop using her as my, 'Token Evil Bisexual Bitch'. Lawl, WHY? We need an icon like my T.E.B.B. to show us the difference between evil bisexuals and good ones!

Hint: The good ones are redheads, and MINE.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Free Ebooks, march 6-12

RE100. That's the coupon code to use here, to get any of my books free in a pile of different formats. Why?? It'll be "READ AN E-BOOK WEEK" and hey, I'm feelin silly, as I'm currently jacked up on taurine! WHEEEE!!!

That's Lifehack, Watching Yute, and/or Echoes of Erebus, free ebooks if you don't dawdle!

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

My dearest Jonnicakes, march 2

My dearest Jonnicakes, I have just faxed you the monthly financials. I regret to admit that I have once again produced a less than perfect report.

I donated 20 cents to the petty cash to even things out, and I didn't tell you. I'm sorry, my dearest Jonnicakes.

I also misread a $134 as $143, and as such, I ended up making and cashing a cheque to restock the petty cash that was off by $9 surplus.

I thought of lying to you, my dearest Jonnicakes. I thought of making it all go away, and secretly stuffing the $9 in the bottom of the petty cash box, to correct some future mistake. I'm ashamed to say that one of the receipts I had to fax you kept me honest. I didn't have time to scan it, and change it in photoshop. Oh, my dearest Jonnicakes, can you ever forgive my larcenous thoughts?

If any solace comes to me in this month's mess, it is only that I found it sooner rather than later. Each month I make similar mistakes, but I am starting to find them sooner, my dearest Jonnicakes. One day, I might submit a perfect, error free monthly report, with no little notes scribbled in the corner, and no page explaining what went wrong.

Until that day comes, my dearest Jonnicakes, I can only thank you for not unleashing your omnidirectional wrath upon the little blue ball we call earth.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Chatty zombies

Quick knee update: Had an xray today, and it's healed enough I can ditch the brace.

Anyway, I was conceitedly reading my own stuff, specifically Echoes of Erebus today. I'm a little sick of zombies, I think a lot of people are. I tried to give em an extra twist in EoE, (most obviously with the 'demon' types) and I knew a section was coming up with 'normal zombies'.

I kinda dreaded it, and kind of expected to find myself skimming through it. Then HEY, it's talking! Yes, I wrote it, so I wasn't SHOCKED, but I'd forgotten about it, and was pretty pleased with the result.

They were walking to each other, sort of. They were talking via programming by our master badguy, who injected his ego and sense of humour into the banter. I then came to the realization that I am SO not a zombie writer. Sure, most of my zombies are the non-articulate moany-type, but the ones I have the most fun with aren't. I used to wonder why my books didn't fit in with ZOMBIE BOOKS.

One thing I considered was "My books are character driven, but now and then a few million zombies and/or nanites show up." Which... yeah.. I'll stand by that. Maybe I'm too fond of the type of zombies as shown in the simpsons on the occasional 'treehouse of horror'.