In Dreams of Trees : So Much For Diplomatic Immunity

Wordcount: 306
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: Wordwar; Brian and White have adventures in the past—pre-story so most likely will get cut in the second draft.

NOTE: This is a very rough draft with no editing at all (per National Novel Wiriting Month rules) and is presented for amusement value only. Think of it as a periscope into my writing process rather than a coherent story!

There will most likely be spelling and grammatical errors afoot as well as flat out bad writing, info dumps, plot holes, contradictions/retcons, uneven characterization and pacing. These snippits are also posted out of order, so please refer to the Outline to figure out where it’s supposed to fit.


So Much For Diplomatic Immunity

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” Brian says amicably as White enters the room. “At some point people are going to start talking.”

“I’d tell you to shut up, but what’s the point?” sighed White, taking a chair across the table from him.

Brian’s arms and legs were firmly pressed to the arms and legs of the chair with thick leather straps. He’d already given them a few experimental tugs, but it seemed like they’d done their job this time, which meant no easy escapes. Ah well.

“So dare I ask what you were here for this time?”

“I came to pay court, of course,” quipped Brian, “tales of your beauty have traveled far and wide and I couldn’t help myself.”

White raised an eyebrow and gave him a look best reserved for disobedient three year olds.

Brian was not phased.

“So, motive aside, what am I supposed to do with you?” she asked. “If I let you go, you’ll just come back again. If I kill you, someone might get a tad upset–”

“Just a tad,” agreed Brian as the city twitched around them.

“And I can’t lock you up, because the city will just let you go again.”

Ah, so that was why they had wised up and started using the leather. Darn.

“I’m honestly not sure what to do.”

“Well, you could just let me have what I came for,” offered Brian.

“And that was?” White asked.

Brian frowned, “Wait, are you serious?”

“Look kid,” said White, ignoring Brian’s bristling in response. “I have no idea what you are here for this time or any of the last dozen of times we’ve aught you, or almost caught you. If you would just tell me, I think we’d save both of us headaches in the long run.”

“I need your keycard.”

Martha Bechtel

My name is Martha Bechtel and I write fantasy and science fiction stories, paint small model horses silly colors, cast resin and plaster magnets, code random code (and Wordpress plugins)... Come on in and join in the fun!

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