November again. Insane writing month again. This, of course, means more procrastination blogs for everyone! The goal this month is to write the second half of The Hero Journey of Lola Avelia Stubbins XII. Wish me luck, and have a little sneak peek at a bit of what I wrote last year, with apologies for the weird formatting.
Excerpt from The Hero Journey of Lola Avelia Stubbins XII
Stub spilled gracelessly into the corridor, bowled over by the weight of her pack. “Pint and pissers,” she swore. Spaceships may have been engineered mostly by dwoles, but they were staffed primarily by the much taller gorgs and silfs and nomons, and the scale made it obvious.
“Whoa, steady on.” A hand reached down to help her up.
Stub jerked her arm away and felt immediately abashed. She looked up…she always looked up… at her rescuer. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” the grable said. Black hair shimmering with the iridescence of an oil slick fell over a gleaming emerald complexion to frame a lascivious stare.”You’re not fine: you’re a fox.”
Stub could feel her skin pinking. Her eyes traveled back down the ropy arms exposed by his loose workout jumper. She swallowed. “Umm…thanks?”
He laughed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be flirting with you while you’re in uniform. That’s gonna get me busted back down to ensign one of these days. But didn’t the sarge let you know you can use the lifts? You barely clear a meter. There’s a minimum height rule in the accessibility guidelines.”
Stub pulled herself upright and met his gaze. She did not inform him that the sergeant had, in fact, glossed over that useful piece of information. Still… “My height isn’t a handicap. I don’t need special treatment.”
He held up a hand, palm out. “I respect that.”
Stub forced a smile. “Sorry. I’ve taken half a dozen cracks about my size between docking and here. Truth be told, I am going to need to increase the upper body work in my calisthenics routine to get out of those tubes any way but face-first.”
“That’s the spirit.” He grinned. “The tall folks think it’s funny to haze the new wee ones and they’re generally too smart to get caught by a senior officer. But most of ‘em aren’t that bad once you get to know ‘em. Hang in there.”
The grable punched her shoulder and scooched past her to swing gracefully up into the tube she had just fallen out of. “See you around, Fox.”
Stub’s mouth worked too slowly and she ended up speaking to the closed hatch. “See you around.”
She spun slowly on one heel, breathing in deeply as she considered the arrows on the numbered signs and found her direction. “Oh no you don’t, Lola Avelia Stubbins. This is a short-term assignment and you’re on thin ice here as it is. Don’t even think about it.”
She couldn’t help but think about it…him. Even if the grable’s interest was only the stereotypical grable willingness to screw anything with a pulse…well. Even by grable standards, that one was a looker. And it had been a very, very long time.
That thought deflated her bubble of sensuous daydream in a lark’s minute. The reason, she reminded herself, that it had been so long since she’d had a good tumble wasn’t likely to change. Shirlings were not broadly popular as a race for reasons that went beyond height, and as soon as any of her shipmates picked up on her real name, she could count on becoming the same thing she’d been everywhere she’d gone since college: the scapegoat for the sins of her forebearers.
And those of her, she couldn’t deny it, embarrassingly fanatic relatives who refused to acknowledge that their hero-worshiping version of history was somewhere between dead wrong and aggressively backwards.
Entering her blessedly private quarters, she wasted no time dumping her gear out of the duffle and into the footlocker. Organizing it into the null-g webbing would have to wait until after her meeting, but she needed a fresh uniform and her shower kit post-haste. An unwelcome leatherbound book fell out of the bottom of her bag, landing on her unmentionables with no sense of decency. Not that her underwear were indecent: it was that damn book.
“Thinking of fanatic relatives,” she sighed. She had told her mother she didn’t want it, but she had said Stub was being unreasonable. As if a junior lieutenant’s footlocker on a working spaceship was a reasonable place to store a historical artifact and family heirloom. Stub had taken it out of her bag three times before she got out the door, but apparently Mam had got the final word in. “Serve her right if I incinerate the blasted thing,” she growled.
Stub shoved the book to the very bottom of her locker and grabbed what she needed to clean up. Disposing of her namesake’s journal would have to wait.