It ain't the moonwalk.

-119 words so far today on The Hellion Prince.  Having finished a card game and a bit of sulking theatrically, Damarhis is now moving on to actual politics (for the first time so far in the book?  Well, no, I guess Chapter Nine was full of politics).  I tried an opener for the scene that felt easy and entertaining, sort of a narrative short cut, and stubbornly refused to delete my progress when it stalled for the rest of the day.  Until now, of course, where I am left with either admitting it and starting over, or having a day in which I fail to achieve my wordcount.

Of course, I'm not yet sure how to approach the scene, and may wind up dabbling in another project instead.  We'll see.

Much better.

610 words later, I am well satisfied, and off to bed a bit early.

Excerpt:

Finally, he asked Chrysinthe – in a comfortable moment, a rare restful evening together at some favor-currying Centrist ingenue's dreary salon. She smiled a little at the novelty of the question, but paused in serious thought.

 

“If you want to appease him, you can't invite him to attend on you,” she said. “Everyone has a place of power, don't they? Somewhere they believe themselves to be master, no matter how many higher powers they answer to. But if you come into their place too humbly, in supplication, they won't feel like negotiating – they'll feel vindicated, and press you all the harder. So it has to be something in between. Come to him, if not in his house or his Barony then on his terms, his ground – but visit your tailor before you go, and make certain he can't be mistaken about why you've come, or what you are to him.”

 

It was fairy advice, in a way, and even as he marked it as such Damarhis resolved to accept it.