WiPpet Wednesday: a mishmash and a familiar face

It was a weird week last week.  There's always something a little depressing about getting older, offset somewhat by the fact I'm always overestimating how old I actually am, so yet again this year I realised I'm at least year younger than I thought.  (Two years out this year, which was a relief.)

Never did work out if it's because I'm terrible at maths, or if I'm just too lazy to pay attention.

There's something odd about the end of August in England when the weather becomes changeable.  The days seem to become a blur, which hasn't really helped things.  It came as a bit of a surprise that it's even Wednesday today.

In other news, I've finally started reading the Game of Thrones books one of my NaNoers gave me at least a year ago and I'm enjoying the first book so far, but there's something daunting when you look down and go "oh, I'm on page 30 already", only to realise that, yeah, great, but you've got another 800 to go...

WiPpet Wednesday

It's that awesome time of the week again: the blog hop hosted by the ever-brilliant K. L. Schwengel where participants post sections of their Works in Progress that in some way, either through simple links or complicated WiPpet math, relate to the date.  You can find out more, read other blogs and take part yourself over heeeeere.

You know, I've been working quite hard lately on my one outstanding Blogging From A-Z post, G is for Gabrys, and I'm actually starting to make progress now.  Perhaps it'd make more sense if I shared a snippet from—

...I think there's a couple of people who'd hunt me down and strangle me if I did that right now.  :p  (Though that'd be one way to get to meet people in the flesh!)

So, since it's the 19th August 2015 (19/08/2015), my maths is 1 + 9 = 10;  2 + 0 + 1 + 5 = 8; 8 ÷ 8 = 1.  10 + 1 is 11, for 11 paragraphs.

Last week we left Corliss sulking off onto his new task, so this week we're returning to Fayth.  When we left him, he'd been aimlessly pushing some awful not-cream cake around a plate, only to be startled by a crewman letting slip that RQ was being returned solely for his execution.

You could say Fayth did not take it well.

The crewman—Kirik, like knowing his name would stop Fayth threatening him; a sorely deluded man—didn’t waste time putting up a fight, and for that Fayth was grateful. If it wasn’t for the way his hands shook as he opened the door to the armoury Fayth would have sworn he’d wanted him to mount a rescue. He certainly didn’t question the bigger man’s actions. Maybe he realised that Fayth wouldn’t tell him even if he asked. Telling would require knowing why in the first place, and Fayth didn’t want to sit around long enough to analyse that particular question.

Then, gun in hand, he was off and running, leaving Kirik behind with with three tiny red marks on his neck and a bemused expression on his face.

Fayth just hoped Kirik didn’t feel the need to tell anyone how he’d been threatened with death by fork.

No alarms sounded as he pounded through the corridors. The few crewmen he saw passed in a blur, startled expressions frozen with wide eyes and O-shaped mouths. Either they didn’t see the gun or strange men charging through hallways while armed was an alarming but regular occurrence. He hoped it was the former, not the latter.

Damnit, why was it so hard to find Pynes’ office a second time round? He was sure he’d been up there and round there, but it just led to more interminable corridors and if there was one thing the month had supplied more than enough of already, it was interminable corridors.

It was useless, he’d never find them like this. He’d be lucky if Pynes and RQ were even in the same room now.

Room. They wouldn’t be in the same room, because Pynes would want to move RQ somewhere safer, where even if RQ heard what would happen and decided to make a run for it, he’d never manage to escape.
Fayth swore loudly and spun on his heel, pelting back down the corridor again.

Waystations all looked the same. He’d considered it a design flaw in the past—and strictly speaking it was, from a criminal standpoint; if you knew one you knew them all even if you did have a tendency to become geographically embarrassed now and again—but right now he could kiss Pynes. What he’d chosen as a simple stopover on his way back to God knew where was about to make Fayth’s life significantly easier.

Secure cells and other important rooms were usually placed at the bottom of the station, in the middle and far away from the insecure outside edge. It hadn’t been that long, even if he was pretty sure Pynes’ office had been only halfway up the station, two levels from the docking bays. They couldn’t have taken RQ all the way down and in by now, locked him away where Fayth couldn’t get at him even if he could get Kirik to help him again. Please God, don’t let them have managed it...

What if they’d already done it?