The Saddle is Purely Metaphorical

[strange_aeons]

I wrote 766 words day before yesterday — and I wrote them at the end of the fifteen thousand or so words I already had, not as some isolated scene I won't ever be able to use. Then yesterday I wrote 1064 words.

It's good to be back. I should get to the beginning of chapter three today.

Highlights:

After all the paranoia and the illegal weaponry, Rook was a little surprised they had left him alone; then he noticed the security cameras, which numbered three and were unnecessarily, almost threateningly conspicuous. Don't steal the sweetener packets, they said: we're watching you.

The unmarked door on the other side of the room turned out to be a bathroom, which he used, mentally composing an encomium to the patron god of unexpected sanitary facilities.

Out of the heat of Center he was cold again, so he put his coat back on and, when that proved insufficient, he fixed the teamaker, located a box of tea in the cabinet under it, and treated himself to several cups.

"What were you doing, exactly?"
"Greasing every palm they showed me. If I could actually use your fake plastic money anywhere else in the world, I'd be fairly annoyed, but I can't, so it's like playing some kind of cute game."

I love those two.