titusnowl: (mad bolshevik)
Jens, despite all of his tactical genius, had managed to catch the corner of a bolter round from somewhere during the dust-up earlier. Haas had patched him up first before looking over everybody else's cuts and scrapes, and although the bandage showed white through the hole in his uniform and he'd be swinging his sword with his off hand for a while, the dose of pijnstell he'd been forced to take had left him more comfortable than any of the rest of them were for the moment. He didn't seem to appreciate this advantage much. Somehow his wound was Sander's fault; Sander was loudly disappointed that it hadn't been fatal; Brekt had gotten fed up with playing the net in their tennis game and had volunteered himself for guard duty, and Duiker was almost ready to go out and join him despite having only just found a way to lie down that didn't put weight on any of the collection of bruises he'd picked up during a hasty descent off a roof he'd been sniping from.

bickering, cuddling, et cetera )
titusnowl: (fight for the splendour)
I need to hire a ghostwriter for fight sequences. Also it's incredibly hard to write Warhammer 40k fiction if you can't write fight scenes for shit. Also also it's hard to write 40k fiction if you can't bring yourself to write kinda purple. I feel like my lede graf in this thing I'm working on is RIDICULOUS but I might be oversensitive to purpleness in my prose. (The bits I've posted about Fimimunda are ridiculous. This is unrelated to them and is in fact part of my Ridiculous World-Building Project That Came Into Existence Solely To Justify My Chemical Romance's Black Parade Uniforms)

THE PARAGRAPH IN QUESTION:
Flarelight fell in intermittent stripes through shattered holes in the great stone wall; fragments of stained glass still clung in places to what was left of windowframes, pouring patches of color onto the scene below. The building had once been a transit terminal; now it was a charnel-house.
HOW CAN PEOPLE TAKE THEMSELVES SERIOUSLY WRITING THINGS LIKE THIS

And then my little fireteam of ELITE GUARDSMEN spend the whole thing swearing at each other and smarting off on the voxcasters because I can't maintain srs
titusnowl: (duel)
BATTLE OF SPIDER BATH PART 2: THE AFTERMATH
=OR=
A SHAKESPEAREAN SPIDER DRAMA


Went in bathroom. There is a second, smaller spider in tub. It is already dead, drowned in a bit of water that didn't drain out. This was not there when I battled Shelob. A widower, unable to carry on alone? PERHAPS.

I show no remorse as I nudge the corpse down the drain.
titusnowl: (fight for the splendour)
THE BATTLE OF SPIDER BATH, 6TH MAY 2011. IMPERIAL FORCES TRIUMPHANT.

Huge fuckoff spider in bathtub. Like, Australian style, huge fuckoff spider. Had the kind of legs that looks like it can jump. I hate jumping spiders. Francis does not hate anything as much as I hate jumping spiders. I can handle a spider that doesn't jump. I can allow a standard, small, non-jumping spider to live; they take care of other pests and are generally polite enough to stay the fuck out of sight. I cannot suffer the jumping spider to live. At the same time I'm kind of terrified of trying to kill them, because I have a distinct memory of the time we discovered that my father's lean-to shed was infested with wolf spiders, I tried to step on one, and it jumped onto my leg and ran over my body. No. That is not okay. That is never okay.

So I was faced with a quandary. Cannot suffer spider to live. Afraid to attack spider. Justin's asleep in next room, but I can't wake another dude up just to stomp a spider for me. Had to man up. It is a quirk of my psyche that when I have a hard time talking myself into doing something, being given a direct order to get that thing done enables me to overcome my fears. Couple of friends obliged in giving said order. Manned the fuck up about it, just as keikaku.

Wanted a ranged weapon, as no matter how manup I am, I will not attempt to step on a spider that might be a jumping one if there's any other way around it. Best thing I could find was the metal baseball bat I keep next to the door. It's flat on the end, I could poke with that.

First blow, spider moved. Pulled bat back, spider was dangling from it by length of web. On bright side, wasn't jumping! Still, not yet dead. Swung spider around to get it directly behind end of bat, flattened bat against inside of tub. Retracted bat. Spider on tub, but still trying to crawl away. Third blow finished him.

Metal bat on inside of tub: incredibly noisy. Am amazed Justin managed to sleep through it.

Feels simultaneously anticlimactic and accomplished. All that drama for one dead spider.

Corpse barely fit through the thing in the drain.

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titus n. owl

February 2015

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