Sunday, 25 July 2010

Flirt, A Book Review

This Laurall K Hamilton book was given, nay, forced on me by my good friend Graeme Flory, who implored me to take it, take and read/burn it. Poor man had to tell his contacts not to send him anymore of her drivel.

Well, I read it, in less than three hours all told. And I did not think much of it.

Firstly, this is just one in a series of books about Anita Blake, a vampire hunter and necromancer infected with several strains of lycanthropy, who has managed to collect men like some people collect graphic novels, or figurines, or insects, or or......shrunken heads? Do people still do that? I guess thats beside the point.

She has a vampire master for a boyfriend, a wereleopard for a mate, another as secondary mate, and a werewolf for a lover. Oh and in this book she enslaves a werelion. If they had kids, I'd love to hear the therapist's review.

In Flirt, the main plot is driven by a client who asks Anita to raise their dead spouse. She refuses, as said spouse would return as a zombie, and rot, so not something to keep or screw with. So this client pays a pride of werelions to kidnap her and force her to raise their dead spouse.

But the main plotline does not rear its simplistic head until about halfway through the book. Til then its sexual angst and bad, bad prose.

Huge-ass staircase? Really?

Lipsticked lips anyone?

The dialogue is worse, half of it is unintelligable and such a tangled mess that it is torture to make order of.

But the fatal mistake that Laurall K Hamilton has made is that she has put her heroine up on a pedestal for the other characters to revolve in awe around. In real-life that just does not happen, and in fiction it makes for terribly boring reading.

Apparently her earlier books about Anita Blake are better, but as this is the only book I have read, I'll have to say that its your caution you are throwing to the wind if you dare, not mine. :)

Friday, 23 July 2010

Mister Pussycato!

This is Arkady, our about a year boy cat :). Most times he is to be found lying on his back with his paws in the air, doing a fantastic impression of a bunny rabbit.

Arkady came to us as a six month old kitten who had stumbled into our garden, not long after we moved in. The parental unit known as Mother heard him mewing outside in the rain, and so the family decided to investigate. We bribed him closer with bits of food, then Aunty Number 3 managed to get him inside, and he's been with us ever since, eating our food, using our chairs, consuming our attention.

As you can see, he is very adept at playing cute :)

I must note that 'Mister Pussycato' is a nickname invented by Aunty Number 3, and not of my own creation, as she will garrot me if I pretend intellectual ownership.

Friday Arts And Crafts: The Silver Slippers

I went questing for a pair of shoes that would go with the blue dress I intend to wear for the Doctor Who Proms. I knew what I wanted, something in silver, or the right shade of blue, not too expensive, and not hideous. A tall order I know.

So it was with luck that I found these!

Though alas I did not like the rainbow sequins which can't really be seen as they are so tiny. So I thought to myself, "Hey! I have some silver sequins at home, I can take these ones off and sew those ones on!"

Firstly, off came the rainbow sequins, and this is the damage done.

Then I had to sew the silver sequins on, which enabled me to stab myself in the finger as I tried to angle the needle and sew through incredibly needle resistant material.

But here is the finished result :)

Prettier I believe, though each to their own. :)

Thursday, 22 July 2010

The Playlist To End All Playlists

I've created a new playlist on Youtube, formed of the most incredible music (and guilty pleasures), to be found therein.

But I have no idea how to arrange it. Here is the list as it stands at the moment of conception.

1.Whitesnake - Sailing Ships
2.Deep Purple - Sometimes I Feel Like Screaming
3.Kiss - Tears Are Falling
4.Wicked - Defying Gravity
5.Incubus - Drive
6.George Harrison - While My Guitar Gently Weeps
7.Stone Sour - Bother
8.Walls Of Jericho - House Of The Rising Sun
9.Van Halen - Why Can't This Be Love
10.Bruce Springsteen - Streets Of Philadelphia
11.Meat Loaf - Its All Coming Back To Me Now
12.Joe Cocker - With A Little Help From My Friends
13.Gary Moore - Over The Hills And Far Away
14.Pink Floyd - Comfortably Numb
15.Queen - I Want It All
16.Roxette - It Must Have Been Love

Okay, so not really "ballads" as such, but each balladic in their own way :)

Now, the hard task is arranging them so that they complement each other, which is no easy thing to do. How does one juxtapose Roxette with Walls Of Jericho? Kiss with Pink Floyd? Gary Moore with Wicked?

I am forseeing a hard time ahead. If anyone has any suggestions, they will be gratefully received.

Wednesday, 21 July 2010

No! Its Not Right!

As me and my man were up late last night editing GP:H Chapter 1, a few things were missed, a few lines I intended to add into the final draft but forgot to do at the last minute, as these things go.

I've added them into Chapter 1 now, just thought I'd let you all know :)

Gallow's Play


Chapter 1

8th May, 1850. Artemis Gallow first set foot on Asphodel Space Station late in the proceedings of the VE Day celebrations, the machine at her side and the metal plate on her skull hidden in the sleeve and hood of an old GW1 trench coat, with Saber silent at her heels.

Making their way through the station the woman and tiger walked subdued past merry celebrants with drink in hand, or dancing to the music made by those with the skill to play an instrument. Children ran laughing, trailing bits of coloured cloth and waving miniatures of the crossed flag of Great Britannica, with the wings and spear of Nike and Athena. Some, in particular the girls, held aloft crude makeshift spears and swords, and chased their friends and brothers over chair and under table.

The level of brevity ensured that Artemis and Saber passed unnoticed, at least by the drunk adults. A girl-child of five stared at the giant dusky cat as he passed with his mistress, then turned to wrench on the skirts of her mother, a prostitute haggling with a gibbering shrimp of a prospective client.

The throng remained close-knit til they reached their destination, a red curtained portal guarded rather loosely by three burly men who joked amongst themselves. They were distinguished from the crowd by a clan-mark of swirling blue ink, which had been tattooed over each man’s left eye, running down from hairline to curl over cheekbone and under jaw.

Whether sober or intoxicated, everyone avoided the space they held.

Artemis came to a halt before the biggest of the three, a six foot monolith of muscle and sinew topped with grease spiked hair. He regarded this woman’s intrusion with amusement, and winked at his smirking comrades. She looked down at him through narrowed eyes.

“You lookin’ fer sumfin’ love? Or’a you jus’ lookin’ fer yer marbles eh?” His two pals burst into vulgar laughter.

Artemis punched the man in the stomach, her metal fist back at her side before he hit the deck, doubled over in pain.

“I can assure you I am quite sane.” Uncovering her head she revealed her deformity to the two left standing, who were only now drawing their knives from their belts.

“My name is Artemis Gallow. I hear your chief is hiring.”

She received no answer, but it was apparent that the men knew her name. “Is that correct?” Saber appeared to add weight to her words.

They sheathed their knives and stood apart in answer. One held the red curtain aside, contrite as his fellow, and Saber followed Artemis as she entered their den.

Behind the curtain a wide corridor ran straight to another portal, this one barred by an iron door and guarded by three more men. Displays of wealth encrusted the spotless chamber, expensive arches of silk attached to various pipes running along the ceiling and walls, with statues of jade and gold placed with impeccable care on shining pedestals. Even the floor was embellished with white and black diamond patterned tiles to hide the ugly iron mesh.

The man who admitted them, a shaven haired fellow with ears full of rings, followed through and led woman and tiger down the corridor. Saber paused to sniff at the first closed door they passed, the smell hovering in the air before it making him sneeze.

“Saber, quit nosing around,” Artemis chided.

The tiger trotted back to her side. “Men mark door, smell bad Artemis.”

“Its opium Saber, try to ignore it.”

The shaven man waved his comrades aside. Their eyes focused on the giant cat as Saber growled and bared his teeth in distrust, smelling on them the same evil stench as before. Knives and guns were partly drawn in response. Artemis placed a flesh finger to Saber’s nose and the cat closed his mouth in obedience, though deep in his throat he continued his dissent.

Their guide worked the opening mechanism and rolled the door aside to reveal a grand apartment, furnished with the finest materials and ornaments to be had on the black market. Beyond a dark wood desk adorned with carved fruit, a concave window framed the star woven fabric of black nothing that clad Asphodel Station.

The shaven man gestured silently to a luxurious armchair placed in front of the desk, then quit the room through another curtained doorway in the left hand wall.

Artemis took the seat and settled herself comfortably. Distracted by this comfort it was a few seconds before she noticed that Saber was not at her side, so peered back behind the chair. And found her companion washing his stomach.

“Oi you, presentation is utmost with these people!” she hissed, irate.

Grumbling the cat levered himself off of the wonderfully soft rug he had desired to lie upon, and came to Artemis’ left side, where he downed haunches and looked effortlessly fierce and regal. By way of begging pardon she gave him a satisfactory scratch behind the ears.

They were only kept waiting a few minutes, then the shaven man re-appeared and scuttled back to his post, shutting the chamber door.

“I ‘ope you will excuse my son Mistress Gallow,” announced a middle aged man as he walked through the doorway. His hair was black, combed, and he wore an immaculate moustache. He was smartly attired in light grey trousers, waistcoat and red scarf over a pure white shirt. His clothes belied a body conditioned for labour.

“I hope you will forgive my assaulting said son. Your eldest?”

“The eldest now.” He took his seat behind the desk, presenting the idea of an elegant barbarian to Artemis’ mind. His clan mark covered three quarters of his face, all but his right cheek which bore a different mark, that of an old and ugly scar.

From a drawer he took a case and removed a pair of spectacles from its interior, polishing them with a silk handkerchief before putting them on.

Artemis waited patiently, her hand on Saber’s neck.

“Artemis Gallow.” He mused on her name, and on her person, his gaze lingering on the scars that spidered out from beneath her skull plate. “I once ‘ad the pleasure ov bein’ acquainted wiv your muvver. It pained me greatly t’ read ov ‘er deaf, an’ your farver’s too. I ‘ope you will accept me deepest sympafies.” There was genuine regret in his dark green eyes.

“Its been five years Mister Dogg, but I thank you.” On a reflex her hand wandered from the tiger’s soft stripped fur to a ragged periwinkle patterned scarf knotted about her waist, at odds with the rest of her dull coloured attire.

“Athenae’s girl must call me Cerberus,” he said with a rogue’s smile.

Artemis nodded, a small smile on her lips. “Cerberus. My mother told me of you, that you were the worst scoundrel she had ever had the misfortune to command.”

Cerberus laughed heartily, a loud brash thing. “Ah, I see your advantage now. Yer must know all about me’n my ways eh?”

“Yes, I do, and I know my mother trusted you with her life in spite of them.”

Cerberus reflected on her words. “I respected ‘er Artemis, an’ um glad I earned that off ‘er. She was a great lady.”

“She was at that.” No emotion touched her eyes, or lifted her tone of voice. Saber butted her elbow with his nose, concerned at the void in her voice. Artemis resumed stroking his fur, absent-minded again.

Cerberus leaned back in his chair. Illuminated Ares shone red over his shoulder.

“Now don’ go believin’ you ‘ave the ‘igh ground over me. I know wot you’ve been up t’ these past five years. I know the name you’ve made fer yourself, an’ it ain’t the one you go by.” He paused to remove his eyeglasses and commenced with cleaning them a second time.

“An’ don’ believe I’ve taken yer story ‘ook line an’ sinker eivver. You may ‘ave me boys believin’ you’re just after work, but you an’ me know that’s just your excuse,” saying so as he brandished his spectacles at her, admonishing his dead comrade’s daughter.

“On the contrary Cerberus, your sharp wits make things a lot easier for me. Working for you will be my cover story, as it were.”

Replacing his spectacles, Cerberus asked. “An’ do I get t’ know why it is you’re castin’ your shadow at my door?”

“If I told you Cerberus, you would try to dissuade me.” Artemis stood.

“You’re as obtuse as yer muvver was.” He left his chair and came round the desk. “An’ if she’d a said that, I’d’ve known t’ run fer cover.” He offered his hand and Artemis took it.

“I don’t give warning. That your son knows intimately.” Their hands parted.

“An’ at least you were courteous enuff t’ use words, fer which I fank you. An’ now I suppose you want t’ talk business?”

“Yes, that would be an excellent idea.”

Cerberus motioned for her to follow him, and headed for the small doorway he had entered through. Artemis bade Saber wait, to which the great cat yawned and went to make himself comfortable on the rug he had had his blue eyes on.

Through the partition doorway Cerberus took Artemis down an elegant wood panelled corridor. Its walls displayed works of art by those of fame, Turnbells, Stables, Bakers, even a Di Sinci.

Cerberus stopped by the second door on the right hand side and produced a key from his waistcoat pocket.

“You keep prisoners Cerberus?”

“Only when ‘ee won’t bloody well be’ave.” He opened the door and presented to Artemis a boy of ten, equipped with his own black hair. Though he sat on the carpeted floor surrounded by opulence, his clothes were filthy rags.

“This ‘ere is my youngest, Jackal.” The boy looked up from his lap, and Artemis saw that he also owned his father’s viridian eyes.

At seeing her visage the boy yelled and scrambled backwards into the shelter of a loose curtain hanging from the frame of his bed.

“She won’ eat yer boy!” Cerberus growled and went to haul his son up by the collar.

“C’mere you tyke an’ mind yer manners. ‘Ees soft Artemis, I do apologise. Never even seen so much as a false leg ‘ave you.” And he shook his son by the shoulder.

“I hope this isn’t what you’re hiring for Cerberus, because nannying your whelp will not make a very convincing cover story for me,” she said as she crossed her arms, staring hard in immediate dislike at the boy, red eyes to green. Which made the lad shake with nerves.

“Not’a nanny, but’a bodyguard is wot ‘ee needs.” And he tousled the boy’s hair in affection.

“You’ve met me ovver sons, Wolf an’ Grey’ound. The first you assaulted, wiv all due right, the second brought you t’ me. It’s them I need you t’ guard ‘im from Artemis.” He put his arm round the boy’s shoulder. “From them an’ ‘imself, as ‘ee keeps runnin’ away from ‘ome, an’ there’s worse’n my progeny creepin’ round this station. They’d make a clip round ‘is ear seem like ‘eaven.”

He let Jackal go, and the boy resumed his previous position, warily watching the unknown intruder on his solitude until his father quitted the chamber and locked the door behind him.

Artemis followed Cerberus back to the main room.

“Family feud?” she queried.

“Somethin’ like that. You recall I ‘inted at a fourf son?”

“Rather imperceptibly, but yes.” They re-entered the main room, and Artemis sighed to see Saber with eyes closed, on his back with his grey blue paws in the air.

Cerberus took again his chair behind the beautiful desk.

“Bulldog I named ‘im. Day after ‘is twenny-fiff ‘is body was found down in the levels below wiv ‘is skull smashed open an’ a pipe nearby painted wiv ‘is brains.”

“The work of your other sons?”

Cerberus was clenching the arms of his chair so that his knuckles were drained of colour.

“’Onestly, I don’ know fer sure, but me gut tells me Wolf killed ‘im wiv ‘is own ‘ands.”

“Why would he do that Cerberus?”

“Besides pissin’ me off?” Suddenly the man before her seemed to age a decade, the lines of his face grown deeper with fatigue. “’Ee wants the clan Artemis, an’ me dead’n buried in space. An’ that’ll depend on ‘ow patient ‘ee is, which ain’t very.”

Artemis sat as she took in the information.

“Why not hire someone to dispose of him for you Cerberus, instead of playing what is obviously a very dangerous game.”

He looked at her in disgust.

“’Ee’s my son Artemis.” But his words were not explanation enough for her.

“As long as you’re prepared for him to be the death of you then,” she answered back. “And Jackal as well if his lust for fratricide re-surfaces.”

“I don’ need you t’ sit on me shoulder an’ play devils advocate Artemis, you look too ‘eavy by ‘alf,” he said with an angry wave of his hand. “I just need t’ know that Jackal will stay safe, an’ never mind wot ‘appens t’ me.”

Artemis sighed. “It would seem you’ve grown into a big softie in your advanced years.”

Cerberus chuckled. “Will you take the work Artemis?”

A pause for thought and then she nodded and stood. “I will.” She clicked her fingers to wake Saber from his slumber. The blue tiger opened his eyes and rolled over to stand at the ready.

“I have a few effects to gather from my ship, but I will return promptly.”

Cerberus’ face lifted in gratification.

“My fanks Artemis. I’ll ask you t’ room next t’ Jackal’s, there’s a connectin’ door ‘tween the two.”

“That’ll make keeping an eye on him easier I’m sure.”

Cerberus chuckled again. “Don’ believe that m’dear, ‘ees a sneaky li’l bastard my Jackal.”

As Artemis turned to leave, Cerberus voiced a thought he had entertained since meeting her.

“If Wolf gives you cause Artemis, kill ‘im.”

She turned back to look him squarely in the eye. “Are you sure?”

It was a long time before he replied, the pain in his eyes aging his face yet again.

“Yes. Better by your ‘ands Artemis.”

“Very well Cerberus.” And before he could retract the death sentence he had passed on his son, woman and tiger were through the door and away.

Copyright © 2010 LKG Frendo, All Rights Reserved

Monday, 19 July 2010

Worthy Of Your Scorn Am I


You guys must be so pissed off with me.

Gallow's Play: Huntress Chapter 1, will go up tomorrow, instead of today, though what is a day compared to six months eh? Warren Ellis takes skip weeks all the time.....

Friday, 16 July 2010

Pridy Dress :)

Pridy dress, pridy pridy dress, pridy dress, dress dress dress, pridy dress, pridy pridy pridy dress :)

Yes I have a new dress, tis a Penny Dip Dye blue beach dress which I bought to wear to the Doctor Who Proms, and yes I should be saving my money for better things, like paying off my share of the new(ish) laptop, saving for shoes for the other dress I bought (which I need to slim for and take up a few inches as I am short arse person), buying presents for various peoples and other stuffs.

But I have pridy dress! :D

Sunday, 11 July 2010

Le Sigh

My man and I were cleaved asunder this morning, I being called away by the promise of earning money with which to buy more train/coach tickets.

But thanks to the more than clement weather, I had nought to do but chat with a mother who came in with her three year old twins for a few minutes (darling little things, they hardly ceased chatting to themselves). The rest of my time was spent reading the rest of Wuthering Heights.

Thursday, 8 July 2010

Why Zazzle Sucks

For the second time a t-shirt I have ordered has come out crappy, though this time, ho ho ho, I had to wash it to find out just how crap it is.

The colours ran. Not on the material itself you understand, but on the DESIGN! It was one of my blue skulls, a lovely bright design. When it came out of the packaging, yeah it was alright, albeit there was white edging under the teeth and the top of the outline had been cut off, but it was nice and bright with no white striations as what happened last time.

But now, there are white blobs peeping through the blue where the top layer of ink has come off, revealing the white underlayer.

DO THESE PEOPLE NOT KNOW HOW TO MAKE T-SHIRTS???? It seems to be pretty simple, as the corner shop on Turnpike Lane would have me believe, which sells t-shirts of Bob Marley and Tu-Pac so rich in detail and void of fault that I am reduced to weeping when I see the CRAP that comes through my door!

And not only would I not wear such poor representations of my designs, I would be mortified to suggest that other people actually BUY them! My heart goes out to my aunty, who I convinced to put one of her gorgeous pictures on a Zazzle bag for another aunty, and who then found out that, although second aunty thought it okay, it was faded to such a degree that mollified her and turned her to getting bags printed by another source.

Good on her I say! And Tesco's printers are so much better. I think I shall take my custom to them and sell the bags on Etsy. I've already looked into badge making machines as well...

Monday, 5 July 2010

So Let's Try This Again: Gallow's Play

That's it, I've had enough! Gallow's Play: Huntress Chapter 1 will be up in two weeks time, so I shall re-post the Introduction now, and re-aquaint you lovely people with the story.

I suppose I should just stop apologising as well :)



The boy pelted down the walkway, his boots pounding on the iron mesh and desperate for another avenue of escape. An intersection, or shadowy gap behind the rumbling tree thick pipes, a ladder going up into some dark hole of a hatch. But flying down this long narrow passageway, his fear grew at the realization that there was nowhere he could hide. And always the echo of his steps pursued him from out of the shadows far behind, undiminished by the feeble aethetric lights.

He ran from that sound, for this echo had weight and substance, a beast grown from out of the dark and foul air to chase him down. He could become lost down here in this twilit underworld filled with hissing grumbling machinery, but the creature that hunted would smell him through the hot pervasive stench of the burning coal.

The tears ran down his dirt streaked face. He knew the beast could hear his laboured breathing, the thing was supernatural, hellish. And it drove him on towards the infernal pit at the heart of this forgotten never where.

Ahead the shaft ended in a curving bulkhead rusted by rivulets of accumulated steam. There was a portal jutting into the passage, its heavy door closed and seemingly locked tight to the fear blinded boy. He reached it and tugged in desperate panic on the spokes of the wheel, deaf to its screeching grate as the mechanism turned easily, hearing only the crashing of the beast upon the walkway, feeling the tremendous vibrations of its loping strides shake the bones in his sockets and the heart in his thin chest. Then came the click of the lock, and he was hauling the metal door open, darting through and pulling it closed behind him. He spun the wheel’s twin as tight as he was able for a few seconds more of lead, and barrelled out of the doorway’s niche onto another walkway. And the boy was caught still in an instant by the sight.

It was not the infernal pit, but the dark and cavernous ovaline belly of a mechanical leviathan. The walkway was suspended more than a hundred feet above the sloping floor, and the boy could see as he peered over the railings the stokers small as insects round the great aethetrics machine. Between its gargantuan conical abacus and its pedestal of huge blackened furnaces rested the great sphere of glass, the pride of the Empire, outshining all others. Captured lightning crackled within, lancing out from the black globe on its column at the heart of the device to dance upon the convex curves of their crystalline cage. A cacophony of aethetric buzzing and men at work drifted up upon the stifling air. It stank with the toxic mix of metallic aether and acrid coal smoke, while far above in the domed ceiling four great turbines hummed with the pretence of ventilation.

Then the lock screeched again behind him. The boy shot off down the walkway and barrelled down the first set of stairs he came to, jumping the last few to land on a second walkway. He sprang up and raced round to another flight of stairs below the first, the increasing din of the men and machines flooding his ears so that he could not discern anything else. But he knew the beast was here with him, perhaps upon the walkway above, perhaps upon the stairs and catching him up. As he reached the third walkway with another desperate leap that jarred his body, an animal’s roar sounded out, momentarily drowning all else, and the boy looked far along the walkway to see the beast’s monstrous pet galloping to meet him with a mouthful of wickedly curved fangs.

He fled along the walkway, throwing himself down the last flight of stairs. Now he was among the dirt streaked stokers and their mountains of black glittering coal, weaving amongst them, small enough to dodge one after another of the huge bare-chested men with their heavy shovels and crude language. The heat was sweltering even here, and sweat broke out on the boy’s brow to drip into his eyes and blind him. Out of his mind with terror he took a fatal turn and a blast of Hell-heat scorched his face. He staggered back and tripped over a pipe half buried in the metal floor. For a few seconds he lay on the ground gasping for breathable air, until he felt a hard hand grab viciously at his shirt. The owner of the hand dragged him up, his feet leaving the ground behind, and the boy found himself staring into the glowering face of malevolence incarnate. Sweat glistened on the stoker’s fleshy bald head, forging clean streams in the banks of dirt caked on his leathery skin. His sneer showed a set of teeth completely cast in gold, blazing in the light of the fires, a mouthful of flame ready to cook the boy to ash.

“I’ve caught a li'l fief come t' steal the Empress’ coal me lads!” The other stokers jeered, cruel men turned so by the hardships of their lives in the pit.

The bald stoker grinned horribly. “Down 'ere boy we burn the fievin' vermin along wiv the coal!”

Terrified the boy tried to free himself from the sledgehammer hand and its death grip on his clothes, pitching his feeble strength against the muscular stoker and losing hard, until a force far superior to either boy or man knocked both to the floor. Dropping to the floor and freed from the malicious stoker, the boy scrambled away from the fearsome predator before him, the animal from the walkway.

The tiger was a giant of his race, the black barred fur a freakish blue-grey where the rest of his kin were coloured with sunfire. Standing over the body of the bald stoker, one paw crushed the thick neck to the ground. But he looked at the boy with beautiful pale blue eyes, intelligent, and self-aware. So when the tiger opened his mouth, the boy knew what sounds would emerge from that fanged maw.

“Cub safe now.” The tiger’s voice was a deep rumble, a rich magnificent sound. But the words he spoke were not for him.

“His hide look scratched?” A female voice, resonant and deadly low.

The great tiger looked away from the boy, even the small movement of his head filled with grace. “I want eat my kill, Artemis.”

“You’ve been fed Saber. Check the boy.”

At the woman’s words the tiger stepped off the dead stoker, almost petulant, and padded right up to the boy as he lay quivering against a mound of coal. That fearsome face filled his vision, and the boy felt his bladder give way.

The tiger sniffed him. “Cub mark his territory. Not hurt.”

“Oh his daddy will be pleased.” The feline moved back, and the woman came into view from over its left shoulder.

The boy shook in the presence of the beast. She stood in the light of the furnaces with ruby fire in her eyes, bright red hair cascading over her left shoulder, a giant demoness risen from the belching flames of the fat furnaces. The right half of her skull glowed bronze down to the ridge of her eye socket. Her right arm was an abomination, gears, pistons and plates of metal that barely resembled a human limb. From the back of that mockery of a hand thrust a steel blade the length of the forearm, dormant by her side. In the other hand of flesh and bone she held a pistol at the ready to shoot any stoker that moved. The hard set of her face warned them against any argument.

The fierce woman closed in on him. “I told you not to run, Jackal.” She stuffed the pistol into one of the many belts around her waist so that she could fold the blade back in on itself, and pushed it back into its encasement. Her mechanical hand disarmed, she used it to haul him up, just a piece of flotsam tossed about on waves against his will.

He struggled now against her inhuman grip. “Please don’ take me back to 'im Mistress Gallow! I beg you please don’!”

Her face remained impassive, a fire demon with a face of cold stone. “Its what I’m paid for, boy. You should understand that by now.” Brandishing her pistol the flesh and metal harridan took him away through the retreating crowd of stokers, the blue-grey tiger growling in her wake.

Copyright © 2009 LKG Frendo, All Rights Reserved

The Thames Expedition!

Well Saturday was a hoot :D

Me and my man-god walked from St Paul's to Greenwich Observatory by way of a perusal round the Tate Modern, and by the end of it we were fit to die noble deaths. Though thankfully some cider at a nice nearby pub revived us enough to get the train home.

From St Paul's we strode across the Millenium Bridge (formally the Wobbley Bridge), to the Tate Modern, and spent around forty minutes snorting in derision at some splodges of paint on canvas that clearly any child of two could do (I got a dirty look from a lady patron for laughing out loud at something my man-god said and relished it. RELISHED IT!!!)

From the Tate Modern we took the Thames path by the Globe, where we stopped to have a nosey, then carried on through little alleys and past the Golden Hinde. We were both thrilled to see they do sleepovers :)

Lunch was had in a lovely restaurant by the Hays Galleria, and we saw gosslings, three in a row between mummy and daddy.

After we'd left central London we had to walk through some very dodgy areas, notably one in which several poor sods and their dog had been frozen in time, forced to read the same paper over and over again. We were lucky to get out of there alive!

It was also protected by Vorlons....

I kept saying to the Llama God that I swore I could see the Royal Naval College, until we got to it and found that it was just the facade of a half-demolished building, and so walked further than we thought to get to teh actual College, right by the poor old Cutty Sark, and agreed that we should like to discover more of Greenwich, just not on that day.

Then forcing ourselves up the hill to the Observatory, we observed the Meridian Line, the vista of London, and a mean man in a stall who would not sell me Coke because he was closed, though his shutters were up and no signage was to be seen that told of his closedness. Grumble.

Then we went to the pub, of course, because what else would one do when one has walked 7 miles? And can you believe that the first pub we tried did not have cider on tap? Unheard of in polite society! My man-god was indeed upset at this, so although I had settled in, I agreed that we should look further for a decent place wot sold cider on tap (because he don't like the pear stuff :) ).

And so we ended our lovely tiring day with some strawberry and lime cider, and a train ride home to the sofa-bed. :)

The End :)

Saturday, 3 July 2010

Saturday Tidings

Ah the Llama God is up in London, and so I'm taking him out to the Thames, where we shall play spot the landmark used in a sci-fi film or program :)

Though I can't recall if the Grenwich observatory has been used. Oh, it was used in Stardust wasn't it. But I digress...

Scheduling will be put back until Monday, so until then please enjoy the new look of my blog, and feel free to complain about the brightness of the red background :)

Thursday, 1 July 2010

So I Haven't Written A Post For A While....

I'll now be taking your questions and or suggestions.

No one?

Hokay then! Lets get me a schedule!