Ending Word Count for June 1

Dirty Toes: 15478.  1007 added

From tonight:
Nothing for it, Admire. They were going to hunt damned souls. And Mad Maudlin would ride with them, hunting her own damned soul who was long banished. We probably couldn't stop the hunt. We might be able to take Maudlin or distract her. She was insane, after all, fixated on her purpose, and maybe...

A voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Corin Faw snapped, “Back to Rank Amateur Mistake Number One, are we?”

Nothing could be assumed or presume or anything. I paced a little more, jangling nerves crying for a nightcap. I was still holding the bottle, dammit. I did not need a drink to sleep.

I took a hot shower instead and went to bed.

The siren call of my captain grew ever louder. I flipped the pillow looking for a cool side. I rolled. I tossed. I wadded the pillow thicker. I pulled covers up and kicked them off again. All the time in my head, a Wild Hunt rode like a flying glow-worm, rising and falling, dipping earthward to snatch a luckless person, and baying its way back into the air.

“One,” I told myself sternly as I poured a quarter-cup of rum into my coffee mug. “It will calm you down and let you sleep. You won't be worth a pixie fart if you don't.”

The rum slid down spicy and almost-sweet, not nearly smooth enough. I couldn't afford the smooth stuff right now. But the burn in my chest warmed me right up. I settled on the bed, everything starting to relax.


Terror of the Frozen North: 31986. 1006 added

From tonight

Bitter cold was our constant companion. Even the shelters were barely above freezing, the little solar heaters working overtime to keep them liveable. Zimmer tutted over his transports, but they weathered the trip as well as any of the equipment. Whether the men of the group would endure so well remained to be seen.
--From the Journal of Charlie Doyle, secretary to Lord Withycombe

The next few days provided plenty of notes for his working as Edward tested device after device. There were flame throwers of advanced design, including one that spat a ball of fire that bloomed well away from the shooter. He shot guns of every variety, from small side arms, to long rifles to a machine gun, trying them all in the frigid wastes, to see how well they endured. The Professor's anti-gelling solution worked brilliantly for transports and gun oil alike.