March 4th, 2009

(no subject)

Everyone who would like to see the next part in 'Grounded in Fact and Fiction', I'm sorry, it'll take a few days, as I'm back at school and work, and also signing up for all possible classes ever, to see which ones I like and want to continue during the year ;D

In the meantime, meme, stolen from gaudy_night

Post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick). No context, no explanations. No more than one sentence!

* "Sometimes the only thought that keeps me from retiring is that there's a great chance Montoya would be my replacement," Jim grumbled, and Bruce laughed.

* Gordon shrugged. "Not really. Although the first officer on the scene said he had appeared from basically nowhere, among all the bodies, and said, and I quote here," he consulted his notepad, "I'm going to bloody well make the wizards pay for this one."

* The organic matter degraded faster during the heat wave, and the rain had an unfortunate tendency to wash away blood and trace and blurry over the footprints and tire marks.

* “Yes, hello to you too,” she offers pointedly and he rolls his eyes, then turns away and walks out of her office, just to come back mere seconds later, stopping at the doors to knock lightly.

* He doesn't break now, not until the scene is processed, every trace of evidence collected, every chance for catching the killer taken.

* She waved her cellphone at him. "Double murder, going once, going twice..."

* Love stories do not fall into this pattern easily, they are much more probable to end with a death than to begin with one.

* "There's no reason to worry," he assures her, even though he realises he's probably lying.

* Barbara used to say that it was much easier to love him than to be married to him.

* Of course, it's quite logical that if you want to set up your cop friend with someone, it makes sense to choose a doctor, someone who would understand the long working hours, the commitment, the refusal to give up on anyone, on anything in this city... there's something about this that worries at Bruce's mind, a hint of a solution, but he doesn't arrive at it yet.

* There's only a few reactions one may have to some ponce in a wrinkled coat announcing himself an Angel of the Lord, and Rupert goes for the easiest one, dissolving into a fit of giggles and then asking, half-seriously and half-mockingly: "How very stoned are you, exactly?"


...yeah. I'll finish them someday. *headdesks*