It’s going to be a rough anywhere from a few days to basically all week in terms of writing, since my family will be at a cottage from tomorrow to next Saturday.
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I will have Internet, so that’s not going to be the issue. I’m not sure how much time I’m going to have to actually be writing, but even if I can’t get a scene written every day, I will make up for it and still get 31 scenes done.
Kat hates slumber parties.
“Hey, Amara?” Kat asks. “Can I have my arm back?”
“Why, yes, Countess-Dowager Dirigible, the amuse-bouches are to die for”, Amara murmurs in her sleep, latched immovably onto Kat’s left arm.
“Get off of me,” Kat hisses, trying to pry her slumbering best friend off her arm. She succeeds in freeing herself from Amara’s grip, but only for a single fleeting moment.
She is able to cause Amara to roll over, though the Elf promptly rolls right back, latching back onto her arm like a barnacle clinging to the rock.
Kat groans. It’s bad enough when Dunstana does this
“Goodness gracious me,” Amara murmurs. “Have you ever tasted such a vivacious plaid?”
Kat blinks in the gloom and wonders just what kind of dream Amara is having.
Sometimes, it feels like the entire universe, the world of Terrace beneath her — borne, as some say on the shell of a vast and unfathomably ancient cosmic turtle, or else upon the nose of a likewise unfathomable cosmic kitten — the stars wheeling overhead, and the Powers that govern it all, aligns just right as if to say “You, specifically you, Katherine Hortensia Darkstone, are going to have a real bad day.”
Or night, in this case.
She groans again.
Of course, none of the other sleepover-ers are having as bad a night as she is.
Dunstana is comfortably ensconced in a little nest of blankets and Princess Moonflowers, though she has somehow managed to get herself propped up against the side of her little fort and is now sleeping more or less vertically. And upside-down.
Ginger is sleeping rather more traditionally, tucked under a blanket adorned with cupcakes.
Sally Lyte, as always, is holding that bunny doll of hers close and Annie has one arm draped protectively over her new best friend.
Meanwhile, Kat’s own best friend continues to be stubbornly affixed to her arm.
“You’re lucky you’re my best friend,” Kat mutters.
Amara’s only response is to sleepily murmur something about a unicorn colloquium.
Kat groans again.
Eventually, and against all odds, Kat does manage to fall asleep. She dreams of neither amuse-bouches, vivacious plaids, nor unicorn colloquia.
As occurs most mornings, she is forced to confront the dawning of a new day, loudly and forcefully, by Dunstana.
“Kat!” the little pirate exclaims. “Wake up! Aunt Peri is making waffles!”
“Good morning, Katherine,” Amara says, sitting up. “Oh, goodness, look at your hair!”
Amara begins to fuss over Kat, frowning and worrying her hair back into some semblance of order. It is, in Kat’s opinion, not an improve over being clung to for dear life.
“Amara. You’re not my mother,” Kat protests. “You don’t need to —”
“Oh, hush, Katherine. I’m your best friend, that’s only a few steps down from Mother,” Amara insists.
Kat spends most of breakfast glowering at Amara.
My goodness, Katherine,” Amara says. “What’s got you in such a foul mood? Did you not sleep well?”
Kat’s wordlessly responds by pointedly chewing her waffles in Amara’s direction.
“I dreamed I was a badger!” Dunstana interjects.
But, also, as today is Friday, the latest chapter of Forward, the Lyte Brigade went live earlier today:
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