Monday, 6 February 2006

freckles_and_doubt: (Default)
Scene: Victorian England, Ducal country mansion, party1 are guests for the hunting season. A hideously overpowered magical artifact, which I should never have given them in the first place, is callously and predictably nicked from the party by perpetrators unknown. Consternation and plotting.

Player Who Shall Be Nameless2: "There's nothing for it but to go through every room in the house. At gunpoint."
Another Player: "Won't your sister object?" (The PWSBN's sister is the Duchess).
PWSBN: "Not if we pistol-whip her."
Party: (civilised Victorian gentlemen): ...

Today I have achieved the following:
  • Overheating. Cape Town continues disgustingly hot.
  • Four hours of curriculum advice. Fifteen or so students reasonably de-confused. (Like de-lousing, only more administrative, with calculations).
  • In a cunningly planned surgical strike on a local library, the two Robin McKinley novels I haven't read, but which I need to read for this next encyclopedia entry.
  • The consumption and rapid-fire formulation of an opinion about the first of these novels. Rose Daughter. I'm not impressed. Potentially interesting story, told in a somewhat slap-dash fashion, with more than the usual Guy Gavriel Kay-esque descent into turgid, portentous sentences built up in tottering piles, all starting with "And..." Her original Beauty and the Beast retelling, Beauty, was a lot better, I think. Also, they're all starting to be horribly the same: the heroines are all cosy, practical sorts of women with a tendency to cuddle cute wildlife.
  • In the same aforementioned surgical library strike, a copy of Neal Stephenson's Quicksilver, by which I am buggered if I will be daunted any longer. Am preparing to read the damned thing or perish in the attempt.
Now I wander off to be fed by jo&stv again. This dinner-exchange thing is escalating somewhat terrifyingly. I fed them random pasta last night, and now this! Soon our respective lives will consist solely of concocting sumptuous reciprocatory repasts at shorter and shorter intervals.


1 I use the word "party" in the loosest possible sense. Disparate individuals occasionally connected for purposes of argument. With attendant menagerie. So not done to descend on an unsuspecting ducal mansion with a hob, three interdimensional ferrets and a cait sidhe.

2 Oh, all right, it was KhoiBoi. Not that most of you needed me to tell you that.

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