InsaneJournal

The lump on my forehead is gone, but it still hurts to facepalm. Please, do not embarrass me for another few days, world.

I'm about halfway through A Feast for Crows, which is surprising since I started it yesterday, but there you go. I need to finish it quickly because I accidentally got it in hardcover, so it's not easy to carry. On the other hand, it's difficult to lose and forget, and having left A Storm of Swords on the airplane to Las Vegas when I was about twenty-five pages from the end, that's kind of reassuring.

Also, oddly, I keep finding badly confused fanart of the Lannister twins. I have so far found one silver-haired Jaime and one black-haired Cersei. With other authors, I can see how you'd make a mistake like that, but in this series, it's just weird.

Anyway. I've been trying to write a thousand words a day. My favorite thing from today comes from a conversation betwen two Trainee Unspeakables, sometime in the late 1940s:

"Maybe Cadwallader will hit him," said Toby.

"There's something I would love to see," said Ed. She stared off into space serenely for a moment, apparently contemplating the glorious spectacle of Cadwallader's disused Beater's bat against Winter's cast-iron arm. At least, that was what Toby had imagined. She was an Espis, so who knew what went on in her head, really. "Who do you think would win?" she asked.

"Cadwallader," said Toby immediately. "She's terrifying. She'd turn him into a rat and eat him in a sandwich."

"Not that it wouldn't be an improvement on the Ministry cafeteria food, but Winter's got that metal arm," said Ed. She winced. "It's horrible and cold. Anyway, he'd make a bad lab rat. He'd be a better guinea pig." The lift doors opened, and they stepped out into the Atrium.

"Maybe," he said doubtfully. He couldn't see Winter as anything fluffy. "It's only the one arm, though. I bet Cadwallader could knock him out without trying," he continued. "It makes sense, you know, that they would choose a Department Head who can keep the Department in control with, er. Percussive maintenance."

"You think it's a physically demanding job?" Ed asked.

"Remember that rampaging pipe-organ our first week of testing?" Toby asked.

"Oh yeah," said Ed, her face lighting up. "That was brilliant, wasn't it?"

She was an Espis. Right. Mad.