Elena_Alexandrina_Bednarik_-_Zâna_apelorHi! So, um, been perusing what I have for Troy and… Yeah. The First Draft is officially demoted to Notes. Mostly because I can’t find many of my notes. I’ll get it all together soonishly, though, and start posting actual story. In the meantime, I have another Faerie Blood character exercise.

Harsha, the MC of Faerie Blood, is a workaholic and shrewd investor, and thus rich, but that felt like a stretch to some people. So, I thought to myself, what could a young lady with an affinity for math do to earn a few extra hundred thousand  bucks?  I was writing by hand when I did these exercises, and this short backstory was supposed to be two pages, tops. It ended up being twenty-three pages, plus a four page scene sketch of a very brief romance that kind of, sort of resulted from it. 😛

WIPpet Wednesday is hosted by the marvelous K.L. Schwengel and anyone with a work in progress is welcome to join. The only rule is: relate your snippet to the date.

WIPpet math: 19 paragraphs. 17 for the date + 2 that are so short, they don’t count. No context.

With these words, they waved goodbye, Ella running off to take her place in the chorus line and Harsha off to another casino for her usual late night activities. She pegged a small one this evening. She ran more risk of being identified if she were caught, but less of being caught in the first place. She bought a drink for show, one of the pricey, drunk-in-one-sip numbers. Pretending to stumble, she spilled half the drink before she sidled up to a blackjack table.

The dealer, a bored-looking young man, probably a struggling student like herself, flipped the cards out with the usual skill and absolutely no flair. Such dealers, she learned early on, tended to be slow to mark suspicious behavior if their customers displayed the right balance of interest in the cards and in themselves.

Harsha put on a smile and slid into a chair. “Hit me a few times, will you, Baby?”

The man huffed an I’m-not-buying-it laugh, but he gave her a lopsided smile of amusement and dealt the cards. With careful attention to the dealer’s mood, Harsha proceeded to count cards and flirt, being sure to lose now and then, working her way up to $200 profit.

“I know you.”

Harsha’s stomach flipped and her heart skipped a beat. She took a sip of her cocktail, the first of the night, to give herself a moment to get her fear under control. I just took two losses and I’m only up to $146. They can’t have pegged me yet. Can they?

With the smile she used on the rare occassions she found it useful to be seductive, she turned toward the voice. Without thinking, she squawked and jumped out of her seat, her heart racing.

The customer with the bloodshot eyes grinned at her breasts. He leaned forward to address them. “You work at Lucky Ducks.” With slow movements, never looking away from her chest, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, and slammed it onto the table. “Deal.”

 I thought he lost everything at my table. Harsha picked up her drink and made to leave.

“You’re $54 short.”

Harsha froze, along with the blood in her veins. She feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”

The man tapped the table. “Stay. Finish playing.” His eyes popped up to meet hers without a hint of alcoholic haze, then dropped back to her breasts with the same look of brainless fascination he plagued her with during her shift.

Hands trembling, Harsha took another sip of her drink and reseated herself. The dealer glanced between her and the man a few times before his eyes settled on Harsha. “Everything okay?”

“Probably not.”

“Fine,” the not-so-drunk man answered, with a thump on the table. “Deal.”

“I can call security if you like,” the dealer offered.

“The last thing she wants is security. Deal.”

The dealer raised his brows at Harsha and mouthed, “Are you sure?”

Harsha felt as sure about this as she felt about swimming with sharks. She ignored her racing heart and forced herself to take steady, even breaths. “Deal.”