cbtreks

Had a very nice Thanksgiving with a huge pile of relatives and plenty of good food. Lots to be thankful for this year!

I've still been doing my minimum of 100 words every day for Mini NaNoWriMo and this is what I managed for Thursday:

"You're a turkey."

"No, you're the turkey."

"Forget turkey; I'd rather eat ham."

"Maybe you're a ham."

Starsky raised an amused eyebrow and leered. "So maybe you'd rather eat ham."

"Oh, very funny. Such wit." Hutch was unhappy. He'd put a turkey in the oven to slow roast before they'd worked the holiday shift and they'd just walked in to the smell of - nothing. The apartment was cold and dark, the power was out, and the turkey was mostly raw and anemic-looking and, as Hutch put it, probably swimming in salmonella. "So what're we going to do now?" he asked. "Where can we eat this late on Thanksgiving Day?"

"Huggy might open up for us," Starsky suggested, "or maybe Denny's is open, or IHOP."

"Yeah, fat chance. And if they aren't?"

"Then we come back here and eat cheese 'n' crackers and pun'kin pie," Starsky said, grinning. "Besides, I don't need no feast to remind me what I have to be thankful for," he added bumping his hip against Hutch's, "and that's you."

***

175 words of light-hearted smarm, slash or not is all up to the reader! *g*

I don't hate Jack Sparrow because he's a pirate. It is - it was - my duty to hunt him down and see him hang. There was no personal animosity behind my actions.

Elizabeth finds him more interesting, more exciting than she ever did me. I can't hate him for that. The flaw is in her, that dangerous attraction that was always there, even when she was a child.

Once I was at peace, my life spread clearly before me. I liked my life. Now it's a shambles, beyond repair. I have no peace. I cannot rest. For that, I hate him.

***

(And yay! I've kept my word committment for mini-nanowrimo every day so far. Two days to go....)

A sort-of sequel to an earlier drabble. Exactly 100 words. (And - yay! - I've met or exceeded my Mininanowrimo word committment each day so far.)

***

He'd been chained more times than he cared to remember, waiting for certain death. Fate had always intervened. Except for that last time, when Lizzie shackled him to the mast, but that had all worked out in the end, hadn't it? Well, except for poor Will....

He'd known before she told him. He knew the signs - the pallor and fatigue, the sickness every morning. So he'd made her a promise and he'd keep it. He fingered the fine gold ring, stronger than any link in any chain that had ever bound him. This chain he would take up with pleasure.