(V: Sooo because of how past me formatted this chapter, I'm going to enclose my own commentary in parentheses with an initial)

5/18/17

#TapTeusday -- Ten line dialogue between two of my characters

This conversation is adapted from several passages in the final book of my series on Legea between brothers Derek and Douglas Kenhelm. Derek's lines are in bold, Douglas' in italics.\

(V: so this conversation is 50% accurate vibes and 50% actual cringe. It was a terrifically bad idea to try to blend dialogue from separate scenes into one conversation. Also one of the involved scenes has been almost completely rewritten and no longer includes the debatable word "darkbrownalmostblack".)

Derek: Mother should cut your hair again, Douglas.

Douglas: Oh? Is it that bad?

Yes.

You know, Derek, just because my hair is messy -- and it often is, being unlike your perfectly straight black hair -- does not necessitate a cut. It may well require only a comb.

Whatever. And I don't have "perfectly straight black hair", either. You make me sound like an Arahadian.

(V: tbf, as much as the rest of the sentence sounds like a ten-year-old trying to argue vs. a twenty-year old carrying on actual witty banter, the "Whatever" is entirely Derek.)

'Tis near enough, and no, it does not make you sound like an Arahadian. Your hair is, in any case, straighter than mine, which won't lie flat unless I slick it down with water. Otherwise it looks like a shock of tumbled darkbrownalmostblack hay. And no-one -- except apparently you -- is going to care if it's a little mussed.

(V: I can assure you that the readers definitely do not care)

Not mussed. In need of a cut.

Not again.... I thought we covered this. You're being quite absurd, Derek.

(V: yaaawwwwnnnnnnnnnn)
(I swear the convo is going literally nowhere)
(what did I even think I was DOING)

You sound like Father.

The pot calls the kettle black. Listen to him, Father.

(V: The actual context for the last line allows it so much more impact than this CULLED version please SPARE ME)

5/3/21

enjoy ten lines of dialogue between my boys Finley and Lieutenant Mahariz interspersed with a lil narrative that I have no interest in cutting

***

Sorrow and Song, Part I: Winds Rise

from Chapter 17: Pincers

"Out alone again?"

Finley started, and turned to face the powerful, beak-nosed features of Lieutenant Calan Mahariz. "Aye, sir."

"This isn't the glens of Orden." The lieutenant was a head taller than him; Finley felt small and spindly as the large hand descended on his hair in an almost affectionate gesture. "I don't want any man outside the camp, and especially not on the flank facing those–" He nodded toward the Stones. "Can you follow an order, Finley Kenhelm?"

"Aye, sir," he stammered, his ears reddening.

The lieutenant still watched him. "You know what happened here. It's my part to see that it doesn't happen again."

Finley nodded.

Lieutenant Mahariz swung around to lead the way back to the camp. "How's the arm, lad?"

The blush swept guiltily up his cheeks. "All right." He wondered if the lieutenant knew that the wound had not really been serious enough to keep him back.

"You're a reedy young fellow for such work as this. How old are you, Finley?"

"Sixteen – sixteen and a half, sir. I grew a lot last winter, and everyone says my weight hasn't caught up to my height yet. I can run fast, sir," he added hurriedly.

The lieutenant cracked a slight grin. "I don't doubt it. Those strides of yours are as long as a horse."

***

I love me some mentor relationships ;-;