100 Words:  Your free association word of the day is "disk."  My entry:

"I should like you to examine this," she said, setting a coin, a thick, golden disk, on the wooden desktop.  Roger hardly glanced at it.  The woman handing it over was a potential customer, but definite knock-out, dressed to the nines and shaped like the tens. Roger forced himself to remember he was a very happily married man, and wanted to stay that way.

Still, her emerald eyes held his locked as he reached over and picked up the coin.  Only when he felt a hot tingling in his fingers did he realize what a very stupid mistake he'd made.

100 Words:  She was an abusive wretch, but damn she was hot...  My entry:

"Excuse me," Roger said, politely.  He'd promised Chrys he'd behave tonight. "But I'm pretty sure we hailed this cab."

"Buzz off," the man sneered.  "You can fucking take the next one."

"Hey --" Chys started.

"And tell your Jap girlfriend to shut her --"

Roger winced, but watched the inevitable.  He was rewarded by a flash of very attractive leg, collision of stylish black pump and now-broken nose, and the man slamming back into the side of the taxi before sliding  to the ground.

Roger helped Chrys into the taxi.  He told the man, who groaned from the gutter, "And she's Chinese.  And my wife."

100 Words: Today's theme should feature animals.   My entry:

She stared at him.  "You got -- a cat?"

Roger stroked the tabby.  "Yeah."

"Why?"

"I like cats.  They're clean.  They're pretty.  They're independent.  They make a nice noise."

"That's what you have me for," Chrys said, scowling.

"Jealous?"

"Cats are sneaky, sinister, and often hosts of dark spirits.  A dog --"

He chuckled.  "Dogs bark too much, with our clientele.  Cats --"

The front door of the office jingled.  The cat abruptly turned into a small, furry cloud of teeth and claws, buzzsawing out of Roger's lap to dash behind the file cabinets. 

Chrys raised an eyebrow, politely silent.   Roger reached for the drawer with the iodine.

100 Words:  The sins of the father ...  My entry:

The figure stood in the doorway, menacing without actually moving.  Roger could feel a chill roiling through the air, a smell of earth and jasmine.  The traffic sounds from the street faded out.

"I am come for your wife, Mr. Donne."

"Not here tonight.  Something I can do?"

"I seek her heart."

"Sorry, she gave it to me and I'm pretty stingy with it." He eyed the door, and regretted once again the lack of fire escape in the office.

"I will have vengeance."

"Any particular reason?"

"I know ... her father."

"I know him, too.  He's an asshole.  You have my sympathies."

100 Words - I'm back from a two-week vacation to visit family in Texas! So today's theme is Returning Home.  My entry:

Roger paced slowly up the front walk, bricks matted with leaves.  He could still see his mom at the doorway as he headed off to Basic.  He could still see Tommy Pierson on what had been a tire swing of the big oak in front, a decade before that.

His eyes flickered across landmarks and years.  Over there had been the old barn, burned down a few winters back.  Over there was where he'd buried those beer bottles.  Over there was the Hamilton place.  Over there was where he'd first kissed Sally Coe. 

And over there was where he'd found his first body.

100 Words:  Today is another unremarkable day (in a series of such days) that so many people turn into a big deal. To what other event have we become jaded that our ancestors found remarkable?  My entry:

The spirit trembled, wavered.  "What is it?" Roger asked.

"The sunrise," she whispered.  "Day returns.  Darkness ends."

"We're in the basement. The ceiling light's still on, no windows, so nothing's changed. Wonders of the Atomic Age and all that."

The spirit shook her head, voice receding like mist from the valleys.  "Day comes.  That is the wonder.   Once, your people understood, lived or died by when it happened, prayed and sang hymns for the dawn.  Now -- your electricity, your cities -- none of you still understand what it truly represents."

Roger thought of a sunrise he'd seen -- barely -- in Romania, in '44.  "Some of us do."

As in, several installments of 100 Words, from over my vacation:

But why is all the rum gone? - "Lead Us Not Into Temptation"

Nearly nobody noticed at first. When all the potable ethanol in the world was transformed into an innocuous, non-intoxicating liquid, as midnight rolled across the planet, the only folks who would have noticed were already drunk.

It wasn’t until the next day that the news got out, followed by claims of government conspiracies, aliens, angelic intervention, demonic intervention, global warming, and a host of other frantic explanations.

Within a few weeks, though, concerns had mellowed. Folks realized that loss of booze was, in fact, a good thing.

Now, when all the genitalia disappeared – that’s when the terrestrial mood got ugly.

Tell us about an unusual way to express your love. - "A Working Relationship"

“Sweety,” Chrys said, suddenly frozen. “If I said there was an enchanted Yao Ren scorpion on your shoulder, what would you say?”

“Um –” Roger was still. “I’d hope it was a punchline to an old family joke?”

“Don’t – move –” Her left hand slowly dipped into a slacks pocket. The scorpion twitched.

“Bad angle,” Chrys muttered, then her hand snapped forward. The thrown blade took the scorpion dead-center. It vanished in a green flash and a whiff of copper.

Roger exhaled in a slow shudder. “I love you, honey.”

She smiled, thinly, a gleam in her eyes. “You better.”

(A Donne & Donne tale, and the top-rated story for that 100 Words session)

The subject line of some spam I received began with, "Gods Do Not Drink Alcohol While Pregnant...". From what else should gods refrain? - "It Works Both Ways"

"Gods," the large, burly gent in a toga intoned thick-tongued, swaying slightly, "do not drink alcohol while pregnant."

"So no problem for you," Roger said, conversationally.

"You'd be surprised." The deity belched, profoundly. "Nothin' much beyond our powers."

The bronze krator smashed into the laurel-crowned back of his head. The deity toppled over and crashed to the floor, out like a light.

"What took you?" Roger asked.

Chrys snorted. "Finally figured out he’s the kiddie murderer. Jerk's so plastered, he didn't even get the saying right. It's 'Gods shouldn't kill babies while drunk.'"

Roger shuddered, and started dialing the cops.

(A Donne & Donne story)

Why is this man getting a state funeral? - "Hero"

He died a hero, they said. Served in the Marines -- saved his platoon and a dozen innocent hostages. Ran for office when he got out, eventually got elected to the House, finally the Senate. Became the VP twelve years later, after his Independence Day speech saved the election for the man who became President.

And, of course, there was that final, fateful day, when he took a bullet for the Pope.

He died a hero.

But none of that’s the real reason he got the state funeral. Only three people know why, and none of them were mentioned above.

Your free association word of the day is polished. - "My Big Date with a Surfer Dude"

“Are you sure about this?” Alicia asked. “I mean, blind dates are always tricky, but -- well, I’ve heard some funny things about this guy.”

“Don’t be so grim,” Sue said, adjusting Alicia’s dress. “You’ll love him. He’s so -- polished.”

At that point, the gent under discussion flew into the room atop a gleaming surfboard. His silvery metallic skin was spotless, buffed and burnished to the point where it almost glowed on its own.

Of course, it would have helped a lot if Alicia could actually see him, Sue thought. Ah, well. I’m sure their evening will be fantastic.

100 Words: Tell us about an unusual way to express your love.

“Sweety,” Chrys said, suddenly frozen. “If I said there was an enchanted Yao Ren scorpion on your shoulder, what would you say?”

“Um –” Roger was still. “I’d hope it was a punchline to an old family joke?”

“Don’t – move –” Her left hand slowly dipped into a slacks pocket. The scorpion twitched.

“Bad angle,” Chrys muttered, then her hand snapped forward. The thrown blade took the scorpion dead-center. It vanished in a green flash and a whiff of copper.

Roger exhaled in a slow shudder. “I love you, honey.”

She smiled, thinly, a gleam in her eyes. “You better.”

100 Words:  Lag time

Folks talk about “faster than a speeding bullet.” Bullets do move pretty fast, and the lag time between the hammer hitting the back of the cartridge and the impact of the slug in a body three feet away is exceedingly small.

But it still exists. A blink of an eye – but not faster than, say, the reaction time of faeries. Or angels. Or a prepared warding. Or certain technologies not on the market in 1950, but still available to those who had enough money (or a soul) to spare.

In that interval, something can happen.

And, that afternoon, it did.

100 Words:  "Antidisestablishmentarianism."  This word must appear at least once.

Lightning crackled around Ms. Ina’s fingers. “And now,” she said, childish voice thrumming like a hundred bumblebees, “you die, Roger Donne.”

Donne looked up from his newspaper. Chrys had done some research on this one, and he was lucky Chrys knew English better than he did. “23 Across – Against ending official state church.”

“What?!”

“Big word – 28 letters.” He gestured as casually as he could. “Crossword puzzle?”

She laughed. “Simple dolt. ‘Antidisestablishmentarianism.’”

With a mint-scented howl, she vanished.

He folded the paper. He hated crosswords. And fairies with reverse-name tricks. “Maybe simple, but who’s the dolt?” he asked empty air.

100 Words: The Lost Art of Keeping A Secret

"So what’s in there?" Roger asked. Wen Chi stiffened, then slowly set the violet-hued ceramic bell jar down on the table, carefully, before turning.

"It is a secret," he hissed. "A very large, very dark, very terrible secret.”

"You'd just as soon not let it out, I assume," Roger replied. His voice remained calm, the automatic unwavering.

"It would be horrible," Wen Chi said, "It would destroy many lives."

Roger nodded. The automatic roared. The jar shattered.

The secret spread its wings to either wall. Wen Chi screamed just once as it consumed him.

"Guess so," Roger said, backing away.

Kinda jazzed about the supernatural detective couple Margie and I made up for Doyce's Mortal Coil game, so I'm probably going to be doing some writing about them in the 100 Words exercises. Created a subcategory for them and everything.

Detective fiction and noir and non-epic magic stuff have had a long fascination for me. Donne & Donne will be an opportunity to poke at that without (yet) having to commit to a full-blown novel or something.

100 Words: Tell us about a medical procedure.

“Now hold very still, Mr. Donne. This won’t hurt at all.”

“Good to know. You’re gonna use ether or something?”

“No. It’s just that, when I am done, you will feel no pain whatsoever.”

Roger paused. The ropes had been given a bit of juice and held him tightly. “Maybe I should struggle a bit anyway.”

“If you do, I’ll have to rescind my promise about it not hurting.”

“Feeling no pain, no matter how you slice it, is gonna hurt.”

“Not if you’re ordered not to worry about it.”

A snort. “I don’t take well to orders.”

“You will.”