Had a pretty active writing week, getting 7k in. A lot of it was dialog that I will probably nix, but it was necessary to work out some of the ideas and character motivations.
I did scribble out a later scene also as I have been working on some of the later events that are currently just hanging out in the ether for the time being.
One highlight I had writing this week was introducing Fala. Here’s a little bit of that:
Ramiel bit off a retort as a knock sounded from the door.
Azazel collected himself and gave a withering look to his son who stood and squared his shoulders.
“Come in.”
“My Lord,” a sorcerer Azazel didn’t recognize greeted him with a professionalism which quickly shattered as he was forced aside by the sorceress who had trailed behind him.
“Hello father.”
Ramiel scowled at the sorceress while Azazel appraised her.
“Fala.” Azazel said curtly before dismissing the sorcerer who still stood by the door with a nod.
Fala looked around the room and spotting the chair Ramiel had vacated, she dragged it across the stone floor, disrupting the rug, and faced it toward Azazel’s desk. The sorceress settled into it and brought her left, boot-clad foot down atop the desk, leaving a halo of dust, before setting her right foot crossed on top of the first. “I hear you’ve got yourself into some trouble.”
“You disrespectful-” Ramiel broke off as Fala turned and narrowed her eyes at him, hand outstretched. A fog formed around his mouth and quickly solidified to ice. His eyes opened wide in pain and rage as he reached his hands to claw at the ice stuck to his mouth, too stunned to summon fire to melt it.
“Fala.” Azazel warned.
Fala’s lip quirked and she stretched her hand out again. The ice melted rapidly and fell to pieces leaving Ramiel sputtering. The skin on the lower half of his face was red and enflamed.
“You stupid bitch!” he crossed the room and raised his hand to her.
“Ramiel!”
The sorcerer stopped, his hand and face trembling with rage.
“Leave.” Azazel warned.
“Father-”
“Go!”
Ramiel glared at his father a long, tense moment before lowering his hand and shifting his ire to Fala. “Filth,” he spat before he turned and fled the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
“I have asked you repeatedly not to call me father and to show respect to my children.” Azazel spoke calmly and with as much authority as he could manage as he lowered himself into his chair.
Fala laced her hands together and laid them on her stomach, tilting her head to study Azazel. “It’s amusing that you think you have any right to ask anything of me.” She smiled at him.
Thanks for reading!
