Enrie Prologue for Edally Academy

"Now, remember, Enrie, you've got to get good grades at the Academy, and you can't goof off the way you did at the provincial schools."

Enerenarie's mother fussed with Enrie's braids, the lay of her vest, the way her shirt sleeves sat, and, finally, with the triple poof of her skirt. Enrie held still for it, because there was only so much you could do when Diplomat Arezhlyiarezha decided she was going to do something.

"Be respectful to your teachers, keep the pranks to a minimum and, by all that the Three oversee, do not light anyone on fire. We had to finesse more than a few things to get you into this school, and you need top marks at Edally to see you through into a Diplomat position."
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Piano on the Seashore, slow-start-to-the-day writing exercise

I was brainfarting so I asked for prompts. Here's SkySailor's.

Bracken has shown up a few times.

"I've always wanted to do this."

"What are we doing?"

Nick followed behind Bracken, because, after all, that was what he did. But he had this puzzled look on his face that was echoed in the set of his shoulders and the tone of his voice.

"We're doing that thing, you know, in all the music videos..." She tilted her head at him. "You remember music videos, right?"

"I'm older than you."

"I know. By like decimal points. That doesn't mean you remember things that happened in the middle."

"Yes, I remember music videos. Bracken..."

"Almost there." She gave the dolly one last shove and then muttered a Working, pushing the repaired piano onto the beach.

"Is this why you've been sneaking off to Addergoole for the last few months?"

"It's hardly sneaking when I have to ask you to teleport me." She owned one dress. She could repair anything - she could repair everything - but she'd had to go out of her way to find herself a proper dress.

She sat down at her piano, the waves just lapping at her bare feet, in her cocktail dress that revealed more of her than anyone but her lovers saw. She sat down, put her fingers on the keys, and she played.

Some time later, Nick no longer looking remotely confused, they recreated the other part of those iconic music videos. The surf felt like another caress as it washed over their skin.

First and Last Words: Yesterday

First Line:
“And girls? I saw that Saydrie wasn’t the only one swinging punches.”

Last Line:
“I don’t feel tubular.”

(Seriously)

Yesterday, I wrote 4,018 words (although the last 208 were footnotes),
Bringing my total to 36,348 (out of a goal of approx. 54,000

My average/day is 3331.6; at this rate, I will finish on Nov. 16th

...This turned out a little creepy...

The new fighter was tough, and, more than tough, he had that fire that the desperate often had.

He hadn't learned how to hoard his strength, letting it out when he needed it. He hadn't learned how to control his attacks, or understand his opponent.

If he survived, he'd learn all that in time.

In the meantime, Marri had to survive him.

His swings were wild, but they were getting too close to her, too often. She was trying not to kill him - it made the handlers frown, if they killed off the new meat before they had a chance to build a reputation and a following - but he was giving her no such courtesy.

He caught her in the leg, the big axe he was using smashing the plate of her armor. She went down onto one knee, shit, shit, swung low with her blade and caught him just under the pit-issue breastplate.
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