Sunday Snippet: Perfect Conversation

Hello!

Yeesh, first day of September. That means the holidays are just around the corner. I know, right? How is that possible? According to our local Dollar General, Halloween stuff has to be displayed before the kids even go back to school the third week of August. *shakes head* I fully expect to see Christmas stuff out within the next two weeks. *shudder*

Thankfully, my post tonight isn't about holiday stuff. Perfect Conversation features two characters who know each other so well they sometimes forget how important speaking about the big stuff truly is.

Here's the tagline:

Gigi Morse ran away from Scott Alamead because she didn't want to risk losing him. But when she returns, a very different Scott greets her and Gigi realizes she's right back on the hot seat.

And the sneaky peek…

"Wow. That was some kiss." Gigi touched her fingertips to her bottom lip.

Scott's mouth curved, but didn't make a full on smile. A flash of black hair caught his attention and Scott didn't spare another glance for Gigi Morse, freshly back from an information gathering mission. He only had eyes for the woman she brought back. Riva Dinari. Enemy agent, betrayer, evil bitch. Scott snarled, low in his throat, and grabbed the prisoner, shoving her up against the wall and wrapping his hand around her throat. He drew his sidearm and cocked the gun, aiming it at Riva's head.

Three guards grabbed hold of Scott, trying to drag him away from the prisoner, stripping the gun from him, but Scott held firm with the death grip.

Gigi leapt forward. "Scott, what the hell?"

He kept his eyes on Riva. "This piece of garbage you brought back had her group shoot the commander at point blank range." The rage still burned in his gut and the three guys trying to pry his fingers from around the prisoner's throat and yank him back could go down with her. Scott didn't care anymore.

Gigi sucked in a breath. "Is he—" She broke off, unable to ask the question. Stan Alamead meant a lot to her, too.

Didn't mean Scott would be quick to forgive Gigi. She had a long list of transgressions.

Scott finally slid his gaze in her direction. "Don't know. Dead, not dead. Doesn't matter. She should die either way." He focused back on the prisoner.

Gigi grasped his arm. "Maybe." Her voice dropped to lower tones. "But you're not exactly the poster boy for logical decisions right now, are you?" Her hand gripped his arm harder and tugged him closer to her. "Mutiny? Geez, Scott. Again, I ask, what the hell? At least I was under orders for my little adventure."

He jerked his free arm away. "You have no idea. No idea what it's been like since you left, dammit." He leaned in close and snarled. "So back off." He tightened his grip on Riva's throat and aimed the weapon again.

Gigi grabbed both arms this time. "God dammit, Scott. Think about this. We should interrogate her. Get whatever intel we can." Her voice dipped again. "She's got important information."

Scott shot her a hard look. "You better be sure about that." He loosened his fingers, but didn't move his hand.

"She's not. But I am." The minister of defense entered the holding area. "Take a walk, Captain Alamead. I'll handle things from here."

Scott opened his mouth to argue, but Gigi snagged his hand and dragged him from the room.

She stopped at the end of the corridor. "Criminy Scott. Were you seriously going to argue with the minister of defense? Things really have changed around here." She shook her head. "I was only gone six weeks."

Scott let out a heavy sigh. "It was a long six weeks, Geege."

He truly wanted to unload, but he held back. She'd left him—high and dry—and while happy to see her, he also had a strong urge to snap and snarl at her. At the moment, with each close to their limit, having a chat would probably get violent.

She snorted. "I'll say. You're chummy enough with the MoD to be out here instead of back with the fleet."  She leveled her gaze on him. "It's insane. What the hell are you thinking?" She spun around, started pacing and shook her head back and forth.

She'd walked into a viper pit and didn't quite know how to handle it. Good heaven knew he had a buttload of recent experience with that feeling.

He should tell her everything. Explain about the 2IC declaring martial law. Fill her in on why he'd left even though his uncle's life hung in the balance. But he wouldn't.

He couldn't get into it. Not right now. But she had a point. His crap decisions were all about being too close to the situation. And not her fault.

"You know what? I'm not thinking right now." He pushed off from the wall. "It's good to have you back, Gigi." He put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze before moving away from her side.

Shoving his hands in his pockets he started down the corridor, leaving Gigi to go back in with the minister or get some sleep, whichever she preferred.  

Don't worry, it won't take long for Gigi to get up to speed and start making things happen. She'll get Scott back on track, even if blood has to be shed to make it happen. J

That's all for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Need

Hi,

I'm going to bore everyone with all my Strike Back talk, but holy hell, the hits keep coming. Poor Scott can't catch a break. I do have one wild hair theory of what I want for him at the end of the show's run, but I'll keep mum so I don't jinx it. :D

Tonight's post is from a manuscript that's a bit of a departure for me. It's got an omniscient narrator. I'm not completely sure it's going to work, but I love the flow so far. Need dives into how two people end up gravitating toward each other, almost in an inevitable way, because their need outweighs standard operating procedure, frat regs, and just about everything else. Very fun to write. :D

Here's the tagline:

Circe Nash and Oz Paterson, two top notch pilots, have the strangest courtship in the galaxy—one they swear doesn't even exist. But when the need to be together hits them, they inevitably find themselves in the same place at the same time, with a little help from their crewmates.

And the sneaky peek…

Circe Nash and Oz Paterson had the strangest courtship in the galaxy.

Sometimes the need to see each other hit them at exactly the same time. Sparks usually flew and they weren't the only two who noticed. The entire crew could pinpoint the exact moment it happened. And they had front row seats to the bizarre mating dance Circe and Oz would swear never actually took place.

Oh, but it did.

A top notch pilot, Circe could be out flying CAP, chattering away with the other pilots. She'd tease and lob insults and take her fair share of ribbing. Never one to dish out more than she could take, Circe usually kept the conversation going between the squad for the whole patrol.

But every once in a while, she'd go dead air silent for a few beats.

It happened to be one of those moments.

Oz would be deep into work on the comm deck, plotting courses, running coordinates and monitoring engineers and the deck crew. He'd be in the thick of his duties and stop, mid conversation with the landing station officer or keying in data, and go silent, like he'd heard something no one else did.

He'd get up, grab a headset and enter the discussion with the CAP. He could do that. As CAG, no one questioned his actions. It never took long for Circe to get back in the game and start trading barbs with her immediate superior.  

The over the air banter would take on a sharp-witted edge and everyone else would go quiet until end of shift, letting Circe and Oz carry out their weird brand of foreplay. Once the CAP landed, Circe met Oz or vice versa. Oddly, no words necessary, they'd exchange a look or a glance and fall into step beside each other then disappear. Or with a weird, silent communication make plans to meet without uttering a sound. The crew got used to the crazy interplay. They also knew not to go anywhere near Oz or Circe until both had laid-back smiles on their faces.

The two didn't start out so much in sync. In fact, Circe and Oz began their journey on opposite ends of the galaxy. Oz grew up on the central planet in their solar system. Commerce, education, and culture abounded in the primo location. A wide cross-section of every world shared the wealth of their knowledge and experience. Oz soaked it up and developed an appreciation for diplomacy.

Circe didn't leave her home world until a recruiter visited and offered her a chance. Street smart, she lacked discipline, but showed an aptitude for strategic planning. Razor sharp instincts kept her safe on the rough and tumble streets where gang law often trumped everything else.

She spoke her mind with fearless confidence and didn't suffer fools at all. She had some adjustment issues when she entered the military, used to living fast and free, coming and going as she pleased. But she quickly learned her natural ability to fly would buy lots of wiggle room. She also figured out how to walk the very fine line between skirting regulations and insubordination.

Their differences made things very interesting when Circe met Oz under less than stellar circumstances. She transferred in from a battle frigate, the Cyllene, and arrived during last dog watch. She discovered her tradition of entering the landing bay in an inverted position did not go over well with the CAG of the Titan.

Oz ordered her—from his bird out on CAP—to remain with her ship on the hangar deck until his shift finished…in two hours.

When he finally landed and the crew towed his plane to the hangar, he found Circe sitting on the wing of her ship, enjoying a meal from the galley. He completed his post-flight checklist in cold silence, giving the crew ample time to feel his wrath. Their always solid efficiency increased to superior levels and everyone gave him wide berth when he strode, slowly and with great purpose, to Circe's location.

Circe finished chewing her mouthful of food and washed it down with a long swallow of water. She slid off the wing, grabbed hold of the ladder and swung down to calmly wait for the CAG.

Everyone held their breath when Circe and Oz stood toe to toe for several long moments, taking each other's measure. No one knew what to expect when the CAG's gaze met the pilot's and sparks literally flew.

Circe gave Oz a cocky salute. "Lt. Circe Nash, callsign Trickster, reporting for duty." She waited a beat then added. "Sir."

Oz worked his jaw, silently clenching his teeth. "Wanna tell me why you disobeyed a direct order?" He completely skipped SOP and didn't offer the formal acceptance of her arrival.

Circe gave him an innocent gaze. "How do you figure I did that? I'm with my bird on the hangar deck…exactly as ordered." A slow smirk spread across her lips. "You didn't say anything about rations." She dragged the sleeve of her flight suit up and checked her watch. "And I hadn't anything to eat for ten hours."

Oz cocked his head to the side, silently regarding his new pilot. "You're gonna push the rules to the limit, aren't you?"

Circe's lips quirked and her eyes lit up. "That's what they're there for…Sir."

The deck crew waited for an explosion. The CAG's callsign of Wrath had been well-earned. He had a short fuse sometimes, and Circe all but lit the wick with her cheeky response.

The blast never came.

Instead, the CAG calmly responded. "I can see things will be a whole lot livelier with you around." He looked up, glancing at everyone on the deck. "They'll also be a lot cleaner." He shifted his gaze back to Circe. "You get to begin your tenure here with a week of detailing work on the planes." He turned and started for his office.

Circe grinned and called out. "Think I'm gonna like it here, Sir." When Oz angled his head around, she snapped off a crisp and precise salute, respect for the CAG clearly defined in her posture.

Oz snorted and shook his head. "We'll see about that, Lieutenant. We'll see."

Seriously, Circe and Oz's relationship has been so much fun to write through the narrator's eyes. I hope I can keep the flow going and finish it up soon.

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip!

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Bomb's Away

WooHoo! Another week, another post. Two weeks closer to my goal (50 weeks to go…LOL)

So, for this Snippet Sunday—and I think I have to call it something other than Six Sentence Sunday because I don't always follow the rules very well—I'm posting a bit from one of my favorite WIPs, Bomb's Away. It's not a really long story, but the characters are two of my faves.

Let's get started with a tag line:

A power struggle, an explosion and communication breakdowns. Sometimes it takes a really big boom to move things in the right direction.

And here's a wee sneaky peek:

Kiara Ungaro strode down the steps heading toward the private sector of the base compound. Coming off shift, she wanted a shower and her rack, in that order. The rising tensions over the moon everyone wanted rights to, despite peace talks, took their toll and she'd had more on her plate than she liked lately. Exhausted didn't begin to describe her state of mind. Bone weary, dead dog tired, and very pissy defined her state of mind.

Cutting through the private residential area saved time and kept her out of the main hub. Ronan Sidwell had watch this shift and running into him would not be at the top of her list of fun things to do.

Sadly it used to hold the number one slot.

But with the mood she found herself in…good chance blood would be shed if they crossed paths. Especially since her current level of irritation tied directly to the nasty bit of gossip she'd overheard about the former love of her life. If one more person weighed in about her split with Ronan her head would implode.

Breaking up with someone in a very public manner had made her the object of way too much speculation. It had been two months…people should move the hell on already. If they didn't do it soon, she might have to start maiming anyone who opened their mouth in earshot range.

What can I say? Kiara doesn't appreciate the amount of time her fellow soldiers spend talking about her break-up with Ronan. :D

Maybe she should have a cuppa and calm down a little. :P

123RF Stock Photos

Stay tuned for more…

ML Skye