J’ai terminé le NaNo ET mon roman \o/ *danse de la victoire*
J’ai relu mon premier jet (et laissé plein de fautes dedans, boulet de moi), et je l’ai envoyé à quatre personnes. J’attends leur retour en frétillant devant mon PC ^^ Bon, et de quoi ça parle, alors ?
Val a toujours vécu entre la Terre et le Sidhe et c’est le plus naturellement du monde qu’elle est devenue contrebandière. Avec l’accès aux deux mondes, elle devrait pouvoir facilement régler tous ses problèmes, sauf que non. Pas moyen de trouver un moyen de rendre sa voix à Sam. Fort heureusement, le Dagda, un ancien dieu, connait la solution. Il l’enverra sur un chemin dangereux, peuplé de dragons, de chevaliers de la Table Ronde et de châteaux volants.
Quelques nouvelles quotes des chapitres suivants pour vous mettre en appétit :
I hear them talking, and apparently, they were trained in a horror movie, since they decide to split to “cover more ground.” How nice of you, really.
“You should really go to the hospital, you know.”
“I can’t. I left my insurance information in my other petticoat’s pocket.”
Thankfully, the magic of the [artefact] made the traces of the red liquid disappear. I am not sure that the metal is exactly dishwasher-proof.
I make myself a bit more convincing—using words, not my cleavage, I heard what you just thought.
“You do realise that I cannot drive, do you, Roald? They don’t deliver licences in the Sidhe, would you believe it?”
That is awkward. Someone actually expects me to soothe them. How am I supposed to do that? I put my hand on his arm and say “there, there,” as I saw someone do it in a movie. Roald turns slowly his head toward me and looks at me, straight into my eyes. He stays that way for a few seconds, and then a smile lights up his face.
“That was ridiculous.”
“It is either that, or finding a gigantic newspaper, roll it and hit on its nose while shouting ‘Bad dragon.’ It is your choice.”
Tomorrow shall be a hard day for the Dubliners. The beer reserves of the city have dramatically been reduced. Oh, and half the city centre is now ruins.
I remember, a few months ago, telling her about the first time I met a dragon. It was a baby, barely five metres long, and Sion and I supposed to feed it. But instead of that, it sneezed on us and we got covered in green ooze from head to feet—which made Arthur say that we had never looked some much like each other.
“I don’t care, Rosa. I am not 1-800-SAVING-THE-WORLD.”
“It is neither football nor the Twilight fandom. I do not need to pick a team to ensure my survival.”
“A group of Fays just threatened to burn me at the stake, you risked your life by punching one of them, and that is all you have to say?”
He laughs. “That was cool, wasn’t it?”
“Are you sure that you know how to use it?” I ask.
“As sure as I am that a truncated dodecahedron has twelve regular decagonal faces and twenty triangular ones,” he answers.
Well. Let’s just say that he seems sure of himself.
“You do realise that Addancs were just a race of evil beavers?” I ask, sounding probably more disdainful than I intended to, so I explain: “Arthur actually killed the last of them back in the fifth century, more because they were pests than because they were any danger to Fays.”
No word leaves my mouth, but Roald has apparently decided to take the things into his hands: “Parley?”
“Wrong story, Roald, but nice try.”
“I need to work on this whole ‘comeback’ thing, I guess.”
If we were in a fairy tale, I would break a saltshaker in front of [Bad guys], which would force them to count each grain one by one. But this is real life, and even though it sometimes looks ridiculous, I have not sunk that low yet.