NaNo day 4

Bon, nous sommes le 4 novembre et j’ai écrit 6.733 mots, ce qui veut dire que je suis toujours dans les temps pour le NaNo. Incroyable ! Plus que… non, je ne veux pas savoir combien de mots il me reste. En attendant, je vais tenter de mettre des extraits en ligne de temps en temps, histoire de me motivier :)

Extraits du chapitre 1 : There is an awful lot of running in the smuggling business

“Mr. Tolbert, I presume?”
“Are you the person Rosa recommended me?”
I smile, trying to remember what Rosa told me about sarcasm towards new customers. Right, not to use it. Not that she recommends using it in any other situation, but Rosa just isn’t fun. “I am,” I finally answer. “She told me that you are looking for a rather specific object.”
“Not exactly.” I hate it when people say things like “not exactly.” They tend to mean “not at all,” and what I really hear is “I will soon be wasting our time with a demand that you will not fulfil.”

“I have a gift for you, by the way.” Good. I like gifts. Better than Logan’s flirting, anyway. He opens the attache-case at his feet and takes a book out of it that he gives me. The cover, like every single one of Logan’s books’, shows a very Photoshoped lady wearing way too tight leather clothes in an impossible sexy posture. This one is named Chasing the Moonlight and I can’t help but wonder if it took him a long time to find something that ridiculous.
“Open it!” He looks as excited as a korrigan in front of a dolmen and I obey. The book is signed by Logan and he has written an entire paragraph before his name. It start with: “To Val. You gave me back the will to dream when I needed it the most…” and ends with “I hope that you do know that I write all my books for you and only for you.” I don’t read what is in between. I know that it is full of lies and flirting and it bores me already.
For a reason that I cannot explain, Logan has decided to model his heroine on me. She shares my waist-long black hair, always tied in a large braid, my pale grey eyes and my taste for adventures and sarcasm. She, however, is a dream-catcher. Or a dream-chaser. Or a dream-whatever. Niamh, who has actually read the novels, told me once or twice, but I cannot be bothered to remember it.

Rosa is a strong woman in her early fifties, with dark skin and plaited black hair gathered in a high ponytail. Right now, she is charging towards me, an angry look on her face. “Valerie Stark,” she says. “It is already seven thirteen. Where have you been?” I apologise profusely, all the while putting my bag behind the bar and my apron on. Valerie Stark is not my real name, of course, but it is the one I have chosen for the fake passport and the very real credit card Rosa got for me. If I had to choose a name, why not pick the one worn by the crazy inventor behind the Iron-Man armour and the noble family keeping Westeros safe when winter comes?

She knows me too well. Maybe I should cut the moorings that tie me to An Doras, but who would launder my money and listen to my soul-searching? My heart is heavy, because I know that I cannot heal the woman I love, but I shall not cry, especially not in front of Rosa, who has done so much for me and asked for barely twenty percent of the money I make in return. That and an evening of bartending each time I am in town. Well, she had the upper hand in the negotiation, since she is a Knight of the Round Table and I http://www.cialisgeneriquefr24.com/vente-de-cialis-en-ligne/ am a smuggler.

Extraits du chapitre 2 : The rebellious princess syndrome

The house is really small and there is only one room in it, but it is enough to serve at both my smuggling headquarters and my alibi. I usually pretend that I need to retire to the calm and silent woods to improve my drawing. To be honest, if there are two things I hate, it is calm and silence, but my alibi has worked so far and I do not see the point in changing it.

For a reason that is entirely his, Sion is building a steam car in secret. The third rule of magic states that technology is its natural enemy. Once again, it sounds way better in Old Irish, but I guess you still haven’t taken any lessons—me neither, don’t worry. What it means is that Sion building a car is absolutely and totally illegal, but who am I to judge?

Everything about her is noble and shows how high-born she is. Her long golden hair has been meticulously braided and interlaced with pearls, her corseted azure dress makes her perfect complexion shine in the moonstones’ light. Her eyes are clearer than the sky on a summer day and her smile brighter than the sun. She is as beautiful as the queen she could have been, had she accepted Arthur’s proposal, an eternity ago. And yes, I used to have a crush on her, when I was a teenager—not that she knows about it.

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