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dragonlady7via https://ift.tt/2OkVVp3
Inevitably, after a week of struggling to scrape in the bare single-hundred digits of words on the original novel project I’ve been working on, I gave myself one (1) day to indulge in a couple of small Goblin Emperor fill-in scenes I wanted to write, and now I have a 6500-word doc. *eyeroll* Experience suggests this will eventually help with the original fic word count, which is why I let it go on, but it’s always a bit disgruntling to contemplate.
behind the cut: Deret Beshelar, Cala Athmaza, and Csevet Aisava are not gossipping about their emperor’s sex life. (Beshelar POV, he is so great.) (Beshelar and Cala are bodyguards, Csevet is the emperor’s secretary and personal assistant.) (this is in the lead-up to the emperor’s wedding, slightly post-canon, and no, i don’t have a plot)
“It is necessary,” Cala said wearily.
“In front of Aisava,” Deret hissed, reproving.
“It is his business as well, Deret,” Cala said. “If the Emperor is having an affair, if the Emperor has some kind of health condition, if there is aught amiss– Mer Aisava must know of it, and we can’t tell him in front of the Emperor.”
“Give the boy at least the pretense of privacy,” Deret said.
“We are,” Csevet said. “We are having this conversation in private.” He shook his head slightly. “Thinks’t thou I would tell anyone of this?”
“No one,” Deret said. “No one!”
Csevet set his jaw. “Deret,” he said, composure visibly fraying, “if thou thinks’t I would hesitate to die for him any longer than thou woulds’t–”
“Easy,” Cala said, putting his hands up, though whether to hold Csevet back or Deret himself, Deret wasn’t sure. He hadn’t realized he was pushing himself up in his seat. It was an effort to sit back down.
“It feels disrespectful, to us,” Deret said stiffly. “To– discuss it, thus.”
“That is because thour’t a hopeless prude,” Cala said, “a woman of seventy in the body of a twenty-three-year-old man, and I forsee that I shall have to fasten myself to the wedding-chamber wall while thou lurks’t in the antechamber for decades hence, but I will do my duty–”
“As will we,” Deret growled. “We just won’t tell tales about it afterward!”
“If you hear of this matter from anyone, henceforth, and have reason to believe we were the one to carry the tale of it, you may strike us dead instantly,” Csevet said, with excessive formality, and stood.
“Now you’ve done it,” Cala muttered to Deret, who watched the secretary leave with no trace of repentance.
“This is base gossip,” Deret said.
“Then next time we won’t tell you,” Cala said peevishly, “and canst figure it out thyself.”
Inevitably, after a week of struggling to scrape in the bare single-hundred digits of words on the original novel project I’ve been working on, I gave myself one (1) day to indulge in a couple of small Goblin Emperor fill-in scenes I wanted to write, and now I have a 6500-word doc. *eyeroll* Experience suggests this will eventually help with the original fic word count, which is why I let it go on, but it’s always a bit disgruntling to contemplate.
behind the cut: Deret Beshelar, Cala Athmaza, and Csevet Aisava are not gossipping about their emperor’s sex life. (Beshelar POV, he is so great.) (Beshelar and Cala are bodyguards, Csevet is the emperor’s secretary and personal assistant.) (this is in the lead-up to the emperor’s wedding, slightly post-canon, and no, i don’t have a plot)
“It is necessary,” Cala said wearily.
“In front of Aisava,” Deret hissed, reproving.
“It is his business as well, Deret,” Cala said. “If the Emperor is having an affair, if the Emperor has some kind of health condition, if there is aught amiss– Mer Aisava must know of it, and we can’t tell him in front of the Emperor.”
“Give the boy at least the pretense of privacy,” Deret said.
“We are,” Csevet said. “We are having this conversation in private.” He shook his head slightly. “Thinks’t thou I would tell anyone of this?”
“No one,” Deret said. “No one!”
Csevet set his jaw. “Deret,” he said, composure visibly fraying, “if thou thinks’t I would hesitate to die for him any longer than thou woulds’t–”
“Easy,” Cala said, putting his hands up, though whether to hold Csevet back or Deret himself, Deret wasn’t sure. He hadn’t realized he was pushing himself up in his seat. It was an effort to sit back down.
“It feels disrespectful, to us,” Deret said stiffly. “To– discuss it, thus.”
“That is because thour’t a hopeless prude,” Cala said, “a woman of seventy in the body of a twenty-three-year-old man, and I forsee that I shall have to fasten myself to the wedding-chamber wall while thou lurks’t in the antechamber for decades hence, but I will do my duty–”
“As will we,” Deret growled. “We just won’t tell tales about it afterward!”
“If you hear of this matter from anyone, henceforth, and have reason to believe we were the one to carry the tale of it, you may strike us dead instantly,” Csevet said, with excessive formality, and stood.
“Now you’ve done it,” Cala muttered to Deret, who watched the secretary leave with no trace of repentance.
“This is base gossip,” Deret said.
“Then next time we won’t tell you,” Cala said peevishly, “and canst figure it out thyself.”
