~ Merciless is very bad. Nasty dragon- die. Only a while more to go and if
you love me, please review! And you don't love me come to think of it and
you love the story, be nice to Quinn and review it- ooh, sexy Quinn, ooh. ~
"Has it gone? Is it dead?" Gerald cried the moment they entered the room. The look Alex gave him sucked the words from his mouth. The workers slumped against the wall.
"Another bloody dragon to worry about," muttered Anja from the corner.
"Oh, thank you," Quinn spat, "That's very optimistic."
Anja looked up, tight curls falling from their grip at the back.
"Well, it's all very well saying that," she said, "But this is in a year! And we're isolated from the castle by about sixty miles."
Quinn winced. He hated the Welsh. Why couldn't they talk without moving from the top of the scale to the bottom with each syllable?
"Seventy," he grunted, "It's seventy miles."
He stomped out of the room, muttering sourly under his breath. Alex watched him go anxiously. Gerald rolled his eyes. He knew Quinn better than any of them. He'd get over it. Dragons get everybody down. He shook his head as Anja tried to rise.
"Don't start after him, Miss. Let him think a bit."
"I'm sorry if I sounded harsh," she said resentfully, nodding to Alex as well, "But I'm sick of running. That was all I spent my childhood doing. We did a fine job on this here tower and I'm damned if I'm going to see yet another burned to the ground!"
With a this final abrupt rolling 'r', Anja stormed away back downstairs towards the kitchenette. Alex and Gerald glanced at each other and sighed. They sat down next to the workers and conversation slowly returned.
Quinn sat alone in the smallest room. It was almost a cupboard with nothing but a circular table at one end and a chair beside it. He leaned on the hard wood, head in his hands and closing his eyes. There was no point in getting all excited again. Why waste precious time on getting angry with people? They had to wait. That was always the worst.
What do we do in the day?
Quinn turned his eyes to the window next to him, rubbing away the brick dust gathered on the single pane.
What do we do in the day?
He peered out into the early evening gloom. Darkness was seeping over the hills like wine. The ruins of an abbey sat in the distance, it's outline standing out against the grey sky as if someone had drawn it with a thick black marker pen.
What do we do in the day?
"Keep both eyes on the sky," Quinn said to himself as he turned his eye to the churning clouds.
"Has it gone? Is it dead?" Gerald cried the moment they entered the room. The look Alex gave him sucked the words from his mouth. The workers slumped against the wall.
"Another bloody dragon to worry about," muttered Anja from the corner.
"Oh, thank you," Quinn spat, "That's very optimistic."
Anja looked up, tight curls falling from their grip at the back.
"Well, it's all very well saying that," she said, "But this is in a year! And we're isolated from the castle by about sixty miles."
Quinn winced. He hated the Welsh. Why couldn't they talk without moving from the top of the scale to the bottom with each syllable?
"Seventy," he grunted, "It's seventy miles."
He stomped out of the room, muttering sourly under his breath. Alex watched him go anxiously. Gerald rolled his eyes. He knew Quinn better than any of them. He'd get over it. Dragons get everybody down. He shook his head as Anja tried to rise.
"Don't start after him, Miss. Let him think a bit."
"I'm sorry if I sounded harsh," she said resentfully, nodding to Alex as well, "But I'm sick of running. That was all I spent my childhood doing. We did a fine job on this here tower and I'm damned if I'm going to see yet another burned to the ground!"
With a this final abrupt rolling 'r', Anja stormed away back downstairs towards the kitchenette. Alex and Gerald glanced at each other and sighed. They sat down next to the workers and conversation slowly returned.
Quinn sat alone in the smallest room. It was almost a cupboard with nothing but a circular table at one end and a chair beside it. He leaned on the hard wood, head in his hands and closing his eyes. There was no point in getting all excited again. Why waste precious time on getting angry with people? They had to wait. That was always the worst.
What do we do in the day?
Quinn turned his eyes to the window next to him, rubbing away the brick dust gathered on the single pane.
What do we do in the day?
He peered out into the early evening gloom. Darkness was seeping over the hills like wine. The ruins of an abbey sat in the distance, it's outline standing out against the grey sky as if someone had drawn it with a thick black marker pen.
What do we do in the day?
"Keep both eyes on the sky," Quinn said to himself as he turned his eye to the churning clouds.