communi_kate (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
communi_kate) wrote2013-03-17 07:53 am
communi_kate) wrote2013-03-17 07:53 am
Entry tags:
this is surprisingly addictive as it turns out
More three sentence stories
Any, Any, manic Mondays, for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
with_rainfall ,
Interview
"You rescued a krogan team from tunnels no human being has ever entered, saved the life of a rachni queen, and salvaged Reaper tech that may help us win this war. What sort of mission was this?"
Desmond has travelled many places in his mind, although his body has left America only once. He's probably the only person alive who remembers the stinging scent of Damascus steel as it quenches in a puff of steam, the rosy sheen of the Mona Lisa's freshly painted cheeks, and the exact lyrics of rowdy colonial marching songs.degrees
"The quill scratches over the blank paper, copying thick and thin lines gleaned from his collection of maps, highlighting valleys and peaks of lands both distant and near. With a steady hand, he fills in the details a traveler would need to find his way, the black of the ink glistening in the lamplight. He has piles and piles of maps made the same way, maps of places that he'll never go except in his mind, of places that for him exist only in black and white."
Many thanks!
Any, Any, manic Mondays, for
with_rainfall , Interview
"You rescued a krogan team from tunnels no human being has ever entered, saved the life of a rachni queen, and salvaged Reaper tech that may help us win this war. What sort of mission was this?"
Shepard grins, "Round here, we call it 'Monday.'"
For hostilecrayon 's prompt Assassin's Creed, Desmond Miles, wanderlust.
Travelling Without Moving
Desmond has travelled many places in his mind, although his body has left America only once. He's probably the only person alive who remembers the stinging scent of Damascus steel as it quenches in a puff of steam, the rosy sheen of the Mona Lisa's freshly painted cheeks, and the exact lyrics of rowdy colonial marching songs.
He stares at the lid of the latest Animus and wishes that he didn't always end up in the same place.
degrees "The quill scratches over the blank paper, copying thick and thin lines gleaned from his collection of maps, highlighting valleys and peaks of lands both distant and near. With a steady hand, he fills in the details a traveler would need to find his way, the black of the ink glistening in the lamplight. He has piles and piles of maps made the same way, maps of places that he'll never go except in his mind, of places that for him exist only in black and white."
Many thanks!
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