Day 7: You All Belong to me.

Another fine day for team Sturges! Eight more comic pages done for House of Mystery #21, and a solid (though a bit less than I would have preferred) 2,735 novel words. That brings me to...

6,735 words! Not as good as yesterday, but not half-bad. Here's a snippet from the novel. A message sprite conversation. if you've read Midwinter, then you know that message sprites are half the fun:

Ironfoot tried to ignore it, but the sprite just kept rapping on the window pane, calling, then shouting, then howling expletives. He pulled himself out of the chair and shuffled across the room, stepping on the map and not caring. He opened the window and the sprite flew in and alit on the edge of the chair in which he’d been sitting.

“What do you want?” he said.

“Wow, it took you long enough,” said the sprite, sticking its tongue out for emphasis. “What are you, deaf or something? You weren’t deaf last time. Did you stand too near something really loud? Because that can happen sometimes.”

Ironfoot stared at the sprite, all of his fondness for it having evaporated in his desolation.

“I have feelings too, you know!” said the sprite, stamping its foot soundlessly. “Of course, my feelings are quite shallow, and can easily be repaired with a yummy stalk of parsley, or better yet . . .” the sprite paused, rubbing its tiny hands together. “Celery!”

“Enough already!” Ironfoot shouted, stunned at the anger in his voice. The sprite fell backward, swore loudly, then flitted up again, raising its head gingerly above the back of the chair.

“Wow, you sure got mean.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ironfoot, trying to be patient. “I’ve had a hard day. What’s your message?”

“Lord Everess replies that he’s extra-sad you won’t come see him. Except he said it in a less nice way.”

The sprite thought for a moment, tapping its finger on its forehead. “There was something else, too. Something important. Let’s see. Lord Everess...extra sad and so on...celery...”

It snapped its tiny fingers. “Oh, yeah! He wants to have your map over there.”

“I see,” said Ironfoot. “Thank you.”

“Oh, happy day, you like me again!” it said, looking at him with a loopy grin. “You want be be my boyfriend? I realize that there’s a serious size difference that could present some interesting physical challenges, but I’m willing to work through it if you are.”

Ironfoot sighed. Maybe this was what he liked about message sprites: their absurdity. Nothing could ever truly upset them because they had no real feelings to begin with.

The sprite flew up and wrapped its arms around his finger. “I want to have your big fat elvish babies!” it cried theatrically.

“Tell Everess I’ll come and see him tomorrow,” he said.

“This is the best day ever!” shouted the sprite, and it zipped out of the window.