Day's total: 2000
October Dare: 4325

A good day of writing all in all. Despite my best judgment, I'm getting sucked into *caring* about the story and the characters. Despite the fact that I made it (and them) deliberately cliche, despite knowing already the fate of each of them, I'm getting caught up.

Why this is a bad thing: the whole purpose of word-count based writing dares is to just go, write, play with style, deconstruct grammar, splatter-punk paragraphs... It's the brief, intense fling in the life of a celibate. A serial bed buddy. It's not supposed to get *serious*. No strings. If I want to derail the entire thing with a "then she woke up," If I want to kill off then resurrect the bad guy, make him a pengu-phobe, give him a spaghetti perm and reverse his feet, then I do so with a flick of my wrist and a sassy [return] and never look back. There's world enough and time to lay down and let the MC walk all over you in stiletto heels and suck out your life force through your nose, but a self-imposed October dare is not it.

I'm such a sucker.

[snip]
He knew exactly where they were, and he knew where they were going. The retired gentleman butler had been out of service, out of usefulness, just long enough to be loquacious in his need to feel useful—particularly after the proper grade of brandied lubricant. He knew that he had caught the two off-guard. He wanted them to get a head start. Connor savoured the mood, the splendid suspension of an anticipated moment coming to fruition. If only that blasted priest would shut the hell up.

The red-faced holy man was shouting at him again. "Where is he?" he's screeched from the stairway. "You know, don't you?"
The priest approached. His sour breath assaulted Connor's nostrils. Connor wouldn't give the priest the satisfaction of knowing he stirred any kind of emotion in him, even if it was revulsion. Garlic, Connor thought derisively. You superstitious coward.

"What kind of game are you playing, Connor?" he fumed. Connor gazed dully past him. The priest's eyes narrowed. "Damn you!"

"That's not very pious of you, Julius," Connor said casually.

The priest's lips moved. Though Connor could not hear the invective over the din, he knew it included a shameful amount of blasphemy (for a priest). Julius shouted some orders at the throng, directing a contingent to this chamber, another to that wing. "We shall burn the monster from his den!"

[end snip]

Too much fun.