wordwitch | SGA Rec: Unnamed by RagePruFrock (Reply)

You must all immediately go and read this bit of unfinished wonderfulness:

http://www.glitterati.talkoncorners.net/log/2008/01/14/i-blame-you-serial-karma-and-lyra-sena-i-blame-you/

And then you must tell her to finish it. At book length. Maybe three or four volumes, I dunno. Anything that leads with the following scene must be rewarded:

Chapter 1: Wherein Our Hero Is Rudely Awakened

John was only half-into his breeches when Samantha burst into his room, red-faced and furious and her hair in wild disarray, throwing down a bouquet of orange roses and shouting, “John, he’s done it again! The third year in a row!”

Trying to pull himself off of the floor, where he’d fallen with a yelp of horror, pulling all the sheets and blankets off of the bed and around him to protect his limited dignity, John said, “Sam, for God’s sake!”

“Oh, John, honestly,” she sighed at him, settling herself on the edge of his bed. “You’re practically my brother.”

“Yes,” he shot back, struggling to his feet and still wrapped entirely in bedclothes, “which makes this delightful moment wrong and incestuous.” He pointed at the wide-open door of his bedchamber. “Now, if you’ll humor me and feign being a young woman of good breeding.”

Sam ignored him. “Two dozen hideous orange roses,” she mourned, staring down at the petals.

“Of course,” John said through gritted teeth. “And this shall be the third year you’ve stormed into my room wailing about it as well.”

“We must find him some other poor woman to marry, John,” Sam decided, looking grim. “It’ll be too cruel, really, for us to press some girl onto him, but his insistence on courting me can no longer be endured.” She looked thoughtful. “Perhaps Miss Brown. She’s quiet, and she seems to entertain thoughts that people are kinder than they truly are.”

Beneath the sheets, John tried to dress himself as well as possible, ducking his head underneath a blanket to align the row of buttons on his breeches, thinking vile, ungentlemanly thoughts toward his cousin. Since they were children they’d played together and she’d always been a trial: too smart and too stubborn. John half-wished she’d just marry whichever poor bastard was pining after her so wretchedly so she’d move out of the house and stop barging in on him while he was half nude.

“Given your history of suffering indignities I’d think you’d understand why I’m so upset about this one,” John grumbled, finally emerging from the covers and tugging his shirt and trousers back in good order.

Samantha gave him a considering look. “You are perfectly aware I barely see you as a man, John.”

“Thank you,” he replied, dry as flint, hauling all the covers back onto the feather mattress. “Now—who is the unfortunate gentleman who continues to struggle for your affections all these years?”