Well, I attended a really really boring lecture about chinese history today, and, in a desperate effort to keep myself awake, I wrote this in 40 minutes...
"Red."
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It had begun to rain just after the ninth hour.
I was in a foul, foul mood. I hate the rain. Soaks through your clothes, into your skin, makes you feel twice as heavy as you should.
A drop of rain hit me square on the nose. I grunted, pulled the sodden mess of cloth that had once been a cloak tighter around me.
The rain carried on.
I’d pulled the hood of my cloak up as far as it would go. Had to hide my hair. I’m a natural redhead, see, and that would hardly help with the ‘blending in’. Practically everyone native to Umbria had black hair. I didn’t want to dye it, though. The ladies have a thing for the red hair.
I peered out at the building across the street, reached up and tapped the comm-bead hidden under my hood.
“Two stories, windows barricaded. Single entrance on ground level, two guards. Target is on the second floor. Standard entry procedure. Wait for my go.”
A chorus of whispered affirmatives answered me.
I staggered across the street, headed straight for the two guards. They peered at me, more curious than suspicious. Their lasguns were still slung over their shoulders, their postures relaxed. I stumbled, fell, all the while singing tunelessly. I came up, swaying unsteadily, and galumphed towards the entrance.
The guard on my right glanced at his fellow sentinel, shrugged, and took a couple of steps towards me.
I giggled as I sprawled at his feet, splashing water all over his pants leg. He backed off a step, then poked me in the ribs with the toe of his boot.
“Hey, man. Take your piss-drunk ass someplace else. This here’s private property.”
My only reply was a soft moan. He bent down, grabbed me none too gently, and tried dragging me to my feet.
He didn’t see the glint of metal in my palm as I slid a small blade through his ribs and into his heart.
His partner noticed something amiss. He reached around and began to bring his rifle to bear.
“What the f-”
Hardly the most memorable of last words. A wet patch of scarlet appeared on the front of his shirt, and he keeled over backwards. I rushed forward and just managed to grab a handful of fabric before the corpse hit the door. Breathing heavily, I gently set the body down on the ground, keyed open the comm-channel.
“Good shot, Sharp.” Sharp was our squad sniper. Short and slight, he often joked that his mother had been a ratling.
“No problem.”
A crunch of boot on gravel as my two squad mates joined me. Malik was our third member. Malik is… well, forgettable. Average height, average build, dark hair cropped short. Pleasant face, but too ordinary to be handsome.
I reached under my cloak and drew my sidearm. A lighter version of the standard-issue guard autopistol, with a larger clip size and a suppressor attached. Umbria was the trading hub of the entire segmentum, which meant that our Arbites and Guard regiments got only the best equipment.
I gestured at Malik, and he attached a dark rectangular object, about the size of my palm, onto the door.
We stacked up on either side of the entrance.
“Weapons free. Blow it on my mark.”
Deep breath.
“Mark.”
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Going to add to this, but I might revisit this first part first though, might toy with a normal narrative style instead of first person. Description has never been my strong suit, and I'm pretty disappointed by how weak (or just totally non-existent) my descriptions are.
Any tips that can help me with my writing, or any ideas on where I can take the story after this would be good. REVIEW!