It’s Day Twelve, kids. Didn’t anyone think to wake me up?
I think I’m in the doghouse.
Good grief, Roth, says Ziva, her disbelieving, widespread hands indicating the sparse contents of my desk, is this all you've done since I was last over?
I’m lost for words, and glance nervously up at my literary agent. Well, I glance more sideways than up; even when I’m sitting, it takes some tall heels for my agent to look down on me. Today’s boots are a good four inches high, and are just about getting the job done.
Well, I mumble, I’ve been kinda busy with Nicky and Mike’s writing challenge.
Ziva sighs, and her anger deflates somewhat; we're both taking part in the challenge over at We Work For Cheese. The Finn turns on a pointy heel and leans against the empty desk. Oh, tell me about it. She shakes her long dark hair down, clearly frustrated. Did you see today’s prompt?
Yep. The Day I Met Abraham Lincoln has been a looming problem since the challenge was announced.
I got nothing so far, no inspiration. How would I meet him? What do I say?
I daren't mention that she's been credited with coming up with the idea; I'd rather be supportive than right anyday.
But then I’m struck by an idea, and pick up the phone.
An hour later, I think I’m in the doghouse again.
The antique office is in disarray as I help Ziva down from the Time Pyramid; Max, my arch-genius best friend, being of a tall persuasion, never saw the need for a ramp. I can hear his voice resounding inside, cursing the raw recruits of his new, Norwegian, all-ferret flight crew.
The pyramid is hanging six feet off the ground in the office, as is its wont. Lights glitter at its corners, and its burnished gold sides glow warmly in the early-morning light from the tall, narrow windows. Glancing up, I am relieved to see the apex has cleared the vaulted ceiling by a few inches.
Ziva tap-taps round to the rear of the desk, stepping carefully over the shattered vase of dark red tulips, and avoiding the toppled filing cabinets. She stoops slightly to examine the out-cold figure in black, and his broken chair.
What date did you say it was, Roth? she asks mildly; I’m wary of her tone, but settle for a straight answer, as I always do.
Um, November 18, 1863. She sighs and rejoins me at the front of the desk, depositing a tall black hat onto the desk as she goes.
He’ll have a bump on his head when he delivers The Gettyburg Address tomorrow. She chuckles in a way that I can only describe as brooding and Scandinavian; I can picture a remote cabin and an endless vista of snow under dark skies. Inside, a crazy lady sharpens an axe.
I feel like a fool, and curse Max for letting me navigate; this never ends well. I wave vaguely in the direction of the fallen president.
Well, you did get to meet him. Something more seems necessary, and I add weakly, That’s something to write about. Right?
Ziva gives me a look that makes my tummy flip nervously; the smallest smile curling the very end of her mouth. Do you know what? she says, straightening my tie and then tapping me gently on the chest, I really appreciate your efforts, Indigo, but I think I’ll let you write about this one.
Oh. 'Indigo'. That sounds ominous. Okay.
She steps under the pyramid as an unexpected wooden ladder descends amid a barrage of broken, vitriolic Norwegian. I’ll think of something else to write. I'll see you inside. As she steps gracefully up into the ship with a grin, I hear the faintest, There’s no hurry.
Yep, definitely in the doghouse again.
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2013
Ziva is a bit of a dominatrix and it could be why I love her. You Brits and the public schools! Kinky!ReplyDelete
Steady Linda! My literary agent is a kind (if intense) lady, and can straighten my tie anytime =) Indigo xDelete
Okay, so technically YOU didn't meet Abraham Lincoln, the Time Pyramid did :)ReplyDelete
Tell Ziva that with platform heels, she can gain another good two inches of height at least.
Hey Jenn! I think it was more shock that knocked him down than physics. But if it floats, does it really weigh anything? I'll have to ask Max for an evasive answer. And thanks, I'm sure she'll read this =) Indigo xDelete
I agree that Ziva sounds like a dominatrix. Right up your street, Indigo! chuckles..... xReplyDelete
Jack, you bad lad, back to your ship; it's your turn in the barrel. IndigoDelete
So Ziva's traded in her whip for an axe? Oh my! You, sir, have a vivid imagination. Or else extremely good drugs.ReplyDelete
Hey Dufus! Look man, I just write them down. Reality is my only drug. And I'm having a bad trip. IndigoDelete
Indigo, Indigo, Indigo... *shakes head* Always messing with the Time Pyramid. You should know better by now.ReplyDelete
"I can picture a remote cabin and an endless vista of snow under dark skies. Inside, a crazy lady sharpens an axe." That's some inspired writing right there. I love it! ;)
Hey Ziva! I know, I never seem to learn. But thanks, I'm glad that Scandinavian vignette conjured an image for you. And thanks for coming on the journey with me, Z! You can drive next time =) Indigo xDelete
Mine was on time travel too, only I think your time pyramid works differently than my machines. This was an interesting topic bringing forth some great posts.ReplyDelete
Hey Linda! Yes, it was a weird prompt, and no mistake! Nicky and Mike blame Ziva, of course, but I daren't comment. Indigo xDelete
I can admire a woman who keeps her ax honed.ReplyDelete
Yes, of course, you're a camping enthusiast too! And other than the Scandinavian skies, I think you'd suit the picture well, Paula! IndigoDelete
The crazy lady sharpening the axe?!? - I'm thinking Nicky...ReplyDelete
Hey Amy! Nope, not Nicky, but she's very close to her. Let's see if the next comment can guess it...Delete
This prompt has brought out some interesting scenarios, but I think yours is the only one with an axe wielding Finn! - MikeReplyDelete
Hey Mike! Yep, I'm very fond of Z, but she's crazier than a barrel of badgers. And believe me, I know what that's like. IndigoDelete
I think this is my favourite so far, Indigo. I know that tummy-flipping look of hers quite well. I've seen it often since this challenge started. :-)ReplyDelete
Hey Nicky! Heh, I know what you mean; I stand ready to offer moral support on your next encounter if you need it. Indigo xDelete
I would dearly love to have a Time Pyramid, or even a Time Rhomboid.ReplyDelete
Of course, time travel is a load of crap. We can never go back. Or forward. Hardly even sideways. It's a wonder any of us makes it through the day, frankly.
Hey Mike! Time Rhomboids are possible, but the maths gets horribly complicated; platonic solids are always best, as you'll discover here. And sideways is possible, too; it requires five-dimensional mechanics, but Elliot is a master of such things. Pffft. And you thought I was making this stuff up. RothDelete
Literary agent, huh? Well, I've never heard it called that before. :)ReplyDelete
Hey Malisa! Good grief, it's suddenly struck me that I might have been spelling your name wrong on your blog. I hope not, apologies if I have! As for Ziva, she's an excellent agent and editor, and very strict with my grammar. This is very important for an ill-educated oaf such as myself; her corrections are definitive. Indigo xDelete
It seems Ziva has a way of getting into some people's minds, eh?ReplyDelete
Hey P.J.! Well, Abe had something in his head, certainly. It may have been one of the pointy corners from the pyramid. IndigoDelete
You and Ziva have a fun dynamic in this piece. It's interesting the way you characterize her. She's slightly coquettish in places, but at all times, it seems like she has the ability to tear your throat out.ReplyDelete
This is a fun post, Indigo, even in spite of the bogus writing prompt.
Hey KZ! Believe me, I don't have to make any effort to characterise her; she's a force of nature, an avalanche in high heels. But being a bit shy and clueless about such things, I can only admire from afar. IndigoDelete
In the doghouse? No my friend. It sounds more like 'The Dungeon'.ReplyDelete
Or perhaps a padded cell.......
Hey Alistair! The Dungeon?! Crivens, jings and help ma boab!* Actually, don't worry, there's no hurry ;) IndigoDelete
[* Scottish vernacular: "goodness, I require assistance!"]