Valkyrie: Wake Up. Time to Ride

.... I forgot to get scratch pad to sync to Google docs so the post itself is on local storage off computer. Highly annoyed. Story progresses in spite of this. Yay persistence

Not sure really what to say. Could go on about my wondering whether this story is a deconstruction or reconstruction of the magic girl genre, but Nahh. Not only do I know next to nothing about the window dressing of it all (nor do I really want to know for hat matter) but I'm also simply not terribly interested just yet what little box it'll fit in. After, sure... then I'll be interested in these things, but not right now.

In unrelated news I've been asked to do a little guest blogging at Chrome OS Lounge, so my weekly updates on how my internet doings via Chrome are doing will go there instead of here. I won't get paid for this (all of the bloggery is volunteer work) but I will get this place linked to from whatever I write. So yay, upswing in traffic.

Sam? She stirred, making sleepy noises at the voice in her head. Sam I need you to wake up.

"whassit?" Her mumble barely audible. Eyes still closed.

Drugged, brought here. I need you to look around. Let me get a feel for what's going on.

Bleary eyes creeked open revealing a... well appointed room. Expensive looking wood for the bed's frame. Ditto for the rest of the furniture. Carvings everywhere. Very plush. Very comfortable. Sam, still groggy, groped around. Things didn't make sense. Was she still in the same building? Different place? Why couldn't she think straight? Wasn't the armor supposed to do a blood filtering trick on drugs?"

I do and that corpse-guy hit you very subtly, very hard. Lots harder than I thought any kitchen-magi could've managed.

Sam's eyes popped open. "So.." She had to make herself remember her partner/companion/Id/whatever could hear her think. Magic then. You said magic has been effectively gone from the world since right around the time Europe discovered the New World. She glanced at herself and silently thanked the powers that be she was still clothed.

As she ran through her own post knock-out routine the voice in her head took on a lecturing quality. Normal magic. Sane magic. The kind requiring you gather ambient power to foicus and shape. This guy... Necromancer. Bad mojo there.

You're kidding right? Sam was looking at the room's only window and frowned at the lack of trees, ledges, or anything she could use to aid in climbing down. Not that she felt like climbing or any other acrobatic insanity more demanding than a slow stumble on thick carpet, but it was either the window or the door. Saw.

She frowned at the belt she had been wearing. Nothing there. Supposed to be a dremel, or chainsaw, or something she could use to cut the bars on the other side of the window apart. Can't. You're too fuzzed and corpseboy drew power for the knockout whammy from me. Sam's frown deepend but she tried pulling at the bars anyway. Far harder than she would've cared for, but they started to creak apart. Metal straining and warping.

Wait... What? I thought you said he... it... drained you. Annoyed Sam looked at the drop with something between skepticism and pity.

As she readied herself for the drop she heard a mental chuckle. Drained. Not Drained Completely. I have, Brief pause, more power than most of the Grey Council in their prime. I just can't do objects for awhile. Centuries out of practice at magical defense does that. Oh and land with your knees bent, roll forward on your left side then make for the motorcycle that just pulled up.

"Right." Sam paced back from the window before climbing onto the sill. Long fall, she's done this dozens of time in training. She can do this now. Deep breath. Drop!

Hurt. Pain. No broken bones. Roll. Guy looked stunned and made no move to block when she punched him in the chest. Keys. Bike.

Your boss isn't going to like this. Her armor chided as she sped away.

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