The Pickled Mushroom

France vs Germany & Austria (40k!) | November 9, 2009

Well, who would have thought that? The ML’s (= municipal liaison) of France contacted the one of my home region, Germany & Austria, and suggested a massive international word war. Well, what can I say? We accepted.

There’s three disciplines:

  1. average word count
  2. percentage of winners (= people that reached 50k words or more)
  3. percentage of people that donated to NaNo

And we have to win two out of these three, of course.

Needless to say, this competition is extremely motivational and I’ve been typing like crazy for the past days, including today’s 4k (which I may still expand upon tonight) that finally brought me to beautiful 40k. I’m so proud of myself, and I still have so much to go. So much fun!
Now, have some excerpt-y goodness before I get back upstairs.

~Marcel~

That earned him a laugh and for now, the moment had passed. I leaned back in my chair again and felt London’s hand slide into the hair above the back of my neck, thoughtfully twisting and pulling single strands while his other hand still toyed around with his empty bottle. I felt goosebumps run down my arms, but I relaxed back into the caress and let my eyes slide half shut.

“Well, I’m not going to ask if any one of you two is going to have someone new soon,” Andy’s voice drifted through to me and I looked at him with a vague smile that I knew would be mirrored on London’s face right now, just a bit more mocking maybe, simply because that was the way he was.

“Just look at them,” Andy complained to Jazz who was thoughtfully turning his bottle in his hands, retracing the letters on the label with his right index finger slowly. “Look at them! They’re having mental sex right there, in front of us.” Jazz laughed, but he also shook his head.

You are mental,” London gave back readily, and I could hear the faked expression of gloom in his voice that he would be showing off to Andy. “You’re just envious because you want any sex at all.”

There was a small silence again that held for a good ten seconds, then all of us sighed simultaneously and that ended the uncomfortable moment because we all knew this was silly and just leading us back to Andy being gloomy again. I could feel London twist a strand of my hair around his finger slowly and give it a small, gentle pull before he let go and went to sit down three metres away from my armchair. It actually was my armchair, seeing that we were sitting around in the living room of the flat the two of us shared.

“Mental sex sounds like an interesting idea,” he explained as he crossed his legs casually, rolled up the sleeves of his turtleneck sweater and shifted a bit until he appeared to be comfortable. “Let’s have a go.” And he started staring at me with a rigid stare that didn’t budge one centimetre from the point just between my eyes, which was slightly disconcerting. He hardly blinked. I could hear Jazz give a snort, but didn’t turn to look at him, instead staring back as hard as I could.

After a solid eighty-two seconds – I had started counting in my mind – Jazz demanded results. “Anything happened yet?” he asked.

London nodded his head stiffly and I blinked, taken aback a bit because I was feeling nothing that resembled sex in the slightest.

“My butt has fallen asleep,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Someone bring me a cushion.”

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