At night I pray and clean my gun

The ghouls didn't want to put out today. But--miracle of miracles--a short story did. I poked at Salem's story some more, getting 204 words and a slightly clearer idea of where I'm going. It goes something like:

He's a grizzled, time-tossed Norse god tending bar in a ghost town. She's a strong-willed, cat-loving craftswoman descended from a line of powerful witches. They fight crime!

Also, I found the best picture ever for this story. Yes, in my universe that old tree-hanger is played by Tom Waits.

Exercise was dancing, 175 crunches, and clumsy-ass fencing.

I am retaining enough water to last a fremen sitch for days.

(no subject)

I'm on a low-estrogen birth control.

I'm still snarling like a ravening dingo everytime someone walks up to the circ desk, and fighting the urge to bite them and shake till something snaps.

Apparently I'm a werewolf, just without the fun claws and fangs. I want my claws and fangs, dammit! And pretty fur, too. I've still got that star on my palm...