Sloth Fiction 9: A New Year, a New Honour

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Sloth Fiction 9: A new year, a new honour

A salute to our favourite TDHBEW's latest accolade and a little New Year's pressie to all the SF fans, and especially,  to one in particular (you know who you are, my dear). Enjoy! (Truce fans, the second part of the epi will be added here this weekend, and still working on part 3.  Part 2 is already up at the other usual spots).

 It was New Year's Eve in south Alabama, and a downright soggy one.

The rumble of distant thunder sounded before the rains fell, lashing against the window panes of LW's country home on the hill.

And Guy was hungry. But then, Guy was always hungry.

Sticking his head in the freezer unit of LW's refrigerator, he gave a dismal howl.

 "What happened to the rest of the sausage balls?"

Porter chuckled from the den sofa as he sat up to peer at Guy over its back.

"Hard as it is to believe, Milord, apparently LW and her mister decided to pop those in the microwave and polish them off as an appetiser this afternoon when he arrived home from work." Porter tilted his head, smirking a little. "I did say they were addictive."

Guy gave a disappointed sniff as he shut the freezer door a tad more forcefully than necessary, flicking back his lustrous mane with annoyance.

 "How long has it been, anyway, Guy--three whole-minutes since the last time you ate?" Porter rumbled.

 Guy rolled his eyes and sighed.

 "I couldn't possibly answer that. I have been quite-busy, Porter-practicing with my new sword from Lady Writer," Guy said, drawing himself up to his full and commanding height, his hand moving to the well-polished hilt of his treasured weapon as he happily recalled his exploits.

The glories of parrying and thrusting were not to be denied for the dark knight, it seemed.

Guy's shapely mouth curved into a rather wicked smile. "Of course, I also had to take a bit of time to visit LW's friend who hails from the Land of-New Jersey, I believe. AM was-most appreciative."

Guy arched a suggestive dark winged brow as he raised his chin.

Lucas strode in, his sketch pad and pencil case beneath his arm. "Guy, my Noble Friend, I do believe getting that new sword has restored some of your old swagger. Not that you ever completely lost it . . ."

Guy gave him a courtly little bow. "Thank you, my Spy Friend. You seem to be getting-how is it Lady Writer would put it?-your own-mojo back, as well."

John nodded. "Have to agree with Guy. It's as if ol'-Whotziz-has been cleansed right out of your system, Lucas."

Lucas gave them both a sweet, rather boyish grin. "Yeah. Slowly but surely." He nodded toward the art supplies in his broad hand, holding them up.

 "Lady Writer's idea of art therapy really seems to be working for me. I used to draw and paint a bit as a boy in Cumbria, but-dunno, I got away from it as I grew up."

 He shrugged a little sheepishly. "Forget how much I enjoyed it, I suppose."

"Lads, good news!" Harry ambled into the room, wearing a bright yellow sou'wester and hat, making him look a bit like a really sexy version of the Gorton's Fisherman.

 His blue eyes twinkled with the merriest of glints as he flashed a sunny grin to one and all that gloomy night, even as rivulets of rain water dripped off his gear.

 Harry spoke with excitement as he slipped out of the coat and hat and hung them on the bar of a kitchen bar stool.

"I've just discovered our own dear Creator has been given another honour by discriminating lady fans from around the world. Hunkess has formally announced it: the Creator is Hunkie of the Year for 2010!"

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