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Last week, Tom shot the werewolf who was leaping for him, teeth first.
The werewolf thinks this is totally unfair.
I slammed my knee down on his spine, wrenched his arm up and back, and pressed the barrel of the gun to the back of his head. “Who sent you?”
He coughed and spat blood on the wood floor. “You’re prey,” he said, like he was about to complain to the ref.
“I’m two-natured,” I said. “Who. Sent. You.”
So, now I’m down to one-word sentences . . . I thought of fiddling with the punctuation to fit in two more this week, but I like the way that last bit looks.
I just realized that the two-natured line isn’t funny if you didn’t read the post from two Sundays ago. Oh, well.
It also occurred to me that Tom’s other knee is on the floor, he probably have bloodstains on his pants, because gunshots bleed and Tom strikes me as the kind of guy who wouldn’t spare a thought about sparing his suits until the damage—from blood, spaghetti sauce, motor oil, whatever—has been done. So he’ll have to change at some point, but that’s good, since I need to get him to his apartment anyway.
And this, my friends, is part of why Weekend Warriors is so helpful to continuity and character development. Darn it.