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Aug. 15th, 2007 10:26 pmIt was a totally normal day, really. Not that Sam thought that, particularly, slipping out of the rather excellent little bookshop tucked discreetly down an alleyway on the Strand: it was just a day.
He headed down the alley, whistling tunelessly to himself, half in tune with the singing only he could hear coming from the sword strapped to his back in its long black bag. Some Waywalking, later, more was the pity, but he really couldn’t be bothered with a nine-hour flight to pick up the particularly ancient book the aforementioned shop’s discreet old owner had mentioned was on sale in Washington DC. He’d have to pop in on Hell on the way, but that was probably overdue anyway. Sam loathed the place, but he did need to make sure Asmodeus still remembered he existed or the demons were liable to eat Bubble alive. And Bubble was that rare thing: a likeable demon.
Maybe he’d go to Milliways first, get lunch. The coffee was always very good, and the service never involved a bored, gumchewing teenage waitress sulking her way through your meal.
Still, all in all, it was a very normal day, at least by Sam’s (admittedly, somewhat skewed) standards.
The vicious crack on the back of the head, though? That, Sam had opportunity to register sourly before the blurry blackness of the regeneration trance swept over the pain, was not normal at all.
He headed down the alley, whistling tunelessly to himself, half in tune with the singing only he could hear coming from the sword strapped to his back in its long black bag. Some Waywalking, later, more was the pity, but he really couldn’t be bothered with a nine-hour flight to pick up the particularly ancient book the aforementioned shop’s discreet old owner had mentioned was on sale in Washington DC. He’d have to pop in on Hell on the way, but that was probably overdue anyway. Sam loathed the place, but he did need to make sure Asmodeus still remembered he existed or the demons were liable to eat Bubble alive. And Bubble was that rare thing: a likeable demon.
Maybe he’d go to Milliways first, get lunch. The coffee was always very good, and the service never involved a bored, gumchewing teenage waitress sulking her way through your meal.
Still, all in all, it was a very normal day, at least by Sam’s (admittedly, somewhat skewed) standards.
The vicious crack on the back of the head, though? That, Sam had opportunity to register sourly before the blurry blackness of the regeneration trance swept over the pain, was not normal at all.
