Niedzielę zaczynamy recenzją "Pana T" w reżyserii Marcina Krzyształowicza.
#zapiskizkultury #recenzjafilmowa #pant #tyrmand #marcinkrzyształowicz #propelerfilm
https://www.zapiskizkultury.pl/marcin-krzysztalowicz-pan-t-pocztowka-z-powojnia/
Już jutro na Zapiskach pojawi się recenzja filmu Marcina Krzyształowicza "Pan T".
"O tym, że najnowszy film Marcina Krzyształowicza nie ma nic wspólnego z biografią Leopolda Tyrmanda, dowiadujemy się już z planszy początkowej. To oczywiście zasłona dymna, która ma ukryć, że twórcom nie udało się porozumieć z potomkami literata."
Serdecznie zapraszamy do śledzenia aktualnych postów!
#zapiskizkultury #recenzjafilmowa #pant #tyrmand #marcinkrzyształowicz #propelerfilm
"Huh?" Chip was surprised by the assessment, "The pockets are too small."
Minervie was not sure what to make of this statement, and decided to ignore it. "We are going to the woods to practice another magic... on your old treant friend."
"An old treant is my friend?" Chip asked, feeling like he forgot something.
Minervie answered, "Oh, yes. You did not mean to, but you gave him a name, and he is bound to you now. He was hurt, and you will practice to heal."
Chip clomped back to his room, in the way only reluctant kids can do, and complained quietly, "but I like these shorts."
Minervie was plating ham and eggs, and chip came back, now wearing his cargo shorts over a pair of jeans. Minervie stared, almost decided to not say anything, but then decided to say something anyway, "Now Chip, this is fine for the wood, but you need to understand, you look silly, like you have no sense."
"Good Morning, Chip. Outdoor clothes today, we're going together into the wood," Minervie said, and then headed to the kitchen to make breakfast.
A few minutes later Chip came to the kitchen wearing tall socks and cargo shorts, "Morning grandma."
She turned her head, "Nie, nie, Chip. Too cold outside for that, that short pant, wear long jeans. The socks are good though. Hurry, the eggs are going down now."
11. Mercy by Moonlight 1/2
#FanFiction #TheApothecaryDiaries
#wss366 #MastoPrompt
Mao shot the woman a deadly look before her legs gave out. When she next looked up, the woman had already turned away.
Mao clicked her tongue. Annoyed, but only at herself. The mercenary had had the sense to spare her the humiliation of being watched. “Now I owe her,” Mao grumbled.
She grimaced as she rose. Her ribs throbbed where they had slammed into the saddle horn. Each breath felt like needles were piercing her chest.
Gingerly, she pressed the tender spot, careful not to #pant with the pain. “Thank goodness,” she thought. “Bruised. Not cracked.”
She eyed the woman, who was still scanning the house, and imagined treating her one day—perhaps resetting a dislocated shoulder. “I owe her twice,” Mao muttered. “Once for the courtesy, and once for treating me like a sack of millet.”
The woman turned and spoke, “They’re done. You ready?”
Mao nodded and limped toward the house. Her guard eyed her, then fell into step beside her wordlessly.
Inside the house, they found the carver’s family cowering in a corner. Mao gave them one glance and moved on to a woman held by two of the soldiers. Mao noted that she was short and lithe with plenty of lean muscle and black-dyed hair. This was the assassin, an archer.
She followed the woman’s gaze to a bundle in the corner, and a smile touched Mao’s lips. “Keep hold of her. I may want to question her,” she instructed the soldiers. Then, wincing, she walked to the bundle and carefully undid it. Inside were a bow, arrows, and a small clay pot. Mao’s smile widened.
She used an arrow to dip out some of the brownish substance the pot contained. She looked at the prisoner. “It's good you kept this.”
The woman responded by cursing her in words blurred by her Shaoh accent.
“Mao commented, sniffing the substance. Mao commented, “Bitter.“Not a mineral. Perhaps snake venom in a fat base. What is it?”
The woman cursed again.
Mao returned to examining the substance, considering tasting it or even scratching herself with it. Then she sighed. “There is no time. Jinshi waits.”
“Steel, hold her. I have something I need to say without the others hearing.”
Her guard pinned the woman’s arms, and Basen gestured for the soldiers to move away.
Mao secreted the pot in her robe and carelessly laid the poisoned arrow on a low shelf where it lodged against a #pole, point exposed. She approached the woman, dodging her attempted kick. In a low voice, so that only the three of them—the prisoner, Steel, and herself—could hear, she said, “See that arrow? What if we accidentally let you reach it? It would be a mercy, considering what awaits you in court. I would even help them keep you alive longer.”
[Continued next post]
#MicroFiction #TootFic #Serial #NMFic #NMV366
#ApothecaryDiaries
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