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03/05/10, Friday
Deleted from Vicesteed, ch. 27

Old chapter wordcount: 9,205
New chapter wordcount: 6,444
Vicesteed Draft 1 wordcount: 207,877
Vicesteed Draft 2 current wordcount: 144,187
Notes: Not looking forward to the next chapter, where there's a believability problem to fix. Sigh.
Reason for deleting scene: Too much thinking, or trying to fight, and not enough quick-run-hide. She's a smart girl, and she knows she can't win this fight.
Which deleted scene is it anyway?

[...]began to stand.

She shook herself out of her daze and scanned the garden for a weapon. Hand-to-hand, or foot-to-face, as it were, hadn't done her much good. From what she could see, they'd probably tidied up the garden in preparation for this little shindig, and the darkness didn't make things any easier. A shovel would have been perfect, ideally with a woodchipper that she could throw the body into afterwards, but she would have settled for a nice, stout branch.
[...]
She backed away and nearly tripped over an ornamental rock garden. She bent and grabbed a chunk of granite twice as large as her fist. It sparkled in the moonlight. She wound up and pitched the rock with all her augmented strength, aiming for his midsection. If she could get him down again, she'd make damned sure he wasn't getting back up.

A millisecond before impact, Luke twisted to the side and brushed the rock aside like a mosquito. Valinda
[...]
She didn't think she had a chance in this fight, and she doubted that her wisdom chip would be able to help. The only ideas she had that might take Luke out involved heavy machinery, and there was a distinct lack of that in the garden.
[...]
For all she knew, she'd be surrounded by the enemies who had arranged for her to be shipped off to the vicestable. She nearly turned to run in a different direction, but she knew that the ballroom was her only chance to shake Luke. She'd find a way to slip away once she was inside, a way to avoid Luke and the invited guests both.
[...]
So long as the order was to capture but not kill her, Luke's job was more difficult. He couldn't pull out a gun and shoot her. He brain her with a rock. He couldn't use any of the million ways there were to kill a person. She forced her legs to move faster, gulping deep breaths of air as she sprinted. She wished again for a pair of jeans and some running sneakers. Obviously, women here didn't do a whole lot of running for their lives. A streak of pain was spreading like infection up her side, a combination of a stitch in her side from running and the boning of the corset digging into her ribs. She dodged under a low-hanging branch, and the fur hat was knocked from her head. Good riddance. If only it was so easy to be rid of the spotted and fur-trimmed dress, but that would really nix any idea of her blending back in with the crowd. It was going to be difficult enough that her mask and hat were casualties of war in the garden.

She heard the measured sound of Luke's heavy footsteps coming up behind her. She forced a last burst of energy to pick up the pace. Her legs were as sore as if the costume she wore had been carved from stone, but she was nearly there.

Other writingy stuff:
* Posted freewriting, writing log.