eowyn_315. I've got a good selection to pick from, so I'm posting 15 of the juiciest first lines I've got. What fun!The following are some first lines from my fic. If you want to play, pick whichever one tickles your fancy, write a ficlet or a drabble with the same first line and leave it in my comments. (And if the muse strikes, I might even drabble back at you.) Feel free to take as many liberties as you wish.
How Many Blonds? - Being short had its drawbacks.
Acts of Contrition - The walk back home is long, forged in a lumbering, unsteady gait.
Window-Dressing - The room buzzes with kinetic energy, vibrations conducting through the floor, jumping from body to body so that his chest pounds like he still has a pulse.
By A Thread - The smog is thick, air cracked and brittle with death and soot and unrivaled carnage.
Call it Closure - Clarity can be a beautiful thing.
The Heart of Her - The rhythms of her body were like a symphony to him, each pulsation and internal rush a carefully choreographed orchestration.
In the Knick of Time - Things were better; even she had to admit it.
All Wrong - No one had expected this, but then, nothing came as a surprise, either, considering everything they had seen and been through in their fight against evil.
Not Yours - It was like being doused in holy water, except the burning ate him from the inside out.
Show Me How - Fucking was like fighting.
Working Parts - Cool red satin slides against his palms, the buttery fabric pooling like blood in his black denim lap.
Unquenched - It’s the tail end that always gets to him, the only time she lets him near enough.
Beneath Us - The smell is what first shakes her from her horrified trance - burning, blistering flesh, incense, and the faint aroma of floor cleaner.
Out of Africa - The soft earth gave under his feet as he bounded after her, the thundering of her heart his homing beacon.
Learning Curve - Xander couldn’t help but grimace slightly at the pop Faith’s dislocated shoulder gave as she realigned it.
Acts of Contrition - The walk back home is long, forged in a lumbering, unsteady gait.
Window-Dressing - The room buzzes with kinetic energy, vibrations conducting through the floor, jumping from body to body so that his chest pounds like he still has a pulse.
By A Thread - The smog is thick, air cracked and brittle with death and soot and unrivaled carnage.
Call it Closure - Clarity can be a beautiful thing.
The Heart of Her - The rhythms of her body were like a symphony to him, each pulsation and internal rush a carefully choreographed orchestration.
In the Knick of Time - Things were better; even she had to admit it.
All Wrong - No one had expected this, but then, nothing came as a surprise, either, considering everything they had seen and been through in their fight against evil.
Not Yours - It was like being doused in holy water, except the burning ate him from the inside out.
Show Me How - Fucking was like fighting.
Working Parts - Cool red satin slides against his palms, the buttery fabric pooling like blood in his black denim lap.
Unquenched - It’s the tail end that always gets to him, the only time she lets him near enough.
Beneath Us - The smell is what first shakes her from her horrified trance - burning, blistering flesh, incense, and the faint aroma of floor cleaner.
Out of Africa - The soft earth gave under his feet as he bounded after her, the thundering of her heart his homing beacon.
Learning Curve - Xander couldn’t help but grimace slightly at the pop Faith’s dislocated shoulder gave as she realigned it.
