TWC 1 Deleted Scene

"Wow! This is just like a DVD!" I hear you saying to yourself, or perhaps to your friend or loved one as you eagerly read this blog together, as is your weekly tradition. (Oh yes, I know all about the life you lead.)

Anyway, though. From the length of my fics these days it probably seems I don't do any editing at all; contrary to that, though, I actually go over everything I write and take out things that don't really have any purpose. No, seriously, I do. *G* If the scene worked, other than just looking like padding, then I keep it in a separate file. So I thought, might as well post some here, right?

This then is a scene that originally came at the start of Act II, Chapter 3 of "Double-Plait Bolt". It's fairly short, but was long enough that I felt it would make a difference in the length if I snipped it; plus it didn't say anything I couldn't leave inferred or just put someplace else. Here is Beth getting ready, and being a nervous wreck, to take the bolt to Drake. For context I'm including the first paragraph of the next scene, which is actually the first scene in the released version of the chapter. Enjoy! I'd love any feedback!


****

Beth awoke with a jerk, surrounded by hardware manuals and encylopedias. The light in her bedroom was on and judging from the odd feeling in her cheek, she'd fallen asleep with her face on the edge of a book again. She touched the cheek gingerly, and found a medium-sized groove on the side of her face.

She groped for her glasses, came up empty, and realized they were still on her face; after adjusting to that, she fumbled for the clock instead and found it was nearly six-thirty a.m. Only about four hours since she'd fallen asleep, assuming she hadn't made it far since the last time she'd checked the clock. The idea of "research" on the double-plait bolts had seemed like a good one at one in the morning, but now it was starting to look as if she may have sabotaged herself. She wanted to get to Drake Mallard's house before he left for work, whenever that might be, and so she was going to have to hurry.

Her shower was necessarily quick, and as she dashed around her house getting dressed she rehearsed and revised what she'd say. "Mr. Mallard, I know this is unexpected, but we like to be very efficient at Bindler's." That sounded okay, but she could do better.

"We go the extra step for our customers!" she told her reflection as she paused before brushing her teeth. "That was really good. More like that. Um..." She thought, squeezing the toothpaste tube absently, and ended up with about a triple serving of toothpaste on her brush. "Ack! Gross!"

Her hair was dry enough. She brushed it fifty times, swept it forward over her shoulders, pushed it back, tied it with a barrette, and finally pulled it back in a ponytail. She thought about her bangs, if she should try parting them a different way; but when she pushed them around, no matter what she tried they just looked fluffy and shapeless, so she combed them with her fingers back to the way they always were.

She couldn't seem to sit still, so she wandered back into the living room, then picked up the bolt and examined it. Double-plait bolts were so *odd* looking, she couldn't quite figure out whose idea they had been. They all came with a standard curve to the body of the bolt, which made them incredibly specialized; surely no one would think of designing anything that would need a bolt like this unless the bolt already existed, so it wasn't as if they'd been created to fill a specific need.

What if he'd already found one? Could he have found one since eleven o'clock the night before? That seemed unlikely. She tried to imagine what he would say when she presented the bolt to him. Would he be grateful? Would he be impressed with her dedication? Maybe he'd just be relieved that whatever it was he needed the bolt for would finally be finished. Maybe he'd tell her all about what it was. If he didn't tell her, maybe she should ask, to show that she was interested. She looked in the mirror and smiled, trying to find the shape or look that was most becoming to her face. "You really don't owe me anything," she said quietly, modestly, to her reflection. "I could tell this was important to you, so I thought it was a good idea to rush. Oh, no, I couldn't possibly take any money. ...Dinner? Well... Gosh, this is so unexpected..."

She thought seriously, for a moment or two, about tying a bow around it and putting it in a little box. It seemed like a great, fun idea for about three seconds, and then she suddenly realized that it was a crazy idea and that if she did it, he would think she was insane. She'd probably look like she worked in a hardware store out of a simple love of hardware, which was nothing like the case.

The clock told her that it was eight past seven. She needed to get going. She looked all over her kitchen table for Drake Mallard's address and phone number, finally found it under a book of local street maps, and remembered that she hadn't written out her directions yet. Thank goodness, he lived on a street that was only about twenty minutes' walk away from her! It was so coincidental that it seemed almost preordained.

She grabbed the bolt, her bag, and a jacket, and with her heart thudding in her chest, she scurried out the door.

***

The month of September was not generally among Gosalyn Mallard's favourite months, for various reasons, but it did have a few things going for it. Baseball and soccer were both in full season, which was a plus since it meant there was usually *something* on TV, and even the obvious downside - returning to school - was a little offset by getting to catch up with some friends who you usually lost touch with over the summer.

etc...