Asides

Today’s word is shoogle. It means to shake, sway, jiggle. This isn’t the first time the word shoogle has appeared on my site. I used it in a Genre Scribes piece called Program, and seeing as I’d used it before, I thought why the hell don’t I do the whole bit in Scots. Here it is:

Martin preeset Enter oan the keyboard an waitit.

Naethin.

The screen bid as black as the Earl o Hell’s waistcoat, nae nithin tae beir thit the program wis aiven rinnin.

Is wisnae the time fur a seestem feck oop. Aathing wis timed doon tae the let saicont; gin hit didnae conform tae the ploy, he micht as weel aet a bullit richt noo.

The lichts oan the seestem server unit glentit reids an oranges.

Shite.

He rax oot an gied the external drive a shoogle. The lichts chynged tae green. Martin slid doon the wa an pecht.

A ongae bar ootcomed oan the screen, echty-seeven percent deen. He chackit heez watch; time wis rinnin oot fest—the gaird’s yokin chynge wis gey near ower.

The door-check it the en o the passage graint. Martin jeelt. The gaird wis airlie. Martin harlt oot the gun he hid doon heez breeks. Whit why did he brockt a gun? He wisnae graitht tae uise hit. He wisnae a murtherer—weel, nae by chice.

And now in English.

Martin pressed Enter on the keyboard and waited.

Nothing.

The screen remained pitch black, nothing to signify that the program was even running. 

This was not the time for a system fuck up. Everything was timed down to the last second; if it didn’t run according to the plan, he might as well eat a bullet right now.

The lights on the server unit flashed reds and oranges.

Shit.

He reached up and shook the external drive the man had given him side-to-side. The lights changed to flickering green. Martin slumped against the wall and blew out a breath.

A progress bar appeared on the screen, eighty-seven percent done. He checked his watch; time was running out fast—the guard’s shift change was almost over.

The door at the end of the corridor groaned. Martin froze. The guard was early. Martin pulled out the gun he had tucked into his waistband. Why the hell did he bring a gun? He wasn’t prepared to use it. He wasn’t a killer—well, not by choice.

Today’s word is nicht. It means night. I was a wee bit short of time today and ended up stealing from Running The Asset‘s first draft. Anyway, here’s my response to the prompt:

“Five meenits intae the op an she ort the script. She’s nae got ony upbring tae dae whit she did the nicht. Gin ye hidnea makit thit ca, A’m gey sicker we’d be harlin hir oot the Mediterranean.” Ward shakit heez heid.

Adam didnae hae time fur is. “She did whit hid tae be duin.”

“Thit’s whit A’m feart o. Let time thit didnae pan oot tae weel fur ye.”

Adam’s chaft tichtent.

“Dinnae bither wae the coongerin luik, ye ken A’m richt.” He smirked, “An ye ken fine weel, A’ll boot yer erse fur ye.”

“Ay, richt sae ye wull.” 

And now in English.

“Five minutes into the op and she ditched the script. She’s got no training to do what she did tonight. If you hadn’t made that call, I’m pretty sure we’d be fishing her out of the Mediterranean.” Ward shook his head.

Adam didn’t have time for this. “She did what had to be done.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. Last time that didn’t pan out too well for you.”

Adam’s jaw clenched.

“Don’t bother with the intimidation look, you know I’m right.” He smiled,“And you know well enough that I’ll kick your arse.”

“Yes, sure you can.”