End of Week One

So. I'm running behind on words, but I like where the story is going so far. Here are a few bits and bobs from it:

“You wouldn’t.”
“I would. Don’t you care that someone’s child is sitting in our kitchen sink?”

“I’m not going to ask you to break oaths for me. Just stick with us as long as you can, huh? I think this is going to take a lot of the skills you have to offer.”

Liam screeched and dropped the bag, putting as much distance as possible between it and him in a strange, hopping sort of movement. He stood at the other side of the little kitchen and made noises like an affronted cat, occasionally pointing at the bag, or at Rheese.

“Or dangling from some unmentionable height.”
“Ugh. By my toes, probably.”
“That’s hardly original. I was thinking…your tongue, maybe. That serves as a way to hang you and a way to keep you from complaining about it.”

“Behind the artist in the throes of inspiration,” he murmured, pushing a mass of egg and vegetable to one side of the pan and flipping it over. “Looks like he likes the egg. That was a serious artsy look. Something good will come out of it, just you watch.”

Isn't my brain a strange place?