john_amend_all

Lifted from

List the first five (or so) lines of your last 20 stories (or however many you have altogether. WIPs count). See if there are any patterns.

Achlys:

"John!"

Doctor Seward, who had been hanging back at the entrance of the vault, jumped as the stake and mallet were thrust into his hands.

"What is it?" he asked.

Van Helsing was glancing about nervously. "I cannot be sure. I thought— somebody outside— I must see we are not disturbed." He gripped Seward's arm. "You must do it, John. Drive the stake into her heart without delay."
Apate:

"Inspector."

Inspector Neele detached his attention from the fire brigade's battle with the flames engulfing the top floor of The Pines, and turned his attention to the young woman standing beside him. Mary Dove looked somewhat less self-controlled than was her wont; she was wearing a mackintosh thrown hastily over her nightdress, her hair was hanging loose, and there was a smear of soot on her cheek.

"I thought you'd like to know everybody's accounted for," she said.
Aedos:

The Doctor gave Lucie a startled look, as if she'd asked why humans dropped unconscious every twenty-four hours.

"It's just a matter of politeness. A willingness to show the Papal Mainframe that we don't have anything to hide. It's not so different from people in your time taking their hats off when they go into church — or monks shaving their heads."

"And I'm not doing that either," Lucie said firmly.
Andromeda:

Ray supposed it was very mythological, being chained to a rock waiting for something unpleasant to slither out of the sea and eat you. Perhaps in the years and centuries ahead, people might paint pictures of her, or bards might relate her tale on cold winter evenings. But from the point of view of the person in the chains, the situation had little to recommend it. Her wrists and ankles ached where the manacles held them to the rock; her clothes, soaked with cold spray, clung to her uncomfortably; and, of course, if someone didn't do something she'd very soon be sliding down a sea-monster's throat.
Love in the Air:

"Anything interesting?" Tegan asked.

Nyssa looked up from her microscope. "You remember that souvenir shop on Egerina?"

"Of course." When one was used to leaving a planet with extreme haste to avoid awkward questions about who'd be paying for the damage, a sedate departure via a gift shop tended to stick in the memory. "What did you buy?"
In the Picture:

"I still can't believe you talked me into this," Lucie said.

Karen looked around the innocuous hospitality suite. "Come on, it's just an interview. It's not like you're getting pushed under a bus or something."

"And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Lucie grimaced. "Look, acting in your stupid film's one thing. But you didn't say anything about telling lies to the press as well."
Post Mortem:

A sombre air had hung over the village ever since the news had come through of the 'accident' at the camp. In such a small village, it was inevitable that almost everybody had been touched in some way or other by the disaster. Everybody had known the half-dozen Home Guard men reported killed, not to mention the Reverend Wainwright, Miss Hardaker, and the two young evacuees billeted on her.

Annie had been familiar, to a greater or lesser degree, with all the aforementioned people. She'd also had a budding friendship with one of the Marines from the camp, Edward by name. Since the dreadful day of the 'accident', she'd been living more or less by rote, trying to find busywork to stop herself thinking.
Lest He Die In Battle:

"Hey, what's an erk doing in here?"

Steven had been sitting quietly in the corner of the Sontaran's Head, but looked up sharply at the sound of Gunner Hawkins' voice. He knew that tone; it was one that was usually heard shortly before some sort of trouble kicked off.

And, sure enough, trouble looked as if it was on its way. A young woman, perhaps twenty years old, dressed in the grey tunic of a technician, was glaring defiantly at Hawkins and a couple of his fellow troublemakers.
False Arrest:

At the sensation of a hand falling on her shoulder, Lucie jumped, nearly losing her grip on the sonic screwdriver.

"You're nicked," a familiar, perky voice said.

Lucie swung round. "Karen?"

"You have the right to remain silent," Karen said. "And unless you've got anything nice to say, that's what you'd just better do."
Third Time Pays For All:

"Heavens, whatever is the matter with everybody today?" Lucy Weston asked, looking at the expression on her best friend's face. "Mina, are you quite well?"

"I am well," Mina said. But her expression gave the lie to her words; she looked haunted, almost grief-stricken. "Lucy, what is the date today?"

"The seventeenth, of course." Lucy took Mina's hand. "Doctor Seward asked me the same question. What have the two of you been doing?"
Enemy Action:

"I do not pigging believe this," Lucie said, trying to scrape lemon drizzle cake off her blouse with her free hand.

"You seem upset," G'Kar said. He certainly didn't, despite having far more cake and far fewer clothes about his person.

"Too right I'm upset! This happens to me all the sodding time!" Lucie scowled. "Someone's got to be doing it on purpose."
Ghost:

"Can you describe the woman?" Adam asked.

Georgie closed her eyes, to aid recollection. "She was a short girl with dark hair. Wearing an old style green dress, like someone in a play. And carrying a bunch of keys."
Werewolf:

Mags clambered to her feet and wiped her mouth.

"Well done, my girl," Captain Cook said, sounding as if he might have been praising a dog for retrieving a thrown stick. "Come along, now."
Vampire:

Mina glanced around guiltily, though the night and fog blanketing the churchyard were ample to conceal her from the sharpest of prying eyes. Her own eyes seemed to be adapting to the dark; she hardly needed the flickering jack o'lantern to find her way to the Weston family vault.
Zombie:

"Who's this?" Ashildr asked, stepping out of the diner's back room.

Clara made shushing gestures at her. "Not important!" She turned back to the Doctor. "No! I don't have any children! And there's no point coming back later, because I can't have them! I'm..." She waved her hands wildly. "Undead!"
All in the Best Possible Taste:

"Has he seen it?" Georgie asked, casually.

Simms didn't look up from transferring cupcakes and other delicacies from their patty-pans to a pyramidal rack. "Has he not, miss. And I'm sure you can guess his opinion."
Designated Driver:

"You all right back there?" Ace called over her shoulder.

"We're fine," Martha said. "You're all right, aren't you, Jamie?"

"Aye, I think so." Jamie was holding her tightly, though Martha wasn't sure whether that was supposed to be for her protection or his. She wasn't complaining, either way.
Making (Hard) Light Of It:

"There is no pain," Lucy murmured, her mouth inches from Mina's neck. "Only desire..."

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the graveyard. Lucy collapsed, her body twitching, her lips drawing back to reveal her long fangs.

"Nasty business," a man's voice said. Mina tore her eyes away from Lucy — from what had been Lucy — to see a tall, blond stranger, clad in a strange silver jacket that glinted in the moonlight.
Language Transparency:

"Nyss?" Tegan asked, stopping in the doorway and looking at the neat stacks of books. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorting my books," Nyssa said mildly. "Alphabetically by author, mostly."

Tegan picked her way between the stacks and looked at bottom two shelves of the bookcase, the only ones currently populated. "Are these the ones you've done?"
Making the Bed:

"Miss Jones," Adam remarked, "it would appear that somebody — for what purpose I cannot begin to fathom — has left half a hundredweight of lumber in your flat."

"That's what you're here for," Georgina said patiently. "It's a Swedish flat-packed luxury double bed. I bought it at Peter Jones."

Adam gave the stack of timber another look. "A most reputable department store; at least, that is how I recall it. And yet they dare to pass this off as an item of furniture?"