Well, today I saw "All the Great Books (abridged)" with one of my good friends (alias Peanut Butter). When we arrived at my school (which is where the show is), we saw two of my other good friends (whose aliases are Genius and Jillibean).
If you've ever seen anything by the Reduced Shakespeare Company, this is basically in the same vein - it was, after all, written by the people at the Reduced Shakespeare Company. What made it funnier was that I knew all of the three actors in it. It was HILARIOUS! I think Genius's laugh contributed a LOT to the humor. If you've never heard his laugh, I suggest you meet him and bring some funny jokes. His laugh sounds (in the best way possible), like a mad scientist inhaled helium before doing his Evil Manic Laugh. It's perhaps the best laugh I have ever heard anyone do. AND it's his natural laugh, which is even funnier - if he inhaled helium before doing it, he would sound like... I don't know, really. Even FUNNIER, most likely. Like a character on MarioKart or something - Mario, Wario or Luigi, maybe. Or maybe Yoshi. I'm not sure - I don't remember Yoshi's laugh off the top of my head.
Anyway, I suggest you go see it. Tomorrow's the last night!!!
Friday, October 8, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
NOOO!!!!!!!!!
Well, I was just looking up the NaNoWriMo rules just now.....
you can't pick up old stuff. Apparently that's against the rules because you're too attached to the characters to write in the screwiest way possible, which is the point of NaNoWriMo.
Which means I have to come up with a new premise for a ROMANCE NOVEL.
I can write romantic scenes.
I can't do 50,000 words of them.
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
you can't pick up old stuff. Apparently that's against the rules because you're too attached to the characters to write in the screwiest way possible, which is the point of NaNoWriMo.
Which means I have to come up with a new premise for a ROMANCE NOVEL.
I can write romantic scenes.
I can't do 50,000 words of them.
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
GAAH!!!
Well, as usually happens in the fall/ whenever I get 5000-ish words done of a story, I now have writer's block. BUT this time it's in TWO tangents. Great. One's for the Nikita story - I have no idea where I'm going, and I have no idea why. Anyway, you have two more (okay, one and a half more) segments to read before you catch up to where I am on the saved document, so there's no chance that people could help for another two weeks.
The second writer's block I actually have time (as in a month) to think about before I have to start working on it, but I want to think about it ahead of time so I can be not brain-dead when I try to go and finish it up for NaNoWriMo. It's the story that I put in the last post. SO please everybody read it, and then comment on THIS POST (or on Facebook, if you're friends with me on Facebook) to tell me your suggestions. And hopefully I'll be able to kick down my annoying writer's block using my awesome fictional ninja skills. HOORAY!! (by the way, I cannot actually use my potential ninja skills to break cement blocks. I wish I could, but I can't.)
The second writer's block I actually have time (as in a month) to think about before I have to start working on it, but I want to think about it ahead of time so I can be not brain-dead when I try to go and finish it up for NaNoWriMo. It's the story that I put in the last post. SO please everybody read it, and then comment on THIS POST (or on Facebook, if you're friends with me on Facebook) to tell me your suggestions. And hopefully I'll be able to kick down my annoying writer's block using my awesome fictional ninja skills. HOORAY!! (by the way, I cannot actually use my potential ninja skills to break cement blocks. I wish I could, but I can't.)
Monday, October 4, 2010
Cassidy+Damian
Well, I don't have a bit of the Nikita story for you today. This is due to the fact that I don't have to turn in the usual stuff this week (long story), and I don't want to get super confuzzled about when the updates go up/ when stuff gets counted and stuff. So that's the reasoning for that. More to come next week!
HOWEVER, a lot of my friends have been asking me whether I've worked on a story that I was working on over the summer and showed a lot of them. And I know I told you (if you're reading this) that I wasn't going to post it until November, but since a lot of you have asked about it, and I've e-mailed it out to a couple of people once I typed some up, but not everyone has seen the typed version (stuff sometimes happens in the translation from paper to computer). So here is the Cassidy and Damian story that a lot of people that I met over the summer have read.
Memo to creative writing teacher: This isn't for my 100 points!
So here it is. :D
It was very hard to like Prince Damian of Erianland when I was entirely predisposed not to. The thing is, at age five, I already knew I would have to marry him. My father, the king of Choracert, which was right next to Erianland, had told me so. I wasn’t happy about it.
At age five, we girls sometimes do hope to marry. But I was worried that I would have to right away, and when I was assured that I wouldn’t have to for many years, I was determined to find something else wrong with the matter. I always enjoyed my freedom, and I didn’t like the fact that my father was insisting that he and I go to a faraway land (my mother being deceased in childbirth, the gods rest her soul) to meet my fair prince every single summer. When I was finally talked into going, I was still inclined to hate the place.
Damian was an only child of a single mother. When we finally rode into the palace on June 1st (I was still cursing the place in my head, but remembering the little etiquette I knew and not saying any of it aloud), I thought it was a rather dismal place, although the sun was shining and the place was lively. My eyes found each crack in the stone walls, saw all the ivy crawling untamed in the inner courtyard, and noticed every fault of each face turned my way.
Damian himself was far from my mental picture of my ideal ‘fair prince’. He was a arrogant sort of figure, with dark hair the color of the deepest layer of dirt (the kind the worms liked), brown eyes in a shade that reminded me of a pile of sick I’d seen one time (the person’s sick was brown, for some reason), freckles under his eyes and across his nose (which turned up slightly at the end), and an expression that was full of a resentment that matched my own. I could tell that our only common quality for many years would be our mutual dislike.
The next thing I knew, I’d been lifted off my pony and forced to curtsy, first to Queen Lilia and then to Prince Damian. I hated the part I knew was coming: when his disgusting, sweaty hand took mine and his scratchy lips pressed for a moment against my knuckles.
That action sealed the contract: we were bound to hate each other every year from the beginning of June until the end of August, revenge consisting of pranks and attempted avoidance and all-around hatred. The first crime was that kiss. I was able to stomp on Damian’s foot as we entered the castle. The next day, Damian tripped down the main staircase. After that, I slipped on a wet floor, but caught myself easily.
When I was six, Damian’s tree house was covered in pink and yellow smiley faces and peace signs (it had been a dark forest green before), and my possessions were scattered around my room later that day. When I was seven, Damian’s horse went rampant and it took hours to get him under control. Damian couldn’t think of any sort of revenge for that.
On and on it went, each trying to outdo the other. Private wrestling matches were held. I won a fair few. Races on horseback (with me in trousers and riding astride) were won by me also. Archery, sports, pranks, tricks, bruises, cuts, pain, humiliation, defeat, revenge, and victory all could be used to describe my summers (on my side, that is). Although I was a princess, I refused to act like one. Fights were won by using resources and facing your enemies straight on, not cowering in the corner like a sissy. I wore men’s clothes constantly to remind Damian that although I was a girl, I was not to be treated as a fragile creature (and also to remind my ladies-in-waiting of that).
I must make clear that the private war that was executed between Damian and me was strictly for crimes that the other had committed; it had nothing to do with either of our parents. In fact, I was sure for a long time that neither my father nor Queen Lilia knew of the secret conflict between their children. In fact, I’m glad that Queen Lilia didn’t know of the rivalry, nor did she seem to take it personally if she did: when I was thirteen, I began my monthly bleeding, and if it hadn’t been for her, I would have been humiliated beyond belief for my panic at finding blood on my underpants. The secret war continued for many long years. When we were ten, Damian pulled his cousin Martin into the deal. Martin was a boy from the town who wasn’t exactly smart, but at least caused the numbers to shift greatly in Damian’s favor. I was still able to take on two boys in a battle of wits and strength, and came out the stronger of it. My favorite remark to Damian and Martin was, “Take THAT!” I also said it to them as often as possible, though Martin seemed to always take particular offense to it whenever I did. He seemed to think I was cheating somehow, when, I think, he just couldn’t accept that I was smarter than him and Damian both, and that he, Martin, was just the one who did the dirty work. I was glad when he finally left our midst to run a fief down south.
When I was seventeen, it all changed.
The war had become less physical and more of a battle of wits. I hadn’t dared not to wear pants constantly, just in case. I did care about clothes, but I cared in the sense of “oh, my shirt is ripped. I’m going to fix it tonight,” instead of just letting it be. I did not like wearing what most girls called “flattering clothes” – corsets, bodices, high shoes. I called them ‘elements of torture.’
Although I’d started puberty at the age of thirteen, Damian didn’t start growing until fourteen. If I’d met him for the first time at age fifteen, I might have thought him mildly attractive; but, having grown up with him trying to humiliate me every summer, I still saw him as a brat who had often tripped me on the stairs. At sixteen, the war was waning, but I still rode astride a horse and wore pants more than skirts (though I did grow my copper-colored hair to my waist and braided it every day, something I considered practical but girly). Although Damian was learning some manners, I still believed it to be a false pretense when he was speaking in this polite manner to me.
At age seventeen, I was forced to ride in a carriage in a dress, corset, AND high shoes all the way to Erianland. It was tedious, but I spent the time going over my new pranks in my head and relishing the thought of the look on Damian’s face when he found out that his rival could seduce him… and then hurt him. I greatly enjoyed that idea, and strongly considered using it, until I remembered that I never really understood how one seduces people. It probably had something to do with my ungainly height – I had stopped growing when I was fifteen, and that left me at five foot eight (which was three inches taller than the next girl, who seemed to be on the arm of a different boy each week).
Damian and I had been forced, ever since the age of fourteen, to share a few minutes of civil conversation with nobody else around before the Secret War recommenced. It was a difficult time for both of us, because we didn’t want to sound weak or awkward, but we also didn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression (rather, the correct impression, but also the impression that nobody would approve of), should they come in and find us giving each other mutinous looks and shooting insults.
This summer began no differently. I was shoved unceremoniously through one door by my father. I was usually able to catch myself fairly easily, to make it look like I had simply forgotten that there was a slight bump in the threshold as a doorstop. Today, however, I was in a floor length dress that my father had, on no uncertain terms, threatened to murder me if I messed it up. I was also wearing shoes that were three inches taller than I was used to. The shoes, too, had to be returned at the end of the summer in pristine condition over pain of death and eternal mutilation. Between the dress and the shoes, pretending to forget the doorstop that day was not as easy as it normally was. I stumbled upon entrance, as usual, and stepped forward to catch my balance. My foot caught in the skirt of the dress (which was very large, by the way), and I stumbled almost to the floor, my back somehow turning downward. I would have hit the floor had it not been that I had also nearly run into someone during my unsuccessful entrance, and it was that someone who caught me at about their waist level.
This all happened in a matter of moments, and it took a few more seconds to remember why I was being held several feet above the ground and how it was that I had gotten there. When everything was put back into place in my head, I looked up at the person who’d caught me, intending to arise from their grasp in as graceful a manner as I could manage, thank them civilly, and continue on my merry way. Well, that ended up not working.
First of all, I was unable to rise from the person’s grasp because they’d already set me on my feet. I couldn’t thank them civilly because this person turned out to be Damian, and it was against our unspoken creed for either of us to thank the other for anything in a civil manner unless in the company of our elders. I was also incapable of continuing on my merry way – my merry way had just turned rather dour at the sight of Damian and my way wasn’t taking me anywhere, since I had reached my destination. Things being as they were, I inclined my head and curtsied formally.
“Nice entrance,” Damian said, smirking.
“You didn’t have to catch me,” I retorted, glaring.
“And let a lady fall?” he said amicably. He couldn’t be serious! He’d have been delighted to let me fall. “Of course I had to.”
“And what about the summers of the past?” I snapped. “Are you saying that it’s time I forgot you were rude and humiliated me at every opportunity?”
“No,” Damian said. “Although it would be nice if you did.”
“I’m not saying what either of us did was right, but this is out of character for you,” I told him. “One would expect that you just laugh as I tripped ungainly through the door.”
“What, you didn’t honestly think I was going to stay a puny little monster forever, did you?” Damian replied, laughing slightly.
“No. I thought you’d grow into a tall, annoying monster at some point.” Damian was now almost four inches taller than me now (with the shoes), and I wasn’t happy about it.
“Of course, I’d never expect you to wear a dress around here after the age of five, and here you are, looking like a right and proper lady.”
“Was that a compliment?” I demanded.
“You’ve heard of the concept of flattery, then?” Damian answered, smirking again.
“I have indeed,” I said. “But I never thought I’d hear it from you.”
“So are you surprised I’ve changed?”
“Naturally. I’m also beginning to wonder why you’ve suddenly decided to play nice.”
“I wasn’t intending to,” Damian said, “But then you entered, and chivalry intervened.”
“Because I’m wearing a dress.”
“And you tripped over it.”
“And you suddenly decided that it was high time you played Prince Charming?”
“Well, it seemed appropriate, as you seemed to be a distressing damsel.”
“I’m a self-rescuing princess, Damian,” I snapped.
“Whatever you say,” he muttered.
The situation was saved by the servant coming to tell us that each parent wanted to see the other’s child. At this point, we would normally look at each other, smile a bit, and walk to the door as dignified as we could manage without actually touching each other (aside from some toes being trod on and some shoulders being bumped to off-balance each other). This year, Damian bowed and offered me his arm. I gave him a look as I took it. Although he had begun to act more princely, Damian would always seem to me to be the irksome boy who tripped me whenever someone had just finished mopping the floors.
So began the summer of differentness. For one thing, there were a lot fewer pranks. For another, Damian actually was being nice to me. Martin had gone off to be the leader of a fief down south, so we didn’t see him very often. Instead, Damian began to help me with riding and archery instead of hinder me – teaching me how to ride bareback and how to shoot a double arrow from a longbow, things like that. Soon my suspicion decreased as we became friends for the first time.
Of course, there were the times when I did prank him for time’s sake, like the times when we went fishing and I pushed him into the water. Of course, the next time we went fishing, it would be me who got pushed into the water, but then I would ask him to ‘help a lady out of the water’ and then pull him in after me.
“You know, you are incredibly clumsy for a princess,” Damian said on a fishing day (it was my turn to fall into the water).
“Why, thanks,” I replied. “I try.”
As we went onto the banks to get our dry clothes (we were in such a habit of knocking each other into the water that a spare change of clothes was always on the packing list), Damian asked, “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
“Shove you in the lake,” I said without hesitation.
Damian kept asking questions like that over the next few weeks, and I threatened him with being shot with multiple arrows, making my horse kick him off his horse, wearing my three-inch shoes and kicking him in the face with them, or tripping him on the stairs… again.
Eventually, though, I began to wonder why I was threatening him with pain if he kissed me. I began to pay a little more attention to him. He was really nice, after all, and nobody had ever really been willing to teach me how to shoot. I started noticing the little things – how he always inclined his head slightly whenever he was listening to me, as if he was actually thinking about what I was saying. He also kept good eye contact and, I noticed, his eyes were actually a rather pretty shade of chocolate-y brown. I started to wonder what it would be like to be kissed. I’d never really thought about it before.
One day, Damian was working with me again on archery. I was an impeccable shot now; I don’t know why I still practiced and why I still asked for his advice.
Damian stood a ways back as I strung two arrows.
“Now, hold that,” Damian said, circling around my back. I obeyed. I sensed his presence very close to mine. “Use your back muscles, Cassidy. Shoulder blades and the lower back.” The areas tensed automatically. “Good,” he murmured. “And bring this hand a little farther back…” he guided my right hand, which was holding the arrows, back a little farther past my jaw. “Perfect,” he said. “And release…”
I released the arrows. They hit the exact middle of the target. I lowered my bow, my shoulders and right-hand fingers aching from holding the longbow (which was almost as tall as me) during Damian’s drawn-out critique.
“Very good, Cassidy,” Damian murmured in my ear. I could feel the warmth coming off his body, but I didn’t turn. My free right hand was suddenly filled by Damian’s fingers. I instinctively moved away, intending to put my bow in the upright stand by the shooting line, but just as I reached it, my arm reached its full length, and Damian hadn’t let go of my hand. I put the bow in the stand and turned to look at Damian.
“What?” I asked. My voice was suddenly quiet.
“You’re beautiful when you shoot,” he whispered, his eyes locking on mine.
“Thank you,” I murmured, moving towards him again, my eyes not leaving his.
“What would you do,” Damian asked quietly, “If I kissed you right now?”
I hesitated for a moment. “Why don’t you try and find out?” I replied.
“No pain?”
“That’s debatable.”
Damian was still holding my hand. I could still vaguely feel the tension of the bowstring on the inner joints of my fingers, but that was in the way back of my brain.
I’d never been this close to anybody before.
His eyes were still on mine. His right hand was on my waist; my left was on his shoulder.
The fading sunset flickered off the side of his face.
He leaned down. My left hand was on the back of his neck. Damian’s hand had let go of mine. His entire arm was around my waist. My right hand was on his arm.
I could feel his breath on my face.
My brain closed down and went fuzzy.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t sure about a lot of things. Would that kiss mean we’d HAVE to marry, just like it had meant we’d HAVE to hate each other when we were five?
Was it SUPPOSED to feel like that when you kissed someone?
There was no denying that I was now hopelessly in love with Damian. Just saying his name made some little firework go off in my head.
But I’d seen some of the girls in Choracert, who swooned every time they were looked at by a boy who was mildly attractive. Would I have to join their ranks, now that I knew exactly how they felt?
I tossed and turned for hours, sleep constantly evading me. It came into my grasp once, and dreamed I was at a princess detention center, being punished for the crime of falling in love. Everyone’s spirit was broken, even mine.
I woke up with a start. It was almost dawn. I decided I’d go for a walk, since I couldn’t rest. I changed into my day clothes – male ones – and slipped my little two-blade knife into my pocket. I tugged on my dad’s old plaid button-down shirt, but didn’t bother doing the buttons over my sleeveless undershirt – I was most likely the only one awake to see the indecency. I decided not to put on my shoes. Just as I walked out my bedroom door and turned to go downstairs, I felt a hand slip around my waist and another over my mouth. Another pair of rough, calloused hands tied something over my eyes in a strong knot. I began to fight the hands that held me, but as hard as I tried to stomp on the person’s feet, kick them in a sensitive area, or wriggle out of their grasp, they would not let go.
After several seconds of me writhing, kicking, and attempting to pry away their rough, strong hands, the second person knocked me over the head with something hard, and I guess I fell unconscious, because I don’t remember anything that happened for a while.
When I regained consciousness, my body awareness had completely changed. I was far closer to the ground – my head was about three feet above the soil now – and my butt seemed to extend back behind my head. As I rose to my feet, it felt like I was on my hands and knees, but my back end was unnaturally far away from my front. Looking behind me, I saw that I had a tail. My mouth seemed to have more teeth, and my head seemed smaller and my neck seemed longer. I also felt like I was covered with fur.
Once I’d got my bearings, I began looking around. I was on a beach of a fairly large lake. Across the water was an enormous castle with about a million turrets and watch towers silhouetted against the darkening sky. On my side of the lake, there were several paths that led into a wooded area that had clearings every few feet.
Since I was completely confused about my appearance, I walked over to the water, or at least I started to. The way my muscles were moving was weird, and that is why I halted – it was as if I were using all of my guts to walk, instead of just my hips. I was also walking on four legs instead of two, and claws that extended from my legs dug into the ground as I walked.
Shaking myself, I began to move forward again. I was about to look into the water when I heard a small, timid voice behind me.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” it said. I turned. Behind me, a mouse cowered atop a very large Labrador of some sort.
“Um… what?” I was amazed to find that my vocal cords were still functioning normally, or at least how I was used to them functioning.
“Don’t look into the water,” said the dog in a deep masculine voice that didn’t sound old, but it was definitely past puberty. “You’ll summon Morlessor if you do.”
“Who’s Morlessor?” I wondered.
“He’s the wizard,” the mouse squeaked in a high, female voice. “He’s the reason I’m a mouse and Jake’s a dog and you’re a big, scary, spotted cat.”
“I’m a what?”
“I’m not sure, honestly,” Jake said. “I’ve seen drawings and pictures of big cats, but none of what you are. The closest thing I could say is a leopard, but leopards don’t have shadow lines and they have splotches, not spots, and they don’t have rings on their tails. They’re also a bit bigger, I think, and they don’t have electric blue eyes.”
“Why am I a big, unidentified form of cat?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” the mouse squeaked. “Morlessor has his reasons, which I don’t want to find out.”
“Maya’s a mouse because she’s always nervous,” Jake explained. “And I’m a Labrador because I’m apparently really loyal and such.”
“But why are we here?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Maya said. “Morlessor wanted me for my father’s land. He’s lord of a duchy, you see. At first he held a ransom, but then he decided that since I’m old enough to get married, he’d do that instead and inherit the land legally. But I’ve always said no because I really don’t want someone like that being a lord over anything.” She looked terrified that she had actually insulted someone.
“I tried to save her,” Jake added. “I was on my way to becoming a knight when she went missing. We were best friends growing up, and I was always really protective of her because she’s so shy that she used to get picked on. But Morlessor knew I was coming and now we’re both incapable of leaving the castle grounds after dark. It’s part of the curse.”
“What are the standards of the curse, exactly?”
“We’re animals during the daylight hours, but when the moon clears this horizon, we become human no matter where we are,” Jake explained. “We can go anywhere as animals, but if we’re off the grounds after moonrise, we’ll become human, but we won’t be able to speak, move, or see.”
“We change back at dawn, regardless of where we are,” Maya continued. “If we’ve stayed on the grounds through the night, we’ll retain a human part of our brains, like now. But if we’ve strayed and become frozen, we’ll be completely animal when we turn back. I’ll be completely mouse, Jake will only have the instincts of a dog, and your mind will be completely that of a big, ferocious-looking cat-type thing.”
“How does one break the curse, exactly?” I asked next.
“I have no idea,” they said as one.
“Yes, well, I do know the way to break this little spell,” said a voice behind me that sounded oddly familiar. “But I feel it necessary for the captives to see the true forms of their companions, don’t you?”
I looked east, where the moon was rising over a corner of the lake. Maya immediately leapt off of Jake’s back as bright light surrounded each of us. I could feel my back end coming forward, my front end going up, and my limbs changing size and proportion and shape as I turned back into a human. I was slightly dizzy when it was all over.
When I regained my senses, I realized that I was barefoot and my dad’s shirt was missing, leaving my shoulders practically bare. My knife was still in my pocket, however, and my belt was still on (for which I was EXTREMELY grateful).
I turned to face Morlessor, and when I did, I received a slight shock.
“MARTIN?!?”
“The name is Morlessor, darling,” he replied, an irritated note in his voice. Since when did Martin talk like he was better than he actually was, and since when did he ever have the nerve to call a girl darling? It was true that he’d lost a lot of weight, started practicing magic, and donned all-black attire; complete with cape and cool-looking hat, but Martin was still Martin – Damian’s dimwitted sidekick, klutz of the century, and irritation extraordinaire. The fact that he fancied himself to be a charmingly evil wizard was pathetic. I didn’t like him as a pudgy, irritating, good-for-nothing nuisance, but I don’t think putting him in a position of authority was going to do any good for anybody.
“Martin, what have you done to yourself?” I asked.
“Oh, you’ve noticed?” he said easily. “I was hoping you would.”
“Just because I’ve noticed doesn’t mean I like it,” I pointed out. “And the more important question is, why have you got Maya and Jake AND me here all at the same time?”
“Well, funny you should ask,” Martin replied. “The lovely Maya is with us because her father can’t pay her ransom, and she still refuses to marry me, which is our alternative to the payment. Our good friend Jacob is in attendance because of the crazy little thing called love that drives us all mad, and Maya has got him going bonkers. Since I couldn’t have him publicizing the fact that I’m not actually running a fief down here, I’ve had to curse him, too.
“You, however, are a different case. Unlike Maya, you are bait – something to lure another something here in order to be caught, not just to be exchanged for money or days or time like our friends here.”
“Damian,” I said.
“Precisely.”
“Why?”
“Because he has something that I want, darling,” Martin replied.
“The kingdom?”
“The kingdom,” he agreed. “And, as we are cousins and I am the oldest living relative on his father’s side, once precious Damian is out of the way, Erianland will be MINE!”
“You’re raving,” I announced.
“That’s a matter of opinion, darling,” he answered.
“No, Martin, it is a gosh-darn fact,” I snapped. “And stop calling me ‘darling.’ It’s getting on my nerves. You also haven’t told us how to get out of this curse yet, either.”
“I’m not telling,” Martin said tenaciously. I had a sudden flashback to Martin, Age Eleven, after a horse race: after seeing that I’d won by a long shot, he simply reined in his horse halfway to the finish line and said I’d cheated, simply because he was a bad rider and I was lighter than he was.
“Martin, if you don’t tell I swear I’ll…”
“The love of another will end your stay, and a monster you both must slay, although they may not stay for long, the bonds of love must still be strong,” he recited.
“So why haven’t Jake and Maya been freed yet?” I demanded.
“It’s supposed to be friend love, not romantic love,” he told me unenthusiastically. “And, regrettably, those two have the wrong kind.”
“Right,” I muttered.
“That’s not the only solution,” Martin said. “The alternative solution would be if Maya married me and her land would therefore be mine, or if you married me and your land would therefore be mine, and either Jake or our beloved Damian’s hearts would be broken and they would be desperate. Of course, your situation would be more ideal, because when you have a heartbroken prince; it’s a lot easier to take over a country.”
“Well, I’m not going to marry you,” I said stubbornly.
“Well, if you don’t, then you’re stuck here,” Martin snapped.
“Well, fine then,” I shot back. “I can get out without your worthless breath down my neck, thank you very much.”
“I’m sure you will, just as you cheated your way through every summer when we were young,” Martin sneered. “Which reminds me – your animal is a cheetah, because you are the biggest cheater I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”
“And you make the worst puns that I have ever had the misfortune to come across,” I retorted. “You’re nothing but an angry little man, aren’t you?” Come to think of it, he was rather short – I towered over him by almost a head and a half.
“An angry little man with power!” he cried.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Martin…” I slapped him hard across the face. “Now, get out of here.”
“Oh, it’s payback time,” he cackled under his breath.
I think this is the longest post I've done in quite a while... wow...
Anyway, PLEASE COMMENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!!
HOWEVER, a lot of my friends have been asking me whether I've worked on a story that I was working on over the summer and showed a lot of them. And I know I told you (if you're reading this) that I wasn't going to post it until November, but since a lot of you have asked about it, and I've e-mailed it out to a couple of people once I typed some up, but not everyone has seen the typed version (stuff sometimes happens in the translation from paper to computer). So here is the Cassidy and Damian story that a lot of people that I met over the summer have read.
Memo to creative writing teacher: This isn't for my 100 points!
So here it is. :D
It was very hard to like Prince Damian of Erianland when I was entirely predisposed not to. The thing is, at age five, I already knew I would have to marry him. My father, the king of Choracert, which was right next to Erianland, had told me so. I wasn’t happy about it.
At age five, we girls sometimes do hope to marry. But I was worried that I would have to right away, and when I was assured that I wouldn’t have to for many years, I was determined to find something else wrong with the matter. I always enjoyed my freedom, and I didn’t like the fact that my father was insisting that he and I go to a faraway land (my mother being deceased in childbirth, the gods rest her soul) to meet my fair prince every single summer. When I was finally talked into going, I was still inclined to hate the place.
Damian was an only child of a single mother. When we finally rode into the palace on June 1st (I was still cursing the place in my head, but remembering the little etiquette I knew and not saying any of it aloud), I thought it was a rather dismal place, although the sun was shining and the place was lively. My eyes found each crack in the stone walls, saw all the ivy crawling untamed in the inner courtyard, and noticed every fault of each face turned my way.
Damian himself was far from my mental picture of my ideal ‘fair prince’. He was a arrogant sort of figure, with dark hair the color of the deepest layer of dirt (the kind the worms liked), brown eyes in a shade that reminded me of a pile of sick I’d seen one time (the person’s sick was brown, for some reason), freckles under his eyes and across his nose (which turned up slightly at the end), and an expression that was full of a resentment that matched my own. I could tell that our only common quality for many years would be our mutual dislike.
The next thing I knew, I’d been lifted off my pony and forced to curtsy, first to Queen Lilia and then to Prince Damian. I hated the part I knew was coming: when his disgusting, sweaty hand took mine and his scratchy lips pressed for a moment against my knuckles.
That action sealed the contract: we were bound to hate each other every year from the beginning of June until the end of August, revenge consisting of pranks and attempted avoidance and all-around hatred. The first crime was that kiss. I was able to stomp on Damian’s foot as we entered the castle. The next day, Damian tripped down the main staircase. After that, I slipped on a wet floor, but caught myself easily.
When I was six, Damian’s tree house was covered in pink and yellow smiley faces and peace signs (it had been a dark forest green before), and my possessions were scattered around my room later that day. When I was seven, Damian’s horse went rampant and it took hours to get him under control. Damian couldn’t think of any sort of revenge for that.
On and on it went, each trying to outdo the other. Private wrestling matches were held. I won a fair few. Races on horseback (with me in trousers and riding astride) were won by me also. Archery, sports, pranks, tricks, bruises, cuts, pain, humiliation, defeat, revenge, and victory all could be used to describe my summers (on my side, that is). Although I was a princess, I refused to act like one. Fights were won by using resources and facing your enemies straight on, not cowering in the corner like a sissy. I wore men’s clothes constantly to remind Damian that although I was a girl, I was not to be treated as a fragile creature (and also to remind my ladies-in-waiting of that).
I must make clear that the private war that was executed between Damian and me was strictly for crimes that the other had committed; it had nothing to do with either of our parents. In fact, I was sure for a long time that neither my father nor Queen Lilia knew of the secret conflict between their children. In fact, I’m glad that Queen Lilia didn’t know of the rivalry, nor did she seem to take it personally if she did: when I was thirteen, I began my monthly bleeding, and if it hadn’t been for her, I would have been humiliated beyond belief for my panic at finding blood on my underpants. The secret war continued for many long years. When we were ten, Damian pulled his cousin Martin into the deal. Martin was a boy from the town who wasn’t exactly smart, but at least caused the numbers to shift greatly in Damian’s favor. I was still able to take on two boys in a battle of wits and strength, and came out the stronger of it. My favorite remark to Damian and Martin was, “Take THAT!” I also said it to them as often as possible, though Martin seemed to always take particular offense to it whenever I did. He seemed to think I was cheating somehow, when, I think, he just couldn’t accept that I was smarter than him and Damian both, and that he, Martin, was just the one who did the dirty work. I was glad when he finally left our midst to run a fief down south.
When I was seventeen, it all changed.
The war had become less physical and more of a battle of wits. I hadn’t dared not to wear pants constantly, just in case. I did care about clothes, but I cared in the sense of “oh, my shirt is ripped. I’m going to fix it tonight,” instead of just letting it be. I did not like wearing what most girls called “flattering clothes” – corsets, bodices, high shoes. I called them ‘elements of torture.’
Although I’d started puberty at the age of thirteen, Damian didn’t start growing until fourteen. If I’d met him for the first time at age fifteen, I might have thought him mildly attractive; but, having grown up with him trying to humiliate me every summer, I still saw him as a brat who had often tripped me on the stairs. At sixteen, the war was waning, but I still rode astride a horse and wore pants more than skirts (though I did grow my copper-colored hair to my waist and braided it every day, something I considered practical but girly). Although Damian was learning some manners, I still believed it to be a false pretense when he was speaking in this polite manner to me.
At age seventeen, I was forced to ride in a carriage in a dress, corset, AND high shoes all the way to Erianland. It was tedious, but I spent the time going over my new pranks in my head and relishing the thought of the look on Damian’s face when he found out that his rival could seduce him… and then hurt him. I greatly enjoyed that idea, and strongly considered using it, until I remembered that I never really understood how one seduces people. It probably had something to do with my ungainly height – I had stopped growing when I was fifteen, and that left me at five foot eight (which was three inches taller than the next girl, who seemed to be on the arm of a different boy each week).
Damian and I had been forced, ever since the age of fourteen, to share a few minutes of civil conversation with nobody else around before the Secret War recommenced. It was a difficult time for both of us, because we didn’t want to sound weak or awkward, but we also didn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression (rather, the correct impression, but also the impression that nobody would approve of), should they come in and find us giving each other mutinous looks and shooting insults.
This summer began no differently. I was shoved unceremoniously through one door by my father. I was usually able to catch myself fairly easily, to make it look like I had simply forgotten that there was a slight bump in the threshold as a doorstop. Today, however, I was in a floor length dress that my father had, on no uncertain terms, threatened to murder me if I messed it up. I was also wearing shoes that were three inches taller than I was used to. The shoes, too, had to be returned at the end of the summer in pristine condition over pain of death and eternal mutilation. Between the dress and the shoes, pretending to forget the doorstop that day was not as easy as it normally was. I stumbled upon entrance, as usual, and stepped forward to catch my balance. My foot caught in the skirt of the dress (which was very large, by the way), and I stumbled almost to the floor, my back somehow turning downward. I would have hit the floor had it not been that I had also nearly run into someone during my unsuccessful entrance, and it was that someone who caught me at about their waist level.
This all happened in a matter of moments, and it took a few more seconds to remember why I was being held several feet above the ground and how it was that I had gotten there. When everything was put back into place in my head, I looked up at the person who’d caught me, intending to arise from their grasp in as graceful a manner as I could manage, thank them civilly, and continue on my merry way. Well, that ended up not working.
First of all, I was unable to rise from the person’s grasp because they’d already set me on my feet. I couldn’t thank them civilly because this person turned out to be Damian, and it was against our unspoken creed for either of us to thank the other for anything in a civil manner unless in the company of our elders. I was also incapable of continuing on my merry way – my merry way had just turned rather dour at the sight of Damian and my way wasn’t taking me anywhere, since I had reached my destination. Things being as they were, I inclined my head and curtsied formally.
“Nice entrance,” Damian said, smirking.
“You didn’t have to catch me,” I retorted, glaring.
“And let a lady fall?” he said amicably. He couldn’t be serious! He’d have been delighted to let me fall. “Of course I had to.”
“And what about the summers of the past?” I snapped. “Are you saying that it’s time I forgot you were rude and humiliated me at every opportunity?”
“No,” Damian said. “Although it would be nice if you did.”
“I’m not saying what either of us did was right, but this is out of character for you,” I told him. “One would expect that you just laugh as I tripped ungainly through the door.”
“What, you didn’t honestly think I was going to stay a puny little monster forever, did you?” Damian replied, laughing slightly.
“No. I thought you’d grow into a tall, annoying monster at some point.” Damian was now almost four inches taller than me now (with the shoes), and I wasn’t happy about it.
“Of course, I’d never expect you to wear a dress around here after the age of five, and here you are, looking like a right and proper lady.”
“Was that a compliment?” I demanded.
“You’ve heard of the concept of flattery, then?” Damian answered, smirking again.
“I have indeed,” I said. “But I never thought I’d hear it from you.”
“So are you surprised I’ve changed?”
“Naturally. I’m also beginning to wonder why you’ve suddenly decided to play nice.”
“I wasn’t intending to,” Damian said, “But then you entered, and chivalry intervened.”
“Because I’m wearing a dress.”
“And you tripped over it.”
“And you suddenly decided that it was high time you played Prince Charming?”
“Well, it seemed appropriate, as you seemed to be a distressing damsel.”
“I’m a self-rescuing princess, Damian,” I snapped.
“Whatever you say,” he muttered.
The situation was saved by the servant coming to tell us that each parent wanted to see the other’s child. At this point, we would normally look at each other, smile a bit, and walk to the door as dignified as we could manage without actually touching each other (aside from some toes being trod on and some shoulders being bumped to off-balance each other). This year, Damian bowed and offered me his arm. I gave him a look as I took it. Although he had begun to act more princely, Damian would always seem to me to be the irksome boy who tripped me whenever someone had just finished mopping the floors.
So began the summer of differentness. For one thing, there were a lot fewer pranks. For another, Damian actually was being nice to me. Martin had gone off to be the leader of a fief down south, so we didn’t see him very often. Instead, Damian began to help me with riding and archery instead of hinder me – teaching me how to ride bareback and how to shoot a double arrow from a longbow, things like that. Soon my suspicion decreased as we became friends for the first time.
Of course, there were the times when I did prank him for time’s sake, like the times when we went fishing and I pushed him into the water. Of course, the next time we went fishing, it would be me who got pushed into the water, but then I would ask him to ‘help a lady out of the water’ and then pull him in after me.
“You know, you are incredibly clumsy for a princess,” Damian said on a fishing day (it was my turn to fall into the water).
“Why, thanks,” I replied. “I try.”
As we went onto the banks to get our dry clothes (we were in such a habit of knocking each other into the water that a spare change of clothes was always on the packing list), Damian asked, “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
“Shove you in the lake,” I said without hesitation.
Damian kept asking questions like that over the next few weeks, and I threatened him with being shot with multiple arrows, making my horse kick him off his horse, wearing my three-inch shoes and kicking him in the face with them, or tripping him on the stairs… again.
Eventually, though, I began to wonder why I was threatening him with pain if he kissed me. I began to pay a little more attention to him. He was really nice, after all, and nobody had ever really been willing to teach me how to shoot. I started noticing the little things – how he always inclined his head slightly whenever he was listening to me, as if he was actually thinking about what I was saying. He also kept good eye contact and, I noticed, his eyes were actually a rather pretty shade of chocolate-y brown. I started to wonder what it would be like to be kissed. I’d never really thought about it before.
One day, Damian was working with me again on archery. I was an impeccable shot now; I don’t know why I still practiced and why I still asked for his advice.
Damian stood a ways back as I strung two arrows.
“Now, hold that,” Damian said, circling around my back. I obeyed. I sensed his presence very close to mine. “Use your back muscles, Cassidy. Shoulder blades and the lower back.” The areas tensed automatically. “Good,” he murmured. “And bring this hand a little farther back…” he guided my right hand, which was holding the arrows, back a little farther past my jaw. “Perfect,” he said. “And release…”
I released the arrows. They hit the exact middle of the target. I lowered my bow, my shoulders and right-hand fingers aching from holding the longbow (which was almost as tall as me) during Damian’s drawn-out critique.
“Very good, Cassidy,” Damian murmured in my ear. I could feel the warmth coming off his body, but I didn’t turn. My free right hand was suddenly filled by Damian’s fingers. I instinctively moved away, intending to put my bow in the upright stand by the shooting line, but just as I reached it, my arm reached its full length, and Damian hadn’t let go of my hand. I put the bow in the stand and turned to look at Damian.
“What?” I asked. My voice was suddenly quiet.
“You’re beautiful when you shoot,” he whispered, his eyes locking on mine.
“Thank you,” I murmured, moving towards him again, my eyes not leaving his.
“What would you do,” Damian asked quietly, “If I kissed you right now?”
I hesitated for a moment. “Why don’t you try and find out?” I replied.
“No pain?”
“That’s debatable.”
Damian was still holding my hand. I could still vaguely feel the tension of the bowstring on the inner joints of my fingers, but that was in the way back of my brain.
I’d never been this close to anybody before.
His eyes were still on mine. His right hand was on my waist; my left was on his shoulder.
The fading sunset flickered off the side of his face.
He leaned down. My left hand was on the back of his neck. Damian’s hand had let go of mine. His entire arm was around my waist. My right hand was on his arm.
I could feel his breath on my face.
My brain closed down and went fuzzy.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t sure about a lot of things. Would that kiss mean we’d HAVE to marry, just like it had meant we’d HAVE to hate each other when we were five?
Was it SUPPOSED to feel like that when you kissed someone?
There was no denying that I was now hopelessly in love with Damian. Just saying his name made some little firework go off in my head.
But I’d seen some of the girls in Choracert, who swooned every time they were looked at by a boy who was mildly attractive. Would I have to join their ranks, now that I knew exactly how they felt?
I tossed and turned for hours, sleep constantly evading me. It came into my grasp once, and dreamed I was at a princess detention center, being punished for the crime of falling in love. Everyone’s spirit was broken, even mine.
I woke up with a start. It was almost dawn. I decided I’d go for a walk, since I couldn’t rest. I changed into my day clothes – male ones – and slipped my little two-blade knife into my pocket. I tugged on my dad’s old plaid button-down shirt, but didn’t bother doing the buttons over my sleeveless undershirt – I was most likely the only one awake to see the indecency. I decided not to put on my shoes. Just as I walked out my bedroom door and turned to go downstairs, I felt a hand slip around my waist and another over my mouth. Another pair of rough, calloused hands tied something over my eyes in a strong knot. I began to fight the hands that held me, but as hard as I tried to stomp on the person’s feet, kick them in a sensitive area, or wriggle out of their grasp, they would not let go.
After several seconds of me writhing, kicking, and attempting to pry away their rough, strong hands, the second person knocked me over the head with something hard, and I guess I fell unconscious, because I don’t remember anything that happened for a while.
When I regained consciousness, my body awareness had completely changed. I was far closer to the ground – my head was about three feet above the soil now – and my butt seemed to extend back behind my head. As I rose to my feet, it felt like I was on my hands and knees, but my back end was unnaturally far away from my front. Looking behind me, I saw that I had a tail. My mouth seemed to have more teeth, and my head seemed smaller and my neck seemed longer. I also felt like I was covered with fur.
Once I’d got my bearings, I began looking around. I was on a beach of a fairly large lake. Across the water was an enormous castle with about a million turrets and watch towers silhouetted against the darkening sky. On my side of the lake, there were several paths that led into a wooded area that had clearings every few feet.
Since I was completely confused about my appearance, I walked over to the water, or at least I started to. The way my muscles were moving was weird, and that is why I halted – it was as if I were using all of my guts to walk, instead of just my hips. I was also walking on four legs instead of two, and claws that extended from my legs dug into the ground as I walked.
Shaking myself, I began to move forward again. I was about to look into the water when I heard a small, timid voice behind me.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” it said. I turned. Behind me, a mouse cowered atop a very large Labrador of some sort.
“Um… what?” I was amazed to find that my vocal cords were still functioning normally, or at least how I was used to them functioning.
“Don’t look into the water,” said the dog in a deep masculine voice that didn’t sound old, but it was definitely past puberty. “You’ll summon Morlessor if you do.”
“Who’s Morlessor?” I wondered.
“He’s the wizard,” the mouse squeaked in a high, female voice. “He’s the reason I’m a mouse and Jake’s a dog and you’re a big, scary, spotted cat.”
“I’m a what?”
“I’m not sure, honestly,” Jake said. “I’ve seen drawings and pictures of big cats, but none of what you are. The closest thing I could say is a leopard, but leopards don’t have shadow lines and they have splotches, not spots, and they don’t have rings on their tails. They’re also a bit bigger, I think, and they don’t have electric blue eyes.”
“Why am I a big, unidentified form of cat?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” the mouse squeaked. “Morlessor has his reasons, which I don’t want to find out.”
“Maya’s a mouse because she’s always nervous,” Jake explained. “And I’m a Labrador because I’m apparently really loyal and such.”
“But why are we here?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Maya said. “Morlessor wanted me for my father’s land. He’s lord of a duchy, you see. At first he held a ransom, but then he decided that since I’m old enough to get married, he’d do that instead and inherit the land legally. But I’ve always said no because I really don’t want someone like that being a lord over anything.” She looked terrified that she had actually insulted someone.
“I tried to save her,” Jake added. “I was on my way to becoming a knight when she went missing. We were best friends growing up, and I was always really protective of her because she’s so shy that she used to get picked on. But Morlessor knew I was coming and now we’re both incapable of leaving the castle grounds after dark. It’s part of the curse.”
“What are the standards of the curse, exactly?”
“We’re animals during the daylight hours, but when the moon clears this horizon, we become human no matter where we are,” Jake explained. “We can go anywhere as animals, but if we’re off the grounds after moonrise, we’ll become human, but we won’t be able to speak, move, or see.”
“We change back at dawn, regardless of where we are,” Maya continued. “If we’ve stayed on the grounds through the night, we’ll retain a human part of our brains, like now. But if we’ve strayed and become frozen, we’ll be completely animal when we turn back. I’ll be completely mouse, Jake will only have the instincts of a dog, and your mind will be completely that of a big, ferocious-looking cat-type thing.”
“How does one break the curse, exactly?” I asked next.
“I have no idea,” they said as one.
“Yes, well, I do know the way to break this little spell,” said a voice behind me that sounded oddly familiar. “But I feel it necessary for the captives to see the true forms of their companions, don’t you?”
I looked east, where the moon was rising over a corner of the lake. Maya immediately leapt off of Jake’s back as bright light surrounded each of us. I could feel my back end coming forward, my front end going up, and my limbs changing size and proportion and shape as I turned back into a human. I was slightly dizzy when it was all over.
When I regained my senses, I realized that I was barefoot and my dad’s shirt was missing, leaving my shoulders practically bare. My knife was still in my pocket, however, and my belt was still on (for which I was EXTREMELY grateful).
I turned to face Morlessor, and when I did, I received a slight shock.
“MARTIN?!?”
“The name is Morlessor, darling,” he replied, an irritated note in his voice. Since when did Martin talk like he was better than he actually was, and since when did he ever have the nerve to call a girl darling? It was true that he’d lost a lot of weight, started practicing magic, and donned all-black attire; complete with cape and cool-looking hat, but Martin was still Martin – Damian’s dimwitted sidekick, klutz of the century, and irritation extraordinaire. The fact that he fancied himself to be a charmingly evil wizard was pathetic. I didn’t like him as a pudgy, irritating, good-for-nothing nuisance, but I don’t think putting him in a position of authority was going to do any good for anybody.
“Martin, what have you done to yourself?” I asked.
“Oh, you’ve noticed?” he said easily. “I was hoping you would.”
“Just because I’ve noticed doesn’t mean I like it,” I pointed out. “And the more important question is, why have you got Maya and Jake AND me here all at the same time?”
“Well, funny you should ask,” Martin replied. “The lovely Maya is with us because her father can’t pay her ransom, and she still refuses to marry me, which is our alternative to the payment. Our good friend Jacob is in attendance because of the crazy little thing called love that drives us all mad, and Maya has got him going bonkers. Since I couldn’t have him publicizing the fact that I’m not actually running a fief down here, I’ve had to curse him, too.
“You, however, are a different case. Unlike Maya, you are bait – something to lure another something here in order to be caught, not just to be exchanged for money or days or time like our friends here.”
“Damian,” I said.
“Precisely.”
“Why?”
“Because he has something that I want, darling,” Martin replied.
“The kingdom?”
“The kingdom,” he agreed. “And, as we are cousins and I am the oldest living relative on his father’s side, once precious Damian is out of the way, Erianland will be MINE!”
“You’re raving,” I announced.
“That’s a matter of opinion, darling,” he answered.
“No, Martin, it is a gosh-darn fact,” I snapped. “And stop calling me ‘darling.’ It’s getting on my nerves. You also haven’t told us how to get out of this curse yet, either.”
“I’m not telling,” Martin said tenaciously. I had a sudden flashback to Martin, Age Eleven, after a horse race: after seeing that I’d won by a long shot, he simply reined in his horse halfway to the finish line and said I’d cheated, simply because he was a bad rider and I was lighter than he was.
“Martin, if you don’t tell I swear I’ll…”
“The love of another will end your stay, and a monster you both must slay, although they may not stay for long, the bonds of love must still be strong,” he recited.
“So why haven’t Jake and Maya been freed yet?” I demanded.
“It’s supposed to be friend love, not romantic love,” he told me unenthusiastically. “And, regrettably, those two have the wrong kind.”
“Right,” I muttered.
“That’s not the only solution,” Martin said. “The alternative solution would be if Maya married me and her land would therefore be mine, or if you married me and your land would therefore be mine, and either Jake or our beloved Damian’s hearts would be broken and they would be desperate. Of course, your situation would be more ideal, because when you have a heartbroken prince; it’s a lot easier to take over a country.”
“Well, I’m not going to marry you,” I said stubbornly.
“Well, if you don’t, then you’re stuck here,” Martin snapped.
“Well, fine then,” I shot back. “I can get out without your worthless breath down my neck, thank you very much.”
“I’m sure you will, just as you cheated your way through every summer when we were young,” Martin sneered. “Which reminds me – your animal is a cheetah, because you are the biggest cheater I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”
“And you make the worst puns that I have ever had the misfortune to come across,” I retorted. “You’re nothing but an angry little man, aren’t you?” Come to think of it, he was rather short – I towered over him by almost a head and a half.
“An angry little man with power!” he cried.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Martin…” I slapped him hard across the face. “Now, get out of here.”
“Oh, it’s payback time,” he cackled under his breath.
I think this is the longest post I've done in quite a while... wow...
Anyway, PLEASE COMMENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!!
Friday, October 1, 2010
helloz!
Yes, I know. I haven't posted in FOREVER. Because I've had homework. And also homework. And did I mention I've had homework, some of which I should be doing now? Some of it's nice. Like creative writing. YAY CREATIVE WRITING! But some of it isn't fun, like having to re-read a lot of stuff (aka all the photocopied-from-the-textbook packets we have been given since school started. Which is a lot.) for an AP test and a separately graded essay, both of which will take place on Monday. And some precalc homework - a pre-test and some problems in the book, also to prepare for a test. So far, all the tests I've had/ will have to do have been on either a Monday or a Wednesday. WEIRDNESS! Mind you, counting the ones next week, that would only be three tests. And a couple of precalc quizzes. And stuff. So... yeah. What's new with you, world?
Also, I have my GOLD AWARD PROJECT tomorrow! AAAHHH! Potential Item of Significance: I had my first one-on-one meeting with my Gold Award Mentor on February 2nd. Tomorrow is October 2nd. Eight Months to the day since I started working on it. Weirdness? That has yet to be seen.
Also, I have my GOLD AWARD PROJECT tomorrow! AAAHHH! Potential Item of Significance: I had my first one-on-one meeting with my Gold Award Mentor on February 2nd. Tomorrow is October 2nd. Eight Months to the day since I started working on it. Weirdness? That has yet to be seen.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Nikita Part Three: I CAN TALK TO TREES?
Chapter 2
I felt stupid that I hadn’t anticipated the potential dangers of the Silvercourt Forest. Something in my head – the part that had grown up knowing the way of life on a farm where the only danger was the heat and the birds – had not made the connection that a forest of trees was far different from a forest of wheat, barley, corn, and beans, and that a forest of trees would actually be capable of growing tall enough and spaced out enough to hide things aside from me. The coward bit of my head wanted to turn back NOW, go home NOW, and make some lame excuse to Mum about having gone into town with a few coins to try and get some new seeds or something. I had actually turned around and had begun working on the seed story some more, and had exited the shade of the trees, when I heard a whisper.
It wasn’t a very loud whisper by any means; in fact, I wouldn’t have noticed it if a small shiver of energy hadn’t sped through the ground beneath my feet. It wasn’t as if the earth were about to split in two beneath my feet; in fact, it felt like the same sort of shiver of energy I felt when new seeds germinated – a tense, expectant sort of “HI! HERE I AM!” type of energy.
The whisper, I knew intuitively, had come from the trees. It had said, softly but firmly, “Stop.”
I halted. Nothing like this had every happened before, especially not with any wheat, barley, corn, or bean plants.
“What?” I murmured, surprised at what had just happened.
“Stay,” the trees rustled. I think, to anyone else, it would have appeared that the trees were being affected by a wind that the fields did not experience. “We’ve never met anyone like you in a long time.”
“You can… talk?” I asked, turning around.
“We have always been able to speak,” an oak said. She sounded about my age. I don’t know how I knew she was an oak; I wasn’t even sure I was looking at the right tree, but I was pretty sure she was the one with the knot on her left side, my right, that kind of looked like a face. “But it has been a long time since we have met someone with the power to Listen.”
“How long has it been, exactly?” I wondered.
“We cannot say,” a nearby, deep-voiced poplar replied. “Time does not pass for us the same way that it does for you.”
“We can guarantee that it has been a very long time indeed since we have been able to converse with a two-leg,” the oak said.
“We had nearly given up hope,” an ash said in a fast, frontal accent. Now, I realized, the three trees with which I was communicating stood in a rough semi-circle in front of me. It was rather bizarre to thing that I had never actually seen a real tree and now I was talking to three of them.
“We have nearly met the fate of the Forgotten Glen,” the Oak murmured sadly.
“What happened at the Forgotten Glen?” I wondered.
“Nothing,” The poplar rumbled. “That is the sad thing.”
“None of the two-legs who could Listen went there for centuries,” the Oak murmured. “That’s why we began calling it the Forgotten Glen, you see, because eventually, no two-leg went there. It is in one of the oldest parts of the forest where the roots run deep, and where, as the rumors have it, the darkest creatures creep. But now the trees there are quiet, and they cannot speak to anyone, not even to murmur amongst themselves. They have gone into a sleep that it is close to impossible to wake up from. You cannot speak. You cannot move. You cannot grow. You just sit there, like some basic garden plant.”
“It is happening slowly, all over the forest,” the Ash admitted wearily. “Lately, however, patches of the forest have fallen silent even though a group of two-legs went by recently. The forest is not dying, just falling silent. That is the sadder thing to watch.”
“Who is doing this?” I wondered. It felt like my motives for finding Sparraben – I didn’t know why I felt so strongly about it, I was just sure that I had to act. “And why?”
“It is a dark wizard,” rumbled the Poplar, “Sonru.”
The name hit a bell in my head. “Sonru?” I repeated. “Wasn’t he killed at the end of the Crystal Wars?”
“The Crystal Wars are far from over,” murmured the Ash. “They’ve only just begun. That was the first battle. The next, I fear, may be coming soon.”
“Sonru was not killed at the end of the first encounter,” the Poplar explained, “just dissipated. He is gaining strength, bit by bit. He has already found a new body, and he is now drawing energy from the wood to fuel his new army. He must be stopped. The fate of the wood depends on it.”
This news was slightly shocking. I didn’t even know that trees could talk, and now they were telling me that something had to be done about some crazy wizard guy that I’d thought had died. Surely Grampa hadn’t expected this.
Or maybe he had!
“Grampa knew,” I said aloud, the little pieces finally coming together in my head. “He knew which is why he told me I had to go to meet – and then bring her – and that’s why I had to know! Because he knew I could talk to you! And… and…” Excitement was rushing through my body, suddenly invigorating me and restoring the energy I hadn’t known I’d lost.
“Do you think this child has lost it?” the Ash wondered to the other two. “She looks a bit young to be losing it, for a two-leg. But you never know.”
“No, I haven’t lost it,” I assured him giddily. “I’ve only just realized what’s been going on! What can you tell me about Sparraben of Lianland?”
“Sparraben of Lianland?” the Oak scoffed. “He resides near here. Although he cannot Listen as you can, he can understand what many humans cannot. But he’s long gone.”
“What do you mean, he’s long gone?” I demanded. “He hasn’t left?”
“No, he’s still here,” the Oak said. “But he’s not right in the head.”
“In fact, he hasn’t gone anywhere in about ten of your years,” The Poplar offered. “Only leaves his hut to go find food. Then sits inside yet again and broods. Hasn’t spoken to anybody in years, I believe. He was a rather nice chap a few years back, right until the end of the First Crystal War. Always went around with a respect for the forest. He used our shadows and whispered thanks whenever he killed something, things like that. Now he just sits in his cabin and shoots a bit of game, picks a few berries. Never bothers to go out and smell the sap, these days. Sad, really.”
“Well, where does he live? Maybe I can talk to him,” I suggested.
“I doubt it,” the Oak replied. “He won’t talk to anyone. We’ve tried.”
“Do you think that might have anything to do with the fact that he probably can’t understand what you’re saying?”
I felt stupid that I hadn’t anticipated the potential dangers of the Silvercourt Forest. Something in my head – the part that had grown up knowing the way of life on a farm where the only danger was the heat and the birds – had not made the connection that a forest of trees was far different from a forest of wheat, barley, corn, and beans, and that a forest of trees would actually be capable of growing tall enough and spaced out enough to hide things aside from me. The coward bit of my head wanted to turn back NOW, go home NOW, and make some lame excuse to Mum about having gone into town with a few coins to try and get some new seeds or something. I had actually turned around and had begun working on the seed story some more, and had exited the shade of the trees, when I heard a whisper.
It wasn’t a very loud whisper by any means; in fact, I wouldn’t have noticed it if a small shiver of energy hadn’t sped through the ground beneath my feet. It wasn’t as if the earth were about to split in two beneath my feet; in fact, it felt like the same sort of shiver of energy I felt when new seeds germinated – a tense, expectant sort of “HI! HERE I AM!” type of energy.
The whisper, I knew intuitively, had come from the trees. It had said, softly but firmly, “Stop.”
I halted. Nothing like this had every happened before, especially not with any wheat, barley, corn, or bean plants.
“What?” I murmured, surprised at what had just happened.
“Stay,” the trees rustled. I think, to anyone else, it would have appeared that the trees were being affected by a wind that the fields did not experience. “We’ve never met anyone like you in a long time.”
“You can… talk?” I asked, turning around.
“We have always been able to speak,” an oak said. She sounded about my age. I don’t know how I knew she was an oak; I wasn’t even sure I was looking at the right tree, but I was pretty sure she was the one with the knot on her left side, my right, that kind of looked like a face. “But it has been a long time since we have met someone with the power to Listen.”
“How long has it been, exactly?” I wondered.
“We cannot say,” a nearby, deep-voiced poplar replied. “Time does not pass for us the same way that it does for you.”
“We can guarantee that it has been a very long time indeed since we have been able to converse with a two-leg,” the oak said.
“We had nearly given up hope,” an ash said in a fast, frontal accent. Now, I realized, the three trees with which I was communicating stood in a rough semi-circle in front of me. It was rather bizarre to thing that I had never actually seen a real tree and now I was talking to three of them.
“We have nearly met the fate of the Forgotten Glen,” the Oak murmured sadly.
“What happened at the Forgotten Glen?” I wondered.
“Nothing,” The poplar rumbled. “That is the sad thing.”
“None of the two-legs who could Listen went there for centuries,” the Oak murmured. “That’s why we began calling it the Forgotten Glen, you see, because eventually, no two-leg went there. It is in one of the oldest parts of the forest where the roots run deep, and where, as the rumors have it, the darkest creatures creep. But now the trees there are quiet, and they cannot speak to anyone, not even to murmur amongst themselves. They have gone into a sleep that it is close to impossible to wake up from. You cannot speak. You cannot move. You cannot grow. You just sit there, like some basic garden plant.”
“It is happening slowly, all over the forest,” the Ash admitted wearily. “Lately, however, patches of the forest have fallen silent even though a group of two-legs went by recently. The forest is not dying, just falling silent. That is the sadder thing to watch.”
“Who is doing this?” I wondered. It felt like my motives for finding Sparraben – I didn’t know why I felt so strongly about it, I was just sure that I had to act. “And why?”
“It is a dark wizard,” rumbled the Poplar, “Sonru.”
The name hit a bell in my head. “Sonru?” I repeated. “Wasn’t he killed at the end of the Crystal Wars?”
“The Crystal Wars are far from over,” murmured the Ash. “They’ve only just begun. That was the first battle. The next, I fear, may be coming soon.”
“Sonru was not killed at the end of the first encounter,” the Poplar explained, “just dissipated. He is gaining strength, bit by bit. He has already found a new body, and he is now drawing energy from the wood to fuel his new army. He must be stopped. The fate of the wood depends on it.”
This news was slightly shocking. I didn’t even know that trees could talk, and now they were telling me that something had to be done about some crazy wizard guy that I’d thought had died. Surely Grampa hadn’t expected this.
Or maybe he had!
“Grampa knew,” I said aloud, the little pieces finally coming together in my head. “He knew which is why he told me I had to go to meet – and then bring her – and that’s why I had to know! Because he knew I could talk to you! And… and…” Excitement was rushing through my body, suddenly invigorating me and restoring the energy I hadn’t known I’d lost.
“Do you think this child has lost it?” the Ash wondered to the other two. “She looks a bit young to be losing it, for a two-leg. But you never know.”
“No, I haven’t lost it,” I assured him giddily. “I’ve only just realized what’s been going on! What can you tell me about Sparraben of Lianland?”
“Sparraben of Lianland?” the Oak scoffed. “He resides near here. Although he cannot Listen as you can, he can understand what many humans cannot. But he’s long gone.”
“What do you mean, he’s long gone?” I demanded. “He hasn’t left?”
“No, he’s still here,” the Oak said. “But he’s not right in the head.”
“In fact, he hasn’t gone anywhere in about ten of your years,” The Poplar offered. “Only leaves his hut to go find food. Then sits inside yet again and broods. Hasn’t spoken to anybody in years, I believe. He was a rather nice chap a few years back, right until the end of the First Crystal War. Always went around with a respect for the forest. He used our shadows and whispered thanks whenever he killed something, things like that. Now he just sits in his cabin and shoots a bit of game, picks a few berries. Never bothers to go out and smell the sap, these days. Sad, really.”
“Well, where does he live? Maybe I can talk to him,” I suggested.
“I doubt it,” the Oak replied. “He won’t talk to anyone. We’ve tried.”
“Do you think that might have anything to do with the fact that he probably can’t understand what you’re saying?”
Monday, September 27, 2010
Star Wars Tidbits!
Okay, since I'm SUCH a nerd, I sometimes go onto Star Wars Actors' IMDB pages. Today I looked at Ian McDiarmid's, and this is what I found in his 'trivia' section:
In an odd twist of fate, he [Ian McDiarmid] played an elderly, disfigured Emperor Palpatine in Star Wars: Episode VI - Return of the Jedi (1983), and then went on to play a younger version of that character, some 20 years later, in the Star Wars prequels.
(the first of the prequels came out in 1999, and I THOUGHT he sounded the same as the original person who played Palpatine when I saw it a few weekends ago. Now I know why...)
Weirdness? Yes.
Extra levels of Awesomeness awarded to Ian McDiarmid? OF COURSE!
The weird thing is, though, I have been raised to appreciate Star Wars, and I'm only finding out this stuff NOW. I have GROWN UP with this stuff. "The Phantom Menace" came out when I was five, and the first time I remember seeing any of them was when I was about seven, with one of the originals. I remember the Yoda and Luke scene in the swamp of the Degobah system, but I more distinctly remember seeing the pod race at my uncle's house when I was around seven or eight. The only one I HAVEN'T seen is 'Revenge of the Sith.' It came out when I was around twelve, but I was kind of freaked out by the previews, and I just never got around to it.
And I also have to leave now.
Goodbye.
In an odd twist of fate, he [Ian McDiarmid] played an elderly, disfigured Emperor Palpatine in Star Wars: Episode VI - Return of the Jedi (1983), and then went on to play a younger version of that character, some 20 years later, in the Star Wars prequels.
(the first of the prequels came out in 1999, and I THOUGHT he sounded the same as the original person who played Palpatine when I saw it a few weekends ago. Now I know why...)
Weirdness? Yes.
Extra levels of Awesomeness awarded to Ian McDiarmid? OF COURSE!
The weird thing is, though, I have been raised to appreciate Star Wars, and I'm only finding out this stuff NOW. I have GROWN UP with this stuff. "The Phantom Menace" came out when I was five, and the first time I remember seeing any of them was when I was about seven, with one of the originals. I remember the Yoda and Luke scene in the swamp of the Degobah system, but I more distinctly remember seeing the pod race at my uncle's house when I was around seven or eight. The only one I HAVEN'T seen is 'Revenge of the Sith.' It came out when I was around twelve, but I was kind of freaked out by the previews, and I just never got around to it.
And I also have to leave now.
Goodbye.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Etsy and homework
I forgot to say this yesterday or Friday, but I FINALLY SET UP AN ETSY!!!! My Etsy name is knit8. The story behind that is that since I learned to KNIT when I was EIGHT, I can be knit8. Ha ha ha. Anyway, I only have one thing listed - the yellow scarf I mentioned earlier. It's posted as $20. You should check it out. More to come from the knits department. Just not yet. (it's got to be finished first.). YAY!!!
Anyway, in other news, I woke up early this morning to charge the video camera for this homeless walk this afternoon. And I still haven't done that. I probably should... Anyway, it's going to be a long day, which was why I was miserable all of Friday afternoon. I had to do a LONG film shoot on Friday (about 1:45 to around 5:30), which took up my only free block in which to do homework that afternoon, and since I was to spend ALL day at the Renn Fest yesterday, and since I would have all of NO time today, I had to do it all on Friday. Which sucked. But I also set up my Etsy. At ten pm. And that was really annoying.
BUT it's done. HOORAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, in other news, I woke up early this morning to charge the video camera for this homeless walk this afternoon. And I still haven't done that. I probably should... Anyway, it's going to be a long day, which was why I was miserable all of Friday afternoon. I had to do a LONG film shoot on Friday (about 1:45 to around 5:30), which took up my only free block in which to do homework that afternoon, and since I was to spend ALL day at the Renn Fest yesterday, and since I would have all of NO time today, I had to do it all on Friday. Which sucked. But I also set up my Etsy. At ten pm. And that was really annoying.
BUT it's done. HOORAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Another Story!!
My friend and I went to the Renn Fest today. It was a LOT of fun. Afterwards, we came home and had dinner, and then we sat down and finished writing this story, which we had started before dinner. It initially started as a sentence story, where I did a sentence and then she did a sentence, but then it sort of progressed to chunks of dialogue and the ensuing description of events. You'll see. But we sometimes tagged onto each other's quote with another sentence. Like, at one point, one guy's line is half her idea and half mine. So... yeah. Here it is! (it's supposed to be funny and we're probably not going to continue it after tonight, so don't be thinking you're going to see this again, because you probably won't.)
The Sentence Story
By KnitterWriterBlogger and KnitterWriterBlogger's BFF
On September 25, 2010
After the Renn Fest.
Hooray!
(KnitterWriterBlogger was first.)
Once upon a time there was a girl named Enya. She met someone by the name of Willow at the Renaissance Festival. Willow and Enya worked in adjacent shops; Willow had a weaponry shop and Enya had a clothing shop. Willow met Enya while on their lunch break at the Steak on a Stake booth. Willow greatly respected any girl who could eat Steak on a Stake, and he respected Enya more because she managed it in a corset and that she ordered a non-diet soda. She found it to be funny how when he tried to eat his steak, half fell on part of his shirt because he was trying to play it too cool around her. Willow was very nervous around Enya, for she was very pretty, but he had no way of knowing that Enya disliked pickup lines of any sort, regardless of whether or not they had a medieval connotation.
So, this is what he said to her upon meeting her: “Oh fair maiden, doth thou knoweth where one might find a more becoming shirt?”
“Yes,” Enya told him, “But if you buy one from me it’ll still cost you thirty bucks.”
“Why’s that?”
“As far as I know there’s no employee discount, and I’m not favoring anybody,” Enya replied, adding in her head, regardless of how attractive they think they are.
“Well, that’s a bit mean…can’t I change your mind at all?”
“Does this mean you don’t have enough cash?”
“Nah, I just thought I’d try my luck – especially as my luck was good enough to bring me to you today.”
“Well, if your luck is good enough, then you’ll have a replica of Sting to trade for a clean shirt, and if it’s not, then may I suggest that you go to Firefly Fantasy?”
“Lucky for me, I do – however, it costs more than thirty bucks for the metal version.”
“Well, then, Firefly Fantasy is down by the Globe Theater, but I’m not sure they stock men’s sizes, come to think of it.”
“You hurt me deeply.”
“Because I don’t want my merch having more barbecue sauce on it than necessary?”
“Oh, well; I can make it through the day like this.”
“Good luck with that,” Enya said, “But a word of advice: work on your pickup lines.”
“I was trying nothing of the sort,” he said, pretending to be hurt, “But you are rather dazzling, by the way.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” Enya told him, turning back into her shop, “But Sting will get you a new shirt, and five bucks will get you some portable laundry detergent.”
“Fine, come with me and I’ll get you the sword.”
Ten minutes later, Enya had a replica of Sting, Frodo’s sword, on her belt, along with its scabbard, and Willow had a clean shirt (Enya had taken mercy on him and given him one of the less hideous ones.)
“So, what’s your name anyway?” Willow asked, leaning over the barrier between their booths a few minutes later while there was a lull in business.
“Enya,” she told him shortly, “And do you have a name, Armor Boy?”
“I like that name, just call me that, and I’ll be happy.”
“Yeah,” Enya said sarcastically, “When Grandma calls tonight and asks if I’ve made any friends here, I’ll say, ‘Yes, Grandma, my New Best Friend Turned Booth Mate’s name is Armor Boy.’”
“I’m sure she’ll be very impressed. It’s not every day that you meet someone as careful as to handle this stuff safely.”
“And it’s not every day that you meet someone whose name sounds like a Superhero Identity.”
“Yeah, I’m just cool like that.”
Just then, Willow’s assistant, Bob, came up and jabbed him in the ribs, whispering, “dude, your lunch break ended ten minutes ago. Stop flirting and get back to work – some dude out here wants to see the double knives.”
“Fine, fine, but could you tell her that my name is Armor Boy and to leave it at that while I take care of him?”
Bob relayed the message, to which Enya replied, “Yeah, right. And who are you? Chain Mail Man?”
“You know, I like that name more than anything, Sweetheart.”
“What is it with men and metal-related, sarcastically-implied nicknames?” Enya wondered aloud.
“Don’t know. I just don’t favor my real name too highly.”
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” Enya suggested. “Stop flirting and get back to work.”
“Sure. But – a little FYI – keep working on Armor Boy. He’ll come clean if you wear him down enough.”
Enya was relieved when she had to turn her back on ‘Chain Mail Man’ and answer a teenage girl’s question about prices. The teenage girl was persistent in trying to find something cheap, yet beautiful too, so she was distracted for over half an hour – which made Willow lonely, as his booth calmed down.
Eventually, Willow wandered over to Enya’s booth, where the teenage girl was inspecting the bodices with a critical eye and refusing to pull one that was above twenty dollars.
“May I be of any assistance, my ladies?”
Enya looked over at him with a slight smirk. “You think you can handle bodices, Armor Boy?”
“Sure. My younger sister surprisingly thought that I was good at this clothes selection thing.”
The girl turned around with a dark blue bodice with yellow brocade in her hand. “Willow, that was years ago,” she snapped. “And I think this one’s good,” she added to Enya. “Fifteen bucks?”
Before Enya could reply, Willow glared at his sister as he said, “Sakura, why are you so mean? Anyway, you know I don’t like that name. So stop calling me that!”
Enya hid a giggle behind her hand. “Sakura, that’s fifteen dollars, and please don’t have a row, it’s bad for business,” she said.
Sakura sighed. “Fine.” She turned and headed for the cash register with Enya. As they made the transaction and Willow left for the Weaponry Department, Sakura murmured to Enya, “Where’d he get Armor Boy? That’s a lot more embarrassing than Willy Whee.”
Willow spun around. “I heard that!” he called over. “Just call me Will, okay? Or Armor Boy…?”
“How old is he?” Enya asked Sakura. “One would think that a guy in his early twenties would object to superhero names.”
“Well, I haven’t ever known him to have a name like that, so I guess that he just must like you a lot. Either that, or he’s just thankful to have a nickname that he won’t be teased too much about – well, at least by most people aside from myself, of course.”
“Well, he only got the nickname today,” Enya said. “Long story with bad pickup lines.” She handed Sakura her change.
“Thanks, and yeah, there’s a reason why he hasn’t had a girlfriend yet, even though he’s twenty-three. But he’s getting better…I think…Bye!” She dashed off before Enya could reply…
As the booths were closing up for the night, Willow offered Enya a ride home – “You look like you could use a lift,” were his exact words.
“Hmm, I’ll tell you my decision when we get to the car park. By the way, it’s a shame that you aren’t better at pick-up lines, ‘cause you aren’t exactly ugly…”
“What’s with your aversion to guys, anyway?” Willow asked, falling into step beside Enya as they wound their way out of the fairground. “Bad relationship?”
“Something like that. Oh, and have you really never had a girlfriend before?”
“That’s irrelevant,” Willow said shortly. “So what about the ride?”
“Why not? It beats the bus. Just no trying anything romance-y or you will regret making that trade earlier,” Enya replied.
“Do I really take you as that kind of a guy?” he asked as he stopped in front of a dark blue SUV. “This is it.”
“Most dudes don’t wear skirts, dude,” Enya reminded him. “23rd and 4th, by the way,” she added as they got into the car.
“Hey – I lost a bet to Bob, okay…?”
“Chain Mail Man? He didn’t seem smart enough to think in big enough quantities for a bet.”
“Well, he’s actually pretty smart – for the most part. Anyway, you live with your grandmother?”
“I don’t live with my grandma, but she calls every other weekend. What was the bet?”
“The outcome of the Redskins game.”
“That’s not until tomorrow,” Enya said matter-of-factly. “What bet did you lose today?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said, blushing.
“It’s about lunch today, isn’t it?”
“Was I wearing a kilt then? Yes.”
“And you bet whether or not I’d talk to a guy in a kilt?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“So why won’t you tell me the bet, if it won’t affect me?”
“Cause, it didn’t turn out well for me even though I didn’t take the dare…”
“Oh, so you were betting who Sakura would berate first, is that it?”
“No…”
“You were betting whether I’d ask for Sting or the Orc Sword?”
“Didn’t we just go over this? It wasn’t to do with you.”
“Oh, was it whether the person at the Steak on a Stick place would correct you for wearing the kilt?”
“Just stop before you hurt yourself.”
“I thought it had nothing to do with me.”
He just glared at her. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but you’re not allowed to tell anybody, not even your Grandma,” Willow said shortly, and Enya nodded in agreement. “Okay, well, I said to Bob yesterday, ‘I bet you’d be too chicken to mess with our old football team’, when we saw them practicing yesterday. He said, ‘If I do, will you wear a kilt tomorrow?’ Like an idiot, I agreed.”
“So he went out on the field and…?” Enya prompted.
“Not even. He went into the changing rooms while as they were finishing up practice and grabbed all of their clothes. Before any of the jocks could put two and two together, he had tossed me the pile and the jocks mistook me for the prankster. Thus, I did a lot of running and begging for my life yesterday…”
“And so you’re wearing a kilt because Bob decided he’d be a jerk?” Enya asked. “’s not the end of the world.”
“I know. But the taunting and bruises weren’t exactly fun. Why do you think I was insisting on a black long-sleeved shirt earlier?”
“As I recall, getting a brand-new shirt of mine seemed to be better than having sauce all down your front for the rest of the day, OR going to Firefly Fantasy to get a little kid’s shirt instead.”
“Neither of those were my motivations. I just wanted to try and get to know you better – but my plan failed because I was a wimp,” he confessed.
“Well, this is sort of getting to know you better, isn’t it?” Enya said, finally starting to take to Willow. “And it’s quicker to take Elm Street to 23rd, by the way.”
“Danke shun,” he replied in German while trying to impress her, “And, yeah, so why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” He put on his turn signal and motioned for her to take the lead.
“Pelin pedi edhellen,” she said.
“Eh…? Sorry, I don’t believe they taught that language in my schools. But it sounds cool. Is it Gaelic?”
“It’s Sindarin,” Enya replied. “Common language of Tolkien’s elves. Based on old Finnish or old Welsh, I believe. I’ve studied it since high school.”
“Would you be willing to teach me?”
“Not right now,” Enya said. “My house is on the left. I’ll bring my Sindarin book tomorrow, though.”
“Cool,” he replied to the book comment, but when he parked and saw the house, his calm expression changed to one of awe. “This is where you live?” he exclaimed. “You aren’t suddenly going to tell me that you’re a Cullen by any chance?”
“No,” Enya sighed. “Grandma insisted I move in here. It was her house for most of her life, and she moved in to my parent’s house the same year I finished college. I rent out three rooms for some spare money. Working the Renn Fest circuit isn’t exactly profitable when it’s only for eight weeks.”
“Is it my imagination, or do you not sound like you like it here?”
“The Renn Fest circuit is fine. The town is fine. It’s the hugeness of the house that bugs me.”
“Can’t you do anything to make it more enjoyable for yourself? After all, home is where the heart is supposed to be, isn’t it?” He added in his thoughts, ‘though, my heart is drifting from my home to you…’
“That’s why I rent the rooms. It adds a bit of life to the house as well as some extra income.”
The Sentence Story
By KnitterWriterBlogger and KnitterWriterBlogger's BFF
On September 25, 2010
After the Renn Fest.
Hooray!
(KnitterWriterBlogger was first.)
Once upon a time there was a girl named Enya. She met someone by the name of Willow at the Renaissance Festival. Willow and Enya worked in adjacent shops; Willow had a weaponry shop and Enya had a clothing shop. Willow met Enya while on their lunch break at the Steak on a Stake booth. Willow greatly respected any girl who could eat Steak on a Stake, and he respected Enya more because she managed it in a corset and that she ordered a non-diet soda. She found it to be funny how when he tried to eat his steak, half fell on part of his shirt because he was trying to play it too cool around her. Willow was very nervous around Enya, for she was very pretty, but he had no way of knowing that Enya disliked pickup lines of any sort, regardless of whether or not they had a medieval connotation.
So, this is what he said to her upon meeting her: “Oh fair maiden, doth thou knoweth where one might find a more becoming shirt?”
“Yes,” Enya told him, “But if you buy one from me it’ll still cost you thirty bucks.”
“Why’s that?”
“As far as I know there’s no employee discount, and I’m not favoring anybody,” Enya replied, adding in her head, regardless of how attractive they think they are.
“Well, that’s a bit mean…can’t I change your mind at all?”
“Does this mean you don’t have enough cash?”
“Nah, I just thought I’d try my luck – especially as my luck was good enough to bring me to you today.”
“Well, if your luck is good enough, then you’ll have a replica of Sting to trade for a clean shirt, and if it’s not, then may I suggest that you go to Firefly Fantasy?”
“Lucky for me, I do – however, it costs more than thirty bucks for the metal version.”
“Well, then, Firefly Fantasy is down by the Globe Theater, but I’m not sure they stock men’s sizes, come to think of it.”
“You hurt me deeply.”
“Because I don’t want my merch having more barbecue sauce on it than necessary?”
“Oh, well; I can make it through the day like this.”
“Good luck with that,” Enya said, “But a word of advice: work on your pickup lines.”
“I was trying nothing of the sort,” he said, pretending to be hurt, “But you are rather dazzling, by the way.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” Enya told him, turning back into her shop, “But Sting will get you a new shirt, and five bucks will get you some portable laundry detergent.”
“Fine, come with me and I’ll get you the sword.”
Ten minutes later, Enya had a replica of Sting, Frodo’s sword, on her belt, along with its scabbard, and Willow had a clean shirt (Enya had taken mercy on him and given him one of the less hideous ones.)
“So, what’s your name anyway?” Willow asked, leaning over the barrier between their booths a few minutes later while there was a lull in business.
“Enya,” she told him shortly, “And do you have a name, Armor Boy?”
“I like that name, just call me that, and I’ll be happy.”
“Yeah,” Enya said sarcastically, “When Grandma calls tonight and asks if I’ve made any friends here, I’ll say, ‘Yes, Grandma, my New Best Friend Turned Booth Mate’s name is Armor Boy.’”
“I’m sure she’ll be very impressed. It’s not every day that you meet someone as careful as to handle this stuff safely.”
“And it’s not every day that you meet someone whose name sounds like a Superhero Identity.”
“Yeah, I’m just cool like that.”
Just then, Willow’s assistant, Bob, came up and jabbed him in the ribs, whispering, “dude, your lunch break ended ten minutes ago. Stop flirting and get back to work – some dude out here wants to see the double knives.”
“Fine, fine, but could you tell her that my name is Armor Boy and to leave it at that while I take care of him?”
Bob relayed the message, to which Enya replied, “Yeah, right. And who are you? Chain Mail Man?”
“You know, I like that name more than anything, Sweetheart.”
“What is it with men and metal-related, sarcastically-implied nicknames?” Enya wondered aloud.
“Don’t know. I just don’t favor my real name too highly.”
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” Enya suggested. “Stop flirting and get back to work.”
“Sure. But – a little FYI – keep working on Armor Boy. He’ll come clean if you wear him down enough.”
Enya was relieved when she had to turn her back on ‘Chain Mail Man’ and answer a teenage girl’s question about prices. The teenage girl was persistent in trying to find something cheap, yet beautiful too, so she was distracted for over half an hour – which made Willow lonely, as his booth calmed down.
Eventually, Willow wandered over to Enya’s booth, where the teenage girl was inspecting the bodices with a critical eye and refusing to pull one that was above twenty dollars.
“May I be of any assistance, my ladies?”
Enya looked over at him with a slight smirk. “You think you can handle bodices, Armor Boy?”
“Sure. My younger sister surprisingly thought that I was good at this clothes selection thing.”
The girl turned around with a dark blue bodice with yellow brocade in her hand. “Willow, that was years ago,” she snapped. “And I think this one’s good,” she added to Enya. “Fifteen bucks?”
Before Enya could reply, Willow glared at his sister as he said, “Sakura, why are you so mean? Anyway, you know I don’t like that name. So stop calling me that!”
Enya hid a giggle behind her hand. “Sakura, that’s fifteen dollars, and please don’t have a row, it’s bad for business,” she said.
Sakura sighed. “Fine.” She turned and headed for the cash register with Enya. As they made the transaction and Willow left for the Weaponry Department, Sakura murmured to Enya, “Where’d he get Armor Boy? That’s a lot more embarrassing than Willy Whee.”
Willow spun around. “I heard that!” he called over. “Just call me Will, okay? Or Armor Boy…?”
“How old is he?” Enya asked Sakura. “One would think that a guy in his early twenties would object to superhero names.”
“Well, I haven’t ever known him to have a name like that, so I guess that he just must like you a lot. Either that, or he’s just thankful to have a nickname that he won’t be teased too much about – well, at least by most people aside from myself, of course.”
“Well, he only got the nickname today,” Enya said. “Long story with bad pickup lines.” She handed Sakura her change.
“Thanks, and yeah, there’s a reason why he hasn’t had a girlfriend yet, even though he’s twenty-three. But he’s getting better…I think…Bye!” She dashed off before Enya could reply…
As the booths were closing up for the night, Willow offered Enya a ride home – “You look like you could use a lift,” were his exact words.
“Hmm, I’ll tell you my decision when we get to the car park. By the way, it’s a shame that you aren’t better at pick-up lines, ‘cause you aren’t exactly ugly…”
“What’s with your aversion to guys, anyway?” Willow asked, falling into step beside Enya as they wound their way out of the fairground. “Bad relationship?”
“Something like that. Oh, and have you really never had a girlfriend before?”
“That’s irrelevant,” Willow said shortly. “So what about the ride?”
“Why not? It beats the bus. Just no trying anything romance-y or you will regret making that trade earlier,” Enya replied.
“Do I really take you as that kind of a guy?” he asked as he stopped in front of a dark blue SUV. “This is it.”
“Most dudes don’t wear skirts, dude,” Enya reminded him. “23rd and 4th, by the way,” she added as they got into the car.
“Hey – I lost a bet to Bob, okay…?”
“Chain Mail Man? He didn’t seem smart enough to think in big enough quantities for a bet.”
“Well, he’s actually pretty smart – for the most part. Anyway, you live with your grandmother?”
“I don’t live with my grandma, but she calls every other weekend. What was the bet?”
“The outcome of the Redskins game.”
“That’s not until tomorrow,” Enya said matter-of-factly. “What bet did you lose today?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said, blushing.
“It’s about lunch today, isn’t it?”
“Was I wearing a kilt then? Yes.”
“And you bet whether or not I’d talk to a guy in a kilt?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“So why won’t you tell me the bet, if it won’t affect me?”
“Cause, it didn’t turn out well for me even though I didn’t take the dare…”
“Oh, so you were betting who Sakura would berate first, is that it?”
“No…”
“You were betting whether I’d ask for Sting or the Orc Sword?”
“Didn’t we just go over this? It wasn’t to do with you.”
“Oh, was it whether the person at the Steak on a Stick place would correct you for wearing the kilt?”
“Just stop before you hurt yourself.”
“I thought it had nothing to do with me.”
He just glared at her. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but you’re not allowed to tell anybody, not even your Grandma,” Willow said shortly, and Enya nodded in agreement. “Okay, well, I said to Bob yesterday, ‘I bet you’d be too chicken to mess with our old football team’, when we saw them practicing yesterday. He said, ‘If I do, will you wear a kilt tomorrow?’ Like an idiot, I agreed.”
“So he went out on the field and…?” Enya prompted.
“Not even. He went into the changing rooms while as they were finishing up practice and grabbed all of their clothes. Before any of the jocks could put two and two together, he had tossed me the pile and the jocks mistook me for the prankster. Thus, I did a lot of running and begging for my life yesterday…”
“And so you’re wearing a kilt because Bob decided he’d be a jerk?” Enya asked. “’s not the end of the world.”
“I know. But the taunting and bruises weren’t exactly fun. Why do you think I was insisting on a black long-sleeved shirt earlier?”
“As I recall, getting a brand-new shirt of mine seemed to be better than having sauce all down your front for the rest of the day, OR going to Firefly Fantasy to get a little kid’s shirt instead.”
“Neither of those were my motivations. I just wanted to try and get to know you better – but my plan failed because I was a wimp,” he confessed.
“Well, this is sort of getting to know you better, isn’t it?” Enya said, finally starting to take to Willow. “And it’s quicker to take Elm Street to 23rd, by the way.”
“Danke shun,” he replied in German while trying to impress her, “And, yeah, so why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” He put on his turn signal and motioned for her to take the lead.
“Pelin pedi edhellen,” she said.
“Eh…? Sorry, I don’t believe they taught that language in my schools. But it sounds cool. Is it Gaelic?”
“It’s Sindarin,” Enya replied. “Common language of Tolkien’s elves. Based on old Finnish or old Welsh, I believe. I’ve studied it since high school.”
“Would you be willing to teach me?”
“Not right now,” Enya said. “My house is on the left. I’ll bring my Sindarin book tomorrow, though.”
“Cool,” he replied to the book comment, but when he parked and saw the house, his calm expression changed to one of awe. “This is where you live?” he exclaimed. “You aren’t suddenly going to tell me that you’re a Cullen by any chance?”
“No,” Enya sighed. “Grandma insisted I move in here. It was her house for most of her life, and she moved in to my parent’s house the same year I finished college. I rent out three rooms for some spare money. Working the Renn Fest circuit isn’t exactly profitable when it’s only for eight weeks.”
“Is it my imagination, or do you not sound like you like it here?”
“The Renn Fest circuit is fine. The town is fine. It’s the hugeness of the house that bugs me.”
“Can’t you do anything to make it more enjoyable for yourself? After all, home is where the heart is supposed to be, isn’t it?” He added in his thoughts, ‘though, my heart is drifting from my home to you…’
“That’s why I rent the rooms. It adds a bit of life to the house as well as some extra income.”
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
identification...
Blogger has recently added a new feature called Stats. As the name suggests, it tracks what type of systems and what type of Internet browser has visited in the last whatever - the last two hours, las day, last week, last month, or ever since June. (I guess that's the farthest back they can track... or that's the first time they can tell that anyone's actually read it, since I've had this blog since last February).
So, for example, I know that from the 19 people who have visited the blog in the last week, 10 were on Windows and nine were on Macs; six visited from Safari and six from Firefox, while five hits were from Internet Explorer and two were from Chrome. Cool, yes? The only problem is that it won't let me not track my own pageviews, so I account for at least some of the Windows hits. My only question is: who's on the Mac(s)? (if you are who I think you are... HI! If you aren't... HI ANYWAY!)
Anyhoo, in addition to my attempts to identify the Mystery Readers (whom I would like to know, by the way. *cough*comment*cough*), I also have found the time to be SUPER psyched that there's an early release tomorrow (which means I can get some legit writing done. It also means that my mom is making me get a haircut and that I have to finish my English project. But those aren't important. Okay, yeah they are.)
So, for example, I know that from the 19 people who have visited the blog in the last week, 10 were on Windows and nine were on Macs; six visited from Safari and six from Firefox, while five hits were from Internet Explorer and two were from Chrome. Cool, yes? The only problem is that it won't let me not track my own pageviews, so I account for at least some of the Windows hits. My only question is: who's on the Mac(s)? (if you are who I think you are... HI! If you aren't... HI ANYWAY!)
Anyhoo, in addition to my attempts to identify the Mystery Readers (whom I would like to know, by the way. *cough*comment*cough*), I also have found the time to be SUPER psyched that there's an early release tomorrow (which means I can get some legit writing done. It also means that my mom is making me get a haircut and that I have to finish my English project. But those aren't important. Okay, yeah they are.)
knits :D
I got my second-ever knitting commision yesterday! Hooray! I'm not sure whether to actually call it a commission because, since it's for a friend, I'm doing it for free. But I still consider it a commision because she asked for certain colors and width of the stripes and stuff. I'm making her a pair of black and white fingerless gloves. YAY!
For the record, yes, I'll knit you something if you ask me too. And yes, I'll probably end up living in a hole if I keep knitting stuff for free. (I don't know about you, but living in a hole doesn't sound that appealing.). But I'm EXTREMELY psyched for this because it's the second time ever that someone has asked me specifically to knit something for them. The other time was in 7th or 8th grade. Funnily enough, that time was for a pair of fingerless gloves as well. Strange how these things work out.
Anyway, still no news on the yellow scarf. I still have to set up the Etsy account, however. And figure out a good price for it. I've been asking around, and so far, two people have said they'd pay $20 and one person said they'd pay $5. And I'm saying I have to do homework.
For the record, yes, I'll knit you something if you ask me too. And yes, I'll probably end up living in a hole if I keep knitting stuff for free. (I don't know about you, but living in a hole doesn't sound that appealing.). But I'm EXTREMELY psyched for this because it's the second time ever that someone has asked me specifically to knit something for them. The other time was in 7th or 8th grade. Funnily enough, that time was for a pair of fingerless gloves as well. Strange how these things work out.
Anyway, still no news on the yellow scarf. I still have to set up the Etsy account, however. And figure out a good price for it. I've been asking around, and so far, two people have said they'd pay $20 and one person said they'd pay $5. And I'm saying I have to do homework.
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