A “Are you seriously Serious?” kinda Halloween

“Show yourself mother fucker!!” Kurtis yelled, his knuckles white from gripping the wood axe tightly, the blood from the wound on his forehead running down his face, around his right eye, gathering in his goatee. His letterman ruined, his own blood staining it, he was pissed. More pissed that his head had been slammed off a corner of a kitchen cabinet, but his ruined letterman was coming in close second.
“Maybe we should, you know, try to get out of here,” Jayme whispered, her arms shaking from holding the shotgun. Firing the two rounds she had fired had rocked her body. She had never fired a gun before, and wasn’t in the least bit expecting the kick from the weapon. The only reason it hadn’t floored her was the amount of adrenaline running through her body. Just like Kurtis’ letterman, her skimpy playboy bunny costume was ruined, but the blood covering it wasn’t her own. No, the blood covering her, from her bunny-ear-blond-haired head down to her three inch healed feet was the blood of her gutted friend Laurie, who had been cut from throat to gut, like a deer, the blood spraying like a terrible horror movie.
“The doors are locked. And the windows are shatterproof. We need to kill this fucker and, I don’t know, get the keys off him.” Liam had a headache. Staring through his glasses with the left lens missing gave him a headache, his eyes trying to fight with each other over focus, his brain being the victim. But more so his right leg hurt, the stab wound in his thigh making it almost impossible to stand. The belt he was using as a turniquette only slowed the bleeding, but not stopped it, his jeans warm and sticking to his leg, the pants soaked through with blood. Gripping the fire poker in one hand, he had to fight to keep his free hand from shaking, trying to seem as calm and brave as Kurtis.
The bodies that littered the home were classmates, some friends of the trio, more so Kurtis and Jayme, a very few Liam’s. In ten of the rooms, playing on the televisions in each of the rooms, a Halloween movie was playing, the second of the original series playing in the living room that the trio was in. Trapped in the home that had earlier been the scene of the biggest Halloween party that any of the teenagers had been too, it had quickly become a living nightmare, all but the three killed by a Michael Myers impersonator.
“Come on you fucking pussy!” Kurtis continued to taunt their enemy, their own Michael Myers. “Let’s finish this!” Taking his axe to the television, he smashed the screen, cutting short the “real” Myers’ massacre through the hospital.
“Yeah, you pussy,” Liam yelled, not going to let Kurtis be the sole hero in the situation. He knew it wasn’t the best time to try and one-up the school’s star quarterback, but Jayme had always been his crush, and in that instance, if they lived and he had been brave enough, maybe, just maybe she would see him for more than just the horror-movie/ indie-comic nerd that he was. “You look like a douchebag in that mask! IT WAS A WILLIAM SHATNER MASK TO BEGIN WITH YOU ASSHOLE!!!”
“Who,” Jayme began, stuttering from fear, “who is William Shatner?” she asked. Both Kurtis and Liam gave her quick glances wondering why the hell she would be asking a question like that at a time like that. If they both made it through the night, Liam was so going to fill her in on the ol’ Kirkmeister.
Hearing a scream from the upstairs, the trio was startled, all three jumping, Jayme having to force her own scream to stay in her throat and had been just two more millimeters away from pulling the trigger on the shotgun enough to let off another round. Thinking everyone was dead, they knew that someone else had been found by the killer, and that someone had been killed by said killer.
“He’s upstairs,” Liam said, slowing making his way to the door that led into the hallway that led to the staircase.
“No shit dipshit,” Kurtis said, giving the nerd a narrow-eyed glare.
“Be nice Kurtis,” Jayme said, the head cheerleader not believing that in their time of needing to pull together, her hot-headed boyfriend was still being a dick to one of the many kids he was so regularly a dick too. “Where are you going Lee?”
“It’s Liam,” he corrected his crush, not at all upset that she still didn’t know his name, “And if he’s upstairs, if we, I don’t know, corner him. I mean. The two, or three of us, should be able to take him. Right?”
“I shot him. With a shotgun.” Jayme said, her first round missing the killer, but her second shock after she quickly and somewhat knew what to expect from pulling the trigger hit the target.
“And I stabbed him with his own knife man. Then got him twice with the axe. And he’s still coming! So fuck that. We stay here. He’ll come to us, or fuck man, the cops should be on their way. They have to be.” The three took a moment to listen, hoping to hear approaching sirens, or even creaky footsteps from someone coming down the stairs. Instead only their heavy breathing was audible.
“Where do you think he is?” Liam began, and as the final words exited his mouth, he felt the sharp pain of the large kitchen knife enter his back, just as he heard the words “behind you!” exit the mouths of Kurtis and Jayme. The knife being pulled free, Liam was pushed aside, the killer done with him. For the time being.
“Who the fuck are you!?” Jayme said, waving the gun at the killer, wanting to know who had killed all her friends. Instead of pulling the trigger again, her shotgun pointed right on the masked murderer.
Kurtis raising the axe above his shoulder like a baseball bat, he ran at the copycat Michael Myers, anger painted on his face, the quarterback’s plan to decapitate the murderer, knowing he had the strength to do the job, if only he could connect….
Swinging the axe, the blade missed, the murderer ducking, lunging forward and up, digging his kitchen knife into Kurtis’ throat, the football star dropping the axe, reaching for the knife buried clean to the hilt in his neck. Pushing Kurtis off his knife with three fingers against the quarterback’s head, blood squirted from the wound, splattering the murderers jumpsuit.
Jayme, the last standing, seeing her boyfriend squirming on the ground, blood from his neck wound pooling around him as he gurgled and was dying, then a quick glance to the nerd that had been dressed as John Constantine, though she hadn’t know that. He was still alive, wide-eyed looking at the murderer, the knife having severed his spine, leaving his paralyzed.
Squeezing the trigger, there was no gunshot, only that oh-so-familiar click that said the gun was empty. Frantically squeezing again and again, nothing fired. Tears running from her eyes, mingling with her dead friends blood that was caked on her face, Jayme couldn’t help but keep on squeezing that trigger.
“So you want to know who I am, do ya?” the murderer finally spoke, having not said a single word throughout the entire night’s massacre. Letting the arm holding the knife fall to his side, his free hand moved to remove the mask. Pulling it free, the killer looked at the last remaining, standing person left from the party.
“Mike Meyers?” Jayme asked, in shock that the killer had been one of Kurtis’ best friends. “Why? Why would you do all this? Why would you kill all those people? Kurtis? Lee?”
“Liam,” Liam managed to say from the floor, correcting the girl again though she hadn’t really been paying attention to him, her focus more so on Mike.
“Why!? Why did I kill all you mother fuckers!? I’ll tell you bitch. Mike Myers!! Helluva name, right? I couldn’t have been named Frederick Krueger. Or Jason Vorhees, or even FUCKING CHUCKY THE LIVING MOTHER FUCKING MY BUDDY DOLL!! No, my parents just had to name me Michael. They had to give everyone a reason to connect me to those stupid fucking Halloween movies!! I mean, the third one didn’t even have anything to do with Michael Myers, but still, that one dumb fuck had to say to me, ‘season of the witch, man’. I gutted him with a big fucking smile on my face! Liam was right. It had been a William Shatner mask that was the face of that mother fucker. Michael mother fucking Myers!”
“You, you killed all those people because your name is Michael Meyers? Are you fucking crazy?!” Jayme couldn’t believe it. Yeah, she had made a Halloween movie reference joke to Mike here and there, but everyone did. They had all just been jokes. Just jokes.
“Am I crazy?” Mike laughed. Laughed so hard it made his stomach hurt. A great chuckle had had at that question. “Of course I’m fucking crazy you dumb blond bimbo!! I killed more than half our classmates at my Halloween party because they made jokes concerning my name. If that ain’t crazy, then what the fuck is these days baby?!”
“Go to hell Mike!” Jayme said, squeezing the trigger one last, knowing nothing would happen, but hoping something would.
“You first doll!” Mike, lifting the knife and running leaping at her, he was stopped in midair, the floor below him, the spot where he had been standing erupting in an explosion. Floorboards and splinters going everywhere, Kurtis’ body flying till his corpse collided with the wall, his blood splattering like a paintball impact.
From the explosion, the source of the sudden change in events, a giant tentacle, wrapping itself around Mike, wrapping like an anaconda would it’s prey. Slamming the murderer into the wall, the floor, the wall, then violently waving the crazed teenager through the air like a toddler would a rattle.
“What the fuck!!!” Mike yelled, hearing his bones snap from the squeezing, the sound mixing with Jayme’s screams as she backed up quickly to get away from the writhing, strange, giant tentacle that had just burst out from the basement. Slamming Mike against the floor one more time, it silenced the teen before pulling him through the whole, the tentacle and teen disappearing.
In shock, not sure what to think, Jayme dropped the shotgun, her eyes not leaving the gaping hole in the floor. Shaking all over, she slowly moved to sit on the floor, unsure of what to do next. Closing her eyes, tears still falling, streaks running down her cheeks, she sobbed quietly, opening her eyes just in time to see another tentacle make it’s entrance into the room through the hole.
Snapping her way in the blink of her baby blue eyes, the olive green tentacle wrapped itself around her ankle, pausing only for a brief two and three quarter seconds before dragging the girl across the floor to the hole, which would then lead to her most certain, most likely gruesome and slow demise.
Gripping for her life to the edge of the hole, fighting against the tentacle pulling at her leg, she looked with terror into Liam’s eyes, her eyes growing wider and wider with each passing millisecond.
“Lee!” she strained to say, her strength draining quickly, the tentacle willing the tug-o-war battle. “Lee! Help me!”
“I’m fucking paralyzed!” Liam yelled. “AND MY GOD DAMNED NAME IS LIAM YOU DUMB BLOND BIMBO!!!” His irritated yell distracting her and surprising her momentarily, it was enough for her to be pulled into the hole from his sight.
Laying there, unable to move, not sure if a tentacle was coming for him, Liam just closed his eyes and lay there, not wanting to know what his fate was going to be. His body numb all over, his eyelids growing heavy, he was just about asleep when another sound stirred him from his almost sleep.
Coming from the other side of the room, where Jayme had slid down to sit, her cell phone lay, ringing, having fallen out of her short, short, shorts just before the tentacle that had taken her had taken her. Ringing, the song blaring from the bedazzled phone told Liam one thing and one thing only. He was in hell. Unable to move, unable to answer the phone, he had to just lay there and listen. Listen to….
“Mmmmm boppp, doo dada mmmmm boppp.”
“Noooooo!!!!”

 

Cousins In Cambridge

Dear Mum,

Sat in the car with Aimee and Uncle John. He says we’re nearly there now, but me and Aimee are already bored. Well, that’s a lie because we and Aimee can never be bored when we’re with each other.

We got hyper on the skittles Uncle John bought us, which he really shouldn’t have. He also bought us this massive bag of Haribo Starmix. Me and Aimee spent about half an hour sticking those to our faces. Then Aimee pulled the headrest of her seat up really high so that you couldn’t see her if you were in the car behind. She then pulled the headrest down really slowly revealing her Haribo ring eyebrows and moustache to the man in the car behind. Me and Aimee found this highly amusing, as did Uncle John. Getting a bit hungry as Skittles aren’t very filling. Uncle John said we could stop off at the nearest Burger King and Uncle John said he knows this really good resturaunt not far from here where they do roast dinners and vegetables and stuff. Sorry if you can’t read my writing, Uncle John’s over the speed limit   We’re going down a country lane.

Love Hannah :D xxx

Pricks and Pones

When the judge called for the defendant to be brought in, a curtain of gasps and whispers from both sides of the aisle preceded him.

Detective Stoole turned to see what the all the commotion was about, and nearly spat his tongue out when he saw the defendant’s face. The man was black and blue all over his head, the left eyelid swollen and hanging over his cheek like the top of a soggy portobello mushroom. His jaw was veered to the right, and as he creaked his mouth open painfully with each step, the Detective could see he was even missing a few teeth. A prison guard had to hold the man steady as he walked up the courtroom to his attorney.

Stoole, mouth still wide open, spun to look at Warden Billingsley, who was standing just a few rows down from him. Billingsley raised his eyebrows and smiled widely back at him, and then conspiratorially rubbed his nose. Detective Stoole held his hands out, palms up, and mouthed something at him.

The Warden’s smile didn’t fade, but he mouthed back, “What?”

Detective Stoole walked down swiftly and stood next to the Warden. “What the hell have you done to him?” he asked, quickly but hushed.

The Warden couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh from deep in his belly. “Ah, don’t worry, Detective, none of it will come bite us.”

The Detective looked at him still puzzled. “But–why? What did you have to beat him up like that for?”

At this, the smile on the Warden’s face turned into an annoyed frown. “Damn pervert, Stoole. He got what was comin’. Come, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen this. I mean–what if it was your child, huh? It’s a good thing you caught him, too. But you should know all that–you’re the one who charged him.”

Detective Stoole was utterly confused. What the hell was Billingsley talking about? “But it–it wasn’t that bad,” he whispered.

“Uh, I think,” snorted Billingsley, “I think I know what’s bad, and what’s just utterly sick, Mr. Detective,” he said, tapping a wad of paper that was folded in his pocket. It was a copy of the arresting charge that Stoole had filed.

Stoole snatched the document from the Warden’s pocket and unfolded it quickly. He scanned through the details, and then he grew very still. “Oh shit,” he said, “oh shit, oh shit”.

Warden Billingsley peered back at him. “What?”

Stoole looked back. “The charge. It was supposed to be ‘Downloaded porn illegally’,” he said, “not ‘Downloaded illegal porn’”.

Bluff

This was now a tense situation for Brian. His opponentts Ace, Deb, John and Dave
stared at him. After five rounds he was totally out of the loop. He had already lost five hands in a row and was slowly running out of poker “chips.” John and Dave wouldn’t even let him keep his shoes, but then they were always ganging up on Brian in strip poker. They had their pants and shoes, but lost their shirts to Ace. Brian felt a draft and readjusted his towel around his waist.

Brian really, really hated strip poker.

Debra wasn’t looking at Brian; she was busy arranging her hand for the second time. Of course it didn’t seem odd to the others since it was her strategy. She still had her shirt and shorts on and only lost a sock. She exchanged one card from one end to another.

Ace shuffled and waited for several minutes already looking extremely bored. She was fully dressed and rather calm. The combined efforts of John and Dave couldn’t outmatch Ace into getting her T-shirt and pants from her.

Brian looked down in his hand. He had only had two 7′s, a five and two 2′s and he
didn’t want them to know that. Then he tried to arrange his cards for the seventh time and
debated which one he should put down. John tapped his fingers impatiently.

“Well,” John said. “Are you in or out?”

Brian was sweating, even in his towel. “I need… two. No wait, three. No… Two.”
Brian wished he could just stop shifting his eyes and swallowing dramatically and stop looking so guilty.

Ace passed two cards, Brian picked them up and his face crumbled with intense disappointment. “Damn!” he exclaimed out loud and he quickly silenced himself.

Ace and Dave rolled their eyes.

Deb pretended she didn’t hear Brian.

John smiled.

John decided to end the game after midnight. Unfortunately, that didn’t allow John to be generous. He gave Brian a cardboard box and a pair of shoes for the long walk
home. His house keys were scotch taped to the side of the box.

“Tough luck, Bri,” said John. He stood at the front door looking very smug. Granted he was only in his boxer shorts and socks but at least he was better off that Brian.

“You could have at least lend me a jacket.”

“And prolong the lesson? I’m doing you a favour.”

“How?”

“Well, after this you’re not going to play poker ever again. I saved you from heartbreak and misery. See ya.” John slammed the door and locked it. Brian stood at John’s porch for several minutes, mouth open and shivering. “Oh yeah? Well. So. Son of a bitch!” he screamed at the door then he turned and walked home.

He walked along the street careful not to let anyone notice him and call a cop.
Twice he ducked behind a tree just as a car drove by. He was cold, humiliated and angry but what was he suppose to do?

From far away or around the corner he heard a car engine accelerating. A cherry red Volkswagen sped around the corner at top speed and then stopped quite suddenly and cruised slowly next to him as he continued to walk. Inside was Ace, she rolled down the window and stuck her head out.

“Hey, you remember me?”

“What are you doing here?” He hoped it was an offer to drive him home.

“I watched you play tonight. Did you know, you suck?”

That was sudden.

He didn’t want to hear this.

“Thanks.”

“It was pathetic.”

“Is there anything else you wanted to say besides that I suck. Because I have to go home and kill myself.” Brian continued walking and Ace continued driving.

“Go away,” he said to Ace and he tried to walk a little faster. Could this night get
any more humiliating? Ace cruised her car next to Brian and matched pace for pace with him. He tried running then he tripped and made a large tear on the box. Ace stopped the car, opened the passenger side door and peered down at him.

“You want to come in now?”

Brian didn’t wait for a second offer and jumped in before the neighbours saw him.

Ace drove and talked. “And by the way, no it wasn’t the only thing I wanted to say to you. It’s because you suck that today is your lucky day.”

“I don’t know why. I’m walking at midnight, naked and my “clothes” is slowly breaking apart. It’s not my birthday.”

“I know.”

“And I didn’t wish on a star.”

“I know that too.” Ace was getting a little testy.

“And I haven’t won the lottery.”

“Of course not.” she snapped. “Can I finish now?” She handed Brian a small business card which read, “Ace Kwan, professional gambler and tutor of the gambling arts.”

“You’re a professional gambling tutor?”

Ace shrugged casually. “On my days when I’m not in tournaments I teach people
how to play cards. Mostly for bridge parties or poker nights with the ‘guys.’”

She turned the corner towards Brian’s house. “You play terrible and you can’t even
bluff accurately. John and Dave knew immediately what you had without even trying. I could train you to beat them.”

They stopped in front of Brian’s house and Brian carefully stepped out. The cardboard pieces became a crushed skirt where Brian had to hold both ends to his body.

“Think of me as your fairy godmother with a volkswagen. And if you don’t want
to that’s okay.”

“Why are you helping me? Is it because you care?”

Ace paused pressing a finger against her cheek, deep in thought. “No. Mostly, it’s pity. I don’t like it when they pick on the stupid. So, what’s it going to be?”

It took less than five seconds to think about it. “I’m in.”

“Good. I knew you would. Meet me on Monday morning at 9 o’clock. The address is on the card.” Then for a special effect exit she flipped a deck of card into Brian’s face. And when Brian brushed the last card away from his mouth, Ace was still there.

“What are you doing?” said Brian.

Ace realized she was still there and she quickly shifted gears and floored the gas
pedal and accelerated out of the driveway.

On Monday morning at 8:55 he arrived at Ace’s house. He knocked on the door. No response.

At 8:56 he knocked again. No response, again.

At 8:59, he became worried and banged at the door thinking she fell down, broke
some part of her body and was unable to reach for the door. He was about to break open the window with a large rock to get in and check when the door finally opened and Ace stepped out.

“Hello, have you been waiting long?” She walked around the house and opened the fence to the backyard. She waved him to come forward and Brian followed after her.

“Normally,” she said. “I charge fifteen hundred dollars for the lesson of one week.”

Fifteen hundred dollars! Brian almost felt like he was having a heart attack. He didn’t have fifteen hundred dollars. He didn’t have five hundred dollars. He was just a political science student.

“Get that look off your face. For you, I won’t charge a thing.”

Brian sighed with relief and continued to follow her. In the middle of Ace’s backyard, the place was a mess. The grass was long and bent down and the paint on the fence was faded and cracked. How was he suppose to learn how to play poker in this?
Ace dragged in a lawn-mower while Brian looked around for something important.

“Alright, she said. “This is a lawn-mower.” She turned it on. “Now when you hold it, you hold it like this. Like you would hold a deck of cards.” And she actually placed Brian’s hand onto the handle bars.

“It feels a little uncomfortable.”

“Work through it,” she simply said. “Now bend your arms and push.”

Brian pushed the mower and fresh cut grass was shot out from the side.

“What does this do?” He would like to know.

“Well, you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Push it. It develops arm strength and dexterity or whatever. Don’t question the
teacher.”

“Right, sorry.” He continued to push the lawn-mower all around the yard. Ace went inside to watch a daytime talk shows.

Around noon, he finished cutting the grass raking it into bags and putting it on the curb. After all that Ace called it a day and he went home. But before he went home he made a stop at John’s house.

The poker game in John’s kitchen was still going strong. This time they changed the poker chips into money and cookies. The mood was relatively relaxed and no one seemed to mind that the players were eating the oker “chips”. John was dealing out the cards.

He turned to Dave. “How many?”

“Two.”

He passed two. “Deb?” Debra was giving him the look. “What?” he was aggravated by the look she was giving him all night but he already knew why. And he didn’t care.

“You didn’t have to gang up on him.”

“Of course we did. Every time he comes over to play he ruins it. Even you have to admit that he’s a lousy player. He can’t even bluff. We had to teach him a lesson and turn him away from poker. Plus it was fun.”

The screen door was suddenly slid open and Brian stood in front of them. He
looked around and noticed their casual nature and the “chips” on the table.John looked back at him blandly. “Brian, welcome back. You want to play?”

Brian walked over to the table and tried to flip it over. He tried several times until
he realized it was too heavy and John was holding it down with his elbow.

“What are you doing?” John said. He didn’t bother to move his elbow as Brian was trying to lift the table.

Finally, he gave up but that didn’t stop Brian from grabbing John’s beer bottle and
gulping it down until it was empty.

Debra was disgusted. “Eew, what was that for?”

Brian belched before speaking which grossed out Debra even more. “So, when I’m not around it’s normal card game.”

“That’s right,” John said. “My house, my rules.” Brian knew that that was the be all
and end all of John’s argument.

“So when I am here, I end up naked.”

“That’s right. We were doing you a favour.”

“You could have given me back my clothes.”

John shrugged. “You lost fair and square.”

“Not anymore.”

“What was that suppose to
mean?” John said. Then Brian pointed his finger at John, Dave and then to Debra.

“Me? Why me?” Debra said.

“I challenge you to a strip poker rematch in one week.”

“Fine,” John said, he wasn’t intimidated or impressed. Then they resumed their game as if nothing happened.

On Day two of the training, Brian found himself inside Ace’s house. He was led to
the living-room and he was impressed by the wall high display case of poker trophies, all of them first place.

“Wow,” Brian whistled but Ace didn’t bring him for that, she handed him a rag and a can of wood polish. It was then Brian noticed the entire room was dusty. She pointed to a coffee-table and he began to polish the top.

“What is this suppose to do again?”

“Finger movement,” she simply said. “And the subtle skill of reaching for cards.
You missed a spot.” She pointed at the far end of the table.

“Sorry.” He dusted and mumbled to himself. Did John or Dave have to go through all this to become a better poker player? Probably not.

The pattern continued on throughout the whole week. At 9 o’clock he would show up at the house and Ace would have some odd job for him to do. By the fifth day, he was standing in front of Ace’s fence painting a second coat of white paint. He stopped mid-way, looked at the fence and looked back at the paintbrush and then at the house. He realized something very important. He wasn’t learning a damn thing about poker and the rematch was in forty-eight hours. He dropped the brush into the paint can and ran off just before Ace came out to check on his progress.

Twenty-four hours before the rematch Brian sat in the living room reading a book
on poker tips when he picked up the phone.

“Hello?” He didn’t know who it was.

“Brian, it’s me.” It was Ace. There was a touch of impatient annoyance in her voice. “Where are you?”

“At home.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like being made a fool of.” He hung up the phone. Five seconds later the phone rang again. It was Ace.

“Brian, why don’t you come back to my house and we’ll talk about this.”

“No.” He hung up the phone again. Fifteen seconds later the phone rang again. He
picked it up and slammed it down without responding to the caller. Another fifteen seconds later it rang again and he hung up on the phone before Ace could speak. This
continued for several more minutes until finally Brian caved in and picked up the phone. The constant ringing and hanging up and ringing again was driving him crazy.

“Will you please leave me alone?”

“Not until you come over to my house.”

“If I do this will you finally leave me alone.”

“Yes.” Then she hung up the phone.

Around eight in the evening, Ace sat at her front porch watching and waiting for
Brian. From the other side of the block, Brian walked slowly and casually. He distracted himself at stopping and looking at everything around him. It had finally sunk in and he was prepared for immanent humiliation and somehow he accepted that. He could see Ace pace back and forth. Halfway across the pavement Ace stopped and walked towards him.

“What took you so long? You’re late. You have a rematch in less than twenty-four hours.

“Yeah, and? So what.”

“So what? You’re in training. You should have been here hours ago.”

“Does your storm drains need cleaning? Or maybe you want your car washed and waxed? No! You want all your windows cleaned or some crappy menial job you want me to do. Just tell me now, I can’t stand the suspense. Six days, and you showed me nothing.
Was this some sort of sick joke you and John came up with…”

Before he could finish his sentence Ace slapped him. Not hard. Just a sudden tap on his forehead with two of her fingers to shut him up. And it did. This time, he calmed down.

“Are you finished? Take a deep breath an nod your head if you are.”

Brian nodded his head.

“Now, after that little breakdown are you ready to listen to me?”

Brian nodded again.

“Good. What I was going to say was that the chores were used to strengthen you physically and mentally for the second level of training.”

“Really?” Her face didn’t seem to betray any deception, no eye rolling or a half smile smirk or maybe she was bluffing. Brian couldn’t tell.

“And it didn’t hurt that you fixed my place up. Now that I know you’re determined to follow through, you passed the first level.” Brian followed her to her kitchen. On the table were several boxes of cards. She opened a box and began shuffling the pack. She stopped and took a card from the top which was an ace and laid it on the table. She
shuffled again and got a king then a queen and then a jack and then a ten all in the same suit.

“Now,” she said as she placed the cards back into the pack. “Fifty percent of poker
is strategy and shuffling.”

“What’s the other fifty percent?”

“Mind games and bluffing. You never let them know what you’re thinking or else it gives away the game. We’ll deal with that later. The trick to shuffling and having the perfect hand is to hold it a certain way. And if you shuffle it so many times you’ll end up with the card you want.” She laid out four aces and a king. “See? This is where the training takes effect.” She picked up a few random cards and held them in her hand. Ace noticed the familiarity in Brian’s eyes.

“Remember this? The way you held the lawn-mower. That means the player is unconsciously revealing two 7′s a Jack and two 10′s.”

“I never noticed that before.”

“There are a lot of things you didn’t notice. Like this.” She positioned her hands
and slightly bent her pinky fingers.

“Hey,” Brian said. “John usually holds his cards that way.”

“And did you notice it’s always two pairs of something, mostly sixes and tens.”

Ace continued to ramble on about card techniques and what to pick up and what to put down and Brian just nodded and tried to absorb it in.

Four in the morning Brian was asleep face down on the table. Cards were scattered
and piled all around his body. Ace was still talking but her voice was very hoarse. “Now
you keep the kings and discard the sevens and pick up two and so on and so on and so on…” Ace looked at her watch and gently shook Brian’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”

Brian sat up with a jolt. There was a card hanging from his mouth. “What?”

“That’s it, you now have all my strategies to win.”

Brian spits out the card. “Thanks,” he slowly tried to stand up and stretch his
cramped and numb legs. “Does all this training have to be at the last minute?”

“Of course it does,” she said. “It works better that way.” She flashed a card into his face. “What’s this?

“A king of diamonds?”

“See? Now go get them.” Brian’s hand was on the doorknob. “Wait.”

He stopped and turned around “What?”

“Did I forget something? Ah, forget it. It’s not that important. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Dave was shuffling impatiently for the tenth time. He looked at the kitchen clock
for the fifth time and it was 10:00. John was standing by the microwave to make another
bowl of popcorn.

“So when is he going to show?” Dave said. “It’s 10 o’clock.”

John was sitting calmly and reading the newspaper. “He’ll be here.”

“But it’s ten already.”

“He’ll be here.”

“How can you be sure.”

The screen door was slid open suddenly and sharply. Brian walked in wearing T-shirt and shorts. He sat down laughing confidently. He was psyched to take on John and Dave.

“Can’t you use the front door like a normal person?” said John. “I’m glad you made it. Dave didn’t think you’d show.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Yes you did.”

Brian noticed something was off in this room. The man sitting at Deb’s seat was not Debra. “Where’s Deb?”

“Debra decided to boycott the event because she thought we were acting like immature babboons. So I called my cousin Sam to fill in.

“Hey,” Sam said. “I’m only here because John owes
me money and won’t pay it back until after the game.”

Doesn’t matter, Brian thought. Just have to readjust the strategy.

John took the deck of cards from Dave and passed it to Brian. “Do you want to shuffle?”

Brian took the cards and smiled remembering Ace’s techniques on shuffling four
and a half times.

“Alright,” Brian said. “Five card stud and nothing is wild.” He eyed the way they
held the cards even though they were stone faced he mentally laughed, he knew what they had in their hands.

John had three 10′s, a two and a three.

Dave had two 5′s, two 6′s
and one Queen.

Sam had two 8′s, a nine, a three and a four.

Then he looked down at his own hand. His face fell and he threw his head back
and screamed, “Noooo!”

“Something wrong?” John said. John knew why and what Brian had in his hand.

Brian had a two, a three, a five, a ten and the promotional joker card.

Don’t like it? Don’t be an idiot

If you don’t like it, don’t be an idiot

There’s something about finding out random strangers happen to appreciate a fandom that drives people into rages they’d be arrested for if they were in public.  Here’s a news flash that shouldn’t have to be news: throwing a temper tantrum and insulting people does not make you smart or a better person.  Being smart and acting like a better person does.

Basics

Don’t let the basics of writing slip you by, especially when your rage is directed at something as silly as a show or book.  No one is even going to read what you write if you can’t prove you’ve passed kindergarten with the way you type.  Yes, people make mistakes, but intentionally writing like you’re three will just tell people to treat you as if you’re three.

You don’t like it is not enough

For some reason, it’s an easy thing to forget that just because you don’t like something, it’s not a reason to force others not to like it.  You’d easily say that someone who hates someone for their orientation, sex, gender, skin color, religion, or national origin should be called a jackass.  Yet, when you demean someone for something even more petty, you forget that doing so makes you even more of a jackass.

If you think that ‘because I don’t like it’ is a reason something should not exist, then someone else has the same right to believe what they don’t like should not exist.  Imagine a stranger coming into your home and changing your TV channel and saying ‘ don’t like that, so you shouldn’t watch it.’  You’ve justified that kind of behavior by demanding your opinions are the only right ones

Be objective and give proof

If you want to show that something is wrong with a show or story, you don’t just need a reason, you need to back it up.  You need facts to prove your statements.  People miss things, people don’t notice them, people don’t learn them, people forget things, people confuse things, etc.  But they won’t believe that happened unless you provide proof

You also need to approach things in an unbiased manner.  They are going to like fandom no matter what.  What endears is to them will stick with them no matter what you say.  Just as it’s easy to doubt a statement without facts to back it up, it’s easy to doubt facts if they are used to back up something biased. 

Use real logic

 Don’t let yourself fall victim to idiocy that looks like common sense and intelligence.  Be careful about logical fallacies.  Anyone with half a brain can figure these out and when they are spotted, they destroy the credibility of everything you say.

The reason they work is because they twist words to look like they make sense at first.  Take for instance, a hasty generalization.  You say that all fanfiction is bad and list reasons.  Someone you complain to notices there is at least one fanfiction in existence that does not qualify.  They wonder why they should believe anything you say if your list of reasons is now a complete lie.

Don’t evade

Don’t pretend questions asked or statements made by others has no merit due to the fandom they like.  It is not mature, it is cowardly.  If you are trying to convince someone of something, you are trying to educate.  A teacher answers questions.  They point out the answer with reasons why it’s the answer.  They point out flaws in statements and say why they are flaws.

How much would you trust a teacher that never answered a question you had?  Perhaps their wording was strange, perhaps you were confused, perhaps you didn’t quite get it yet.  Would you think they are good at teaching if they never helped?

 

Do your research

            As bad or unintelligent as you may think a fandom is, there will always be a smart fan. People are often smart in different areas of intelligence.  For instance, many people can use intelligence to analyze stories and explain why they are bad, but are not smart enough to type properly.

If you think something is wrong, make sure it is first.  One example I’ve encountered many times is about applying science to the supernatural undead.  A fresh male corpse has the possibility of impregnating a living female; similarly, female corpses have been known to give birth to live babies.  Added to those, most myths of supernatural undead beings involve their virility and fertility. These facts don’t show that a fandom is good or bad, merely that they can prove an argument right or wrong.

However, if your argument is wrong, you are not going to look intelligent—especially in the age of google.  You are going to look like someone kicking and screaming and might as well be doing so about the sun going around the earth.

Guilty pleasures

Opinions and facts are very different things.  You can prove things with facts.  Facts require knowledge. You can’t prove something with an opinion.  Opinions don’t require knowledge. These are very separate things.

Just because they are separate concepts does not mean they can’t apply to the same thing.  No matter how smart you are, you can still laugh at a cat and poor spelling. You don’t have to like everything because of facts. In fact, you don’t like things because of facts, you like them because of your opinions.  Knowing more about something doesn’t change your opinion, it’s your opinion about those facts that add up.

In the Star Wars original movies, the story tends to downplay feminism.  Leia abandons helping an entire galaxy’s safety and rights to rescue her loves.  Knowing that doesn’t change your opinion; your opinion on how feminism is portrayed either outweighs your opinion on the rest of the movie or it doesn’t.

Give fans the chance to still like the fandom you hate.  Educate them and let them appreciate it. They can know everything objectively wrong about it and still like it; they can still look at something the way one looks at cat with poor writing. 

Be polite

            No matter what you can prove, no one will care if you’re mean about it.  Consider what you’re being mean about: a TV show, a movie, a comic book, a prose book, a series or mix of them.  You are not fighting to aid cancer victims; you are fighting to point out something wrong in fiction.

Even if you are angry, don’t be.  No matter how important it is to you, your goal is not to piss someone else off.  It is to communicate.  If you ware walking by and mention a fandom you like, are you going to bother listening to the stranger who turns around and screams obscenities at you, or the one who is polite about butting in and mentioning something?

Even if they are a jackass, you still look like a jackass for stooping to their level.  Other people can see your argument.  You aren’t going to look any smarter with your obscenities, insults, or cruelty. You will look intelligent telling others in a calm, polite, and intelligent manner. 

Have a sense of humor

Laugh at fandoms, whether you like them or not.  Enjoy flaws in ones you like, in ones you don’t.  Enjoy the awesome parts of both.  Don’t stew in hatred.  Sit back, relax, point something out, and enjoy life.  Don’t let it pass you by and make sure to find humor in things.

Humor is a wonderful tool for communication.  It exaggerates, is mocks, it twists, and it is there for the enjoyment of both those who do and do not like a fandom.  It is a bridge between you and those you are communicating with.  Use it to your advantage, don’t burn it and curse when you’re hurt or ignored by it.

Cheapest (in a true sense) Halloween Costume Ever

Jake found himself standing at a corner yet again in the party.

An attractive woman, by media standards, happened to stumble by with a tray of drinks, and went “Ooh!” when she caught sight of Jake’s nose, which had been sticking out of the shadow of the corner.

“Oh shit…” said Jake, but it was too late. The drinks crashed to the floor, causing a small mess around his sneakers and the polished tips of her high-heels, but a larger general discrepancy in terms of the *sound* that was going on in the whole apartment.

People began to look at them, and he pulled her into the corner with him. “It’s better this way,” he said, “I promise.”

“Idiot!” she said, as quietly and irritatedly as she could. “You’ve ruined Halloween!”

He hadn’t expected that. “What?” he said. “I just accidentally tripped you over, miss, it was just a sort of small joke, shenanigan. If it’s that bad, I can go back there and refill your tray.”

She just laughed. “No point now,” she said. “See that guy there? That’s who I was bringing the tray to. He asked me to bring it, and I went, filled up the drinks, and was going to be perfectly on time. He times us, you know? We call him the ‘Time Lord’ at the office.” She shook her head. “Now I’ve ruined his Halloween.”

“You wot?”

“Guy with a sad life like that, the one thing he enjoys is Halloween,” she said. “Christmas party is too sedate for him. Halloween is the only time he gets to enjoy really seeing all the other people be totally crazy and different. And they all put the masks on, and they all have funny interactions with each other, and he watches and participates! And if he wants a bloody tray of drinks for him and his chums, bloody hell, he’s going to have it!”

He looked down at the smashed pieces of glass at their feet. “Wow,” was all he could say. “That is pretty creepy.” He tried to smile.

This was when she noticed him. “Hey!” she said. “Where’s your costume?”

“I’m wearing it,” he replied.

“You’re wearing a t-shirt and khakis.” She gazed at him distastefully. “I suppose you could be a mugger at the piers.”

“A mugger?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said, “Some guy that hangs near the docks, ready to just jump out and mug a dating couple.”

“This coming from Chewbacca’s poontang,” he replied.

She took one step back from him, rubbing faux fur against her left shin. “Whatever. You suck. You come in here, no costume, and you ruin the flow of the music.”

This made him a little angry. “What the hell,” he said, loudly, “how do I ruin the music?”

She covered his face with her furry palms. “Shuttup, shuttup,” she said. Then she pointed out, her arm drawing an arc across the entire living room, “Don’t you see?” she said. “Don’t you see that everything is going according to a rhythm?

Do you not see the mermaid over there, gently supported by her hubby?”

“Lol, that pregnant woman is supposed to be a mermaid?”

“Shuttup,” she said. “She is carrying the illusion.”

“Illoo-oo-shion?” he said.

“And around them, there’s the spider?”, she pointed, “do you see that. See how that sea-spider guy is protecting the couple from anyone who may want to come in and break the mermaid’s bond between her and her Sea God?”

“You see over there,” he said, taking her hand and pointing it to the left, “how that Ice-Cream Cone is totally getting roofied by that CEO type fella with, for some reason, sheep pants?”

She let out a sharp laugh. “Oh you fool, that’s just Sam and Jason. They’re a couple too!”

“Sheesh,” he said, slinking even deeper into his corner. “You think they over-did it?”
She looked at him again. His t-shirt and pants. “You really don’t get it, do you? You’re supposed to come to parties like this wearing a costume. It’s part of the fun. You mix with people. You be somebody you would never be in real life.”

“But what if what you are…in real life…was spooky enough?” he said.

“Stupid,” she gasped. “Ok, look. Wearing a t-shirt and standing in a dark corner like some thug is not exactly a costume, ok?”

“I’m not coming as a thug,” he said, slowly stepping out.

“Oh yeah? Then what? Freaking Potsie from Happy Days? What’s your costume?”

“I’m coming as Paranormal Activity 5,” he said.

She burst out laughing, but just as she did, the music in the apartment stopped. Behind all the confusion and anger of the people, she heard this guy standing next to her sort of laugh, but very quietly, and walk closer to her.

Then suddenly all the lights in the apartment went out, and as she turned her head, the last thing she saw was what looked like the chandelier breaking from the ceiling and falling on the mermaid.

(From the people who came dressed as a molotov cocktail in ’04)

Your Mom’s Keyboard

Dear Busy Adult,

I was so happy and excited the day I was bought, still in my package.  I thought I may be useful, and used to help type a message that would end the conflict in the Middle East, or maybe I would be used to enter the final formula for solving cold fusion.  I had dreams of adventure; destroying you teenager’s enemies, as commands were typed for their avatar.  You know I would not have judged them for their choice of troll in the Dwarves’ Alliance.

Ah, but instead you gave me to your mom.  She hits my keys, with her index finger, like a kid plays whack-mole.  Last week I helped her find lost episodes of Murder She Wrote.  Does she know that I have had my caps lock turned on, for three months?  Yes, that is the reason she can’t type in her email password.

I am not solving the world’s problems, or on a virtual quest. I know I will last a long time, because she gets plenty of rest.  She may use certain keys, way too often.  Why does she use LOL so much? However, I do get to type her heartfelt ending note to the grandkids, her traditional XXOOOXXX.

I smell like the big bottle of perfume you bought her in 1983.  I take her to look at your facebook status, ten times a day.  You should know, not even your mom cares what you had for lunch.

Thanks,

Your Mom’s keyboard

 

P.S.

You mom is very sweet, this gig isn’t that bad.  At least I am not your dad’s keyboard.  I am too ashamed to tell you what that keyboard goes through!

 

 

Princess Lottie Pt. 3

When Lottie woke she was warm, dry, and more than a little confused. She opened her eyes and recognized nothing around her. She was lying in a large, comfortable bed with clean downy sheets. Her head throbbed and her throat felt like it had never come in contact with anything wetter than sand, but the sun was warm on her face and the gentle chirping of birds made her forget the horror of nearly being burned alive by an irate, visually impaired dragon. She sat up and immediately regretted the decision.

Her arm exploded with pain and all at once the memories of the battle with Helgarth raced through her mind. Sure, she’d been in dangerous predicaments before, but usually she only sat on the sidelines watching. Never had she been the one doing the rescuing. Her heart hammered rapidly in her chest and her left arm screamed to remind her of the consequences of her actions. She gasped to keep from crying as her burns radiated heat though her body. She clenched her eyes shut and ground her teeth together in attempt to will away the pain.

“Oh, you’re awake,” said a squeaky voice. “Guess it’s time to change your bandages.”

A withered, spindly hand cradled Lottie’s arm while Lottie did everything she could to not choke the life out of the old woman the hand belonged to. The woman removed the bandages and the couple of layers of skin that didn’t seem to want to be separated from them. Lottie screamed and lost control of her limb. The offended arm jumped to life on its own terms and slapped the woman across her wrinkly face.

Ignoring the princess’s protest, the woman renewed her grip on Lottie with strength that was surprising in someone who looked as if she’d fall over in a strong wind. She smeared a thick, gluey salve into Lottie’s burns. Relief instantly rushed over Lottie and she swooned a little. The woman cackled and proceeded to wrap the arm in a clean, white gauze. When she was finished, she thrust a seashell into Lottie’s hand.

“Drink,” she ordered.

Lottie drank. Cold, fresh water slid down her throat taking her breath away. She refilled the shell three more times before she had drunk her fill. After the water came a slightly larger shell filled with hot soup. The soup had large chunks of crab and a spicy, coconutty taste which Lottie found delicious. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. When the last dregs of soup were finished, Lottie sighed contentedly and handed the shell back to the woman.

“How was it?” said the woman removing the shells and soiled bandages. Lottie belched in response. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” the old woman cackled.

“Who are you?” Lottie asked.

“Oh, Lordy, where are my manners,” the woman said. “I’m Agatha. And you’re Lottie. Princess Lottie to be exact.”

Lottie was taken aback. “How do you know my name?” she said.

“Your friend,” Agatha said. “The boy in the dress.”

“Calix!” shouted Lottie. “How is he?”

“Oh don’t worry about him,” Agatha laughed. “Him and the dragon’s out collecting firewood for me.”

Lottie’s heart leapt. “Godric’s okay too!”

Agatha had to force Lottie back into bed. “Now, you just calm down, little lady,” she said. “Don’t go working yourself into a fuss. Both of your friends are just fine. It’s you, you should be worried about.”

“I’m fine,” Lottie said. “Never felt better. How long was I out?”

“About a week,” said Agatha.

Lottie coughed and nearly passed out again from the shock. “A week?” she said.

Agatha nodded and began to move around her tiny hut tidying things up. For the first time Lottie got a good look at the place. Agatha’s house was very small, barely large enough to fit the bed Lottie was currently lying in, a fireplace, and a rickety table made out of seaweed and driftwood. All around the circular room hung herbs, flowers, and other plants Lottie had never laid eyes on. The table was littered with seashells and glass bottles containing ointments, potions, creams, and powders. A small cauldron sat at the edge of the table beside a well-used mortar and pestle. Not exactly the accommodations Lottie was used to, but she decided that she like the place. It was homey and had a pleasant briny scent.

“Your home is lovely,” Lottie said.

Agatha beamed with pride. “I built this place myself,” she said. “It’s not much, but it’s homey and has a pleasant briny scent.”

Lottie shrugged that off as a coincidence and eyed cauldron. “Are you a witch?” she said.

Agatha rolled her eyes and glowered at her. “I could have been,” she said. “But I didn’t pass the entrance exam. Had trouble with transfigurations. My toads always retained their human eyes.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lottie said.

“I could never make any of my spells stick anyway,” Agatha replied rinsing out the seashells and arranging them neatly on a shelf. “Some people have it, some people don’t. I only wanted to be a witch because of my mother in the first place. I come from a long line of prominent witches. I’m afraid my mother was quite disappointed when I never seemed to display a gift for it.”

“So all these herbs and things…” Lottie said.

“Medicinal,” Agatha said. “Never amounted to much of a sorceress, but I’m a top notch healer.”

“I’m glad you are,” said Lottie. “I’m not sure I’d be here if not for you.”

Agatha finished tidying up and plopped onto the bed beside Lottie. “You wouldn’t be,” she said. “Have you had a good look at that arm of yours?”

Lottie looked at her injured arm for the first time and almost threw up that delicious crab stew. She didn’t know what she expected, but it was definitely what she saw. The skin was blackened and blistered. What was left of it anyway. Her arm resembled something a butcher would discard than a fully functional limb. Lottie stared at it in horror. Agatha noticed Lottie’s expression and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s not quite as bad as it looks. We can fix you right up.”

“Really?” Lottie asked hopefully.

“Of course,” said Agatha. “I told you I am a top notch healer. You’re lucky that boy got you here when he did. Not an easy task dragging an injured princess and an unconscious dragon three miles to shore in time to save that arm of yours.”

Lottie was speechless. She hadn’t considered how she had come to be in Agatha’s hut, but she never imagined that Calix could have carried her. In a dress no less! She may have seriously misjudged his character. Lottie was almost too relieved when Agatha interrupted her thoughts.

“You know,” she said. “That shield was harder than blazes to remove. Most of it had melted right on to the bone. What on earth did you do to make them Iron Mountain dragons so angry?”

Lottie sighed and smiled. “It’s a long story,” she said.

“Well, your friends won’t be back for a while,” said Agatha. “And I love a good story.”

 

***

By the time Lottie had finished the story the sun was setting and Godric and Calix had returned. Godric still had a black eye and what appeared to be a broken nose, and Calix was missing his eyebrows, but both of were otherwise uninjured. After a few moments of hugs, tears, and a collective sigh of relief, a fire was built, dinner was cooked, and Agatha introduced them all to her homemade wine.

An hour later the wine was gone, the fire had died to smoldering embers, and Godric had challenged Agatha to a game of tic-tac-toe in the sand leaving Lottie and Calix alone. There was an uncomfortable silence between the two and for a while they were content to watch the last wisps of smoke rise and dance away from the fire.

Calix cleared his throat and tried to speak but nothing came of it. Lottie shifted her weight and scratched nervously at her injured arm.

“How’s your arm?” Calix said at last.

“Still hurts,” she said loosening her bandages. “And it itches pretty badly. Agatha gave me some salve she concocted that she says will heal it up in no time.”

She pulled a small jar from her pocket and unstopped it. She recoiled a little at the metallic scent that assailed her nostrils. Calix laughed.

“That bad eh?”

“Not really, “ she said. “Just smells like my grandma.”

She unwound the bandages and smeared the medicine on her burns. Calix whistled slightly.

“I didn’t realize it was that bad,” he said. “Is that bone?”

Lottie nodded as cool relief seeped into her muscles. She wound a new bandage over her newly growing skin, but couldn’t quite tie it off. She hated the look of pity in Calix’s eye as he took her hand.

“Here, let me help,” he said. Lottie didn’t like showing any sort of weakness but offered him her hand. His touch was surprisingly gentle and she found that she minded him touching her less than she would have thought. When he was finished he held her hand just a little longer than Lottie felt was necessary.

“Um, Calix?” said Lottie eying their intertwined hands.

He quickly pulled his hand back and even in the half light of the near dead fire, Lottie could see him blush. Lottie decided it was rather endearing and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied.

“Thank you for also dragging my unconscious body to shore,” she continued.

Calix snickered. “Oh, you were no problem,” he said. “Getting Godric here was the hard part.”

“Jeez, Calix,” Lottie said rolling her eyes. “Just say ‘you’re welcome’ already. Don’t be so damn modest. According to Agatha, you probably saved my life.

“I definitely saved your life,” he said. “But I you saved mine first back there in the Crater so I was just repaying a debt.”

“Oh, right,” she said, remembering the battle with Helgarth and shuddering. “I guess we’re even.”

“Not quite,” Calix said and his eyes fell again on Lottie’s bandaged arm. Lottie understood. Somehow Calix blamed himself for her injuries. She wanted to comfort him but didn’t quite know what to say. Another uncomfortable silence followed. Eventually she spoke.

“Calix,” she said. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. What say we start over.”

“I-I’d like that,” he said.

“Good,” she said. She looked around and breathed in the salty sea air. “Where are we by the way?”

“The Southern Isles,” he said. “The southern most of the Southern Isles, actually.”

“Does it have a name?” she asked.

“No. Too small,” he said. “Agatha is the only one who lives here. Tomorrow we can take a walk and you’ll see how small it is.”

Lottie noticed the hopeful tone in his voice but decided to play coy. “Who does Agatha heal then, if she’s the only one here?”

Calix scooted close to Lottie and pointed vaguely northwesterly. Lottie couldn’t help noticing that he deliberately smelled her hair as he did so. She didn’t really mind because she was intrigued by the agreeably tropical scent coming from his.

“See those lights over there?” he said. “Those are Major Isles. They make up the archipelago where Agatha does most of her business.”

“I see,” she whispered. A moment passed in which they both stared at the archipelago and then Lottie sighed.

“What’s wrong?” said a perhaps too concerned Calix. “Is it your burns again?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that,” she reassured him. “It’s just…I’ve never been this far from home before. There has always been a five mile radius on all rescue scenarios and kidnap situations.”

“How many of those have there been?” Calix asked.

“About two per year since I was eleven,” Lottie said. “Give or take.”

Calix’s jaw made a slight swishing sound as it struck the sand below him. After a moment of awkward staring he closed his mouth and said, “That seems excessive.”

“You get used to it,” Lottie shrugged. “Besides I’ve picked up some useful life experience from them, so it’s not all bad.”

“I’ll say,” Calix exclaimed. “The way you fought those dragons…I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Lottie blushed and was thankful that all that was left of the fire was smoke and ashes so Calix couldn’t see her cheeks redden. “Thanks,” she whispered.

For a while they sat in silence listening to the waves crash over the beach. Agatha’s wine had gotten the better of Godric and he now laid on his side with this limbs twitching ever so often as he dreamed of chasing butterflies. Agatha shook her head and stretched out beside him to look up at the stars. A cool breeze whipped in from the ocean and Lottie caught herself snuggling closer to Calix. Without thinking he wrapped his arm around her and instead of punching him in the nose, Lottie sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. This surprised them both and in order to break the tension Lottie asked him how long it would take them to get home.

“Four days,” he said. “Less if Godric consents to fly us there.”

“I hope he doesn’t,” she said. “I like the idea of having an adventure.”

“I’d hardly call this an adventure,” Calix said as he adjusted slightly to make himself more comfortable. His arm had fallen asleep but he didn’t want to remove it from Lottie’s shoulders. “Besides, don’t you miss your home?”

Lottie sat up and shook some of the sand out of her hair, untangling herself from Calix’s embrace in the process. Calix let out a disappointed sigh that he would have been mortified to know that Lottie had heard. “I don’t think you ever really miss home until you’ve been somewhere else for a long time,” she said.

“Oh. Right,” Calix said as he turned from her and hugged his knees. Lottie couldn’t see him, but she sensed that the boy was upset. She placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and turned him to face her. “How long have you been away?” she asked him.

Calix cocked his head to the side and did some quick math in his head. “Almost six years,” he said at last.

Lottie’s jaw made a slight swishing sound as it struck the sand below her. After a few moments of awkward staring, she managed to choke out the word “Why?”

“I’m not sure there even is a home for me to return to,” Calix confessed and Lottie thought she saw the beginning of a tear glistening in the corner of his eye. Calix took a deep break and said, “My country was attacked by a neighboring kingdom we thought were our friends. I lost everything. My crown, my home…my family… My sisters were five and six years old.”

The tear slid down his face and Lottie knew better than to wipe it away. Instead she took Calix’s hand. “Are they…” Lottie whispered.

“I don’t know,” Calix said. “I hope so, but as far as I know I’m the only living member of the royal family. And even that in name only. I barely escaped with my horse and the clothes on my back.” He glanced around as if noticing the horse missing for the first time. “And now I seemed to have lost those as well.”

Lottie laughed. She couldn’t stop herself and immediately regretted it. As it turned out she wasn’t the only one who found it funny. Calix laughed. He wasn’t sure if he found his situation particularly humorous or if he was laughing at Lottie’s reaction, but he laughed nonetheless. They both laughed and for a few brief minutes they forgot about violent invasions and fire breathing dragons.

Princess Lottie Pt. 2

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Calix said an hour later as he tucked a couple of large apples into the bodice of Lottie’s gown. The dress fit remarkably well. A little too well, if Calix were to be completely honest with himself. A few locks from his horse’s tail had made a passable wig. The horse wasn’t at all thrilled with this though.

“You look very pretty, Calix.” Lottie and Godric snickered as she tightened Calix’s belt across her waist. Lottie looked and felt much more at home in Calix’s doublet and hose than he did in her vestments.

“This is humiliating,” Calix blushed.

“Welcome to my world,” Lottie said over her shoulder as she pulled herself into the saddle of Calix’s horse.

Calix adjusted his sleeves and watched Lottie try unsuccessfully to mount his horse. “I bet you’re just loving this,” he said as he helped her get her footing on the stirrup.

“Thanks,” she said kindly, plopping herself firmly in the saddle. “Everything but the codpiece.”

Calix smiled. “You have corsets, we have codpieces.”

Lottie laughed. Not long and heartily, but a short chuckle born from actual amusement. It surprised them both. They simply looked at each other for a moment then, slowly, Lottie spoke. “Calix, what did you mean when you said you knew what it was like to leave your home?”

“Oh, I…” Calix stuttered. Luckily, Godric saved him from having to finish the statement.

“It’s time,” Godric said thrusting his huge, spiny head between them. “Is everyone clear on the plan?”

“You fly through the clan with me to the Crater of Trials,” said Calix. “Drop me onto Blood Rock. After the matriarch acknowledges you and inspects the ‘princess’ she officially announces the start of the test.”

“Right,” said Godric. “And remember Helgarth is a real tough character. Just keep calm and let me do the talking during the inspection.”

“Are you sure I’ll pass?” worried Calix.

“You look pretty authentic to me,” said Lottie and then adjusted his apples.

“Let’s hope so,” Godric said. “She’s not a vegetarian.”

Calix made a valiant attempt to hide the crippling fear that slithered down his spine. To her credit, Lottie gave no sign that she could see him shaking beneath the yards of lace and velvet.

“She is almost completely blind though,” continued Godric. “So we should be fine.”

Calix gulped. “Right. Then Lottie thunders in on horseback and challenges you to a fight to the death. After a few minutes you ‘kill’ her and are pronounced a full-fledged member of the clan, and Lottie and I sneak out during the festivities. Simple enough. Why do they call it Blood Rock?”

Godric and Lottie both could only stare at him in amazement. “I think I’m going to be sick,” Calix said. And then he was.

“Feel better?” Lottie asked after he had pulled his head out of the bushes.

“No,” he said.

“First time’s always the worst,” Lottie said. “It gets easier.”

“What does?”

“Being in distress.” Calix smiled at her joke, but after looking at her knitted brow and pursed lips decided he had misinterpreted the comment.

“Ready?” she asked him.

“Not in the least,” he replied.

“Good,” she said. “That’ll make your performance more real. Godric?”

Godric snatched Calix from the ground before he had a chance to respond and threw them both into the sky.

 

***

Calix meant to have stern conversation with Godric about his aerial abilities when they landed, but any minor frights he had about flying were quickly replaced by soul killing terror of the Crater of Trials. To say that the Crater was massive would be an understatement. Calix had only a brief glimpse of Lottie’s castle, but he assumed that three of them could have easily fit into the arena-like structure.

The Crater of Trials was a mammoth bowl scooped out of the bare rock of the Iron Mountains. Jagged and vicious looking cliffs jutted out at improbable angles over bottomless depths. The walls of the arena were charred from dragons’ breath of Trials past. The ground, at least what Calix assumed was the ground, it was hard to tell from this high up, was blanketed by ash, half melted swords and shields, and the remains of human knights who had the honor of participating in the dragons’ rite of passage.

The place stank of sulfur and smoke. A loud buzzing sound reached Calix’s ears and he looked down to see a living blanket of flies the size of arrowheads swarming over the rotting remains of fallen knights. Calix heaved as he was carried over the carnage and was relieved that he was high enough not to see his partially digested breakfast splatter across a neat stack of blackened human skulls. None of this compared to Blood Rock.

In the exact center of the Crater loomed a smooth tower of soot black rock. It stood twenty feet tall and twenty feet across. At closer inspection Calix understood how it had gotten its name. Scarlet stripes ran down the tower like the legs of a fine wine twisting an intricate latticework towards the arena’s floor. Calix shuddered and, all too soon, was unceremoniously dropped on the top of Blood Rock. The wind howled around him sending his skirts and horsehair wig fluttering. He really missed his codpiece.

Godric flew around the circumference and came to a landing at the north side of the Crater sending bones and armor clattering for yards in every direction. The crater was deserted. Godric took a look around and, Calix couldn’t be sure, seemed to shiver at the emptiness. He took a deep breath, tossed back his head, and roared. A moment passed and nothing happened. Another moment and still nothing. Godric waited with baited breath for what felt like hours. Finally, across the Crater, the call was answered.

It started as one voice, then a second joined in. A third filled out the chord and soon the pit was filled with the roar of dragons. They came from every direction, unseen heralds of the great beasts. The cacophony was unlike anything heard by human ears. Deafening and terrifying, but undeniably beautiful. The haunting notes struck the Crater’s walls where they were thrown back to their owners after being distorted and amplified until the arena was filled with a symphony of sound. Had Calix not been using all of his mental powers to keep from soiling Lottie’s dress, he would have indeed described it as spectacular. Then, the first dragon showed itself.

A great flapping was heard as the monstrous beast descended from the heavens and came with a crash to the rim of the Crater. More followed. Some came from the sky. Some writhed through the cracks in the arena floor. Some pulled themselves along the walls of the crater. From every direction they came. Each one alighting itself along the edge of the Crater to watch the Trial until the rim resembled a glittering crown fit for the most unapologetically wealthy monarch.

The Crater sparkled with reds, flaming oranges and yellows, icy blues, and deep violets you could get lost in. Every color imaginable was represented on the dragons’ leathery hides. They would be beautiful if their luster hadn’t come with foot long serrated spikes and talons that could tear flesh from bone in seconds flat. And the teeth! The teeth were sharp too.

The dragons, once in position, ended their song and for a while nothing happened. The silence stretched out over the Crater until the last echoing strains of the dragonsong faded, then one of the dragons, a bronze colored one with a wicked scar across its left eye and a sizable hole in its right wing, began stomping its foot. It added a chant with each stomp and the cliffs echoed with the noise. The chant and stomping was slowly picked up by the other dragons. The rhythm sped up and the chanting got louder until Calix feared his eardrums might explode. As quickly as it had begun, the chanting and stomping ceased and Helgarth presented herself.

Anyone who saw Godric would assume that he was a large dragon. This is mainly because not many people have witnessed a Dragon Matriarch and Dragon Matriarchs do not attain such a position by merely being large. Comparing Godric to Helgarth would be like comparing a Shetland pony to a Clydesdale. Helgarth towered head and shoulders over every dragon on the rim. She yawned revealing an abyss of teeth the size of broadswords and stretched her wings, plunging the Crater into darkness. Her scales, the color of smoky quartz, were pockmarked with scars, holes, and smooth burn marks. Helgarth was old. Impossibly old and her joints ached with arthritis. Her spikes were chipped and broken, some missing entirely and her wings were a spider web of varicose veins. Her eyes, huge and deep, were glazed over with a milky substance that cause them to spasm every once and a while of their own accord. When she spoke her voice was akin to someone dragging a dying mule across a dry riverbed.

“Godric? Godric have you returned with your prize?” she called out to the assembly.

“I have, Mother,” Godric called back.

“Mother?!” Calix shouted, unable to control himself. Fortunately, the height of Blood Rock made it impossible for any of the dragons to hear him. As such, he was allowed to keep his limbs.

Helgarth growled a low growl and descended into the pit. Calix may have been imagining things, but could have sworn he heard the vertebrae in her neck creak as she raised her head to the top of Blood Rock. He was thankful that the ancient Matriarch was blind or she would have clearly seen the sweat beading on his brow. Her milky eye twitched and throbbed and Calix held his breath. Helgarth brought her cavernous nostrils over to Calix and inhaled. Calix had to hold tight to his wig or risk it being torn from his head and into Helgarth’s sinuses as she took in his scent. She sneezed and almost tore Blood Rock apart in doing so.

“That’s a princess all right,” she said. “I must say I’m impressed, Godric. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Godric groveled.

“And the hero?” Helgarth began to circle her son intimidatingly.

“A p-p-p-prince,” Godric stammered.

Helgarth laughed, Calix’s heart iced over, and Godric tried to keep from shaking.

“You can barely say it, hatchling!” scoffed Helgarth. “How do you plan to defeat your p-p-prince?”

“B-b-by tooth and claw and flame,” replied Godric with his head hung. “And I’m not a hatchling mother.”

Helgarth roared a roar that shook the very foundations of the mountains. “Do not talk back to me, Godric!”

“I am sorry, M-M-Mother,” Godric was just able to get out.

Helgarth leaned in close to Godric so only he could hear her. “Sass me again, son, and hatchling or not I will tear you apart.”

“Y-y-y-yes, Mother.”

Helgarth turned, joints screaming with arthritis, to face her clan. “Godric has retrieved a princess! His hero is on his way! Let the Trial begin!” she said. The dragons bellowed their assent. Calix couldn’t help noticing that dragons apparently took any available opportunity to roar.

“Do not disappoint me, Godric,” whispered Helgarth, as she ascended to the rim of the Crater.

The dragons waited for a prince to come galloping in and rescue Godric’s princess. After twenty minutes of waiting they became restless. Murmurs of the clan buzzed around the Crater and Helgarth’s sigh was enough to send shivers down Godric’s spine. The dragons huffed and tut tutted under their breath, Godric took to pacing the perimeter of the Crater, and Calix, having nothing better to do, took a nap. When Godric’s prince hadn’t arrived after a full forty five minutes Helgarth spoke.

“Your p-p-p-prince is late hatchling,” she sneered at her son.

Godric opened his mouth to respond but all that came out was a sound not unlike that of a heavy stone door swinging open on rusty hinges, which is exactly what it was. Every head turned towards the south facing gate as it slowly crept open.

“My god that’s a heavy door!” Lottie said squeezing herself and the horse into the Crater of Trials. She took in the scenery and promptly froze to see an entire clan of dragons staring her down.

“Is he here,” said Helgarth to the black dragon on her left. The dragon nodded then, remembering that Helgarth was blind, added a vocal affirmation. “Finally,” she said stretching out her neck. “Well, hatchling, let’s see what you’re made of. Go on Godric. Kill him!”

Godric winked at Lottie and then began circling her. When he was within her earshot he whispered, “Make it look convincing.” Lottie nodded, mounted her horse, and charged at Godric.

True to her word Lottie made it very lifelike, slashing and stabbing like a seasoned knight.  Godric did his best to doge the blows but a few of them landed. Lottie’s sword tore through Godric’s skin above his right eye. Blood spurted from the slash and Godric tossed his head away. “Not that convincing,” he hissed.

“Sorry,” Lottie apologized. “Knock me off my horse.”

Not needing to be told twice, Godric snapped his jaws at Lottie. She avoided them and took another swipe at him. This time, Godric ducked and whipped his tail around to throw both Lottie and the horse across the arena. The horse was not having a great day.

Godric was on her before she could stop the world from spinning. He snapped again and again and each time Lottie blocked his teeth with the flat of her sword so as not to cause any further injuries. Thought the battle was fake, Calix had to admire Lottie’s fighting skill. Apparently she’d picked up a few things from all the other princes that had rescued her in the past. She was good. Very good. Almost better than him, though he’d never tell her. Still, there was something about the way the muscles in Lottie’s arms rippled when she hefted his sword over her head that made Calix’s heart bang against his ribs. He crept to the edge of the rock to get a closer look.

Lottie and Godric moved like dancers through an intricate ballet of blood and violence. They lunged, parried, attacked, and withdrew each in turn. Neither gaining an upper hand. It was a beautiful display. Unfortunately the dragons of the Iron Mountain Clan cared little for beauty. They wanted blood, and they were getting restless. “Stop playing with him and finish it, Godric!” Helgarth bellowed.

“Ready for the coup de grace?” Lottie asked so only Godric could hear.

The dragon nodded his green head and Lottie let out a battle cry that would put the hardest warrior to shame and charged. Godric roared, shrugged off her attack, and took off into the sky taking Lottie with him. He flew in an arc around the Crater with Lottie dangling like a rag doll. The dragons roared in delight. Godric’s heart swelled with pride for the first time in his life. He chanced a look at his mother and nearly dropped Lottie when he saw, or imagined, her smiling at him. Well, in the vicinity of him. That heartwarming moment was brought to a crashing halt when Lottie drove the sword into space between Godric’s second and third toe. Pain shot through Godric’s leg and he lost his grip on the princess.

As luck would have it, Godric just so happened to be hovering over Blood Rock when he dropped Lottie, and Calix once again found himself breaking her fall.

“You have got to stop doing that,” Calix said dragging himself out from under Lottie.

Lottie grunted and pulled herself to her feet. “Relax,” she said. “Everything is under control.”

She looked across the rock to where Godric had crashed. He was lying in a twisted mass of wings and limbs. He righted himself and took a cautious step toward Lottie.

“That really hurt, Lottie,” he said wincing at the pain.

“Sorry,” she said humbly. “I’ve never fought a dragon before. I guess I got carried away. It’s very exciting.”

“Hardly the word I would use,” said Calix.

The dragons waited on the edge of their seats. Godric threw them a look and then tore the sword out of his foot. Almost casually he tossed it over the edge. It made a slight ping sound as it struck the arena floor a couple of minutes later. The dragons roared their approval and Lottie wasn’t at all pleased with the sinking feeling she got in her stomach.  Godric took out Lottie’s feet with his tail and was pinning her to the stone the minute she touched the ground.

All at once Lottie felt the air being crushed from her lungs as Godric’s claw slammed into her chest like a safe. Godric threw back his head and roared in triumph. The other dragons soon joined.

“Well done, Godric!” said Helgarth silencing the clan. “Now eat him.”

Godric almost snapped Lottie’s ribs. “B-b-but, Mother, I don’t-“ Godric stammered.

“I’ve had enough of your vegetarian nonsense,” Helgarth said. “Now eat the damn prince like a real dragon!”

There was no questioning Helgarth’s tone. Godric looked back and forth from his mother, to Lottie, to Calix, and back to his mother. He shrugged, gave Lottie an apologetic whimper, and then swallowed her whole.

“No!” yelled Calix. He tried to prevent it, but was too late. Helgarth laughed a sinister laugh deep in her dusty throat.

“Dragons of the Iron Mountains Clan,” she began. “My son Godric has completed his Trial and I am pleased to present him as a full member of our community! Godric, have you anything to say?”

Godric opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, Lottie, and a fair amount of bile, came splattering out.

“I guess he really is a vegetarian,” was all she had to say.

“That is so gross,” Calix elaborated.

“We’re in trouble,” Godric said, still a little queasy.

All three statements were true although, Godric’s proved to be the most pressing.

There was a collective gasp from the clan followed by three minutes of silence as one of the dragons relayed the events to Helgarth, then an ear splitting screech as she threw herself toward Blood Rock.

Godric’s heart was yanked into his throat and his eyes nearly jumped out of his skull as he saw his mother barreling toward him.

“Time to go,” he said. He quickly grabbed Lottie and Calix, opened his wings, and leaped off of Blood Rock seconds before Helgarth slammed into it.

The Crater of Trials vibrated as all of Helgarth’s considerable weight ripped Blood Rock from its foundations. The rock exploded, sending sharp, jagged pieces sailing through the air in every direction. All around them, heavy boulders rained down threatening a very painful death at any moment. Luckily Godric proved to be quite the aerial acrobat and twisted and turned to avoid each fragment if not with ease, then certainly with style. All this was, of course, very impressive until Helgarth clasped Godric’s tail in her jaws and threw him to the ground.

Godric, Lottie, and Calix flew in three separate directions across the crater. Lottie found herself sliding to a halt amidst a clutter of discarded armor and scorched bones. She immediately rolled to her right to avoid a smattering of debris plummeting toward her, stood, and surveyed her surroundings. All around her, rocks bit into the earth like a starving man would bite into a steak. A thick cloud of dust had settled across the arena floor and she could just barely make out Calix’s figure rushing toward her. He’d lost his wig and the dress was in tatters but he seemed to be in one piece.

“Are you okay?” he shouted once he reached her.

“A little scraped up, but all right,” she replied. “You?”

“I’d be better if I didn’t have this thing flapping around my ankles and tripping me up while trying to run for my life,” he said tearing off about three feet of delicate lace from his dress.

“Tell me about it,” Lottie said. “Where’s Godric?”

Calix pointed to the dragon’s unconscious silhouette several hundred yards from them. Lottie didn’t like the look of the purple bruises swelling above Godric’s eye, or the steady stream of blood issuing from his nostrils.

“Come on,” she said grabbing Calix by the arm and tearing across the arena. “We’ve got to help him.”

Calix and Lottie ran through the now settling dust cloud to the sleeping dragon. There was an odd moment just before they reached him when the sky went dark. Providing the same effect as a solar eclipse, Helgarth swooped low over them and dropped to the ground nearly on top of them. The resulting impact knocked both Calix and Lottie off their feet. Calix’s horse, who had somehow managed to survive the destruction of Blood Rock decided that it had had enough excitement for one day and proceeded with haste out of the same gateway it had entered.

Lottie and Calix gingerly rose to their feet.

“Don’t move a muscle,” Lottie told Calix through gritted teeth. “Hopefully, if we don’t make any noise, she won’t know we’re here.”

Lottie’s assumption was true. Helgarth had no idea where they were, or indeed where she was. Her blindness and her face to face meeting with Blood Rock had disoriented her. She was lost, confused, and, worst of all, angry. She tossed her head back and forth, sniffing the air in attempt to catch their scent. Lottie and Calix held their breath. Helgarth could find no trace of them and howled with rage causing Calix and Lottie to clasp their hands over their ears to keep from going deaf.

After a moment, Helgarth ceased her howling, and lowered her head. Taking a deep breath she opened her jaws. A wave of unpleasant odors like those of rotting meat and lamp oil threatened to overwhelm Lottie and Calix swooned at the smell.

“Oh no,” said Lottie, looking for something with which to protect them.

“What?” said Calix.

Lottie’s eyes landed on tarnished shield on which Calix was practically standing.

“Hand me that shield,” she barked at him. Calix did as he was told, though he still didn’t understand why. “What are you doing?” he said.

Lottie wrenched the shield from his grasp and then threw him to the ground.

“Stay behind me” she ordered lugging the heavy piece of wood and metal over her head.

Helgarth exhaled and a jet of white hot fire spewed out of her mouth. The flames slammed into Lottie’s shield and plumed around it like water breaking over a stone. The heat was almost too much to bear. Lottie’s knees buckled and the shield combusted and began to melt. The air around her was smothering and her head swam with lack of oxygen. She could feel the shield liquefying as the molten steel dripped steadily onto the ground. The smell of roasting meat wafted into her nostrils and suddenly, she was all too aware that the skin on her left arm seared and crisped.

Lottie gritted her teeth as she fought back tears of pain, but the dragon fire showed no sign of slowing. She cast a terrified glance to Calix and was not comforted to see her own fear reflected back at her. She was just about to resign herself to her fiery death when she spotted Calix’s sword at her feet. Grabbing the hilt and whispering a prayer to anyone who would listen she hurled the weapon through the flames.

The sword glowed an unseemly red and burst into flames as it sped through the inferno. It struck Helgarth in her craggy face, burying itself deep in her eye socket. There was a loud pop as the sword pierced the dead eye and the dragonfire stopped.  Helgarth roared in pain, taking out still more of the Crater’s structure. She clawed at the sword but only succeeded in tracing deep slashes in her own face. Blood mixed with fire and she rolled over the ground which only drove the sword deeper into her eye.

“That was amazing!” Calix said slapping Lottie on the back.

She didn’t have a chance to enjoy his compliment. The pain in her arm grew to be too much. Cradling the ruined limb she dropped into Calix’s arms. Calix did his best to wake her but it was difficult with an angry, blind, and possibly mortally wounded dragon thundering around. He did manage to drag her over to Godric.

“Godric! Godric, you have to wake up,” Calix pleaded. Godric remained unmovable. Calix sighed, took a page from Lottie’s book, and slapped the green dragon.

Godric woke with a start. “What happened? Was I asleep?”

“You were unconscious,” said Calix. “We have to get out of here. Lottie is hurt. Can you fly?”

Godric stood and stretched out his wings. “Yeah, I think I can. Nothing feels broken. Is it hot in here?”

Yes. It was hot. Helgarth had lost control of her breath and was now blowing fire all around the Crater without bias. Liquid fire spilt from her quivering jowls and splashed over the rocks. The Crater was quickly turning into a sea of molten rock. The walls were deteriorating and sliding into the growing pools of lava. The entire bowl was coming apart at the seams. With a great crack the whole structure split in half toppling a few of the dragons with slower reaction times into the boiling soup.

“We’re leaving,” Godric said. He clutched Calix and Lottie to his chest and took off.

The sky was full of glittering dragons and smoke. The dragons were angry. The smoke was indifferent. All around them the dragons bit, clawed, and snapped at Godric and his companions. He rolled, dove, and did his best to fend off his attackers while his mother was buried under crumbling rocks and her own fire far below him.

Godric flew fast and hard with his own clan swarming around him. They were quickly leaving the mountains. Soon the slate grey rock gave way to crashing blue waves of the Southern Sea. Godric’s wings burned from strain and the thousands of minor injuries inflicted by his own clan. Thankfully the sea marked the Clan’s border. They wouldn’t follow him past it. Of course he had had a large hand in the destruction of their home. Not to mention the probable death of their leader which just so happened to be his own mother, so all bets were off.

As it turned out, the dragons didn’t follow him, not that Godric would have known that. He kept flying for an hour before fatigue got the better of him and the three of them fell out of the sky and into the sea.

 

Princess Lottie Pt. 1

Charlotte, or Lottie to those who knew her well, was a princess of Luracand. As such, she had been brought up with all the conventional training such a position necessitates. By age twelve she had mastered the art of attracting woodland creatures to her person using only her voice. She had built up an immunity to most know poisons so the only harm done to her was a couple months sleep. She was well versed in certain spells that pertain to young princesses, knew to stay away from gingerbread cottages, and never accepted any sort of fruit from old peddler women. She had read the stories, practiced various rescue scenarios, kissed every frog in the kingdom, and knew exactly how many times to bat her long eyelashes to get whatever she wanted in any given situation.

By all accounts and purposes Lottie was a perfectly acceptable princess except for one thing. Lottie had no interest in marriage. In fact, she had never looked at the same handsome prince twice. Her father, the king, grew increasingly worried about this particular detail when her sixteenth birthday came and went without a betrothal. There had been dozens of viable princes over the years. Each one had lifted some spell or another, endured harsh climates, and rescued the Lottie from witches, goblins, and once, a very pushy insurance salesman, and yet the princess remained indifferent.  Lottie much preferred the princes to recount their actions, in painstaking detail, than to ask for her hand. Her father blamed this attitude partially on a certain fairy he had once offended, and on Lottie’s complete misinterpretation of classic fairy tales.

The king grew more and more despondent as the years ticked by and offered an enormous dowry and half his lands to anyone who was able to win his daughter’s heart. One day Luracand was visited by a prince from a far distant kingdom. A prince no more handsome than the rest, but twice as charming.  The prince in question was Prince Calix and was, strictly speaking, only a prince in name. Calix’s homeland had had a violent political revolution in the past year or so. As it stood now, he just so happened to be the only living member of the royal family, flat broke, and a bit of a drifter. For now, he wandered from kingdom to kingdom slaying the occasional dragon and seducing the odd princess, courtier, and duchess as he happened upon them. Sensing an opportunity after hearing of the king’s desperate offer, Calix decided to woo the young princess.

He found her in a spectacularly manicured garden standing in the knee deep water of a reflecting pool and skipping rocks across its surface. To her knowledge, she was quite alone, so it came as something of a surprise when she heard a masculine throat being cleared from a vaguely behind her direction.

“You must be Lottie,” said Calix, dodging a smooth stone suddenly sailing past his head. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I am Lottie,” she said, “To those who know me well. Most refer to me as Charlotte at the first meeting. As far as frightening me, don’t flatter yourself. Although I am sorry about the stone. You should know better than to sneak up on people in mid swing.”

“Ah, I apologize. Let me introduce myself,” said Calix.

“No need,” said Lottie, skipping another stone. “You are without a doubt the latest in a long list of handsome princes coming to ask for my hand in marriage. As I am not interested in marrying you, I need not know your name.”

“You think I’m handsome,” he said.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she said. “I just assumed.”

“You assumed correctly,” said Calix. “On both accounts. I am the handsome prince who has come to marry you.”

“Better men than you have tried and failed.”

“If there is such a man he should be hanged for slander.”

Lottie took another stone and skipped it three times across the pond.

“You certainly think quite highly of yourself prince-“

“Calix,” he replied skipping a stone four times across the pond. “And in time you shall think as highly of me as I do.”

“I doubt it sir. There is nothing to set you apart from the dozen or so princes who have come before you,” Lottie said as she turned to go. “It was lovely meeting you, but I’m afraid your quest for a marriage was unfruitful. Unless you care to wed my father. He has been so very lonely since mother died.”

“I really think if you give it a chance, you might quite like to marry me,” Calix replied as he moved to stop her from leaving. “Why, I’m sure that in two days’ time we could have a cake baked, guests invited, and two hundred red roses lining the walls of your local church. Roses are a particular favorite of mine, and two hundred is something of a lucky number for me.”

“Unfortunately sir,” Lottie began, “I care nothing about the number two hundred, and as far as flowers go, I much prefer lilies.”

Once more she made to leave, but the prince blocked her way.

“Let me pass, sir.”

“Come, Lottie,” he said. The number may be negotiated, but I really feel if you give them a chance, the roses can be quite pleasant.”

“Prince Calix, you may remove yourself from my path, or I can do it for you. The choice is yours.”

“It is a personal philosophy of mine to never do for myself what others may do for me,” said Calix with a flash of his gleaming white teeth.

“Suit yourself,” she said, rolling him over her shoulder and into the water behind her.  A moment’s satisfaction was quickly replaced by shock, contempt, and then shock again as she found her feet flying out from under her and her head pitched into the chilly water.

“You throw like a man!” Calix said slinging water from his brow.

“Wish I could say the same for you,” said Lottie, as she freed her face from the soggy tendrils of hair that clung to it.

“That’s a little uncalled for, Lottie.”

“And manhandling me wasn’t?” she spat.

“Well, to be fair” began Calix. “You did start it.”

If Lottie had a reply, it was cut short by her abrupt and unexpected abduction by a large green dragon.  The beast appeared out of nowhere and snatched Lottie up in its great scaly claws. After the initial shock, Calix wasted no time in drawing his sword and attacking blindly. His first slash caught the dragon across the snout and Calix let out a laugh. The dragon was less amused. It snorted and whipped its tail around to knock the erstwhile prince off his feet before taking once more to the air. Calix took a moment to catch his breath and then mounted his horse and took off after the monster.

The dragon flew high over the castle walls with Calix right on its heels. Once it had cleared the ramparts, the dragon climbed higher in in the sky until it resembled a small glittering emerald. Calix tore through the castle gates and across the gardens. From what he could tell, the dragon appeared to be making for the woods at the foot of the Iron Mountains. It reached the woods just before the prince. The dense cypress trees slowed the creature a little. Calix took and arrow from his quiver and released it from his bow. The bolt slid through the air in much the same way as a cat wouldn’t, and buried itself deep in the dragon’s left wing.

The wing crumpled like a deflated circus tent and both dragon and princess dropped from the sky. A swirling vortex of scales and skirts crashed through the forest’s canopy until at last the heaving bulk of the great lizard plowed into the clearing below. Calix dismounted and fitted another arrow in his bow as he crept between the trees with about as much stealth as the dragon itself. The dragon in question sat with its wing stretched out on a soft bed of moss. At the moment the beast was attempting, unsuccessfully, to pull the shaft out. As such it was a little preoccupied with the blood pooling at the site of the wound and didn’t notice the prince’s arrival. Lottie did.

“Put that thing away before you hurt someone,” she said, as Calix pulled the bowstring taught.

Calix nearly snapped the bow in half at the sound of her voice. He looked around for its source but couldn’t find the princess.

“Up here,” she said from the nearest tree.

Calix glanced up to find Lottie suspended from a high branch by her long skirts. “What are you doing up there,” he asked.

“The dragon dropped me after you took out its wing,” said Lottie.

“That hardly seem like a dignified place for a princess,” Calix said.

Lottie snorted and then began unlacing her bodice. “I’d be down there with you if not for this infernal dress,” she said. “Lace is snagged on a branch. Useless things. I’d much rather wear a tunic and breeches any day.”

“Be grateful,” Calix replied. “It probably saved your life.”

“My life wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t been so eager start shooting at anything that moved.”

“That thing was trying to eat you!”

“How could it have possibly eaten me?” she said as she shimmied out of her gown. “It would have had to put me down first.”

“What are you doing?” Calix asked when he noticed that Lottie was disrobing.

“I can’t very well get out of this tree in that gown now can I?”

Calix’s face reddened and he turned his back to the princess. “You mean to say you’re going to climb down in your undergarments?”

“Precisely”

“But that’s,” he searched for the right word. “Indecent.”

Lottie sighed and then rolled her eyes. Which proved to be a poor decision as in doing so she only managed to tangle herself further in the dress. “Oh please. Have you ever seen a woman’s undergarments? We wear more under our clothes than any man does in his entire ensemble.”

“I could give you a hand if you wish,” huffed Calix.

“If you want to help,” Lottie said as she kicked the yards of heavy fabric away from her body, “then keep your voice down. We don’t want to draw attention ourselves. Whoops.”

It is a little known fact that most shoes specifically made for princesses are better suited for masque balls than climbing trees. Had this information be readily available, Lottie might have been more judicious in where she placed her foot. It came as quite a shock to both of them when Lottie was lowering herself from branch to branch one minute and tumbling down on top of Calix the next. The overall effect was the same as if someone had thrown a cannonball through a church window at midnight.

“Do you think the dragon heard that?” Calix wondered from somewhere below Lottie’s left knee.

“Of course I heard you, you twit. Between the two of you bickering and the female snapping what I can only assume was every branch and possibly a bone as it fell out of the tree, I’d be surprised if there was a creature in this wood who wasn’t aware of the situation,” said the dragon.

It was at that time that Calix’s horse fainted from shock. Calix and Lottie were a bit taken back as well. After a moment or two of stuttering, Calix finally found his voice. “You can talk,” he said. Not the most intelligent of comments, but true none the less.

“Of course I can talk,” said the dragon.

“But,” began Calix. “You’re a dragon.”

The dragon snorted out a puff of smoke as it rolled its eyes. “It was the scales and wings that gave me away wasn’t it?”

“And the princess kidnapping,” replied Lottie cordially.

The dragon nodded its head in agreement. “Hang on,” said Calix. “I didn’t know dragons could talk.”

“And how many dragons have you met then?” Neither Calix nor Lottie replied as the dragon fixed them with its yellow eyes, gave a small chuckle, and then turned his attention to the arrow stuck in its wing. “Exactly,” it said.

Lottie turned to Calix and shrugged. “He has a point,” she said. “My name is Charlotte, Princess of Luracand. Lottie to my friends.”

“Godric,” the dragon said. “And the boy?”

“Man,” Calix corrected.

“Oh, that’s Calix,” said Lottie.

“I wonder, Lottie,” began Godric, “If you would mind removing this arrow from my shoulder. It twinges quite a bit.”

“Sure,” Lottie said as she strode across the clearing.

“What are you doing?” shouted Calix as he unceremoniously grabbed her by the arm.

Lottie shook herself free from his grasp and turned to face him. “Well Calix I am going to retrieve your arrow.”

“He tried to eat you!”

“I did not!” retorted Godric indignantly.

“Oh Calix relax,” Lottie said as she crossed the clearing. “I can take care of myself.” She hoisted herself onto Godric’s back and crawled upwards to the wound being very careful to dodge the spikes. “Now, this might sting a bit.”

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” said Calix bravely keeping his distance from Godric’s jaws.

“I have removed an arrow from someone’s body before Calix. “ She grasped the bolt firmly in both hands. “Ready, Godric? On the count of three. One. Two. Three!” She pulled with all her might and the arrow came free with a sound that could only be described as a “squelch.”

Before she had time to react, Godric threw his body across the clearing and sent Lottie once more careening into Calix.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Calix said after breaking Lottie’s fall. “You’ve angered it.”

“He, Calix. Don’t be rude, “ she said watching the poor dragon hop around the forest in pain, knocking down many trees, and generally making a ruckus. “And he wouldn’t be nearly as angry if you hadn’t shot him in the first place.”

“I was trying to save you.”

“Oh good, a new experience for me,” Lottie spat at him. “You princes are all the same. You always assume that just because a girl gets carried off by a dragon, or locked in a tower, or enchanted by an old hag that she needs some handsome prince to come and rescue her!”

Calix flashed his toothiest smile. “I knew you thought I was handsome.”

“We’re done here. Godric!” Lottie stormed away from Calix and walked towards the dragon who had gone from hopping from one foot to the other to lying flat on his back, wings akimbo, and whimpering slightly.

“Godric, calm down,” Lottie said soothingly.

“I’m dead. I’m dead, I died. I’m dead.” Large tears welled in Godric’s eyes and slid down his face.

“Lottie, come away from the crying dragon,” Calix said cautiously.

“ I’m not crying!” Godric bellowed through his tears. “It’s my allergies. They act up awful this time of year.”

Lottie sighed and bent down next to Godric’s head. “Godric get up. You’re fine. It’s barely a scratch.”

“No it isn’t. I’m dying,” he said.

“No you’re not Godric.”

“Yes I am!” He clutched his heart and thrashed around on the ground again. “This is it. I’m dying! Oh what a cruel way to go! Goodbye all. Thus ends Godric the dragon!”

“Godric!” yelled Lottie balling up her fist. “Snap out of it!” She reared back and socked him in the snout. Hard. Godric stopped whining after that.

“You just punched a dragon in the face!” Calix said in awe.

“And it hurt like the devil!” Lottie wrung out her hand and tried to massage some feeling back into it. “But you don’t see me making a spectacle of myself. Now get up Godric! You’re not even bleeding.”

“I’m not?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“No, dear you’re not,” Lottie reassured him.

“Oh, right then.” He rolled over and pulled himself up into a sitting position. “Sorry to make such a fuss.”

“That’s okay,” Lottie said and sidled up to him. “Now would you mind telling me why you tried to kidnap me?”

Calix rolled his eyes and stomped across the clearing. “He’s a dragon Lottie. He doesn’t need a reason. That’s what they do!”

Godric gave a hollow rumble deep in his throat and buried his head in his wing. Lottie had never heard a dragon cry before, but it was oddly disconcerting. “Calix!” she said. “You are being very rude to poor Godric. Look you made him cry.”

“He abducted you!” Calix snapped. “I hardly think his feelings are at the top of our concerns.”

Lottie shrugged. “I’m sure it was all some sort of misunderstanding.”

“What’s to misunderstand?” said Calix. “He’s a dragon, you’re a princess. Such is the way of the world.”

“What a remarkably narrow view of the world,” said Lottie.

“No, no, he’s right.” Godric’s voice was slightly muffled by his wing. He was still a dragon though so no one really noticed.

“So you abducted me simply because I’m a princess?” Lottie asked bewildered.

“Yes and no,” said Godric.

“Yes and no?” wondered Calix.

The dragon thought a moment then said, “Well not no. Mostly yes.” Calix chortled and gave Lottie a self-satisfied grin.

“You see,” began Godric, “When a dragon comes of age he is required by his clan to find a princess and bring her to his lair before he or she can be officially recognized as an adult.”

“What a strange ritual,” said Calix. Lottie glared at him.

“No stranger than being forced to marry to prove your worth,” she said.

“And I’ve failed my test,” wailed Godric. “I’ll never be able to show my face at the clan again. I’ll be shunned. Cast out. Be forced to live in the foothills with the griffins!”

Godric collapsed in sobs. Great salty tears splashed from his eyes, soaking the ground.

“I’m sure it can’t be that bad,” said Calix.

“Have you ever met a griffin?” shouted Godric.

Calix and Lottie both had to admit that they hadn’t. According to Godric they were quite annoying and self-important.

“What am I going to do?” wondered Godric. The sobs were growing louder now and the hiccups had started. “I’m facing exile. If I don’t deliver you to the ritual grounds by noon tomorrow I’ll be cast out of the clan. Forced to leave my home. Do you know what that’s like?”

Lottie shook her head, but Calix knew all too well what leaving one’s home was like. All of a sudden he felt a great wave of sympathy for the soggy creature before him. Unable to explain exactly why and against his better judgment Calix approached Godric and placed a shaking hand on his head. He stroked the dragon’s face for a moment and then offered his cape to dry Godric’s tears. Godric wiped his eyes clear and blew his nose which scorched a flaming hole through the once expensive fabric. Calix sighed and tossed the cape to the forest floor as Lottie watched the prince comfort the dragon genuinely bewildered.

“I may have an idea what that’s like,” Calix said at last. “Maybe we can help.”

“What?” Lottie said, stunned.

“Well,” said Calix, “You just have to abduct the princess and present her to the clan correct?”

“That’s it,” sniffled Godric.

“And you don’t have to eat her right?”

“Oh no, of course not,” Godric said defensively. “I’m a vegetarian.”

Calix briefly wondered about the daily life of a vegetarian dragon but quickly pushed the thought aside.

“What if you…borrowed Lottie for long enough to complete the test?”

“That…” thought Godric. “Might actually work.”

“Wait a minute,” piped Lottie. “I didn’t agree to any of this!”

“Oh come on, Lottie” said Calix. “What else have you got to do today?”

Lottie crossed her arms and fumed. “Getting carried off to a dragon stronghold is not my ideal way to spend the afternoon.”

“The ritual grounds are hardly a stronghold,” offered Godric.

“Please, Godric” said Calix with an assertive wave of his hand. “We’re trying to have a conversation over here.”

Godric hung his head and slunk against a tree.

“Calix this is not the idea of a sane person,” Lottie said.

“Where’s your spirit of adventure, Lottie?” Calix goaded her. “What’s the matter? Afraid of breaking a nail?”

Lottie didn’t like how quickly he had found exactly the right button to push. He had proposed the challenge and she’d never be able to look him in the eye if she didn’t accept.

“All you have to do is present me to the clan?” she asked Godric.

“That’s it,” he said. “Well, and defeat Calix in battle when he comes to rescue you.”

“Wait a second!” Calix yelped.

Lottie laughed at the squeaky tone of his voice. “Well now, what an interesting twist to this story.”

Calix was pacing back and forth now with barely contained anxiety. “That was never part of the original plan, Godric.”

“So I left out a small detail,” he shrugged.

“A small detail? A small detail?” Calix quickened his pacing. “Me losing my life in a battle against a dragon with low self-esteem is not a small detail. That’s a pretty crucial plot point!”

“Oh come on, Calix. Where’s your spirit of adventure,” Lottie smiled as she threw down the gauntlet.

“Easy for you to say,” shot back Calix. “All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the show. You don’t have fight and lose to a giant fire breathing reptile.”

Godric coughed to get their attention. “I may not actually have to defeat you. I just need the clan to believe I did.”

“Still yet,” said Calix uneasily.

“If you are unwilling to stage a fight with Godric,” said Lottie staring up into the tree she had fallen out of. “There may be another way.”

Calix and Godric followed her gaze into the tree. Calix’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, most certainly not!” he said. Godric only laughed as he plucked Lottie’s gown from the branches.

The Bachelor

A bachelor once woke from a midday nap later than he had intended. He looked out his bedroom window to get an idea of what time it was, and was shocked to see how dark the sky had become. The dull green landscape outside had begun to blend into the moonstricken clouds.

He felt that he must have left some of his soul in his dream, since he only felt half-awake, so he threw on his petticoat and walked outside to breathe the cool wintry air. When he crossed the threshold of the house, he found that his house had been transported to the edge of a steep bluff overlooking a narrow valley of marshlands stretching into the horizon. The sun was setting into the crevice of the valley, turning the space between land and darkness peach and pink. The air felt bodily warm.

–          Such beauty and wonder, so much in this sight, and also in the oddity of my being here. I want to get closer.

The bachelor jogged up to the bluff, and more of the valley came into view. First, entire worlds presented themselves to him with each step. Then, a few new features at a time became visible. Finally, as he edged up to the precipice, all that was left to see was what was directly beneath. He knelt down and peaked over, and saw and elderly couple, a man and a woman, laying in two bathtubs filled with water, holding hands and bathing in the sun’s last rays.

–          This might have been an odd thing to see, but it makes sense. Now I understand why the sun, this valley, these marshlands, and this bluff all had to make their way to my house, and push away the suburbs and roads. Luckily, I don’t need to drive anywhere today, and all of this scenery will let the roads and the suburbs come back when these two leave.

The bachelor returned to his house, now feeling wide-awake, and fully refreshed. The half of him that was still sleeping had returned to him while he was outside, and he commended himself on his designs. He forgot the detail of what he saw outside. It became a blur in his mind. He could only remember that the sun was beautiful, and how lovely the sun made the head of that elderly woman. He distinctly remembered that, because she was so far below him, the shine of her hair had become distorted, like a halo. He could not think about the sun without thinking about the couple, and vice-versa.

The bachelor especially fixated his remembrance on the woman, and when he realized what he wanted from her, he ran outside. All was dark except for a sliver of red on the horizon. The moon burned hot on his back. He rushed up to the ledge and halted himself, for fear that he might throw himself over. He dropped his legs and wrapped his left hand round the edge, and scrambled down the near-vertical bluff, halting completely whenever he thought himself in danger of throwing himself into the ground. When he reached the bottom, he found the woman alone and naked. She was standing in the marsh water up to her thighs. The wrinkles of her face dripped into her neck. Her slender stomach, despite her petite build, slouched so much as to cover her genitals. Her pupils reflected the white of the fiery full moon.

–         Who are you? What are you doing in my house? I don’t need you!

She sundered up to the bachelor, and his stomach came a milky rush into his mouth. The vile floated on the murky water like an algae, and the woman produced a long piece of driftwood from the below the vomit and thrust it into the young man’s neck, breaking both the wood and the neck. 150 pounds of dead weight collapsed into the water, except the head, which struck against some elevated mud. All of his feeling was gone fun but for the wet sensations on the back of his scalp and the thistle crowning his face. He was merely a head looking up at a near-black sky draped with gray green curtains. The elderly man appeared in his vision, and spoke in a deep, authoritative, calm voice while the last flagellum of maroon slipped from his sight.

–                    Oh, to be young again! The man said this to himself, and in a whisper.

The man popped a capsule into the bachelor’s mouth and covered the horrified face with his wrinkled, oozing hand. The man removed his jeans while covering the bachelor’s mouth and showed them to him, seemingly so that he would know what the woman was about to do, since he could not see her. The man held onto them and looked. The young man mouthed some words while the man stared him in the eyes with a glare powerful enough to crack open a coconut from a thousand meters. The elderly couple continued their show until the suburbs and the roads returned, all at once, annihilating everyone and everything, except for the house of course.

 

Spent Hen

 

Recently I was given a spent hen – a chicken beyond its egg-laying prime- and told that it was no longer good for meat but the bones would be rich and full of flavor for stock.  Being the self-centered gal I am I immediately started relating the spent hen to my self.  I, like the spent hen, am no longer in my egg-laying prime.  I – like the spent hen- am not young and juicy any more.  I –like the spent hen- like to think that it is the rich full flavor of my bones that makes me attractive and desirable.

The rooster is not all that attracted to the spent hen.  He of course prefers the egg-laying plump shiny younger variety.  Remarkably, a hen can live up to ten years and of those ten years only the first year is a productive one in regard to egg-laying.  This means that ninety percent of the chicken’s life is as a spent hen.  The rooster of course can dance around the young chicks as long as he wants.  In fact, many of the young chicks think the rooster gets more attractive with age.  Meanwhile, the spent hen, with her full flavored bones, has only her tasty stock to offer.  While the rooster can appreciate her flavor, given the choice, he will always choose plump and juicy over spent with complex flavors.  That’s just the way it is.

So, what can we spent hens do.  Well, the first thing is, we can’t give up.  A spent hen should always dress to accentuate her delicate frame.  A Chanel suit looks much better on the thin shoulders of a spent hen.  The young plump hen has way too much breast to pull it off.  Next, we can look for a young rooster.  For some reason a young rooster can be drawn in by our rich, full flavored stock, and we don’t need him to pay for our feed.  We can just enjoy his pretty feathers until he realizes the egg -laying hen is where he needs to be.  Last, we can get together with the other spent hens and make great soup.  There is nothing more fun then laughing at the roosters over a nice bowl of soup flavored by the stock only a spent hen can provide.