Character Encounters: Bookshelf

As it is the last day of September, I figured I had better do a Character Encounter. Kendra hosts them at Knitted By God's Plan.
In this story, you get to meet the "Beast" character from my Beauty and the Beast retelling.


This month, instead of letting the Character Encounter catch me unawares, I had come specifically looking for it. Aha, there was door to the study! This was where my Beast spent all his time, surrounded by books and plants and big furniture. I opened the door and went in. There he was, sitting behind his desk in his wheelchair, book propped up in front of him. For once he wasn't wearing the mask that hid his war deformities.
"Hello, Virgil?" I asked him. "May I call you Virgil?"
"Who are you? I've never seen you before! Mrs. Neville!" my Beast exclaimed, his native British accent coming out especially British today.
"I would call you Mr. Prince, but I think too many people are using that name, so I want to change it. I just don't know what I want to change it to yet. Yet Virgil Prince does have a ring to it... What do you think?"
"What are you talking about? Mrs. Neville!" Virgil Prince pressed the button on the side of the desk that alerted various staff members that he was in need of their services.
"She's not here," I said, "so you have to talk to me. Now, why does the name Virgil have such a ring to it?"
"I don't know!" Virgil snapped.
"Why are you called Virgil?"
"I'm not," he growled, "I go by my last name or 'sir.'"
"Still, your first name is Virgil. Why is that?"
"I don't know! My parents liked the Aeneid!"
"Have you ever wished you had a different last name? If so, what?"
"Why?"
"Because I'm thinking of renaming you!" Hasn't he been paying attention? I thought.
"Well, choose anything other than Maro."
"What's a really British-sounding last name... Virgil Austen? No... Virgil Dickens? No... Virgil Bronte? No... Virgil Smith? Virgil Brown? Virgil Stafford? Virgil Churchill? That has a ring to it."
"No. I refuse to be called Virgil Churchill."
"You don't get a say in the matter."
"Oh yes I do! It's my name, after all! And I say that my last name will stay Prince!"
I narrowed my eyes at him. "This isn't over," I said.
"Oh yes it is! Get out of my study! NOW!"
I could see why Carillon was frightened to confront him. Maybe I should just call him Virgil Terbeest. Beest meant "beast" in Dutch. He could be a Dutch man instead of a British man. Hmmm...


Live long and prosper!

Snip - Snip - Snippety - Snippets

Surprisingly, I have been writing quite a bit in the passed week. Though unfortunately, most of those writings have been evil little plot bunnies. But more on them later (I have another whole post for them!).

Before we get too deep into snippets, however, I wanted to share this month's Character Encounter. Character Encounters are hosted by Kendra E. Ardnek at Knitted by God's Plan and you can find out more about them HERE.

This month's encounter takes place in a tree. Although mine kind of takes place in a forest of trees, not actually in a tree (because I wrote it in the car and all I could remember was that the prompt had something to do with tress).
I encounter Daniel and Varina from my spy(ish) series. They are probably my favorite characters that I have created and I haven't written anything about them since last November! I missed them. And one simply can not write about Daniel and Varina and forgo listening to the mandatory George Gershwin.

Without further ado, the encounter...

  "This map says to go left at the big evergreen. Daniel, we're in a forest, exactly which big evergreen does the map specify?" an angry female voice asked.
  "Don't blame me, I didn't write the bally thing!" replied an English-accented voice of the male persuasion.
  "But how in the world are we supposed to find the corpse if we can't even follow the murderer's map?"
  "If you ask me, the murderer never should have made a map in the first place! What sort of person kills someone and then draws a map to lead to the body?"
  "I don't know!" The female was exasperated. "Maybe he thought he would forget where he buried the body so he drew himself a map."
  "If so, why didn't he specify which big evergreen he meant?" sassed Mr. Accent.
  I, as author and creator of the two quibbling characters, decided it was high time to intervene. I had been on a youth group hike when I heard the familiar voices of Daniel Adams and Varina Webb bickering in the distance.
  So, while the rest of the group were busy eating lunch, I slipped off. I wouldn't be missed - at least not for give or ten minutes.
  I hastened towards the arguers and stepped out from behind a large evergreen before blows could be exchanged.
  The usually calm and cool Daniel was, for once, quite as flustered as his more hot-blooded companion, Varina. Both were fuming - quite literally, for it was 86 degrees outside (probably nearer to 186 in the sunshine. It's a good thing we have so many trees in the Pacific Northwest). Varina's ponytail had come mostly undone and Daniel's hat had gone askew. It looked as if they had forgotten to bring water with them, silly fools.
  "Excuse me," I said, "I couldn't help but overhear your raised voices. "Do you need any help?"
  "Ah- yes," Daniel said after a moment of scrutiny in my direction. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and walked towards me, map outstretched.
  "My name is Daniel and this is my associate, Varina. We were wondering if you knew where a big evergreen could be found."
  "Don't give her all our information!" Varina hissed. "She could be working for The Wolf!"
  "Oh, please, she's a child!" said Daniel.
  I coughed. "I'm legally an adult now, actually."
  "Oh, excuse me," Daniel said, quite courteously. "Anyway, do you have any clue where this big evergreen is?"
  "Well, you estimable colleague did have a good point," I said. "We are in a forest, which means we are surrounded by many big evergreens. You could try looking at the next instructions on the map and see if that helps you get anywhere."
  "Good idea. Isn't that a good idea, Vare?" Daniel asked.
  Varina grunted in response.
  "That's a yes," Daniel told me. "Thank you for your help, Miss."
  "No problem," I said. "Wait right here a moment," I added. I couldn't let them go on without water bottles. I legged it back to the clearing, grabbed two unopened bottles from the pile, and then legged it back to Daniel and Varina.
  "Here," I said, distributing the much-needed liquid.
  "Thank you," Varina said, opening her bottle and glugging it down.
  "Thank you," Daniel echoed.
  "No problem," I said again and, while they were drinking, slipped off to rejoin the youth group.
THE END

Now onto the snippets...

  In my head I had been reading her resume like I read books to Sally - you know, with the funny voices and all that - and when I opened my mouth to speak to Gwendolyn, the back of my throat was sore, as if I really had been reading aloud in funny voices. I cleared my throat with a rumble and thrice more with other unpleasant sounds which was a mistake because it made my throat hurt even more.
  "Mee, mee, mee, mee, mee..." I warbled, like in my old barbershop quartet days, trying to sooth the vocal chords.
  Gwendolyn was staring at me as if I'd gone completely mad and thrown my hat to a perfect stranger in the park in winter - which was absurd, of course. I hadn't done such a thing since my quartet days. That, however, was not the thing to tell a girl you're interviewing for the job of nanny.
  "My throat," I said by way of explanation. I had meant to say it the way blokes do in pictures - suave, smooth, sophisticated, so that even if what come out was perfect rot, everyone would nod and smile understandingly. Unfortunately, my vocal chords decided to wreak havoc on my plan and, when I said, "my throat," my voice cracked and raised to the pitch of opera star for a brief second. Perhaps I'd missed my calling.
  "I do hope I'm not coming down with something." Now it sounded as if my voice had decided to take a spin down a gravel road. In a rickety old carriage.
  Gwendolyn just stared and said nothing, dear girl.
-When I wrote this on the spur of the moment the other night right before turned my light out, I had no idea who this person was that was having such atrocious voice problems. I didn't even know if it was a male or female. The next night, however, he decided to reveal himself to me. His name is George and he has troublesome twin brothers named Oscar and Arthur and two daughters. There's more, but I don't want to tell you yet. I think it's going to turn out rather Wodehousian, though. Rather Jeeves and Woosterish, what?

  King Francis' castle, unlike King John's, looked as if it came out of a book of princess stories. It had spires which reached to the sky, crawling vines creeping down the pale stone walls, bright banners billowing boisterously in the wind, and glorious gardens galore. The whole effect was bright, open, and airy.
  The Great Hall - which was the first room which one entered in to after passing through the massive double doors - really was great. You had to crane your head all the way back just to see the ceiling; and what a ceiling it was. Arches criss-crossed in the Romanesque style and designs had been frescoed between the arches.
  One visitor to the castle sustained permanent neck damage from ogling the mind-boggingly beautiful roof. The royal family was good enough to pay the hospital fee and hire the best full-time nurse in the kingdom. (Years later, she decided that since she was his full time caretaker anyway, why not marry the man and be his wife too? The lived happily ever after and had ten children, all of whom were taught to look at the ground, so as not to strain their necks. For years, everyone thought the children were shy and antisocial, when, actually, the opposite was true. They were quite boorish and outgoing, when you got to know them well).
-This is from my yet-unnamed fantasy novel, which I have been working on all year. The ceilings are based off of ones we saw in Holland:

I've also been semi-writing a Beauty and the Beast retelling for the Five Enchanted Roses contest. I wasn't planning on writing one - because everyone and their sainted aunt seem to be writing one - but then I had a persistent plot ploy and had to write it down. The only problem is that, for some reason, I can't get it out of my head that Beauty and the Beast is supposed to be a solemn story, and I can't write serious fiction. Example: In After the Twelfth Night, two characters are having a pretty nice heart-to-heart moment and then one of the characters blurts out "I never knew my father!"

*facepalm*

Live long and prosper.

P.S. This is a sneak peak from my Plot Bunnies post:

What sinister beastie lingers in yonder backdrop? LOOK OUT JULIET!

CE: March, the Garden.

 

You can find Character Encounter's, and Kendra's excellent blog HERE.
And now, the story.

The progress on the roof was coming along nicely. Now if only I could get a picture of the roof without getting the apple trees in the shot too...
I stepped back several paces, holding the camera up, and backed into a wall. I took a picture, and then realized that my backyard has no walls in it. I whipped around and there was a stone wall! I moved backwards and ran into someone. Thinking it was a roofer, I turned, ready to apologize, and gave a violent start. It was not a roofer in jeans, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap in front of me. No, it was a tall, dark-haired man. Underneath his black leather jerkin was a dark blue shirt. His pants were the same dark blue, tucked into black boots. His arms were filled with an assortment of oddities - clothes mostly, though I noticed a few masks. One had fallen to the ground when I bumped him.
"Excuse me," he said simply, with a hint of a smile on his lips, as he bent to pick up the mask. He succeeded in dropping a shirt and a slipper.
"No - it's my fault. I'm sorry! Let me help you," I replied, bending down and picking up the things that had fell. "It's always so difficult to carry large quantities of clothes, isn't it?" I said. "Whenever I'm doing it, I always drop something and have to come back for it later."
"Yes. I think I'm in that predicament presently," he replied. "Thank you."
"Wait!" I said. "Sorry... Can you tell me where I am?" I had gotten a look at my surroundings. I was in a courtyard-type garden area. My house was no where in sight. The wall I had backed into was a palisade built of rocks; the outer wall of a castle. Directly in front of me a garden filled with vegetables and herbs was laid out, and several women in long skirts and aprons bent double to pick the choicest of the harvest. When their baskets were filled, they raised them to their hips, wiped the sweat from their brows, and walked to a wooden door, which led into what could only be a castle.
The man looked at me, thinking my question odd. He fixed me with a penetrating stare.
"You don't know where you are?" he asked.
"Well... I, uh, kind of lost my way," I said.
"You're in the servant's courtyard," he said, "in the castle, in Kasteel City. Over there is the kitchen."
"Oh, of course, the kitchen!" I said. "I'm new."
"I see." He started walking again.
"Wait!"
"What is it now?" he asked, turning.
"Where are you going with all that?" I asked, not really knowing why I was keeping from whatever work he was about.
"To the dungeon."
"That's an odd place to bring clothes."
"Yes, well... I'm an odd man," he said. "Now may I carry on my way? My little wife would not take kindly to you talking to me so long."
"Your... little wife... Are you Draegond?" I asked. Suddenly it all made sense.
"Yes." His brows knit. "How do you know my name?"
"Long story... Speaking of stories - why are you taking it over? You weren't meant to be anyone! Only the nameless guard, and now you're only one step away from a main character!"
"I don't understand. Explain how you know my name."
"And no one told me you looked like Patrick Dempsey! Yes, you are definitely going to be the favorite."
"Patrick Dem- what are you talking about, girl?"
"And what a nice outfit you have... hmmm... I wonder how I could describe it... I like describing clothes, but I'm afraid I'm not very good at it. By the way, do you want to tell me what those clothes you are carrying are really for?"
"Only if you tell me who you are, and how you know my name. And who this Patrick person is," Draegond replied.
"Alright, like I said, long... confusing... story. Books, you know books?"
"Yes..."
"Well, I write books, and you are part of one of my books. And every month Kendra has a character encounter and this month I guess I wandered here and now I'm encountering you... so that's how I know your name. It kind of just came to me. It's supposed to sound like 'dragon.'"
"Yes, because I have always wanted to see the dragons."
"Exactly! Oh, and Patrick Dempsey is an actor."
"In a troupe?"
"Well, sort of... he plays a doctor on... in the troupe of Television."
"Ah." Draegond raised his eyebrows and said 'ah' in a way that suggested the thought 'oh, yes, she's insane.'
"So, what are those clothes for?"
"I'll tell you if you promise to keep the secret."
Evidently taking me for someone whose lost it, gone crazy, nuts, insane, bonzo, no longer in possession of one's faculties, three fries short of a happy meal... WACKO! [aside: I apologize for the StarGate quote, it just kind of came out] Draegond decided to trust that in my insanity, I wouldn't tell anyone his secret.
He leaned closer and said in my ear: "I'm breaking my friend out of his cell in the dungeon, and we're going to the masquerade held for the princess."
Maybe he thought that I would think that he was crazy too.
"I see. Masquerade. Paper faces on parade. Masquerade. Hide your face so that the world will never find you." I may have accidentally burst into song.
If we had been in America, and if Draegond had actually been Patrick Dempsey, he might have taken this opportunity to call some nice people dressed in white to take me away to a nice, white padded cell. Luckily, we were no where near America, and Draegond just stared at me strangely.
"I must get going now," he said. "Goodbye. I hope you get un-lost soon."
"Thanks," I said. "Good luck with the masquerade! If a bowl of punch accidentally gets spilled on someone... it's my fault."
He just turned and walked quickly toward the dungeon door, which also opened up into the garden-courtyard-thing.
I let out a sigh and turned around - and there was my house!
"Boy, these Character Encounters are just getting weirder and weirder," I said, as I ran back inside to the safety of home.
THE END

I have NO clue why Draegond looks like Patrick Dempsey. Or why he's taking over the story. Actually, I haven't written a word for probably a month. Hopefully this CE and some homework for SAT class I did today will get me back in the writing mood. I've been on a reading kick.


In other news: I actually might be three fries short of a happy meal... WACKO! Yesterday, while it was super windy, it was "Whoa! That's so amazing! Let's go outside and see if we can get hit with a branch!" Today it's, "I wonder what my fruit smoothie would taste like if I put frozen peas in it?" (Mom: "No."). Tonight... I'm listening to Hannah Montana's first album. SOMEONE GET ME OUT OF HERE! Actually no, don't. I'm enjoying her first album. Once, my friend and I were huge Hannah Montana fans. I bought the CD, but before my parents let me listen to it, my dad and I sat down and read through the lyrics of the songs, and he told me what was wrong with some of the thoughts, and which songs I shouldn't listen to. Some of the lyrics are kind of great. "I know where I stand, I know who I am, I would never run away when life gets bad." I think that lyric kind of backfired in Miley Cyrus' life, unfortunately.
Just listening to her early music again brings back such a flood of nostalgia and emotion. It almost makes me want to cry, because I miss being ten, and putting on Hannah Montana concerts with my friend down the street. I miss rocking out to this music on summer nights. I miss our sleepovers, and our games of make believe. Life wasn't so complicated then, it was just naive innocence.
Anyway, I should be off and away to bed. I've got a Jeeves and Wooster book to read. Thank You, Jeeves, of which my favorite episode(s) of the TV show are based.

Live long and prosper.

Valentine's Day

 Character Encounters: Surprise Date.

 

   A Disney-Pixar movie was in the DVD player, I was snuggled under a blanket in comfy clothes, my computer was nearby… and I was all ready to celebrate Valentine’s Day Han’s way, Solo. 

   And then the doorbell rang. My face looked something akin to Bilbo’s when the Sackville-Bagginses would come visiting. 

   Oh well, no need for me to get the door. My dad got up and, accompanied by the barking Rosey, went to answer the door. But, being the busybody that I am, I silently slipped from under the quilt (more like noisily fell off the couch, entangled in the blanket) and tip-toed Legolas-like to the sliding door, separating the kitchen/TV room from the rest of the house. I peeked around the door, but couldn’t see much. But I could use my other senses – namely my sense of hearing.

   The man at the door was enquiring for… me! The voice wasn’t familiar. Who could be asking for me on Valentine’s day? A creepy creeper! And my sword was in the other side of the house! The one time I really need it, of course it’s going to be in the other room.

   My dad was trying to dissuade the man from coming in to speak with me when suddenly I felt the strange need to go to the door. I walked forward and next thing I knew, I was standing face to face with a familiar being, though I’d never met him before.

   “It’s okay, Daddy,” I whispered. “It’s Character Encounter time again.”

   He nodded knowingly and sat down on the couch. He was on his phone watching a hockey game, but I could tell he was very alert to what was happening at the front door.

   “You are Abbey,” the man at my door stated, rather than asked.

   “Yes,” I replied. “Am I right in assuming you are King John?”

   “Yes.” He looked perplexed. “I received this note telling me to come to this address and ask ‘Abbey’ out to dinner, as it is a celebration of love in your country.”

   I nodded. “Yeah, it’s Valentine’s Day. It means that couples all over the world go out on dates together – out to dinner, maybe catch a movie… you don’t know what a movie is. Just believe me when I say they’re pretty cool.”

   “Right.” King John nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “I will take your word for it. Will you attend dinner? I have here the name of an inn.” He showed me the slip of paper.

   “McDonalds, pretty fancy,” I said with a nod. Though I desperately wanted to stay home and watch the movie, maybe if I went out to dinner with King John he’d tell me why he was such an evil overlord. “Well,” I said, “if we’re going out to dinner, we need to dress in fancy clothes.”

   “I am dressed in fancy clothes,” King John replied.

   “Yes, well, that’s not what we call fancy in this country. My dad can lend you some of his clothes; you’re about the same size.”

   Since my date would be dressed in dress pants and a button-up shirt, I decided to pull on the only dress I owned. Brown, slightly World War Twoish. Since it was freezing outside, I pulled on brown leggings to match the dress, and red high heels.

   “I’m ready!” I called. “Whenever you are!”

   A few minutes later, King John came out, dressed handsomely. He looked like a business executive. I took his arm and we went outside.

   “I brought my carriage,” King John said, opening the door for me.

   Though a carriage in the McDonalds parking lot would look strange, I would never pass up the opportunity to ride in one, so I climbed in.

   Shortly, we reached the restaurant.

   “Whoa! Cool ride, bro!” several teens said as we walked into McDonalds.

   “Wow, you are one lucky girl,” said a woman (thought I noticed that, as we turned away, she eyed us strangely… what was one so young doing out with one so old?)

   King John scanned the menu. “Hmmm… what are these ‘Big Macs’?”

   “Why don’t you let me order for you,” I suggested.

   “I am King and I am fully able to order for myself,” King John replied, holding himself just a little loftier. “Give me one Big Mac,” he told the woman at the cash register.

   “One Big Mac. Would you like fries and a drink with that?”

   “Yes.”

   “Alright. Anything else for you?”

   “No.”

   “That’ll be six-fifty.”

   “Six-fifty what? I am King! I do not pay for mea-“

   “Um, ahahaha… My date here is just joking!” I interrupted. “If we wanted royal treatment we’d be at Burger King. No, that’s a bad joke. Sorry. Anyway, I’ll be paying. You can add a cheeseburger with ketchup only (along with the meat, cheese, and bun, of course, haha) and another order of fries and a chocolate shake to the order. Thank you!”

   I paid quickly and ushered King John to a table in the corner. I sat him by the window so he wouldn’t see all the attention his carriage was attracting. People were stopping on the road to stare… little kids were being posed next to it while mommy took a picture… His carriage-driver was shooing people away like they were ants.

   “You stay here while I get our food,” I told King John. He seemed willing enough to wait. After all, he had been waited on his whole life.

   I juggled our two trays and somehow managed to pour us each root beer without dumping everything on the ground. The trip back to the table was trickier; the fries fell to the floor. After much embarrassment and apology on my side, the cashier gave me another bag of fries.

   Stupid heels… I thought.

   For the next few moments, King John and I ate in silence.

   “This is good,” he remarked, nodding to the burger in his hands. “I must instruct my cook to make this back at the castle. And what do you call this drink?”

   “Umm, it’s root beer,” I said.

   “It is the best beer I have tasted! You say it is made from roots?”

   “Not really… I’m not really sure what it’s made of,” I replied. “Let’s talk about something else. Why are you so villainous?”

   “Villainous? Me?” King John’s eyes grew wide. “Not I, surely.”

   “Well… you treat your peasants poorly and cheat them of the necessities of life. You manipulate people into thinking you’re this great guy when all you really want is power power power… I know all of the facts, what I want to know is why. Why do you manipulate and cheat people?”

   “Well,” said King John, “you said it. I want power.”

   “But why? What’s so great about power?”

   “My father and I have always strived for power.”

   “Your father, now he’s an interesting man. Why did he want power?”

   King John shrugged. “My grandparents had six sons in quick succession. The first five died before reaching one year of age. My father, the youngest, was the only one to survive. Because of this, and because he was prince, he received everything he wanted. This included the best education, which sharpened his already keen mind and made him the smartest man in First Country. He came up with brilliant strategies during the Goblin Wars and he became a hero. It is no wonder then, that he thought he could rule the all five Countries better than their own rulers.

   “The only thing he didn’t count on was having an equally brilliant son. He underestimated me my whole life; he treated me like a naïve child from the moment I learned to speak. It was my older brother he favored, but my older brother was a fool, gaining his brains from my mother’s side of the family. No amount of learning could make him smart. But my father didn’t see that. When my brother died mysteriously, my father hated me all the more. He thought that I was the stupid son, and for awhile, I bought into his lies, until I realized my worth – realized that I was stronger than him, smarter than him; it was easy to slay him on the battle ground. Now I am King of First Country, and soon, the whole realm.”

   “Interesting…” I said. “So, you’re father always treated you like dirt, made you think that you were worth nothing… and because of that, you got your revenge, and now are trying to make everyone think you are the best by ruling over them all. Thank you, this has been a very productive date! Now please take me home. I want to watch my movie.”

   King John stared at me. “Very well. Come.”

   I threw our garbage away and we went back out to the carriage. We were gone no more than thirty minutes, but I learned much. It was indeed a very productive date. 

Live long and prosper!

Character Encounters: Living Room

It's time for Character Encounters! Hosted by Kendra at Knitted by God's Plan.
Character Encounters is a monthly linkup where you write a short story where you, as the author, meet one of your characters is the place prescribed by Kendra. I really enjoy this linkup, though I've only participated a handful of times. And most of those times, the story hasn't even been put up onto my blog!
This month, the area for the encounter is the living room. And, the character you have to meet is one that you've thought about a lot, but never written. At first, I didn't think I had any characters like that... Then I realized, yes! I do have a character to fit the criteria! Her name is the Hag. She's part of my new story idea... but won't be introduced until the next chapter. I'm really looking forward to writing her. I think she'll be a very fun character.
So, without further ado, here is the story!

   Say Yes To The Dress on youtube… the perfect way to unwind after a stressful day. Even better is that youtube is accessible on the TV. Now if only my mom would hurry up and finish getting ready for bed, we could start the episode…

   I sigh and scroll down my blogger dashboard, looking for a post I hadn’t read earlier. I heard the sliding door leading to the other side of the house and cast my eyes upward, expecting to see my mother in her familiar blue robe. Instead, I saw a withered old lady with gray hair tied tightly in a bun on the back of her head. Her brown dress reached all the way down to the floor and she wore an apron overtop. Her features were somewhere between kind grandmother and ugly stepmother. Her kind eyes and smiling lips offset her pointy nose with warts. At least, they would have, if her eyes hadn’t held confusion and fury, and if her lips had been smiling as they usually were.

   She spotted me. Slowly, I uncrossed my legs and moved them down to the floor. I set my computer on the coffee table. The old woman stormed towards me with surprisingly quick steps.

   “Where am I?” she demanded, pointing a gnarled finger at me. It had seen lots of needlework. “Who are you?” A sudden light of understanding came into her eyes. “Is this a ploy of the Wicked Witch? Are you the Wicked Witch? Where are you keeping the Princess of First Country?! Locked in a tower no doubt… I demand to know! This instant!” She stamped one thin foot on the ground, placed her hands on her hips, and glared at me something fierce.

   “I’m not the Wicked Witch,” I said, putting my hands up as a sign of peace. “Do I look like a witch to you?”

   “No… I suppose not.” The woman contemplated me for a few more minutes.

   “Alright,” she said, “I’ve decided to trust you. I sure am glad that’s over… I was worried there for a moment.  So if you’re not the witch, who are you?” Her glare disappeared and a look of curiosity came into her eyes. She peered at me.

   “My name is Abbey,” I said. “Won’t you please have a seat?” I asked politely. She was an old woman, after all.

   “I don’t have a foot in the grave yet!” the woman said. “I’m still standin’! I can still get around! You young whippersnappers are always tryin’ to get me to take a load off my feet… ‘Sit down, mother. Shall we stop for a rest, mother? Let me do that, mother.’ That tall whippersnapper I’m travellin’ with is just horrid. Always askin’ me if I need to stop… I’m goin’ to be lookin’ after a princess soon! There will be no stoppin’ then… no resting.” Despite her grumbling, the old woman took a seat anyway. “I may look like an old Hag but I’m really not.” Having a seat seemed to calm her down a bit and she took on an amiable tone of voice with me. “That’s why I protest so much when people want to take special care of me… I’m actually a princess under a spell. I was turned old by a horrible witch, once upon a time…”

   I seriously doubted that that was the case. But if that was the story the woman was sticking to, I’d let her believe it.

   “So,” she peered at me. As soon as she had found out that I was no, in fact, the Wicked Witch imprisoning the princess of First Country, her mouth turned up at the corners and stayed in the amiable smile that I knew she always wore – except in extreme provocation.

   “How do I get out of here? I was kind of in the middle of a quest when I found myself here.”

   “I’m not sure,” I answered. I had been studying her carefully the whole time and had several important facts to write down once she was gone. I was as eager as the old hag to get her out of here – especially before my mom showed up.

   “Well,” she said, getting up, “maybe I’ll just go back the way I came… through that curious sliding panel. I must ask the king if one can be installed in my bedchamber. Perhaps an adjoining door into the room next door.” The crone giggled girlishly. “That would lovely. Sneaking into the next room and scaring people in the middle of the night… I simply shall remember to ask the king about it. Thank you for the chat, Miss Abbey. If you see any Wicked Witches, don’t let them near your infant princesses. Fare ye well!”

   She got to her feet and swayed unsteadily for a moment. She stuck her hands out for balance and soon recovered. She hobbled through the kitchen and back through the sliding door to the rest of the house. I watched her go and then reached for a piece of scratch paper. I quickly scribbled some notes.

   Expressive eyes… Changes mood rapidly… Speech gets a little disjointed when angry… the ends of words get cut off… She can be quick when she wants to… And I must remember the sliding door to the room next door.

   I wrote a general description of her and just as I was haphazardly scrawling the final note down, the sliding door opened again. Not knowing what to expect, I cautiously lifted my head. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was only my mom.

   “Ready to start?” she asked, digging in the cupboard for some snack. “Play!”

    I reached for the remote, pulled up the quilt, tucked my legs under me, and hit ‘play.’

   The End.

 

And now a funny typo: "I may look like an old gah..." (instead of hag)

 

Character Encounters: Electronics Store.

This month's Character Encounter (hosted by Kendra at Knitted at God's Plan) is taking place at an electronics store!

 

Here is my story (starring three characters from After the Twelfth Night):

   We were in the most boring, evilest of stores. The store where a child can be endlessly bored forever while parents stare at light bulbs or paint colors or, the worst, CABINET HANDLES!

   Home Depot.

   I sighed. I sighed and tried to entertain myself with memories of former experiences in the store. There was the time we were on the way to Disney Land with my cousin. He hated Home Depot and every time we would pass one on the road, we would ask if we should go to Home Depot instead of Disney Land.  He would shout ‘NO’ and we would drive on.

   Then there was the time when I was desperately seeking a cat ornament for the Christmas tree (because each year I get an ornament to reflect the year to put on the tree. That year I had been very much into Warrior Cats by Erin Hunter). We couldn’t find a cat ornament anywhere. Then, we went into Home Depot, and there was a cat ornament! A cat ornament which looked exactly like Hazelfur, my own Warrior.

   And then, of course, who could forget the time that my uncle nearly got arrested in Home Depot? Those who know my uncle know that he would never, ever steal anything. Yet, the employees thought he was shoplifting (maybe it was the backpack he had worn into the store) and he was detained and the police called.

   Even though that was months ago and things have pretty much cleared up, he and my aunt are still plagued by calls from that particular Home Depot (which is closing soon).

   I ran out of Home Depot experiences. In my mind I let out a Darth Vaderly ‘noooooooooooooo’ and wandered over to the lighting department which, in my opinion, was the only isle in the whole store that was of any interest. Ever since I was little, I have been fascinated with the lighting isle in Home Depot. All the chandeliers with the different decorations…. all the beams of light that shine unearthly yellow light on everything…. and the occasional purple light bulb.

   “Come on Abbey, we’re going to the electronics section,” my mom said. I hurried after her and my dad. We weren’t in Home Depot to look at lights. We were there to search for good deals on computers. My mother needed a new one desperately.

   This could take awhile, I mentally prepared myself. Why didn’t I take a book?!

   While my parents were being helped by a nice young man, I hung back to look at some random computer accessories. Someone bumped into me.

   “Oh, sorry,” said a foreign voice, with a foreign accent. “I was just looking for someone… my friends. They seemed to have gotten lost.

   “That’s alright. I hope you find them.” The words stumbled out of my mouth, as they always did when I tried to create small talk or tried to get away from a conversation. I started to move towards my parents, who had gone into another isle. Then I did a double take. I turned back around to the boy who had bumped into me. He was tallish and well-muscled. He wore a light, white shirt that had poofy sleeves. His pants were brown and on his feet were brown boots. But that hardly caught my attention at first. It was his hair and his eyes that had made me turn back to a stranger whom I didn’t know.

   But I did know him. That tanned skin, the bright amber eyes flecked with green, the longish, wavy black hair… Even the clothes – I noticed them now. I had given him those clothes after he, Antonio and James were rescued in the desert.

   He had turned away from me, then, hands on hips, looking for his friends. I knew exactly which friends he was looking for, and I began to search too. I glanced at my parents; they were still engrossed with the salesman. I slipped away, down an aisle, and cast my eyes about. I went, aisle to aisle, searching for them. Finally, staring at the lights in the lightning department, I saw them.

   “What strange things these are….” said the younger one; the one with a floppy brown hat on his head.

   “Yes,” murmured the elder one. “I have never encountered something like this before.” He reached out and bumped one of the lampshades. It swung back and forth at his touch.

   Without thinking, I ran up to them. “Antony is looking for you!” I said. They both jumped, as if coming out of a trance, and stared at me.

   “Who are you?” said the older man, gruffly.

   “Antony is looking for you,” I repeated, with less gusto this time. Maybe I should have thought through this a little more. It’s not like you can just come right out and tell people from your book that you wrote them into existence. That would be crazy. Besides, I wasn’t sure if I totally believed they were my characters. Maybe they were just cosplayers.

   Dressed as characters from your book which hasn’t even come out yet? I asked myself.

   “Where is Antony?” asked the younger man, with the hat.

   “This way,” I said.

   “Careful James, it might be a trap,” said the older one.

   “Oh, just come on.” They agreed to follow me and I led them back to the electronics section of the store. Antony had disappeared! “Where’s he got to…?” I muttered. “He was just here!” I said.

   Suddenly a voice came from behind us. “Antonio! James! I’ve been searching for you!” We three whipped around and there was Antony!

   “There you are!” I said, relieved.

   They ignored me. “Where are we?” Antony asked.

   “We don’t know,” James admitted.

   “Well I very much doubt that we will find Sebastian here, so let’s find our way out of here,” said Antonio.

   How did I explain to them that they weren’t Shakespeare Land anymore? And where was a Silvertongue when I needed one….? If Mo or Meggie showed up from Inkheart, they could read my characters back into After the Twelfth Night.

   I came out of my reverie and found that Antonio, Antony, and James were no longer standing at my side. I looked around frantically for them. Ah, there they were, just headed to the door. To the door?! Oh no! I couldn’t have them wandering around town! I ran after them.

   “Wait!” I called. They turned.

   “What?” asked Antonio.

   “ALACAZAM BACK INTO YOUR BOOK!!!” I said, for lack of a better phrase. They just stared at me. Then, all of a sudden, as if they were holograms venturing out of the holodeck on the Enterprise D, my characters began to disintegrate in front of my eyes. I looked around to see if anyone else was seeing what I was. Luckily, no one was around in this particular aisle.

   When I turned back to Antonio, Antony, and James, they were gone.

   “There you are!”

   I turned and there were my parents.

   “We were looking everywhere for you. You scared me. Don’t run off like that,” said my mom, giving me a hug.

   “Sorry,” I said.

   Once at home, I quickly opened After the Twelfth Night to the particular page that Antonio, Antony, and James had sprung from. I sighed is relief. Everything was as it had been when I left it.

   Antonio looked down at himself. Instead of the tattered rags he had been wearing since the beginning of his journey, he was dressed in a clean, white shirt with a low tie-up neck and poofy sleeves. His pants were brown and cut off at the shin. He was wearing long socks and a pair of boots sat next to his bed. When he felt his wound, Antonio found it to be bound in a tight bandage; it hardly hurt anymore.

   Antony was dressed in much the same fashion, minus the bandage. But something or more precisely, someone was missing…

   “Where is James?”  asked Antonio.

   I smiled in satisfaction. Maybe Home Depot wasn’t such a bad store after all.

 

I hope you enjoyed (even if it isn't edited all that much)!

 

Live long and prosper.

Character Encounters: January.

I'm doing another Character Encounters.

 

http://knittedbygodsplan.blogspot.com/

 

This months encounter spot was a fast food place...

   This is a horrible idea. I thought to myself as I jerked the wheel angrily and nearly hit a green Chevrolet.

   “Watch out!” my mom shouted.

   “Sorry!” I replied, my hands trembling. I took a deep breath before putting the car into reverse. A few moments later the car was parked without further mishaps. Mom and I got out and surveyed my work. “I really need more practice…” I chuckled. The car was in the parking spot… horizontally.

   “Why are we here again?” my mom asked, nodding to the newly re-built McDonalds, which was stationed around the corner and down the road-a-ways from our house.

   “We’re meeting a wizard,” I replied. My mom gave me a look. “I know, I know,” I sighed, “that sounds strange. But it really isn’t! He’s the wizard from Defenders of the Realm! You know, the board game I’m making into a story? The wizard won’t tell me him name…. I have five possibilities – I asked my blog followers which they liked best, remember? Well, he has decided to come into our world, from the Realm. He said he’d meet me somewhere to disclose his name…. and the place he picked was McDonalds!” I explained in one hurried breath.

   “Why did he pick McDonalds?” my mom questioned, holding the door open for me. I shrugged as I went inside.

   “He said he’s never had fast food before and wanted to try it out…. I didn’t even know Wizards liked fast food! Especially this wizard… He is so grim and grumpy, he doesn’t like anything.”

   I had only seen a McDonalds as crowded as this one once, and that was in Times Square, New York City.

   It is lunch time, I suppose. I reasoned as I unconsciously began to hum the theme from New York, New York.

   “Should we wait for this, er, wizard friend of yours or get in line?” Mom asked me.

   “I don’t know…” I said absentmindedly. My gaze swept the McDonalds, searching for a tall, old man, with a face as stormy as his dark gray beard. He would have a long staff with him, sure to draw attention. And if the staff didn’t, the midnight blue cloak he always wrapped himself in would. 

   “Come on,” my mom called. I hurried to join her at the end of a long, long line.

   “He’s not here yet!” I cried is dismay.

   “I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Mom reassured.

   As she spoke a curious looking female made her way over to us. I recognized her at once and groaned. “Gwina.”

   She held herself beautifully; erect and imposing. She wore a long dress with slits going up just past her knees on either side. The dress had puffy sleeves and fitted in a loose turtleneck under her chin. Her boots were black and looked heavy. Yet as she stepped towards my mom and I, her feet looked as if they didn’t even touch the ground.

   Elven make. I realized.

   In her hand was a staff, slim, and twirling at the end. She wasn’t wearing a travelling cloak, but a jacket-like garment which fell to the floor and had no sleeves.

   Her face held much mirth and she was grinning a flashy smile. Her long black hair fell down to her waist, even though it was tied in a high ponytail.

   “Hi.” She grinned at me. “I suppose I have the pleasure of meeting ‘The Author’?”

   “Yes. What are you doing here?” I asked, glaring back at Gwina. “Did… The Wizard send you?” I still didn’t know his name.

   “The Wizard-“ Gwina had to stop talking as she burst into a fit of laughter. Her laugh was booming, commanding the attention of everyone. Heads turned towards us and my face went red with embarrassment. “No, no,” Gwina said when she finally stopped laughing and grew very serious, a trait of hers I would have to remember. “’The Wizard’ did not send me. I’m afraid I brought you here under false pretenses. You see-“ she laughed again – “I wanted to try this thing called ‘fast food’ so much that I shifted into ‘The Wizard’ and asked you to meet him here!” Gwina looked quite pleased with herself and I groaned again as I remembered her special skill: shape-shifting.

   By this time we had reached the front of the line.

   “I’ll take a number 5 please,” I ordered, momentarily ignoring the wizard from another world who stood next to me.

   “Angus snack wrap,” said my mom. “What do you want Gwina? We’ll pay,” she added generously.

   Gwina was staring open-mouthed at the selection board. “I’ve never even heard of some of these foods!” she gasped.

   “She’ll take a number 5 too,” I said.

   In less than five minutes our food was ready. We took our things to the only empty table in the place and sat down.

   “How do you like your food?” I asked Gwina.

   She sat chewing slowly, as if pondering the food. “Very interesting,” she said at last. I tried asking Gwina some more questions, about the Realm and the other Heroes – I needed more background information - but she wouldn’t answer. We finished our meal in silence.

   When Gwina swallowed her last bite and shoved her garbage into the middle of the table, she turned and looked me straight in the eyes. “I didn’t bring you here just to eat your peculiar food. I came to tell you nothing. I know ‘The Wizard’s’ name and I’m prepared to tell you. He’ll kill me if he finds out, though!” her eyes widened, but I could see mirth sparkling in their depths.

   “I won’t tell,” I said.

   Gwina leaned back in her chair. “His name is-“

   At that moment a flash of light erupted near the cash register. People screamed. A booming voice called out: “GWINA!”

   “Uh-oh…” Gwina said. “He’s found me!” Sure enough, he had.

   The most powerful wizard since Amarak the Great was standing in McDonalds. My face hit my palm. How was I going to explain this one??

   “Gwina!” The Wizard walked towards us, his cloak flapping out behind him, his staff tapping ominously on the floor.

   Gwina stood up and faced The Wizard, her staff held high. She was nearly as tall as him and just as imposing. “What do you want?” she asked.

   “You know you are not allowed to leave the Realm!” The Wizard boomed. Everyone was watching. Most had their phones out and were recording. Silly them. They would find, as soon as they replayed the scene that Gwina and The Wizard weren’t really there. Technology of our world wasn’t able to record figments of my imagination. I knew because I had tried before.

   “I’m allowed to leave the Realm!” Gwina replied haughtily. “You can’t tell me what I can and cannot do. Besides, we’ve had to leave the Realm before...” Gwina didn’t finish her thought and instead nodded in my direction. “Author, we can’t disclose too much information.”

   “Ah, yes.” For a moment The Wizard’s furrowed brow unfolded itself as he gazed on me. Then it wrinkled back into its ever present look of grim worry. “Gwina, you know what I mean. You cannot leave the Realm and come… to this place; the Author’s place.”

   “I already did. And so did you, making you a hypocrite.”

   “I am no hypocrite!” boomed The Wizard.

   “No, you’re just a grim old wizard!” Gwina said. “All the Author wanted was to know your name! You would not tell her so I decided-“

   “You decided to take matters into your own hands, like you always do,” finished The Wizard.

   “Yes!”

   “Well, I’m here to undo this. You are coming back to the Realm with me!” The Wizard glared at Gwina.

   “No! You can’t make me!”

   “Yes I can!”

   “Try and you’ll be sorry!”

   “Fine!” The Wizard lifted his staff and said something in the Spell Language. Before he could finish Gwina lifted her own staff and countered his spell. They stood there, casting and countering for a few minutes, people watching, all agape, until I decided that, as author, I should intervene.

   “Guys, stop it,” I said, getting between them. The two Wizards stared at me for a moment and then lowered their staffs. “Gwina, I want you to go home with… The Wizard,” I said. Gwina gasped at my betrayal. I lifted my hands, “Not yet, you don’t have to go yet.” She sighed in relief. “Gwina, will you go with The Wizard and promise to be nicer to him if he gives me his name?”

   “Yes,” Gwina said with a decided nod.

   “Wizard, do you agree to this bargain? Gwina will try not to bother you as much if you give me your name.”

   The Wizard stared at me for a full minute and a half before nodded slightly, giving in.

   “Good.” I smiled. “Name please?” I looked at the old, grim, weather-beaten face, so full of the misery of past battles and the foreshadowing of one’s yet to come.

   “Isengrim.”

   “What?” He had said it so quietly, I nearly didn’t hear.

   “You heard me; I am not going to say it again.” Isengrim, The Wizard, grunted.

   He touched his staff to the ground, murmured something and disappeared in a flash, just as he had come. Gwina smiled broadly at me before doing the same. Then they were gone.

   I smiled like the mad author I was. Isengrim. MWAHAHAHA.

 

Not my best work. But I figured out the wizard's name! Isengrim just seemed to fit... I think I knew that the moment I wrote that name in my list of possible names. It will just give Gwina reason to annoy him. Hee hee.

Live long and prosper!