This is part of a contest entry that I'm writing for "2008 Short Fiction Competition"   by SoCalScribe . I have no idea if I'll finish it by the deadline, but I'm going to try.


"Finally!" Zack breathed a huge sigh as he turned the key and heard the satisfying click of the deadbolt. The door swung open easily. He barely made it across the threshold before dropping his bags onto the hardwood floor.

"Hey," a familiar voice called from the den. "How was your vacation?"

Closing the door, Zack stepped over his discarded luggage and went into the other room. His roommate, Benjamin, was sitting on the couch. Notably, he was in much the same position as when Zack had left two weeks earlier. He stared at the back of Ben's head. "What vacation?"

"Dude, the one you—oh shit, what happened to you?" In finally turning to look at him, Ben had noticed the sun-burnt face and torn clothing his roommate was sporting.

Silently, Zack moved around the sofa and plopped down beside his friend. "My vacation happened."

Ben stared at him, dumbfounded. "But... dude, you went to Aruba. Why do you look like you got mauled by a pitbull in the desert?"

"I don’t want to talk about it."

"But dude, you—"

"No." Zack picked up the remote control and started flipping through the channels. Ben tried to focus on the television, but he couldn't get himself to look away.

"Um... so was the island nice, anyway?"

Zack sighed. He hadn't yet paused on a channel for longer than two seconds. "I wouldn't know."

Ben's eyes shifted nervously between his roommate's bright red face and the warm glow of the TV. He'd had a cruise, hadn't he? Three days on a ship out of Miami, four days on the island, then three days back. Plus the plane back to Chicago. That was what the itinerary said... the one Zack had stuck to the fridge. Right? He couldn't fathom how Zack could have ended up looking so...

"Dude, did you get shipwrecked?"

"No." Click, click... click.

He glanced uncertainly at Zack's clothing. It was torn in places and frayed around the edges, and it looked like it hadn't been washed in... Is that the same shirt he was wearing when he left? He opened his mouth to ask the questions, but he didn't get very far.

"Seriously Ben, if you ask me again..." He hit the power button on the remote and let it slide from his hand onto the floor. His head leaned back against the sofa and he closed his eyes. Even his eyelids look sunburned. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Ben turned slightly to face his friend. "Try me."

Zack let his head roll to the side so he could see Ben without exerting too much effort. "Pirates."

"Pirates? In Aruba?"

Zack shook his head. "A day out of Miami."

"Dude! I didn't think they made pirates any more." He turned back to stare incredulously at the now-silent TV, as though the existence of modern-day pirates was something that should have been brought to his attention between reruns of House.

(A few more random bits, scattered and out of order.)

Hawk casts a sidelong glance at Lucien. "Attracts weirdness?" He seems to ponder this statement for a moment and shrugs. "I know the sort. Shit always happenin' to them or near them, but it's never their fault. I've seen it before, Lucien. Always playin' the victim, but underneath it all they're really the predator. They set themselves up and then watch it all unfold around 'em like that have nothin' to do with it." He shakes his head, shaking a wary finger at the soldier beside him. "You oughta be careful around women like that. They're dangerous." He pauses in his walking as though surveying the area around him. The two men are in the heart of the market now, and all the vendors have opened up shop and are crying their wares. Hawk shakes his head again, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Riots, huh? Don't think the Commander'd appreciate that too much."

* * * * *

Hawk takes the offered snack and pops the whole thing into his mouth unceremoniously. "Sure she can," Hawk says, crunching loudly. A moment later he spits the broken shell onto the ground. "She's a woman, ain't she?" He reaches over and takes another nut from the bag in Lucien's hand. "Well we can't lock her up, so unless you want to go chasin' after her skirt tails, I suggest we mind our own business. 'Less o'course she does something to make it our business... then may be we could lock her up."

* * * * *

The two men walked through the market, one of them chatting idly while the other just listened.

"So I told him it was to illegal to ride a goat while drunk."

The silent man nodded absently. Drunk, yes. Someone was always drunk. Goat... Wait, that was new. "Did you say a goat?"

"I know. Have to be a bloody great goat! An' it was too. Antlers and everything." He gestured with his hands to capture the enormity of it.

"Hawk, goats don't have antlers."

The anatomical corrections was ignored as the man called Hawk continued on about the bloody great goat that got ridden into town two nights back while he was on patrol.

"Ol' Man Murphy's been letting you have some of his 'specialty' ale again, hasn't he?"

* * * * *

Darrius tries hard not to smile as he catches Katarina's wink from across the table. So much for keeping secrets...

He focuses on the plate of food in front of him. "Yes, we were just discussing that," he says. "We were thinking perhaps of an excursion later on in the day.” He looks up now, managing to keep a straight face, though just barely. "Though since Katie too had mentioned riding, perhaps the two of you could go together." Glancing to Katie, Darrius finally does allow himself to smile. The action lights up his face as it had not done for weeks. "Just let me know when you get back and we can plan our adventure."

The rain threw itself at them in waves as the sky darkened suddenly to an ominous, threatening grey. He kept a tight grip on her hand, and she on his, as they trudged along the cliff face looking for any outcropping or crevasse that might give them shelter.

* * * * *

Jashua awoke to the sound of roaring thunder and a clear blue sky. He lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. There was a long rectangular window near the top of the wall and, facing east as it was, Jashua could see the slants of sunlight dancing across the white stones of the room.

There was no rain. No thunder. And yet he could still hear the dying echoes of it as though some great storm had cast him from his dreams.

Or maybe it had been the dream. It was difficult to tell sometimes: the dreams from the reality from the visions. Leto called them miracles. A little miracle each time. The old healer, Epione, called them premonitions. Jashua didn't call them anything if he could help it. They were just something that happened to him sometimes. It had been like that for months now, ever since... well, ever since he escaped.

Escaped what? he asked himself. Atharn? Death? A little bit of each, maybe. That would like be his thoughts, if he allowed himself to think in such a manner. He didn’t like to dwell too much on what had happened.

Leto had asked him once. But only that once. Her Majesty the Queen always looked curious, like she wanted to ask but was too afraid. He didn't blame her for that. Though he did feel rather self-conscious around her as a result.

Only Epione didn't treat him any differently now. Not that she had known him before all this, but rather she treated him the way she did everyone else. The way she treated squires and princes, kings and acolytes. The way he imagined she would have treated him had he found himself working for a different grandson of Diarmaid Drahkon.

* * * * *

Specific Lines
- "I'd use you for bait, you old goat." - This is the best end to an opening paragraph that I have read in quite some time. You've captured my attention and I find myself continuing to read even though I had intended only on browsing.

- "...Duke of Northwesthamptonwickshireton East..." - Brilliant!

- "...the great historians, Lawrence, Moebus, and Curlier..." - Too clever!

- "Few ever returned its depths..." - Should be "returned from its depths..."

- "But, since Sir Richard was already married, the creature's powers had no effect on him, so he walked out." - I'm laughing out loud here. This is hilarious!

- "...a sweetly, lyrical woman's voice..." - Should be either "... a sweet, lyrical woman's voice..." or "...a sweetly lyrical woman's voice..." Though honestly, "... a sweetly lyrical female (or feminine) voice" would sounds better.

- "Clatu verata nictu." - YES! I was waiting for this one!

- "Piles of crushed bones carpeted floor." - Should be "carpeted the floor."

Overall Thoughts

Plot
Bloody brilliant! Straightforward, but that's fine since the story's more about the characters and the humor. I think you handled it perfectly.

Characters
I love the needy tart in the cave, and Mike of course. You typed the accent perfectly (which is tough to do).

As A Whole
Overall I think this is a brilliant piece of comedic fantasy, employing the type of humor found in Monty Python and Fireside Theater. The pop culture references were perfect, and your descriptions (both serious and silly) were excellent. I noticed just a couple little grammatical errors, mentioned above, but otherwise it's perfect. I love it!

I owed a few more reviews from an auction that I had run a while back. Here they are, in all the honest and shabbily-written glory. I don't believe in fluff review, but rather in constructive criticism. You can't improve if all you hear is "Write on!" But on the other hand, if your story really is perfect, I'll be the first one to admit it.

* * * * *

Overall Thoughts

This is a very cute story with a nice twist ending. I didn't see that coming at all, which is a good. It did get a laugh out of me, but the major issue I had with it was that it was his mother who found the roommate. I can't imagine that anyone's mother would think that having a pig as a roommate would keep the kid "out of trouble." But other than that I thought this was a nicely-written piece of flash fiction. Very creative and clever. Great job!

* * * * *

Specific Lines
- "...a shivered sliced down his spine." - Should be "...a shiver sliced..."

- "'...and they we’ll feast.'" - Should be "'...and then we'll feast.'"

Overall Thoughts

This was certainly creepy, so you succeeded in the horror aspect. The main problem I have is that at the beginning I had no idea what I was reading (i.e. father and son hunting a deer? older sibling and younger sibling as serial killers? Two lions stalking a gazelle? etc), but then at the end, I still didn't know what I'd read (i.e. two vampires hunting? an older and younger members of a cannibalistic cult? etc) I know it's difficult with flash fiction to get in all the details and not leave loose ends, but I found myself missing the meat of the story here, so to speak.

Overall I think this was a good attempt, especially given the format, but still needs some work to get the story across to the readers.

* * * * *

Specific Lines
- "The room was smaller than she remembered; just a mere closet compared to the image in her mind." - I like this opening line. You've captured my attention and it sets the scene well.

- "Emily stood silently in the doorway." vs. "Emily sat on the small bed..." - When did Emily move from the doorway to the bed?

- "Time for her expel all..." - Should be "...for her to expel..."

- "Her mother let out an exasperating sigh..." - I think you mean, "...an exasperated sigh..." Unless the sigh was the thing that was causing the exasperation.

- "It was the scream of death." - Very nice!

Overall Thoughts

A very nice twist ending, especially using the repetition of the eerie yellow light pulsating from the closet. I think the title is a little deceiving though, since it seem like Emily has known about this the whole time, unless you're referring to the fact that the doctor believes that she's repressed the memories of killing her mother. I wonder how they thought that an eight year old girl could have mutilated a body so horribly as the closet monster seems to have done.

Over all I think this is a nice horror piece that left, for me, only that one unanswered question. Good job!

"Trust me Darrius, I am good with a secret."

Darrius raises an eyebrow. "What secrets have you of late? Ah, but then I suppose you wouldn't tell me, would you?"

He catches sight of Josephine out of the corner of his eye, and quickly gestures Katarina silent. Though of course, if there was anyone who they could confide it, it would be Jo. She might even want to go with them. Maybe he would ask her...

He stares down at his plate as she sits, mostly to keep himself from catching any more of the queen's contagious excitement. "Morning, Jo," he says to his plate. He had never called her "Joanna," the cover name they had given her to keep her presence here secret. He lifts his eyes, smiling to her.

* * * * *

Hi Vicki!

I'm sorry it took me so long to get these reviews out to you. Let's see if I can take care of these now, huh?

Specific Lines
-"When my father was shipped off somewhere, writing was my way of disappearing with him." - A very nice line. This sort of thing is difficult to quantify, and I think most writers (or most people who use various forms of escapism) have a hard time putting the "why" of it into words. Nicely done.

-"My father had kept everyone one of them..." - Should be "every one."

-"I didn't become a writer in any physical sense. I was born one." - Again, I think you managed to sum up a feeling that a lot of us, as writers, have. Excellent!

Overall Thoughts

This is a very touching piece that, in so few words, manages to touch on a major facet of who you are as a person, and how/why you are who and what you are. A few of the sentences sounded a little awkward to me, but in general it had a nice conversational style that flowed nicely with what you were trying to do. Overall this is a very nice piece.

* * * * *

Specific Lines
-"After a few moments, and the repeated sweep..." - For some reason this sentence doesn't sound quite right to me. Something to do with using "a few moments" and "the repeated sweep." I feel like maybe it should be "a repeated sweep," but I'm not sure.

-"...and the streaks of gray that had been in it earlier that day were now gone." - I'm not sure I follow this line. Did she dye her hair? That would make sense given the freshly manicured nails, but I wasn't quite sure that's what you were getting at.

Overall Thoughts

Great use of the prompt you were given! I thought I knew where you were going with it at the beginning but the last line threw me off entirely! Nicely done! You had me going one way the whole time only to yank the carpet out from under me at the last second... and it didn't feel forced or contrived at all.

Though I'm not sure I would have referred to that particular object as a "precious commodity." "Precious," definitely, but the thought of that being a "commodity" kinda grosses me out.

The first bit is a letter to the group members of The Phoenix Aerie, of which I am an admin. The second is a story bit, posted out of context as usual.

* * * * *

Dear Members of the Aerie,

In the interest of having some FUN around here while getting some encouraging feedback on our writing, The Phoenix Aerie will be holding a Review Contest!!! The contest rules will be simple, and whoever provides the most quality reviews to our group members will win!

Details are still being worked out (as are the PRIZES), but we know that one of the prizes will be extra reviews. In order to facilitate this, we'll need some volunteers to give out these prize reviews.

Also, reviewing for this particular contest will be limited items listed in our very own "Library". So, take a few moments to peruse the place and see if there's anything you'd like to add. Remember, only items listed in the Library will be eligible for the CONTEST!

Thank you Roselee for the fabulous idea!

To sum up, check the "Library" and fill out the "Phoenix Aerie Add-an-Item Form" if anything is missing. Also, email Dяagon Bεliever or post in "The Phoenix Aerie Forum" if you're willing to help give reward reviews after the contest (and list the number of reviews you would be willing to give). Please note: Volunteering for this does not prevent you from entering the contest!

Peace,

The Phoenix Aerie

PS> Don't forget about our writing contest!

There are some great prizes up for grabs, and only 1 lonely entry so far! The contest is open until June 30th!

* * * * *

Unable to contain himself any more, Hawk erupts with laughter. "Lucien, what have I told you about starting trouble with those two?" He once again fails at sounding or looking stern. "We gotta leave them alone to their business if we want them to leave us alone to ours." He glances around the street as though looking for someone. "I'm surprised that other girl weren't here too," he says. He gives Lucien a nudge with his elbow. "You should consider yourself lucky. She woulda given you a lecture on the altruism inherent in their actions. Or some such bullshit." Hawk shakes his head. "There's no such thing. They do what we do and they do it for the same reason. To get paid."

Hawk crosses his arms over his chest, one hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. "No, no complaints, Lucien," he says, glancing to the ground as though trying to avoid the tension in the air between the two people. "But soldier, if you're through harassing Taernfane's other citizens, I think there's a marketplace that requires your astute attention and tireless patrol." He risks a wink in Lucien's direction, hoping neither to anger the soldier or offend the lady (vigilante or no, he is supposed to keep the peace...).

* * * * *

Having been around soldiers most of her life in Bremmaran, Katarina was familiar with the intricacies of armor; a fact Darrius found himself grateful for as she wordlessly undid the fastenings and helped him slide the hardened leather chest piece from his torso. He winced as Katarina tsked, eyeing the small gash in the armor's side. She discarded the piece quickly, returning her attention to her rescuer.

"You should have been wearing something heavier," she scolded, helping him out of the padding he wore beneath the armor. This too was torn and stained quite heavily with blood. "What were you thinking? Storming a castle in leather and not plate and chain!"

Darrius let out a groan as she tugged at his shirt to examine the wound. It was clean and not very deep, though judging by the prince's display of pain, the force of the blow likely broke one or two of his ribs.

"What were you thinking?" she chided again.

"I was thinking that I was sneaking into the keep, not storming it," he retorted. "And I was thinking that I had damn well better be quiet while I was doing it, because if I was caught in there then all the plate and chain in Drahkonia would not help me. Or you. Let's not forget I was there to save you, Katarina. You're the wife of my brother, and I would have died returning you to him, but that does not mean I wanted to."

In the firelight, he could see the hurt in her eyes. Outside, a deafening crash of thunder signaled the storm's arrival.

Apparently having nothing more to say about the situation, Katarina worked silently and Darrius, ashamed of his outburst, let her. She used his dagger to slice a few strips of cloth from his cloak, and there were only one or two sharp breaths drawn through clenched teeth as she tied the homemade bandages around him. She had barely finished when she noticed blood flowing freely from another wound, this one a small slice in the calf of his leg. A quiet sigh was her only reaction, though she began to cut another piece of cloth from the bottom of the cloak.

"Katie," he said, setting a hand on her arm to stop her. "It's ok. You don't have to. I'll be fine."

But she only shrugged his hand away and bandaged his wounds in silence.

She'd been finished for a long time and the rain was falling outside the cavern in sheets when she next spoke. "Thank you, Darrius."

And then, from the far wall of the cavern against which the prince sat just beyond the ring of firelight, came a quiet, "You're very welcome, Katie."

Darrius shrugged one shoulder as he stuffed a bit of food into his mouth. "Usefulness is overrated, if you ask me," he said, giving Katarina a smile. "I'd recommend the city, though of course it's not as much fun with the royal entourage and with everyone bowing and clearing a path for you all the time. You don't ever get to see what things are really like in Taernfane if people know you're a Drahkon." He poked at the mound of food on his plate for a moment, not actually eating any more of it for the time being. "I'll have to take you into town with me one day," he said after a time. "Though I'd expect Dom wouldn't be too thrilled the idea... He dislikes it enough when I go, I think." He catches Katarina's eye again and smiles. "He'd probably think I was corrupting you. A bad influence."

* * * * *

In fact, her smile is contagious, and Darrius's smirk gets wider despite himself. "I used to do it all the time," he says, "when I was younger. And I've... sort of taken up the old habit again now that I'm back." He pauses. "Occasionally." Katarina's obvious excitement is too much, and although he knows it is likely a bad idea-- nay, a terrible idea-- Darrius cannot stop the words from leaving his lips. "Then we'll do it. Dominic wouldn't find out, since he's been so busy of late. I'll take you into the city with me one night. You'll love it!"

Another piece of fruit finds its way to his mouth. "Though if you tell anyone I said that, I will deny it and then I'll leave you here the next time I sneak out." Darrius watches Katie carefully for a moment, doing his best not to burst into laughter at the combination of Katarina's excitement and the thrill of planning something that he shouldn't do.

* * * * *

Col does turn, but his eyes flick to Illiandra's hand where it has caught a hold of his arm. He keeps his attention fixed there while she speaks.

"Perhaps... we can talk later? And mayhap then find someway to mutually satisfy each other's requirements?"

Finally Col raises his eyes to meet hers. "Uh... aye. Aye, we can talk later."

And then, "Some of us have ears that hear more than we let on."

This phrase strikes Col somehow, and he turns a vaguely distracted glance at Lucien. "Right..." His attention shifts between the two of them, back and forth for a moment as he silently works through things in his mind. There's a story here... After a long, quiet moment, Col slips his arm out of Illiandra's grasp. "Right then... Well... Sir," he nods to Lucien, "M'lady," he bows to Illiandra, "I'll likely see the both of ya again 'fore too long, I expect." Turning again, this time for the last time, Colin disappears into the bustling streets of Taernfane.

* * * * *

"Mind your tongue, Soldier!" The voice sounds stern, but as Hawk appears behind Illiandra, Lucien can see that there is a barely contained smirk on his face. "Are we going to have to teach you the proper way to speak to a lady?" Stepping around Illiandra so that he is standing between the two of them, Hawk bows slightly. "Is this man bothering you, m'lady?"

* * * * *

The rapid shift from pleasant to furious and back again throws Liam for a loop, leaving him still staring blankly at the empty space where Madge had been in the moments after she turns to greet the young woman who had just entered. Returning to his senses, and with an amused shake of his head, he returns his attention to the mug in front of him and the pitcher of water. He does occasionally cast a glance at the newcomers-- the woman who seems to hold the secret of the innkeep, and a man who looks like he was just thrown up by a sea serpent-- sizing them up and making mental notes of the mannerisms and behaviors of each.

If the situation called for it, he would be ready.

Col studies her a moment as they walk, then shakes his head. "But yer friend there's an elf too, and they ain't been talking 'bout her too much. Just about you." He lets them walk in silence for a few moments. "Illiandra, folk have been lookin' after ya with the kinda interest that don't come about from vigilante work. An' I can't just give you the information ya want, 'cause then I'd be outta business. I can't go givin' information away fer free, even... even if I think it's somethin' that person oughta know. So, m'lady, either you're gonna tell me what I asked ya for, or we're gonna part ways on this next street corner and I'm gonna go figure it out for my own self."

* * * * *

"Darrius," she breathed as she reached him. "Thank the gods! Are we safe? Did they follow you? Are you hurt?"

"We're safe for now," he said, placing a hand on her arm. He'd taken his gauntlets off, and so it was his bare skin touching hers. "We need to find shelter. That storm's nearly here, and we won't be able to make the trek back and find Dominic before it hits."

"There's a cave," she said quickly. "Just over there. I didn't hide there because I thought that, if those men came after me, a cave like that might be the first place they would look."

Darrius smiled. "Good thinking, Katie." He gestured with his head in the direction she had indicated. "Show me."


The rain was only just starting to fall as they reached the little cavern cut into the rock face. It was tall enough for them to stand and deep enough to keep the sheltered from the harsh weather that was threatening. On the short walk from Katarina's tree, Darrius had collected as many dried branches and sticks as he could find. It didn't take long before Katie caught on to what he was doing and picked up a few herself. They both deposited their armfuls of kindling against one wall, quite a distance from the opening. The storm had brought with it an unnatural darkness, and the two found it difficult to see more than just the outlines of one another as they began building the fire.


"Ainam's Glory, you're hurt!" Katarina exclaimed. Once Darrius had the fire roaring, she could easily see the crimson smears across his armor and his tunic. They had eluded her outside in the gathering dark.

"It's not mine," he replied, beginning to remove the chest piece of his armor. He didn't get too far before the sharp pain and quick inhalation of breath signaled that he should not move in quite that fashion. "Well, mostly it's not mine." Seeing the worried, helpless look in Katarina's eyes, he added, "I'm fine, Katie. Help me get this armor off."

Atharn's men were closing in on him where he stood, Katarina frozen in terror behind him. He drew his sword. He had to buy them some time until Dominic's men could arrive. A tight grip on his sword arm was the only thing that gave him pause. Darrius turned to her, resting his gauntleted hand on her slender, ungloved one. "Katie, run."

The girl began to shake her head, to protest. She was staring at him with those huge blue eyes.

"Into the trees. Hide. I'll find you afterwards. I promise."

She was still staring, but this time it was at the small group of armed soldiers moving toward them.

"Katie. Run!"

Her hand slid away from his and she was off running into the woods. It would be dark soon, Darrius knew. Hopefully he would be able to join her. He turned his attention t the men moving toward him. Five. He'd encountered those odds before. But these were no hired thugs. These were Atharn's elite guard. Darrius brought his sword vertically before his face.

"For Drahkonia's honor."




Katarina didn't know how long she had been lying in the dirt and mold of that hollow, fallen tree when she heard the sound of footsteps passing by. The dark had come, and there were clouds threatening a storm over head. The young woman buried her face in her hands, willing herself not to feel the insects crawling over her bare legs as she lay on her stomach in the tree. Her thoughts had been on Darrius—Was he alright? Would he come for her?—when she heard the noise from beyond her tree. Cla-clink... cla-clink... The sounds of someone in armor walking past her. Walking with a limp. Holding her breath, Katarina dared to lift her face, peering out into the darkness, praying it was him.




One arm clutched at his side while the other still carried his sword, slick with blood. "Katie!" He took the chance of calling out for her. No one else would be looking for them yet. They had a bit of time. "Katarina!"

A whispered cry from somewhere to his left caught his attention. "Darrius."

He turned toward the voice but saw only darkness and the outlines of shrubs and trees, blacker still against the night. As he watched, he saw a figure climb out from the trunk of a fallen tree he had hardly seen. Good girl.

"Darrius," she breathed when she reached him. "Thank the gods."


* * * * *

Col led Illiandra from the tavern and into the streets of Taernfane. There were many people about, bustling here and there. The perfect place, in his experience, to have a conversation that needed to look nonchalant but wasn't.

"Ya might not know, m'lady, but it's my business to find things out. An' I don't think it's braggin' to say I'm good at what I do." He's hardly looking at her as he speaks, only occasionally casting a casual glance her way. "There's been all kinds'a talk going 'round about the little elf girl with the white hair. Some of that talk ain't fit to repeat in the presence of a lady, but the point is you've drawn all manner of unpleasant attention." He takes a moment to glance down at her, making sure she's following what he's saying. "So why don't we start with you tellin' me why these fellas I mentioned would be interested in someone like you. Because you see, I could find that out myself, but it's like to be a lot of work an' I just ain't in the mood for it today. So I figured, if I brought you somethin' I thought you would want to know, then you could give me what I want to know." He smiles at her as though they are having the most pleasant conversation about the weather, but his eyes give away something else. He appears genuinely concerned about Illiandra's fate. "Because if I know that, then it's more likely I'll be able ta do somethin' ta help. You follow me?"

More tidbits of uselessness from my online storytelling endeavors.

* * * * *

Darrius rises. He places his hands on Katarina's shoulders, though instead of kissing her forehead as he had done before, he places his forehead against hers. "Thank you," he says. "Please do not worry about me. I will be fine. And if I am not, I will come to you. I promise."

The thought that enters his mind as he steps back and moves to his own chair is how strange it is that he should say such a thing. And stranger still that he should mean it. He was not usually one to go to other people with his problems. Except maybe Dom, and even then it was rare.

Darrius was aware that most people perceived him as carefree and aloof-- a joker never bothered by anything. But to Katarina he was transparent. She saw through him as through a pane of glass. No mask he wore could hide things from her for long, and he found himself not wanting to. He felt comfortable with her, and felt as though he could be himself around her no matter what else. No other person in the palace could make that claim.

Sitting once again, Darrius does his best to turn the topic now to lighter matters. "So, have you any plans on what looks to be a beautiful day? Any rumors to swap with the ladies, or just more moments to spend in quiet contemplation in the courtyard?"

* * * * *

As Illiandra stands to leave the tavern a man approaches. He is tall, nearly a foot and a half taller than the dainty elf girl, with blond hair and shining grey eyes. He pauses, smiling down at her. "M'lady, the day looks ta be a lovely one, an' I was wonderin' if ya'd walk with me a bit." Realizing that this is quite the odd request, he offers, "M'name is Col, m'lady." Illiandra has likely seen this man before, as he frequents the tavern though he rarely appears to actually be drinking anything. He usually just talks to people. A lot.

* * * * *

"No need ta 'sir' me, m'lady," he says, still smiling. He had expected her to question him. She would have had to have been quite daft not to do so. In fact, Col ahd already decided that she would deserve not to know that which he was going to tell her, if she was so foolish a girl as to go walking off with a stranger without asking a few questions. "An' ya have ev'ry right ta ask my motives." Col takes a cursory glance around the tavern, before crouching slightly so that he and Illiandra are eye to eye. "It's 'cause ya seem like a nice lass. And 'cause I have information that I think ya should be privy to. Now I don't make a habit of givin' away that what I know, but like I said ya seem like a nice enough lass." He straightens up, offering Illiandra his arm once again. The very pleasant smile reappears on his face almost as though it had never left. "So, Miss Illiandra, would ya favor me with yer company?"

 

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For some reason I am rather fond of this online storytelling activity that I participate in. It's a great way to be creative in short bursts while focusing specifically on character development and story. It's a lot of fun and I find it to be great inspiration for my various longer works of fiction.

Of course, the result is that when I post the snippets from my single characters' points of view, nothing makes sense because they are all completely out of context. Oh well. I'm doing this for me, after all... not you. :)

* * * * *

A rather mischievous glint appears in the prince's eyes. "Many fathers have warned their daughters about men like me. You would be amazed at how many do not listen."

When the queen's tone changes, so too does Darrius's countenance. "Katie, I..."

"You know I would tell you anything..." And he knew she would, but...

"I just haven't been sleeping well." He thought to stop there, but he knew she wouldn't let it go at that. "Nightmares," he added quickly before she could ask. "I've been having nightmares, Katarina. That's all." He stuffed a large piece of honey-dipped bread into his mouth, hoping she wouldn't press him for details. He appreciated her concern-- he really did. He just didn't want to scare her.

* * * * *

Well, they were about death, certainly. But not Helena's.

"No," he says softly. "No, they're not about her death. They're about pain and war and plague. Please, Katie..." the prince lets out a long, heavy sigh. He suddenly looks much older, sitting there with his head bowed just slightly toward his food. After a moment he stands and moves to Katarina's side of the table. Crouching beside her chair, Darrius reaches up and takes one of her hands between his own. "I am grateful for your concern, My Queen, I truly am." He squeezes her hand as he looks up at her. "You love me as a brother, and I love you as a sister. But please, Katarina... I do not wish to dwell on that darkness right now. If you ask again I do not think I could keep it from you. But I am asking you to let me alone with this for now." Darrius brings her hand to his lips and brushes a soft kiss against it. "If you truly wish to know, then I promise I will tell you, Katie. But not today."

* * * * *

He watches the room come to life as the scents of breakfast begin to waft from the kitchen. He makes note of the man in the corner, though his attention is taken away from him as another man rushes out of doors, presumably to violently purge the contents of his stomach.

But then the lady of the inn is before him, with a mug and pitcher of water. Liam shows his appreciation by quickly downing what is in the mug as soon as it is set before him. He's already refilling it when the innkeeper asks his name. "Ward," he says, the lie rolling easily off his tongue. He'd had a lot of time on the road to think this over. "I'm called Ward, ma'am." Then, recalling his manners, he looks up at her and adds, "Thank you."

 

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Sometimes real life is the stuff of which legends are made. Sometimes, it just produces angry rants. This one sprouted from work today, where I am an editorial assistant for a medical journal. Doctors, as I have said on more than one occasion, are extremely intelligent, just not always terribly bright. This is a shining example of one such MD who I have the (general) pleasure of reporting to.

A morality tale about The Importance of Grammar

"No women in houston"

This is the phrase written to me by my editor-in-chief. Clearly, it requires some deciphering. Surely "houston" must refer to Houston, Texas. This is known by the fact that I was asked only a few moments before to locate the email address of a specific person at Baylor College of Medicine which is, in fact, located in Houston, Texas. So we can thus adjust the phrase to be "No women in Houston." But could there really be no women in Houston? Women are roughly half of the general population... There must certainly be women in a place as large as Houston, Texas!

Through a bit of creative navigating, I managed to figure out that the name of the individual that I was asked to locate was spelled incorrectly. It was not Mallady as my editor-in-chief had written, nor Malladi (which was the only approximation I could find at Baylor), but Malety. Ah, slight difference in spelling there. So when I had located a Malladi, his response had been the miraculously confusing, "No women in houston." So now I had the correct spelling of the name I was looking for, yet that still does not shed any additional light on the mysteriously emailed phrase haunting my inbox.

But what's this? Dr. Malety is actually a woman?

Ah... suddenly things are looking a bit clearer. The phrase was not, "No women in houston," as had been written, but was actually:

"No, (she's a) woman in Houston."

Apparently the Malladi that I had found originally was a man. My mistake. For a while there I was unclear as to whether or not there were any women currently working for Baylor, considering I had been informed that there weren't any women anywhere in Houston, Texas.

This just goes to show that even gastroenterologists (who I spend a good amount of time working with and for) need grammar, too. It makes things so much easier for me (the support staff) when I can understand what you're talking about the first time around.

Also, while we're on the topic, stop writing your entire email sans punctuation in the subject line. It does not facilitate communication, goodwill, nor a timely response on my part. And don't respond to one email while actually physically hitting the Reply button to another completely unrelated one. It makes me unhappy. I don't ask for much, really. Just some punctuation every once in a while. Maybe a correctly spelled name when you ask me to look up someone's email address. I mean, for fuck's sake! Just take an extra 10 seconds on your emails and we'll all be a lot happier.

Once again, what follows here are excerpts from my online story-telling game. There are pieces of the conversation missing, and thus they will likely not make sense. The third snippet is the beginning of someone else's story entirely.

* * * * *

He hadn't expected to encounter such a sharp wit. The prince chuckles softly as he begins preparing his own plate of breakfast.

"Indeed, that is true. You also would have had to be in..." He pauses for a moment, thinking. "Where was I at the time...? Kitartha, I think, far to the east and north across the desert. Hardly the best place for a lady of the Bremmaranian court."

He moves to settle back into his chair, notes that Katarina's meal looks quite a bit heftier than his own, and quickly adds a few more items until his is clearly the larger of the two. "I don't know what you mean, Katie," he says, glancing at her quickly to see if she noticed his little trick. "It doesn't look like that much to me."

* * * * *


Darrius burst into an uproarious laughter, the sound of it filling the room as they entered. "You're damn right I am!"

He led the queen over to the table that was reserved for the royal family and helped her to her seat. "But luckily for you, you managed to find the older Drahkon and not the younger." As Katarina sat, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, as though to a younger sister. "Many blessings upon you, Katie."

Darrius moved to sit across the table from the queen, and even as he did, a servant appeared bringing a wide assortment of breads, cheeses, fruits, and flavored honeys.

* * * * *

It had been a slaughter. The small contingent of men sent on a scouting mission had stood no chance against the battalion that had been stationed too close by. How could they not have known? How could their intelligence have been so misinformed?

How did I survive?

It was primarily this third question that occupied the soldier's mind as he picked his way through the darkened woods. He did his best to be silent, but it was night and he had no torch. Also, he was exhausted from the battle and disoriented. He prayed that he was not merely walking in circles.

The side of his face and much of his clothing was wet with blood, though he couldn't be sure if it was his own or someone else's. He'd watched Brant drop right beside him, an arrow in his throat. The soldier picked his way through the trees, occasionally stumbling over upturned roots, feeling the low-hanging branches scratch at his face. Was he a coward for running? No.... No, he couldn't be. No, he would have been killed. It was a certainty. They had been outnumbered three to one. No, he would be lying there in the mud beside Brant-beside all the others-if he had stayed. He had to report back to his commander. They had to know what a horrible mistake they had made. That's what he kept telling himself. He had to make it back.

So May was a crazy month. And I'm not just saying that because I totally and completely failed my 500 words-a-day goal for May. I'm saying it because it was the craziest month I've had next to March (which had my wedding, so you can see where I'm going with this...)

In May my husband had his Officer Basic Course, about which I have already written in these pages. And also, I was sent to San Diego for my work for a week. A solid week (weekends included) of eleven-plus hour days... And I'm only now getting a couple of days off to relax after that crazy trip. I mean, sure doctors are bright people (I was at a medical conference, by the way), but my GOD they can be dense! My tolerance for stupid went way down after that trip! I lost track of how many stupid questions my co-workers and I got asked over that week.

"Have you seen my rubber glove?"

(Asked in front of huge windows) "What's today's weather; rainy or cloudy?"

(Asked in the San Diego convention center) "Where's the convention center?"

"How do you use this calling card?"

I mean, do I look like I work for Sprint?! Seriously!


Not to mention that while we were there, a building that was under construction right next door to the convention center had a gas line explode. http://www.signonsandiego.com/news/metro/20080519-1837-bn19blast4.html
And when that explosion shook the whole convention center, the attendees still seemed to think that I, wearing that bright red badge that said STAFF, would know what happened in the thirty seconds immediately following the blast. Look, just because I work here, doesn't mean I'm psychic. Ah, yes, I see a gas line exploding at the hotel next door... And you're a huge doofus that should never have received a license to practice medicine.


In addition to all the wonderful joys of San Diego (most of which I did not get to see, by the way), we have an addition to our household.

No, it's nothing like that. A very dear friend of ours just graduated from college and wished very much to move down to the DC area to be near my husband and me. But he is from Buffalo, NY and as such had no convenient way of actually moving down here. My husband and I happen to have a spare bedroom in our house, and we both now how extremely difficult it is to move to a location where you do not currently reside. So... we now have a houseguest who will be staying with us for several months. He actually has to finish up a couple of courses, which he's taking at a nearby UMaryland campus, and so he'll be with us until that's complete and he's able to find a job and an apartment. He's a great person and a wonderful friend, so I have high hopes that this living arrangement will work out well for everyone involved. He's only been here since Friday, but so far things have been great. I'll be keeping my fingers crossed.

* * * * *

(And just another tidbit of random posting from my online story-telling game... Don't worry, it's not supposed to make sense out of context...)

"It would indeed," Darrius exclaimed as they made their way toward the dining hall. "But think of my poor brother! He has done nothing to deserve such a punishment!" He looked at her sidelong, still grinning. "And now..." he adds slowly, "I fear it best that I shut my mouth before I suffer the wrath of which I have heard so many men speak. I do not think Dominic would have any sympathy for me in such a case." That wicked smirk has not yet left his lips, and the playful twinkle that had been missing for some time returns to his hazel eyes.

(This is mainly tidbits of snippets... Things I jotted down as notes or as pieces of scenes, or as posts in my online story-telling game. There is no continuity and there is no beginning, end, or middle. These bits are not necessarily even in the same story line. In other words, none of this is likely to make any sense at all.)

Darrius is not blind.

Please, Katie... Don't look at me like that.

His resolve is almost broken when the young queen shrugs and takes him up on his offer of food. "Splendid!" The tiredness in his eyes almost seems to fade as the smile returns to his youthful face. He offers the queen his arm. "Just promise to save some food for me. And the rest of the palace." He gives her a playful wink.

* * * * *

Jashua had been awake with the dawn, as was his habit now. He'd spent those early hours in quiet contemplation and prayer. This, too, had become a habit, and had served to (at least slightly) calm his troubled soul at the start of each new day.

With his mind quieted for a time, Jashua dresses himself in the novice's robes that he had become accustomed to.

* * * * *

Not too many travelers frequented the Silvery Dragon Inn anymore, for one reason or another. Yet the place still had a few fixtures. Ethriel, of course, was always there. She owned the building and often times had trouble remembering what life was like before the inn. Jinnay, too, had never left. When asked why his wandering soul found peace at the Silvery Dragon, of all places, Jinnay always cast a fond glance to Ethriel and said simply, "I found everything I was looking for." And there was Tharin. He had left for a time, but had found his way back eventually. He had a particular table he liked to sit at, off in the corner, out of the way, where he would sip his ale and listen to the goings on of the inn.

* * * * *

Darrius paced the small room, waiting for the knock which had come every afternoon for the last three days. It was late today-day four-but it came.

"Yes, come in," he said, all too eagerly when the two quick raps on the door signaled Jo's arrival. But she hardly waited for his reply before she slid the door open and stepped into the room. To the prince's delight he saw that she carried another small stack of books.

"Good afternoon, cousin," she exclaimed cheerfully as she entered.

"By the gods," he replied, moving immediately to take the books from her arms. "I was hoping you'd bring more." Darrius began thumbing through the pages of the first one.

"What about the others?"

"Finished them."

"You couldn't have!"

Darrius lifted his gaze from his new distraction. "I've been in this room with nothing else to occupy my time," he said flatly.

My husband is a Lieutenant Junior-Grade in the United States Public Health Service Commissioned Corps. He could be deployed to aid in a natural disaster or a national emergency. He has spent the last two weeks in another state learning what that means. Today, he was in charge of the unit during a emergency simulation. Today, he learned to triage.

Today, he learned to give the order for the doctors and nurses working beneath him to abandon their patients.

The simulation was straight forward: the president has died of a heart attack, and you as Public Health officers are working the funeral, tending to people as they become dehydrated and things like that. And then a dirty bomb goes off. And another. Suddenly, your commanding officer gets called away and you are in command. You have to decide who gets treated and does not.

You make the call to withdraw before your officers become contaminated from the radioactive fallout.


"I hope I never have to do that," he told me. What do you say to something like that? Even though it was only an exercise, he still had to order his officers to withdrawing, effectively abandoning their patients. Which they refused to do.

But what good are Public Health officers with radiation poisoning? He made the right call, and for that (as well as countless other points) I am proud of him. Though just because it is the right order to give, does not mean it was an easy one. Triaging is a necessary part of emergency medical care in the field, but deciding who ultimately lives or dies is never an easy thing for a person to do. These are human lives, other people with families and friends, and their lives are dependent on what you say and do.

It is not easy, even in a simulation. Even in the safety of a conference center one state away from home.

Today was also the day that he was officially commissioned, graduating from the Officer Basic Course. He was selected from the unit (one of its youngest officers) to make a speech. He spoke passionately about the skills and duties they'd learned in the last two weeks, and about the friendship and camaraderie they all shared after so short a time. The officers ranged across state lines, across professions, and across age in decades, but they were all joined, he said, by the uniform they wear every day and by the oaths they have sworn to protect and serve the health and safety of a nation. He was cheered and congratulated as he left the stage, having clearly put into words the thoughts and feelings of his forty-six fellow officers. The acting Surgeon General, Rear Admiral Steve Galson, complimented him personally after the ceremony closed. His commanding officers could not stop beaming and praising him. His, rather southern-sounding Captain told me, "You have a bright one on your hands, by golly! We're looking forward to seeing more of him in the future." (Yes, he really did say 'by golly.')

I am so proud of my husband, a Lieutenant Junior-Grade in the United States Public Health Service Commissioned Corps.
 

500 words per day?

Every day?

Sure... why the hell not! >_>

First, let me begin with the first thought that comes to mind:

Have I lost my mind? Do I not have a million and one (probably) other things to do with my time?

Answers:

Yes. And yes, but none quite so rewarding and fun.

I do take my writing seriously, even if I don't always put as much time into it as I should. Hopefully now, that will slowly change. Of course I tend to do things in spurts: write furiously everyday for a couple months... then maybe go on an exercise kick for a few weeks... next it's jewelry making and chainmaille (the armor, not the letters)... You get the idea. Maybe the idea of a commitment like this will keep me going a little more consistently.

Then again, maybe not. >_<

Still, nothing comes without trying and so here I am. The question though is what to write? Where to begin?

The beginning is too boring-- too overdone. The end leaves too many questions. How about somewhere in the middle? Yes, I think the middle will do nicely.

So I received a review the other day, commenting on one of my oldest stories, and asking me why I haven't continued it. "Where's the rest?" the reviewer asked of me. To be honest, I don't know. I mean, years ago, when I was writing it, the rest was in my head waiting anxiously to be scribbled down with pen or typed frantically upon the keys. But now? Somewhere between then and now I realized the story wasn't going anywhere. It had a direction certainly, but it wasn't going to actually end up anywhere. There was no point. It was an epic without a point! So I let it whither and eventually my brain misplaced the rest of the tale. Now what? I'm still interested in those characters (by the gods, I love those characters), but how do I pick up the pieces of a shattered story that I my inner editor brushed under the carpet years ago?

I'd like to know the answer to that question.

I think I'd also like to know how to get my inner editor to shut the hell up... Something she only seems to do when I actually need to edit something I've written. Bloody useless, she is!

Don't know why I suddenly turned British right there.

So, to recap:

500 words per day is the goal. 500 words per day, for me right now, is the intimidating goal. But one cannot grow as a writer without practice and determination, so this will serve as both. Also, I need to figure out how to continue with something I lost (but still think of with fondness) years and years ago. Suggestions are welcome. Though I do think that before I could continue with that story, I would need to go back and make some serious changes to the beginning to make sure that it has... y'know... a plot. And that it doesn't suck, as I'm pretty sure it currently does.