Hay, Pedro! Pobrecito!

"If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you."
-Oscar Wilde

((OOC: It's me, Flo. I was trying to figure out how to make the content of this entry fit this quote, and I was stumped stumped. So I just gave up and wrote my entry, and it ended up being almost perfect for it anyway! I love when things just work out like that! :D))

Vera and Pedro walked in uncomfortable (for Pedro, anyway) silence for a while, before Pedro summoned the courage to speak. "Vera, I-um-I have something to say." He took a deep breath, and continued, "I know that everyone thinks Myrtle and I are in love, and are bound to be married some day, but-well-what I mean is, I can see why, but I just don't feel...that way about her. I mean, I do care about her, and I suppose I do love her, but I'm not in love with her, really. What I mean to say is that she feels more like a-a sister than anything else, and--"

"Is there a point you're trying to make, because if not, I'll just tune you out," Vera interrupted impatiently.

"What I'm trying to say is that...oh, bugger. Vera, I have very strong feelings for you, and was wondering if you felt the same way." He said this last part very fast, as if he were getting a heavy weight off his chest. Vera could practically feel his face grow hot with embarassment.

She then did what any other jaded, compassionless witch would do: she laughed. Hard. "Pedro-haha!-Pedro, you can't be-hee!-you can't be serious! You're-you're-that was a joke, right? Right? You were just...joking...you weren't joking, were you," she concluded when Pedro failed to join in the laughter. This would have been awkward, were it somebody with a bit more sensitivity in Vera's place. However, she managed to brush away her embarassment with a superior and slightly amused, "I'm very flattered, Pedro, but no. Just-no."

So this was why he had been throwing pebbles at her window! He thought he was going to woo her with pathetic cliches and romantic ideals. It was awfully sweet of him to go to the effort, but Vera had no time for sweetness. She swiftly steered the conversation to Myrtle, before Pedro, who now looked as though he would very much like to disappear, could protest.

"So, according to this Myrtle-ometer, Myrtle should be somewhere in this apple orchard." For indeed, the device had led them to the edge of a vast grove of apple trees. From somewhere in the thick of trees, they heard a faint crash and an alarmed bleeting. "And that would be Myrtle."

They're Out to Get You

Three quotes this time because I couldn't choose, all on this entry's theme:

-“Sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts.”-William S. Burroughs
-Paranoia doesn't mean the whole world really isn't out to get you.
-If you ever wanted to know what a person with acute paranoia looks like, just keep watching.

((OOC:Ishack here. Didn't really get anywhere with this entry but hopefully it will lead to a bigger and better next entry either by Ona or myself. Still it is somewhat enlightening about Kyrus' character))

That night, Kyrus didn't sleep. He knew he needed the rest, his body was exhausted, but his mind was restless. He couldn't stop thinking about her and how different his life could have been if their paths had never crossed. Not that it would have all been good. She had caused him to grow up, awakened him to the responsibilities of a Prince and the importance of an united Kingdom. Before she betrayed him, that is.
He rolled over on his side and reached his hand beneath his pillow to touch his dagger's hilt. It was going to be a long night, what with the paranoia and the memories. Still, he tried for seven minutes more before finally giving up.
He dressed slowly, meticulously, and patted his hair into place. He glanced into the mirror on the wall. It had been a long time since he had cared about his reflection.
'Thank God those days are over,' he thought. His arrogance in those days had been three times as bad as his pride was now.
He finished dressing and strapped on his sword and an extra sledge-hammer (because he could).
Of course, now that he was all prepared to do something he couldn't just undress and go back to bed. He had to do something at least semi-productive. He started by leaving the room.
It had been a long evening, sitting in primarily stony silence with the girl--he forgot what her name was--until her brother got home. Her brother had looked at him suspiciously but gone along with the girls judgement. It was rather stupid of them, Kyrus thought. It was likely they would end up dead for helping him. Dratt those witches!
He reached the front door.
"Where do you think you are going?"
It was the girl again.
Kyrus sighed, "Out."
She raised an eyebrow.
"For a walk," he clarified.
She didn't move so he did the only thing that seemed remotely reasonable, asked her if she'd like to come.
For reasons unknown to him, she nodded and followed him out.

Lost in an Apple Orchard

"Promises and pie crusts are made to be broken." --Jonathan Swift

((OCC: True, that quote really does have nothing to do with what is written, but i liked it anyway. I visited an apple orchard once. It was pretty cool. And I eat an apple for lunch everyday, which helped provide for inspiration for this next part of the story. Its Ruby, by the way, in case you haven't already guessed. And I like pie. Especially apple pie. But cherry pie is better. And lemon meringue pie is good too, but not quite as good as apple or cherry. I also like Creme Brulee. Possibly because I like using a blow torch to burn the sugar on top of it. I could go on like this, but Ill stop and let you get on to the story.))

Myrtle was feeling unfortunate, as usual. In her futile attempt to please her sister, she had already tripped over a large rock, a cat, and twisted her ankle on an uneven cobble stone sticking out in the middle of the road. Then, while she was sitting in the street massaging her unhappy ankle, so mean boys wandering the streets at night threw rocks on her beloved Tranjoster, thinking he was some sort of toothy demon apparition. He had subsequently bolted down the street frightened, going the WRONG WAY, to make everything worse. So Myrtle had to hop up on her hurt ankle and go chasing after her terrified goat. Now she was in expansive unkempt apple orchard , with absolutely no idea where she was or how she had gotten herself out of town and lost so gosh darn fast. Luckily she had found transjoster, and unlike Myrtle, who was now contentedly chomping on an old green apple he had picked off the ground. at least someone was happy. Myrtle personally had no qualms about being lost, but she knew that Vera would be very unhappy with her, and she had lost one of her precious earplugs out of her pocket when she had gone chasing after her goat.

Myrtle sat down and starred glumly about her. The apple orchard looked like it had not been watered or tended too for about a millennium, and the underbrush and tall grass made eerie shadows in the pale moonlight. Myrtle had no clue to where she was. She was just about to give up and go to sleep right then there when she hit upon the obvious course of action. Of course! Why hadn't she thought of it earlier? she was surrounded by trees... all she had to do was climb one and look for the town lights to guide her back! She almost kicked herself for not thinking of it earlier--except for her foot still hurt, so she decided not to.

Up the tree she went, with Transjoter staring incredulously up at her. It was marvelously difficult in a skirt, and her already tattered mud-stained skirt got a little more ragged. Finally she got high enough to poke her head above the highest foliage and look out about the dark landscape. She couldn't see very far past the other tree tops, but she thought she could spot a small yellow light off in the distance to the north. Just then she heard a loud creak under her. A few seconds later the ancient gnarled branch she had been so carefully balanced on gave way, and she tumbled down through the leaves and twigs, through the air, and onto the dense undergrowth bellow.

Rude

"The chief difference between horror fans and science fiction fans lies in why they won't walk backwards. A horror fan won't walk backwards because he knows he'll be knifed by a madman. A science fiction fan won't walk backwards because he knows he'll step on the cat." -- Aaron Allston

((OCC: Ona here. I wrote this a couple days ago but haven’t been able to post it until now. Hope you enjoy it and that it makes sense to every one. The above quote is one of my favorite quotes of all time by one of my favorite authors of all time (even though I’ve only read his Star Wars books so far, not my fault I can’t find the others). Before I get to off topic lets get to our feature presentation.))

How dare he! Thought Gemma. This man had just barged in a threatened her insisting she provide him with room and board. Then he tells her that he has a murdering sisterhood of witches after him and because of that she should take him in. Doesn’t he understand that she in putting her entire family in danger by taking him in?

Gemma showed the man with the eye patch into the house and took his coat. Just because he didn’t have any manners was no reason for Gemma to forget her own. Gemma offered the man a seat at the table and then sat down across from him. Anyone who had walked into the room at that moment would have sworn the air between them was on fire from the intensity of each of their glares.

Gemma was first to break the silence, “I must prepare supper now for when Ben returns for the fields.” She began to busy herself with the kitchen work and tried to forget the man sitting at the table behind her.

Now before we continue let us clear up any confusion the reader may have about Miss Gemma Blythe. Gemma is not shy, no quite to the contrary; she is very outgoing and independent in her own way. She was however raised by a very proper mother who taught her how to behave as was expected of a woman, shyly and demurely. Just because Gemma acts this way in public does not mean that this is her personality, no it is simply a mask she puts on for the world. In many ways Gemma is a far more modern woman that she appears. She does however, like anyone her age, have a tendency to get nervous.

“Where is you father child?” asked eye-patch-man, not unkindly.

“My name is Gemma and I am not a child,” responds Gemma. Her father is not a popular topic in this household.

“You did not answer my question Gemma,” said the man evenly.

“What’s your name?” asked Gemma, still trying to avoid the subject.

“Kyrus,” answered the man, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice.

“Why are the witches after you Kyrus?” asked Gemma finally turning around to look him square in the eye. Which she would admit was a bit unnerving.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” snapped Kyrus.

Gemma smiled icily. “And I don’t want to talk about my father.”

With that Gemma turned back to the stove and after a few minutes of silence Kyrus spoke.

“Then what shall we talk about?” he asked.

Gemma thought for a moment. A safe topic. A safe topic. Safe. “Music,” she told him.