"Dont eat yellow snow," Katy, along with lots of hundreds of thousands of people.
((OCC: Ruby here. As you see, quotes are currently inaccessible to me at the moment, so I asked my good friend katy for a piece of wisdom, and she complied.))
Lets retrace Transjostre's thought process from a few moments before--we'll start from when Myrtle begins to climb the apple tree:
"Myrtle is climbing an apple tree. Myrtle is clumbsy. Myrtle is going to fall off the tree. That tree looks old and brittle. That tree has a knot that looks like Myrtle's great Auntie Caroline. Myrtle's great Auntie Caroline has an ugly dog. Myrtle's great Auntie Caroline's house smells funny and has termites. I wonder why termites eat only wood. I eat wood. Do termites eat trees? Does that tree have termites? Myrtle is going to fall off the tree. Myrtle is going to get hurt. Myrtle is going to need an icepack. Icepacks are cold. Hoth is cold. Mark is cold. Myrtle is going to need Mark. When we were at Hoth, Myrtle fell through some thin ice. Myrtle is clumbsy. Myrtle is going to fall off that tree..."
CRASH!
"Oh dear, Myrtle has fallen off the tree."
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
My Train of Thought
"Don't approach a goat from the front, a horse from the back, or a fool from any side.” Yiddish Proverb
((This is Ishack, sorry, this will be a short entry, catching Kyrus up))
Let us retrace Kyrus' thought process from moments before:
The man of snow was talking,“This goat came running at me and when it hit me instead of knocking me over I was here and the goat was gone.”
Magic, Kyrus realized.
Goat! he gasped.
Myrtle... he murmured
Vera. he choked.
A crash nearby broke his thoughts. Vera!!! She was nearby, he was sure of it, forgetting that she was out to kill him, he rushed towards the sound, followed by his frozen friend and the confounded flautist.
Not five seconds later, he saw them.
So did the snowman, "It's the goat!"
Myrtle smiled as she approached, and said fondly, "Mark, I wondered where you'd gotten to..." But was taken down by Gemma.
"Gemma!" Kyrus exclaimed as he rushed to help her.
"Myrtle" came a voice.
Kyrus looked up, there she was. Shock replaced all other emotions as he gazed upon her. It had been so long. And Vera hadn't changed a bit.
((Flo, it's so your moment...))
((This is Ishack, sorry, this will be a short entry, catching Kyrus up))
Let us retrace Kyrus' thought process from moments before:
The man of snow was talking,“This goat came running at me and when it hit me instead of knocking me over I was here and the goat was gone.”
Magic, Kyrus realized.
Goat! he gasped.
Myrtle... he murmured
Vera. he choked.
A crash nearby broke his thoughts. Vera!!! She was nearby, he was sure of it, forgetting that she was out to kill him, he rushed towards the sound, followed by his frozen friend and the confounded flautist.
Not five seconds later, he saw them.
So did the snowman, "It's the goat!"
Myrtle smiled as she approached, and said fondly, "Mark, I wondered where you'd gotten to..." But was taken down by Gemma.
"Gemma!" Kyrus exclaimed as he rushed to help her.
"Myrtle" came a voice.
Kyrus looked up, there she was. Shock replaced all other emotions as he gazed upon her. It had been so long. And Vera hadn't changed a bit.
((Flo, it's so your moment...))
Monday, August 13, 2007
A Walk in the Park
“When people are laughing, they're generally not killing one another.” -- Alan Alda
((OCC: Ona here. Sorry about that long wait between updates but we’ve had some problems with motivation, creativity, and time. And I’ve been working on some of my other writing instead of this. But Flo was getting upset that no one had written for a while and jokingly said I should write about a snowman trying to eat Kyrus and Gemma. Then one thing led to another and I came up with this all by myself, don’t blame Flo for it, this was all me. Hope you enjoy it.))
Gemma and Kyrus walked down the rode that lead to the farm, not in the direction that led to town but in the direction that led to many other things none of them really all that interesting. An awkward silence hung between the two of them and Gemma didn’t like it. She had no idea why she had agreed to go walking with him anyway. If they where found it would ruin her reputation and she didn’t even like him.
But she was here now and she wasn't going to waist the time. She would have to find something to talk to him about. Music was out since it was an art he obviously had no appreciation for. He had made that quite clear when she had tried to talk to him about it earlier.
However before Gemma could decide what to say to the annoying mysterious stranger he spoke. “Why did you answer music earlier?” he asked. “When I wanted to know what we should talk about.”
“You didn’t have any interest in it at the time,” said Gemma icily. “Why the sudden interest.”
“I have no interest in music because I forced to learn about it at a young age when I would much rather have been playing with the other boys my age,” responded Kyrus. “My question pertained not to music in this case but to you and your interest in the subject.”
“Music is not just a subject to me sir,” responded Gemma slowly; she didn’t trust this sudden interest in her interests. “It is my one hope to leave this place forever and make a good life for myself.”
“You could marry like any other girl of your age,” Kyrus pointed out.
This time Gemma did not take offence at this view of women. For one thing his tone made it clear that he was simply observing not seeking to insult her, and for another he was right, it was the custom of the day that girls of her age should be focusing on marriage and nothing else. “To whom?” she asked. “One of the farmers sons? Or one of the boys form town? I’d still be stuck here. And I wouldn’t make a difference. If I can show people that women can do more than make a good marriage and keep house maybe I can help some poor soul who would otherwise be forced into a marriage to some man they hate.”
Kyrus seemed to be thinking about her speech long and hard. Either that or he had assumed that look while she was talking and had tuned her out so completely he hadn’t noticed she had finished. Gemma wasn’t going to interrupt him either way; if she just waited she might be able to figure out which it was.
However before Kyrus reviled himself a great blood-curdling scream pierced the night. Both Gemma and Kyrus spun to the left, the direction form which the scream seemed to be coming.
“Help! Please someone help,” said a voice from the same direction. Neither of our protagonists wasted any time in rushing to the aid of whatever creature might be in need. Which might be a sign of how late at night it really was because both of them tended to be suspicious and would normally have suspected a trap. Luckily this was not a trap so this unusual behavior brought neither of them to any immediate harm.
They rushed through the trees eyes scanning the dark for whoever it was who might be in need. When they reached the end of the first row they spotted the unusual damsel in distress.
It was wailing in the most irritating manner. “I’m melting!!!!!!” It screamed over and over again.
And sure enough it was. Water dripped from the body of the unfortunate, obviously lost snowman.
Gemma and Kyrus froze in surprise for a moment. Where on earth had it come from? All the snow had melted ages ago.
However they soon had no time to ponder this as the said snowman spotted them. “Oh good sir,” said the snowman. “And gentle lady please help me! I am lost and if I stay here much longer I will melt all away and be nothing but a puddle of water soon to nourish these lovely apple trees.”
Gemma still stood there in shock but Kyrus, a man who had traveled far and wide, responded calmly. “Slow down please,” he said. When the snowman seemed to have calmed a bit he continued, “Now tell me your story from the beginning.” Gemma approved of this; it was always good to start at the beginning.
The snowman didn’t say anything; he just stared at Kyrus in a confused way. Well Gemma thought it was confused; his top snowball rolled a little to the right, his coal mouth arranged itself in a frown and his eyebrows drew together a little. “Why don’t you start with who you are, where you came from, and how you got here,” she suggested to the poor creature.
The snowman’s face cleared up immediately. He rolled his head forward and backward in a gesture that vaguely resembled a nod and began. “My name is Mark,” said the snowman. Gemma thought Mark did not seem a very snowman-ish name but she didn’t say so for fear that the snowman would fly off the handle again. “I’m from a place called Hoth, it’s not a very big town but it’s nice enough. There are lots of good ice cream shops there and a lot of elves and reindeer…” he didn’t seem inclined to stop describing Hoth any time soon but Kyrus interrupted impatiently.
“So how did you get here?” he demanded.
Gemma would have though that Mark would have started panicking again but instead he reacted quite calmly. “Well I’m not quite sure,” he told them. “I was going to visit my friend Tom but while I was walking along…” Gemma didn’t see how a snowman could walk. “This goat came running at me and when it hit me instead of knocking me over I was here and the goat was gone.”
This was very puzzling to Gemma who knew many goats none of whom she would have thought had any magical powers. She did not have much time to think about this though because just then there was a crash a few rows over and Kyrus, Gemma and Mark all ran in that direction. This lapse in judgment might cause a little more trouble for our heroes then the earlier one.
Gemma was not thinking about that though, she still wanted to know how Mark walked. She turned and looked at him to see him rolling the bottommost of the three balls that made up his body and getting covered in dirt. Then she tripped over something, something soft and warm and definitely human. She hit her head and the last thing she heard before falling unconscious was three people shouting. One called her name, another started yelling about a goat and a third shouted about someone named Merle or something like that.
((OCC: Ona here. Sorry about that long wait between updates but we’ve had some problems with motivation, creativity, and time. And I’ve been working on some of my other writing instead of this. But Flo was getting upset that no one had written for a while and jokingly said I should write about a snowman trying to eat Kyrus and Gemma. Then one thing led to another and I came up with this all by myself, don’t blame Flo for it, this was all me. Hope you enjoy it.))
Gemma and Kyrus walked down the rode that lead to the farm, not in the direction that led to town but in the direction that led to many other things none of them really all that interesting. An awkward silence hung between the two of them and Gemma didn’t like it. She had no idea why she had agreed to go walking with him anyway. If they where found it would ruin her reputation and she didn’t even like him.
But she was here now and she wasn't going to waist the time. She would have to find something to talk to him about. Music was out since it was an art he obviously had no appreciation for. He had made that quite clear when she had tried to talk to him about it earlier.
However before Gemma could decide what to say to the annoying mysterious stranger he spoke. “Why did you answer music earlier?” he asked. “When I wanted to know what we should talk about.”
“You didn’t have any interest in it at the time,” said Gemma icily. “Why the sudden interest.”
“I have no interest in music because I forced to learn about it at a young age when I would much rather have been playing with the other boys my age,” responded Kyrus. “My question pertained not to music in this case but to you and your interest in the subject.”
“Music is not just a subject to me sir,” responded Gemma slowly; she didn’t trust this sudden interest in her interests. “It is my one hope to leave this place forever and make a good life for myself.”
“You could marry like any other girl of your age,” Kyrus pointed out.
This time Gemma did not take offence at this view of women. For one thing his tone made it clear that he was simply observing not seeking to insult her, and for another he was right, it was the custom of the day that girls of her age should be focusing on marriage and nothing else. “To whom?” she asked. “One of the farmers sons? Or one of the boys form town? I’d still be stuck here. And I wouldn’t make a difference. If I can show people that women can do more than make a good marriage and keep house maybe I can help some poor soul who would otherwise be forced into a marriage to some man they hate.”
Kyrus seemed to be thinking about her speech long and hard. Either that or he had assumed that look while she was talking and had tuned her out so completely he hadn’t noticed she had finished. Gemma wasn’t going to interrupt him either way; if she just waited she might be able to figure out which it was.
However before Kyrus reviled himself a great blood-curdling scream pierced the night. Both Gemma and Kyrus spun to the left, the direction form which the scream seemed to be coming.
“Help! Please someone help,” said a voice from the same direction. Neither of our protagonists wasted any time in rushing to the aid of whatever creature might be in need. Which might be a sign of how late at night it really was because both of them tended to be suspicious and would normally have suspected a trap. Luckily this was not a trap so this unusual behavior brought neither of them to any immediate harm.
They rushed through the trees eyes scanning the dark for whoever it was who might be in need. When they reached the end of the first row they spotted the unusual damsel in distress.
It was wailing in the most irritating manner. “I’m melting!!!!!!” It screamed over and over again.
And sure enough it was. Water dripped from the body of the unfortunate, obviously lost snowman.
Gemma and Kyrus froze in surprise for a moment. Where on earth had it come from? All the snow had melted ages ago.
However they soon had no time to ponder this as the said snowman spotted them. “Oh good sir,” said the snowman. “And gentle lady please help me! I am lost and if I stay here much longer I will melt all away and be nothing but a puddle of water soon to nourish these lovely apple trees.”
Gemma still stood there in shock but Kyrus, a man who had traveled far and wide, responded calmly. “Slow down please,” he said. When the snowman seemed to have calmed a bit he continued, “Now tell me your story from the beginning.” Gemma approved of this; it was always good to start at the beginning.
The snowman didn’t say anything; he just stared at Kyrus in a confused way. Well Gemma thought it was confused; his top snowball rolled a little to the right, his coal mouth arranged itself in a frown and his eyebrows drew together a little. “Why don’t you start with who you are, where you came from, and how you got here,” she suggested to the poor creature.
The snowman’s face cleared up immediately. He rolled his head forward and backward in a gesture that vaguely resembled a nod and began. “My name is Mark,” said the snowman. Gemma thought Mark did not seem a very snowman-ish name but she didn’t say so for fear that the snowman would fly off the handle again. “I’m from a place called Hoth, it’s not a very big town but it’s nice enough. There are lots of good ice cream shops there and a lot of elves and reindeer…” he didn’t seem inclined to stop describing Hoth any time soon but Kyrus interrupted impatiently.
“So how did you get here?” he demanded.
Gemma would have though that Mark would have started panicking again but instead he reacted quite calmly. “Well I’m not quite sure,” he told them. “I was going to visit my friend Tom but while I was walking along…” Gemma didn’t see how a snowman could walk. “This goat came running at me and when it hit me instead of knocking me over I was here and the goat was gone.”
This was very puzzling to Gemma who knew many goats none of whom she would have thought had any magical powers. She did not have much time to think about this though because just then there was a crash a few rows over and Kyrus, Gemma and Mark all ran in that direction. This lapse in judgment might cause a little more trouble for our heroes then the earlier one.
Gemma was not thinking about that though, she still wanted to know how Mark walked. She turned and looked at him to see him rolling the bottommost of the three balls that made up his body and getting covered in dirt. Then she tripped over something, something soft and warm and definitely human. She hit her head and the last thing she heard before falling unconscious was three people shouting. One called her name, another started yelling about a goat and a third shouted about someone named Merle or something like that.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
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."
-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."
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
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.
-“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.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
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.
((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.
((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.
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