Saturday, July 7, 2012

A Pinch of Serious

When you're not nice to someone, they get unhappy. When that person gets unhappy, they often start to think they're a terrible person. When they think they're a terrible person, they berate themselves for not being good enough and think they are ugly and talentless. When someone thinks they're ugly and talentless, they get depressed. When they get depressed, they don't want to talk to anyone because they think they'll be mean. When they don't want to talk to anyone, they turn into social recluses. When they turn into social recluses, they get even more unhappy. When you try to cheer them up, they yell at you for everything. When they yell at you for everything, you yell right back. When you yell right back, they hate themselves even more.

Don't make people hate themselves. Be nice to everyone you meet. Be tactful. Stop stating your opinion if it makes other people second guess themselves or makes them look bad. If you think that you're better than everyone else, you're wrong. If you think you're worse than anyone else, you're wrong. Everyone is equal. If we sometimes looked we'd realize that. Think about it! Everyone loves days when there are no obligations, everyone enjoys it when they have their favorite drink and maybe a great dinner right there in front of them, everyone flinches ever so slightly when someone jumps out of the dark and yells "BOO!"

Little things? Maybe. Inconsequential things? Possibly. But it is the little things that make us who we are. And if it is the little things that make a human being, then isn't it safe to say that the little things are what make us all the same?

One thing is for sure. If you cut a human being, whether black or white, brunette or blond, sensitive or non-sensitive, happy or depressed, extroverted or introverted, tall or short, we all bleed the same.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Words You Make Up

Yes. Hi. I'm not dead. Well, maybe I am. If I am...well, then that would be a little interesting. You'd be reading a post from someone who's dead! How's that for the record books? Personal best for you, I'd guess.

But most evidence is pointing to the fact that I am not dead. Sorry to disappoint you all. You'll find something more interesting in your day, I'm sure. If you don't, that's not my problem.

I came here to talk about something special. You know how sometimes you're talking to a friend, and you're trying to describe how you knocked over the cookie jar, the cookies all spilled out, they landed on the floor, and your cat leaped away making some kind of a devil noise while your dog raced forward yelping at the top of his lungs something that probably means in dog "COOKIIEEESSS ON DAH FLOOORRR!", but that none of that made any sense since you don't have a cookie jar or a cat?

You all know that situation, I'm sure. And you get to the point where you're trying to describe the devil noise your cat made, and you realize...there's no word in any known human language that can describe the noise. You can't say that he roared, because cats don't roar. Well, not the small household type, anyway. If you have a cat that roars in your house, remind me never to visit, and remind yourself to check daily to see whether or not it starts developing black and orange stripes or growing a mane. You also can't say that your cat squeaked, because that takes away from the awesome power and overall evilness of the devil noise the mammal made. So you instead exclaim, "He kinda...roarked!"

Which is obviously those two words combined, but not in any way that really makes sense. But admit it, roarked is a cool word! And what else were you supposed to do? Well, you probably could have said that he squored, but that doesn't sound right.

Or where you're trying to say that you crawled away, but you didn't crawl away. And you didn't walk...and you didn't didn't slither...and after a little while, your brain just gives up and yells, "OH FORGET THESE VERBS. JUST SAY YOU SQUIRBLED AWAY, OKAY?" So you do. Because it's a little difficult to argue with your brain.

Sometimes the English language doesn't give you the feeling you want to convey. So you substitute your own language. Sort of. You make up words, combine words together, throw out words all together. If you can convey the sound or the meaning of whatever you're trying to say to the person you're talking to, then no one cares if you made up a word. (Well, teachers do. I don't recommend writing that the Orcs squirbled away from the Eorlingals in a book report. It just doesn't sound right, okay?) Who knows? Your word may actually catch on and eventually get added to the dictionary. It happens.


Yeah. I'll just...go.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Questions Without Answers

Yesterday, I was on the phone with a certain person who I'm struggling to be nice to. At some point in the conversation, I said, "I hope you feel better soon."

The instant I said that, my whole body rebelled. I felt hot, squirmy, and anxious. I knew that feeling, and I felt disgusted at myself for feeling it.

It's the feeling I get when I've told a lie.

Later in the conversation, as we were saying goodbye, I said, "I love you. Hope to see you soon!"

The feeling came back stronger than before. That feeling that I was saying something I did not want to say, that I did not mean, and that I was not telling the truth.

After I hung up the phone, I thought to myself in disgust, "Really? Really, Seal? You lied to someone about hoping that they feel better soon, that you hope to see them soon, and that you love them? You are a sick individual."

Honestly, I was more frustrated to myself that I couldn't love this person, than that I lied to them about it.

I spent a good deal of time wondering if I had actually lied. Thoughts and questions running through my head frantically. I felt like I was pacing outside a confessional. "You can't talk to someone who really loves you, and says it, and not tell them that you love them back, right? But wait...what if that didn't matter? What if all that really matters is that I lied? Maybe that's a sin. It probably is. But what else was I supposed to do?? She's not well and she needs comfort! I might not want to give it, but I don't have a choice!"

I stopped worrying for a while. I put it out of my head. I played with my brothers, laughed, made jokes, and pretended everything was fine. I felt fine for a while. And then came a nagging thought.

"You're more wrong for not wanting to say that you love her than for lying."

I realized that I actually might not really love this person because I don't want to. I probably haven't loved her for a few years now. I just feel like there's this emptiness in my heart for her. If someone was aiming a gun at her, I'd jump in front of her, but that would be out of duty. Not out of love. I try my hardest to love her and fail. I don't enjoy being around her, I feel slightly revolted whenever I suggest that we hang out, (I suggest so she doesn't feel I ignore her, and I feel that it's my duty to keep trying to love her), I hate doing things for her. She does not bring out a good feeling in me. I don't like her, and I don't love her.

And I have to that a sin?

I don't think it is. But I don't know. And I can't stop wondering. There isn't an answer for this question. I can't sit down and explain the situation to someone. I can't ask them, "Is it a sin for me not to love someone even though I've tried and I've tried?"

It's nagging me still. I now know what those songs mean when they say, "I'm seeking absolution". I've never had to "seek" absolution. I just went and got it. It was no big deal.

But how can you be absolved for something that's not a sin?

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Dear Readers

Greetings and Salutations!
You've heard a good deal of me from my illustrious author, I'm sure. I'm that very fair Elanor of Narnia. Sealsy's darling muse. As she is...indisposed (let's pretend I don't kill her by telling her to do all her schoolwork and work on all her speeches like she should), I've taken over her blog (and her mind, by extension), and therefore am writing a guest post.

This goes out to one specific reader, actually. Miss Veronica. She recently commented this on my introduction post.

"I like Ian. Ello is much more annoying than he is. Though no doubt that's from being stuck living in Ettinsmoor. :P".

This offends me greatly. Ian is a very handsome, friendly, decidedly lovely chap, to be sure, but to say that I am much more annoying than he is? Really, my dear young lady, you have much to learn.

For one thing, Ian is very cocky. I, however, am the soul of humility. This may sound contradictory, but I am also very truthful, and thus must admit that I am very humble.

Secondly, I do not attract every girl within a six mile radius. This is rather self explanatory because Ian is very handsome and charming, whereas I am a girl, and it would be decidedly awkward know. Ian is also very good at flirting, is kind, caring, and loving, and thus all the girls seem to enjoy his company. It's rather disturbing to me. But he means no harm by it, I'm sure.

                                            *                         *                   *

Sealsy here. I'm not dead. And that was NOT Ello. Take a guess as to who it was. A certain redheaded king whose name starts with I.

"And ends in -diot?"

Possibly so, Ello. You have my permission to smack Ian as hard as you want now.

"I just knocked him out already. Hit him over the back of the head with a stool."

Okay. Sounds like he deserved it.

"Mhm. Miss Veronica, I was highly amused by your comment. I agree, I am far more annoying than Ian. Ignore whatever he said in that ridiculous letter of his."

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Initiating Introductions

If you know me through Gmail, Homeschooldebate, G+, or you know me in real life like a non-creeper person, (I know I must have some friends in real life), then you know by now that I have characters that talk to me nonstop. It was basically their fault that I started a blog. So I could talk about them and get a rant about their annoying quirks out to the world (Yes Ian, you're very annoying sometimes), and maybe the occasional person would stop by and say, "Oh. She's mad. But in a very funny way." A mad woman with a blog, or something.

So I thought I'd start getting the introductions to my most prominent characters out of the way early on in this blog's life, so that if I made references to them later on, you'll know what I'm talking about. I'll give an image that's pretty close to my conception of the character, a basic overlook at their story, a description of the character, and a quote from them, because...well, they're always talking. I've already made a reference to one character, and posted a story about another, so we'll start with those. Later on, I'll probably post about more characters, but for now, I'll just introduce you to these two.

First off, Elanor Maureen Clement, better known as Ello.

Full name and title: Crown Princess Elanor of the Sword, Countess of Glasswater and Duchess of Etinsmoor.

Description: Six foot three, grey/blue eyes, dark brown hair, very skinny.

Age: 11 at the beginning, 18 at the end

Character: Hyper and bouncy much of the time, uses sarcastic humor whenever the situation allows. Has a quick temper, and can get violent easily. Sometimes pensive, and occasionally goes through bouts of silent depression.

Background: Elanor was the first character I ever wrote, in the first story I ever wrote, which was actually a fanfiction of Narnia and the Lord of the Rings. (Fanfiction is a story based on another author's story). She is the Crown Princess of Narnia under the Pevensies, and has trained with the Dunadain Rangers of Middle Earth. She is a diplomat, a master of the sword, and well accomplished with the throwing dagger. Her weapons of choice are a sword, a throwing dagger, a hunting knife, and a magic horn. Come the War of the Ring, she is the one who convinces her people to go to war against Sauron, and arrive with reinforcements at the Battle of Helm's Deep. She finally dies at the Battle of the Black Gate, attempting to save Aragorn.

Favorite Quote: "The only time when the word "kind" is used to describe when the word "NOT" precedes it."

Second, King Ian of Dalros, or better known as just Ian.
Yes, this is the same Ian in the short story I recently posted. We (some friends and I) couldn't find a colored photo that looked like Ian. So, you lucky readers get two! The first is the basic "Ian" look, but it's in black and white.
And the second is a beautiful drawing of Ian done by my lovely friend known as Swift Darkness. :D
(No, Ian doesn't usually wear jeans and t-shirt. But Swift has creative license to dress him in whatever she wants.) 

Full name and title: Ian Alexander Jonathan Eric Dorminus, King of Dalros.

Description: Six foot even, green eyes, bright red hair. Rather on the lean side of muscular.

Age: 21

Character: ANNOYING. No, sorry. Cocky, but usually only for the fun of it. Immature when the situation allows, but always kind and caring underneath. Does his best to be "manly" at all times. Willing to listen if needed, but he prefers to be the one talking.

Background: Ian was away from home, training for knighthood, when he received word that his entire family, Mother, Father, and brother, had all been killed in a dragon attack on the capital city, and that his land was now in the control of a rebel duke. Ian heads back home, swearing to take his rightful throne, and more importantly, to slay any dragon he meets. However, through a rather stupid move, he ends up being bonded to a dragon, a rather affectionate one named Tandall, and has to learn to work with a creature he swore to be enemies with in order to take back his rightful throne.

Favorite Quote: "We should start a club for people who are awesome, yet are sick all the time. We could call it "Totally Sick People"."

                             *                        *                       *

So there you have it! These two are are probably my favorites, though Katie comes pretty darn close. But I haven't introduced her yet. Oh, never mind, we'll do that later.

"I swear, you're really annoying when you ramble."

Thank you Ian, for your lovely input. You have now made yourself sound like a jerk.

"Did you not write that I was grinning when I said that and poking you in the shoulder?"

No, I didn't put that bit in. I like making you sound like a jerk.

"Well, gosh, thanks! Love you too."

"Ian, shut up, you sounded like a jerk even if the description was added in."

"Thanks Ello. You're so loving and kind. Such a great friend. We all know that you only insult your friends."

"I insult my enemies too. A lot."

...this is seriously continuing in my head, but I'm going to cut it short. You don't want to hear it. Trust me.

Friday, March 30, 2012

Finishing the Story

I know. You all must hate me. But honestly...I couldn't stand to leave the story just hanging. I had to put the rest of it up here. That way it's out of the way. Like I say, it was just for fun, so it's not perfect. Now, ignore me.

A few hours later, Ian sat down on a stone bench with his secretary. He’d sent Phillip off to go bathe and get a change of clothes, so he would have a little time to figure out what to do with the boy’s future. Generally speaking, Ian didn’t need to have much to do with raising the boy at all. He could easily have sent him to live in the Squire Barracks and only have seen the boy on inspection or at tournaments. But Ian wasn’t the sort of person who could just do that. Still young himself (only having reached 21 three months before) and having lost both his parents at 16, he felt a keen connection to the boy, and wanted to not only protect and shelter him, but raise him, and let Phillip know that someone still cared about him.
The secretary, a young woman with  olive colored skin and dark brown hair, held a large book on her lap, with a quill pen and ink well at the ready. She held the pen over the page, and waited for the king to start speaking.
“Right, he’s pretty skinny…” Ian said slowly, staring away over the tops of the fruit trees as he tried to think. “So we need to get him a bit stronger and fatter. So…tell the cook to serve him stuff to get him…to gain weight, basically.” He swallowed, allowing the secretary to write down the order while he kept on thinking. “Um…we’ll start him with some light training for now, just enough to get him to know the horses and maybe the archery range. We’ll try swords a little later. Right now, I just want him to get over his overwhelming fear. Meet people and get to know ‘em and stuff.”
The secretary (her name was Annette) nodded. “Very good sir. May I ask if you have any plans for his schooling?”
Ian brought his gaze down from the tree tops and stared wide eyed at Annette. “…Schooling?” He asked. Annette burst out laughing at his facial expression, something Ian was getting used to. “Wait…why does he need anymore schooling? He’s almost ten, doesn’t he know how to read and write enough already?”
“Actually sire, according to our records…” Annette flipped through a few loose papers at the back of the book, stopped, and scanned one. “Yes, he only knows the very basics of arithmetic, and struggles with spelling. He seems to rearrange all the letters in any word he writes.”
“Great. I have to torture the poor kid with tutors.” Ian sighed, and crossed his legs and arms. “Alright. Give him tutors on Tuesdays and Thursdays to work with him on…all that stuff.” He sniffed and looked up at the sky. “I feel like I just sentenced him to a beating twice a week.”
Annette laughed heartily. “I assure you, sire, he’ll be fine. Will there be anything else?”
 “Yeah, I think that’ll do it.” Ian said, clearing his throat and standing. He ran his hands through his red hair a few times, mussing it until it stuck out in several directions. “That’ll be all, Annette, unless you can think of anything else. It’s probably kinda obvious that I know next to nothing about raising kids.”
Annette stood as well, closing the book and holding it close to her chest as she collected the inkwell and pen. “I can’t, sir, I think you’ve dealt with every matter for the moment.”
Ian nodded, still feeling a little frazzled over the whole affair. “Good….good…”
“And if I may say, your majesty,” Annette said suddenly. “I think it’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, actually raising the boy instead of just sending him off to the Squire Master. It’ll mean a lot to the young Duke, I think.”
“I hope so.” Ian said sincerely. “I don’t really feel…cool or anything for doing this. I just feel like I’m in way over my head. What if I raise the kid to be a mass murderer? I wouldn’t put it past myself! I mean…I turned out to be a rebel leader! Sheesh…what if…” He saw Annette’s look and stopped talking. “Sorry.” He said sheepishly.
“I wouldn’t worry to much, your majesty.” Annette said comfortingly. “Children don’t become mass murders that easily.”
“You sure?”
“Dead certain.” Annette replied with a straight face. Ian nodded, with a grateful but un-reassured smile, and Annette took her cue to curtsey and leave. As soon as she disappeared around some of the trees, Ian sprawled out on his back on the bench, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the sky.
“I…am going to die.” He announced melodramatically to a fluffy cloud that looked like a consoling sort of bunny. He moaned and shifted in position. “What am I getting myself into?”
Phillip was getting ready for bed, with the help of a manservant who, quite frankly, scared Phillip to no end. The man was pale, stiff, with a perpetual disapproving frown and narrow, dark eyes like a snake.  Hence why Phillip was suddenly so eager to get to bed. He wanted to get as far away from this manservant as possible.  He hurriedly tumbled between the sheets as soon as his pajamas were fully on and dismissed the manservant hurriedly.
The bed was nice. It was large, but not so large that he felt dwarfed beneath it, like in Lady Almeria’s bed that had carried on for seemingly miles. The mattress was firm and yet soft at the same time. The sheets were crisp, not silky, and were very warm. There was also a large, red quilt to cuddle up in should he need it.
As he burrowed into the sheets, Phillip told himself rather sadly that the bed seemed to be the only good thing that had happened to him all day. He thought back miserably about all the terrible things that had happened to him today. First there had been the long carriage ride over horribly bumpy roads that had thrown him against the wall and made him get a large bruise on his head. Then there had been the dreadful breakfast (which he hadn’t had much of) at the inn. And then there was the actual meeting of King Ian of Dalros, his new guardian.
Phillip couldn’t tell what he really thought about the King. He knew the red headed monarch was a little odd, that was for sure. And the way he slapped Phillip on the shoulder (it still hurt) had been rather unsettling. But he had insisted that Phillip call him by his first name, which was very nice of him, and he had provided a nice lunch. He’d even insisted that Phillip have a second piece of cake afterward, and had then raced him to see who could finish it first.
The race had ended in disaster, however, when Phillip accidentally pushed his fork into the cake so hard that it had tilted the plate, and sent the cake flying as if from a catapult. The dessert course had landed straight on a large tapestry that was hanging on the wall, no doubt staining it beyond repair. Phillip had been mortified. And he was sure that the red face and choking noises coming from the king’s direction had been total rage.
A whimper escaped from the boy. He wanted so badly to make someone like him, but he seemed talented at causing the greatest and most ridiculous disasters possible. He had never been clumsy when Mother and Father were alive. He had never caused any foolish problems then. But it just seemed like he was always so anxious to please so many strangers now, and the harder he tried, the more nervous and anxious he got, and then he always annoyed them to death, and was sent away to another place to live another month and be sent away again.
He couldn’t help it. He turned over on his stomach, buried his face in his pillow, and started crying quietly. “Mommy…” he whimpered, secure in the knowledge that he was alone, so he could cry for her. “Daddy…” He moaned a little later.
He was so deeply buried in sobs that he didn’t hear the door quietly click open, nor the soft footsteps that crept softly into the room and made their way over to his bedside. He was only alerted to another’s presence when a hand was placed rather hesitantly on his back, and someone said, “Alright kid. Cry it out. That’s it. It’s okay.”
Phillip made a few hiccupping sobs, and then tried to swallow them back in an attempt to collect himself and turn to see his visitor. The instant he swallowed, however, he felt ill and instead of regaining his composure, he leaned over the side of the bed and vomited on the floor.
Phillip’s visitor muttered a word which Phillip had been taught never to say, and rubbed the boy’s back comfortingly. “That’s it, it’s okay. Get it out of your system.”
The boy was sick a few more times, during which his sobbing and misery only seemed to increase ten fold. He was so ashamed of himself for sobbing and being sick all over the floor, and doing all of this in front of who ever it was who was rubbing his back. He just wanted to curl up in a ball beneath the sheets, far away from everyone, and just be alone. He closed his eyes, and kept hiccupping. He was so miserable that he barely even noticed when two strong arms picked him up and started carrying him somewhere.
“You’re gonna be okay kid.” Said the person who was carrying him. There was a snapping noise, followed by a slight creaking of hinges, and then a breath of sweet, fresh, cold air in his face. “’Kay, just breathe that in, alright? Focus on the air, okay?”
“Okay.” Phillip choked out.
“There we go. Now, take deep breathes from inside your stomach. From right here.” A finger gently prodded the lower part of Phillip’s belly, and he did his best. His stomach muscles were still sore and he was winded from all the vomiting, but he tried his best. He moaned minutely as he took an extra big breath.
“Yeah, it hurts a bit at first, but it helps settle your stomach.”
His stomach and his crying settled, Phillip opened his eyes and saw his visitor for the first time. He was shocked to see the green eyes and dark red hair of the King. But what was even more surprising was the kind smile on the King’s face.
“Howdy mini man.” The King said. “Feeling better now?” Phillip nodded, his grey eyes wide with amazement. The king rolled his eyes and laughed. “Don’t look so shocked, kid, I had a younger brother once.” A flicker of emotion passed over the smiling face, and the smile lessened very slightly. But he recovered quickly, and continued, “He used to get sick a lot. So…uh…yeah.” He coughed a little awkwardly. “Well, uh, I think we’re going to get you a new room. Come on.”
Phillip blushed bright red, and was about to protest, but one look at the king’s face told him it wasn’t really worth arguing about. Also, the fact that king wasn’t putting him down was a bit unsettling.
“I can walk, sire.” He said weakly.
Ian looked down at him and raised an eyebrow, seeing the boy’s still pale face. However, he nodded, and set the boy down on the ground. Phillip took a few steps, and then his legs seemed to turn to jelly and he stumbled. Ian grabbed the back of his night shirt and steadied him. Phillip was horrifically embarrassed, and waited for the King to insist on carrying him again.
Ian had other plans, apparently. He moved forward, placed a hand on Phillip’s shoulder and steadied him. Then, as though he did this every day, walked nonchalantly forward. Phillip leaned against Ian, steadying himself when he got dizzy, and feeling extremely glad for the king’s presence.
A little while later, Ian tucked Phillip into an entirely different bed, in an entirely different room, one directly across from Ian’s own room.
“Feeling better man?” Ian asked, patting Phillip’s shoulder. Phillip nodded.
“Thank you very much sir. I’m…very sorry about…everything. The cake today…and then the getting sick…I’ll do better,  I promise!”
He grew suddenly terrified when Ian looked away, down at the floor, and then suddenly broke into a loud shout of laughter. It was a moment of frightening worry for Phillip until Ian, calming down to a chuckle, patted Phillip’s hand and said,
“Alright, three things. One, stop calling me sir. Ian, remember? Two, the cake? Hilarious. Best entertainment I’ve had in ages. We should set up a cake catapult in the kitchen for specifically that purpose. Three….Phil, you don’t have to do better at anything! Seriously kid, I’m not expecting like…perfect behavior or I’ll throw you out or something. See kid, you and I are family, right bro? And family sticks together. That’s what they do. So I was thinking we should do the same.”
“My parents didn’t stick with me.” Phillip commented.
Ian nodded, frowning a bit. “I know what you mean. I lost both my parents and my younger brother. You think it’s like…they left you. But you know, they really are still sticking right by you. You just gotta think of it as if they’ve never even gone. Whatever happens, they’ll stick right by you. You just have to stick by them and keep them with you. Don’t push ‘em away. Keep ‘em with you. Stick right by them. Right here.” He poked Phillip in the general area of his heart. “Make sense?”
“I think so.” The boy said thoughtfully. He looked down at his sheets, then raised his gaze to Ian’s. “Can I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“How did you lose your family?”
Ian wrinkled his forehead and looked up at the ceiling momentarily. “Let’s see…it was…five years ago now. Kingdom got attacked by a band of annoyed dragons. Castle was burned, Mother and Luke, (that was my brother’s name) were trapped inside and couldn’t get out. Father died fighting the dragons.” He grimaced for a moment. “Wasn’t pleasant. Death isn’t a pleasant thing. But you know that just as well as I do.”
Phillip nodded, not quite sure he did know just as well but not wishing to pry any more into the subject. “I never had a brother.” He commented. “Is it nice?”
Ian nodded, then tilted his head from side to side in an indecisive sort of way. “There’s good parts, and there’s bad parts. But yeah, I’d say on the whole that it’s…it’s pretty cool.” His eyes suddenly gleamed, in a way that Phillip would more than likely learn to be wary of. “Say…I got an idea!” He sat up straighter, and Phillip sat up in bed and leaned forward, looking interested.
“What idea?”
“How about you…” Ian patted Phillip’s shoulder. “And I…decide we’re brothers.” He grinned, looking very pleased with himself. “How’s that for a jolly idea, eh?”
Phillip appeared thoughtful. “It sounds good…but…we wouldn’t be real brothers, would we?”
“Well, not in the most literal sense of the term, but in all other senses, we would be. You’ve heard of brothers at arms, right? Well, we’d be brothers at…at…um…at home. Or something.” He coughed, a little frustrated that he couldn’t think of a better term. Phillip didn’t seem to notice, however, and nodded slowly.
“I think I’d like that.” He said pensively. “But…what would we do?”
“Annoy each other to death.” Ian teased. “That’s what brothers do…okay, no it isn’t. We’d just hang out, and talk, and thump each other on the back, and all around have fun. How’s that sound? Sound cool?”
Phillip broke into a wide, adorable grin and nodded excitedly. Ian grinned at him and patted the quilt. “Well, you’d better get to sleep now. Been a long day for you.” He stood, and leaned over to blow out the candle that stood by the bed, pausing to say, “Good night bro.”
“Good night, Ian!” Phillip called out, as he snuggled back down into the covers.
Ian smiled down at the small shape of his new younger brother in the large bed. It was not lost on him that Phillip had just called him by his name, rather than his title. “Sleep well, kid. Tomorrow’s gonna be awesome.” He snuck out the door, softly shutting it behind him.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Part Of A Short Story

So...I wrote a short story last week, hoping to get into the mood for writing again. I thought I'd post some of it. It's highly unedited, and thus isn't very good. Critiques and all that would be appreciated. If you guys want, I will post more soon. :)

The boy was skinny, short for his age, which was nine and had the largest grey eyes Ian had ever seen. He had dark blond hair that stuck out over his head, bony arms with what seemed no muscle, and his clothes which were well made, seemed rather dusty and rumpled. He seemed nervous, for when Ian had asked him politely how the journey had been, he had begun babbling about the roads and the things he had seen, waving his hands in odd gestures and then abruptly bringing them back to his sides, standing straight and stiff, and clamming up completely.
Ian scanned the note from his second cousin-twice-or-three-times-removed. It had some sort of rubbish greeting, and then went on to say that the boy (whose name was Phillip) was the son of a Duke, and that his parents were dead, so…technically…the boy was now the Duke.
“I have sent Phillip to your gracious majesty, hoping that you will accept him into your great service as a squire. In time, if the boy fulfills his duties to your satisfaction, mayhap you would even see fit to make him a knight.”
At that, the young king nearly dropped the piece of parchment. Until the kid was able to be a knight?! Great, that meant like…four years at the least. And the kid was supposed to stay in his service, like…be raised by him until then? Oh. Just lovely. Because Ian knew everything about raising a kid. Yeah…
Ian looked back at the note. “The boy’s parents, Duke Wilhelm and Duchess Sophia, died in a plague that ravaged their city. They were trusted and loyal subjects of mine. Duchess Sophia was a cousin of your majesty’s mother, (may she rest in peace), and thus I found it fitting that young Phillip be sent into your care, as you are his last living relative.”
The rest was rubbish and well wishes, and a big, fancy signature that covered about a third of the paper saying “RUDOLPH”.
Ian frowned, folded the paper and studied the boy, still standing in front of him. The boy shifted his feet, but looked up and matched Ian’s gaze. For a moment, the dark green eyes of the king were rivaled by the deep grey of the young Duke. Then the corner of Ian’s mouth curled up in a sort of satisfied smirk, and he look up at the guards who stood, ceremoniously guarding the door to his study.  “Leave us.” He said. The armored men instantly snapped to attention and filed out, shutting the door firmly behind them.
“Great!” Ian exclaimed, setting the parchment down and sitting on his desk in a most casual manner. “Now we don’t have to stand on ceremony or anything.” He folded his arms and grinned at Phillip, who appeared rather bewildered. “So, Phillip, right? You’re…how old?”
“Nine, sire.” Phillip replied, in a high pitched squeak. He coughed, and repeated in a normal tone, “Nine, sire.”
Ian’s attempt at keeping a straight face failed rather miserably, and Phillip blushed profusely.
“Voice getting deeper, eh?” Ian commented. “I remember when mine did that. I didn’t talk for a week. And then my voice turned into the exceptionally beautiful, masculine voice it is now.” He grinned, waiting for Phillip to smile or laugh, but…the boy still looked confused. Ian coughed, and looked down at the ground.
“Um, so…” The awkward tension in the room seemed to be choking his thought process. “We’re apparently related. Did you hear that?”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“Yeah, sort of like…second cousins. Pretty cool, don’t you think?”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“Why on earth do you keep saying that?”
“What, your majesty?” The kid looked scared now, worried he had something horrifically offensive.
“The whole “your majesty” and “sire” thing!” Ian exclaimed, mentally wincing over how difficult it was to talk to the boy. “Look kid, you can call me Ian when no one else is in the room. Getting all those titles thrown at me by even my family…well, that just makes me feel old and annoying.  So call me Ian, okay?”
“As you wish, your majesty.”
Ian closed his eyes and focused on being calm, patient, kind, and very nice. Think cool, good thoughts. He told himself. Cool afternoons, no paperwork, rib eye steak. Feeling a bit calmer, he opened his eyes again. “So…hungry?” He asked.
The kid swung his arms minutely, bouncing ever so slightly, “Oh…no, not really…I…”
“Kid, you’re starved.” Ian stood and clapped a hand on the boy’s bony shoulder. It was meant to be a nice, manly gesture, but the effect was rather spoiled when he nearly knocked poor Phillip over. Ian hurriedly steadied him. “Whoa. Sorry. You okay? Yeah…I’ll watch out for where I slap you now.”
The kid appeared slightly horrified, and Ian hastily amended his statement. “I mean…clap you on the shoulder or something. You know, a manly sort of thing, thumping people on the back….STUFF GIRLS DON’T DO WHEN THEY GREET EACH OTHER, OKAY?”
From the blank look the kid was giving him, Ian’s explanation wasn’t really helping. He sighed, closed his eyes, and said, “Right. We…are going to go get some lunch. You like steak? Good, ‘cause we’re having steak. Oh, and one last thing. I’m going to call you Phil, or Kid. Whichever fits my mood. You are going to call me Ian. Doesn’t matter who’s standing nearby. Got it? You got it? Good.” With that abrupt note, he opened the door and pushed Phillip out gently but firmly.
Boy, these next few years are gonna be looooong.