30/30 – 8 | Challenge

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I had been on fucking edge all morning.

It wasn’t something definitive I could put my finger on. Just a thing that has gnawed at me from the moment my eyes popped opened from a jacked up dream I couldn’t even remember. I’ve only felt like this, this distinct feeling a very few times in my life, all of which turned out to be just as bad as the mood felt. As the tension built throughout the day, I found myself being hypersensitive to each and every little thing.

Trying to relax, me and my boy, Marcus were hanging at the mall. Marcus and I have been best friends for nearly half our lives. Marcus knows he is one of a maximum of three people on this earth that fully get me. Even so, there are times when I know even he is puzzled by me, like today. Being fully cognizant of my mood Marcus was prattling off at any subject that came into his crazy head to get me to loosen up, the current topic of choice being our respective GPA’s.

“Bro, I just don’t get you sometimes!” Marcus held up a wild ass pair of jeans, checking out the style.

“What’s there to get?” I shrugged, still agitated. “I passed the Regents. Big fuckin’ deal!”

“The big deal is you have – what? The 58th highest GPA in the school and your ass even ain’t there half the time!” Marcus picked up two different pairs of jeans for comparison. They both looked like shit to me, but then I was not exactly in the mood for objective critiquing and kept the opinion to myself.
“Think about it, son. Where would you be if you actually tried?” He continued, “Probably higher than Miss Smart Ass Delia.” The bad part was, while he was probably right, I still didn’t like the comparison.

Delia Larson and I were childhood buddies, even before Marcus came along. Our moms have been best friends since they were our current age. They got the notion into their heads one day, when Delia and I were still in single digits, that she and I should escort each other to and from school. Of course we both hated it at first, but someone – somehow always snitched us out when we’d try to ditch each other and it just wasn’t worth the blessing we got from both our mommas, so we were stuck with each other.

She and I were always tops in our classes and always wound in the same classes because of it. It was a competition between us. Over time we just got used to each other. The fact that she was a major tomboy, could pitch like a dream and whup your ass like she’s your mama helped. Marcus came along about the third grade and fit in perfect with us. For most of grade school and part of middle school we were damn near inseparable. We – mainly I – changed in ways no could have predicted.

She became a goody two-shoe brainiac and I became Warlord of the Morgue Makers. Marcus followed me and through his own doing earned rank as Jr. Warlord, my second-in-command. About two years ago Delia and I had a major falling out, that I concede to totally being my doing. No one can hurt you like a friend can hurt you because they know more about you to fuck you over. One day I got tired of her trying to convert me back into what she wanted and I ripped into her. I used damn near every thing I knew against her and just really fucking ripped. Marcus came down on me later because of it, but it had to be done.

Sometimes when we cross paths, I can still see traces of the hurt I caused that day. I didn’t want to break the friendship and I know I was vicious and wrong in how I handled it, but she had to be cut loose. I had my reasons, simple as that. It obviously isn’t quite as simple as that, nothing in life truly is, but that is the gist of it.

There are days when I desperately miss her as a confidant outside of this life. I trusted her with things I haven’t even told Marcus and probably never will. Like when I felt this edginess this morning, I had the phone in my hand; her number dialed and heard her speak before I remembered I couldn’t talk to her anymore and hung-up. Still just hearing her say hello calmed me for the moment. The weird thing is, sometimes I feel like she’s seeing right through me. When we passed each other in the school halls earlier, I knew she knew I called. I never spoke; it was just something in her expression for the brief moment she glanced at me and nodded once.

I think if I tried I could win her friendship back even as I am. But that could just be my ego tripping. Fuck knows she curses my ass out enough to convince me she wants nothing to do with me anymore She’s still class valedictorian while I’ve somewhat fallen by the wayside grade wise. Warlords are smart, but we’re not supposed to be bookworms. Every now and then, when we have the same class, I’ll show her up. Mostly to prove to myself that I can when I set my mind to it. When she calls me on it, I don’t even try to deny it. The competitiveness between us never left me. It a big part of why I am who I am. So all things considered, Marcus did have a point about my grades. Not that I needed to be reminded of it.

“Oh please!” I groaned. “You’d think that damn girl was born with text books in her hands! It’s a good thing she has such a big ass to balance out the humongous head of hers!”

“You know you wrong!” Marcus cracked up, pointing out a shirt high up on the wall to a sales girl. The shirt wasn’t all that, but watching the girl’s juicy ass as she climbed the ladder to get it was. Hey, I was edgy not blind!

“What I can’t figure out is: do you hang out in school half the time to escape the Morguers or do you hang out with the Morguers half the time to escape school.”

“Uh – excuse me, but according to that list you ain’t much of a slouch either.” I shrugged off his comment, but best friend or not, I was slightly caught off-guard at being so easily read even by him.

“Aw hell naw! I’m like, 228th on the list. There’s a world of difference between our scores when there’s a total of about four hundred and change kids in our junior class.” Marcus made a mental decision on the worst of the two pairs of jeans, signaling with a nod that he was heading towards the cashier. ”I’m middling at best.”

“Middling?” I laughed out loud at that. “Oh yeah, you’se jus’ a po’ ignant chile.”

“Man, fuck you!” Marcus grinned himself.

We watched the sales girl again as she retrieved a shirt for someone else, admiring the long view from all the way under the short skirt. Marcus and I couldn’t help it – we answered the usual question between us when it came to booty comparison.

“Delia!” We laughed simultaneously. It felt good to have an honest laugh, if only for a moment, to lose that edgy feeling.

Unfortunately, it was back soon enough.

Marcus knew better than to bother asking what was bothering me. I could never put a precise definition or accurate description to this mood. It was just something I’ve learned to trust in when it happened. It’s that same innate sense that made me Warlord of the Morgue Makers almost two years ago. Fifteen at the time, I am the 2nd youngest to hold the title, having earned it from the previous record holder, who had not lived long enough to celebrate his first anniversary as warlord. I’ve been challenged twice for the title so far.

The first challenger ended up with sixteen stitches across his cheek and a permanent limp. The last one put me in an arm cast for a short bit and him in a coma for nearly two months. Whether out of fear what could happen next or final respect that I can hold down my position, there has not been a challenge in almost a year.

That I woke up with this amped up level of edgy on those two mornings also did not bode well for today…

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Read Part 2

30/30 – 7 | I Can’t Help It

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I stand up on the sofa and look out the window again.

Nope not there. It wasn’t time yet, but I knew that before I climbed up on the sofa. The sofa that Mommie always yells at me and tells me not to get on. My brother, Gregor is at the window showing off again because he doesn’t need a chair to see out of it. He’s waiting for Mommie to come home too, so he can rat on me about the sofa no doubt. I can’t help it if I’m short.

The neighbor next door is playing ball and as usual it rolls in our yard at some point and Gregor starts yelling at kid to get off our lawn. He’s such a meanie-poo sometimes. I ignore him, trying to balance my body on the edge of the sofa. I liked the old sofa better. It had a flat ledge; this one was round, but I knew I could do it. I try again. And again. And again. Meanie-poo turns around just in time to see me not do it again as I fall onto the cushions. I can’t help it if I’m stubborn.

He looks at me and shakes his head about to look out the window again, when we hear it; Mommie’s car pulling onto the driveway. Gregor wants to act like he don’t care that Mommie’s Home, but I do and run for the door. When she opens it, it’s all I can do to not grab her by the legs. I can’t help it if I’m happy.

“Mommie! Mommie! Mommie! Mommie! Mommie!”

“Oh my look look at you! Now there’s a happy girl!”

Gregor is being a good, he walks over and stands next to me. Not able to wait anymore I run to her and she scoops me up in her arms. Mommie scratches him behind the ear because he likes that and tickles my belly because that’s what I like.

“How are my doggies? Were you two good today? Did you miss me?” She asks taking us into the kitchen for treats.

I stick my tongue out at my brother, knowing I was going to get treats first because I was in her arms and I do.

I can’t help it if I’m cute.

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Obviously, a story each day is not going to happen. Life has a way of getting in the way of living sometimes. I have some catching up to do, but I will have all 30 in by the end of the month.

Time Drawing Near

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‘Aladdin’ and ‘The Little Mermaid’ no longer hold a charm
‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ have lost their sway
The sound of glass breaking, holds not the same alarm
When I could conceive a multitude of frights just yesterday

Macaroni and glitter artwork, stuff that used to be bane
Along with a medal made of paper, in the scrapbook
A box with a bundle of model trains and cars and planes
Memories past, that bellow for a just another look

Emphasizing the second syllable of the word every
The volcano project that was quite a bit unstable
The melted chocolate cookie smile used to distract me
From the crumbly mess left on the kitchen table

The children who couldn’t fib, looking me in my eyes
The kids I couldn’t trust not to burn the toast
The brats who threw a party and told straight-faced lies
When confronted with evidence of their being such gallant hosts

The con-men who know ‘Please mother?’ from ‘Mommy PUH-LEEZE??’
The house slaves with laundry finished and dinner cooked, ready to serve
The hooligans who greet me at the door when I take too long fumbling with my keys
The young men who offer the aspirin, sensing I’ve had a day that tested my nerves

These days I find myself staring a little longer at their faces
And the tones of their voices, to my memory, I try hard to adhere
Some mother’s instinct I suppose, preparing for empty spaces
That once remote chance of their leaving, now drawing near
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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 65

30/30 – 6 | Plan

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          The Mont Blanc taps on the blotter.

          At first in a rapid staccato, then slows to a more mundane tap of someone who’s bored. The more minute details of the latest plan being finalized in a brilliant mind.  Renior to Romare  hang on the walls. Queen Anne furniture, East Indian carpets, Tiffany lamps, Lenox crystal, all the proper status symbols abound. The Mont Blanc tapper looks around the opulent living room, picking up the telephone.

          “Yes, this is Langston, Mr. Cedric Warren’s Executive Assistant . . . Yes, he wishes to order one ticket to the Eastshore Charity Auction . . . That’s correct, just one ticket for will call.  You have his account number on file, correct? . . .Yes, that is the account. Draw the funds from that account and fax a receipt to the  home fax for his records…Yes, he somewhat old-fashioned that way. I will hold for the confirmation fax.”
          An expansive view of the city’s skyline is seen through the floor to ceiling picture window. Monied means lives here.  A errant strand swaying in the air-conditioned current is pushed back in place as the time is checked on the Breguet until the fax arrives.

          “Yes, the conformation is transmitting through now . . . Everything appears to be in order, thank you . . .You have a good day, also, thank you.” A small smile plays upon the assistant’s lips as the fax is read and then put through a shredder.  A photographic memory does have its uses.

          The plan is starting to get underway.

          It is one of those low ninety-something degree NYC days that feels more like a low one hundred and something degree day with the humidity. As usual there is a line on the TKTS booth. The clerk in the ticket booth stares incredulously at the customer before him.

          “You want to pay cash?  You do realize that the tickets are fifteen hundred dollars – each?”
          “I’m aware of what it cost.”  The customer responds testily, “But thank you for putting my business all out in the street, yo.”
          “Yes, of course, excuse me. One ticket to Eastshore Charity Auction. That will be $1500, plus the processing fee please.” The clerk is taken aback, returning to the transaction. His eyes admiring the way the t-shirt clung to her body in the heat; the woman before him barely looked as if she owned one hundred dollars, let alone fifteen hundred. She was a looker though. Hell, as long as the ticket is paid for, he couldn’t care less.

          “Thanks you.” She pushes an errant strand of hair back into place as she carefully puts the ticket in her purse and checks the time on the Breguet.   The same small smile plays upon the lips as she walks away.

          The plan was definitely underway.

30/30 – 5 | Score

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Janelle looks at her reflection as she ran her fingers over the wool of the coat. The lines fit her lush form perfectly. With the collar popped up, her dark sunglasses on and her gloves she knew it was a combination that would look so good on her. It was more than she wanted to spend on a coat just then, but it would be worth it for the perfect fit alone. She just could not get past the color. Red.

And not just red, but a THAT’S RIGHT WORLD! LOOK AT ME! HERE I AM! R-E-D!, red.

As if her size alone wasn’t attention-getting enough. She could all but hear the derision of her sister Grace couldn’t you find it in black or at least navy? To be fair Janelle had initially looked for a coat in a darker *cough-slimming-cough* color, but then her eyes saw the red and that was it. Janelle sighs taking off the coat. She puts it back on the hanger, buttoning it back up perfectly before returning it to the showroom floor. It was the third time this week she came in and tried on the coat. It was the third time this week she was going to walk out without it as she slips on her navy coat. It was a little out of my price range anyway she consoles herself picking up the fabulous leopard print eternity wrap she spied earlier instead.

She sees her new neighbor Chris pass by the boutique as she stands on the line to make her purchase. Janelle could not help but smile. Tall, solid build and a very nice ass to boot. The gods were at their A game when they created that one. Janelle had done the new neighbor deed of showing up with a cake that second night after move in. Chris had invited her in, but there were still a ton boxes everywhere and they wisely decided to move it over to Janelle’s apartment where they got into a surprisingly good political discussion though they differed in some views.  They ran into each other a couple of days later at the local Asian fusion place. The next evening Janelle slipped a handful of menus for the best places that delivered under Chris’ door without a note. Much to her delight she found a note of thanks from Chris under her own door the next morning. That was a week ago with little more than a head nod in passing a couple of days ago. Janelle decided she was going to ask her new neighbor over for dinner once she got home. She then pseudo plotted ways to get Chris’ shirt wet just so she can profusely apologize while using the smallest towel possible to dry off those abs she had spotted on move-in day.  The discussion was even better than the abs and those were some nice abs Janelle had to laugh to at her own silliness.

“Aw, you’re not going to get it?” The cashier broke through Janelle’s day dreaming.

“Huh – er what?” Janelle stepped up to the register.

“I saw you trying on the red coat. Most woman try, but really can’t work a color that intense, but you do.” The cashier smiled, starting to ring up Janelle’s purchases.

Grace would not think twice about wearing such a bright-colored coat. In fact, she showed-up for Sunday dinner last week in a peacock-blue number. It looked divine on her, but not as good as this coat looks on me. Besides, she was just so tired of wearing the black and navy and charcoal grey coats she has worn for years trying to fit in some other person’s mold of what she should wear for her size. As if wearing those colors would make her less noticeable. Make her disappear.

Well she wasn’t going to disappear dammit!

“Be right back.” She nods once with conviction.

Upon Janelle’s return, the cashier slides a piece of paper for Janelle to see; a coupon for 30% the purchase of that specific brand’s coat. “Would this help?”

“Why yes, yes it would! Thank you! Oh, and I want to wear it now.” Janelle was almost giddy at her good fortune. A few minutes later, with her old coat in the store bag, leopard scarf draped around her face and sunglasses on, Janelle waltzed out in her new coat. Score!

Feeling like a million bucks, she decided to celebrate by picking up a couple of bottles of wine for dinner from the wine shop down the block and walks straight into Grace at the door.

“Oh good God girl!  What the hell possessed you to get that? Where are the cops?” Grace looked her up and down in disbelief.

“Why? Because it’s against the law me to look this fine in it?” Janelle retorted. Score!

“No, because that coat is so red and your ass so fat you look like a siren.” Grace rolls her eyes, pleased as punch by her presumed wit. Before Janelle could respond a pair of hands squeeze her shoulders from behind.

“I know, Jay is seriously working that film noir, bad ass siren vibe hard isn’t she? And with that body, she’s doing a fine job of it too. Good call! Hi, you must be Gracie.”

Janelle grins recognizing her new neighbor’s voice, reaching up to squeeze Chris’ hand in gratitude. That her sister cannot stand to be called Gracie, and though Janelle knows she’ll be blamed anyway, the fact that she never told Chris about the Gracie thing makes the use of it all the more perfect. She could not help but enjoy watching the wind knocked the hell out of her sister’s sails as introductions are made. Grace looks from Janelle, still holding Chris’ hand, to Chris who winks at Janelle and back to her sister.  Janelle raises her sunglasses visually daring Grace to say anything else. Grace wisely chooses to make her exit. Score!

“Wow you’re right, she is lovely, and a bitch, and it should be against the law for you to look this fine and not go out to dinner with me tonight.” Chris pushes a stray hair back while picking a bottle of wine to consider then placing it back.

“Excuse me?” Janelle laughs surprised.

“I was debating if I wanted to ask you out on a date. The debate ended when I saw you in that coat, as you passed the coffee shop next door. My sister is a big gal too and she would run for the hills from such an attention-getting color. That you have the moxie to do it and do it well makes you a woman I want to know more.” Chris smiles her megawatt smile.

“Well so much for my picking up wine to invite you to dinner tonight. I accept.” Janelle lowers her glasses and grins.

Oh sweet, sweet score!

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30 Stories in 30 Days | Day 5

30/30 – 4 | The Papers

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He did not mean to eavesdrop on her conversation as he stepped outside.  He simply could not help grinning as he enjoyed the sound of her voice in business mode as she conversed with someone from an office on the coast. He stood just behind her, leaning against the wide column of the restaurant’s portico and waited. She had finished the conversation and was about to turn around when another call came in and stopped her.

“Why are you calling me now? You know I am out with him.”

What the hell?

“I was going to tell him at dinner, but it was likely to be an ugly scene if he doesn’t take it well.  I could not risk that. I’ll give him the papers when we get home. Handle it in a private setting.”

Give him the papers? What papers? Divorce papers? Why? They’ve been married forever, well nearly twenty-seven years anyway. He was happy. Had you asked him five minutes ago he would have sworn on a stack of bibles that she was also. Granted she had seemed a little distracted these past few days. He knew they were in a crunch another cycle at her job and she was always a little more tense then. He simply contributed it to that. Taking her out to dinner tonight, to one of her favorite places, just a little something to help ease some of the stress. But this? No, he was not expecting this.

The lovely voice becomes more and more dreadful as he listens to her speak to what has to be her lover.

“I know, hon. It is insane for this to happen now at this point in our lives, but I have to tell him. The sooner the better. It’s past the point where I have a choice and I’ve put it off long enough already.”

His head spins as he tries to quickly process what he was hearing, but his mind can’t do it. He moves to the side and waits for her to turn around.

“Look, he’s going to be out any minute, I have to hang…Oh dammit!” She turns and saw him standing there.  He has no idea what his expression looks like, but it must be something fierce gauging her reaction to him as she slowly shuts the cell off putting it in her purse.

There is the most uncomfortable silence as they stare at each other for a brief eternity.  Slowly, he holds out his hand.

“What…?” She looks genuinely puzzled by his gesture.

“You have papers? Divorce papers?” He could barely get the words out.

If she was taken aback by his expression upon seeing him, it was now his turn to be so as her expression morphs from surprise, to confusion, to comprehension and then giggles.  The giggles quickly became peals of unbridled laughter as she sees the incredulous look upon his face.  Unable to speak she simply reaches in her over-sized purse and hands him an envelope.

The envelope had no outer markings, he has no choice but to open it. Inside are what looks like printouts of a couple of Polaroid photographs of orange aliens. No, it was one of those 3D ultrasound images of a fetus, but why would she…? Then he sees the patient’s name on the side.

Oh…

They had tried to conceive. It turned out they both had medical issues that would make it hard, but not impossible to have children. They went for it full tilt, spending serious amounts trying various technical and medical treatments, homeopathic remedies etc. Nothing seemed to take.  When he once suggested adoption she was adamant against it; she had wanted their child or none at all.  For nearly fifteen years they tried and failed.  As their chances grew slimmer with age, they officially gave up trying a couple of years ago when she went into early-menopause. He mind reels anew at the thought as he continues reading the information on the paper.

Estimated 17 weeks.

Oh holy…

No wonder she was worried at what he would think. They were past the point of having a choice, they were having this baby. She stops laughing, for once unable to read his feelings in this, and places a tentative hand on his. He looks from the papers to her, only then remembering how she did not want wine at all during dinner tonight and slowly breaks into self-depreciating laughter feeling incredibly stupid.  That is an expression she can read and falls into a gentle teasing laugh of her own.

“A divorce you dolt, really? After all this time, really?” She punches his arm playfully.

“A baby you doll, really? After all this time, really?” He retorts grinning.

“A baby…?” She stops; arching an eyebrow.

He looks at the papers again. Twins.

Oh holy God!!

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30 Stories in 30 Days | Day 4

30/30 – 3 | Watering Hole – Mevralaud

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          Mevralaud pushed Finiadd to his limits. He knew he was seriously pushing his luck with the temperamental beast, but he was in no mood to be rebuked by anyone, least of all by an animal destined to be under his command. Oddly enough, if he didn’t know better he would swear the damned creature was actually enjoying this all out, full tilt run. Mevralaud knew he left his brother and Amrieux in the dust. He could not even hear their yelling anymore. He knew his father will not be pleased at all with his current behavior, but for these brief moments he would try to enjoy this rare moment of complete solitude.

          Solitude.

          Ydarkra!

          When last had he a moment all unto himself in the daylight hours? In the nighttime hours? The moments lying in bed before sleep envelopes him? Surely that cannot be considered a true solitary moment. Even his time in the privy chamber was subject to interruption if deemed he was taking too long to conduct his business. Not for the first time he wondered what he would be were he not DarkraSeco. At ten and three reaagons, only a member of Lead Court seemed remotely appealing. All the glory of royal court, without feeling as though the entire kingdom will fall into the brimstone pits of Briellekok should he so much as sneeze in the wrong direction.

          Mevralaud reigned Finiadd in to a slower run as he headed towards the watering hole. Both he and Finiadd could benefit from a cool sip. He noted the pull of the material around him as he shrugged his young shoulders. He was outgrowing yet another coat. His mother had jokingly predicted Mevralaud would be larger in stature than the Darkran himself one day. At the rate he was growing, he was not entirely sure it was a joke anymore. It certainly was not to the seamstress, who had presented this very same coat to Mevralaud barely a half-reaagon ago and it fit quite loosely then. Though he knew from experience his father would never allow something as trivial as a man’s size to belittle him in any manner, the thought of one day having mass and height greater than that of his father did bring a fleeting moment of amusement.

          Sudden sounds of female shrieking caught his attention as he neared the watering hole. The watering hole was actually an extension of the massive M’Kairoo River to its east. Its waters were much tamer than the M’Kairoo, renowned for the lives it has taken. Many of those unsuspecting lives were fooled by the calm top waters that disguised its powerful undercurrents. Ydarkrans know to stay within certain bounds of watering hole; for it will willingly feed you to its more powerful sibling should you stray too far from the shore. Locals occasionally swim there on hot days. From the shrieking sounds it seems the current locals were all female. He pulled Finiadd to a slow trot as he passed the copse of trees that surrounded the watering hole. Slight glimpses of running skin flashed in the distance. Females and apparently very naked were in the cool waters of the watering hole if the one or two stray articles of clothing are any indication. Belatedly he realized they had spotted him before he spotted them and were running away.

          All but one of the females had made it to hiding in the dense trees. She immediately dropped to the ground, curling upon herself to hide as much of her body and face as possible. Her dark, thick curling hair, wet and hanging about her back and head helped considerably. Still the curve of her spine and rear were in full view. For once he actually wished Waidelm was with him as he dismounted, walking the rest of the way towards her until he stood in front of her. She was younger than he, but not by much. Ydarkra! Why could she not have been a full woman? Now, that would have been an interesting sight to behold! Still what he could see told him she was tall for her age.

          “Hello, there.” He stood in front of her. She did not answer. He called to her again, still no response.

          “Are you aware that it is unlawful to not acknowledge a greeting by one of the Royals? Not to mention just plain lacking in respect from Ydarkran to another.” He asked bemused. A deep racking sob was his response as the tears she had been obviously holding back came out in force.

          “By Ydarkra girl you can at least look at me!” Mevralaud’s amused state was quickly fading as the girl adamantly shook her head in the negative.

          “My, my, my, what is this?” Waidelm’s voice boomed in the opening. Mevralaud groaned inwardly, knowing he would never hear the end of this! Have caution for when what is wished is granted – indeed!

          “Captured a maiden have we? And a wet one at that.” A very amused Amrieux pulled his horse along beside Waidelm’s. “She is not a mermaid from the looks of her. No fins that I can see.” Mevralaud bit his lip to keep from snickering as his best friend made rounded gestures with his hands approximating the girls exposed buttocks.

          “You can speak can you not?” Mevralaud asked, “You cry quite well for one presumed voiceless.”

          “Yes, I can speak and mocking me does not bode well on your insistence of respect.” Came a hissed response.

          “Alas! The maiden does have a tongue and a stinging at that!” Mevralaud smirked. “Now that you have graced us with the melodious tones of your voice, perhaps now you can explain your total lack in response to one of the Royal Court.”

          “I do not know if you are in fact one of the Royal Court.” The girl replied.

          “You would know, if you would simply lift your head and look.” Mevralaud chided.

          “I am sorry I, I cannot do that.” She shook her head.

          “Lyishar!” Waidelm gasped “Is the little nymph denying a direct …”

          Mevralaud made a quick motion with his hands silencing his brother. Waidelm looked at Amrieux in surprise.

          “Explain yourself.” Mevralaud gently ordered.

          “I have never been to the Ydarkra Rohn proper. Nor have I been to Festival; my Adonii says I cannot go until my fourteenth reaagon. I have only seen the Darkran himself on the times he sojourns this far. I have not seen anyone else of the Royals. Therefore looking at you would not necessary prove who you are.” The girl explained matter-of-fact, head still downcast.

          “It is safe to presume, you are at least familiar with the Ydarkra Honrae Dresht, is it not?” Mevralaud asked.

          “It is” Even through her quiet tears, her reply was in a tone that indicated it was an incredibly dumb question. Even Waidelm barely contained his snort of derision at the asking.

          “And you are aware that only the Royals can bare the Ydarkra Honrae Dresht?”

          “Yes. However, I cannot verify your wearing of the Ydarkra Honrae Dresht without looking at you.”

          “So why won’t you look at me?” Mevralaud asked a lot more politely than he actually felt; still the effrontery of her actions intrigued him.

          “For you will then see me.” She responded as though it were obvious.

          “And why is that a problem?”

          “I have already shamed myself by being caught like this and that is on me for taking the chance. Must I be further shamed by having witnesses to my lack of discretion?”

          “There is no one here but us. Who would know?” Mevralaud asked

          “We would.” Amrieux replied. Mevralaud gave his best friend a withering look.

          “I am simply curious. Upon my word, I will not tell of this.”

          “I do not know of you to know whether your word is trustworthy EnCourt.”

          “If I am presumed worthy of being addressed as “EnCourt”, should not my word as EnCourt be as worthy?”

          “You sound young, but you also sound old enough to know that the integrity of a man’s title and the integrity of a man’s word are not one and the same.”

          Mevralaud could not help but acknowledge the truth in her logic.

          “You realize we could simply just snatch you by your hair and simply take a look at you.” Waidelm offered.

          “No!” The panic returned to her voice and if were possible, she shrank further into herself. She truly did not wish to have her identity known.

          “Why should I not?” Mevralaud came to one knee before her. He would have sworn upon the Ydarkra soul itself that she somehow shrank even more at the closeness of his voice.

          “The greater shame would then be on you.” She had not otherwise moved since she dropped to the ground. Mevralaud realized she was holding a perfect PlearKesk form. She was being well-trained in the forms of Ombeyant and could easily outlast his patience from that position.

          “And how do presume that to be so.”

          “You can force me to do that which I do not desire. You claim to be of the Royal Court, it is well within your right to do so. However, so bold a move would make you considerably less than a gentleman and even less of one as one EnCourt. It would be a sin against your people as one of the Darkran.”

          “What makes you think I am of the Darkran?” Mevralaud asked.

          “You stated earlier that you could show the Ydarkra Honrae Dresht. Unless it was an empty threat to trick me into exposing myself, I presume you are one of the sons; for you definitely do not sound old enough to be the Darkran himself.”

          “Yet you risk insulting a Darkran then? For what? Vanity? Pride?”

          “Family honor.” She was crying anew and shivering more. “For now, I have only shamed myself. To expose my face and make myself known brings that shame upon your house for sharing in this with me. It will also bring shame upon my family and that is not a price I am willing to have them pay.”

          “Perhaps you should have considered these possible ramifications beforehand.” Mevralaud chided.

          “The look backward is always more clear than the look forward EnCourt.” She admitted grudgingly.

          “So the question becomes: how do I satisfy my curiosity and you keep your family honor?” Mevralaud mused. “What if you closed your eyes and look up? Then you still will not honestly know if you have personally insulted a Darkran.”

          “But if you see my face, you may recognize family semblance and thus know who I am now. If not so now, should we meet again in the future, you may then know who I am and my family is still dishonored. Moreover, with my eyes closed I cannot prove true of the identity you claim.” She sounded almost smug near the end of it.

          “Ydarkra! Do you have an answer for everything girl?”

          “No, EnCourt.” She sniffled. “You simply have asked questions I have answers to.”

          Amrieux snorted in mirth.

          “Deyvra! Enough already!” Waidelm started to come towards her. “Let’s just have a look at her and be gone!”

          “NO!” Mevralaud and the girl cried out in panicked unison.

          Everyone momentarily froze as a large bolt of lightening followed by an appropriately loud crack of thunder broke upon the quickly darkening skies.

          “It is going to rain and soon. How long will you stay like this?” Mevralaud stood.

          “Twice I have held SittanKesk outside from mid-rise to mid-fall in full storm these past rains.”

          Mevralaud whistled at her response. He could tell from the tone of her voice that it was not a boast on her part; just a simple statement of fact; even Waidelm eyes widened in appreciation. If she could hold the SittanKesk from the middle of the day to the middle of the night in a full storm, her current position was much easier to bear. Mevralaud could not help but be impressed, but he simply had to know who raised such a young girl with such quiet and fierce dignity.

          It was starting to rain and heavily. The girl’s full head of dark curls were now plastered flat to her back and head. Mevralaud took off his coat, tossing it to Amrieux and removed the symbols of his status from his shirt before gently laying it across her still bent back. It was a symbolic gesture at best. The fine material would be no match for the sudden storm, but he knew she understood.

          “Thank you EnCourt.” She her voice was barely audible, using one hand to reluctantly slide the garment from her back and held it out to him all without moving her head, so not to be seen. “You are most gracious, but I cannot accept this.”

          “You truly test the limits of your fortune, do you not girl?”

          “I am sorry if I offend, and I know I do by now, but to accept this only worsens my shame. I could never be as ungracious as to discard this, but to keep it means I will have to explain how I came about it. As you will have to explain its absence and your complicity in this matter, such as it is.”

          Mevralaud shook his head as his brother grinned at his obvious frustration with this girl.

          “If it is destined for us to know each other, nothing we do will keep the knowledge from us.” The girl continued her reply. “All that is meant to be known to us, Ydarkra will make known to us, in a time of His own choosing.”

          “So what are you going to do EnCourt?” Amrieux teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm on the use of the lower title.

          “We’re going to leave her be.” Mevralaud shrugged. “She will stay like that as long as we stand here. Look at her form. It is a perfect PlearKesk. She is young, but already she shows skilled. She will not move. She will catch her death of ill in this rain. Do you want to be the one to explain how this occurred? You know something like that would surely reach Father. Her current shame will be nothing compared to ours then. We will not touch her and we will not let her suffer more than I have already put her through.”

          “Then can we please depart?” Waidelm gave a much exaggerated yawn.

          “Lyishar! Let us go then.” Mevralaud walked to Finiadd, mounting him. Amrieux followed suit with his mare.

          Waidelm paused for a moment too long looking at the girl.

          “Brother…” Mevralaud’s voice held clear warning.

          “We’ve stood here watching this insipid exchange between you two. I want to see who she is to bare such insolence to us.” Waidelm walked toward her.

          “You will not touch her!” Mevralaud dismounted, his voice holding no room for compromise.

          “I am eldest!” Waidelm turned on Mevralaud. “You dare to command me!”

          “I dare heed the covenants that we all honor the heart and soul of Ydarkra Rohn, which are His people. To force her to expose her identity betrays the spirit of that covenant in every way!” Mevralaud stood directly in Waidelm’s path. “Brother or no. Title or no. I cannot in all that we are vowed to uphold allow this!”

          For the first time Mevralaud noticed he was exactly his brother’s height. He used it to full advantage. The effect was not lost on Waidelm. Amrieux watched with interest at the unexpected change of events until Waidelm shoved Mevralaud to the ground and headed towards the girl.

          Mevralaud brought Waidelm down before he could touch the girl, but his efforts caused both brothers to crash into her. To her credit, she righted herself and had re-assumed the PlearKesk before either brother could stand, but not before the spur on Mevralaud’s heel scratch her arm. Both brothers stopped cold when she cried out in pain.

          “Ydarkra! Are you hurt?” Mevralaud touched her back. She shrank from the touch before realizing which brother touched her. She held out her injured arm and showed the small wound.

          “Deyvra! You’re bleeding!” Mevralaud cursed “Hold still.” He inspected the cut just inside the crook of her arm. It wasn’t very deep, but it felt it might scar. Spotting his shirt that fell in the tumble, he pointed to it, visually ordering Waidelm to give it to him. Surprisingly, his brother complied, by throwing the shirt at him as he walked to his horse and rode away. Mevralaud ripped the shirt, making an impromptu bandage, apologizing for their very un-EnCourt like behavior. Her thanks came out hoarsely. She was indeed going to be ill. He started to offer her the rest of the shirt again, but it was dripping wet itself and she had already stated her wishes, so he took it with him.

          “We will leave you now so that you may tend to yourself.” Mevralaud stood and bowed to her.

          Her head was as close to the ground it could possibly get without actually touching it, yet somehow he knew she saw him and returned the bow via a deep single nod of her head.

          He ran to Finiadd, leaping into his mount, slipping on the leather coat he had removed to give the girl his shirt. It fit much better against his bare, albeit wet skin.

          “Let us go and get the truth to Father before Waidelm can twist it.” He called to Amrieux before goading Finiadd into another full run. He gave the girl once last glance and as he suspected, she had not moved. He prayed for her well being and Ydarkra’s forgiveness for his folly in this before crashing through the forest after his brother.

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30 Stories in 30 Days | Day 3 – Okay, I’m done with this scene, but these characters will return later.

Alone Again

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Her auburn curls were once piled high
Now they hang limply around her cherub face
And no one hears her quiet sigh
She’s just the wallflower, sitting in her usual space

Eyes focused on one across the room, looking awkward
At he who brought her here saying she looked so very nice
She’s since learned that he has won the ‘pig date’ award
Now hanging with the pretty ones, he hasn’t looked twice

It’s a wonderful night for a moon dance
The pleasant thought when she first awoke
So cruelly hoist on their antagonizing lance
Yes, she’s once again the butt of the joke

The deep resignations in her sighs
Belie the tears that sting her eyes

She takes a moment to gather her soul
All the million tiny pieces that shattered
Once again beyond her control
Not that she thinks it ever mattered

Locked in the bathroom, it’s her only refuge
It’s the only peace that she can find
Where she doesn’t feel like somebody’s stooge
The only place she can ease her mind

At times she thinks she hears the means to her end
And knows she’s far too close to its soothing call
It is all she’s got, to not let herself descend
Beyond the point where she feels nothing at all

Some days she fights to keep trying
Some days she feels more like dying

So numbed by the hurt that seems her fate
Against the odds, she stopped defying
The undue stress of those who berate
Each day it is less she finds herself crying

The personification of a silent scream
A switch is flipped with that last tear
As though awakening verse from dream
She emerges soul empty of all once held dear

Back to sitting quietly on the folding chair
Every pleat of silk carefully folded around her knees
But no one really knows or cares that she’s there
Behind thick lens her eyes stopped screaming silent pleas

For it is all such a familiar refrain
In a crowded room she’s all alone again

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dVerse Poets Pub ~ OpenLinkNight | Week 64

30/30 – 2 | Watering Hole – Miranjii

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           Miranjii stretched and flexed her legs again working out the kinks from the morning training to be among the elite of royal service of Ombeyant. She had practiced the form of the SittanKesk or Self-Seated. Sitting on her haunches, knees together, feet flat on the floor with one’s face pointed to the sky, her hands to her side fingers lightly touching the floor to maintain balance only. Should she be summoned, her hands must them lightly touch the hem of her skirts to tuck it under as she uses her leg muscles only to rise, her back ramrod straight. A rise from the SittanKesk always finishing in the AttenKesk form of legs together, both arms bent at the elbow palms up, the left in front – the right in back; her head and eyes straight ahead. She had started the SittanKesk not too long after the beginning of rise. Her grandmother Raunna, having only called upon her twice, did release her from practice until the sun was well overhead, to full rise. Her young body felt so much older to her right now.

          “You held SittanKesk all rise?!” Lavrioraa shook her head in a very non-Ombeyant manner, impressed with the accomplishment and now understanding Miranjii’s desire to do little other than lay out on the grass after a short swim in the watering hole.
          “You are good! I started whining an hour into the position; I cannot stay in one position for so long! Papa simply could not take it and started whining to Mama who became annoyed at hearing him whine and both let me go. I know it will be my enyache that I’ll be the Ombeyant in service at an all night with the Darkran and LeadCourt. People will come in the morning wondering; what is that horrible new gargoyle in the throne room, then they’ll look again and realize it is only me turned to stone from having been in SittanKesk all night.”

           “Lavri, you are so silly.” Miranjii laughed heartily at her best friend’s theatrics.

          The two girls had a fierce friendship in common, but that was all.  Lavrioraa’s parents were wrapped around their second youngest of nine’s finger and knew it. An only child, Miranjii’s adonii let her get away with absolutely nothing. While Lavriaraa managed to do well enough in her studies, it was mostly due to the prodding of Miranjii who managed to be tops in her classes with little effort. Other than being the same height, even physically they differed. Lavrioraa was as tanned as any Ydarkran farmer of the Hassaunt Plains, while Miranjii had just enough coloring to let one know she has spent some time in the sun, but not much. Lavrioraa was willowy, while Miranjii was made of much sturdier stock. At seven reaagons Lavrioraa cried for a fortnight for her straight copper hair to be cut short, but no one listened to the girl. To this day, no one quite knows how she had managed to burn half of her hair to the point it had to be cut. For fear she would do something worse that would get her killed, her hair was kept short altogether after that. Miranjii inwardly sighed as she once again coiled the thick ebony locks that seemed to magically come loose to curl around her face. With it more heavy being dripping wet from swimming, she could not help but wish for the lightness of her best friend’s short style as they lay out on the grass.

          What had started as a miserable rainy morning as Miranjii went through her daily Ombeyant training had turned into a beautifully sunny afternoon. After much daring and outright coercing Lavrioraa had convinced the normally very careful Miranjii of the pleasures of lying out in the grass totally naked with the other girls that were there with them by the watering hole. Miranjii had to admit she enjoyed feeling completely decadent as she lay there the warmth of the sun washing over her tired muscles.

          “Did not your mother wear her hair so long also?” Selkoree asked.
          “Not once she became Vras according to Adoniicio.”
          “Then why do you have to?” Selkoee’s younger sister Vinloree shook water from her own cropped hair.
          “I’m told Mama wore her hair long as a child, but cut it when she became Vras. A married woman can wear her hair short or long. Adoniicio had no control over that.” Miranjii shrugged. “Adoniicio very much has control over me and I am a long way from Vras. Were I to accidentally burn mine as someone else has….” Miranjii winks at her best friend, “…I fear will very much wish I had done likewise with the remainder of me once my Adonii sees it. I think it would be less of a torture for me. Adoniicio has never so much as shortened her hair to my knowing. She would never be so rude to say such aloud for fear it may insult those who choose to have shortened theirs, but I believe she feels it is some mark of EnHonora to have long hair and the longer, the better. I was told my mother was not of that mind.”

          “Do you miss her?” Vinloree turned onto her back.

          “I have to say no, because I never knew either of my parents.” Miranjii paused to give it a moment of thought. “I would like to think Mama would have let me cut my hair some, but not too short to appease both Adoniicio and I. She and Papa passed into Rohn’s Hall during the Great Rains; I was barely of a moonface. Adonii says it is Ydarkra’s gift that I survived when my parents did not. Especially, when no other child under the age of two reaagons in the Hassaunt Plains survived the Great Rains.”

          “That is a gift indeed. I for one am doubly grateful to Ydarkra.” Lavrioraa nodded her head decisively.
          “How so?” Miranjii grinned kicking at a pebble.

          “For one, she was born in Verrage and did not come to the Plains until she was nearly three reaagons and two, that you did survive to be her best friend because no one else seems to be able to put up with the various forms of mischief you’re constantly pulling her out of.” An amused response came from behind them. Lavrioraa groaned at the sound of her older sister D’jarraa’s voice.

          “Considering half of the time I’m in mischief with her.” Miranjii laughed sheepishly. “I’m not sure that such is valid.”

          “You mean like laying out here as we are in the sun?” D’jarraa teased standing above them. Miranjii shrugged with a lot more confidence than she actually felt. That her Adonii Raunaa would be most upset was a vast understatement to say the least.  Lavrioraa frowned for a moment at her sister and then burst into a grin.

          “Race you to the rock and back!” Before anyone could give pause, she jumped up and took off running. Not in the least worried the other girls took off after her. Miranjii not wanting to go through yet another session of being teased for always being the good girl took off a moment later; the strides of her long swift legs easily catching up and eventually passing the other girls reaching the rock first.

          Simply running and enjoying herself, she kept running past the copse of trees and was totally out in the open when she heard her fellow playmates suddenly yelling. She turned and saw them all running back through the trees. She turned again to see a male on horseback heading straight towards them. Remembering her nakedness, she ran as though the fires of Briellekok were licking at her heels, but she was simply too far away from the trees. There was no way she could outrun a horse! Hearing the animal closing in she immediately dropped to PlearKesk.

          PlearKesk was the form of pleading only to be used dire need. It is the form used to help protect an Ombeyant from the physical wrath of the rare, but cruel member of EnCourt, or any one who would dare strike one who serves. The Ombeyant falls into a form of fetal position where the body curls in on itself; using the hands protect his or her neck and head. Usually the Ombeyant lies on one side leaving the cushioning of the arms, thighs and calves to take the brunt of the punishment. Choosing to hide her face Miranjii used the kneeling form, leaving her back, buttocks and soles of her feet exposed instead.

          For once she was completely grateful for her long hair as it had once again come loose from its coil during her run and now fell about her back and face providing her scant more coverage. If only if could be glued in place she thought to herself as she hears the horse come to a stop. All she can think, as she hears the footsteps of the approaching rider, is that he must not find out who she is. And how was she, a girl of ten reaagons naked and out in the open was going to accomplish that, she did not know…

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30 Stories in 30 Days | Day 2 – Yes, there is more to this one coming – see you tomorrow 😉

30/30 – 1 | Hello

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No longer in a mood for intellectual stimuli, she closes the heavy bound manual choosing to peruse a fluff espionage thriller type novel instead as she sits at a cafe and enjoys what is left of the wonderful weather. Autumn has hit in full Technicolor glory and such lovely days where a light cardigan was the only protection needed against the slight breeze were numbered. El sol glares bright enough to require her pulling down the sunglasses that were holding back the tumble of curls from her face to cover her eyes as she is part reading – part people watching while she slowly sips her jasmine infused tea. Pushing an errant curl behind her ear, she gazes out, spying a man walking up the street in the near distance.

No, walking is not the right word, he strutted.

Not a cocky Tony Moreno, a la Saturday Night Fever, strut. This was a cool measured purposeful stride. Looking mostly straight ahead, he had a destination, but with his thumb hooked in his belt front loop, he oozed self-confidence as he moved. Despite the casualness of his stride, she somehow knew he missed nothing of what was going on around him. As he came near the cafe he broke stride for only the briefest moment as he suddenly smiled.

She casually looks over her shoulder to see what fortunate woman was the lucky recipient of such wonderful smile, because why the hell would anyone want to deal with the likes of her.

She blinks, Whoa! Where the hell did that come from?

She already knew the answer before the question was asked, him; her ex-husband.

The man, her very young self had invested everything short of her soul to have. The public prince who was anything but behind closed doors. And a vivacious, outgoing, somewhat vain young woman was slowly changed into a dispirited, introverted recluse. She had turned into the living embodiment of the worthless, lackluster person he called her, proving his point. It took seven years of the abuse to get to that magic breaking point where she walked out the door one morning and never came back. On July 7th at 7am as it coincidentally, turned out. The Lucky Seventh as she eventually called the year. It was another two years of damn good friends and therapy before the divorce was final and another four years since then to now. In the interim she had already gone through the thrilling rise and tragic fall of a rebound relationship, another short courtship that ended amicably, had finally finished her masters, was now working on her doctorate and for the first time in a very long time was truly happy with herself. Still, every now and then, the hateful diatribe he once pounded into her would rear its ugly head and pop into her consciousness, like now.

The only other people sitting at the cafe were a couple currently oblivious to anything else in the world, but each other. The guy was almost within yards of her now, looking dead at her nodding a slight greeting; the smile was definitely for her. She knew if she didn’t respond, the smile would leave his face, he would keep going and that would be the end it; just two people acknowledging each in passing as it were, nothing more. For some reason she wanted more.

Why the hell would anyone want to deal with the likes of her? Why the hell not?

She takes the shades from her eyes, breaths and returns the smile.

“Hello.”

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Thanks to that darn instigator of personal writing challenges (yes you GirlGriot). I am now compelled to attempt the 30/30 Challenge. I will write 30 (hopefully), short stories in 30 days. Welcome to Day 1.