Ahab Amor FGC (2012) #2

Tiarna stumbled through the undergrowth, her heart hammering as her breath laboured in the unfamiliar atmosphere. Her body ached as it was weighed down under the dense gravity. Every movement felt as though she fought her limbs through treacle.

There was no need to look behind her. The crashing of saplings behind forced her unwilling body to continue.

Feeling for her side arm, she cursed unashamedly as she realised it had been lost in the struggle moments ago. Her legs screamed as she continued to pound them through the undergrowth.

She fought towards an opening into the jungle as light streamed through the vines. Tiarna clutched at a sapling to push her way into the golden beams, lost her balance as she realised the ground had also disappeared and her body flung helplessly downward. Her fingers tightened their grip around the sturdy trunk of the tree as she dared a peak at what lay below her. Her feet tingled as the expanse below her yawned wide. The crashing in the jungle above her had stopped. She listened hoping the pursuit had turned away from her perilous hiding spot. Hearing heavy footfalls gather speed away from her, Tiarna decided to attempted to push herself up against the crumbling rockface.  She calculated the drop to the rushing water beneath her was probably more than what she was willing to risk falling into.

Tiny rocks crumbled at the lip of the cliff, spilling over and showering her. as one of her pursuers steadied himself as he came to a halt above her. He face, crinkled like orange peel slowly registering his disbelief that he had lost his prey. Tiarna clung to the tree staring up at the stocky legs and brutal blade stained with the blood of her shipmates. 

He scanned the churning water and slowly checked the ledge. He sadistic smile widened as he locked his eyes on hers. His thickened arm brought his machete skyward. Tiarna closed her eyes and pushed herself away from the cliff, kicking her legs at the rockface to give her extra distance. The water below seemed close enough but as she hung in the air, she realised she’d misjudged the distance and prayed that it was deep enough to take her impact.

All too quickly, the icy cold drove the air from her lungs as she slammed into the water. Sharp pain shot through her chest as the raging river carried her buoyant body down stream.  Above the water, she heard the roar of her pursuer as he watched her escape.   In the wispy green froth of a backwashed eddy, she floated toward an edge. Tiarna dimly attempted to scratch her way into the bank, crying out in pain as something pulled at her shoulder and dragged her ashore.

Fading in and out of consciousness, she felt the warmth of a body as she was cradled and carried through a sparse forest. She screamed as she was jolted over the rough ground. Her world mercifully went black.

Snapping of twigs and a crackle of fire awoke Tiarna. She grunted as a dull ache in her chest reminded her of her tumble from the cliff. A large form stood from his crouched position near the fire and ambled hesitatedly across to her.  Its hairy face peered at hers as it extended one of its limbs across to her. 

“Damn it. Sorry, I don’t have my translator on me.” Tiarna brushed her hair from her face and attempted to push herself to a sitting position. She kept her face neutral, unsure what the welcoming protocol might be with this unfamiliar species. “ Uh. Hi. Greetings.”

A chair scraped across the wooden flooring and confident steps approached from behind the couch she way laying on.

“Pixy. No touching our guest.”  A more familiar human shape slid round the couch and knelt beside her. “Oh good. You’re awake. I wasn’t sure of the doseage for pain relief. Are you comfortable at least?”

Tiarna frowned but nodded. A fluffy pale blue face peeked over the mans shoulder. Two long fingers stole their way onto his shoulder.

The man reached up and patted them, smiling at Tiarna. “Water monkey. Only found on this planet. Very rare. Extremely intelligent species.”

Tiarna  swivelled her neck, taking in the simplicity of the cabin she lay in. It appeared to be one room, well sealed against the elements, basic necessities catered for, but no technology. She grasped at the mans shirt, pulling him close. “Where am I?”

Pixy’s top lip curled as a guttural growl reverberated around the cabin.  Xander stroked the monkey’s hand. “Its ok, Pixy. Go and boil the kettle for us, will you?” Pixy’s lips pursed as he frowned at Tiarna. Reluctantly with a sharp squeak, he ambled over to the fireplace.

The mans patient smile disarmed Tiarnas wariness. “You’re in shock and you’ve got a pretty nasty injury from your escape. I’m pretty certain most species across the universe begin with introducing themselves.” Those soft lips turned upwards as he smiled. “I’m Xander and this” as he gestured to the interior. “is my home. Pixy here found you at the side of the river. I’m not sure what you were wearing onboard, but it was pretty tatty by the time I found you. Sorry, but Pixy had torn most of it off you by the time I got there.” A slight flush rose from his throat. He stumbled on, “You were wet and moonfall on this planet drops the temperatures to sub zero temperatures. I. Erm.. ” The slight flush continued to colour his throat. “ had to undress you and get you decent again.”

Tiarna loosened her grip on his shirt; suddenly aware of the proximity between the two and shocked as her body reacted to him. She flattened her hand against his chest, allowing a moment to delight in the firmness underneath his cotton shirt. Her breath shortened as her heart hammered. She could feel the blood rise around her own cheeks. Swallowing hard, she dropped her hand; hoping he’d not sensed the flare of hormones she thought had died within her; killed off by relentless training and self control.

Tiarna  smiled, “Thank you. For saving me and for” she looked down at the well worn settlers smock and trousers, “Well, for making sure I didn’t freeze. Its fine; really.”  

His hand caressed her tight grip. “What do you remember?”

She flickered her eyes away from his steady gaze and forced herself to take  a deep breath. “My shipmates. All dead. It was an ambush. We had no chance. The blood.” Tiarna  raised her eyes up, tears forming. “All I can hear, are my shipmates screaming. I feel like such a coward. I ran. I just kept running. I should have stayed. Should have tried to help.”

His arms slithered around her and gently held her as she shook. She allowed her form to meld into his. Alarmed at her lack of self control she attempted to push him away. 

”I’m not normally like this. I’m sorry.” She attempted to straighten and sit up. His arms loosened, but continued to press against hers as his hand rubbed her back gently. Tiarna shook her head and took a deep breath. She could feel her heart racing as his hand continued to stoke her shoulder. “Where exactly are we?” looking towards the door fearfully.  “Its just that - those men, those things. I’ve seen them before. Normally bounty hunters. They’ll find us. Find me. They never stop until; ” She clasped a hand over her throat.

Xander smoothed the blanket she had on her lap across her legs slowly. Tiarna could feel every nerve ending tingle. His hands remained on the edge of the blanket, his fingers brushing her thigh. “That remains to be seen. Its dark out and will be for another 20 hours. Moonrise is only short this spin. Bounty hunter or not. They’d have to be good trackers to find us with no moon or trail tonight.” Xander smiled again. It made Tiarna relax.   “Lets try again. You are?”

“Tiarna. From The Ullu sector.” She flickered her eyes up to see if he picked her lie. She couldn't afford for this stranger, no matter how attractive or caring he seemed, to suspect who, or what she was.  “Our supply ship was on a routine drop to Settlers Cove.” Tiarna ’s fingers gripped the blanket. “We had nothing special on board. Nothing you’d kill anyone over. Instead of landing at the main dock, we were instructed to put down in a clearing a short way from it. Nothing unusual about that either. We do those sorts of things for new colony’s all the time. Most of you settlers don’t have any transport, so we just try and help out where we can. One moment we are lugging boxes and the next I hear screams. They way they looked at me. I knew I was next. I ran into the jungle.”  Tiarna’s breath became ragged.”So cowardly. I should have stayed.” She clawed at her throat making red marks across it. “Blood gushing out like theirs, screaming like they were.” Tiarna  began to gasp.  “So senseless. We had nothing of any value. Not really.”

She wheezed as the words caught in her throat, suddenly wondering if her identity had been discovered. She’d been so careful. Not even her shipmates suspected that she was anything other than space flotsam, interested only in the next cargo run. Xander’s hand ran up her arm and brushed across her cheek. His smile calmed her as the air between them sparked with intention.

“If you don’t mind me saying, apart from all your shipmates being murdered, your ship destroyed and a bunch of bounty hunters on your trail trying to tie up some lose ends, you seem to be pretty stressed.”

Tiarna  looked at Xanders solemn face incredulously. He burst out laughing and was quickly joined by her infectious giggle.  She howled with laughter and wiped away her tears.  “I don’t think I’ve laughed like that in years.”

He shrugged. “Laughter always helps to lighten the mood. Now, you’ll need some rest so the wound on your leg can heal. I’ve patched it up as best as I can, but you’ll need a medic.”

Tiarna flushed, realising that she had to trust him a little. “I can’t go to a human medic, I;” 

Xanders hand brushed against her cheek as he stood. “I’ve met Stelio before. Despite what you think, you aren’t that different. At least, from what I have seen.”

Her flush deepened as she realised that none of her ships uniform had remained on her body.  Xander brought her a steaming cup of tea. “Monkey made. The best you’ll have planetside.”

Pixy watched her intensely as she took her first sip, clapped as she smiled and snuggled into a bed of rags beside the fireplace. 

“Goodnight Miss Tiarna. Don’t worry about those three hunters. With the discharge from your burning ship, there is no way they’ll find a trail on you. We can look at options to get you onto a ship back to Nissar in the morning.”

Tiarna dozed as the painkillers dulled her senses. She woke suddenly as the events of the evening began to process. She moved her head round as the flickering of the fire played shadows on the walls.  Pixy’s mound moved rhythmically to what she suspected as its sleep pattern.  She relaxed as she heard deep breathing from a darkened corner. Tiarna slipped the blanket off her legs and attempted to put weight onto one leg. Pain shot through her body and she was forced to accept she would be unable to escape on foot. Tiarna’s fingers tingled as her suspicions began to rise about her rescuer. She’d not mentioned her ships demise, nor told him how many attackers there were. She’d initially found it strange that he hadn’t reacted when he looked at her. Tiarna flushed. He had to have seen her undressed and hadn’t been repulsed with her soft scaly chest.  Her species were not known to travel outside their solar system and although she was humanoid enough to pass casual scrutiny, her peoples lizard features were not generally considered attractive. They did, however, make up this feature with other skills. 

Her heart hammered as she thought of Xander laying in bed only a few feet away from her.   It had been years since she’d yearned for the press of another body against hers. Tiarna quickly quashed her wandering thoughts and looked around for a weapon. In the morning, she was determined to find out who he was and how he knew so much about her and the name of her home planet. 

A tiny blade, most likely from his megre food preparation area, lay on the table beside the couch. Tiarna picked it up to study it, quickly pushing it under the blankets as she heard Xander shift in his bed.  She turned to look at his form, shocked to discover he was standing behind her.

“I’m sorry Tiarna.” She padded over to the couch in bare feet and stood in front of her.  “You were just a job. Your shipmates. Regrettable but necessary.”

Tiarnas eyes flickered into slits, her camouflage disintegrating as her emotions began to discharge. “Just a job?”

“To find a Stelio this far from her home planet? Alone? Collectors from all round are desperate to secure your services.”

 “Services. You humans don’t even have enough words in your vocabulary to describe what I can do.”

“I’m sorry Tiarna. I didn’t mean to sound so cold. I only meant.”

She spat venomously “So all this was just a ploy. You knew who I was straight away.”

Xander brought out a communicator. “I knew. I was back up. They told me you’d fallen into the water and I was meant to intercept you and bring you in.”

“So why am I still here and not in some cage?”

Xander  flushed. “You looked so .. helpless. I didn’t expect you to be so beautiful. I’ve never - ” He shook his head. “Not cross species before.”

He set the communicator down. “They’re still looking for you. I told them you’d never made it down as far as me. The gators in that river get pretty big.”

Tiarnas eyes widened.

“Between you and me though - they don’t live in the fast running water sections - but don’t tell anyone - it keeps people away from these parts.”

Tiarna’s fingers felt for the hidden blade and inched it toward her palm.  “So what happens now?”

He sat beside her and brushed a hand across her hair. “You’ve no idea how hard it is to be in the same room as you. I’d always heard about the Stelio; about their effect on others. But never believed.”  One hand slid down to her arm which hid the blade. He moved in closer, his hot breath tickled her throat. “Its hard for me to work out what is natural attraction and what you are controlling.” His hand fondled the fingers which covered the blade.  “I say we take our chances.”  

Tiarnas breath shortened. She’d never felt the rush of emotions which now coursed though her body.  “Run? Hide?” She’d been running all of her life. Running from who and what she was. She rubbed her face against his and nibbled at his ear, whispering, “We are hardly inconspicuous with a Water Monkey in tow.”

Xander’s lips met hers;  lingering as they breathed in one another’s desire.  Tiarna dismissed the blade and brought her hand up around the back of his neck. 

He breathed, “We are hardly inconspicuous with a Stelio.”

As Xanders hands clutched around her body, his stunray clattered to the floor.

Tiarnas fingernails ripped the back of his shirt as he pushed her onto the couch. Her eyes glittered in the firelight “I say we take our chances together.”

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Word Count : 2 654


Ahab Amor - loose translation ( mixed languages)  - for the passion of love.

This story was written in response to Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge ( Romance) and currently still in draft format - awaiting final polish from feedback.

This story was submitted for #2 of FGC.

This  was also submitted to Friday Flash.

The Tangled Feathered Nest

Prompt: .... A man ducks into a dress shop to escape a sudden downpour and finds himself in the middle of a heated debate between employees.

Each week I also rise to an additional challenge - that to explore a different genre or writing style. This week I visit Fantasy of Manners .

Please suggest my next challenge in the comments - for ideas on the wide range of genres - go here. ps Paul - I will get to the ballad genre...

A typical fantasy of manners tale will involve a romantic adventure that turns on some point of social punctilio and is generally set historically. Moliere is most famously known in this style. Given the nature of a short story, the usual set up of characters, their interplay and backgrounds are confined; thus my adaptations below. I hope I have captured some of the tangled web and languaging!

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The usually dreary and flaccid November evening mist swirled with animated haste. A further crack of thunder reverberated within the stone alleyway, followed by a brilliant lumenation of the city streets as lightning shot across the sky. Harold frowned at the inconvenience of this unannounced storm and continued his rush toward the station. He despised tardiness and although had set toward his destination with plenty of time, ran the risk of missing his connection if waylaid for long. A sudden downpour, so ferocious, it obscured his path, forced him to take refuge inside the nearest shop; which thankfully still had its doors open

A brass bell overhead tinkled discordantly as the heavy wooden door swung open revealing a moderate sized dressmakers shop, resplendent with samples of the highest fashion and bolts of expensive material displayed on tables.

A disembodied voice struck out through the heavy velvet curtain at the back, “I told you, Charles, we’re closed. Take your custom elsewhere; this is a decent establishment. you’ll have your strumpets altered garments as soon as I’m done.”

Harold, held the door open and stared toward the voices origin, too stunned to respond. His long coat jacket, despite being exposed to the elements for scant moments was drenched; the dampness seeping though to his fine cotton shirt and chilling his chest.

Beyond the curtain the voice continued a hissed conversation. “And another thing, what sort of reputation do you think we are going to gain if it is known that we are willing participants in this disgraceful arrangement?” The acrid tone of the voice left Harold in no doubt to her thoughts on the scandalous matter she and a hidden other were discussing; oblivious to his presence.

A low murmuring forced Harolds ears to strain listening for the others reply, but he gave up quickly and turned to leave.

“To think, he could have any eligible woman in London, but he chooses a nobody, a married nobody and and ugly one at that! If it weren’t for her penniless title no-one would have married her.”

Harold was torn whether to exit the scene and reenter the deluge still occurring the street, or to continue being an unwilling evesdropper to a conversation he was certain he had no wish to be part of.

A third person joined the heated discussion. “I’ve half a mind to tell her husband and then we’ll see some fireworks!”

The haughty first speaker countered, “I’ve heard he’s killed several men on the dueling field for simply looking at his wife the wrong way.”

A cold thrill of recognition shot through his veins. He grasped the door and gently tugged it open ; the movement sending the bell shrilling his presence.

“Charles are you still there? spying on us? Take your mistresses garments it will save us from returning them forthwith!”

A sharp faced woman thrust herself through the curtaining, shortly followed by a frightened maid clutching an armful of ruffled skirts. Her fierce looks gave way to shock and then anguish. “Oh beggin your pardon sir. We didn’t hear you come in. My foolish maid thought it was one of our regular customers.”

Harold inclined his head slightly. “It is I would should beg your pardon, I’ve come in out of this rain and have only this moment stepped in. I’m sorry for bringing in so much water, but as I said, have only just arrived on your doorstep.” He stared at the maid intensely as she attempted to obscure her face with the armful of clothing.

Ignoring the dressmakers flustered looks, he scrutinised the maid. “You wouldn’t frequent the theatre district by chance would you?”

The older lady flapped her hands and shrieked with laughter. “oh Mollys as thick as two planks and couldn't speak louder than a whisper if her life depended on it.”

Mollys momentary lapse in characterization as anger flashed over her practiced dulled face confirmed to Harold her true identity. She flushed realizing she had been found and bobbed a curtsy to her mistress; turning to go. The dressmaker grasped the girls thin arm and wretched her back into the shop. “Beggin your pardon again sir. I must send this stupid girl on an errand and then I would be happy to make you a nice cup of tea till the rain stops.” She glared at the girl and pushed her toward the door.. “Take these.. things back to Mr Charles Featherington. Our invoice will follow on the morrow.”

Harold held his hand aloft. “Mr Featherington in Belmont Square? By chance, I am calling on someone closeby. I would be happy to take Miss Molly via a hansom cab. It will certainly save those expensive gowns from being damaged or stolen by ruffians.”

Mollys vast theatrical experience covered the momentary look of horror which crossed her face as Harold grinned at his lover. The dressmaker smiled thinly. “That would be most kind sir. But don’t go worrying about this idiotic lamb.”

“Oh I insist. Its not out of my way at all. I am sure Mrs Featherington will be keen to try her new garments on.” Harold eyed his wifes expensive ballgown as it dragged across the roughened wood floor. It would seem his duel challenge to Charles Featherington would be more entertaining than he had anticipated.

A Serve of Justice

Prompt: A couple of adults get dressed up for some Halloween fun but the night doesn’t go as planned....

Each week I also rise to an additional challenge - that to explore a different genre or writing style. This week I visit Gaweda . Though I have taken some liberties ,I still utilized the essence of an oral tale with coloquial language liberally sprinkled throughout but focusing on Sarmatian morals.

Please suggest my next challenge in the comments - for ideas on the wide range of genres - go here.

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Matt twisted and peered down through the hot pink feather boa set on strangling him and looked at his newly waxed legs smothered in fishnets.

“Are you sure your girlfriend doesn’t mind us borrowing this?”

“Are you kidding? She’s the one who suggested it.” Pete grasped his overstuffed bra and fondled them grinning into the mirror.

“How do women put up with all this stuff?” Matt tugged on his shirt skirt, attempting to cover what decency he had left, in the process overbalancing on his heels and tumbling onto the bed.

Immediately there was a loud tap on the door. No doubt the girls had been standing there the entire time, suppressing the giggles which now resounded in the hall way. “Are you boys ok? At the risk of sounding like you before we go out, I need to tell you to hurry up or we will be late.”

“Nup we’re done. Prepare to be amazed.” Pete flung the door open, revealing three of his female friends in various positions against the now absent door. Amongst the disarray of stockings, garter belts, plumes of hairspray, scarves, shoes skirts and blouses stood two moderately attractive "women", dressed to go clubbing. Striking a convincing pose, Pete blew a kiss at his friends, while Matt continued to pull at his errant underwear.

Janet grinned. “The longer I go out with you, the more disturbed I am about your upbringing.” She shook her head as Pete rubbed his lips together, ensuring that his colour was evenly distributed.

“You know Matt, you should wear heels more often and that dress really accentuates your curves.”

“Right, that’s it, I’m not going. Or give me a sheet, I’ll go as a ghost.” He kicked the shoes of and sighed with relief.

Janet grasped at his befeathered neck and pleaded, “Oh come on I was just joking. You guys will be a riot. No-one is going to recognize you. And remember its all for charity.”

“Thank god” muttered Matt almost inaudibly, rubbing his feet before inserting them into the torturous footwear again.

Janet put her arms around their shoulders and critically assessed their makeup and outfits. “No seriously , you look great, if not a bit drag queenish. Lets go out – just us girls!”

She winked at the other two in the doorway and guided the reluctant Matt and jubilant Pete out to the car.

Throughout the night, Matt had gained confidence and even after the unveiling of masks and costumes, the pair had insisted at continuing to wear their outfits. As Janet had predicted, the Halloween fundraiser was a success; the crowning glory of the evening featuring the boys flirting with the audience around the pole dancing podiums.

Janet pleaded with them to stay on after the function had ended, but conceded her defeat when reminded of the lads busy schedule and appearances the following day. She blew kisses after them as they walked through the nightclub district. As they wound their way toward their parked car through the late night revelers spilling out on the footpaths outside pubs and bars, Pete and Matt were greeted with good hearted whistles and laughter. Despite looking worse for wear with streaked mascara and wigs at a disheveled angle, a casual glance might have passed them as a normal pair of suburban girls (albeit on the larger size) on their way home from a night out.

The breaking of a glass bottle behind them alerted them to a more negative aspect of the nights denizens.

“*kin hate youz queers.”

They stopped still, the hairs at the back of their necks standing to attention as the grogginess of an overabundance of champagne quickly wore off.

“Oii, youze poofers, cum and give me kiss.” A drunk raucous laughter erupted around them. Half a burger landed in Matts hair. He delicately picked it out of the wig and turned around.

“I’m assuming you won’t be wanting to eat the rest of this?” as he fluidly threw it into a nearby bin.

Pete flicked a look over the two office jockey sharing their private discriminatory jokes. “Come on lets go home and leave these drones to their misery.”

“*kin poofers, messin up the gene pool. Youz all need killin. Cum here ya fairies, I’ll *kin kill youz where ya stand.” One of the men flourished a few ineffectual punches in the air around him. Matt and Pete attempted to take a step sidewards to avoid him but were blocked by a larger man who then stood in front of them with his arms crossed.

“A pair a poofters just waiting to get dun by us. Cum on I’ll have yaz. Right lads into ‘em”

Glancing only momentarily at each other Pete and Matt gave their trademark stage wink and barreled into the bigoted group.

Not wanting their cage fighting licenses to be revoked, they left the scene before the police arrived, but not before dishing some justice of their own.

Love Links

Prompt: Your character finds a mysterious package on his/her doorstep. What’s inside?

Each week I also rise to an additional challenge - that to explore a different genre or writing style. This week I visit Court Intrigue.

This story continues a sub plot at the Spanish Royal Courts found in the Captain Juan series with the mysterious character from here. Although you don't have to have read any of the series - it might fill some blanks if you do.

Please suggest my next challenge in the comments - for ideas on the wide range of genres - go here.

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The tallow candle crackled as a tiny particle of moisture sizzled from the wick. A darkened hand drew the light closer to the parchment as his hand feverently scratched its way across, desperate to capture the thoughts before they disappeared with the light. Creamy delicate lace cuffs brushed over the still drying ink as the quill returned to the ink pot; the tiny tap of the tip touching the bottom a testament to the urgency of the message being inscribed. The deliberate scratching of the nib across fine linen parchment suddenly came to a halt.

Dark, hunters eyes flicked toward the wooden door. Without feeling for it, he sensed the thin blade pressed against his ankle; which in seconds could hurtle across the room with a deadly accuracy.

Whoever was at the doorway had hesitated and for reasons only known to themselves had withdrawn; perhaps intimidated by the menacing energy inside.

The thick brodicade curtains breathed shallowly as the evening breeze licked around the castle. The figure allowed a few moments to search the skys. The constant flurry of pigeons from the turrets had continued throughout the day; no doubt their gentle flutterings would be replaced in the morrow with the first of the official mourners and the over abundant retinue each required. Although never close to the Queen, he’d been saddened by her untimely death and her newly born and sickly babe was not expected to draw breath past the evening. He was disgusted at the callousness of the courtiers who had already begun to prepare potential brides for the king to pander over; and the queen still cooling in her bloodied bedchambers.

He looked over his notes and grunted with satisfaction; pressing the blotting pad neatly over his work, creasing it into an envelope and sealing it securely with a firm impression of his ring. The French Courts no doubt will be baying for blood after this obvious lack of medical care as she birthed; conveniently forgetting that the royal princess had been married off to dispose of her. It was his duty to ensure the fires were fueled appropriately.

His eyes darted again toward the doorway and in a fluid motion glided across the room, unlatching and flinging the heavy door open. Instead of a evesdropper crouching at the keyhole, a small leather bound box sat on the threshold. A furtive glace at the empty and somber hallway confirmed that the messenger had long gone.

Scooping it up, he brought it into his work desk and opened the latch, revealing a number of letters and pigeon messages. He recognized the one he had intercepted earlier last month and slowly sucked the cooling evening air inward. He’d never picked the Queen to be sentimental with her lovers and was shocked as he read some of the letters at the obvious depth this couple had felt for one another. Without the vital clue to the origin of the wayward pigeon last month; these letters might have been a fanciful and exotic souvenir. Several yellowed scraps of parchment lay at the bottom of the box. As he picked one up, a tiny lock of hair, held delicately with a blue ribbon fell out. His brow wrinkled as he read the script within. “Matthias, I fear this is as close you may ever get to your father or to your loving mother.” The other scraps bore scant records of a babys growth; written in an unfamiliar but educated feminine hand.

His urgent report sat forgotten on the desk; the tallow candle snapping and crackling as it sunk closer to the dish it stood in. As much as he would have loved to stay to watch the parading of eligible fillies within court; he felt this unanswered puzzle required the immediate attention of his superiors. Their careful records could confirm his suspicions of a secret royal child and open future opportunities in the downfall of the Spanish stronghold over his beloved France.

His lips pursed; confused at the identity of his messenger. No doubt it was someone close to the Queen, who was both privy to the contents of the box and to his identity and purpose.

Regardless to their intent, his position was now compromised and he would need to make his escape immediately. Pulling prepacked saddle bags from a concealed space. He threw on an extra cape and strode out the door, leaving behind five years accumulated wealth within the courts. Once back in the safety of his masters stronghold, appropriate social excuses could be made for his sudden departure and the piecing of clues to this royal intrigue could begin.

Surviving the Ratings

Prompt: Pick your favorite movie monster and give it a makeover

Each week I also rise to an additional challenge - that to explore a different genre or writing style. This week I visit Fan Fiction.

Please suggest my next challenge in the comments - for ideas on the wide range of genres - go here.

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Kurts pale eyes flickered up at the blond make-up artist fussing over him. His hair had never done as it had been asked and now stood straight upward, as if in revolt to the myriad of hair products utilized on it in the past half hour.

He glanced menacingly at Carina. She had stood for the last hour in the same pose, rooted to the spot; with an expression mixed between fascination and horror.

“And you’re sure this is a good idea?” Kurts lips curled slightly emphasizing his short canines.

Carina glanced down at her IPhone, swept her hand over the screen and studied it for a moment.

“Give me some credit here Kurt. Your ratings are at an all time low. We need to boost your image. You need to be more accessible to your fans; what there are left – and this gives you a chance to attract new ones – a younger market.”

He growled and turned his attention toward the brightly lit mirror.

“Ok, Eyes closed, I need to put a base coat to stop the sheen.”

Kurt inwardly groaned. That squeaky high pitched voice was about to tip him over the edge, years of counseling and anger management or not.

“After your last indiscretion, its amazing you have been given the opportunity to appear on television ever again.”

Kurt leapt up , bouncing the makeup artist across the room with satisfying splat. “Indiscretions? How come Robert Downy Junior can be sent to jail for what he did and now look at him? He can’t do a thing wrong in Movieworld. I was never convicted. No-one can prove a thing.”

“Get a grip and remember who you are talking to. Hollywoods first rule – love your agent!” Carina ran her hand over the prone girls forehead and then felt for a pulse. “At least this one is still alive. You’ll need to take a chill pill when you are in there.”

“But Mystery Celebrity Big Brother? Is this really the best you could come up with. Seriously Carina?”

Carina stepped over the body and brushed her thin white hand over Kurts shirt. She closely scrutinized his overall appearance carefully. “You’ll do, I don’t think we need to call for another make-up artist. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the new hosts. Just remember, they think you are DJ Wolfman Jack.”

Kurt glanced uncertainly down at the body. At least there was no blood this time. “Ahh, Carina, he died fifteen years ago. Won’t some of the other guests realize I’m not him?”

“Please. Paris Hilton is one of the housemates. The others have just as much intellect as she does. They won’t have a clue.”

Carina smugly grinned as she watched Kurt unconsciously tug and scratch at his clothes on his way to the studio and Big Brother set. The payout she would receive once the inevitable occurred during the moonlight skinny dip challenge would be enough for her to escape from Hollywood and whatever fall out occurred. It was a dirty scene and she was sick of it in anycase. Kurts guest appearance tonight tied up so many lose ends for so many people. She glanced again at her screen, watching the ratings for the live episode mount. How Kurt could think that some hairspray and foundation could constitute a make-over for his kind beggared her belief. Flicking her IPhone into its case, she sashayed out the door and toward her new life.

Confederate Memories

Prompt: You wake covered in blood, clutching a diamond earring and no memory of the night before..

Each week I also rise to an additional challenge - that to explore a different genre or writing style. This week I visit Sword and Planet

Please suggest my next challenge in the comments - for ideas on the wide range of genres - go here.

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This story has been removed for further editing and refining.. Hopefully it will be submitted to competitions and perhaps an Anthology...


thanks for popping by when it WAS up.. and leaving your comments

Golden Romance

Prompt: The house lights dim, the curtain goes up… you’re on.

Each week I also rise to an additional challenge - that to explore a different genre or writing style. Last week, I had been given the challenge of writing a romance in the style of Barbara Cartland. Having never read one of her books, I went to the library and quickly read the first that came to hand. I hope I give justice to her particular style of romance with this weeks offering.

If you’d like to suggest a genre for me to write in next week – please leave it with your comments!

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Suzanne flickered her long eyelashes and stole a glance at Kurt. He’d already sunk into the arrogant stance of his character and stood poised for the opening line. She could hear the impatient murmur of the audience on the other side of the thick curtain and quickly ran her hands down her costume, ensuring it was sitting straight, before giving the final nod to the stage manager.

The house lights dimmed as the curtain went up and the Stage Manager strode across to centre stage in front of the actors.

“Your gracious patience has been noted gentlefolk. As our belle, Maria has been taken mysteriously ill, her part will be played by her understudy, the lovely Suzanne Manners. And now with no further ado..” he swept his hand across the stage and signaled the orchestra to begin the opening number.

“I’m on.” The panicked thought ripped through Suzanne, but with practiced ease, she opened her mouth and began singing; enthralling even the most disinterested audience member.
Suzanne could tell Kurt was unnerved at her performance, but it was hardly surprising. He’d been icily polite to her throughout the haphazard rehearsals with his philandering nature substantiated with his consistent post show liaisons with the other chorus girls. Anytime she had been called to practice her pieces, he’d looked bored or had simply slipped out with one of the other girls.

Her sudden thrust in the limelight had been a shock; but one she was not unprepared for. The rowdy rabble of ill-educated miners were hardly a match for some of the audiences she had had to woo in the past. A stab of sadness struck her as she though of her recently dead father and of her decision to find adventure in the minefields. If it hadn’t been for Nanny; she’d have submitted to the will of the bickering family members and her life would have been very different now. Suzanne twirled and finished her opening number with a flourish, allowing another wistful glance at the striking figure beside her and a wink to Nanny sitting in the front row.

The musical continued, the age old story of love lost and found again, betrayals and denial of emotions between the characters. It was one of three complete scripts the theatrical society had in their possession, and although most of the audience knew the story and songs after years of performance by various actors, they enjoyed the variety new blood brought to the roles.
Suzanne shivered as Kurts strong arms surrounded her. She lay her head on his chest and stared up into the dusty rafters, delighting in the rich timber of his voice as he serenaded his sweetheart. Her impassioned response and embrace was untainted by acting or pretence as she wished that the words he sang and spoke were truly ones from his heart to hers. As the last notes of the first act lingered, the audience erupted with cheers, throwing tiny pouches with gold dust onto the stage, particles glittering on the strong stage light beams.

The thick wooden doors at the back burst open violently and a half dozen soldiers, bedecked with brass buttoned uniforms and polished rifles burst in. The captain pushed his way in. “Sir Theodore. Your family will delight in knowing you are safe and well. It is my duty now to escort you back to England so that you may now take the responsibilities of the family estate.”
One of the heavy set miners stood up and faced him. “Ooi, don’t you mean Sir Percival? You got his name wrong.” A chorus of agreement followed.

The captain frowned and quizzically looked up at Kurt, whose arms were still held Suzanne. Kurt erupted in a huge theatrical laugh, “My dear fellows what a joke you now play on me. Just back from war and you need some entertainment? Why not meet me at the Empire Hotel later on and we can share further merriment.”

Suzanne looked up into the fierce eyes, glittering and glaring deep warnings at the Captain. The Prompt at the side stage flicked uncertainly through his copy of the script, searching for the amendment of the play.

“Sir Theodore, or Percival or whatever foolish name you have decided to take on; Your family awaits, as does your fiancée.”

The audience gasped, the biggest intake from Suzanne as she disentangled herself from Kurts grip. “Fiancee? How could you? You made me love you and I love you more than life itself. You are nothing but a bounder and a cad. All the stories about you are true.” Suzanne turned and began to weep.

The Prompt at the side flurried through his pages confused and angry he had not been given the updated script. The orchestra began a lamenting soulful tune, and the audience booed theatrically at Kurt; enjoying the new twist to an otherwise tedious interpretation of the script.

“I don’t love her. I love you.” Kurts hands found Suzannes shouldered and slipped over the satin white curves. “Be my bride, come back with me to the Estates. Let me take you away from all of this.”

Suzanne turned and looked up at him. “But all those women, you’ve never once looked at me. Really spoken to me.”

“I watched every movement you made since you first arrived. I have loved you from your first word.” He held her hands and searched her eyes intently. “ I don’t care if you are a penniless prospectors daughter. I love you and want you to be my wife.”

Tears trickled down her face as she gazed at him. “My darling, I have secrets which I too must reveal. I am the Wirthstein Heiress, not kidnapped as the papers state, but ran away to find adventure. I found that in spadefuls here on the gold fields, but I have also found love.”
The audience exploded with cheers and applause whilst the Captain continued to stare in confusion about him.

The two figures embraced with true passion as the lights dimmed. Kurt lifted Suzannes face with a gentle finger on her chin. Slowly and deliberately, her pressed his lips softly to hers, the moist whisper turning to an urgent hunger as they continued to embrace.

Lone Stars

Prompt: The Starry Night by Van Gogh

Each week I also rise to an additional challenge - that to explore a different genre or writing style. This week I visit Survivalist Fiction.

If you’d like to suggest a genre for me to write in next week – please leave it with your comments!

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This story has been removed for further editing and refining.. Hopefully it will be submitted to competitions and perhaps an Anthology...

thanks for popping by when it WAS up.. and leaving your comments

A Silver Dagger of Dread

Prompt: Your character is determined to do something they know to be a mistake.

Each week I also rise to an additional challenge - that to explore a different genre or writing style. This week we visit horror – thanks to Williams suggestion. I have also decided to write in a different point of view - one I've never tried before.

If you’d like to suggest a genre for me to write in next week – please leave it with your comments!


“Ya sure your aunt won’t mind us just lobbing up here?”
Three heads crowded around the heavy wooden doorway and peered into the expansive living area.

You grin widely and opened the door to let your friends in and say confidently “Shes away for summer. As long as we leave things like we found them – no-one will be the wiser. Right?”

Carl slaps you on the shoulder as he muscled his way in. “I brought beer. Wheres the telly?.” You wonder if that was a friendly ‘friend slap’ or whether his hand lingered a little longer than it needed to. You watch him saunter into the space and wonder when the low slung jeans will submit to gravity and fall to his knees. You are sure he hasn’t any underwear on today. You blush and try and look away.

Amanda totters in. You wonder how she managed to ride her bicycle in heels that high. She lifts one of the sheets covering the lounge. “Whats with the covers?”

You shrug.

She fluffs them, sending tiny particles of dust into the last rays of sunlight. “Its a bit old fashioned. You know, a bit weird.”

You wonder if she is actually saying that you were weird and old fashioned and hope that Carl hadn’t heard. Marco saves the uncomfortable silence and slings his arm round your shoulders. “You haven’t met her aunt.” You all giggle.

A crackling hissing noise suddenly starts around the corner. Carl must have found the television, but as per her routine, your Aunt has unplugged the aerial.

Marco flashes you a smile. “I’ll sort it. Why don’t you and Mandy get the rest of the food and gear in for our little party tonight?”

A silver dagger of thrill rips through your body as you think of being in close vicinity to Carl Handers overnight. Your feet woodenly make their way out to where everyones bicycles are leaning against the staircase and railings.

Amanda grasps the backpacks and bags at the bottom of the stairs. Shes stronger than she looks. “How come the power still on? Shouldn’t your Aunt turn it off while she is gone?”
You shrug again. “She likes to keep a light on in different rooms – makes it look like someone is still here. Its good for security.”
Amanda sniffs, looking about the sleepy street. “Can’t imagine anything more exciting than a dog shitting on the lawn happens here.”

That silver dagger thrusts itself into your gut as you try not to imagine exciting things happening under the doona covers later tonight.

After demolishing the masses of junk food we had brought along, everyone settles under sleeping bags on the floor to watch the third DVD.

You read the title and a small sheen of sweat glows on your brow. “That’s rated M +. How did you get your hands on that Carl?”

He gives you a wink and slugs down another beer. “Same way I got these of course.”

“Well what I was going to say was I love horror as much as the next person and we all know its all just tomato sauce and the stories are so ludicrous they are laughable. I just thought maybe we all might like to see a classic next instead of that?” You hope your voice didn’t resound the whiny tone it had in your head. Your hand trembles at the thought of watching the movie Carl has in his hand.

“Not scared are you?” Carls blue eyes etch deeply into yours. You hold your breath, hoping he doesn’t hear your hammering heart.
“Course not. Put it on. We’ll all have a laugh.” The sound of confidence in your voice gives you some hope that you will actually enjoy it.

The flickering peaceful images of the opening scene give way to blood spattering and screams within moments. We all laugh nervously.
“See? Not that bad and the body count is already 5 within the first few mins!” Carls eyes flashed as he grabbed another beer and gulped deeply.

“Hey Nessie, it’s a bit cold. Where does your aunt keep her spare blankets? You know not the ones on her bed or anything.”

You can see Marco visibly shaking but are unsure if its from fear or the sudden drop in temperature the house has experienced. You point toward the spare room. She’s got a cupboard in there full of blankets and pillows. Help yourself.

Marco folds his arms around himself and lurches off into the darkness. “Hey the light in here isn’t working. Never mind – found the cupboard.”

Vaguely you hear him opening the cupboard door and the soft plumpf of pillows falling. You smile and chide yourself. You had meant to warn Marco that your aunt overstuffs her cupboards and to be careful.

Another pair of teenagers are dispatched in a gory manner and your all scream at the brutality and suddenness of the attack. Carl shifts slightly toward you and you drink in the warmth his body is exuding. You dismiss a thump from the other room and the muffled surprised question as you lean nonchalantly in past Carl to reach for a beer. Your eyes lock as he grins at you and opens it with a flourish. You try to smile back after taking a swig of the bitter warm beer but only manage a grimace.

The unseen alien/ monster captures a few of the teenage stragglers and drags them to its lair. Your heart is hammering as the camera pulls into a wide shot detailing the full horror of its hunting trip at the summer camp. Amanda screams and hides her head. You feel like vomiting, but are unsure if it’s the beer or what you just saw. The smell of warm blood curls around your head, teasing your nostrils and threatening your stomach to take it one step closer to bringing to light its contents.

“Wheres Marco?” Amanda whispers. You nearly laugh. She is trying the old ‘I’ll just get distracted by something and have to leave the room so I don’t have to watch any more of this trick’. Your eyes are glued to the screen, following the heroines steps as she slinks past the monsterous feeding scene. She is tantalizingly close to escaping, but any sudden movement or noise could alert the alien. You hold your breath and allow a little of it to escape to answer Amanda. “He went to get a blanket in the next room. But he might have had to go to the loo.”

She screams. The heroine is frozen, staring at the gorging monster.

“I just felt something grab my leg.” She flings her doona cover about and flaps her hands over her foot.

“Shhhh” Carl and you hiss at her. As one you both turn your attention back to the screen. Thankfully the heroine hasn’t moved.

We all scream as a second monster appears to the left of her and a chase scene begins. Amanda continues to scream and gurgle, but quietens down as the heroine climbs out of the sewer system and runs into the arms of a muscle bound army officer.

The television suddenly blacks out and the rest of the house plunges into an inky darkness. Carl shifts beside you and you hear him take another swig of his beer. “Your Aunt forget to pay her electricity bill?” he laughs and you also attempt to chuckle.

“Hey Amanda, you can poke your head out now – the movie is over.” Carl rolls to the side and you hear him kick the area she had been laying.

“Where’d she go?”

The silver dagger rips down your front and plunges into your heart as you begin to shake and try to stand.

“Mandy? Marco? Stop fooling around. Turn the lights back on. This isn’t funny.” You call out hoping to sound confident .

There is a small flash of light which illuminates Carls surprised face. As it fades, blood vomits from his mouth and you begin to scream.

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I'm not a fan of horror – especially slasher type movies. However, if I do watch them, I am constantly shouting at the main characters not to open the door ( or cupboard etc) Sadly they never listen to me – to their ultimate and bloody demise. I was influenced by the pappy teenage horror flicks for this story.