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mystictiger
Star
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2014
I realise the following is kind of a cliché thing to say but - I struggle to write these things, so the short version is as follows. The short version is:
I like telling stories with (rather than to) other people: Your character(s) + my character(s) + Our World = Our Story
Interaction is key to me; if I wanted to read something (or indeed write my own), I'd go do it somewhere else, by myself. But we're here to tell a story together, which means working together. Sort of like dancing, except that I dance like a fish in a blender (badly, and it's awkward for everyone involved). And, just like dancing, I think there should be compromise, communication, and agreement. Or maybe I just dance wrong.
What stories would I particularly want to tell?
I don't have a list of pairings because my mind really doesn't work like that. I mean, when I go to the cinema to watch a movie, it's because I want to see "The Three Musketeers" not Swordsman x Maid.
Last Words?
They couldn't hit the side of a barn at this ra...
Ahem.
And because it's apparently the done thing, here's a (very) short story:
For making it through to the end, you deserve a treat.
Yes. I know. I'm easy. And cheap too. If any of the above tickled your fancy, drop me a PM. Tell me your favourite kind of pie in your reply so I know you've read this. If any of the above tickled your fancy, drop me a PM. Tell me your favourite kind of pie in your reply so I know you've read this
I like telling stories with (rather than to) other people: Your character(s) + my character(s) + Our World = Our Story
Interaction is key to me; if I wanted to read something (or indeed write my own), I'd go do it somewhere else, by myself. But we're here to tell a story together, which means working together. Sort of like dancing, except that I dance like a fish in a blender (badly, and it's awkward for everyone involved). And, just like dancing, I think there should be compromise, communication, and agreement. Or maybe I just dance wrong.
Dutch Rap! I mean, seriously, if you can rap in a language where nothing rhymes, you're awesome.
To my mind, there are three virtues for online RP: politeness, elegance, and articulatene... articulari... bein' able to talk proper. I'm not a grammar Nazi (at least not yet), but syntax is sexy. The player(s) I'd be after should therefore be literate, but we won't necessarily write literature. I don't mind typos, and am indeed guilty of making more than one or two myself.
I can't promise to be able to write 20-paragraphs of Dickens (I much prefer Dumas); to me, story is about interaction. Quality is more important than quantity. So if you have a certain minimum number of paragraphs to make a story worth your while, then I'm probably not the writing partner for you. It's not because I have nothing say, but because there'll be times when interaction, action, drama, or something else mean that the interplay should be staccato rather than orchestral.
To my mind, there are three virtues for online RP: politeness, elegance, and articulatene... articulari... bein' able to talk proper. I'm not a grammar Nazi (at least not yet), but syntax is sexy. The player(s) I'd be after should therefore be literate, but we won't necessarily write literature. I don't mind typos, and am indeed guilty of making more than one or two myself.
I can't promise to be able to write 20-paragraphs of Dickens (I much prefer Dumas); to me, story is about interaction. Quality is more important than quantity. So if you have a certain minimum number of paragraphs to make a story worth your while, then I'm probably not the writing partner for you. It's not because I have nothing say, but because there'll be times when interaction, action, drama, or something else mean that the interplay should be staccato rather than orchestral.
I've spent a lot of time thinking about the sort of stories I like, and what links them:
-Flawed & interesting characters. To me, it's the rough edges that make them interesting; ordinary people doing extra-ordinary things despite their shortcomings are way more interesting than generic square-jawed 80s action heroes. Having said that, dumb 80s action movies are a guilty pleasure. This is why I prefer Daredevil to Iron Fist; Iron Fist just seemed to be moaning about his lost billions whilst being better at being Asian than actual Asians. Sigh.
-Tension & Conflict. I don't necessarily mean that characters have to be antagonistic to each other, but there has to be difference and some degree of conflict. This basically boils down to the idea at the very top: your idea + my idea = better ideas.
-Growth & Change. There's no point in telling a story in which there aren't consequences, where nothing changes. I want a story in which our characters change the world, and likewise, the world changes our characters.
-Consequences & Characters. I generally like a bit of OOC conspiring to make sure that our characters have a sensible reason to be together. I mean, if you're going to leave my character chained to a wall rather than help free them, there'll be consequences - like me politely stopping.
-Communication & ... err. Whilst I do prefer to tell more than I like to plot, I'm generally talkative
-Flawed & interesting characters. To me, it's the rough edges that make them interesting; ordinary people doing extra-ordinary things despite their shortcomings are way more interesting than generic square-jawed 80s action heroes. Having said that, dumb 80s action movies are a guilty pleasure. This is why I prefer Daredevil to Iron Fist; Iron Fist just seemed to be moaning about his lost billions whilst being better at being Asian than actual Asians. Sigh.
-Tension & Conflict. I don't necessarily mean that characters have to be antagonistic to each other, but there has to be difference and some degree of conflict. This basically boils down to the idea at the very top: your idea + my idea = better ideas.
-Growth & Change. There's no point in telling a story in which there aren't consequences, where nothing changes. I want a story in which our characters change the world, and likewise, the world changes our characters.
-Consequences & Characters. I generally like a bit of OOC conspiring to make sure that our characters have a sensible reason to be together. I mean, if you're going to leave my character chained to a wall rather than help free them, there'll be consequences - like me politely stopping.
-Communication & ... err. Whilst I do prefer to tell more than I like to plot, I'm generally talkative
"A phased plasma rifle in the 40-watt range." "Hey, just what you see pal"
What I would like would be someone to ArrPee with. The rest of this paragraph is going to be a bit cliche to anyone who has browsed this forum, but I'll try and use different imagery.
RP is, in my experience, as much about personality as it is about prose. Sometimes, the story simply won't click. So I care more about the fire / spice / passion / verve of the person on the other side of the screen than I necessarily do about great ideas.
To my mind, the E aspect of ERP it's kind of like cookery. The E is like hot-sauce or spices; sure, it makes things more interesting, but I wouldn't want to live on a constant diet of the stuff. As one wise and witty friend put it, I'm a human being rather than sex-robot. I'd hope that you're the same. I'd rather do one-on-one, because getting a group of online gamers together for anything is like trying to herd greased weasels. So no, there's not going to be a ratio - there'll always be a story. Ideally one that could survive without the smut. But hey, I'm here because I too enjoy the racier bits!
It's kind of hard to write an RT. We spend a lot of time talking about what we want to do, but in my experience - well, with a foundation of understanding, compassion, and wit, we can build anything. Well, maybe open-mindedness too. My house metaphor is even worse than the spice one.
What I think I'm trying to say is - just because there's no specific plot above (and let's face it, the plots above are me attempting to nail a cloud to a post, or throw mud at a wall) that appeals to you, get in touch anyway.
Unless you're a shaved Ewok, then please move along.
What I would like would be someone to ArrPee with. The rest of this paragraph is going to be a bit cliche to anyone who has browsed this forum, but I'll try and use different imagery.
RP is, in my experience, as much about personality as it is about prose. Sometimes, the story simply won't click. So I care more about the fire / spice / passion / verve of the person on the other side of the screen than I necessarily do about great ideas.
To my mind, the E aspect of ERP it's kind of like cookery. The E is like hot-sauce or spices; sure, it makes things more interesting, but I wouldn't want to live on a constant diet of the stuff. As one wise and witty friend put it, I'm a human being rather than sex-robot. I'd hope that you're the same. I'd rather do one-on-one, because getting a group of online gamers together for anything is like trying to herd greased weasels. So no, there's not going to be a ratio - there'll always be a story. Ideally one that could survive without the smut. But hey, I'm here because I too enjoy the racier bits!
It's kind of hard to write an RT. We spend a lot of time talking about what we want to do, but in my experience - well, with a foundation of understanding, compassion, and wit, we can build anything. Well, maybe open-mindedness too. My house metaphor is even worse than the spice one.
What I think I'm trying to say is - just because there's no specific plot above (and let's face it, the plots above are me attempting to nail a cloud to a post, or throw mud at a wall) that appeals to you, get in touch anyway.
Unless you're a shaved Ewok, then please move along.
I roleplay because I like telling, hearing, and sharing stories. I'm flexible, drama-free, eager to learn, and creative (but then I'm not exactly going to put an advert up that says I'm dull). I have a busy life, and there'll be times when I can't reply for a day or five. I won't ever ghost you, but at times I'll have to ask for your indulgence and patience.
What stories would I particularly want to tell?
I don't have a list of pairings because my mind really doesn't work like that. I mean, when I go to the cinema to watch a movie, it's because I want to see "The Three Musketeers" not Swordsman x Maid.
I think of stories in the same way I'd think about TV shows I'd want to watch. I adored Altered Carbon, Punisher, and so on. To my mind, an adventure is a story, world, and characters that mutually create each other.
Technothriller (spies, submarines, and Soviets! Think Tom Clancy, Nights Black Agents, Mission Impossible, or Double-Oh Cool).
Here are some pictures / links that I'd love to tell stories about:
-Mechs or maybe starfighters doing cool things! The visual of X-Wings flying low over water is pure adrenaline.
-Mortals fighting Vampires, and other paranormal baddies through the power of teamwork, technology, and brains.
-Vampires or other supernaturals in a bleak, almost cyberpunk environment. Oh yes, Vampire: the Masquerade: Bloodlines 2, I love you more than White Wolf loves colons.
-Cyberpunk 2077. Because yes.
I've recently had a real craving for Espionage. Now, this is a hard genre to pin down because it ranges from:
John le Carre-style slow-moving high-intensity drama with characters swept along by the vagaries of fate. Through to something way more kinetic and Tom-Clancy-ish involving helicopters and cinematic gunfights. And even catsuits (for both men and women)
It might even be powered by / based on tabletop RPGs or TV shows.
Post-Apocalypse, but in the sense that it happened half an hour ago, rather than 50 years. In this case, think The Division or maybe The Last Ship? XCOM! Time to Take. Earth. Back. Minds immeasurably superior to ours may well regard this earth with envious eyes, and be slowly and surely, drawing their plans against us, but Humans Are Warriors. In the words of Will Smiff - "welcome to earf"
Swashbucklery (musketeers, pirates, corsetry!)
Style > substance. It doesn't matter how well you do something, but rather how stylishly you do it. Witty one-liners, quips, corsets, and hats with feathers in them! Lightly armed and unarmoured heroes and heroines doing silly things is great! Dumas is love. Because cracking-wise whilst wearing a feathered hat and being gratuitously French is badass. Or as we say in French... casse-cou. What finer villain in literature is there than Richelieu (well, except maybe Vader)? And it's not just swordplay, it's complex characters, intrigue, politics, and witty one-liners too.
Swashbucklery. Because cracking-wise whilst wearing a feathered hat and being gratuitously French is badass. Or as we say in French... casse-cou. What finer villain in literature is there than Richelieu (well, except maybe Vader)? And it's not just swordplay, it's complex characters, intrigue, politics, and witty one-liners too.
Aramis: "What's the vital thing to remember in a duel?"
D'Artagnan: "Honour?"
Aramis: "Not getting killed. By biting, kicking, gouging, it's all good."
D'Artagnan: "I was raised to fight like a gentleman"
Aramis: "Were you raised to die young?"
-
Some links: [Athos] [Porthos] [Aramis] [D'Artagnan] [Constance]
- Some more links: [1] [2]
- Buzzfeed(?!): [1]
Cyberpunk and Space (Altered Carbon, The Expanse, Pacific Rim). I've been also been watching "The Expanse" and "Battlestar Galactica" again recently. I have an itch to tell a story in the poorly lit space of ... er... space. Something involving fighter pilots on a carrier? Maybe even marines? Perhaps both. Shades-of-grey morality. There are no paladins or whiter-than-white heroes upon fiery steeds. The edges of humanity are debatable and fuzzy. Robots, AIs, synthetics, cybernetics - what makes us human? Transhumanism is <3 Knowledge is power, and truth is so precious it needs a bodyguard of lies. Black and chrome are always stylish. Future tech and fashion is sexy! Cyberpunk 2077. Oh yes. Shadowrun? I s'pose so, but it just feels so 80s-tastic in a bad way.
Space Opera (from Star Trek to Star Wars, by way of Mass Effect).
High Fantasy: D&D / Pathfinder! I'm looking at you. Have you played Pathfinder: Kingmaker? Does the idea of SimCity meets DnD appeal? Sort of like Districts & Depots I guess...? If so, we should talk! Worldbuilding and adventure! The closest I come to Slice of Life is wanting to run a D&D tavern. I have no idea how to actually tell that story but am interested in finding out!
Time Travel. I wonder if it's the dynamic of having culture / time shock that appeals? Or perhaps the idea of having the BEST secrets? I don't know. A 21st century scholar pretending to be a 17th century pirate? Yes! Or maybe I've just watched too much Stargate.
EDIT: Part of me wants to suggest XCOM-70s, but I don't know how good Greys look in flares.
Technothriller (spies, submarines, and Soviets! Think Tom Clancy, Nights Black Agents, Mission Impossible, or Double-Oh Cool).
Here are some pictures / links that I'd love to tell stories about:
-Mechs or maybe starfighters doing cool things! The visual of X-Wings flying low over water is pure adrenaline.
-Mortals fighting Vampires, and other paranormal baddies through the power of teamwork, technology, and brains.
-Vampires or other supernaturals in a bleak, almost cyberpunk environment. Oh yes, Vampire: the Masquerade: Bloodlines 2, I love you more than White Wolf loves colons.
-Cyberpunk 2077. Because yes.
I've recently had a real craving for Espionage. Now, this is a hard genre to pin down because it ranges from:
John le Carre-style slow-moving high-intensity drama with characters swept along by the vagaries of fate. Through to something way more kinetic and Tom-Clancy-ish involving helicopters and cinematic gunfights. And even catsuits (for both men and women)
It might even be powered by / based on tabletop RPGs or TV shows.
Post-Apocalypse, but in the sense that it happened half an hour ago, rather than 50 years. In this case, think The Division or maybe The Last Ship? XCOM! Time to Take. Earth. Back. Minds immeasurably superior to ours may well regard this earth with envious eyes, and be slowly and surely, drawing their plans against us, but Humans Are Warriors. In the words of Will Smiff - "welcome to earf"
Swashbucklery (musketeers, pirates, corsetry!)
Style > substance. It doesn't matter how well you do something, but rather how stylishly you do it. Witty one-liners, quips, corsets, and hats with feathers in them! Lightly armed and unarmoured heroes and heroines doing silly things is great! Dumas is love. Because cracking-wise whilst wearing a feathered hat and being gratuitously French is badass. Or as we say in French... casse-cou. What finer villain in literature is there than Richelieu (well, except maybe Vader)? And it's not just swordplay, it's complex characters, intrigue, politics, and witty one-liners too.
Swashbucklery. Because cracking-wise whilst wearing a feathered hat and being gratuitously French is badass. Or as we say in French... casse-cou. What finer villain in literature is there than Richelieu (well, except maybe Vader)? And it's not just swordplay, it's complex characters, intrigue, politics, and witty one-liners too.
Aramis: "What's the vital thing to remember in a duel?"
D'Artagnan: "Honour?"
Aramis: "Not getting killed. By biting, kicking, gouging, it's all good."
D'Artagnan: "I was raised to fight like a gentleman"
Aramis: "Were you raised to die young?"
-
Some links: [Athos] [Porthos] [Aramis] [D'Artagnan] [Constance]
- Some more links: [1] [2]
- Buzzfeed(?!): [1]
Cyberpunk and Space (Altered Carbon, The Expanse, Pacific Rim). I've been also been watching "The Expanse" and "Battlestar Galactica" again recently. I have an itch to tell a story in the poorly lit space of ... er... space. Something involving fighter pilots on a carrier? Maybe even marines? Perhaps both. Shades-of-grey morality. There are no paladins or whiter-than-white heroes upon fiery steeds. The edges of humanity are debatable and fuzzy. Robots, AIs, synthetics, cybernetics - what makes us human? Transhumanism is <3 Knowledge is power, and truth is so precious it needs a bodyguard of lies. Black and chrome are always stylish. Future tech and fashion is sexy! Cyberpunk 2077. Oh yes. Shadowrun? I s'pose so, but it just feels so 80s-tastic in a bad way.
Space Opera (from Star Trek to Star Wars, by way of Mass Effect).
High Fantasy: D&D / Pathfinder! I'm looking at you. Have you played Pathfinder: Kingmaker? Does the idea of SimCity meets DnD appeal? Sort of like Districts & Depots I guess...? If so, we should talk! Worldbuilding and adventure! The closest I come to Slice of Life is wanting to run a D&D tavern. I have no idea how to actually tell that story but am interested in finding out!
Time Travel. I wonder if it's the dynamic of having culture / time shock that appeals? Or perhaps the idea of having the BEST secrets? I don't know. A 21st century scholar pretending to be a 17th century pirate? Yes! Or maybe I've just watched too much Stargate.
EDIT: Part of me wants to suggest XCOM-70s, but I don't know how good Greys look in flares.
It is, I realise, entirely unhelpful to say "I'm open minded"... but... well... I am! I made the mistake in the past of saying that I'd try anything, and that resulted in character wanting to snort spice from the head of a shaved Ewok. I find the listing of kinks like shopping lists to be... off-putting. I am more than a collection of kinks, lusts, and depravities (I hope). But then this advert is kind of pointless without. It's probably easier to list the things that I do not want:
The "I'd rather not" or "maybe" are the unholy trinity of toilet-play, vore, and ewoks. Especially all three combined - there's nothing more off-putting than the smell of an ewok with poo-stained fur. I'm not really a fan of futa - it simply doesn't float my boat. Strap-ons are way more exciting.
The "I'd rather not" or "maybe" are the unholy trinity of toilet-play, vore, and ewoks. Especially all three combined - there's nothing more off-putting than the smell of an ewok with poo-stained fur. I'm not really a fan of futa - it simply doesn't float my boat. Strap-ons are way more exciting.
Last Words?
They couldn't hit the side of a barn at this ra...
Ahem.
And because it's apparently the done thing, here's a (very) short story:
It was such a wonderful cake; the delicate golden-brown pasty basket holding a glorious confection of fresh strawberries, cream, and sugary delight. Looking down at it, the boy's eyes were wide with anticipation and longing. Had he been a little less focused on the cake and a little more intent on his surroundings, he would have seen Eldario Longshore and two of his cronies lounging at the end of the alleyway. As his attention was firmly locked on his cake, he ambled - fat and happy - straight into the ambush.
The haughty nasalized vowels dragged the boy's attention up from his cream-fringed contemplation.
"And what does the peasant have for us today?"
Eldario's grip on the boy's shoulder was cruel.
"N-nothing, Eldario. A cake f-for my N-nameday"
The older boy mocked the nervous fear in the younger one
"N-n-nothing E-e-e-eldario. You disgust me, peasant. Tell us what your name is before we beat you"
The exchange wasn't a new one - the same ritual of humiliation occurred on an almost daily basis in the halls of the Academy. Both sides knew their parts.
"P-peasant, Eldario"
"Now give me this cake of yours and I won't have to thrash you like the uncultured scum that you are"
The younger boy's face clouded with tears as he reluctantly passed the box to Eldario. Laughing, Eldario released his vice-like grip on the boy's shoulder and took the cake-filled box.
"Now get out of my sight before I have Jenks here find my horsewhip"
--
The child ran home, barely noticing the world around him through the fog of misery and tears. Hurling himself through the door, he ran passed the kitchen where his parents were sat.
"Darling? Is that you? Did you go to the bakery?" The honey-soft voice of his mother could soothe almost any insult or hurt, but not today. The child threw himself onto his bed and buried his face in his pillows, weeping piteously.
As with all parents, the sight of one's child in such a state, especially on his seventh Nameday aroused a number of different emotions in his parents. They sat on either side of his sob-racked form. His father, still in the gorgeous burgundy and grey finery of a Gilnean naval officer put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. His mother gently but firmly turned his head up to face hers.
"What's wrong, darling?"
And so the child told them.
Neither Horatio nor Amelia were well disposed to the thought of anyone picking on their child. Their first instinct was to go and find Eldario, flog him to within an inch of his life, and then kick him the rest of the way. But, they reasoned, there is a time and a place for lessons and a time for demonstrations.
So once the crying had stopped and the meal was done, the mother sat with her child in front of the roaring oak fire. They spoke at great length about many things.
--
It was even more wonderful a cake if such things could be conceived of. Golden-brown pastry as light as the breath of an angel, with a delicate tracery of chocolate and vanilla icing, and strawberries so red and perfect they looked like a courtesan's lips. Looking down at it, the boy's eyes were wide with anticipation and longing. But they weren't anticipating the cake this time. Out of the corner of his eye he saw just what he had hoped to see: Eldario lounging against the wall of the alleyway.
He'd made this same journey four days in a row, and each time his prey had been absent. Not today.
He acted with the same shock as the nasalized vowels and bony fingers cut into him.
"The peasant brings us more food. What's this one for? Has your pauper family finally managed to scrape together enough coppers to buy you another one after you so kindly gave me your last one?"
It took effort, but the child managed to look as if he was on the verge of tears. And with the same reluctance he began to start handing the cake over. With a completely deliberate carelessness, the younger boy let the delicate cake fall through his hands, spattering the floor with fruit and cream. To Eldario's complete surprise, the younger raised a foot and then mashed the remains of the cake flat.
"You want the bloody cake? You can have it" raising his small, slightly podgy fists in a guard, the younger boy stood there in cream-smeared defiance.
Eldario was taken aback by the smaller boy's reaction, but his smug sneer soon reasserted itself.
"So the little piglet has claws? Who taught you to fight? Your whore-mother?"
The child's face broke into a wolfish grin.
"Aye, that she did" the younger boy answered as he darted forward. A few inches shorter than the older boy, the younger one was still of a height sufficient that his forehead connected with Eldario's patrician nose with a wet crunching noise.
Surprised by the sudden and insistent pain that seemed to fill his whole world, Eldario's hands went to his face and he managed to barely mouth "My no..."
Aware that he had only a limited amount of time before Eldario's cronies would protect their leader, the younger child made the most of his attack, determined to leave his mark. Lashing out, his right foot connected squarely with Eldario's shin, and then his pudgy fists connected with the older boy's stomach in a barrage of vicious punches and jabs. Unable to endure the onslaught and stay on his feet, the older boy collapsed into the mewling bloody heap on the cream-covered dirt.
"The name's Hawkwood. Hieronimo Hawkwood"
His moment of triumph was short lived as the two cronies beat him to the floor and began to savagely kick him. Not even their kicking could take the wolfish grin from his face.
A few days later
Horatio returned to the family home far later than he had hoped. It had been a long third-day of the War. Removing his boots at the door he began to creep through the quiet house.
"If you're up, you might as well come join me."
The voice came from the living room where the dull embers of a dying fire cast the room in a warm red radiance. Stooping to kiss his wife on the forehead he dropped himself heavily onto the chaise longue next to her.
"What did you tell little Hieronimo the other night? I had a formal reprimand at work today from Baron Longshore about my son bullying his"
Amelia sniggered in the semi-darkness.
"I told him something that we all need to learn one day. Of all the injuries we can sustain, blows to our pride hurt the most and take longest to heal"
Commander Hawkwood nodded solemnly and then grinned.
"Besides, you can show off physical injuries to gullible female types and tell them they were gained in glorious battle" he replied sotto vocce.
Amelia's giggling subsided into a light-hearted poking.
"Hey! I resemble that implication, Gilnean!"
The haughty nasalized vowels dragged the boy's attention up from his cream-fringed contemplation.
"And what does the peasant have for us today?"
Eldario's grip on the boy's shoulder was cruel.
"N-nothing, Eldario. A cake f-for my N-nameday"
The older boy mocked the nervous fear in the younger one
"N-n-nothing E-e-e-eldario. You disgust me, peasant. Tell us what your name is before we beat you"
The exchange wasn't a new one - the same ritual of humiliation occurred on an almost daily basis in the halls of the Academy. Both sides knew their parts.
"P-peasant, Eldario"
"Now give me this cake of yours and I won't have to thrash you like the uncultured scum that you are"
The younger boy's face clouded with tears as he reluctantly passed the box to Eldario. Laughing, Eldario released his vice-like grip on the boy's shoulder and took the cake-filled box.
"Now get out of my sight before I have Jenks here find my horsewhip"
--
The child ran home, barely noticing the world around him through the fog of misery and tears. Hurling himself through the door, he ran passed the kitchen where his parents were sat.
"Darling? Is that you? Did you go to the bakery?" The honey-soft voice of his mother could soothe almost any insult or hurt, but not today. The child threw himself onto his bed and buried his face in his pillows, weeping piteously.
As with all parents, the sight of one's child in such a state, especially on his seventh Nameday aroused a number of different emotions in his parents. They sat on either side of his sob-racked form. His father, still in the gorgeous burgundy and grey finery of a Gilnean naval officer put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. His mother gently but firmly turned his head up to face hers.
"What's wrong, darling?"
And so the child told them.
Neither Horatio nor Amelia were well disposed to the thought of anyone picking on their child. Their first instinct was to go and find Eldario, flog him to within an inch of his life, and then kick him the rest of the way. But, they reasoned, there is a time and a place for lessons and a time for demonstrations.
So once the crying had stopped and the meal was done, the mother sat with her child in front of the roaring oak fire. They spoke at great length about many things.
--
It was even more wonderful a cake if such things could be conceived of. Golden-brown pastry as light as the breath of an angel, with a delicate tracery of chocolate and vanilla icing, and strawberries so red and perfect they looked like a courtesan's lips. Looking down at it, the boy's eyes were wide with anticipation and longing. But they weren't anticipating the cake this time. Out of the corner of his eye he saw just what he had hoped to see: Eldario lounging against the wall of the alleyway.
He'd made this same journey four days in a row, and each time his prey had been absent. Not today.
He acted with the same shock as the nasalized vowels and bony fingers cut into him.
"The peasant brings us more food. What's this one for? Has your pauper family finally managed to scrape together enough coppers to buy you another one after you so kindly gave me your last one?"
It took effort, but the child managed to look as if he was on the verge of tears. And with the same reluctance he began to start handing the cake over. With a completely deliberate carelessness, the younger boy let the delicate cake fall through his hands, spattering the floor with fruit and cream. To Eldario's complete surprise, the younger raised a foot and then mashed the remains of the cake flat.
"You want the bloody cake? You can have it" raising his small, slightly podgy fists in a guard, the younger boy stood there in cream-smeared defiance.
Eldario was taken aback by the smaller boy's reaction, but his smug sneer soon reasserted itself.
"So the little piglet has claws? Who taught you to fight? Your whore-mother?"
The child's face broke into a wolfish grin.
"Aye, that she did" the younger boy answered as he darted forward. A few inches shorter than the older boy, the younger one was still of a height sufficient that his forehead connected with Eldario's patrician nose with a wet crunching noise.
Surprised by the sudden and insistent pain that seemed to fill his whole world, Eldario's hands went to his face and he managed to barely mouth "My no..."
Aware that he had only a limited amount of time before Eldario's cronies would protect their leader, the younger child made the most of his attack, determined to leave his mark. Lashing out, his right foot connected squarely with Eldario's shin, and then his pudgy fists connected with the older boy's stomach in a barrage of vicious punches and jabs. Unable to endure the onslaught and stay on his feet, the older boy collapsed into the mewling bloody heap on the cream-covered dirt.
"The name's Hawkwood. Hieronimo Hawkwood"
His moment of triumph was short lived as the two cronies beat him to the floor and began to savagely kick him. Not even their kicking could take the wolfish grin from his face.
A few days later
Horatio returned to the family home far later than he had hoped. It had been a long third-day of the War. Removing his boots at the door he began to creep through the quiet house.
"If you're up, you might as well come join me."
The voice came from the living room where the dull embers of a dying fire cast the room in a warm red radiance. Stooping to kiss his wife on the forehead he dropped himself heavily onto the chaise longue next to her.
"What did you tell little Hieronimo the other night? I had a formal reprimand at work today from Baron Longshore about my son bullying his"
Amelia sniggered in the semi-darkness.
"I told him something that we all need to learn one day. Of all the injuries we can sustain, blows to our pride hurt the most and take longest to heal"
Commander Hawkwood nodded solemnly and then grinned.
"Besides, you can show off physical injuries to gullible female types and tell them they were gained in glorious battle" he replied sotto vocce.
Amelia's giggling subsided into a light-hearted poking.
"Hey! I resemble that implication, Gilnean!"
For making it through to the end, you deserve a treat.
Yes. I know. I'm easy. And cheap too. If any of the above tickled your fancy, drop me a PM. Tell me your favourite kind of pie in your reply so I know you've read this. If any of the above tickled your fancy, drop me a PM. Tell me your favourite kind of pie in your reply so I know you've read this
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