Gifts made me uncomfortable if they were for me. I'd even managed to talk Sarah, my girlfriend, out of buying me anything on cheesy holidays or the relationship of our anniversary.
Hahaha. It's nearly one in the morning. Cut me a break.
Gifts made me uncomfortable if they were for me. I'd even managed to talk Sarah, my girlfriend, out of buying me anything on cheesy holidays or the relationship of our anniversary.
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” he said, and popped both of the pills into his mother.
The children sat in silence, pondering this. Ponder, ponder, ponder. “That language... What did you say it was called?” Crysi asked in a way that made it completely non-obvious that this is a plot-advancing device and will therefore be very important in later parts of the story.
They continued on with some similar idle chatter I really don’t want to type out because I want to get this thing going already, gosh darnit! *ahem* And now back to your regularly scheduled book. ((right after I put this marker in so I know that I have some of my own talk right here)).
Seira turned to her friend. “Please?” she asked, giving her puppy dog eyes, because no one can resist their best friend’s puppy dog eyes.
The pigeons lined up like shoulders on the roof of the barn.
The door shut behind him, plunging him in a darkness that he had never seen before.
The children sat up immediately, alarmed, clancing at each other.
Nodding and grunting, the king said, “Very well. You may go. Ah, perhaps we ought to send some guards with them, or at least a maid for the girl, just in case?”
Agrytta laughed. “You and your magnificent ego...”
“What magnificent ego? I’m just trying to protect the girl. How is that an ego?”
“You served in the army. You think the soldiers are so tough and crude, and now you want to be the big man to protect the girl, even though you won’t go with her.”
“That’s just doing my job.”
“Well, I never said it was a bad thing, now did I?”
“You said I had a magnificent ego!”
“Magnificent doesn’t necessarily mean large, dear. Perhaps I was applauding you for thinking of her.”
The king grumbled at that point. “Well, the Almighty Authoress stole that idea from Donovan Jeska, copyright 2007, so I don’t appreciate you using it on me.”
“I apologize, dear.” She kissed him gently on the cheek, then summoned a maid. “Would you please take these two to the soldiers’ quarters?”
Anna sighed and stood up, turning on her music, loud, and pulling the cd player over to her desk so Charlotte would actually have to stand up to turn it off. And Anna knew that Charlotte wouldn’t do that.
“Turn that crap off,” Charlotte said.
“No,” Anna mumbled. “Stop filing your nails.”
“No! Turn off your music!”
“No. You stop filing your nails.”
“Turn off that crap!”
“Stop filing your stupid nails.”
“Stop the music!”
“Stop the filing!”
Both girls were standing up, pointing at each other. Anna saw that Charlotte had stopped filing her nails, and turned off her music. Both girls returned to their activities, when Charlotte began filing her nails again.
The hot guys laughed. “You shall see!” they cried, laughing manically, even though I had obviously spoken to myself and I really really really didn’t need them to be laughing manically in my ear. If said maniacal laughter can even be described with the adjective of maniacal. I mean, what kind of hell was this? Instead of having everlasting torture and all of that, you had people going off on adventures to solve math problems. I mean, what the hell? I half expected to see Frodo Baggins or some other stupid hobbit like that bouncing around with the circumference of power, trying to return it the Mountain of Calculus, or something completely cheesy like that. I mean, how cheesy can you get? There were some hot guys taking me to this one place, and my biggest worry was not whether I would be hurt, but about the math problems. SO STUPID.
So this probably proves that God has a sense of humor. Either that, or I’m stuck in a story that a brain dead, slightly sadistical, slight statistical (haha, get the joke?) author who really really really wants to get word count up, otherwise she wouldn’t be writing this paragraph and continuing it and continuing it and continuing it some more as much as she is, all in the name of word count.
But, obviously, that cannot be the case.
I digress.
“Your Majesty,” Aevorn said, his head still bowed. “We are honored by your visit here at our Haven.”
‘Thank you, Aevorn,” the Queen replied with a smile on her lips. Her blue eyes looked around at the small children at the table. “So, these are them? Which is the Heir?”
“Here.”
Aevorn moved back from the table and walked around to where Shamira, the five-year-old, stood, placing his hands on her shoulders. Shamira lifted her head to look up at the Queen with her large, deep brown eyes.
The Queen walked around the table and to where Shamira stood, kneeling down in front of her so that they were at eye level.
“Yes,” the Queen whispered after a moment. “This is her.” She stood back up, looking to Aevorn. “They will be safe here, I assume?”
“Shamira. It’s a good, strong name for a future queen,” Kelasana mused. “Does she know what happened to her parents?”
Aevorn shook his head sadly, “No. Right now she believes they wanted her to go with me for a little while. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.” He paused, as if considering something. “When we were at the top of the hill, I saw her looking at the palace. The other children were looking at the Haven, but she was watching the palace, as though she was being drawn to it.”
“That’s what it felt like for Cesarina,” replied the Queen skeptically. “And look what happened to her.”
“Yes, well . . . history might need to repeat itself in certain areas, but not in everything.”
“Indeed,” Kelasana replied. “Make sure their training starts as soon as possible. The others will need to be made to understand how important they are in protecting Shamira. Make sure a close eye is kept on her at all times, especially as she ages.”
As Shamira waited, she looked around the area, tapping her fingernails on the saddle impatiently. Her attention was then drawn to a few bushes just outside the barn, where she heard rustling. Frowning, she peered at the bushes, but still couldn’t see anything.
“Having a staring contest with the bushes, Shamira?” Eras teased.
Shamira blinked and looked at her brother, who was now riding a horse that had been in the barn. “Very funny,” she replied dryly. “I thought I saw something move in the bushes.”
“It’s probably just a rabbit or something,” Eras replied. “Come on, let’s go.”
If there was anything she could ask for if granted a wish, it would be the ability to touch magic again.
It was a desire she tried to ignore, tried to pretend didn’t exist, but it had been so long since she’d used the magic abilities that had been part of her for so long that it was becoming impossible.
Cesarina Vardin was an outcast, a traitor to the crown. Everyone believed it and everyone knew it.
“Yes, but those threats were idle, Tenon. I don’t want to storm into his house and wrench the kid away. It would be another strike on my reputation!”
“You have a reputation?”
Maynard’s eyes shot toward Tenon in a glare. “That’s quite enough, Tenon.”
Near tears, Altan cowered under Johnethein’s glare, convinced the man was furious with him. “What happened?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry,” Altan sobbed.
Grabbing both of Altan’s arms and lifting him, Johnethein shook the boy hard, his face burning with anger. “What happened?!”
Altan closed his eyes tightly, wincing at the pain in his back. The pressure building rapidly in his chest, Altan bit back tears desperately. “Why did you leave?” he cried, collapsing against Johnethein and bursting into sobs.
Johnethein’s body shook with shock. “What?” he croaked.
“I apologize about your back, but Altan doesn’t take well to being hit,” Johnethein informed Aloysius in a low, icy voice. “In fact, few children do. Not everybody knows of all your glory, Sir Ashwin.”
“That kid is my son! I can do whatever I–”
“No, you cannot. Yes, he is your son, but he belongs to the manor now, and I happen to be his guardian.” Johnethein’s eyes glowed with an angry fire as he stared at Aloysius. “Any matters you wish to discuss should be taken up with Lord Maynard Kellan.”
Altan stared at Aloysius in shock, unable to stomach the idea that that huge man could be his father; he didn’t come out from behind Johnethein.
“You can’t keep my son from me!” Aloysius yelled and lunged at Johnethein.
Johnethein only held out one arm and restrained the man easily. “Actually, I can,” he said in a low, challenging voice, glaring Aloysius directly in the face. “And at the moment I feel compelled to.”
"What's [your name]?"
"Nessa." The eye blinked again, and seemed to smile, as though the owner was smiling as well. "What're you in fer? Were you goin' to dive? Picked up for bein' clear? Chousin'? You 'eading fer the chates? Were you caw-'anded in 'olding the chink? You a clapperdogeon? A dab? A damber? A ding-boy? Didn't you 'ave a dawb to give to the chattish cull who runs this stone jug?"
My eyebrows had been getting higher and higher during this speech, which she said like she was reciting poetry. Finally, I said, making every effort to speak well, like Dad was always nagging at me to, "I'm wery sorry, miss, but I can't tumble to your barrikin."
“Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety nine bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, ninety eight bottles of beer on the wall, ninety eight bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, ninety seven bottles of beer on the wall! Ninety seven bottles of beer on the wall, ninety seven bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, ninety six bottles of beer on the wall! Ninety five bottles of beer on the wall, ninety five bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, ninety four bottles of beer on the wall! Ninety four bottles of beer on the wall, ninety four bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, ninety three bottles of beer on the wall! Ninety three bottles of beer on the wall, ninety three bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, ninety two bottles of beer on the wall! Ninety two bottles of beer on the wall, ninety two bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, ninety one bottles of beer on the wall!
"Hello, Miss Johnson-Karamachi," he said, holding out his hand. "I apologize that I haven't gotten the chance to formally welcome you to New Prague Consoidated School District Junior/Senior High School."
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