Wednesday Words/Paula's Prompt

Paula Wyant offers up words every Wednesday, but I'm not able to respond to them until Thursday. Here's my response to her challenge at ptwyant.com, involving a birthday present, laundry, and laughter. Emma decided it was time for her to remember the mortal days, when she gave Esther a present.

I'm going to post this at my Facebook Author page, too, since this poor little Cauldron is still being blocked by Facebook. This site uses cookies I don't understand, but I need to warn you about. Consider yourself warned.

“What’s this?” Esther asked. She held up an emerald green t-shirt with a panoramic fantasy playing across it. You grinned at the sight of the woman in armour holding up her sword towards angry clouds with hints of wrathful faces. Esther had fallen in love with this shirt at first sight. “I couldn’t afford to get this, so why is it in the laundry?”

“Why indeed?” you asked impishly. Coyly, you glance at the other shirts, with the Babylon logo, the Andromeda crew, and the Vampire Lestat baring his fangs spread over their fronts. Between Esther and yourself, you’d amassed quite the collection of t-shirts. “What day is it?”

“My birthday?” Esther is so cute, when she’s slow to figure something out. She blinked once, twice, before reality started to sink it. Esther usually stays as far from reality as she can. She’d much rather be in the fantasy vistas of her imagination, thank you very much. Reality was going to be nice to her for a change. 

“Surprise!” you giggled. The expression on her face turned your giggles into laughter. “I couldn’t resist!”

“Couldn’t resist putting a new shirt in with the dirties?” Esther quipped, but she’s smiling, too. She hugged the shirt to her chest. “Seriously, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said. You traipsed over to her side and kissed her cheek. 

Such a simple, solid memory. Now, it’s so hard for you to become solid, floating around your seat in the cafe where you spent too many of your waking hours. 

At least you still have Esther, even if your relationship is not what it was. 

Unwilling to Be Yours

Happy Valentine's Day! If you've visited the Cauldron at inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com, you may have seen my Valentine's Day offering. If you've been reading 'Waiting for Rebirth', you may wonder "Who is that Peter twit and why is hanging all over Christopher? Where's Damian?"

Here's a little introduction to Peter in his own words as I present to you a segment of another Tale of the Navel, 'Unwilling to Be Yours'.

I’ve never liked hot weather. It causes a strange shimmer in the air, which rises off the stones of the street and all the shop walls. Plus, it makes my clothes stick to my skin, plastering both with sweat. I’ve been assured of my sexiness, when I’m sweating. Such assurances are less than assuring, when you feel gross. Plus, I like long sleeves and vests. T-shirts, tank tops, and shorts have never appealed to me.

The boy leaning against the Navel’s wall didn’t like the weather, either. I could tell from the scowl on his face and the sweat dripping off his brow. He should have expected it, wearing black jeans and a turtle neck in this heat. Not that he didn’t look pretty in both, especially with his hair. It might be a little too short, curling right below the ears, but the color more than made up for its shortness. It was a golden chestnut with bright copper and bronze highlights, which captured the light of the sun.

The boy didn’t look up at me, or even seem to notice I was there. He was grumbling, having an animated conversation with someone I couldn’t see. 

“I hate being human, sometimes!” he growled. He shot a particularly malevolent glance at the sky. Perhaps he was talking to it? I might have worried more about in his sanity, if I hadn’t been so distracted by his appearance. I’d never seen so slender a boy, nor one with such delicate features. It made me wonder if he was actually a girl, but his voice was too low to be female. Not deep, not by any stretch of the imagination, but not female. “Why anyone would ever enjoy hot weather is beyond me!”

“I quite agree,” I said. I decided to take a step closer to him and act like he’d been talking to me. “There are far more agreeable ways in which to sweat.”

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin. His violet eyes, which were already too big for his small, heart-shaped face, got even wider. 

Perhaps my joke had been a little too coarse for this shy little blossom, for that’s exactly what he seemed like to me at that moment.

“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said, gentling my entire manner. “Is this the center of all things bizarre?” I knew quite well where I was, but perhaps using Gabrielle’s catch phrase for the Navel would put this boy at ease. 

The boy stared at me. I smiled my most winning smile and waved a hand up at the sign hanging over the door. It was an old-fashioned sign using a picture, rather than a name. There was a woman’s belly and a woman’s belly button painted on the sign. It was cute. This little town was already called ‘Omphalos’, so having a shop called ‘The Navel’ in Omphalos was an additional helping of cute. Calling the Navel ‘the center of all things bizarre’ was more cute poured on top of far too much cute already, but it had been Gabrielle’s idea. You didn’t accuse your potential boss of laying on the cute too thick. 

“This is the Navel, if that’s what you’re asking,” the boy said. His manner became even less friendly, if such a thing was possible. Speaking of too much cute, no one should be that adorable when they scowl at you. It inspires one with the desire to do wrong. “What do you want?”

“Are you this charming to all your customers?” I asked with a certain arch disapproval. The mischief in me decided to let him think I was an insulted customer, trying to be a good sport about his attitude. “Or am I just special?”

“That depends,” the boy said, his eyes narrowing. “Are you truly a customer?” Clearly, he didn’t believe I was one. “Or are you after Damian’s job?”

Ah, there’s a reason for this beautiful boy’s scowl and his name is Damian. “Actually, I’m here about a job opening,” I said, raising my hands in a gesture of supplication. “I didn’t realize I was taking someone else’s job away from them.”

“I suppose you’re not.” All the hostility and suspicion seemed to run out of the boy, as his shoulders slumped. I almost felt a little guilty. “Yes, you’ve come to the right place.” He sighed, looking down at his feet, as if he couldn’t bear to look at my face. “I’m sorry. I’m still getting used to that job opening myself.”

I studied the shadows under the boy’s eyes, the slight trembling of his lower lip. Before I could say anything else, the boy was moving, turning his head, so I could no longer study his face. He opened the door for me, causing a few chimes to tinkle, as he did. 

“Go right in,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “Gabrielle is expecting you.”

Me Me Me Monday

It's Me Me Me Monday, a day to share one's me-ness with the rest of the world! I've been trying to work on my m/m mythical tale, 'Aissa and Polyxena'. It's been getting neglected, while I work on 'Waiting for Rebirth' 'Be My Valentine...Snack' (see inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com for details) and 'Unwilling to Be Yours' (a segment of which will appear here tomorrow). I've been trying to spend a little more time with it, so I'll share a teaser. What's below explains the title of this Achille/Troile story.

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“Aissa?” I asked, glancing at the youth in women’s clothing. “Is that your name?” Not likely. 

“It’s what I choose to call myself on Scyros,” Aissa said with an airy wave of his hand. There was the tiniest tremour in the motion of his wrist. “It’s who I am, here and now.”

“Which doesn’t answer the question of who this boy is, here and now,” Deidamia said pointedly. She pulled at Aissa’s arm, trying to drag him closer to her, away from me. “He’s not even giving you the courtesy of a name!”

“True,” Aissa said, but there was a playful amusement to his accusation. His smoky blue eyes moved over me, touching my neck, my chest, my legs, my bum, and yes, my nether regions. “Will you give me a name, fair stranger?”

My true name was on the tip of my tongue, but caution kept me from uttering it. Aissa wasn’t using his true name, either. All he’d asked for was a name. The first name, which popped into my mind was that of my horse.

“Polyxena,” I said, before I realized I’d just given myself a girl’s name.

Deidamia snorted with laughter. Aissa’s eyes, however, gleamed. A tiny smile spread across his lips, acknowledging the jest. After all, he was using a girl’s name. 

My cheeks were warm, but I could feel an answering smile tugging at my own lips. 

“I’m charmed to meet you, Polyxena,” Aissa said. He lifted my hand to his lips with playful coquettishness. “We ladies must stick together, especially in such troubled times.”

Howls in the Ice

Here's a poem I wrote long ago, dedicated to Nicola Griffith and her characters. It came to me long ago, right after I read 'Always'. I've just spoken to her on Twitter. I never thought I'd have a chance to do that. This was written, when she was just magical prose in a printed page. Later, I discovered she had MS. How many years ago was it? I never thought she'd ever see this poem. Perhaps she will, now.

Introduction

This poem is dedicated to an author I’ve never met

She spun many a tale of strong women

Struggling to survive amidst the chaos 

Surrounded by people and politics, nature and mystery

In worlds like this one or born in science fiction

This poem was shaped by thoughts of her

Howls in the Ice

In an icy landscape

Where the trolls howl upon the fell

A bard raises her hand above the ice

She does not keep it, hovering there

Maintaining the lofty distance of the sorcerer with the elements

Her hand plunges into the ice

Ignoring cuts, bruises, and flow of blood

Ignoring the cold’s bite to the bone

Ignoring the howls of the hungry trolls

Or so it seems from the calm serenity on her face

She felt the bite, the pain, and heard the howls

They are all part of the process

A mighty cycle she willingly throws herself into

Without submission or sacrifice of her self

Her fingers have awakened to a dance, even as they freeze

This is not the shape they seek 

Chilled fingers move, feeling, aware

Shaping a tale from within the ice

This tale will be proud and beautiful

She does not bow to anyone

Nor does she fear, letting the quiver of danger freeze her 

A flush colors her pale cheeks as she hears the howls

Invigorating her young, newborn limbs

The bardic feelings the tale’s awakening spirit

As she works to free her from the ice

The howls are getting louder

Trolls circle bard and tale in their birthing place

Getting closer with every howl

The howls ring in the bard’s ears, making her shiver

The shiver tingles through her fingers to those of her tale

Shared awareness of danger brings shared powers

The tale discovers the strength to pull herself from the ice

The bard feels the powerful struggle of her tale’s birth

Her fingers are becoming numb 

Defying the cold takes its toll, as does defying the troll

Still, the bard maintains her connection to the tale

Passing on her strength, as the tale grows in might

Full grown, she pulls herself from the ice with a mighty howl

The howl is bloody with the pain of birth

Powerful with the joy of strength

Rich with the exhilaration of life

And grieved with the acceptance of her bard’s sacrifice

The bard, weakened by her struggle, looks up at the tale

Pride and wisdom weigh heavy upon her soul

Go, my daughter tale and never fear to shout your strength

Even as you walk through the land of the trolls

The tale studies the face of the one who created her

With a swift, decisive movement, she scoops up her bard

The tale’s strong arms can also be gentle

The bard sighs, as she finds herself carried across the ice

Even though she has spent her strength, the tale will go on

Walking an icy wasteland where the bard cannot go herself

The tale continues her proud march across the land of the trolls.

QueerBlogWed

It's QueerBlogWed! I figured I'd offer another little teaser from my m/m mythical WIP, 'Aissa and Polyxena'. I've revised my beginning a bit.

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How did I come to drink from that cup? In a dream. I haven’t the gift of prophecy. Not as my siblings, Cassandra and Helenus did. The boy appeared in my dream, though. Not theirs.

Beautiful he was, with hair too lustrous, eyes too luminous, and limbs too finely made to be mortal. An all too human sorrow cast shadows under his gleaming eyes, which locked onto mine. He clutched a golden goblet in hands which trembled on its stem. 

Me Me Me Monday

It's Me Me Me Monday! A dare to share, strut, and celebrate your me-ness! I'm not feeling quite so celebratory, due to all the recent rejections from Daily Science Fiction, but I keep reminding myself there are other places I can submit my queer fantasy flash fiction to. I thought I'd share a teaser from one of my rejected stories, 'The Snow Queen's Welcome'.

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The knight shivered. All who saw her approach the castle would have seen a man, a handsome knight drawn to the Snow Queen’s side. The knight could only hope she would see the maiden, trapped within male flesh. 

Saturday Snippet

Today is Saturday, a time for Rainbow Snippets! This blog can no longer officially participate, due to being blocked by Facebook. :( It wants to play, though, so it's offering us a small sample
of my m/m WIP, 'Aissa and Polyxena'.

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Muses may sing of heroic deeds and ancient quarrels, but their lips can be silent, when it comes to hidden truths. Truths which shame lovers, who come together, even though honour, duty, and destiny has commanded them to be enemies. Commanded them to destroy each other, rather than to willingly seek out each other’s arms. 

My truth has remained unspoken for too long, but I can no longer remain silent. Not after all the tales of how Achille violated me, decapitated me, visited all kinds of horrors upon me. In truth, he was at the mercy of a passion, which began with Ganymede’s cup.

Saturday Snippet

It's a time of Rainbow Snippets, which this poor little Cauldron can no longer officially participate in. It still wants to play, though. Here's a taste from my m/m mythical WIP, 'Aissa and Polyxena'.

This site uses cookies I don't quite understand, but I need to warn you about. Consider yourself warned. 

Muses may sing of heroic deeds and ancient quarrels, but their lips can be silent, when it comes to hidden truths. Truths which shame lovers, who come together, even though honour, duty, and destiny has commanded them to be enemies. Commanded them to destroy each other, rather than to willingly seek out each other’s arms. 

My truth has remained unspoken for too long, but I can no longer remain silent. Not after all the tales of how Achille violated me, decapitated me, visited all kinds of horrors upon me. In truth, he was at the mercy of a passion, which began with Ganymede’s cup.

QueerBlogWed

It's always depressing to receive a rejection note. Today, I received them for the rest of my stories I submitted to Daily Science Fiction.

Were my stories not good enough? Or were they simply not what Daily Science Fiction wanted?

I guess that's up to the reader. Here's a teaser from one of the stories I submitted, 'The Dark Lord's Heart'.

The sites uses cookies I don't really understand, but I'm obliged to warn you about. Consider yourself warned.

The dark lord appeared at the gate of the wizard’s cottage. This time, he didn’t bring his hobgobin army of twisted, lost desires, or his spectral minions to bring their shadow of despair on the rolling, green hills. 

Neither of these had ever moved the wizard, even though the dark lord had brought them chiefly to impress him.