Archive for the ‘Inkspots’ Category

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Not Roaring

Posted: January 31, 2016 in Inkspots

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Along with bills (give us money), advertisements (spend your money), and bank statements (look what happened to your money), this arrived Friday.

There was no return address or name to tell me who it was from, and it was in a gray unassuming envelope.    My pulse hit a little harder in my fingertips as I worked to get it open. Mysterious and fun are anonymous things. The pulse switched from its curious tap tap tapping to a harder drum-drum-drumming as I pulled the paper free.  This might be Anonymous, but it definitely not purposeless.   It struck right to the center of my soul.

You see, I’ve been having a conversation with the Lion of the Tribe of Judah about my life, and not roaring.  (more…)

Today’s entertainment is brought to you by my Smallest Niece, who decided to tell a story while I wrote it down. She also thought that it would be fun to take pictures to illustrate the tale. So sit back wipe the mustard off your fingers, put down your patriotic hot dogs, and enjoy!


“The Adventures of Eeyore*”

This is Eeyore

This is Eeyore, and Eeyore’s flying basket

Eeyore is traveling to the Valley of Snow Land by flying basket He only has one blanket and four fish. He uses a fish to steer the basket, but he also has to eat them, so he won’t be able to steer all the time.  And he gets stuck a lot  (well you would too if you had to decide if you were going to have a meal, or steer your flying basket) and then has to land and fish. But not in the water, just in lakes.  Also he built a barn in Snow Land so he is not cold. And he goes out and fishes in Snow Land.

Eeyore  in his barn in the Valley of Snow Land

Eeyore in his barn in the Valley of Snow Land

He has a chest he is going to put the fish in, and he dives into the lake and uses his tiny ears to catch the fish and put them in the chest to eat later.  He fishes the fish out of the lake, all of them. But the fish at the bottom of the lake bubble up to the top so he can go fishing  again (apparently Eeyore has some mad fishing tricks most fishermen would love to know)  Eeyore makes a bridge out of the snow over the lake. Eeyore snores himself to sleep.

One day he decides to move himself to another place for more Adventures. He goes to the Island of Sun and comes back to the Valley of Snow Land at night.

 

Eeyore on the Island of Sun

Eeyore on the Island of Sun

He makes a small bed out of rags and takes a small nap. he is very chilled from flying over the Island of Ice.

Eeyore getting chilled as he explores the Valley of Ice

Eeyore getting chilled as he explores the Island of Ice

He is finally warm and gets into his basket to start another Adventure.  It is raining  hundreds of gallons of rain. Eeyore is on his way to the Valley of Rain. He is going to go above the clouds and turn on the instructions so he knows where it is.

Eeyore preparing to go to the Valley of Rain

Eeyore preparing to go to the Valley of Rain

The End.

Or. . .is it? Stay tuned, Scribes! Until the next time, Encourage one another!

*not affiliated with Disney in any way, my smallest niece and I  make no money from this tale, it is purely for entertainment.

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Caiti gave this to me for my birthday this past May, and I just about died.  She commissioned one of her artist friends to draw her character Tyrza, and Rea, standing back to back in their “default” expressions. Hers, “I am not buying your bull” and his “Oh really?”

I love it so much, I just can’t get over seeing him like that.  Oh my goodness. So many ideas are being stashed to the side due to other writing constraints but hey, I’m making notes as fast as I can.  It’s amazing how a piece of character art can make you want to write, don’t you think?

Want to check out the amazing, fantastical, phenomenal artist that created this 1,000 word picture? Well, here’s her tumblr

Now, go check out her site, give her lots and lots of love, and remember Scribes when you post artwork 😉 gifts or things you’ve found, link to the artist.

Also let me know who has given YOU some fan art.  C’mon now, you are all talented enough to have fan art. 😀 Give the artists a shout out.

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The Christian Manifesto, where I post reviews, is looking for a few  new reviewers. The criteria for reviewing there is to have a good critical understanding of writing, be able to commit to a review schedule deadline, and be able to say what you mean and mean what you say in 700 words or less.  The most important part of that criteria is the critical understanding of writing.

What do I mean when I say that? Well, can you pick out the difference between passive and active voice? Do you catch when a writer begins telling more than showing?  Are you able to sit back from the emotional reactions a book provokes  and look at the style, structure, and elements of story?

Then you might be just who we are looking for!

We are seeking  readers/writers  who are willing to honestly review fiction and non fiction books, not with an eye to selling the product as Amazon or Barnes & Noble or Goodreads often do (especially with Author incentives) but with an eye to steering readers away from time-wasting books and to the ones that are worth the readers investment of hours and imagination.

We are also looking to expand the kinds of books we review, and the kinds of interviews we have.

Ever wanted to interview one of your favorite authors?  The Christian Manifesto might be just the boost/battering ram you’ve been looking for;  an independent review blog carries a nice heft of clout in the publishing world. I’ve connected with Marissa Meyer, Rachel Coker, and Dani Pettrey for interviews  through The Christian Manifesto and have more coming up.

And that’s not all.

Recently  one of our reviews was picked up and placed on the back of a Bethany House book, (Dani Pettrey’s  Silenced) so there’s definitely a chance for fortune and glory as Indy says, when you write for us.

Mainly glory. Not so much fortune.

It’s not an easy place to write for, but it’s a good place. Reviewing is hard work, but then so are most things in life that are worth doing. If you’re interested in joining me and a host of other really talented people then click this link CLICK ME and follow the instructions on the page there. I hope that I see you on the roster beside the rest of the crew, very soon!

Until I post again, Encourage one another Scribes!

Rea

Mirram Neal has been fighting with him for weeks. Utter weeks. And while he’s not here in the “flesh” as it were, here is the scan of her line art of my grumpy Daithian. Captures his  I’m cooler than you attitude perfectly, no?    Or as she so perfectly put it “Rea hugging himself in frustration.” So while  YOU wait for the next part of the interview, and while I wait for him to get here—feel free to take her line art and color it, make paper Rea airplanes with it–and otherwise annoy my not so very bad boy, bad boy.   Rea belongs to me, the art to Mirriam, and Jeremy Renner belongs mainly to himself. Don’t repost or claim as your own or I will sic Angel’s fangirls after you.

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Well and duh, who is Mirriam? As if you don’t know. Wait, you DON’T KNOW?! AHHHH.  Go here. IMMEDIATELY

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So what in the world happened to me? How is Rea doing? Did Rea kill you and or run away?

These questions have been in boxed to me and it makes me feel loved. Thanks guys for noticing! I have had a rough spring. Between my back and my teeth it seems like every time I get my footing I get knocked down again. So blogging/writing has fallen to the bottom of the list. The good news is that April is nearly over and I’m beginning to see the light again. I’m doing better physically; I’ll be off antibiotics this week and am generally feeling better.

Yay.

So, where do I stand on Rea’s interview? Well, I’m working on part of it but stopped to post this. I know I know, get back to Rea. Well, I will but he’s had to wait as I’m due to write some book reviews and I also have another author interview coming up. Not that he minds, crafty Daithian that he is, I’m sure he’s using his unsupervised time to do all manner of things I’d rather he not do.

This summer (June through August 2014) I’m working on doing something I think that will be kind of cool and this is your invitation to come along on the journey. Each month, I’m going to post writing prompt along with MY version of it and then post it here. I’ll give you seven days to post your own version of the prompt (and these are going to be really short) and then the next week we’ll revise together, edit, and polish our projects.

The idea is to work on skills together. To encourage short projects that become DONE projects, and at the end of the summer hopefully we’ll all have grown, stretched, and be more comfortable sharing with one another.

During the summer I’m also going to be sharing some really cool writing tools I’ve found that are online and free, and also places to submit work.

All of this I’m working on RIGHT NOW, so that the posts will go up automatically, you know in case my face/life/back decide to explode again.

I’ve also got a special treat coming up for the Rea fans, and that should be ready to share this summer as well. So you have lots and lots of things to look forward to, aren’t you glad you stuck it out while the silence was screaming*?

Patience is a virtue.

* Early writer stretch to get you limbered up for the summer. How can silence scream? Tell me in the comments.

Tastes like Ebil

Posted: April 27, 2014 in Inkspots

Tastes like Ebil

This, is my favorite baby goat from a nearby farm. His name, is Morse Code. Cody for short.
Enjoy Cody and his fantastic sense of what tastes like evil, and what doesn’t. Later today, I’m returning with a real post and some cool offers for writers this Summer. Stay tuned!

Interview With A Daithian Part III

Posted: March 13, 2014 in Inkspots

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Gaining the boardwalk that leads to the sea proper I wedge my book and pen under the edge of a loose boulder and run down the sloped stone walk as a sending of wings fill the air.  Bright bat wings, dragon wings, death wings bring them to the edge of the sea. Two pairs of green wings are pumping hard over the white capped waves carrying Rea’s red clad frame and another’s out towards something I can’t see.

Most Daithians drop short of following them and are down at the water’s edge, great sail appendages tucked hard against their backs. I run along the soft sand till it becomes browned and packed. Everyone’s taller than I am, and I snake through their wings and under and around arms and legs to the very front. Sea water smacks against my knees wetting me, and I stagger back as the whole group gropes for better purchase on the sand. Someone catches me under my elbows from behind and steadies me, lifting me up and then landing out of the reach of the wet. I look over my shoulder. Keigh. I relax and then dare to ask

“What’s the problem? She points, her red hair tied back in a braid, but pieces have pulled out and whip madly about her face and shoulders.

“There is a ferry boat that’s been caught in the squall” She tucks her mouth close to my ear and moves a green wing to partially block the wind. “The Selkei that reside past the edge of the Royal Circlet, in the deep places between here and the Vos’ Backbone, one of their clan swam in and begin the alarm.

They can’t get to the boat, the idiots aboard haven’t trimmed the sails and the selkei dare not try and get close to it lest one of their own get crushed between the boat hull and the shoals. So JaHani and Jan:tia go out to wind together to try and get the boat under control before she heels over and her passengers get dumped. The selkei are  worried” she continued looking out towards the horizon again “Because  the leviathan get stirred up when the storms break like this, the monsters know that food often comes when the demons of the heavens whip this cauldron to a froth.”

 

“Who is with Rea” I yell and she smiles, tightly.

“My brother, Eoghan.” Rain pelts against me, and I watch as the group on the beach heads back towards the boardwalk, some winging, and some running.  Keigh flicks a wing up over her head and motions me to step under the curve of her wing.

“Where’s everyone going? Are they just going to let the guys do this on their own?”

She shakes her head.

“No, they’ve gone for the pull lines. If Eaoghan and Rea can get the sails down then one of the selkei might swim a line out to them and we can pull them ashore. Right now,” she said looking into the storm “Rea’s got the helm and Eaoghan’s up in the rigging struggling with the sails.”

“Eaoghan’s a sailor” I yell into the wind “Why’s he up in the rigging and not at the helm steering the ship? Rea’s knowledge of sailing involves finding ways that he doesn’t have to get wet”

“Rea’s a redclad” Keigh points out “And also at the moment,” the sky flashed, a line of white raking down the darkness to slam into the line where sea and sky met “A lightning magnet. If he got hit the whole ship would probably burn. Eaoghan’s used to tying down the rigging. “ She tenses “Stay here on the beach, they’ll need every hand they have available” she says as she turns and wings up to the boardwalk where a group of Daithians have reappeared and are hustling down to where I am.  She leaps into the air, light green wings almost glowing against the gray sky. As the wet pours over me, I watch her wing after Rea and her brother, her appendages struggling against the wind as she bobs up and down between them.  Something is playing out behind her, swinging low in a heavy swag. It’s connected to whatever is in the arms of the men coming down to the beach. Clink-ka-ta-clink-ka-ta-clinck-ka-ta, the dark links of the line sound. Chain. She’s winging out chain to them!

“I thought that the Selkei were going to take the line?” I yell as the men stagger closer to the water’s edge, four of them working to hold a great spool of metal links that is rapidly becoming smaller.

“They’re bringing in some of the injured. Keigh asked us who was swimming the line out and Taelio said that they’re swimming the injured in, that’s when she took off” the Daithian answered, setting the great spool down on its end so it could continue to wind-off as Keigh wings.

“Ah” I clear my throat “Is that really wise” I gesture to the links “I mean there is” lightning hit, crackling and flashing down into the sand a distance down the beach. “Electricity that is seeking to ground itself” I say, shoulders up against my ears.

“This isn’t metal, girly”one chuckles “It’s durit, made into links. Stone” he elaborates, seeing my look “And lightning don’t like stone. Plus, the triggers are getting put into place up a ways” he nods and I look towards the right.  Vague figures are moving in the sheeting gray, down from the boardwalk and towards the sea edge. Thunder rumbles, and there’s another crack of sheer brilliance. The lightning spikes down into the sand turning the gloom to midday and a second later my lids flash down over my eyes. I can see the veins on the inside of them, and the lids themselves are the color of apricot jam held in a sunbeam. Slowly my jam-lids darken to brown. Wincing I crack a lid and see that in the gloom a great long pole has appeared and is striking into the silver sky. Blinking into the rain I watch as the grayish figures move fast back up the dunes towards the boardwalk and the seawall. Silent as a sea-serpent, lighting scores across the gray and snaps to what they’ve speared in the beach.

Flash.  I turn my back to the brilliance and the thunder grumbles, making the ground shake.  The stone links are still playing out from the spool and I step closer to the men making sure nothing tangles.  Tucking my hair behind my ears I duck my head and ask the one crouching near the base

“What exactly is the line going to do?”  He looks up at me, lashes clumping in the wet. I see the surprise flicker over his features and his brows come together as he opens his mouth.  He shakes his head slightly and then says

“Keigh’ll get it to the ferry and make it fast. Then we’ll pull her in,” he looks from me to the line winding off the spool and shifts one of the long metal handles that brace the spool deeper into the sand “Hopefully they’ll have their own fastline winches onboard and when they get close enough they’ll shoot their harpoons to the shore and be able to help pull themselves up the beach.”

“Selkei! Coming in, coming in and fast” a voice calls from the other side of the spool and I dodge under the shaking links and run to the edge of the sea. There is a white-flash and then a crackling pop. I wince, look over my shoulder, and see the after image of lightning serpenting to the pole. I drag my gaze back. Some fellow is standing up, waist deep in the wet, staggering towards shore. Two other Daithians rush to him, and take the figure from the water-man’s shoulders. A third runs into the wet and grabs the man’s arms as he folds in half. The Daithian half drags, half carries the man up the beach, supporting him under the arms, and then when they are nearly to the stone walk, he lays the water-man down. Weaving through the others I run up along the dunes to the stone walk and stop as water geysers from the prone figure. Out of his back, out of his neck, the water blasts like a dolphin. I gawk. Bare from the waist up, I see that his skin is a light teal color which fades from the outside of his frame towards his spine in an ombre pattern. White hair is plastered and skewed over his head. He gives an allover shake and then pushes up on his arms, gasping. The slits along his back and neck suddenly seal shut and he turns over, shivering in the rain.

“She all right?” he rasps “She fell over when the ferry began to heel, the knight, he got the boat to stand like a lady but she was already in the wet and floundering” he says leaning back on his elbows.  His chest is coated in sand but the rain is taking it away. Someone brings a cloak and puts a hand on his shoulder as he uses it to dry his features.

“Well done, lad. Well done” the voice murmurs.

“Tis a’tein” he pants. It is as nothing. I half smile. It’s weird to hear the word I created used as an actual word in this world of ink and paper.

“You’re a hero” I say and he looks over and up at me. “Swimming her into shore, and she’s a stranger to you.” More pointed and sharply angled then Daithian features, they are still remarkably similar to the Daithians.  He draws his knees up, and half kneels, half sits, his sides working as he pants.

“Not half as much a hero as that other suckerfoot is” he manages between gulps of air.  “He was hanging out over the side of the ship, feet planted on the hull and leaning back towards the wet so she didn’t go over while Eaoghan was working to get the sails down. Never seen anything like that. Not from a suckerfoot or a dryskin, anyway” he says and then runs a hand over his hair, working to slick it back against his skull.

A cry goes up from the shoreline, and he staggers to his feet. “They’ve made contact with the ferry” he lurches towards the waterline as the lightning hits, washing everything in white. I shove an arm under his and pull it over my shoulders, helping him along. He smiles faintly but leans hard over my offered support.  Daithians are lined up along the chain, wings against shoulders, and tight down despite the driving rain.  We’re all soaked, and I suppose no one wants to chance a lightning strike by raising a limb.

“PULL” comes the cry and the beings along the chain heave in synch. “SET” they get their legs under themselves “PULL” and they drag the line together. “SET” the selkei and I get to edge of the line and he abandons me, his webbed fingers closing around the stone links and he sets his legs into the sand. “PULL” he heaves with the rest. I get behind him, and grab a handful of chain. “SET” everyone digs their feet. “PULL” I haul on the line as hard as I can.  It goes slack for a moment and everyone in front of me slides their hands down to a new point on the line “SET” and sets their frame. “PULL” we all drag it together.  More slack.  Over, and over this repeats. The crack of thunder, the snap of lightning, and the endless links that burn through my fingers are the only things that exist.

“DOWN” comes the command and everyone flattens into the sand.  There’s a whistling hissing sound and then behind me and to the left something explodes. I curl into a ball as dirt and stone and sand reign down.  There’s another whistling hiss that goes over head, and a second explosion.

“They’re firing at us” I hiss and my neighbor laughs.

“Not at us, the shore, she’s close enough now for them to help pull her in” he explains as we unfold ourselves. “Those are” he nods at one spade shaped device in the beach “The fastline harpoons.” Through the haze of wet, I see that the spade shaped object has a line attached to it. Now, there are three points pulling the ship towards the shore.

“PULL” rings the command. I scramble up and grab the chain.

In another moment, there’s a cheer and the line bows, nearly touching the sand.

“There she is!”

Everyone surges to the water’s edge, eager hands reaching for the vessel but no one foolish enough to splash down into the water. I take that back. One foolish enough. Someone’s in the water, up to his hips and he’s carrying someone else over his shoulders. He’s forcing himself through the water, running through the wet.  Lightning hits the rod and in the flash of over brightness, I see him. Lucien. He’s powering through the breakers and then staggering up the beach.  He’s got a Daithian on his shoulders, now, they’re being taken away. I run down to him and grab his hand as he doubles over, bracing on one knee, and his sides heaving.

“Who was hurt, who? Lucien, please, you have to tell me” I beg and he fights for breath, even as the figure is moved onto a gurney and whisked onto shoulders and up the sand dunes to the harbor proper.

“Lucian, who was hurt?”

He straightens, wipes the hair out of his face, and then fingerspells three letters.

R-E-A.

Not as many questions answered this time around 😉 But there are some.  And a real hero showed up. Look at that.

Interview With A Daithian Part II

Posted: March 8, 2014 in Inkspots

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“Anything more specific you want to admit there about your incarcerations?” I ask, tapping the pen end against the paper.

“Several times I let myself get caught and thrown somewhere for  love,” he says evenly, looking down at the steaming coffee “More often than not, because I was hired to do something and getting caught was part of the job. Once it was to save a life.  Three times it was so that someone who couldn’t take the pounding would go free, and this hide has more scars than a map has folds. Few more weren’t going to make that much of a difference.” I watch a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth.  Whatever other thing he was going to tell me, he’s decided not to, he’s keeping that secret.

I refill my own mug and chew on a twist, looking down at the next question. Maybe I’d better split some of Emily’s up and go onto Hannah for a bit and then come back.  For as light as Emily’s are, so are Hannah’s dark. Mirriam’s fall happily in between. And Angel’s question made me giggle. I don’t think it’s going to make Rea but we’ll see.

“Right, next question. Only we’re going to go over to Hannah and Mirriam for a bit.”

“Suns in their places,” he says, and blinks “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” I say sipping my coffee “You agreed.” He rolls his eyes and folds on arm, then the other over his chest.

“That Hannah, she’s dangerous. She calls herself daughter of Moffat, when in truth the lady is daughter of William.”

“William?” I look up from my notes.

“Bill, then if William’s too formal.”

“Who?” I stare at him, having absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“The Bard of Avon.”

I choke on my coffee and he merely watches as I mop my face and the table in front of me with napkins. “Are you saying that Hannah is more to be called Daughter of Shakespeare than Daughter of Moffat?” He rolls his shoulders.

“Moffat and William both crib off other authors” Rea says as if telling me something new “But where William gave his audience something to chew on with his retellings and clusters of whit, all Moffat does is regurgitate pre-chewed whit for his audience to consume.”

“Thank you for that disgusting word picture.” I wipe my tunic and reach for the coffee. “I think she got the nick-name Daughter of Moffat because of what she puts her characters through.”

He grunts “William did more to his characters with a flourish of quill than Moffat’s done to his with an entire season of a show. There’s always a reset somewhere. A way of undoing the terrible things that have happened. William did not know what a reset was, nor did he want one. Moffat will be gone in ten years. William endures.”

“You know that flattering Hannah will get you nothing” I remind him and take a sip of coffee.

“Daughter of William is not a compliment.”

“What is it then?” I ask, fighting down the mad jealousy that is gnawing at my innards.

“Warning label.”

“Warning label?” I repeat

“For the other characters.” He stretches a wing and then “Want to take the rest of these outside?”

“Um, sure why not” I say and then “I don’t understand why you say Daughter of William is a warning, it’s got to be the best compliment a female writer can get!” I draw in a deep breath as he arches an eyebrow at me. “William Shakespeare is one of the, if not THE greatest writer that ever lived.  He was a genius, a master of words and stories, there is no one better. To be called the Daughter of Shakespeare is the highest” It’s all I can do to not whine the words, and I can’t finish.  To have a character, my character, in fact, tell me that someone else is to have the coveted title of Daughter of Shakespeare, is to have him speak poniards, and every word stabs.*

“That’s the reader’s point of view, right there” Rea snaps and I jump, nearly losing my cinnatwists.
“Let’s go.” He moves off.

We walk out the ‘handicapped’ entrance on the side of the building up a small flight of stairs and out into the dazzling sunshine. “Shakespeare is like Rasputin to us characters.” Rea says as he turns to the right and we begin walking downhill.

“But Rasputin is dead” I say as I juggle notebook, coffee, and confections.

“But what he did, that lives on doesn’t it?  Don’t you cringe at his image, shiver at his history, and feel sympathy for those lives he meddled in?” Rea turns on the walkway and leans down  to whisper “In  some deep dark part of your imagination,  don’t you dread that he is not  really dead but merely in hiding, waiting for the right moment to return and resume his reign of manipulation and terror?”

“Ah. . .thanks for that vivid  thought.” I hug my notebook as I walk beside him, letting him take cinnatwists as I finish my coffee.

In a weird way, I can see what he means about Shakespeare being like Rasputin.  His influence over writing and characters is far-reaching and William wasn’t exactly kind to his paper tigers.

Scents of salt and icthus and sand and sweat waft over me in undulating waves. “The harbor?” I ask, but he doesn’t reply, he’s too busy eating.

The  air dances over the white stones of the quay making everything shimmer as if the walk , sea wall, sea avies and the Daithians winging along it are all parts of some magicians illusion.  Sweat pricks behind my ears, and under my arms. Beyond the high retaining wall, Daitha’s sea flashes and rolls in blues as vivid as Earth’s Caribbean.  I look towards where the sea and sky meet.

I can’t see any of the islands in the Vos’ Backbone, it’s all a muddy blue haze on the horizon.  I grimace as I join Rea at the sea wall. The air is heavy with humidity. I squint upward. Large white clouds are mountaining up towards the heavens. Among the puffy rolls I can barely make out the flick and glide of forms. Probably messengers on waterdrakes, carrying important High House official documents from one island to the next in the Royal Circlet.

“Rea” I murmur “If you were trapped on a desert island, with no food, water, or way to prepare or gather any and only Lucien, Jude, Valentine, Angel and Leo for company, what would happen?”

“Daughter of Shakespeare asked that one didn’t she?” he says, throwing a piece of twist to an avie and not looking at me. Though he moves a wing so the sun isn’t quite so much in my eyes. Everything is shaded green.

“Yes.”

“Simple. We would kill Angel and then use his body as a raft, taking turns paddling as Jabber-Jaws called for help. Sadly, Jude and Leo would turn on one another and fall off the floating bloated corpse of the vampire, and be lost at sea. Valentine would fall in love with a selkei and be carried off to the nearest selkei village and have nine hundred children with her none of whom would every shut up.

I would perish within sight of land due to the overwhelming level of smug that Lucian carries around with him, and only the silent knight would make it back to civilization. He would then give Angel a proper burial which would resurrect the Vampire, and the two would ride off into the sunset to have a bro-venture together which would teach Angel that he does have a soul, and teach Lucien that after all the abuse he has suffered, he can still play the hero.”

“That’s really your answer?” I ask, pen pausing over the paper.

“Yup.” Rea says looking out to sea.

“All righty then.” I make a note of it. “Speaking of Angel” I begin.

“We weren’t” Rea’s shoulders tighten.

“Well, there’s no good way to segue into this question of his except by using Hannah’s question to introduce his.”

“I’m not answering his question” Rea growls, leaning against the wall and scowling at me.

“Um, he just wants to know if you have ever” I giggle “Considered” I can’t help the bubbling laughter “Um, Mercy Suicide.”

“I will help him committee suicide, gladly.”

“That’s not what he means” I protest.

“I will be happy to assist him in committing suicide.”

I sigh, and close my notebook.

“It’s rather lovely here.”

“It’s home” he says softly. “It’s my home.” His eyes shut, and I watch a fine nerve twitching at his temple.   He hasn’t been home in a long time.  I know. And my stomach begins to ache. I can’t let him come home. Not in his story.  I just can’t. The plot won’t let him. I won’t let him.

“I’m sorry” I whisper.

“Not sorry enough,” he mutters and then moves away from the wall, winging towards the bell tower set in the curve of land.  The wind picks up and I look to the horizon again. It’s black as night.

“A squall” I hiss as a blast of wind comes winging up over the seawall full of cool and wet. I clutch my notebook and run down along the harbor, watching a bright green pair of wings flicking towards the great tolling bell.

It’s the selkei bell. And any time it rings, someone’s in trouble.

*Benedict from Much Ado About Nothing  Act 2 Scene 1 ~Shakespeare