JULIE FILE 2
By Julie
julie@centurybooks.com
RATING: G
FEEDBACK/BETA: Yes, please
DISCLAIMER: The two-leggeds belong to Fireworks. Cleo belongs to no one but herself, but she
deigns to live in my head.
~~~~~
"Still got that cat hanging round, eh Colonel?"
Cleo narrowed her eyes and let a growl escape her throat. She didn't like this two-legged, couldn't understand why Grey Eyes let him on his territory. She debated a full assault on the man, but decided the time wasn't ripe, so she merely glared at him from her perch atop the bookcase.
"Cleo does an admirable job keeping my home free of vermin. Would that my Captain of the Guard could be half so effective."
The despised two-legged squirmed, and Cleo was pleased.
"Uh yes, Colonel. Was there anything else you needed?"
"Nothing that you can provide. Leave the reports, and I'll read them tonight. Dismissed."
When the man had gone, Grey Eyes sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples, obviously fatigued. Cleo jumped down to his desk and gave him an inquiring look.
"I know you don't like him, Cleo. Neither do I. But he is more useful as an ally than as an enemy. A man can't be too careful in the choice of his enemies."
That hadn't been her question, but she didn't pursue it. Even the best of the two-leggeds were maddeningly inept at communication. Instead, she purred softly as he scratched her ears. She was worried about this one. There was so little joy in his life, and she meant to correct that situation, just as soon as she had a well-deserved nap.
~~
Grey Eyes was standing at the window of the dining room, sipping wine before sitting down to his solitary meal. Cleo could smell a variety of foods, most of which did not interest her. Even the fish had been ruined by some herb-laden sauce. Good thing she'd snatched her portion before the cook had done her dirty work.
Cleo jumped to the sideboard to get a better view of the situation. She quickly spied the perfect prey in the center of the table. She crouched low and began moving slowly along the edge. She was the stalker, invisible, deadly, ready to--
"Cleo!"
So much for invisibility. Time for action. With a burst of power, she made the leap to the table, hitting her target square on. She skittered with it to the edge of the table, then to a chair and finally to the floor. Several pieces of silverware clattered to the floor with her, and something made a fearsome crash, but Cleo remained focused on her goal.
She gripped the loaf firmly between her two front paws and then rolled to her back. She brought her hind claws up and began shredding with all her might, creating a perfect spray of crumbs. She rolled to and fro, reveling in her symphony of destruction.
All her chaos had taken only seconds to achieve, and when she was done, she sat up and shook herself gracefully. She glanced at Grey Eyes and was pleased by the expressions rolling across his face. She rose to her feet and, with all the dignity of a supreme ruler, she strolled from the room.
A gaggle of servants had gathered at the door, and Cleo paused to watch their panic. One dared to poke her head in, but then scuttled back out, an expression of shock on her face.
"Madre de Dios!" Tell us what happened," the cook demanded. "And what is that noise?"
The girl took a deep breath and made the sign of the cross. "It's terrible, as though a demon passed through the room. And that sound, it's El Coronel. He's ... he's ... laughing!"
Cleo blinked in satisfaction and headed for Grey Eyes' bedroom. She had just enough time to warm his pillow with a nap before her evening hunt.
~~~~~~~
For Ah'Sheba, Empress of the Known Universe and Beloved Familiar.
1991-2001.
END
By Julie
Trio Challenge Week 23
I hope Jo doesn't mind, but I've kidnapped Bea for a little chat.
~~~
Another glass? Oh, all right, just one. But this has to be the last one. Bu--, er, I mean, Luis, he doesn't like me to stay out too late. He such a kind boy, to worry about me so.
He always was a kind-hearted boy. Mind you, that kind heart of his was always getting him into trouble. But he meant well. I'll never forget the time he took his mother's cameo brooch to give to his first love. Negrita. She was beautiful -- soulful eyes and silky, dark hair. He was so proud, and he handled her so well.
Of course, my sister was not pleased to find her jewelry adorning a bridle. I fear the scales of justice did not tilt in his favor that day.
Another glass? Well, maybe just a half. But that must be the last. Bun--, er, I mean Luis, he doesn't like my potatory habits.
He did love that pony. Almost burned down the barn on account of that pony. She took ill once, and Luis didn't want to leave her. He snuck back into the barn after he was supposed to be in bed. It would have come out all right, except he fell asleep and must have kicked the lantern over in the night.
Negrita got him out though. She saved his hide, and then his father tanned it. Poor Bunk-- er, Luis. His father was awfully hard on him, but then his father was always worried and took his frustrations out on his son. Epurations at court always had repercussions for the family. My brother-in-law's positions could never be truly secure. Luis understood that. Learned that lesson well.
One more glass? Yes, yes, I think I will have another. I do so enjoy having a little chat over some wine. Let's not worry about the time. Bunky will just have to realize that I am in independent woman, not some dotty old fool. Besides, that nice Senor over there is smiling at me. Perhaps we could invite him to join us?
END
By Julie
Disclaimer: May whose who own them and let them languish sleep as well as their creations.
Rating: G-ish
Feedback/Beta: Yes, please.
TRIO/QUOTE CHALLENGE: a fireplace, a shoe, cherries
"A truth that's told with bad intent/ Beats all the lies you can invent". -William Blake
~~~
Marta felt the stiff breeze blowing in from the coast and frowned. "Tessa! Come. You have your cherries for the pie. Now it is time to return home."
Tessa paused to pat the horses who were prancing nervously, their ears pulled back, and then mounted the wagon. "Why the rush? I wanted to visit with the doctor for a moment."
Marta did not even wait until Tessa was properly seated before she slapped the reins and turned the horses toward the hacienda.
~~~
A thump on one's chest and a hiss in one's ear is a rude way to be awakened, even when the awakening itself is not unwelcome. Colonel Luis Montoya grunted and focused his eyes just in time to see Cleo leap down and scramble under the bed, her fur standing straight up.
"What in the world?" He spoke thickly as he roused himself and looked about the room. He heard nothing but the wind howling at his windows, whistling through the fireplace. He looked beneath the bed and saw nothing except his shoes and two glowing eyes in the far corner. "It's all right, Cleo. There is nothing here."
The eyes stayed put and kept their unblinking vigil. Luis lay back upon the bed, but sleep eluded him. His eyes maintained their own reluctant vigil as the wind whispered in his ear, whispered echoes of the dreams which haunted him.
"Enough!" Luis pushed back the blankets and rose abruptly. He lit his lamp and crossed to the wall of books which had so often brought him comfort. He selected a recent addition. The volume was beautifully bound in leather, and the paper was of thick linen stock. Illustrations on each page had been hand tinted by the English poet himself. He knew nothing of the poet, but he knew Don Angelo had paid a handsome price for the book.
The Colonel sat down and shook away the thoughts of Don Angelo, the man who had been invading his dreams, the man who even now was on a ship to Spain, who had given up everything in this New World, exactly as Luis had predicted.
"I told him only the truth." Luis couldn't say why he spoke out loud, his tone almost defiant. Only the wind heard him, and only the wind answered. He turned to the book.
"To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour."
Luis breathed deeply. The words did soothe him. Though he found the English awkward, he appreciated the high thought. Here perhaps was yet another poet who would have been better born a Spaniard. He read on, drawn into the poem, though the couplets grew darker.
"The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy."
The wind came louder now, pressing at the shuttered windows, slipping in at the grate. Luis felt a chill draft, and the lamp flickered, making the innocent illustrations dance with menace.
"The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent."
Luis slammed the book shut, and a shutter flew open. The wind swept through, extinguishing the lamp and scattering the papers on his desk. Luis sat stiffly in the dark, unable to move for moment, despite the shutter banging so near. "I told him only the truth," he said softly. Not even the wind seemed to hear now.
~~~~
"God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day."
--William Blake, AAuguries Of Innocence
Disclaimer: Fireworks owns the character of Marcus Grisham. I own his future (bwahahahaha!)
Rating: G
Feedback/Beta: Yes, please
Items: vellum parchment, metal pot, a ceremony
~~~~~
"C'min!"
The boy entered the room slowly, nervous about the strange old man hunched at the table.
"I got it for you."
"Well then bring it over here."
The boy moved forward, wary of the old man and the pale eyes glaring out from a grizzled face. He came no closer than necessary before reaching out his hand and delivering the sheets of vellum.
Old Mark took the sheets and laid them on the table with care. The boy waited for him to speak, but he only stared at the table. Something was different today, and the boy looked about, trying to understand the change. The room was cold, but that wasn't a surprise. The old man usually spent his fuel money on liquor. That was it. No lingering scent of whiskey. No half empty bottle on the table.
The boy dared a question. "So what are you going to do with the fancy paper? And why that? It cost more than anything else at the stationers."
"It's for my will."
The voice was gruff, and there was something else there, too. The boy took it for weakness and grew bolder. "What you writing a will for? You ain't got nothing to leave nobody."
The man turned to face the boy, and his eyes glistened with anger, and he seemed suddenly larger, more dangerous. The boy scampered to the door before the rag-wrapped hand could grab him.
"And stay out, you little bastard!"
Old Mark sighed and turned back to the table, flexing his aching fingers. They always hurt now, but the cold made it worse. A spot of whiskey would take the edge off. But no, he had decided to do this sober. He rubbed his hands one over the other in a vain attempt to warm them and ease the pain.
It wasn't so that he had nothing to leave. The gold, of course, was long gone. Bits of jewelry that ladies had given him long ago, all sold. All except the locket from Vera. He unconsciously touched his chest, and beneath the layers of clothing, the soft metal pressed against his skin. The locket was to be buried with him. He'd made that very clear to the local preacher.
No, the money and finery were long gone, and his tiny military pension would die with him. But still he had the truth, his truth.
"The evil that men do lives after them while the good is oft interred with their bones..." It didn't need to be that way. He would leave the truth behind, give that preacher man one hell of a story to tell at the funeral of Marcus Grisham.
Old Mark winced as he stretched his fingers again before picking up his pen. He dipped it into the metal pot that served as inkstand and began to write.
END
By Julie
julie@centurybooks.com
Disclaimers: Fireworks owns 'em. I'm just taking them out for some exercise.
Rating: PG for mild violence
Feedback/Beta: Yes, please
Trio & Quote challenge: Cheese, skull, clock.
"Anyone can make mistakes, but only an idiot persists in his error."
"When you have to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite."
~~~~~
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go;
Colonel Luis Montoya strolled through the pueblo in all his sartorial glory, his boots gleaming, his uniform spotless and the gold trim on his jacket practically shining. He made a striking picture silhouetted against the pale adobe structures.
Pity there was no one out to see him.
The vendors had packed their wares, their silks and saws, their cheeses and fruits, and they would not return until Monday. The dons were at home with their families and would only return for mass tomorrow morning. The Alvarado wagon was parked near the stables, but there was no sign of the Senorita or her servant. One or the other of them was probably badgering the doctor.
The only sound came from behind the guard's quarters, a steady clanking and clanging punctuated by grunts and groans. El Capitan was working the soldiers long today. Montoya walked round the building to watch.
Grisham was sparring with Corporal Sanchez, normally a cocksure fellow and not a half-bad swordsman, but today he appeared beaten down and frustrated. He was not doing well. The Captain pressed on relentlessly and then executed a move Montoya not seen him use before. The hapless Corporal's sword went flying from his hands.
"Again!"
The Corporal gave Grisham a look that intimated he would rather bash in the Captain's skull than continue with the swords. But he obeyed, and the battle was engaged. The Captain used the same move, and the Corporal's sword took flight again.
So the old dog has learned a new trick. Montoya approached the circle of men. "You seem to be having trouble this evening, Corporal."
The man flushed with embarrassment as he reached for the sword. "Si, Coronel. El Capitan has been teaching us some new attacks."
"Against which you have been using the old defenses, which do not seem to be working. Anyone can make mistakes, but only an idiot persists in his error." Colonel Montoya softened his words with a smile and an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Then he began to unbutton his jacket. "Let us see what we can learn about these new attacks, shall we?"
Grisham approached, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Really Colonel, there's no need. I have the lesson well in hand here."
"Excellent. Then you shall not objection to instructing me." Montoya smiled pleasantly as he exchanged his jacket for a sword.
The two men circled one another and then Grisham grew bold and began to slash aggressively. Montoya parried each stroke with ease and allowed himself a sly smirk. "Grisham, you are so predictable. You move just like a clock. Tick. Tock." He punctuated the last three words with thrusts that pushed Grisham toward the edge of their makeshift arena.
Grisham responded with another burst of strength and tried the move that had been so effective on the men earlier. Montoya deflected the blow with ease.
"You see, gentlemen," Montoya said, addressing the soldiers. "Every move has a counter move. You must train yourself to see these options."
The Captain became ever more frustrated as Montoya continued to addressed the soldiers, who obviously enjoyed the display. "Another thing you must remember is that every opponent, no matter how strong, has a weakness. El Capitan's is a lack of patience."
The sparring went on for another minute and then Grisham's sword clattered to the ground. Montoya held the point of his sword over the Captain's heart.
"You see, gentlemen, with patience, I have bested my opponent. Now, I should give a short bow and run him through."
"Why the bow, Colonel?" a man called from the sidelines.
"Why not? When you have to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite."
The men laughed until a glare from Grisham reduced them to coughs and ill-suppressed smirks. The Colonel bowed to Grisham and returned the sword to Corporal Sanchez.
END
37 TRIO: a wax seal, a gold reale, milk
You can't go home again.
At least not without the family giving you a lot of ****.
--Julie
~~~~~
"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." Marcus Grisham delivered his trademark smirk.
"I had nothing to do with it." Cleo sniffed haughtily and turned her back on the interloper.
"Oh, Cleo. I'm sorry I've been gone. Please forgive me."
The cat stayed perfectly still and ignored her vigorously.
"Please. I brought you something."
The end of her tail twitched almost imperceptibly.
"You'll like it. Fresh and creamy."
Cleo turned her head slowly toward the dish and sniffed. She paused long enough to establish doubt that the gift would be accepted before settling down to drink. "This doesn't mean you're forgiven," she purred between delicate laps at the milk.
"So where have you been?"
The writer tried to answer, but Marcus interrupted. "I suppose you're going to try that lame old RL excuse again, eh?"
"Well..."
"Hah! Give it up, girlie. I bet you a gold reale that you just took a powder cuz you can't write your way out of a bucket."
The writer stomped her foot. "Watch it, Bucko Boy. I haven't forgotten what to do with you when you start getting too cocky!"
Grisham's smirk fled as he looked down at his hands, which were rapidly changing from young and strong to old and arthritic. His eyes glared out at her from a grizzled face. "I hate it when you do that."
The writer grinned evilly. "Oh, poor Markoos!"
"Poor Markoos indeed." The high, light voice bubbled into the room. "Why must you do this to him?"
"Vera! I didn't see you there."
"Of course you didn't see me. Whenever you make him old, I'm dead!"
"I'm sorry. But he was being so mean."
Vera arranged her beautiful features into their most persuasive expression. "If you make him young again, I promise to make him behave."
The writer gave an exasperated sigh, but was never able to deny Vera her wishes. Grisham was so pleased to have his youthful body back, he ripped off his shirt. Vera cooed, and the writer tried not to lose her lunch.
As she turned away, she began scanning the room, wondering where--
"Ahem."
There he was, leaning against the doorjamb, resplendent in his gold-trimmed uniform. He took in her admiring glance with a shrug. "One does try to keep up appearances. Even when one is ignored for months."
She winced at the accusatory tone. "I'm so--" A perfectly manicured finger stopped her mouth.
"No, no. We don't need any explanations. Just a signature." Luis snapped a folded paper at the writer's forehead.
"Hey! Watch it!"
"Open it."
The writer broke the wax seal and unfolded the document. "This says I agree to write something every day, even if what I write turns out to be little more than a sucky shopping list."
"I phrased the contract somewhat more eloquently, but that's the gist. And it's for your own good. Sign."
The writer looked askance at the proffered quill pen, half expecting the tip to be dipped with blood. Thank heavens Luis still wasn't speaking to Kronos. "I'll stick with ball-point, thanks."
END