Words from Emily:
coerce
storied
rampart
desire
prisoner
clouds
moonlit
creepy

I feel a bit creepy, sitting here in the early morning night (12:52 am to be precise) in Emily’s apartment. She doth sleep, or attempt to sleep, and I doth write, or attempt to write.

Ramparts, coercion, prisoners – sounds like a fantasy novel in the making. So let’s go.

One day, a young girl named Hera was talking to her cousin Saffron. He was bitching about how his name meant some kind of lame flower and how hers was the name of a Goddess and jeez why couldn’t he have had the imaginative twin for a father instead of the dopey one. (Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Hera thought, to herself of course. No point in arguing with a son-of-a-dope.)

But just then Hera’s attention was piqued as he relayed an interesting tidbit about Sephus, the old man on the hill. While she was aware of many of the details and nuances of his storied past, she had never heard this tale. She was careful not to give away her desire for the hairy details, because Saffron would surely clam up and demand payment, and that meant only one thing: copping a feel. She was sick of that game so she feigned a slight boredom, just enough so Saffron would be eager to try to impress her with all the juicy boredom.

Sephus, apparently, had once been a prisoner of the Queen, the one two back before the current one, Queen Mabel. That particular queen had not lasted more than a few weeks, but apparently in her short span as monarch she had managed to secure Sephus in her dungeon. This was a feat worthy of note because Sephus, while a notorious bandit, was also one who had supposedly never lost a battle. So how did he come to be imprisoned, and by a woman who was by most accounts completely ineffectual?

Saffron didn’t know that part. Damn. And she didn’t think tempting him with a breast-mashing session would get her more information: he was plumb dry.

So she waited until dark and sneaked out of the village, being careful not to light her lantern until she had cleared the bounds of the settlement. Some people still believed that the old man was cursed and she didn’t want to go through all that again.

So she walked through the moonlit night, humming softly to herself to keep away the zoofbugs. They weren’t too much of a nuisance, sucking blood but not poisoning, but still it was easy enough to keep them at bay.

She wondered to herself how she would coerce the tale out of him once she arrived. But she hardly needed to strategize: her gift for loosening men’s tongues was apparent to everyone but her. In truth she never needed to let Saffron push his grimy paws on her, as he would have gladly spilled any secret if she looked at him with the tiniest spark of interest, even if he knew that it was only for the words he carried, not he himself. It was all he could do to keep from divulging his mother’s secret (that his father wasn’t really Hera’s uncle at all, but a tall dark and not horribly-looking stranger that somewhat approximated his build and coloring). That meant that he and Hera weren’t truly cousins, which made his nethers all the more tingly.

Knowing nothing of this, of course, as her character is not in fact omniscient, only the narrator, Hera starts planning her seduction. She doesn’t care that the man is old, because he has got that Sean Connery kind of sexy-old-man thing going on. Only she doesn’t think that because Sean Connery hasn’t been invented yet. She just thinks damn well he ain’t so bad anyway so what the hell and I want to know how the story happened. Meanwhile, your dear author just wants to figure out how to work “clouds” and “rampart” into this dear tale.

See, she could have put clouds in up with the moonlit night, but she thought that would be a bit heavy-handed. No, she is a fan of subtlety and a natural flow of words. Probably to her detriment as the morn wears on and she grows sleepy.

So, Hera gets there, and asks the man what up, and the man says hey sister can I see some flesh and she gives him a look and he says OK, I respect that, you’re working it, well I’ll tell you a little sumpin’ sumpin’ and here’s what it is: Saffron got his head all screwed round. Never were no dungeons involved. I’m undefeated, do you doubt me girl? I see by the way you nod your head slightly in my direction that you believe me. That’s because my personal branding is stronger than Saffron’s, and don’t you forget it. You are used to a consistent experience of the veracity of my words in regards to my accomplishments whereas Saffron, well he is just jacked in comparison. So, let me tell you what really happened: I stormed the ramparts of her heart and took her like a woman needs to be taken, all lace and soft restraints. Yes, we had an affair, and a glorious one at that. Why do you think she was only three weeks on the throne? Her old man found out and kicked her to the curb. But of course men aren’t cut out for ruling so her sister took over posthaste. And Mabel, my dear sweet Mabel, well she took it in the chin but she got over it. But she had had enough of me by then and took off for Vallanore to be a dominatrix. That means she takes men like women need to be taken. Which confuses me somewhat. But different strokes right?

Hera was satisfied with that and decided to do him anyway just for kicks, which made Sephus very happy (twice). Then she snuck back home and curled up with her honey like this author is about to do. THE END.

OOPS damn I forgot to work in “clouds”. OK. The next morning they woke up and Saffron, Sephus, the girl, and her honey, were all amazed to find that the clouds over their village had turned solid and come down and blanketed their house like in the story of “Bartholomew and the Oobleck” which is all about being content with what you have and not asking for fancy weather out of boredom because if you do some witches will make green goop fall from the sky and it will gum up everything and make the church belltower not work anymore. Which, as far as a moral goes, was completely lost on me, because I am never content with what I have and am always asking for more and damn straight why not because we are transcendent immortal beings growing and expanding in an ever widening upward spiral of Divine bliss so why shouldn’t I ask for more, huh? HUH? Thought so. THE END FOR REAL THIS TIME.