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elvendara · 3 years

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Kingdom Come

Not fully fleshed out but I've been so absent on here thought I'd post this. Another Yooran of course!

“What is this?” Saeran asked, hands well away from the weapons at his hips. It would not do to make this diplomatic mission turn into an all out war. But his hands were itching to fight. Using words was not something he had ever mastered. Unfortunately, his brother, who was arguably much better at word play, had been too far from the kingdom when word had come that King Demogon was ready to negotiate terms for the end of the war.

“While you are here, the king wishes you to enjoy all the pleasures our kingdom has to offer. If none of these young ladies are to your liking, we can arrange for a more diverse offering. Perhaps you might be so inclined as to provide us with your preferences.” The oily advisor, Bar A’karn, smirked as he showed off the barely clothed females in a line behind him. Saeran counted seven women, all who appeared very much willing and eager to spend time in his bed. It was not out of the ordinary for this kingdom to use its women in such a way. They were brought up learning the art of satisfying men almost from birth. It was a disgusting cultural norm. But if he refused, he would be insulting the king.

There were two men standing at either end, presumably guards of the king’s harem. The one on the left was tall with blond hair and blue eyes. Most of the inhabitants of the kingdom were fair of skin and hair. The one on the right was about his height, also with blond hair but the most stunning amethyst eyes. A shade he’d never seen in his own kingdom.

He turned towards the advisor, “I’ve made my decision.”

“Excellent, which of these lovely ladies would you like sent to your chambers?” The idea was to have her live with him while he was in the castle. Likely a good way to spy on him in private.

“That one.” He pointed towards the man on the left and spun on his heels, leaving the chamber and motioning for one of the servants to show him to his rooms. There was stunned silence behind him and then a flutter of commotion broke out. Saeran grinned and kept on walking.

He thanked the servant, which seemed to surprise the shorter man. The room was massive, the king-sized bed had large posts and a canopy with heavy drapery and bedding. There were double doors that led to a balcony. A desk was placed in front of the bed. There were two lanterns and the means to light them on it, along with some parchment, ink, quills, sand in a small bowl and a candy dish. A huge wardrobe was to the left of the bed. Both nightstands held candles on golden sconces. The opulence of the room made him shake his head.

This king and his father would get along just fine. They both seemed to believe power and money were the most important things in the world. He unbuckled his belt and tossed it on the bed, along with his swords. Shrugging off the heavily embroidered overcoat made him feel lighter. It was laid over the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. He sat heavily on it and began to remove his boots when there was a light knock on the door.

“Enter.” He called out. The door opened and the young blond man with the stunning eyes stepped inside. Eyes wide and nervous but standing straight and tall. It was a good sign. Saeran felt a little guilty for letting the man believe he would be sharing his bed nightly, not that he wasn’t attractive enough for it, but he was hardly the type to force that kind of intimacy with anyone against their will.

“You can come closer, let me get a good look at you.” He stood in his stockinged feet and waited for the other man to stand before him. His fair skin was flushed, the red all the way down his neck, his ears burning embers. “Take your clothes off.” He ordered. The man’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened even more but he didn’t protest. In fact, after gathering himself he began to do just that.

“That’s enough.” Saeran said once the overcoat and tunic were off. He stood there in his undershirt and trousers. Saeran took the man’s hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb, marveling at the difference in skin tone. He was slightly darker, mostly because he spent so much time out of doors. This man looked as if he’d never set foot outside the castle. His hands were smooth and dainty. He had obviously never done any hard labor either. Pampered then. Suddenly he wondered if he had been made into a eunuch. It was usually done for those men who were responsible for taking care of a powerful man’s harem. A barbaric way to make sure the wolf you set in the henhouse didn’t eat the hens.

“What is your name?” he asked, letting go of the man’s hand. It appeared as if he wanted to take a step back, but he held his ground. So Saeran took another step towards him, standing nose to nose, almost touching.

“I..it…I…uh…Yoo…Yoosung my lord.” He stuttered, anxiety coming off him in waves.

“Yoosung?”

“Yes my lord.”

“You can drop the lord crap, it makes my jaw clench.”

“Yes, of course my lo…uh…of course.”

“Saeran, my name is Saeran.”

“S…Saeran.”

“Good. Now that we’re getting to know each other, why don’t you tell me a little more about you.” Saeran sat on the bench, moved his coat to the bed and patted next to him invitingly.

“Certainly, although there isn’t much to interest a prince like you.” Yoosung sat next to Saeran, both feet on the floor, knees together, hands clasped on his lap.

“I’ll be the judge of that. I’m curious about you.” Saeran tried to be as unformal as possible, but the man was not relaxing at all.

“If you say so my lo…uh…Saeran.” He swallowed hard and refused to look at Saeran at all. “I was born a bastard. My mother was a cook in the kitchens. I never knew who my father was but she was allowed to raise me as long as I was not underfoot. I believe only because she was one of the best cooks the king had and she threatened to leave if she wasn’t allowed to keep me here. Because of that however, some resented her, and me of course. Oh, but I had a wonderful life in the castle! Don’t get me wrong, the king has been nothing but kind…”

“Don’t worry, I’m not about to go complain to anyone about what you say to me.” Saeran reassured him and finally the man seemed to visibly relax, he was sure there had also been a small smile in there. “Go on.”

“Well, at first my mother taught me how to cook and bake. It was wonderful! The kitchen staff soon became very protective of me and also showed me their trade secrets. I was very good and my mother had hopes that the king would let me stay in the kitchen, but…” the man’s shoulders slumped.

“What happened?” Saeran asked.

“It didn’t matter how good my cooking was, the king didn’t want me in the kitchen. He had me train.”

“Train?”

“War training. I could understand the strategy of war, but, when it came to the physical aspect…” he shrugged and looked away. “He would get angry, as if I was doing it on purpose to make him look bad. I don’t understand…I…Oh, why am I telling you this?” Yoosung stood and walked towards the doors of the balcony, throwing them open and stepping outside to take in some large breaths.

Saeran followed and saw the man was weeping. He pulled him into a hug. The man stiffened at first, then allowed himself to be embraced.

“Please, please don’t tell anyone what I’ve said…I…I…”

“I won’t say a word, I promise. I know you don’t know me well, but I am a man of my word.” They stepped away from each other and Saeran used his thumb to wipe Yoosung’s tears away.

“You make me feel…safe. How is that possible? I don’t even know you.” Yoosung whispered.

Saeran smiled. He’d never had this kind of affect on people. Most new people he met didn’t trust him at all because of his tendency to tell the truth no matter how ugly it was. But he also felt something different about this man. Even so, he wasn’t about to lay his entire life out there like Yoosung was. What he’d said so far made something itch in the back of his mind. He wondered. If what he wondered was true, it meant that Yoosung might be one of the luckiest men alive, or one of the unluckiest.

#my posts #Yooran #Yoosung Kim #Saeran Choi #mention of Saeyoung #another fantasy AU #probably gonna be pretty short though #I don't have any big plans for this one #Was supposed to be just a short single scene but it got longer!#LOLOL #mysme #mystic messenger #luciel choi

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leechobsessed · 3 years

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Chapter 1

“Not all storms come to disrupt your life, some come to clear your path.”

characters: Cora Crawford words: ~2.9k warnings: mentions of abuse and drowning, suicidal ideation

notes: It’s Cora’s birthday, so here’s chapter one of her story! Don’t know Cora yet? Take a peek at her bio here.

The Crab Isles are not a friendly place.

Nothing about the climate, nor the people for that matter, are welcoming. Found further south than the Scrougelands, the weather is bitterly cold almost year round, making the main livelihood of the islands— crab fishing, as it would be— to be exceptionally dangerous, difficult, and undesirable work.

The attitudes of the island’s inhabitants have only been made worse by the remarks and jokes of the rest of the world; the Crabmen were actually half crab, but whether that half be the top or bottom depended on who you asked.

That bit, of course, was not true. Yet much like the crabs the people fished for, they had developed a hard, almost impermeable shell around themselves, turning their community into a collectively abrasive group. Fiercely protective of their own, intimidating to and wary of anyone else.

The South is unforgiving, and the people who live there have adapted to their harsh environment, becoming harsh and unforgiving themselves. They were a collectively stubborn, selfish and superstitious bunch, quickly weeding out and eliminating what they perceived to be dangerous in order to ensure the survival of their community.

And to them, nothing was more dangerous than Cora.

Cora Crawford came into the world silent, an omen of bad luck that was only fed into when she was discovered to have been born with The Mark. In the center of her palms, a small black circle, almost resembling a bruise, perhaps a touch of dirt, easily missed by the casual observer. But the elders knew this was a mark of dark magic, a soul that came into this world tainted. Evil.

Her parents tried to deny it; not their child, it couldn’t be. No one in the Crawford family had shown a propensity for magic in almost a century, but here she was, undeniably touched by dark forces, silently observing the world with her hauntingly pale blue eyes.

Her father wanted her drowned, as did the elders, but her mother wouldn’t allow it— or so she was told. She found it hard to believe her parents would have ever fought over her life, given how little they cared for it now.

The Mark was rarely seen in the Crab Isles, but was spoken about often. Those with The Mark were said to be stronger than the heaviest winds, more destructive than the fiercest storm, as unpredictable and uncontrollable as the sea. Though her parents tried desperately to deny it, to hide it, the rumor that the Crawford’s girl had The Mark spread through the village like wildfire.

Even if they weren’t sure it was true, those in the community ignored and avoided her, terrified of what she was and what she was capable of. And Cora was scared too. For the first twelve years of her life, she was constantly reminded how dangerous she was and she was silenced, hidden, forbidden to use any magic, even as she could feel it crackling under her skin like lightning, threatening to burst free at any moment.

The power was overwhelming, and she had no way to control it, no one to teach her how. Cora tried, she really tried, to keep her magic hidden, and was successful more often than not. When she did give in and lost control, allowed the power to be free for only a moment, she was punished severely. Her parents hissed foul curses at her as they beat her, reminding her how horrible and evil she was, how she was a threat and hated by everyone around her.

But every beating only seemed to make her magic stronger and harder to tame. And her mark only continued to grow.

What had started as a faint black spot had begun to crawl through the veins of her palms, spreading to her fingertips, turning them black from the tips of her nails to the second knuckle. She knew the mark only grew when she practiced magic, but it didn’t grow every time. She couldn’t predict when it would or wouldn’t spread, and she had no one to ask about it. So instead, she continued to cover the marks and pretend that she didn’t terrify even herself.

This morning, as usual, Cora wakes up earlier than the rest of the household to start her chores, knowing not having them done before breakfast will mean nothing but trouble for her. She sits up in bed and stretches before sliding out of the covers to get dressed. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she pulls her heavy flannels on, then her coat, her hat, her mud boots and finally her gloves before she sneaks down the stairs and out the back door toward the henhouse.

The hens are all huddled together in the coops, unwilling to be outside any longer than necessary. And Cora doesn’t blame them. The weather this time of year is hovers just above freezing, violent storms prone to rolling in from the sea at any time. She stands out in the yard, looking dubiously up at the sky, her hair standing on end from the electricity in the air.

She quickly spreads fresh feed for them and she collects the eggs the hens have laid in her basket before she jogs further down the hill to the barn. The barn used to house about a dozen goats until her younger sister was born, and her parents decided they didn’t need the stress of more mouths to feed.

Truthfully, she was surprised they didn’t get rid of her instead, but she supposed her being able to work on the boat was more helpful to the family than the small amount of money they made from selling the goat’s milk.

Cora missed the goats. They liked her because she fed them, let her lay on them when her father made her sleep outside, and wouldn’t tattle on her if she used their space to practice magic, which is something she couldn’t say about her seven year old sister.

The golden child of the Crawford family, she thinks, rolling her eyes.

The barn is now used to store fishing gear, but it’s still a suitable place to practice her magic if she really wanted, and usually she would. But the lashings on her back from when her sister caught her the week prior have just started to heal, and she really isn’t looking to get any more. At least not today.

Instead, she gently lies back on a pile of netting to stare up at the worn wood of the barn ceiling, pulling off her gloves to call a small orange flame to her fingertips. She lets the flame dance across the black tips of her fingers for a moment, extinguishing the illusion quickly when she hears someone approach.

She wrestles her gloves back on and stands up quickly, picking up the basket of eggs, just as her older brother enters the barn. He studies her for a moment as he leans against the doorframe.

“Ma is lookin’ for the eggs.”

She nods quickly, fumbling with her gloves and the basket. “I’m comin’.”

“I know. I just wanted to find you before Pa came out.” He takes the basket of eggs from her to allow her to fix her gloves properly, watching her with the same green eyes as their father, though his look more kindly on her.

Cora offers him a small smile, nodding in thanks.

Tevin had always been good to her. He was very protective of his younger sister, understanding from a very young age that she was being treated unfairly and unkindly by the people who were supposed to love and care for her most. Everyone in town, including their parents, thought she was dangerous and evil, but he knew her, and he knew she wasn’t, even if she didn’t.

But after speaking up in her defense a few too many times, and receiving just as many beatings for it, Cora told him to stop.

“It’s not like it helps anyway,” she had said.

“Ma is making us breakfast,” Tevin says, looking back toward the house. “We shouldn’t let it get cold.” Cora nods and follows her brother out of the barn and up the hill, picking up the pace as thunder rumbles off in the distance.

The two children enter the kitchen to find their mother preparing their morning oats, their younger sister Orla reading quietly from a book at the table. Riona glances at the two of them, her thin lips pulling into a frown as she takes the basket from Tevin. “I was waitin’ on those.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Cora says, taking her bowl from the counter and heading to her usual spot at the window.

Tevin takes his own bowl from the counter and follows his sisters lead. He joins her to sit on the windowsill, despite having a spot at the table he’s expected to be placed at. “Happy birthday, Cora,” Tevin says, loud enough to pull the attention of their mother toward him. She frowns at her son before turning around to crack an egg in the pan in front of her. “What’re you now, eleven?”

“Thirteen,” she mumbles around a mouthful of oats, which makes Tevin smile.

Cora returns the smile before turning her focus back on her food. He looks just like their father, with the same strong jaw and dark hair, but Tevin smiles so much more that you’d hardly believe they were related.

“Have they said anything to you? About your birthday?” He asks, lowering his voice, although he already knows the answer. Their parents have never celebrated Cora’s birthday, but he keeps hoping one year things will change, for his sister’s sake. Cora glances at him briefly before shoveling another spoonful of oats into her mouth.

Cora doesn’t have to look up from her breakfast to know that Calder had entered the room. She can tell by the way his physical presence darkens the atmosphere of whatever room he walks into instantly, but her eyes fly up toward him nonetheless. He has his long, dark hair tucked into his cap, fully dressed for a day at sea, his emerald eyes flashing dangerously when he sees Tevin sitting next to Cora. He says nothing to anyone as he sits down, his back to his eldest children, his front toward Orla and his wife.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” Riona asks, raising a blond eyebrow at the man.

“Out on the boat,” he responds matter-of-factly, shifting his large body slightly to peak at the book his daughter is reading.

Riona frowns, setting down the plate of eggs in front of her husband. “What d’you mean you’re goin’ out today? Have you seen the storm rollin’ in?”

“Aye, I have. Which only means that there’ll be fewer boats out and more for us to catch. Tevin, Cora, get your things, we’re leavin’.” He shovels the eggs into his mouth in three bites before pushing himself back form the table, heading out the door before anyone can respond.

From his perch on the windowsill, Tevin frowns at the door his father just left through, before he and Cora turn to glance back out the window of their small house. The rising sun is completely obscured behind obsidian clouds, the only light coming from the frequent strikes of lightening on the horizon.

“He’s bloody mad, that man,” he murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for Cora to hear.

She smirks in response, lowering her head to hide her humor. “I could’ve told you that,” she whispers back. The siblings simultaneously hop down off the windowsill and place their bowls on the counter. Cora he follows her brother out of the kitchen and to their bedroom, waiting patiently as he pulls their fishing gear off the shelves and brings it over to her.

“Someone is gonna to die if we go out there,” he sighs, sitting down on the floor to pull his coveralls on over his flannels.

“Maybe that’s what he’s hopin’,” she sighs back, pulling her boots on. She hisses as Tevin smacks her arm with the back of his hand, and she hits him back on his thigh. “Don’t pretend he isn’t.”

He shakes his head, lacing up his own boots. “They don’t want you dead, Cora.”

“You’re just as mad as Pa if you think that’s true.”

Tevin sits up straight to look his sister in the eyes. “I don’t want you dead.”

Cora pauses for half a second before shrugging her heavy outerwear on. She adjusts her gloves, keeping her eyes turned toward the floor. “That I believe.”

Tevin gives her shoulder a squeeze as he stands up. “Come on. We don’t want to keep him waitin’.”

The docks are full of boats and void of people, which is exactly what Cora had expected. It’s started to rain by the time she and her brother climb aboard their father’s fishing boat, and they immediately set about their usual tasks to help the rest of the crew get the boat quickly out into sea.

“Oy, Tev! Cora!” A voice calls, and the siblings turn to find the first mate approaching them, fighting the wind to pull their long red hair back away from their face. “What in the name of the god’s is yer pa thinkin’?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Tevin responds with a shrug.

They shake their head, looking out to sea as Calder steers the ship out of the harbor. “He’s bloody mad.”

“That’s what I said,” Tevin says, pushing his already soaked hair out of his eyes. “How soon d’you reckon he realizes this won’t work?”

“Not soon enough,” they answer grimly, giving the siblings each a pat on the shoulder before heading toward the bow to help get the fishing nets ready.

Once out of the break wall, the storm is worse than Cora could have imagined. The wind is strong enough to knock the ship over on its own, but the waves are doing their part to help out, crashing onto the deck every few seconds, making it impossible to cast any nets. The storm is howling too loud to hear anything over the wind, and the relentless splashing of salt water is making it difficult for Cora to keep her eyes open.

We’re all going to die here, Cora finds herself thinking. Not just me.

“Cora! We’ve got to get below deck!” Tevin screams, his hand wrapping firmly around her wrist. “Come on!”

Cora does her best to open her eyes as her brother drags them across the deck, pausing every few feet to grab onto something sturdy as another wave floods the ship.

Suddenly, his hand is gone from her wrist, and she screams for him, panicked that the waves may have taken him overboard. She can hear every other word of her father’s booming yell as he approaches, and is relieved to hear Tevin screaming back in response.

With one arm wrapped as much as it can be around the mast, she opens her eyes against the wind, using her free hand to shield her eyes, trying unsuccessfully to make out either her brother or her father through the relentless downpour.

Without warning, a pair of large hands grab her by her upper arms, and she blinks furiously at them, thrashing in their hold. Her skin goes cold as she finds herself staring into her father’s green eyes. He says nothing, just holds her about a foot off the ground, seemingly oblivious to the storm raging around them.

“Pa!” She hears Tevin call out. “Pa!”

“I should have killed you when you were born,” Calder hisses, his deep voice ringing out clear over the wind.

“Pa!” Tevin shrieks, his voice panicked. “Let her go!”

Calder keeps his eyes on his daughter, on his burden, his curse, his greatest shame. Cora knows better than to say anything, so instead, she clenches her jaw and holds his gaze. And then she begins to silently pray, her tears mixing with the salt from the sea, asking the gods to have mercy on her.

As another wave crashes over top of the ship, Calder does just what Tevin asked. He takes two steps toward the side of the ship and throws her with ease over the side, allowing the force of the wave to carry her overboard.

Cora Crawford has thought about death more than any child ever should. She thought she deserved to die, that the world would be better off without her. She considered ways she could make death come for her sooner, but she never followed through. The idea of death was terrifying to her. If she was evil in this life, what would be waiting for her in the next?

As she hits the water, the air is forced from her lungs, immediately sending her into a panic. She struggles against the water, trying to kick up toward the surface, but the weight of her clothing and the movement of the sea keeps beating her down further and further, until she can’t tell which direction the surface is.

And the realization hits her; I’m going to die.

Knowing this, she stops fighting, allows her body to relax and lets the current take her where it may. Suddenly, all she feels is calm, protected even, cocooned by the silence and movement of the water. No one could hurt her here. She couldn’t hurt anyone. Even if the next life was worse than this one, she had this fleeting moment to finally feel safe, from herself and everyone else.

Exhaling the last bit of oxygen left in her chest, Cora lets the darkness she was born from reclaim her.

#cora crawford #the arcana #the arcana oc #hbd cora!#all angst all the time #im thinking thats just her tag now #abuse cw #drowning cw

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ozarkhealingtraditions · 5 years

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From the Archives: Chicken and Rooster Lore

For all those farmers out there, both rural and urban alike, here’s some chicken and rooster lore from Vance Randolph’s Ozark Magic and Folklore for you.

Weather Signs:

“Some country women believe that chickens are somehow able to tell what the weather is to be for several days in advance. When chickens or turkeys stand with their backs to the wind, so that their feathers are ruffled, a storm is on the way. If hens spread their tail feathers and oil them conspicuously, it is sure to rain very soon.” “A storm is expected, too, if the chickens are seen going to roost earlier than usual. Mrs. Mueller says also that ‘if chickens stand on the woodpile and pick their feathers, rain is on the way.'” “When chickens and other fowls are seen feeding in the fields during a shower, it means that the rainy weather will continue for at least twenty-four hours longer.”

Crops and Livestock:

“The old-timers long ago discovered, or at least believed, that chickens which roost in cedar trees are healthy and free from mites and other parasites, so that many farmers periodically cut cedar boughs and put them in their hencoops. A few years ago, when bananas became common in the village stores, people somehow got the notion that a banana stalk hung up in a ‘chicken house would rid the whole place of mites and chicken lice, and these stalks are still seen in outbuildings occasionally.” “Some chicken raisers tell me that it is a mistake to keep chickens near a potato patch, or near a place where potatoes are stored. The smell of potatoes, it is said, makes hens quit laying and want to brood. I have often seen hens with corn shucks fastened to their tails this is supposed to discourage a settin’ hen in a few days.” “It is generally thought best to set eggs in the light of the moon. Never set a hen or an incubator when the wind is blowing from the south, or mighty few of the eggs will hatch. Eggs carried in a woman’s bonnet, it is said, invariably make pullets.” “Unusually long eggs, or eggs with shells noticeably rough at one end, are also regarded as ‘rooster eggs.’ It is said that eggs set on Sunday produce roosters, but one hears also that eggs placed under a hen in the forenoon, no matter what the day, always hatch a majority of pullets. Some hillfolk believe that chicks hatched in May, regardless of how favorable the other conditions may be, will never mature properly.” “There are several magic tricks to protect domestic fowl from birds of prey. Mrs. Lillian Short, of Galena, Missouri, tells me that one of her neighbors used to take a smooth stone from a runnin’ branch, just about big enough to fit the palm of the hand, and keep it in the oven of the cookstove this was supposed to prevent hawks from killing the chickens. Most hillfolk of my acquaintance use a horseshoe instead of the stone, and some think that a muleshoe is even better. It is frequently fastened in the firebox of the stove rather than in the oven. In the old days the muleshoe was hung up in the fireplace, or even set into the mortar at the back of the chimney.” “Some chicken grannies pull one feather out of each chicken in their flock and bury these feathers deep in the dirt under the henhouse or henroost. As long as the feathers remain there, it is believed that those particular chickens cannot be carried off by hawks or varmints, or stolen by human chicken thieves.” “There are several peculiar taboos against mentioning aloud the exact number of chickens in a flock, or cattle in a herd, particularly if it happens to be an even number one divisible by two. A real old-timer never counts aloud the flowers or fruit on a tree, or the number of peas in a pod, or even the number of ears on a stalk of corn, because of an ancient notion that this counting may injure the crop.”

Household Superstitions:

“When two roosters fight in the yard, it is said that two young men will soon arrive; if two hens fight, female visitors are expected.” “In some sections of Arkansas there are people who bury the entrails of a black hen under the hearth on ‘Old Christmas.’ This is said to protect the house against destruction by lightning or fire.”

Mountain Medicine:

“Some old settlers make poultices of chicken manure mixed with lard as a treatment for pneumonia; it is said that the dung of black chickens is best.” “The inner lining of a chicken’s gizzard, chopped fine and made into a tea, is used in cases of dyspepsia, stomach cramps, colitis, and so on. They tell me that this stuff ‘settles the stummick’ quicker than anything found in the drugstore.” “Other local healers contended that a big dose of dill tea, or tea made of the inner lining of a chicken gizzard, would cure hiccoughs almost immediately.”

The Power Doctors:

“An old man in Pineville, Missouri, told me as a great secret that he could cure any wart by squeezing a drop of blood out of it on a grain of corn and feeding the corn to a red rooster. According to another version of this story, it is best to rub the wart with two grains of corn, feed one to the rooster, and carry the other in your pocket.” “Many people think it is a good idea to burn feathers from a black hen under the bed of a fever patient. I have seen the feathers of black chickens dried and saved in little paper bags for this purpose.” “A power doctor near Fayetteville, Arkansas, says that in order to cure shingles one has only to cut off the head of a black chicken and smear the blood thickly over the affected parts. Wrap the patient in sheets and let the whole mess dry. Next morning you just soak the wrappings off, and the shingles will be gone.” “At many points in Missouri and Arkansas country folk treat chickenpox by bringing a black hen and chickens into the sickroom and making them walk over the patient’s body as he lies in bed. Near Bentonville, Arkansas, I knew a woman who brought a black rooster into her house and placed it again and again upon the bed where a little boy lay sick with chickenpox.”

Courtship and Marriage:

“The fresh blood of a chicken, that of a black pullet in particular, is also said to remove freckles and make the skin white and creamy.” “Many mountain women say that to eat chicken hearts, especially raw chicken hearts, will make any girl good looking; I know one poor damsel who ate them for years, but without any benefit so far as I could see.”

Pregnancy and Childbirth:

“After the babe is delivered, some hillfolk burn a handful of chicken feathers under the bed, as this is supposed to stop hemorrhage. If the woman has a really bad ‘bleedin’ they kill a chicken and fasten the warm lining of its gizzard over the affected part, usually burning a few feathers at the same time. Needless to say, one never sweeps under the bed of a woman in childbirth, or she would surely die. So the ashes of corncobs, chicken feathers or anything else that is burned must lie there until the woman is up and about.”

Ozark Witchcraft:

“Some witches are said to kill people with graveyard dirt, which is dust scraped from a grave with the left forefinger at midnight. This is mixed with the blood of a black bird; a raven or crow is best, but a black chicken will do in a pinch.” “One old woman in my neighborhood was unable to walk without crutches, but whenever a chicken was to be killed she insisted on doing the job herself. One of the boys would catch the chicken and bring it to granny as she sat in her chair under a tree. As she wrung the chicken’s neck she spoke the name of an ancient enemy of hers.”

Death and Burial:

“If a hen makes any sound suggestive of crowing near the door, it is a sure sign of death, and I have been told of cases in which somebody died within ten minutes. A crowing hen will excite any group of backwoods people; I have seen a man spring up and fire his revolver wildly into a flock of chickens, killing several. Some people do not hesitate to eat a crowing hen, but this man would not allow one to be cooked in his house. ‘Throw it to the hogs,’ said he, ‘and if they won’t eat the damn thing, we’ll sell it to the tourists!'”“It is a bad sign for a rooster to crow in the doorway; if anybody is dangerously ill in the house it usually means death. If a rooster crows seven times in front of the door without turning around, it means that someone in the family is going to die soon, whether any of them are sick now or not.”

#ozarks #traditional witchcraft #folk magic #folklore #Ozark Folklore #ozark folk magic #ozark folkways #ozark folk medicine #traditional healing #traditional medicine #chickens #roosters #ozark healing traditions

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mybackyardflock · 5 years

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Hello everyone.

I haven’t been posting in the last couple of days and it’s for a good reason. On the evening of May 4th 2019 Alice, or as you have come to know him, Big Al passed on. It was a combination of things, first and foremost, his old age. Then there was the fact that he hadn’t been dust bathing due to what I can only assume was arthritis, so the mites were particularly rough on him. These things led to him developing a yeast infection, which was the reason I gave him a bath the other day. But this isn’t about his death, let’s talk about his life.

Way back in what I assume was the spring of 2011 we were constructing a chicken coop, I was 8 years old at the time and was excited to get chickens. Easter morning came along and the coop wasn’t quite finished yet. However, there were 4 Easter Egger chicks in the coop, these were, of course, Alice, Angel, Lemon, and Millard. They were about 5-7 days old when we got them and were already sporting tails. We eventually finished up the chicken coop and these girls grew up nicely. Alice was at the top of the pecking order with Lemon as her fierce second in command and best friend. Then, as you may know, tragedy struck on October 31st of that year, a fox attacked the flock and Lemon tragically lost her life. Angel escaped alive but with many injuries, namely a broken wing and many scratches. Millard was blessedly unharmed, she went into the henhouse and got onto a roost when she realized there was trouble. Then there was Alice, when I found Lemon’s body I screamed, which alerted one of the foxes in a bush nearby, it spooked and took off running, and I naturally followed. I chased it to the back of our wooded pasture where I found a bunch of feathers, and the fox had escaped, but when I looked down the trail I saw Alice walking back to the barn. After checking around for the foxes once more, I headed back towards the house, my mom joined me in the search, we found Alice in the corner of one of the stalls, at first my mom thought she was dead, but she was alive! Sporting only some scratches and feather loss, she healed up well. We then got Acorn from my grandmother to make up for the loss of Lemon, Alice was distraught at the loss of her best friend, but bonded with Angel and Millard.

A couple of years went by with little trouble, we ended up acquiring four Royal Palm turkeys, Acorn did not take nicely to these birds, she was a very racist chicken in her lifetime. Nevertheless, Alice continued to rule the flock. The turkeys came and went, and we got a few fertile eggs from a friend of ours, whos grandmother breeds chickens in Kansas. The eggs hatched and the chicks were Briget, Vanilla, Zippy, Brownie, Eastre, and Frizzy (a frizzle we didn’t keep for long.) these Biddies grew up into some fine hens and roosters. Then one day my brother and I were sitting on the back porch with Zippy, he was an ornery little roster who loved to crow, and we were discussing methods of keeping him quiet. When all of the sudden we hear a crash of palm frond leaves right where Alice was walking just seconds prior. We rushed out to discover that something had grabbed her, she ended up walking right out of the bushes with a limp and fluid in her lungs. She got around just fine despite these disabilities and continued to rule the roost with an iron talon.

It was mother’s day 2015 or 2016 when we had another attack, it was a coyote this time and Millard was the one who got kidnapped, she was always such a sweet bird, and knew how to stay out of trouble, but she ended up getting dragged off of the property, we looked in and around the ditch for what must have been an hour or more. We ultimately found her underneath a tree not far from where we started. The poor chicken was bleeding and something might have been broken. We brought her back home and tried to nurse her back to health, she ended up living for a whole week before she ultimately succumbed to her injuries. Of course, the flock was distraught, two of the four old ladies were gone. However, they managed to move on, Alice, Angel, and Acorn had a flock to rule after all.

We then got Hazelnut, Sunny, Copper, and Tweety-Bird. These four grew up to be very fine young birds. It was around this time when I started the blog. Tweety-Bird looks so much like Millard did, the old lady council accepted her into their ranks. From then on, you all know the story. We had many who died and many more who arrived, as the circle of life goes. I continued documenting the life and death of the flock on this blog. Alice gave us many eggs when he was a she. I would go on to bring Alice inside during the day to get out of the heat, and Angel in the night to get out of the mosquitoes. Acorn died, leaving only Alice and Angel to rule the roost, these two grew infinitely closer, eventually sharing equal leadership. Angel, being the only motherly one of the old ladies, went on to mother one more clutch of chicks with copper, and as you know, she died during her molt. That was it, Alice was the last old lady, but soon to be old man. Now that none of his sisters were around to judge him, he transitioned into a rooster, he crowed, courted hens, and the fluid in his lungs even cleared up (although the limp still remained.) He was the gentlest rooster we’ve ever had, he would let me hold him, give him a bath, trim his nails, and dote on him of course. We weren’t expecting him to live through the New Year, but he pulled through and started living his best life. He was very active in the last few months of his life. One memory I particularly like was when I would let them out in the evening and start to do the barn chores, Big Al would walk out to the barn and say hello to me on his way to go digging, he would occasionally come into the stalls to see what I was doing. He was always such a friendly bird and I don’t know if we’ll ever have a chicken with that much personality.

He was at the top of the pecking order until the very end, He went downhill fast, but his death was quick and painless, he died standing up. The flock is distraught, Al has been around their whole life, he has witnessed the life and death of every bird on this farm, but in time the pecking order will settle. It looks like Briget and Vanilla will be the new rulers of the roost. We welcome them.

Tonight, we raise a glass to Big Al, Ruler of the roost, cheater of death, and the last of his generation. He outlived every one of his sisters and continued to be the highest ranking chicken in the coop. With Al’s death, a generation has died out. He will be missed very dearly. We will grieve, and move on, but we won’t forget the story of these chickens. To help remember the original four, I have a collection of images that I’ll upload over the course of this week, they tell the story of the life and death of these birds, from the construction of the coop, to around Millard's death.

Thank you for supporting us in this trying time.

#Alice #Big Al #Chickens #RIP #In memorium #1st generation

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fuzzydemolitionsquad · 7 years

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Lasat family slice of life story

So I took a short vacation from one project to do a personal project, and I've found that breaking away and changing up really helps reignite passion when it comes to returning to stories that have been in the works for months . . . some even years.

This features my Southern-mountain folk lasat oc's so if you don't reeealy like that sort of thing in the Star wars universe I totally understand. If you're interested though, I encourage a read. I'm trying to improve when it comes to writing engaging characters.

The exaggerated language/words these guys speak is part researched and part imagined. The story is a fiction-y take on old-timey Appalachian culture (space Appalachian culture?) (which I love) It's gradually gets more 'lasat' toward the end.

It doesn't have a title. Maybe someone can help?

-------------

Morning

Southeast Lasan

The sun draped a ribbon of honey-colored light over the highest ridge of the Sou Mountains, alighting the tops of the tallest greenjacket trees. A pale blue moon, flanked by its three smaller satellites, lay low in the fading-star-freckled sky.

Morning had come, and the inhabitants of every mountain home, from Sarrkey Knob to Pricklebush, were awake and bustling with activity. It was the beginning of Spring, a scant few months away from the Dust Season, and the hillfolk in these mountains had much to do. The snow had melted. It was time to plant crops and repair fences and barns. Time to pull hammerhead cow calves and build mud-and- straw nests for farrowing kalgow sows.

Shoog Trodd languished in the cocoon of her feather-down quilt. She knew it was time to get up, and also knew if she didn’t get her furry brown butt out of bed soon, her ma would certainly aid her in the process. ‘The chookens won’t gathee they’s own aigs fer us’, she’d say, waving her apron at her with a flourish.

Shoog lifted the hem of her old nightgown and looked down her skinny legs to her too-large feet and growled to herself. She wished she looked more like her older sister. Sally Trodd was built like one of those Amethyst City gals—the voluptuous ones with glossy fur and whitened fangs—who had their pictures in all the prominent fashion flimsi-mags. Sal would look good in a paper poke, if the occasion ever arose where she had to wear one.

It was Shoog’s Flowering Day, the seventeenth year since her birth, but instead of being happy, she was as glum as could be.

"Gonna have to wear the same dress fer my Flowerin’ Day that I wore fer mah last birthday. And I don’t even have m’ ears pierced. Ma and pa says I’m a woman now, but I still dress like a little ol’ kid. Wish I had some pocket money to least buy some ankle garters."

A chooky rooster crowed on the fencepost and Shoog jumped out of bed. She could hear her ma in the kitchen tossing logs into the iron woodstove. Pa was rousing too. It was customary for pa to utter a few gruff ‘karabasts’ each morning before work. He wished he had more time to enjoy the morning’s light, but soon enough he would be descending into the bowels of the G.R.Gradd-Co Quadranium Mine no. seven, and wouldn’t return home until after the sun had dipped below the mountains. The one thing he looked forward to was ma’s breakfasts, even in the lean times. Today there would be fried scrapple and eggs, sweet gorm porridge and wood-sprite mushroom preserves on last night’s leftover maize bread. And caf, strong and black.

Shoog threw an old coat over her nightdress and ran a comb through her wild hair. She hustled out of her room and trotted for the front door.

"Sugar!"

The lasat girl halted at the sound of her mother’s voice.

"Come sit a spell woodja?"

"Gotta use thee outhouse, ma!"

"I ain’t gonna take long. Sides, Puggles is in there right now."

Shoog tossed her head back and closed her eyes."Chaos, Puggles, I know we is alike, but do yew always hafta go when I need to?"

She marched into the kitchen and sat at the Trodd family’s ancient split log table. She traced her parents initials with her claw. It was a sweet testament to their love, and had been for almost seventy years.

Ma sat down with a cup of caf and propped her strong, brown-furred arms on the table. " Shoog, I was a thinkin,’ I’d like t’ curl yer hair and pin it up with granny’s blue pearl combs fore yer cuzzins and friends show up fer yer Flowerin’ Day party. What’cha think?"

The girl’s pointed ears perked. "That sounds good ma! Kin I ask Sal to pierce my ears? "

Ma’s nasal fold wrinkled in disdain. "Yew know I dun like those. They make a young female look like a fast female."

"What’s a fast female?"

"Thee kind what runs around wid all sorts a’ males. Sparkin’ all thee time and drinkin’ likker! Yew got a reppy-tayshun to keep, Shoog."

Pa, a seven-and-a-half-foot mountain of a lasat, entered the kitchen. He set his miner’s helmet on the table, squeezed ma’s shoulders and gave her a tender nose-press. They exchanged a quick breath.

"Aww, ma, stop beein’ so old-fashioned. If my Sugar wants a cupple lil’ earrings t’ make her head look purtier, then she kin have um. It’s her Flowerin’ Day after all."

Ma was incensed. Her yellow-orange eyes bulged. She pounded the heavy table and it quivered. " Rufus Aloysius Trodd! Donchee dare step on me like that! Iffen I say no, I mean no!"

Pa poured himself a large pottery mug of caf. He quickly pressed the rim of the mug against his lips to hide his smile

Shoog sulked. Sometimes her mother was such a bogan. "Well, kin I at least go to the second-hand and look fer a dress to wear?"

Pa set down his caf. "I’m sorry darlin’. Money’s tighter than a Nemoidian’s fist right now. I still owes the comp-ny store fifty creds from last month. Maybe next year."

"Next year won’t be my Flowerin’ Day." Shoog pushed back her chair and buttoned up her coat. "Pa?" She looked at her fearsome but loving patriarch. "Is yew gonna be at my party?"

" I’m reel sorry darlin. I hafta work all day. We found a new vein a’ quadranium and the boss man want us to fill thee quota afore Secondday."

"Oh." Shoog said, deflated. "I better go git them aigs. Dun want yew to miss yer breakfast."

"That’s a good girl." Ma oiled a skillet and set it aside. "Dun bother lil’ Speckle. Jus’ let her be. Thee other hens wuz picking on her sumthing awful yesterday. I think she’s gonna die."

Shoog winced. "Figgurs. She’s my favrit. What a great day this is turnin’ out to be."

The girl slammed the screened door as she exited the house. Ma and pa looked at each other and smiled.

"Oh, I cain’t stand trickin’ her like this. Do you think she has any idear?"

"None whatsever."

Ma plucked a jar of mushroom preserves off the top shelf and set it on the table."Rufus, yew really owe thee comp-ny store fifty credits?"

"Course not. I’s jus tryin’ to fatten up our story some." Rufus growled low in his throat. It was a plaintive growl, not a scary one. "Cain’t believe my youngest girl-cub is a woman-lasat. Seems like only yesterday she wuz a little sprig, wrasslin’ oalamanders in th’mud."

"An’ Puggles will follow her in a year. Then all of our cubs’ll be growed."

"If Puggles don’ stop sparimentin’ wid them damn farcrackers he ain’t gonna make it to his seventeenth birthday. I swear, that cub’s plumb crazy."

"Yew hesh-up now Rufus. Puggles is just gittin’ out his fluster-ations by havin’ a lil’ fun. Jimbo and Jax won’t stop pickin’ on him. It’s high time they got a few whacks wid Ol’ Skinner."

Pa looked down at the infamous belt around his massive girth and chuckled. One day he’d have to hang it in the shed with the rest of the tools.

"I s’pose yer right. I jus ain’t home enough to discipline them. Heh, at least we kin be thankful Puggles ain’t buildin’ bombs. He shore does take a shine to the boomin’ don’t he? Member how much he loved thunder when he wuz a sucklin’ cub?"

Ma grinned. "Shore enough I do. All dem other cubs wood be quiverin’ under they beds, but Not Puggles. He’d climb all over his crib and giggle and sway like he were list’nin to a funny song."

" Seems like only yesterday." Pa reminisced. "I should take him down to the mine, let him watch the detonite crew at work. He’d prolly like dat."

* * * *

Shoog crouched in the henhouse with a full basket of eggs and Lil’ Speckle tucked inside her coat. Jimbo’s prized hen, a big blue with a row of serrated teeth in her lizard-like jaw, glared angrily at the timid chooken sticking her head out of Shoog’s collar. ‘Lola’ strutted back and forth on one of the henhouse rafters, cluck-hissing, her feathers puffed and her spur toes clacking.

"Speckle, we better git outta here afore Lola shits on us . . . or worse. I’ll keep yew in my closet, but yew gotta be real quiet when I give these aigs to ma. Deal?"

The injured chooken cocked her head. She opened her mouth and waggled her tongue, panting.

When Shoog entered the house, she carried the basket over to the wash counter and set it down. She gripped the collar of her coat, holding it close to her neck, and turned to walk to the small bedroom she shared with Sal. Ma caught her by the ear.

"Yoww!"

"Hold on there. Ain’t yew fergetting something?"

Shoog huffed in indignation. "I has to scrub them aigs on my Flowerin’ Day?"

"It’s yer chore ain’t it?"

"Yeah but . . ."

" Get scrubbin’ missy."

Shoog scowled. She looked over at Sal, who was setting the table. Sal’s eyes met her sister’s as she placed a bowl of fresh churned butter on the table. For a moment, Shoog thought she looked sympathetic.

"Now I know why yew celebrated yer seventeenth birthday in the city wid yer friends. I thought it wuz dumb, but it all makes sense now."

Ma and pa looked at each other, silent as tombs.

Shoog got down to business scrubbing the eggs, trying to keep the chooken in her coat still and quiet. She thought of The Amethyst City—The Royal City—and daydreamed about the King and Queen and their well-dressed court. She thought about the beautiful but air-headed princess, and the handsome, ginger-furred prince. He was tall, with bedroom eyes, a curled mustache and pomaded facial fringes. It was said that he had over a hundred lovers, most of them married, but Shoog didn’t believe it. No lasat, male or female, could have that many lovers! She then thought about the Royal Honor Guard, the cream of Lasan’s military force. They were hand-picked from their barracks by war-council leaders, chosen for their agility and strength and smarts. Shoog couldn’t deny how good the male soldiers looked in their form-fitting armorweave suits, complete with capes, helmets and bo-rifles. A burst of painful pleasure electrified the pit of her belly and she forced herself to think of other things.

When she was done, she dried her hands on the dishtowel and stormed toward her room. Ma shouted after her.

"Breakfast will be ready in about a quarter-tick."

"I’m not hungry!"

Ma’s tough facade melted. She whispered to pa. " I don’ think I kin do this anymore. If I keep it up she’s gunna hate me somethin’ awful."

Pa laughed. " Why don’ yew jus’ let her have her gad-durned earrings? She’ll be as happy as a killow flying through a skeeter storm. They won’t turn her into a wicked woman. Our Sugar is a good girl."

Sal’s eyes narrowed.

Sadie snorted and her slot nostrils flared. "Fine. Mebbe I’ll git my ears pierced too. And buy me one of them low-cut gowns, like thee ones them street corner gals wear."

Sally spat out her coffee and made a high-pitched noise, like a reed-squirrel chipping. The thought of her strong, robust-figured mother in a slinky gown was impossible not to giggle at. Pa however, had a different opinion of the matter. He smoothed down his thick mane of a beard and quirked his brow salaciously.

"Yew git yerself a gown like that Sadie, and I’ll personally throw erryone of our brood outta thee house an tell em to stay away fer three days."

Sally stopped laughing. She rolled her long-lashed eyes.

"Gross, pa. Really gross."

She picked a warty-skinned tuber out of the vegetable bin, tossed it into the air and caught it.

"One set of pierced ears coming up." She said, flouncing and jiggling in a most impressive way.

*******

"I wish I wuz a chooken." Shoog said, filling a box in her closet with old handkerchiefs. Lil’ Speckle flopped around on her bedroom floor. She clucked feebly and pecked at a crumb of food that had fallen between two boards.

"Then I could just strut about, pecking and a’ eatin’ and shittin’ out aigs. I wouldn’t have to worry bout being a Gods-dammed loser on my Flowerin’ Day."

"Aren’t you being a bit dramatic?" Sally said, slinking into the room like a brown-furred Goddess. "It’s hardly the end of Lasan. And you better be careful. Ma will give you the back of the brush if she hears you cursing."

Sally had practiced long and hard to speak like a ‘proper’ lasat, ridding herself of that ‘inherited common-human inflection.’ The humans had left Lasan over a millennia ago, but the ancestors of those lasats who neighbored with them in the mountains still spoke the speak.

"Ooh Shoog, what do you have there? A chooken? Are you, as they say, ‘a’fixing to rile ma up?"

" Cakkhh! Shoog spat-snarled. Stop beein’ so damn snobby. It’s annoyin’! Like it or not, you is a hilltrekker jus like the rest of us, and yew always will be. And yes, it’s a chooken. If stupid Jimbo kin bring his precious Lola in th’ house, I dun see no good reason why I cain’t keep Speckle."

On any other day, Sally would jump Shoog for her insolence. The two would engage in a howling, clawing, hair-pulling battle until ma came bursting in to give their bottoms’ a good beating. But today was Shoog’s special birthday. Sal decided to let it go. She sat down on her bed, rolled onto her belly and folded her arms under her chin. She stared at her sister, a tooka’s grin on her face. "So, how do you feel you little nerf? Different?"

"Why would I feel diff’rent?" Shoog lifted Lil’ Speckle into the box and checked her wounds.

" Because you’re a ‘wahmerr’ now. Sally enunciated the Illasano word for ‘woman.’

"Don’ feel like no wahmerr."

" I mean, what do you think about the jackbeards around these parts? They give you the belly tingles yet?"

Shoog flushed. "Sometimes. But Hells, half of the boys round these parts have scrawny beards and bony shoulders."

"True. However, there’s a handsome jack visiting the Boggs. A dark blue striper without a tail. And he has a nice beard coming in." Sal sighed wistfully. "Wonder who he is and where he comes from?"

The younger girl shrugged. "Dunno. I ain’t never seen him."

"If you play your sabbacc cards right, and flirt like I taught you, he might be your boyfriend . . ." Sal said in a sing-song voice.

"Bogan’s balls, I don’ want no boyfriend. I ain’t ready fer all that. I still sleep wid that howler bear toy granny made me when I wuz five."

"I know. And you still suck your thumb."

"I do not! That’s Puggles!"

"Well, I don’t sleep in Puggles’room."

Shoog was about to make a retort when Sally held up the tuber in her hand.

"Why you got that tater? Is yew gonna throw it at me?"

" No, dummy. Ma finally took pity on you. She’s going to allow me to pierce your ears. See the yellow glass studs on my dresser? Those are for you. I liked them when I bought them, but yellow’s not really my color. Happy Flowering Day, Twig."

Shoog squealed. She hopped up onto Sal’s bed and jumped around like a jitter-tick on a hot speeder engine.

"Is yew serious?"

"Serious as a snake-bite. Now stop jumping. That’s all I need is for you to break my bed and have ma thinking me and some jack did it!"

" Ok, sorry." Shoog leapt down. She rocked on her footpads. Her eight toes kneaded the rug beside the bed.

There was a knock at the bedroom door and ma came in, a clean kitchen towel in her hand.

"Here’s the knife fer the tater and a biled safety pin. Yew sure yew know how to do this Sal?"

"Yes ma. I’ve pierced so many of my friends’ ears I’m practically a professional."

"Land a muddlin’ I shore hope so."

Shoog ran to her mother and squeezed her ample waist. "Thank yew, mama, thank yew!!"

"Alright child, alright." Ma held her out at arms length and looked at her. A tear formed in the corner of her eye. "Don’t yew come cryin’ to me if they get infected, ya hear?"

"I won’t."

Ma wiped her eyes with her apron and stood against the doorframe, watching. Sal cut the potato and set it on the clean towel then got the studs. She put them down and looked around. "Do we have any alcohol, ma?"

" Kingdom a’ Ashla and thee Great Bearded One!! No we don’t."

"I can’t do this unless I disinfect everything."

Shoog whined. "Aww, I knew this wuz too good to be true." She threw herself on her bed and crossed her arms like a petulant toddler. She glanced up. A green-bellied arach was spinning a red web on the ceiling.

"Spahder in the house!" She shouted. "Bad luck, bad luck, bad luck be gone!"

Ma ignored Shoog. "I know! Hold on a second."

She left and returned with a jar of clear, sky-colored liquid.

"That’s pa’s blue lightning!" Sal blinked her eyes, shocked. "He and Mossy only made a small batch this year. If he finds out we used it for. . ."

"What he don’ know won’t rile him. Sides, yer only gonna use a little." Ma handed Sal the jar.

The lasat girl unscrewed it and the potent vapors almost knocked her over. She dipped the clean towel in the jar and wiped it all over her hands. Then she wiped the studs. Shoog sat up and held her mid-section. Fairy-bats were flittering around in her belly.

"You ready? Sal held up the safety pin.

"It ain’ gonna hurt a lot is it?"

" Ashla, Shoog. All that whining and now you’re scared? Janey’s the biggest coward in these hills and she let me pierce her ears."

"I know but . ."

"It doesn’t hurt at all. It’s more like a little pinch than anything. Besides, I’m fast. Just close your eyes and hold your breath and it’ll all be over before you know it. Here, hold your growly-bear."

Shoog took the worn stuffed animal and pushed it against her face. Sally moved to her sister’s bed. She gripped her ear and stretched it thin over the potato. Ma steepled her hands in front of her mouth.

Sal stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth and squinted. Her piercing hand hovered over her sister’s ear. "Okay Shoog, little pinch. One. . . two. . . THREE!"

She skewered her sister’s pinna with one punch and removed the tuber.

"That’s it. I’ll leave it in there and let it stretch the hole out a bit."

Shoog removed the bear from her face. "That’s it? I hardly felt that a’tall! Do the other one!"

"Hold your krauntauns. I’m wiping the pin."

Sally pierced Shoog’s other ear and pushed the studs through. Shoog ran to the mirror to admire her sister’s work. The earrings were beautiful, like scintillating dew drops touched by the sun. Ma brushed and curled her daughter’s thick, dark brown hair and dabbed a drop of tinted gloss on her lips. "Look up." She said as she applied two coats of mascara to her lashes. Sal tried to be helpful when she offered Shoog one of her too-small short skirts and a tiny top. Ma vetoed them the moment they exited the closet. She walked her daughter over to the dresser mirror and stood behind her.

"Wooo." Shoog leaned forward and studied the visage staring back at her. "I dun look half bad."

"You look a’might purty if yew ask me." Ma kissed her cheek. " Now rest up a spell. Thee guests should start arrivin’ by sunhigh. I’m gunna go pay yer aunt Daizee a call. Bring her some tack-biscuits and sweet-nettle tea. That baby inner is making her as sick as an anooba in a melon patch."

"Well it is an Orrelios." Sal said, her eyes downcast.

"Hesh-up. I don’t want none of that talk outta you ‘round Daizee, yew hear?"

"Yeah, I hear."

******

Sugar Trodd dreamed that the prince of Lasan had invited her to the Royal Palace. Naturally, he was infatuated with her at first sight. Never had he seen such a delicate mountain flower. He compared her eyes to the torch-fires of Izrothir , her lips to a fount of heady wine and her small breasts to a pair of decadent Aztecan chocolate truffles. He found himself mad with passion and he couldn’t help but beg her to be his wife. Shoog smiled in her slumber when he breathed into her ear and nuzzled her temple with his lips. She traced the prince’s handsome brow-ridges with her fingertips and put her hands on the back of his head. She drew him in close, touching her snub nose to his. They shared a life-breath and then connected in a kiss. . .

The sounds of a gathering crowd whisked the prince away into obscurity. Shoog woke with a snort. She jumped out of bed and drew back her curtain to look at a large gathering of women-lasats arranging food on a long plank table in front of the house. Some she recognized, like her aunts and cousins and friends, but some she didn’t. Did her cousins and friends invite friends of their own?

Wood in the brick fire pit burned hot, and the mouth-watering smell of roasting prongnose wafted in through her bedroom window. She closed the curtain with a swift pull.

"Karabast! That’s all fer me? All that food and all them people?" She knelt in front of the chest at the foot of her bed and frantically pulled clothes from it. Lil’ Speckle looked at her with sleepy-hen eyes, then, unfazed, drank from the water dish Shoog had provided her.

"There ain’t nothing in here worth wearing, cept mebbe this fancy sweaterdress. Uhhggh, No!" She threw it down. "It too hot outside fer that!"

She sat back down on her bed and agonized over her choices. Then,

"You know what? Ma and Sal went through a lot of trouble to make me feel good. Least I kin do is be ‘preesh-ative. That ol’ dress a mine ain’t so bad. Hells, nobody will recognize it from last year. I hope."

Shoog wriggled into her slip and tossed the old blue dress on. It was a little tighter and shorter than she remembered. Was it possible she did that much growing in one year? She buttoned it up.

She went to the mirror and combed her curls, then put on another dab of gloss and rubbed her lips together. Ma came into the room, a colorful box tucked under her arm.

"Oh, Sugar darlin’ that old dress won’t do. Not fer yer flowerin’!"

"It’s not a bad dress ma. An’ look, it fits me better this year!"

"I dunno," Sadie rubbed her furry chin. "What do yew think Daizee?"

Aunt Daizee’s purple-striped face peered into the room. She was a pretty lasat, pretty as a jogan, but a lack of sleep and constant morning sickness had hollowed her cheeks and darkened the sockets of her eyes.

"I reckon it’s okay. But I think you’d like what’s in the box better."

Shoog’s heart skipped a beat. She eyed the colorful package tucked under her mother’s arm and her mouth dropped open. She felt like a magnet drawn to metal.

"Happy Flowerin’ Day my darlin’." Ma handed Shoog the package. It was wrapped in pink foil paper and tied with a big white bow. Shoog whistled through her front teeth.

"That’s the nicest wrappin’ paper I’ve ever seen in my whole life! I don’ wanna rip it."

"Oh go ahead, rip it!" Sal said, coming into the room.

"No. It’s too purty to waste. I kin use it again." Shoog sat cross-legged on her bed with the box on top of her knees. She was dying to see what was inside.

After carefully removing the bow and paper she removed the box top and unfolded the dish towel containing her present. She held her hands to her mouth and gasped. Inside, was an elegant strapless dress the color of fresh-churned butter. Shoog lifted it out of the box. It had a scalloped front and was gathered at the waist. The opening in back, plunging to mid spine, was laced with delicate yellow ribbons.

"Great Bearded One, if this ain’t the purtiest dress I ever did see!" She held it up in front of her and twirled. "And strapless too! Ain’t this gonna make me look ‘fast’ ma?"

" Yer auntie says it’s an elegant dress. It ain’t meant t’ make yew look fast. Hit’s meant t’ make yew look like a lady."

"It’s gorgeous, Shoog." Sal said with a hint of jealousy.

*********

Shoog greeted her guests. They oohed and aaahed and told her to turn around. Great aunts pinched her cheeks and friends and cousins made big productions out of her new look. They ‘Oh my Godded’ and ‘You’re so luckyed’ her so much, she felt like a celebrity. When she slipped away for a second to get some pucker-fruit punch she looked into the throng of lasats and felt her face contort into a confused frown.

Where were all the males?

Every guest, except for the youngest cubs, were female.

Shoog saw her eldest sister Mae placing a bowl of rarrcot and swamp-plum salad on the table. She went up to her.

"Hey mama Mae."

" There she is! The belle of the ball. The most beautiful girl here. And to think, yew were a rough-and tumble little jack-boy the last time I saw yew."

"Aw, I’m still a jack-boy. I ain’t never gonna stop huntin’ and fishin’ wid pa, or stop wrasslin wid the fellers."

"Yew might wanna reconsider that last one." Mae said, wiping the rim of the bowl with a wet cloth.

"Uhm, speaking of fellers, where’s all th’ males at? I ain’t seen a peek of Jimbo or Jax or Muss or Puggles. Not even Mawsy. And there’s beer here, I know it!"

"I’m sure they’re around. Somewhere." Mae winked and tweaked Shoog’s chin. She turned at the sound of a grating female voice. "Oh, I see someone invited that ol’ loon-cootie Lottie Bingo. She’s prowbly thumping the Great Bearded One’s book, preachin’ about the sins of the flesh and fur." She frowned. "Bless her heart. Well, excuse me darlin,’ I have to find some more cutlery. I brought my wedding set of aurodium plate, great-Aunt Tilda and Winnie did too, but a lot more lasats than we anticipated turned up to see yew flower."

Shoog hugged her sister and skipped off. She joined her friends and kin on the grassy hill behind the barn and stood in a long line. They played malogi’-majlogo, a once-competitive game that was rumored to come from the fabled planet of Lirasan. Most historians and lasopoligists believed all lasats living on Lasan came via a human transport over three-thousand years ago, as no bones found in middens were any older. Lasats had to come from somewhere. Perhaps the legend of Lirasan wasn’t so far fetched as many once thought.

The girls clapped their hands loudly, calling out the name of the first girl in line. Cousin Hildi stepped out of line and performed a dance she had conjured up the night before. She flapped her arms like a killow and stood high on her toes and cartwheeled until he landed on her tail. Laughing, she skipped her way to the end of the line. Next was Sally. Her dance—though impressive— was as predictable as it was sensuous, and was hard to clap to. Other girls followed, each one with their own trademark dance style. Then came Shoog’s turn.

Pumped with adrenaline, she ran out in front of the gang of laughing girls and raised a ferocious scream so loud her younger cousins covered their sensitive ears. She crouched low and prowled and paced. She bared her fangs and popped her eyes. They burned a deep orange around their pinprick pupils. The girls went wild. They clapped in quintuple-beat, clap clap. . . clapclapclap. . . a warrish beat. Shoog knelt in the grass and shimmied her shoulders. She slapped the palms of her hands on the ground and whipped her head around then sprang from her crouch, eight feet into the air, landing in a pose reminiscent of that of a sprinter at a starting line. She stood, thrust out a bent leg and raised her face to the sky before letting out another scream. The girls were about to applaud the dance when the most blood-curdling roar they had ever heard split the air through the holler. Shoog stood up straight. A beaming smile covered her face. She knew that roar.

Coming up the rising path was a large troop of males, her father in the lead.

"Pa!" She lifted her dress and ran straight for the giant lasat, her companions not far behind. The eerie moan of traditional polished horn prong-pipes heralded the males’ entrance. The blowing of the pipes informed colonies of lasats that a clan leader was approaching. Even in the royal city they used wrought-ore versions of the ancient instruments whenever the King and Queen made an appearance.

Flanking pa were his sons. Rufus jr. and Zelbert. Muss and Naylor. Jax and Jimbo and Puggles. Even Trapper, who spent most of his life in solitude in the high mountains. As she got closer, Shoog saw Mossy, and also cousin Zeke and Bubba. A phalanx of other kin and family friends followed behind. Shoog leapt at her father who caught her in a hug then hoisted her up onto his shoulder. They marched through the crowd of women-folk and stood at attention in the yard. On the porch, pa’s well-fed anooba Gracie horrked and slobbered and ran her tongue over the jutting spade of a tooth in her lower jaw. She galloped up to Rufus and stood upright, putting her long-clawed paws on his chest. Mossy grabbed a beer from a washtub and cracked it open on the beastly creature’s tooth. The young boys in the crowd laughed.

The male lasats were dressed in their finest woodsmen-warrior garb, which included sleeveless, multipocketed jerkins and arm bracers with pouches. They wore gray prongnose-wool skilts—with clan colors and designs around the bottom— and leather codpieces and knife sheaths. Most bore two bandoliers that crisscrossed their chests and each male carried an impressive arsenal of weapons. Pa’s old rifle was slung across his back and two throwing axes hung at his hips. Whip-killow feathers wreathed his bony dome, and his face, already fearsome, was painted white, like a skull. There were males with shining daggers and lacquered bats. Males with falchions, slugthrowers and plasma spitters, pole-bows, maces and spears.

Each male was fearsome and striking, even little Puggles, whose painted face and shark-jawed visage made him look like a strangely formidable foe. The trio of smoke-screamer grenades in his bandolier also helped.

Shoog kicked Gracie’s paws off Rufus’s chest. " Don’tchu get my dress dirty y’ whip-tailed bitch. I’ll brain ye!"

A lasat in the back, pa’s friend Tabe, guffawed like a drunk at a circus.

"That thar is deffy-nit-ly yer pro-genny ol’ Roof! Shore as a tick loves a furry ass-crack."

"We is gonna have t’ get more beer." Ma whispered to Daizee.

The purple-striped female caressed the small bulge in her belly. "Um, or mebbe not. I’m sure some of them boys brang they’s own distillate. Hey!" She yelped. "Easy little one. Land’ a muddlin’, only five months old and she’s kickin’ like a cow!"

Shoog poked her pa’s snub nose and wiped the white paint on his jerkin. "Hey pa, why is yew fellers all fancied up an’ armed to thee teeth?"

Rufus tickled Shoog’s ear, like he did when she was small."I wuz unner thee impression they taught yew kids history in school!"

"They did! But all we loined about wuz thee portent ‘citified lasats’."

"Damn shame. Well Sugar, hits like this. Back in the day, b’fore miners and mines an’ banks and comp’ny stores, there wuz th’ Clans o’ Thee Forest. Some clans wuz small and sum clans wuz big. Our linny-age goes way back. There wuz Trodds what wuz picked to fight in thee barbarian wars."

"Oh yeah! I ‘member grampy saying somethin’ like that!"

"Anyway, prommy-nunt clan leaders wuz a’might fond of they’s kids. When a girl came of the age for broodin,’ her pa threw her a big party so young-jacks could come to show their talents and try they’s hands at wooin’.

"Hell, I ain’t gonna do no broodin, er, breedin! Not fer a long time!"

" Corse y’ ain’t! This wuz thee old days, ‘member?"

"Oh yeah. So why all the weapons?"

"Well, a Clan leader had to pertect his daughter frum jope-jacks and briggards, so he employeed his own personal army a’ kinfolk an’ frens t’ keep her safe."

" That’s purty wizard pa."

"What?"

"That’s neat."

Rufus lifted his daughter off his shoulder and set her on the ground in front of him. His face was stoic, cool and composed, but under the skin he was weeping. His hook-baiter, his lizard spooker, his fire-starter, was now a woman. Suddenly he was glad for all his faithful ‘warriors’. There were boys showing up at the party that he didn’t know. One thing was for sure. They wouldn’t want to know him if they messed with Shoog.

**********

Ma eventually broke down. From the moment she woke, she told herself that she wouldn’t cry today. She was certain her spirited and independent daughter would breeze through the ceremony without nary a sniffle or a tremor, but as the visitors crowded around the decorated stump and Rufus helped Shoog up on top of it, ma could tell her poor girl was nervous to the point of fainting. She looked so small, so vulnerable.

Pa pulled a dog-eared book out of one of his breast pockets, licked his thumb and turned the pages. The book, with its crackled parchment pages was over nine-hundred years old. It had been passed from clan patriarch to clan patriarch, and when the time came for Rufus to be bested in combat by one of his sons for title as clan leader—most likely Rufus jr.—he would pass it down as well.

Ma stood next to pa. To his other side was Shoog’s sister Hallie, the Trodd family medicine woman. She held a dipper of water with bits of maiden’s-foot fern floating in it.

Pa found the page he was looking for. He cleared his throat. He could speak old Illasano, but he was very much out of practice.

" Shrrwall mirol." He intoned. "Harrkg dasa, harrkg mojallan, miuuk ti, ti’as Sugar bilo nen dauhirra wahmerr."

(Honored guests. Beloved friends, beloved family, we today give our child-daughter Sugar to womanhood.)

" Ashla fuegolo malinta. (Ashla be near)

"Ashla fuegolo malinta!" Chanted the crowd.

" Umdayrr ti’as rrip ti’as pial." (Today she sheds her skin)

"Umdayrr ti’as comass a sharrgo!" (Today she feeds the fire!)

"Pil ti’as songerr naberskerr!" (May she be strong as a warrior.)

"Pil ti’as oovak mana." (May her womb be fruitful.)

Shoog rolled her eyes and blushed and the crowd burst out in laughter.

Jimbo parenthesized his mouth with his hands and shouted. "Dun git knocked up tonight!" Jax slapped his knee and brayed.

" Shet-up yew dumb-asses!" Shoog yelled back, stomping her foot. Pa cracked up. He took a deep breath. He had to regain his composure before continuing.

"C’mon Roof! Yew kin do it!" His brother Jethro cried.

"Ahem. . . "Pil ti’as rrrmaeso, kon hoorr’baerbo mah foshzam." (May she summon the wisdoms, the heart-knowing.)

"Chh lengg ti’as sorrvive." (As long as she walks the land.)

"Ashla glorrae." (Ashla blessed)

"Ashla glorrae." Everyone said, solemnly.

Ma was now sobbing. Daizee squeezed her shoulder.

"Well, I reckon that’s it fer the prayer." Pa said, closing the book and carefully putting it back in his pocket. Ma dabbed her streaming eyes with a handkerchief.

"Oh Rufus, that wuz beeyootiful. Absolutely beeyootiful."

Mossy came forward with a torch and set the stacked kindling wood in a pit in front of the stump on fire.

"Y’ ready Twig?" He asked Shoog.

"Ready as all ever be."

The girl-now woman reached out and took her beloved growly-bear from her father. She looked down at the crackling fire and tossed the toy in.

"Ti’a parrile a muart." (" The child is dead")

Hallie washed her sister’s hands with the fern-water.

The crowd cheered and ran forward. Many held dried snake skins in their hands which they threw on Shoog, symbolically shedding her of the remaining spirit of childhood.

"Time fer vittles y’all!’ Daizee clapped her hands and yelled. "This young’in in me is a’ chompin at thee rope!"

Everyone congratulated Shoog and ran to find a place at the main table. The prongnose was pulled out of the fire, as were fifty chookens, a pair of suckling kalgows and a haunch of beef. It wasn’t much meat, but there were plenty of side dishes brought by guests to be sampled.

Shoog watched her bear burn until nothing was left but a pair of melting button eyes. She sighed, jumped off the stump and joined the rest of the throng.

After supper, the shine came out, which meant roughhousing. A handful of guardsmen pledged to stay sober just in case the fun turned into full-blown fighting. Hallie came up to pa, a concerned look on her face.

"Don’t look now, pa. Bubba is head-sparrin’ wid uncle Bocephus. And a few other fellers."

A passel of lasat men—attended by woman with cold rags—rolled around on the ground, holding their bony craniums and groaning.

Rufus groaned as well. His hefty, good-natured nephew loved to smack skulls with other lasats, even when sober, but he often failed to think about the force behind his weight. In this county, he was reigning head-butt champion.

"Time t’ give fat-boy a spankin’. Rufus pounded his palm with his fist.

**********

The afternoon sped like a hooch-runner into the night.

Shoog excused herself from the crowd—and the boys in it who shoved to the front to ask her to dance—and found a place behind the hen-house where she could be alone. She had partaken of a few sips of snowberry wine and was feeling content and happy. Spark flies hovered beneath the branches of the old greenjacket in the yard and over the maize tassels in ma’s garden. Little cubs clambered about on the tire swing and bigger cubs climbed the tree itself, proving their bravery. She had to look twice to determine whose kids they were. It turned out they were Mae’s grandkids. She waved to them and they waved back with their sticky, cake-and-punch fingers. Puggles ambled over, a Lasan Blue Ribbon beer in his hand.

" Sum party, eh Shoog?" He drained the beer can and crushed it against his furry brow.

"That’s gonna hurt in the mornin.’Hey, how’d yew git that anyway? Yew know pa will tan yer tail if he see’s yew wif a hard drank."

"Beer ain’t a hard drank. Mossy said so."

"Ohh. If Mausee told you a turd wuz a turnip, wood yew bile it in water?"

"I reckon I woodnt."

The siblings sat in silence for a few seconds. The sounds of lasats laughing and singing and debating politics merged with the sweet melody of fiddle music. It was emanating from the barn, where lasats were dancing the night away. Some of the brawnier males took their jerkins off and performed frightening warrior dances. Everyone hooped and hollered and begged for more. Most of the males charged with ‘policing the crowd’ were asleep on the lawn or under the table, their drained jars still clasped in their hands.

"Sorry bout yer growly bear." Puggles looked up at his sister with large honest eyes. "Why didn’t yew pick something else fer the far?"

Shoog smiled at her brother and squeezed his hand. "Well, thee whole point of thee ceremony was fer me to give up m’ childhood. It needed to be a might parful symbol, something sad an’ a lil’ painful, because honestly Puggles, growin’ up hain’t all what it’s cracked up to be."

" Yew ain’t happy bout bee’in a woman-lasat?"

Shoog took another sip of her wine. "In one way, yeah, I s’pose so. I have more say in things now. But in another . . . look what I’ll be missin.’"

She pointed to the cubs in the tree, carrying on like they hadn’t a care in the world. Puggles chhuhhed.

"Beein’ a growed up means more ‘sponsibility, but yew ain’t never gotta give up on fun. That prayer pa said, hits a million-years old. It ain’t meant t’ be follered zactly the way he said it."

"Ye think so?"

"Well, dats whut I think! Shit, ahs’ll never let a-dulthood turn me into a borin’ stiff!"

Shoog got out of her chair and gave her little brother a hug. "Yew is smarter than yew give yerself credit fer."

She smiled sweetly. Then she punched him in the stomach.

"Owwww!! What’s that fer?"

"That’s fer them farworks you sent up. Honestly Puggles, Booger? You spelt my name Booger?"

Puggles gripped his belly. "Errybody else thunk is wuz funny!"

"Yeah I bet they did!" She pulled his sparse beard. He yanked her hair. They started to wrestle.

Ma and pa stood at a distance. " Yew see that Sadie? Sum things never change."

"I swear to the Bogan, ifffen she gits that dress mussed up, I’ll snatch her head bald."

Rufus turned Sadie toward him and embraced her. A devilish smile split his face.

"Why Rufus, what’s gotten into yew?"

" I wuz jus’ thinkin,’ How��s about we talk more about that strapless dress you is plannin’ to buy?"

-Finito-

#lasat #my characters #writing practice

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5hfanfiction · 7 years

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Where My Heart Takes Me

CHAPTER 2

The travel to Scotland took five days. With the memories of that horrible night slowly moving to the back of her mind, Camila went back to her usual childish, carefree ways. Being confined within the four corners of the carriage gave her immeasurable boredom so she did whatever she could to entertain herself. She counted the trees they passed by, pointed ridiculous images she saw some clouds form, and when it drizzled a bit, she even counted the raindrops. She tried talking to Lauren but it seemed the longest conversation they had was during the first day when she asked information about her. She was more than willing to make conversation enough for the both of them because she can. God knows how it irritated her mother, but delighted the bejesus out of her whenever she’d display her great talent in nonstop talking. But whenever she’d start it’d get obvious Lauren didn’t want to listen so she stopped trying.

By the fifth day, she’d ran out of creative ways to occupy her time, she’d resorted to counting wishes. She wishes she’s brought her favorite books with her. Wish she was wearing her favorite banana-shaped slippers. Wish she told Shawn her plans. Wish she gave her father a kiss on the cheek on her last night at home. Wish she rumpled Sofi’s hair before they separated to get ready for her last ball. After a few of those she found out it was getting her feel sad so she opened her mouth to ask Lauren the one question that’s been nagging on her, ‘Why are leaves green when they’re fresh and brown when they’re not. Not the other way around?’ It’s one question she thinks she’ll know the answer to if only she was sent to a regular school but the cursed society rules only allowed men to do that so she’s still left on the gray. One look at Lauren’s furrowed brows though and she went back to counting the cracks on the wooden carriage.

So by the time the vehicle stops infront of a two-storey granite house, a giggly young brown-haired girl running out of it and kissing Lauren when they get out, she knows they’ve arrived at the home of the woman beside her and she can’t help but feel glad.

The house is just a tenth of the size of their manor, not enough space to lurk around without being seen. There’s a small area in front where a few kinds of flowers were planted, not like their garden where she can basically fit the house in and showcases all sorts of plants their gardener can find. From where she’s standing, she can see there’s a backyard that can shelter only a dozen horses, at the most. It’s so different from what she’s used to. And very small. But it’s perfect.

“This is Camila,” she hears Lauren tell the young girl, who she surmises is her sister.

“This is Taylor, my sister,” Lauren confirms.

“It’s my pleasure to meet you.” She reaches out her right hand to shake with the other brunette. From years of training how to be a proper lady and be polite, she’s developed the habit of being courteous to the people she meets. But to the younger girl, courtesy came easily because she feels a certain fondness over her at first sight.

Lauren leads her inside the house. As they entered the door, a young attractive man around her age of seventeen is coming down the stairs.

He heads over to them and gives Lauren a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Chris this is Camila, Camila this is Chris.” The raven-haired introduces them.

Before Camila can start with the pleasantries, Chris is already holding her hand in a firm shake, looking her in the eye. “Lauren, I didn’t know you were getting me a wife on your trip. You made the perfect choice.”

That makes the side of Camila’s lips curve up into a tiny smile. She often gets annoyed with other men hitting on her but there’s this playful quality in the way he said it that she finds amusing.

“Oh, shut up. Keep your flirting to the girls at the pubs. Camila will be working for us. She’ll be living with us,” Lauren chastises him.

“Even better. Camila, if ever you need help just call me.”

Lauren only scowls.

Camila cannot help the chuckle that comes out of her at that. She really likes him. 'Your sister saw me first though,’ she jokes in her mind.

Lauren shows her the room she’s going to occupy before having dinner with Chris and Taylor. On the table, she waits for any mention of their parents, an explanation why there are only Lauren and her siblings but they don’t offer any so she doesn’t ask. She can handle not knowing. Besides, she has no reason to complain, does she? The food may not be as delicious as the ones they serve at their manor but this time she’s not eating alone. It’s definitely so much better than that.

_____

Lauren doesn’t know what to do with Camila. The brunette has been in her care for ten days. Five days they spent travelling, five days at her home. On the carriage ride, she had seemed easy enough to handle. Aside from the constant restlessness, the girl is a walking ball of high energy Lauren has trouble keeping up with, she seemed to always have this need to get the restlessness out of her system by either talking, thumping her foot loudly or moving from one end of her seat to the other but she didn’t cause much trouble. Yes, it sort of annoyed Lauren but nothing she can’t get out of her mind quickly. Besides, she’s quite entertaining once you get used to her. But right now, Lauren’s just bewildered.

On the first morning back at her house, Camila tried to prepare breakfast for them. It’s nothing complicated, just the usual sunny side up, but Lauren had Taylor telling her how the new lady burned four and left the other two raw. From that, she surmised Camila can’t cook so she let Taylor and Chris do it and herself whenever time permits.

The next day, Lauren asked her to get some fresh eggs in their backyard. She has a dozen chickens she keeps to get free food from every once in a while and she chose that day was one of it. She thought it should be simple. Walk out the back, head to the henhouse, get the eggs, and then go back inside. What could be the problem? But after just a minute or so, Camila was running back to her, tears in her eyes, looking as scared as anyone could, telling her the chickens tried to bite her. So she assumed caring for her hens is also out of the question.

Then just a day ago, she told Camila to get fresh milk from one of her two cows. Lauren has showed her how to do it on the day after she found out Camila can’t cook and she looked equipped enough to do it. But Lauren was very wrong. Camila came back with a chipped empty jar and a soaking dress, telling her she’s sorry.

So now Lauren is running out of choices. She can always make Camila clean the house, but she already has someone taking care of that for them. It will make her feel awful if she lets that person go just to give the job to Camila. And she can’t keep the brunette doing nothing. Although Lauren’s not wealthy, she’s not struggling either. She can take in another or two more mouths to feed. But seeing the way Camila gets restless if she’s left with nothing to do, Lauren’s afraid she’s going to do something reckless. Like burn the house down or anything close to that, in an innocent pursuit to be of any help to them.

So now she’s on the outside of the brown-eyed girl’s room, knocking.

Camila opens up after a few knocks.

“Lauren.”

“I-I just came to tell you something.” The green-eyed woman stutters at the beginning of her sentence. Camila is wearing a very thin camisole, the light from the lamp on her bedside table at her back illuminating her. Lauren is still doubtful she’s really the daughter of an earl, something almost like a princess, but in that moment she felt herself almost believing. Add the clumsiness, the lack of knowledge in domestic chores to this incredible beauty, she’s so close to changing her mind.

Lauren shakes her head internally. She has to believe only what’s practical and more likely, so she pushes the thought at the back of her mind.

“Alright, you may come in,” Camila tells her.

She hesitates, debating for a second and decides to stay where she’s standing. “I won’t be long. I just wanted to tell you to get ready early tomorrow. Six in the morn. We have somewhere to go to.”

“Oh, okay. Is that all?”

“Y-yeah. That’s all. Good night.” Lauren brings an abrupt end to their conversation.

“Good night, Lauren.”

_____

Meanwhile, in the Cabello Manor, Sinu and Alejandro are having a heated argument.

“Find Karla, Alejandro.” Sinu demands from her husband who is sitting behind his desk in his study room. He is on the process of checking their family’s finances when his wife came barging in, looking worried and stressed out.

“I am trying my best, Sinu.” He explains.

His wife paces around infront of him. “It’s been almost two weeks! What kind of people did you get to look for her?”

“I’ve already hired all private investigators I can find.”

Sinu swipes her hand in her forehead in a sign of distress.

Alejandro is worried. For her eldest daughter whom he doesn’t know the current situation of right now and if she’s somewhere safe and comfortable. And the way his wife is handling their present circumstances is getting to him.

It would have been another cause for him to worry had he not known the real cause of his wife’s current state.

“Austin’s been waiting for her two weeks. I’ve already delayed it as much as I can. If he finds out our daughter is a runaway, I don’t think he’ll carry on with asking for her hand in marriage anymore.”

Alejandro sighs internally, stands up and walks over to his wife. Sinu loves Camila. He knows that. She loves their children the way any mother should. She just has a different way of showing it. It might have been the main reason their eldest ran away in the first place, but it is all because of love in the part of his wife.

“Karla can’t get any future brighter than what she’d have if she were to marry Austin. She’ll be well taken care of, pampered if she were to become a duchess.” Sinu explains.

Alejandro hugs her.

“I know, I know,” he says, trying to console her. “But for now let’s focus on getting our daughter back, shall we?”

His wife relaxes a little at his gentle tone. A few seconds later she mutters, “Yes. But hurry up. Austin might not be willing to wait very long.”

*** A/N: I’m late for the update, I know. Sorry… My mind’s too busy to focus.

As always thank you for reading and giving me your feedback. I like knowing what you think with my story. xx It’s also on wattpad: litaddict02

#UPDATE #series #AU #camren #family #romance fluff #humour #submission #Where My Heart Takes Me

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ironleaf-rp · 7 years

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Gridania Story-Go-Round: January Storylog

The Monkey & The Rooster

[19:05]Syranelle Ironleaf: "Our story begins with an old monkey; he is tired and his bones ache. He's seen many moons and has lived a robust life filled with many great memories and many sad ones as well. He had no complaints about his life, though, save one. He had never fallen in love, never found a suitable mate, and thus had no children to pass his legacy."

[19:07]Syranelle Ironleaf: "He sat in his tree pondering this fact, even lamenting it a bit, when a spry young Rooster came walking beneath his tree. 'Hey, hey you up there!' the Rooster crowed, 'Why the long face? It's a bright, beautiful day! The sun is shining, the clouds are fluffy, so there's no reason to be so unhappy!'"

[19:10]Syranelle Ironleaf: For a moment, the Elezen pauses, peering at the empty right side of the stage. Her nose twitched a moment, but she simply smiled and continued. "I am uhappy," said Monkey, "because when I die there is no one to carry on after me and I, sadly, feel that my time is coming soon. Everything I know, everything I remember, it will all perish with me and all I know will be lost." Rooster let his comb flop over to one side, upset. "O-oh, I see. That /is/ very sad. Don't you have any children?"

[19:16]Valgus Arvina: The weary old Monkey shook his head slowly, grimacing. As if he needed yet another reminder that he lacked the one thing he wanted the most! "I've none, Rooster. I have seen many winters and many summers. Indeed, the day is beautiful. The sun shines, the clouds fluff! Yet I have -seen- these things. I have known them for many and more years. Who will remember me when the long sleep comes for me? Who will carry on my legacy?" The Monkey shook his head once more, groaning with exasperation.-

[19:16]Valgus Arvina: Rooster scuffed his talons on the dirt and bobbled his head thoughtfully. Then, he cawed with a realization! "Monkey! Let go your despair! For just yonder, o'er the hills, there is another tree. Another Monkey! Quite fetching, if I may say so! Come down from your tree. Walk with me and together, we will meet her!"

[19:22]Rin Miyama: The poor old monkey, though his eyes perked up, still held onto a shred of doubt within his heart. He had lived a fulfilling life with suceeding at many feats, yet he had never known the simple joys of shared compassion. "All right, Rooster. I will follow you. But please, do not raise my hopes so high that my heart breaks when they fall." And at that, the pair set off. By the sun setting, they finally crested the last of the hills between the trees, a fair female monkey perched in though.

[19:22]Rin Miyama: thought.)

[19:22]Rin Miyama: "There, for your own eyes to see, another monkey such as yourself!" Indeed, the fair monkey appeared alone, however the older monkey knew not what to say. He simply stood, eyes trained on her swaying tail, until it finally gave an annoyed flick. "Well, what is it you are after?" Her voice rang clear in the evening air. "My time is precious, and I know not who you are, or why you have arrived?" All ready, the poor old monkeys heart sank.

[19:25]Syranelle Ironleaf: Monkey cringed, looking at Rooster in askance. What was he supposed to do? Beaming, the Rooster knew /exactly/ what to do to impress the ladies. He was, after all, the master of his henhouse! So, he demonstrated his rooster'ish prowess for Monkey. Up and down the road Rooster strutted, comb all a-waggle. He shook his long, luxurious tail-feathers, making quite a display of himself. He scratched and pranced before ending it with a mighty crow, "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" >>

[19:27]Syranelle Ironleaf: Not knowing what else to do, Monkey saw, so Monkey did. He strutted around, flapping his arms and waggling his head. He turned his backside toward the She-Monkey and waggled his tail in what he hoped was an alluring fashion. At the end of it, he puffed out his chest and yelled in all his Monkey glory, "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" Then they waited to see the She-Monkey's reaction.

[19:32]Syranelle Ironleaf: "N-no... NO!" Monkey protested. "I am shamed, look, she won't even speak!" Monkey threw up his hands in despair and fled the hilltop. However, Rooster was undaunted. He turned to the She-Monkey, "My friend is simply so enamored with your beauty that he feels he must find a gift worthy of such magnificence!" He winked and chased after his Monkey-friend.

[19:34]Syranelle Ironleaf: Rooster chased after Monkey, finally catching up to him near a spring. "Look, you can't just DO that!" Rooster admonished. "You don't just leave a lady standing there like that. It's rude!" Monkey wrung his hands, aggrieved. "What am I to do? What must she think of me? I can't go back! I won't!" The Monkey seemed on the verge of panic. "Calm down, calm down..." Rooster reassured his friend. "We can fix this still!"

[19:40]Rin Miyama: Little did the old monkey know, a small butterfly had flitted from the budding flowers within the tree that held the fair monkey. "Dear, whaat is it that has you so speechless?" the whisper-like voice of the butterfly questioned. "You have told me stories of a strong, courageous monkey many a times, and the day I finally resolve to make my way over the hells to his tree, he shows up and makes a bafoon of himself!"

[19:40]Rin Miyama: Gently, the butterfly perched atop the sh-monkey's head, "Must I remind you of your younger days, chasing the tails of dimwitted monkeys half your age?" At that, the she-monkey grimaced as the butterfly giggled. "Perhaps. But I would like to see if this fool learns to follow his own mind, rather than the bird-brain of that rooster." At that, the pair giggled. However beyond the hills at that lonely spring, sat the old lonely monkey...

[19:43]Rin Miyama: "Fix this? I sounded like an old rooster with a frog in it's throat!" the old monkey groaned, burying his face within his palms. "No! All will be well!" the rooster insisted, "You simply must bring her a fine gift! Few things swoon ladies such as reminders of their own beauty!" The old monkey paused, staring within the spring. "Butt what out there would match the living beauty of one such as herself?" he pondered. The rooster guffawed, "Living beauty? Hah! You must find the shiniest bauble!"

[19:44]Rin Miyama: "It will outlast any /living/ beauty." With a confident nod and wobble of his comb, the rooster stamped his clawed foot. "I've swooned many a hens with the smoothest of rocks and the most glittering of coins!" His feathers ruffled as the monkey sighed, "It is simple!"

[19:47]Syranelle Ironleaf: "What could I bring her that could match her beauty?" Monkey bemoaned. Rooster crowed triumphantly, "Why, bring her that right there!" He pointed to the reflection of the moon on the water of the spring. "That's the biggest pearl I've ever seen, that's sure to win her heart!" Monkey looked at the luminescent glow of the moon, not realizing it wasn't a stone. "Y-yes... look at it, so big, shiny, and round... it's perfect!" Immediately, Monkey leapt into the water with a huge splash! >>

[19:49]Syranelle Ironleaf: Yet, the ripples of the broken water fanned out across the surface, scattering the image of the moon. "No, wait, where did it go?!" Monkey exclaimed in dismay, splashing his hands around in the water, frantically searching for the 'pearl'. "Where did it go?! Rooster, help me!" He whimpered. "O-oh, uh... we roosters don't care for water. I'm afraid you're on your own!"

[19:51]Syranelle Ironleaf: Monkey flailed around in the water, clearly making no headway at all. The 'pearl' was gone. He gave up and swam back to shore, now waterlogged and even /more/ unhappy than before. "Maybe I'll just go back to my tree," he said dejectedly. Rooster made his way over to his friend. "You can't give up, surely there's something else a nice She-Monkey could want!"

[19:54]Syranelle Ironleaf: "Maybe, but it's too late now." Monkey said, making his way back to his own tree. Rooster trailed after him, still prattling on incessantly. "What about food? Or gems? Or small woodland creatures? Ladies like to hug things!" The Rooster nodded sagely. He knew these things, great ladies' man that he was. "No, no... None of that. It would have to be something extraordinarily special to overcome this humiliation."

[19:55]Syranelle Ironleaf: Then, it occurred to the Monkey that he knew of /exactly/ the right thing. There was a flower at the very top of his tree; it was exceptionally rare, blooming only once in his lifetime. Surely that would be worthy of the She-Monkey! With a gleeful smile, he took of running for his home-tree. Rooster, thinking he'd all but given up, set to chasing after him.

[19:57]Ryouta Sakamoto: On the brink of dawn, the duo arrived to the Monkey's home, and utilizing his acrobatic prowess he swung back and forth through the bough, up the branches and to the top... only to find that the flower was nowhere to be found! Shocked, stunned by this and in peril, he asked the skies for an answer... only to hear nothing. Until...

[19:59]Ryouta Sakamoto: Monkey's eyes fell from the blue sea above down to his companion, indeed, the very individual who had swooned many before with those magnificent feathers. Those feathers which... caught the glimpse of the sun. Was the answer in front of him all along? "Rooster!" He called out. "I have a favor to ask."

[20:04]Rin Miyama: "Please, Rooster, fetch the lovely monkey from her tree! I have something even more splendid than the pearl within the spring! And hurry!" At that, the rooster fluffed his feathers and tossed his comb, "I will be back before you can say--" "Hurry!" the the monkey cut off the rooster before delving back into his tree. Off scurried the fowl, grumbling to himself as he went. All the while the old monkey set to his plan. Barely enough time to spare, by the time the rooster had returned with >>

[20:06]Rin Miyama: the she-monkey, the air surrounding the tree was alight with the faint buzzing and gentle pulsing lights of fireflies. Stopping in wonder, the she-monkey felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips. During her hurried walk, she had wondered what the old monkey had in store as the rooster had squawked to her about his amazing and wondrously vague plan. As agile and dextrous as a leaf floating through the wind, she lept and climbed into the tree.

[20:12]Zhan'a Rakhin: The she-monkey poked at a passing firefly, holding out a lanky arm to the glittering display. "I have never seen so many in one place," she manages as the insects twirl about. "What is your secret?" With a sly grin, Monkey shook his head. "No secret! Fireflies love to perform is all. The problem is just getting them in one spot. I didn't have any sheet music for them, so it turned into a bit of an improv-" His words are cut off when his lady friend gave him a quick hug, fireflies sitting on ~

[20:14]Zhan'a Rakhin: each of her ears before they began to dance. So close, she could hear the faintest voices as they sang. Or possibly sang. It might just have been a very loud rustle of the wings, but close enough. However, one particularly bright firelight came between the couple as they parted. "We danced for the lady, so where's the pay, fur brain?" came a tiny voice. Monkey blanched under his fur. He hadn't thought that part through. "Well, I do have one thing..."

[20:18]Syranelle Ironleaf: Monkey took the fireflies into his tree, gesturing to it with a hand. "This is the oldest and hardiest tree in the land. You are welcome to make your home here for as long as you live." The fireflies seemed overjoyed at this revelation and danced around the monkey pair while below Rooster let out a joyous crow. "That's the spirit! I knew you could do it!" The Monkey smiled at his friend and nodded. "You did, if it wasn't for you, I would not have had the courage to do this." >>

[20:20]Syranelle Ironleaf: Monkey looked up at his tree, now lit by fireflies. "They will need someone to watch over them, though, when I am gone." He looked down at his feathered friend. "Perhaps when that time comes, you'll take over guardianship of this tree?" Rooster stared up at his friend, humbled. "I... I would be honored to look after your tree and our bright little friends. They were the key to your happiness after so long a life, after all!"

[20:23]Syranelle Ironleaf: And so it was that the Monkey moved forward in happiness and in love. He continued to grow old, as time took its toll, so when he came near to the end of his life he sent for his old friend the Rooster. The finely-feathered fowl stood at his bedside, too strong and brave to weep. "I'm here, old friend, to fulfill my promise." Monkey looked up at him, smiling. "Good, I have just one last thing to tell you..."

[20:25]Ryouta Sakamoto: "I love you, Rooster." Monkey croked and fell to his long sleep where he would be with the she-monkey, happily ever after... which brings us to Rooster. He sat there alone, in his new tree fort. "I suppose it's time to find someone else to help now." He cracked open an adult beverage and pondered the future.

[20:26]Ryouta Sakamoto: Rooster wasn't as popular as he made himself up to be, no, he was quite lonely and in fact had many unsavory addictions. However, helping others kept him from the bottle, and packed up his feathers and made for a new friend, the fireflies would surely watch over the sacred tree.

[20:27]Ryouta Sakamoto: Fret not, I will not leave you all empty-handed. For it was one fateful night that lead the Rooster to the bar, where he found another like he, a drunk Hen. The two of them exchanged words and interests, and this will wrap up the story of the Rooster and the Monkey. (( Our thanks to everyone who came out tonight and to all our story-tellers that participated! We look forward to seeing you all again in February! <3 ))

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