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 Posted: Sat Jan 02, 2010 11:08 am
Opening Contest #2 Out with the old and in with the new, we say! Royalty Bound's second contest involves something a bit more special in nature. This is Saltaire's first official babysitting contest, and boy is Maximilian eager to get that little troublemaker Tibalt off his hands. Adelle is a little less, as such, but we have calmed her down enough to agree to partake in the contest as well with her Prince Brodi, who is a little more level headed than his best friend.
This contest is for a cute little hyla wrightorum Prince you see to your left! His genotype will be x*y. As a surprise turn of events, we changed the species to nasikabatrachus sahyadrensis. That's a mouthful!
Hints:
❖ For anyone new to Royalty Bound, all the information you need on Saltaire can be located here.
❖ In addition, since you have a choice of either Brodi or Tibalt, you can check out tidbits of their personality in King or Djubre's Journal (respectively).
❖ Try to include a little bit of the foreword in your prompt--The more descriptive you are before receiving the actual letter, the more opportunity you have to show off your character and persuade us into picking you for the winner!
❖ Make sure your character comes from one of the allied countries.
❖ Five seconds of spell-checking using MS Word costs you nothing, so do it. Try not to spell the names of Staff or landmarks in the World incorrectly.
❖ Some sort of creative and yet somewhat pointlessly excessive inventions like Percy the Passing Bus Sign (see Max's first roleplay post for more details) will make the world feel more real and funner for us to read; feel free to go all out in the creativity department! Just no floating cars or we kill you.
❖ Word to the wise, we wouldn't recommend your character absolutely abhor the job of babysitting. Why would we give you a Prince if your character would hate looking after one? xD[color=#000000]Prelude[/color][color=white] It’s a quiet afternoon you’re spending at your stately manor (or whatever remains of such) and there seems to be nothing going on around Saltaire as of late. There’s been news of a couple’s new invention said to be the ultimate new trinket for the rich man/woman to own but lately the excitement has been quite tuned down. Perhaps it was only a temporary ploy- oh? Was that the door? You instinctively run to answer it but instead of an important business colleague of yours or even a family member, before you appears a young child. Not just any child either, this boy has strangely… large feet... and glistening skin? What an odd creature. Before you are able to act upon this surprise, he hands you an envelope and as you open it, a note is revealed...
Dear Sir or Madam,
I know this is probably a bit too much to ask of you without any sort of warning, but I am currently out of town on a bit of a business venture and I cannot take this precious Prince with me. Surely by now you’ve heard of the Princelings being produced at Rheinfels and can recognize by his amphibious traits that he is, in fact, one of them. You’ve been chosen to watch over him for today while I am away, so please take good care of him for me. If I return to find him in a pleasant condition, you may even be considered for ownership of a Prince of your own. This means you must ensure that he is kept hydrated, fed and most importantly HAPPY.
Sincerely, Madam Adelle X.
P.S. If he starts to act up, tell him he's going to get warts like Tibalt. It should get him to settle down.
Prompt #2.
Attention Sir or Madam,
You will be happy to know that I, Maximilian Y, am leaving my Prince, Tibalt, in your care for the day. He’s pretty self maintained and just needs a watchful eye on him to make sure he doesn’t get his a** in trouble. Please be weary that if you come into contact with his skin that you may get given a bad wart breakout over the next few days (It usually clears up pretty soon). Other than that, as long as he’s dampish there shouldn’t be any major problems. Shall you prove a suitable sitter for him and keep him happy, there may even be a reward bestowed upon you.
Thanks and good luck, Maximilian Y.
P.S. Oh yes, and feed him too, but not too much. The last thing I need is a morbidly obese toad running around my mansion and knocking s**t over.
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Posted: Sat Jan 02, 2010 6:04 pm
King's Verdict: Reading through it so far I can say that this is a character that I feel attracted to as a reader- the only problem is I would almost prefer for her to actually BE fifteen- not that it bothers me that she's older (I can easily believe the behavior from a toy maker.) I like the creativeness behind the toys because they seem regal in appearance but obviously are way beyond the years of 'velveteen' toys because of their technological abilities. Ending was absolutely precious xD A little dramatic before hand but hey, we didn't say there couldn't be any peril anyways so. But yea, loved the ending.
As a technical nitpick, the separation of sentences is kinda annoying and I feel my eyes jumping around a little too much.
Thank god that Mitzi is female because I'd be worried beyond belief if she was a male xD Although I'm almost curious now to see that sort of character HAHA. Also. Scottie dog toy is soooo want D=
Dju's verdict: This one is very good, though I'm somewhat glad that she isn't really fifteen because it just wouldn't work within the context of the world. An immature girl in her late twenties works fine for me. I like that she isn't the cliched technomological inventor that we seem to have a lot of recently but she's a toymaker, which is a really unique concept.
The spacing doesn't bother me that much because that's probably how it would be written in an actual novel but I feel that you're probably getting that effect because she double-spaces the lines instead of single-spaces.
Her interaction with Brodi was adorable, as was the portrayal of his character, but I agree there was a little too much drama in that last part, considering that it would be highly impractical for them to need to be fully submerged in water as often as every few hours--they'd never be able to go out anywhere because it's too cold to randomly pick up a garden hose and douse them lol. The ending was so sweet.
Luafien, Prompt #1
The northernmost room on the third story of Manor Neidlich was filled with a sweet and upbeat song, gentle and cheerful, much like everything else in the room. Deep shelves were on every wall with the exception of the backmost, which was almost entirely composed of windows, their curtains drawn back to let the sunshine in. On the shelves were every sort of stuffed animal or doll, all colorful and cute, though most with rough parts, obviously patched together. There were dolls that stood still, ones that sipped at imaginary tea with each other, and ones that sought out dance partners and twirled around on the wooden dance stage the shelf floor provided.
A large rug was at the center of the room, covering a large portion of the hardwood floor, a pure white that must have been very difficult to keep clean. Though it was impossible to tell exactly what the state the rug was in, as it was also covered in things, concentrated in the center. In the very middle sat Mitzi Wulf with her legs folded underneath her, and like ripples in a pond all manner of parts were scattered around her.
Despite the cutesy brown dress she wore, the way her hair was curled tightly and was kept up by ribbons, and the delicate knitted white stockings that covered her legs, she sat working with wires and circuitry. A wooden desk was hovering over her knees, the parts for a half-finished baby doll spread over it.
Mitzi looked, from the way she dressed, like she was fifteen. Mitzi Wulf was, in fact, twenty-seven, and far too old to dress like a child. This did not stop the eccentric woman, and no one else made moves to, considering the unbelievable success the woman enjoys with an equally child-like profession as a toy maker. The woman’s head bobbed in time with the music, cream curled hair bouncing along, and a smile on pink-painted lips, slender fingers working diligently with her tiny tools, occasionally pausing to jot notes onto a small silver pad with the tip of her finger.
All the moving dolls stopped their dancing and tea parties when the music cut out with a cheerful chime, to which Mitzi sighed, clearing the back panel of the baby doll off of a small gold disc resting on her desk. She tapped it, and a projection of a sever-faced man in a black suit appeared.
She spoke before he had the chance.
“Fredrik, tell Summers that I already told him the plans for the new doll won’t be done until Friday.” Mitzi’s voice was whiny and a little too high-pitched for someone her age.
“It is not Mister Summers, ma’am.”
The woman paused at that, mouth open in preparation to tell her excuse of the day that she had lined up for when her incessant manager bothered her about her current project.
“Oh? Who is it?”
“I’m not rightly sure, ma’am.” His old face looked pained, which is normally fairly hard to tell since he generally looks that way.
“I’ll be down in a moment.”
The woman pushed the desk back, the floating wood platform sliding easily through the air, before standing. She straightened her dress, cut at the knees, and snapped her fingers.
“Clean up.”
The dolls that could move situated themselves back to their proper places on the shelves, shutting down. The rug seemed to devour the parts scattered on it, but as the door clicked shut behind Mitzi, a metal box popped up through the floor at the corner of the room.
Self-cleaning floor.
Best invention ever.
-=-
Manor Neidlich very much reflects its mistress. The grand façade of the front, complete with Corinthian columns and intricate molding, is but just a taste of the classic architecture themes of the inside with a distinctly cutesy tone. Fredrik almost looked out of place against all of the creams and pinks and light blues in his black suit, standing next to the opened door.
What stood in the doorway was not even remotely close to anything Mitzi could have expected. Her eyes didn’t leave the tiny figure as she waved Fredrik off, thanking him. She walked up to her visitor, crouching down to reach his eyelevel, but before she could speak he thrust out a letter. Mitzi raised an eyebrow at the strange child, but politely opened the letter first and read it:
Dear Mitzi Wulf,
I know this is probably a bit too much to ask of you without any sort of warning, but I am currently out of town on a bit of a business venture and I cannot take this precious Prince with me. Surely by now you’ve heard of the Princelings being produced at Rheinfels and can recognize by his amphibious traits that he is, in fact, one of them. You’ve been chosen to watch over him for today while I am away, so please take good care of him for me. If I return to find him in a pleasant condition, you may even be considered for ownership of a Prince of your own. This means you must ensure that he is kept hydrated, fed and most importantly HAPPY.
Sincerely, Madam Adelle X.
P.S. If he starts to act up, tell him he's going to get warts like Tibalt. It should get him to settle down.
One of the Frog Princes?
Mitzi looked at the boy, head tilting. She had discarded her invitation to the dinner- frogs, even if they become princes, were not of any interest to her.
Now, as she looked at his smiling face, absolutely adorable blue outfit, and delicate features Mitzi knew she had to re-evaluate the Princes.
She held a hand out to the boy, “Hello, my name is Mitzi Wulf.”
The frog boy barely paused before offering his hand as well, shaking Mitzi’s. The woman was fascinated by the delicate webbing between his fingers and the texture of his skin, smooth, almost wet but not slimy.
“I am Brodi.”
Mitzi stood, releasing his hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, please, come in.”
From the moment that the frog prince stepped foot into her manor Mitzi was thoroughly charmed by him and his happy disposition. She took him immediately to the second floor, ignoring the disdain radiating through Fredrik as he followed along and a respectful distance, ordering silently for the service bots to clean up the prints left by the bare prince’s feet.
The curving stairs led to a central hallway, Mitzi heading straight to the room at the very end. She opened wide double-doors, letting the prince into a room very similar to her workshop.
All manners of toys were displayed, colorful toy soldiers the size of children, stuffed animals that looked up, raising their fluffy arms to greet them, a rocking horse that whinnied, tossing it’s wooden head. The carpet was white and plush, perfect for sitting on, and the window curtains were thrown open.
Mitzi loved children, she loved making toys, and more than anything else she loved to watch children play with the toys she made- their innocent wonder and laughter and happy faces.
The German woman sat down on the carpet, legs tucked beside her, one hand waving to the room around them.
“Would you like to play?”
-=-
Mitzi was not entirely sure how much time had passed while they were in the toy room, only ever breaking away from watching him to have a platter of various snacks brought up for the child. To her delight Brodi seemed to be naturally curious, and she enjoyed watching him go through her shelves one by one and examine each toy.
He was almost exactly like a real child. The way he moved wasn’t as ungainly as she would have thought- of course not graceful like an adult, but just as advanced as any child’s motor skills would be of the same age that he looked. Of the same age… Brodi can’t be over a year old, but look how old he seems! So intelligent.
Mitzi smiled, arms crossed over a floating table, her chin on her arms as she watched him. Toys once neatly put away now laid scattered as Brodi made his way through them, and Mitzi did not mind, though he didn’t seem to have attached himself to a particular toy. He paused for a moment, though, holding a teddy-bear that was chirping at him in a colorful and cute made-up bear language.
Maybe he would like that one?
Though… he wasn’t exactly staring at it, more like past it. The frog prince shook his head slightly before setting it down and shifting down the row, a small toy Scottie dog following, snuffling at his heels.
Mitzi’s peace was broken when a familiar chime picked up, pausing the classical music playing in the background. The woman sighed, standing up, but smiled when Brodi looked over to her.
“I’ll be right back.”
The woman left Brodi in the room, no child had gotten himself or herself into trouble there before, she did not think it would happen to a frog prince either, stepping outside the doors to take the message.
She held the golden disk up, Fredrik appearing again.
“Tell Summers that I do not have time for his prying today.” Mitzi informed her well-meaning butler, but for the second time that day he contradicted her.
“It is not Mister Summers, ma’am.” He replied, dour as ever.
Mitzi bit her lip. Was it the mysterious Madam X already? She didn’t want to let Brodi go yet, not when he had yet to finish going through the toys in the room.
“Is it Madame X?”
“No ma’am. It is Sir Demidov.”
At his words Mitzi’s face dropped, looking for once very close to her actual age, and one hand reached behind her, closing the door to the toy room.
“I’ll… be right down. Please have the staff return to their rooms.”
“Yes ma’am.”
-=-
When Mitzi descended the stairs only Demidov was there, standing at her door. The man was dour, much like her butler, but unlike Fredrik instead of an undercurrent of affection all Demiov had room for was intimidation. Intimidation and anger. At the bottom of the stairs she curtsied to him, and he returned the gesture with a nod, taking his hat off.
“Still dressing like a child, Miss Wulf.” It wasn’t a question. Men like Demidov didn’t ask questions, he stated fact, even if there was no proof.
Mitzi smiled hesitantly and didn’t quite meet his eyes, just turning away to lead the man. At the blank space of wall between her two curving staircases she pressed her hand, and a small flashing light zipped across the surface, outlining a rectangle. There was a brief pause before the wall within the rectangle receded, opening up to a hallway on a decline. Mitzi entered, followed by the much larger man.
It wasn’t until the passage closed back up again behind Demidov that Mitzi spoke.
“The ocular cameras are ready for animal testing.”
“You know we don’t do animal testing, Mitzi.” Demidov had always spoken more familiarly when behind closed doors. Closed doors and a few inches of steel.
Mitzi stopped only to press her hand against another blank wall that abruptly cut off the hallway. This time she had to lean forward as well, unseen sensors checking her eyes as a pass code.
“You should.” She sighed, leading him into a workroom very much opposite to the one on the third floor. The walls were metallic and sterile, everything as sharp and organized as a surgical room and about half as friendly.
It is, in fact, impossible for Mitzi to have made her fortune from toys. A younger, weaker Mitzi at the age of twenty had made a series of devices under contract from the government. As brilliant as an inventor as she was, she had no power to turn down their offer, and subsequently a new life was breathed into the art of subterfuge and spying through the creations of Mitzi Wulf, or codenamed by the government, Designer Angerona.
The man had no reservations about moving around her hidden workroom, looking through the tools and files at his own whims.
“What about the listening devices?” He asked, his voice too sharp to be simply casually curious.
“I already told you Sir Demidov, it’s going to be a while before I can put together a bug that small.” Even in browns Mitzi was too colorful for her own workroom, sticking out with her frills and curls, and of this she was aware, unreasonably making her feel all the more nervous.
The man sighed, fingers tapping against a smooth metal table, “How many times must I ask this? Please, Mitzi, call me Borya.” His voice rumbled, too loud for the small room, a sort of twisted parody of a smile on his face. Borya turned his head, looking over to the diminutive German woman, he regarded her with his cold gray eyes, and the longer he stared the more that Mitzi’s fingers twitched.
“Mitzi, you are very talented. Why do you think we approached you when you were so young, eh? And yet you cannot do what we offer.” Borya turned towards her, placing his hat on the table before large arms crossing over a large chest.
“Sir Demidov, if the technology doesn’t exist, there is nothing I can do. I don’t invent the concepts, I alter existing ones.” Mitzi stepped back, half-sitting on a table behind her. Dealing with Demidov took a lot out of her, and the last she needed was for him to know that.
“Yes yes, you make them smaller. Smarter, easier to conceal.” Borya waved his hand in the air, and then abruptly picked his fedora back up, stuffing it over his slicked brown hair again. “Very well. I’ll take the ocular camera. Next week you’ll be receiving two of the five stealth watches back, they are malfunctioning again.”
“They are very delicate. If the masks are forcibly broken the feedback into the crystals is too much, have you told your agents this yet?” Mitzi replied, though keeping her head down as she did so, moving to pick up a small metallic briefcase. The watches were one of her first inventions made for the government, and the most often to break.
“Classified, my dear.” Borya smiled, taking the case from Mitzi. “If you cannot work on the listening devices, maybe see if you can make the stealth watches sturdier, yes?” He chuckled, heading for the door. They opened for him the same as they did for Mitzi, and as soon as the door closed behind him the woman sagged.
Mitzi took a shaky breath, hand lifting to press against her temple, eyes closed against the harsh workroom light.
Working with the government was difficult. Lying to them was harder. She kept failsafes in all of her devices, allowing herself to be the only one to work on them. She told Demidov it was to keep enemy hands from being able to take them apart to replicate them, but that was an unintended effect that a young Mitzi hadn’t even thought of when she had put together her fist batch of technological promises.
If you wanted to stay alive, you kept yourself useful. Her father taught her that. If she was the only one to fix something, then she was better off alive instead of dead and unable to be captured for her secrets.
Goddess Angerona, goddess of secrets.
She chuckled, voice strained.
-=-
Mitzi afforded herself a moment to compose herself, emerging from her hidden room before contacting Fredrik that the staff is allowed to go back to their chores. Funny, that she should use such a device to contact a person in her own home, a person who was just down the hall waiting dutifully in his room.
For a moment she considered going to the older man herself, to talk to him about Demidov, he and David Summers were there only ones to know of her secret, but the woman sighed and shook her head.
Brodi was waiting for her. Watching him would cheer her up.
Making sure to put a smile on her face before throwing the doors open, it almost immediately fell off of her face. Brodi was curled up on the floor, arms wrapped around his legs, his strange skin looked flushed.
“Brodi?”
The frog boy looked up, face half-hidden by his knees, “I feel thirsty.”
Mitzi could only stare, a million things running through her mind. The open windows, the bright sunshine, the hours playing, her stupid distraction by Demidov.
Mitzi, you idiot!
“Fredrik!” She shouted, running over to the tiny figure. A red strip of light appeared on the ground, showing brightly even through the carpet, and soft beeping began sounding in the house, a voice-activated alarm staring up at her frantic and scared tone.
A projection popped in the doorway of the room, “Mitzi? What is it?”
The woman scooped the child up into her arms, Brodi looking up at her blankly with his strange, beautiful eyes. She turned, running right through the hologram as she yelled back at it, “Start running the bath!”
What temperate water did he need? She didn’t even know.
“Make it warm, no soaps or perfumes!”
“Bubble bath, ma’am?”
“No bubbles!”
The red strip of light on the floor acted as an unnecessary guide to the bathroom, an electronic voice meant to guide stranger in an emergency told her to turn left into the proper room.
The opulent tub was already mostly full despite Fredrik not even being in the room, and Mitzi carefully lowered the child into the tub, arms shaking from holding his weight. Her eyes didn’t leave Brodi as Fredrik arrived.
“Ma’am?” There was obvious concern in his voice.
“Bring me a glass of water? And turn off the alarms, it’ll be fine.” Mitzi sighed.
Her butler did not ask any more questions, but did wait a moment before turning to leave the bathroom.
Brodi floated in the water, opening his eyes when the faucets automatically turned off.
To Mitzi’s relief, he smiled at. She sighed again, happier, before reaching out and stroking his hair.
“I’m sorry.” She said, sitting down on the edge of the tub.
He shifted in the water, crossing his legs effortlessly despite his long feet. “For what?”
Mitzi had to smile. Only a child could be so innocent, so unaware of wrongs. “For letting you get dehydrated. For getting your clothes all wet.”
Brodi smiled, “They’re supposed to do that. And I didn’t dehydrate.”
“Yet.” Mitzi filled in, but the boy just smiled still, “I would have found water when I really needed it.”
Such childlike confidence. The woman continued to pet his hair, so soft even when wet, and smiled down at him. Fredrik brought the glass and left silently, and the boy drank it eagerly, small fingers wrapping around the cool glass.
Whoever these people were, they weren’t likely to give her one of whatever princes they had to offer, not after that display in incompetence, but she was determined to enjoy her time left with Brodi.
The frog boy seemed to enjoy the giant bathtub as much as he did the toys, twisting his body around in the warm water and prodding the small selection of rubber bath toys lined up against the wall.
“Did you like the toys in the room?” Mitzi finally asked, and to her surprise he didn’t just announce that he did, or even that he didn’t.
He simply floated in the water for a long moment, a rubber ducky in his webbed fingers, and finally he looked up, a sort of curious determination on his face.
“Yes. But… you didn’t have any frog toys.”
He was right, of course. She had human dolls. She had cats and dogs and rabbits, rocking horses and toy soldiers, lions, giraffes, deer, and bears. She had herds of sheep and flocks of birds, she had toys that taught how to dance and toys that acted like a real baby.
Mitzi had not invented one toy that in any way, shape, or form had anything to do with frogs.
“I’ll make one.” She promised, tilting her head, “Would you like that?”
His bright smile and the eagerness of his “Yes!” both assured Mitzi that her failure of his upkeep did not harm him and made her determined, even if she never had a prince of her own, that she was going to make toys just for them, Demidov and his spies and Summers and his deadlines be damned.
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Posted: Sat Jan 02, 2010 6:25 pm
King's Verdict: The involvement of both humans was nice, and it was nice to see someone kind to Tibalt even if he kept darting around and stuff, since Im sure he'd be used to Max getting quickly frustrated. My only concerns are the breaks between sentences, but this is kinda just a pet peeve thing of mine. I'm also a little confused about Shen and his reactions because while near the end I could tell he was a bit content I wasn't 100% sure if we were looking at a cranky man or just a surprised man, maybe a little more clarity (I dont want to say emphasis) on his mood would be helpful.
Dju's verdict: Tibalt is very active in this one! Nice to see him running around like a kid. I wasn't too fond of the introduction though, he sounds like he absolutely abhors the idea of looking after Tibalt and of course, that could cause some problems because he sounds the kind of character who'd say "What, no!" if Max offered him a Prince.
It's a fairly standard response but I agreed that it's a little muddled, I'm not sure what I'm looking at when it comes to the near-end because he doesn't give a lot of "thoughts" to his character. There's only one weird thing I find about this and it's that Tibalt ends up sounding like he has a British accent in my head lol.
Kanove, Prompt #2
Saltaire was resting peacefully this shy winter morning. A wealthy man had risen early, for no particular reason, and had been seen roaming through his house early before the sunrise. He was a tall, thin man who held his position in society and politics steadily. Qing-Yuan Shen, a man of wealthy descent from central Haikou. His place in the city had been obtained years ago but only recently had he made the small town his home.
However, his tall home seemed to blend in with the countless rich in the town and his obsession with collection cultural artifacts earned him the title of Collector Shen not long after he moved in. Even with all the things Shen did daily never would he had expected what would come this calm winters morn.
The knocker on the door shook the house and a roar of an engine signaled someone driving off. Shen only looked away from the tall window he had been staring out of for a moment, and curiously he made his way to the tall front doors. The brilliant texture shined in the morning sun but when he opened the door he was greeted with a not so pleasant face.
The boy’s face that reflected at him looked like he had been to hell and back within the last hour. Shen only looked down at him for a moment sipping his cup of tea when a letter was thrust into his face. ‘What is this?’ he asked himself, opening the fancy envelope.
Just perfect, a notable busybody had been asked to babysit a child for an entire day at the request of one of the shadiest people in town. ‘Maximilian Y, I swear...’ He thought again before shaking his head. The boy still waited at the door step patiently and reluctantly Shen waved him in.
“Keep your hands of things and make your way to the library, the last room at the end of the corridor.” He instructed giving the boy a nudge forward. The boy’s skin shinned in the sunlight and it seemed to glimmer with an amphibian appeal. Had he been left with one of those rumored experiments that was circling town? Great.
“Mr. Tibalt is it? Where exactly are you from?” Shen asked as he took a seat in the glowing library.
“A laboratory is where I live. A greenhouse, it is really big.” Tibalt replied instantly.
‘Interesting. So I’m dealing with a lab-rat. Oh well, might as well indulge Mr. Maximilian to his request.’ He sighed. Shen had no clue how to babysit anyone, more or less an experiment, or a child. Whichever this one was it seemed as if he was stuck with the boy till the evening.
“Sir the tea is- Oh, you have a guest?” piped a small girl who entered through a hidden door.
Tibalt’s eyes grew round as he saw the door open before his eyes. The door came out of nothing, absolutely nothing. He smiled and stood up just as it closed and sat down, disappointed again. This place was boring, and it seemed as if he’d be here all day.
“Would you like some treats?” asked the small girl out of place.
“Now Mu La-” interrupted Shen. Maximilian didn’t want the boy getting fat, and if Mu Lan had her way he would be.
“No, no, it will be my treat, the boy looks so underfed. Let me fix them quickly.” She chirped, vanishing into the kitchen again.
Shen turned away just for a moment, after the maid’s bubbly visit, to grab a book when he noticed the boy had gone missing. ‘Oh no, not here, and not now.’ he thought staring into the kitchen. It was dangerous enough to lose his way in his own house, but a complete stranger was sure to get lost in the tangled maze of rooms that Shen had built.
Standing up Shen gently set the book to rest on the chair’s fluffy cushion and turned quickly towards the hidden kitchen corridor. Pushing on the wall gently it slid open and he vanished into the maze of secret passageways throughout the house. “Mu Lan.” He called peeking into the kitchen.
The girl appeared instantly and with an anxious expression on her face she smiled, “Yes Sir?”
“The small silky boy, have you seen him? Tibalt, I was asked to take care of him and now I’ve lost him.” Shen asked. His face wrinkled with worry and guilt, this was not the time for something like this to happen. The fact that he had no relation to the young boy didn’t help.
“He just ran up the main stairwell, I believe towards the greenhouse upstairs. I’d keep an eye on him; he stole a wet rag when he ran through here.” She replied.
Shen stared and only shook his head before darting off out of the corridor and into the main foyer. Up the main staircase you could only go down two hallways. One led to the collection rooms and his private study and the other to the greenhouses, bedrooms, and bathrooms. As Shen made his way up the staircase Mu Lan joined him by his side and took a hold of his arm. “I have some treats.” She whispered.
The smile on her face made Shen relax but only slightly. The tall man was not used to being around children and this turn of events just threw off his daily routine. “Get a hold of whomever I have an appointment with today and cancel them, let me see those treats I will try and catch him.”
“Yes sir,” she smiled. Turning away Mu Lan vanished into another corridor just before the greenhouse as Shen turned the corner to find the glass doors pushed wide open.
“Mr. Tibalt?” he called nervously. His eyes darted from plant to plant fearing for the worst. The kid had to be hiding in here, none of the other rooms looked disturbed. “Mr. Tibalt are you in here?” he called again.
The bushes shook and the young boy stood up on one of the higher landings in the small greenhouse. “I bet you can’t catch me!” he laughed.
Shen frowned and held out the treats Mu Lan had baked. They smelled like something with way too much sugar and flavoring but Shen only offered them to the gleaming boy. Tibalt seemed to take some interest to the sweets and with a quick jump the boy was on the ground and out of the room before Shen could react.
“Hey, come ba-” he shouted too late. Tibalt had darted out of the room and the sound of something crashing on the floor didn’t do much favor for Shen’s sour mood. “TIBALT!” he yelled. “You come here now; I will not play these games, especially if you choose to break my collectables.”
Storming from the room and down the hall Shen caught sight of the boy darting back downstairs into one of the many rooms. The boy was leaving a trail of water wherever he walked; it seemed as if he kept going to places where he could get some water. Sighing Shen leaned against the stair post and listened to the noise that came from down stairs just as Mu Lan appeared again.
“Sir, I saw Tibalt running into the garden just now…” she hesitated, “he was headed to the koi pond eating the treats I baked him.”
He stared, impossible. The garden was locked off unless you went- no, the boy wouldn’t dare go through his room. Shaking his head Shen maneuvered around Mu Lan and nodded a ‘Thanks’ as he vanished into one of the hallways. ‘That little misfit, it would do well for him to learn some manners but if he is content than I am just as happy. The boy feeds of attention it seems.’ He nodded as he crossed the floor in his bedroom. Everything was still in its place but the door hung wide open and outside he heard a bit of splashing.
“Mr. Tibalt are you out here?” he called.
“Just Tibalt, please.” The boy cried in reply, “Yes, I’m in this fishy pond. They keep poking me, it tickles.”
Shen smiled, the koi never seemed like shy fish but he hadn’t much time to observe the large garden which covered his back yard. “Tibalt may I ask, if you will indulge me, why you left a pile of wreckage wherever you went in my home and why you ran away from me?”
Tibalt only poked at the water thinking for a moment before he shrugged, “I don’t know, you paid attention to me didn’t you?”
“Yes but that isn’t the way to do it, and it seems as if it’s now past lunch time. You only have to ask me, or speak up.” Shen stared into the pond at his own reflection. He felt like a brick wall when it came to conversing with people, especially children who he had no experience with- being an only child.
“Why are you so formal?” Tibalt asked.
“It was how I was raised when growing up. You seem to have much more fun.” Shen smiled- for the first time in a long time.
“It was how I was raised.” Tibalt grinned, “What’s for lunch? I promise to be better.”
Shen smiled at the white lie. He knew it wouldn’t come true, he understood that about all children. After all, being young meant you could make innocent mistakes and not get in a heap of trouble. Surely a thing he missed.
“For lunch, it will be served in the garden, sandwiches and tea.” Mu Lan interrupted, her hands full with a glowing silver tray.
“Sounds perfect.” Shen nodded, “Will you join me Mr. Tibalt and Ms. Mu Lan?”
“Certainly,” they both chimed.
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Posted: Sun Jan 03, 2010 8:20 pm
King's Verdict: The first thing I noticed was all the stops. I mean, overall the thoughts flowed if you skipped over the pauses but it feels just a bit blocky. This becomes easier to look over though the further I get through the entry but I can still notice it if I actually look for these breaks again. Other than that there was a good overall flow a few spelling errors, but they are the kind that are overlooked because they're the wrong form of the word (I think it was Laughed/Laugher that caught me and I just typed it the same way twice so Im pretty sure that was it LOL)
I loled as soon as we were introduced to Marcus though. What a charming guy haha xD His interaction with Brodi was adorable I was worried at first that Dorian was the main character but yea, thumbs up to Marcus.
Dju's Verdict: Yeaaaah, I noticed all the stopping as well. It was almost difficult to string together a sentence for me because I have a short attention span and if the sentence isn't running on, I lose concentration and end up re-reading the paragraph to try and understand what just happened here. (See? I love run-on sentences haha)
Another thing that really choked me up was when there was a sudden character change. Suddenly it switched from Dorian to Marcus which makes it lose a little bit of... familiarity? Like I'm getting comfortable to one character and what he's like and then suddenly I'm introduced to a perfect stranger--I don't know who he is, what he does, and I have a blank in my head about what I'm supposed to imagine him looking like.
Vamps is a little bit vague in some places, and off the top of my head, I don't even think I remember reading about what Brodi ended up painting in the first place.
iStoleYurVamps, Prompt #1
Answering the door, Dorian Redwood expected to see a messenger. A service man. Perhaps even a relative. Plans for a tea social and painting show had been in the works for the last week, why, even a chef from out of town had been hired for catering! So, naturally, Dorian expected something along the lines of hired help arriving, or, maybe just an early guest.
Dorian certainly did not expect a young boy, maybe 11 or so, with odd facial markings and…build, looking soaked, offering him a letter. At first, he just stared at the boy, (was it even a boy?), and thought to slam the door. It was just so…”Ghastly.” He motioned the boy to enter. Last thing he wanted was the neighbors asking questions. It was only behind closed doors that Dorian took the time to read the letter’s actual contents. Meanwhile, the boy busied himself with eyeing the old mutt that slept at the foot of the stairs. The beast was snoring, filling the moderately decorated hall with an oddly amusing echo. As the boy poked the dog tentatively, it only snorted itself awake to wag it’s tail. The thing was so old, it didn’t even bother to sniff what had to be an odd smelling boy, (at least compared to what a normal human boy might have smelt like).
Finished, (and annoyed) with the letter and it’s contents. Dorian looked at the floor. At least the thing didn’t leave some trail of slime. “You. Come here.” Dorian’s command echoed in the entry hall. The dog immediately got up and rushed to his side, leaving the boy behind. “Oh not you, you damnable mutt.” The dog only wagged it’s tail and sat by the man’s side. “Uhg, (Dorian failed to push the dog away, it remained with him like a small child might), boy.” The boy nodded. “Come with me. Can’t have you just…standing about.”
Following Dorian, the boy told him his name, among other things, like how he would need water later. Dorian just seemed to ignore these details and kept leading into the manor, and slowly, they could feel the air get progressively warmer.
The game of follow the leader ended. Dorian, dog, and frog boy stopping in front of two very large, very ornate doors. “...Do be mindful not to touch anything. I’d rather not have to pick up any new messes.” The doors opened with an obnoxiously loud creak and a wave of warmth flowed out.
Inside, was obviously a library. Or at least the remnants of one. Canvases, easels, paint jars and brushes littered the room, almost like a battle of the arts had occurred. Sketches, papers with color tests covered the ground like landmines, and the walls of paintings stood, like a barricade to any intruder. Overall, it was chaos, and in the middle of it, was a couch, covered in a white, (well, white with various paint splatters) sheet. It was circled by a ring of blank and unfinished paintings and canvases. A fortress of creation within the arts. A fire crackled behind the couch, acting like a dryer for the wet paintings surrounding.
“Marcus.” Dorian called out, stepping into the room. His loud voice received no reply.
“Marcus!” A snort. It sounded like-
“Oh for the love of…” pick up papers and various items as he went, Dorian cleared a path to the center of the room, where the sound had come from. Boy and dog only followed.
“Marcus, get up.” Dorian had entered the ring. “…You’ve left quite a mess. Shall I dispose of it?” A snort from underneath the sheet on the couch. Wagging it’s tail the dog went and began to nudge the lump that had previously gone unnoticed due to the fact all other furniture was covered in a sheet with lumps under it.
“Marcus.” Dorian sounded exasperated. Pulling off the sheet, a man groaned. He was wearing a simple white shirt and jeans. A black sock was missing from his left foot. “By God. MACUS!” Groaning, the man called Marcus sat up and yawned. This freed up enough room for the old mutt to worm his way onto the warm furniture.
“Hmm? Oh.” He looked to a nearby side table. There was a paintbrush in a teacup. “Dorian, I seemed to have drunk my washing water and used my tea to clean.” This was met with a sigh. “Would you get me a new cup?” Another sigh from Dorian.
“Sir, you have a guest.” Dorian made no mistake to show his distaste for the new guest.
“Oh?” “His name is Brodi. He belongs to a certain Miss…Adelle.” He held up the letter. “She expects you to take care of him.” Handing off the letter, Marcus read it with half opened eyes. “Shall I escort him to-“ Laughed filled the room, drowning out even the cackling fire. “Ah lords Dorian, he’s just a boy.” He eyed the lad, who up until that point had been inspecting the unfinished paintings. The feeling of eyes on his back made him turn around. “Brodi was it? If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m Marcus. Marcus Lir.” He smiled, it was much warmer in comparison to Dorian’s icy face. “You’ve met Dorian already, (Dorian, go get me my tea and a glass of freshwater), and Fatso here.” He pat the dog, who only wagged his tail. “Well, his name isn’t really fatso. It’s actually Leon.” The thumping of the tail wag was now louder. “My father named him for his fluffy coat and golden color. No idea as to breed, but, he’s a loyal and kind beast. Feed him, and he’ll be your friend for life.”
Dorian left the room, slamming the door with a loud thunk. The second he was gone, Marcus smiled and jumped to his feet, ran to the door, and placed a stack of papers behind it.
“He’s got a habit of having to clean you see. Not even on my orders.” Marcus pointed to the trail of organization the butler had made to get to the center of the room. “So, I like to mess with him. Besides, this is my mess, the one he shouldn’t clean because then I have no idea where anything went.”
Brodi only smiled.
“…I think in the meantime, we will paint.” Grabbing Brodi, Marcus pulled him to a blank canvas and began to lay a tray of paints down to the side. Leon watched, tail thumping on the couch with each wag.
“Now, paint.” Confusion. Marcus sighed and began to set up his own painting station next to Brodi. They remained a part of the circle of art. “But..what to I uh..paint?” Brodi held up the paintbrush, as if it were a snake. Marcus smiled. “Whatever you like. I paint what I feel should be.” The paintings that he motioned to where all of life and smiling portraits. Landscapes of flowers and clean, clear streams and rivers. Mountains reflected in the morning light on a calm lake. Simple, but none the less beautiful.
“Paint what you feel.” It wasn’t soon after Brodi began to paint that Dorian returned. At which Marcus laughed at the string of curses from the scattered papers. Even Brodi had to suppress a chuckle as the man tried to gather them, only to have Leon walk over and lay down on half the papers.
A while past and soon, Brodi was needing to replenish his skin with water. Realizing the warm room and fire wasn’t helping, Marcus grabbed the supplies, (well, some. Mostly Dorian grabbed them), and moved the painting session to one of the cooler rooms. At which, they set up while Dorian made a simple lunch of salad and soup. Marcus gave a bread stick to Leon, who sat at Brodi’s feet, nibbling at the bits the boy sent his way, (encouraged perhaps by Marcus who was doing much of the same).
Time passed relatively quickly, that was, until Dorian announced that guests had arrived. Marcus explained. “I like to be prepared for the future you see. The value of money changes all too often for my tastes. I have more than most of the other folk, but, I try not to use it on frivolous items. My family used to buy all sorts of luxury items; war changed that. I have my savings, items of worth to be sure. A mansion, but, I am a man who fears the future.” He made a few touchups to one painting in the gallery, from where they could hear the noise of guests chattering away. “They scoff. A rich man who works. Who hears of such nonsense? But, as they scoff, I sell my paintings, taking their money, and thereby, increasing my own. Never know when the government will come around asking for ungodly taxes. Or if another war will break out.” He grumbled the last part.
“Sorry, forgive my rambling. I’m off to dress for the event. While I would invite you to join, I’m afraid I can’t.” “Why not?” Brodi’s frown made Marcus feel slightly guilty. “You’re of the doctor’s princeling project. Talk of the town. People will paw at you, swarm you. Not to mention begin to wonder what I am doing with a prince that belongs to someone else.” A sigh. “I am sorry. Really. Had I time to prepare I would have made it acceptable, but, as stands, I can’t put you into a position where your…” he fought to find the right word, “Lady might say I placed you into harm’s way. It’s simply a manner of your best interests. Why don’t you explore the manor? Take Leon with out. Go into the gardens, (or what’s left of them anyway). Just stay out of sight. I’ll get back to you when I can. And remember.” He smiled. “Ask Dorian for anything. If he says no, tell him he’s a sourpuss and I will be severely disappointed in him.” With that, Marcus abandoned Brodi with Leon.
Day moved into night and Brodi had sufficiently managed one thing in his stay with Marcus Lir. He had managed to make a full grown chef scream. These happened at two points and one resulted in being chased out of the kitchen with a chicken leg. He later had found that Leon, the old dog, was only amusing for a short while. After a few tricks, the old mutt promptly would lay down and sleep. This left Brodi to his own devices once more. So, he of course, went exploring.
He found two things of interest initially, one, was a rather large bathtub. It took up a whole room and smelt like chemicals. The other was a room that had far too many dead things hanging on the walls.
Dejected with his discoveries, Brodi was one his way back to the painting room when he ran into Dorian. “Ah, good. Marcus has been wondering where you’ve been. Come along, he’s waiting in the greenhouse.” Brodi glared at the butler, who just raised a brow. He didn’t want to go to the greenhouse just yet. He wanted to go look at his painting. But, he should listen to Dorian. At least that would be what Adelle might tell him to do.
The green house was small and not very green. In fact, it mostly looked brown if anything, with blots of green here and there. That was, until you reached the center, where spots of color peeked out from green leaves and brown earth. Where the outside was filled with dead or dying plants, the center was very much full of life. Flowers of a more tough sort filled pots and hung from the ceiling. Nothing for human consumption, only for looks. “Ah, welcome back Brodi.” The boy was already inspecting a lily that grew on the side, it’s coloration a bright red and yellow. “I take it you like the flowers?” he chuckled as Brodi only nodded, fixated on a new flower, this one a wildflower that had once filled the country side. The harsh yellow lights giving the flowers an unnatural glow in the otherwise dark night.
“This is where I get my inspiration. Perhaps the only place. So many plants have died due to the show and cold. I count myself lucky to have such a vibrant greenhouse.” He laughed as the boy sneezed due to the pollen from one of the daisies. “I’m going to finish a painting if you don’t mind. Would you like to join me?” “Pardon?” Brodi hadn’t been listening as he had been inspecting. Marcus just laughed. “Ah, no worries. Do as you will.” With that, Marcus painted and Brodi examined. Occasionally, the boy would ask a question about the species or just a general question about the flower, to which Marcus would laugh, answer, and tell him he’s far to fixated on plants and to just enjoy the look of them.
It wasn’t long until Brodi felt himself grow tired, night having fallen quite a while ago. Sitting on a bench, and soon enough, he was on his side, asleep.
When Brodi awoke however, he was not in the bench, and he was also not in the greenhouse. He was on a small towel, laying on a bed. Leon slept at his webbed feet, snoring like he had in the entry hall at their first meeting. “You’re awake.” Dorian’s voice was icy cold. “Come with me.” Brodi followed the cold butler from the room back to the gallery, where Marcus was waiting, Leon walked to his owner’s side. “Oh goodness. I’m glad you awake. I was worried you see. Thought something might have befallen you. Ah, your clothes are wet. Pity. We managed to find your Lady, Miss Adelle.” “What?” “She’ll arrive soon enough, and then she’ll take you home.” Marcus nodded as a loud knock echoed from the entry doors. “Speak of the devil…” Dorian was on the doors in a heartbeat. “Miss Adelle I presume?” “Yes, how is-Brodi!” The woman went to her princling and began to smother him. “I do hope he wasn’t much trouble. I just was in such a rush and-“ Marcus chuckled, “Quite alright. He’s a well behaved young lad. I actually was worried I might have bored him.” He motioned for her to come further inside. “Can I temp you with tea or a small brunch? I do think that Brodi just awoke and no doubt your trip might have left you hungry. Mine always do. Terrible food on the trains these days. Like cardboard.” Adelle only smiled and waved him off. “Thank you but no, I have to get back to the factory soon. Come along Brodi. And thank you Mr-“ “Lir. Marcus. It was a pleasure meeting you Miss Adelle. And having your Brodi as a guest. Also a pleasure.“ He shook her hand, grip firm.
“Well, Mr. Lir, thank you again. I must be off so,” He motioned outside, “Please Miss. Go. I don’t want to keep you waiting.” Spoken with sincerity, he escorted the two to her car, much to Dorian’s distaste. Waving good bye as the two drove off Marcus was chided by Dorian. “You should have-“ “Dorian.” He’d stopped waving; the car was out of sight. “Yes sir?” “I think I will have some tea in the library.”
A week later a relatively large rectangular box arrived at the Factory, only addressed to a Miss Adelle and Sir Brodi. Inside were two paintings. One was Brodi’s, the other, was a landscape of a lake, complete with lilypads and frogs swimming.
If you asked Adelle, Brodi’s was the better of the two.
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Posted: Mon Jan 04, 2010 4:57 pm
King's Verdict: I liked the flow of this one (yay stuffed paragraphs!) and how to-the-point it was but I guess that could be considered bias since that's how I try to rp. I did notice one thing though and that was like... the third or fourth paragraph I think. The verb tenses changed from Past/Present Perfect to just base verb-age. (She takes/She took) Not that big of a deal but Idk if it should be just one throughout the whole entry unless its a flashback? I'm definately not a grammar nazi so I would have NO idea HAHA.
Anyways, beyond that it was pretty good. I really really like Akila but Im not sure if I liked the portrayal of Tibalt. Course that's not what we're grading these on so.
Dju's Verdict: ( King is lying, she drags on like nobody's business sometimes P: ) I noticed the change in tense too. I prefer past tense myself, but so long as they don't switch it's alright. I'm not sure I'm too happy about her depiction of Tibalt, she switches between brat to sweet a little too much and even though there's not much information on his personality (as it isn't even technically constructed yet), you should firstly build a solid idea of him before writing. Doesn't matter what the idea is, so long as it doesn't fluctuate.
Another fairly standard entry.
A Sleeping Soul, Prompt #2
Akila Notari set herself down onto one of the couches her small home held, letting herself relax after at least an hour of hard work - mainly painting and, occasionally, picking something up off of the ground. She slid off her flats and rested them on her lap, wiggling her toes a bit to try and get some feeling. She really did need to get some kind of desk instead of that large canvas but it was so much gold... Gold she didn't have at the moment, due to her recent slump when it came to art. A hand moved to rub at Akila's slightly tanned temple before running through her short and wavy black hair. Letting a sigh escape her fairly full lips before standing backup and sauntering down the hall into her bedroom where she shed her painting clothes and replaced them with black jeans and a simple white button down shirt. She ran a brush through her black hair, of which just barely reached the edge of her jaw and twisted in simple waves before finally placing her feet back in her flats, stretching her arms towards the roof of her abode and letting a soft yawn slip through her lips. A knock on the door alerted Akila to someone's presence and she sighed. Hopefully it wasn't that big toad of an Englishman Frederic wanting another self-portrait. Though he paid well - there was only so much you could do to mask the man's rather unsightly form.
Akila placed her thin rectangular framed glasses back onto her face and stepped back out of her bedroom and down the hall, each of her footsteps quick and precise. As if she was in a hurry. Though this was just how she tended to walk; fast. Maybe it was because of her impatience with the world. Or maybe it was just because she wanted to get over things. Either way, you could always finds Akila walking briskly down some sore of side street, or at least tapping her foot when she was waiting for the bus. After a few seconds of just staring at the doorknob, hearing yet another knock echo from the door Akila let herself open it. Her eyebrows arching slightly when she saw the young boy standing a before her. He was definitely a toad, just not the actual one she had been expecting. Akila took in the boy's slick skin, webbed feet, and all around exotic appearance. Her fingers twitching almost immediately, wanting her to grab a pencil and begin sketching. But, instead, she stared down at the boy for a few silent seconds. "... Hello?"
A smile fell across the Prince's face when the woman spoke, having been afraid that he might have been stuck with a mute. "Hi, my name's Tibalt. You have to watch me," He stepped through the door way, sliding past Akila easily and glancing around. "This is a small house, but you have lots of stuff in it. Do you have lots of gold? Or did you just get all this stuff when you moved in? Or do you have boyfriends that give you things?" Tibalt spoke fast and Akila feels her eyebrows arching once more as she closes the door behind the little Prince. Running a hand through her black locks and then looking around her own home. It was messy but she had always thought it was homey. And though she did have a very good amount of gold when she came to Salitaire from Egypt, she had instead bought a small home. Not wanting those large mansions they were giving out to people of high standards. Why would someone need something with fifty rooms, when really all you needed was three or four? Akila scratches at the back of her long neck, not being able to take her eyes off of the young Prince as he looks around, his bare feet thudding onto the ground beneath him.
"Ehm," Akila manages to mutter, having never really been much of a talker especially when put under unusual circumstances. "... What do you mean by 'you have to watch me'?" She asks, once again scratching at the back of her neck. A nervous habit she had yet to get rid of. Tibalt whirls around to look at the tall young woman, arching his own eyebrow. "Just what I said. You. Have. To. Watch. Me," He slows his speech as if Akila were a child and then reaches towards his back pocket, producing a simple white envelope with Akila's full name on it. Akila takes it from the young boy and sits down on the armchair of one of the two couches. Tibalt disappears down the hall to explore further as Akila begins to read. Her eyes widening with each word.
If there was one thing Akila were bad at, it was mothering. She glanced at the hallway Tibalt had disappeared down. Though if she were to get her own little Prince... She would surely have enough Painter's muse to last a lifetime. And it couldn't be that hard... She'd never owned a pet but she figured it would be similar to that. So, setting the white envelope down onto the side table Akila stood, following Tibalt down the hall finding him in her room, looking under the bed. Tibalt slides out from underneath the four poster and eyes Akila wearily. "Are you fun? Or are you boring?" He asks, leaning back on his heels as if her were inquiring Akila. Which, if she gave it a second thought... He was. "Well, I'd like to consider myself fun, but... In the end I'm not completely sure," She replies truthfully, looking down on the little Prince. Her Artist's eye running over every little detail on the creature. Finding him absolutely beautiful, in an exotic sense. "Uuuuhuh," He replies, keeping his eyes on the other, letting them roam across her as she's doing to him. "What's your name?" He asks, this time rocking onto the balls of his feet. Akila couldn't help but notice that it seemed the little frog could never sit still. "Akila Notari," She replies simply, adjusting her glasses. "And you're Tibalt, is there anything else I need to know about you?" She asks, looking slightly happy to have another being in her home. Even if she would have to learn how to take care of him in a single day.
"I like to eat flies," He replies simply, giving her a handsome little grin before sliding past her. "And I like the water," He says, going back down the way he came from. "And my best friend's name is Brodi but I wasn't allowed to bring him with me," Tibalt glances back to make sure Akila's following him, and, of course, she is. Listening to each of his words with intelligent eyes. He smiles delightedly at being heard. Akila looks calculating as she presses a finger to her lips something she tends to do when in a state of deep thought. Today's pressing issue? Where to take the little Princeling. Her home wasn't exactly fun to be around, unless it was her that was lazing in it. It was cluttered and held only a few pieces of entertainment. Including her canvas, her piano, and her shelves after shelves of books which lined most of the walls. Nothing for a child to be entertained with... Unless she let him play with her paints? Teeth bit down onto her full lower lip as she glanced back behind her down the hall where a door led to the basement of her home. A room she had dubbed her studio. Her paints were something special to her and oh how expensive they were. But... maybe if she just let him have a little? He would be entertained for a while and she would be able to keep an eye on him... A very sharp eye considering the fact that she was most likely going to make him her model.
"Tibalt," She says, placing a hand on the Princeling's clothed shoulder to stop him, weary of the slick skin next to her fingers - remembering the warning on the note. The young boy spins around to face her and she gives him a slight smile. "Would you like to paint?" She asks, gesturing back towards the slightly open door at the end of the hallway. The Princeling gives her a slightly confused look, leaning to the side to gaze at the door. "... Paint? Is it fun?" He asks, looking up at the tall female. Akila nods letting her smile widen slightly. "I think it's very fun; you get to get messy and make beautiful pictures of whatever you want. Sometimes people will even pay you for your art. And you can bring the picture wherever you go. Once it dries,"
Tibalt keeps his eyes on the door before stepping off towards it. Akila lets out a soft laugh as she follows him down the hallway. "Go ahead in there, I'll be down in a second. I don't want my nice clothes to get paint all over them," She says, turning into her room. "Would you like something to wear?" Tibalt only waves the girl off and disappears past the door his feet slapping against the stairs as he makes his way down into the basement. Akila only shakes her head as she slides out of her clothes and replaces them with a baggy pair of sweatpants and a ripped, painted on white shirt. She lets her hair down and slides her glasses off, a slight smile on her face as she walks after the Prince.
That day two bottles of paint are spilled, a canvas is knocked over, and multiple pencils are snapped in half. But Akila's so occupied with having someone to keep her company she doesn't mind. She finds herself frowning when Tibalt has to leave, giving the young Prince a hug no matter how many warts she would receive from it. Hoping to death that she'd get her own little Prince in return for her babysitting.
Maybe then she wouldn't be lonely any longer.
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Posted: Mon Jan 04, 2010 5:37 pm
King's Verdict: This is another one of those entries that made me giggle from the start (kinda) xD I love this grouchy old lady feel (but saddened to find out that shes super young D= ). Im interested by the fight with temptation Gretel has over these princes; it reminds me a lot of my own stubbornness to give into mainstream and I know that many women like that would react the same to something becoming suddenly popular.
Nothing jumped out as bothersome to me, this entry looks like its been critiqued already or at least Im guessing it has. Anyways, I liked this one, nothing really bothersome about it (Also liked the way she portrayed Tibalt xDD I thought it was clever heh.)
Dju's Verdict: This reminds me a LOT of how one of those uber literate roleplayers would write. Even the character seems to be straight from there as she pays herself out just a little too much to be realistic. She also likes to pair "ugly" and "beautiful" together a lot which is a bit weird to me but it works for her character (though that intro with him was somehow very stereotypical to me and didn't fit that well because it was so random). I was already expecting this to be a cliched entry but by the end, it was surprisingly quite... surprising.
Tibalt would be one to gamble, haha. I like the interaction these two characters had at the last half of the entry, and it was quite sweet that he was tired out by the end of it all. The collection near the end that involved Max was a perfect fade-out to the scene as well.
lolla lee lou, Prompt #2
ooc;; I've chosen to babysit Tibalt, though I love both him and Brodi. So... No offense meant to anyone! DX
bic;;
There were split ends in her hair. Curious. She raised a blonde strand, slowly picking apart the two halves. Each curled and frizzed, falling into the golden mass that hung to her waist. Gretel lifted her camera, her beautiful, ugly, cold, sensual camera. It was a massive contraption, made of heavy bronze, fitted with a pistol-like means of capturing an image to vintage film. The lean sinew of her arms flexed as she held it in one awkward hand. Positioned to capture her strange portrait, she tipped her head back in perfect ecstasy at the feel of the cold metal trigger under her finger. She squeezed it tenderly, sharply twisting her head to directly face the protruding lens. The active device grew hot in her hands, and began to emit high-pitched squeals as jets of wet steam fired from in between the cogs and gears of what oily antique dealers were calling a “Model J2 Photohydroxical Imager.”
Yet today, even her beloved J2 couldn’t bring a genuine smile to her face. With a restless sigh, she returned it to its shelf before collapsing into an armchair, limbs splayed out like those of a damaged marionette.
She placed her father’s pipe in her mouth, chewing pensively on the fragrant wood. After some time, she brought a flint stone to strike a spark, lighting the expensive tobacco she’d imported. The taste was not something that she was fond of, but every artist needed a vice. With no stomach for alcohol and a pipe already in her possession, the choice seemed obvious. While some may have considered misanthropy to be a vice in itself, to Gretel, it was as valuable as any virtue. The perfumed smoke filled the air, and she shivered. Her father had smoked the very same brand. She recalled the heavy scent of his study and his deep voice, scolding against her tangles of hair. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore. At twenty years old, Gretel was a woman, and obstinately tied a coarse knot into her mane as if to spite him.
The tobacco filling her lungs made her feel thoughtful, and she began to ruminate upon the latest turnings of society, something that normally, Gretel would scoff at. This latest fad, however, interested her. All of the town was scrambling to buy up mutated frogs, or mutated boys, depending on how one looked at it. They called them princes… The last thing that the world needed were cuddly, bouncing, ribbiting children. She snorted. Stupid. And the fortunes they spent! It was madness. Gretel was quite content with the mutants she already had… Her most beloved cows. Ugly as they were, their temperaments were dear; loving, loyal, and innocent. Perhaps that was the very reason that she loved them so. In all her life, she’d known plenty of beautiful people. It had been said that her mother was the most beautiful woman in Germany. For all her beauty, she was cold and cruel, like her handsome father, and all the pretty little girls they tried to make her befriend. Her mother never held her or patted her head, but the cows bellowed warmly and nuzzled her hand. The fact that she’d only been able to bring several of her bovine beauties was enough to bring tears to her eyes, and it did often.
Loneliness and homesickness crept into Gretel’s young mind when she least expected it. The salt of tears mixed with honey sweet tobacco. Too old to seek comfort, and still too young to truly crave it, she pulled her knees to her chest. At least here, in Saltaire, her perfect reclusive haven, no one would see her vulnerability. Ah, things weren’t so bad after all… Yes, things were really quite good! The idea of positive thought began to improve her mood, and Gretel remembered abruptly the sheer bliss of solitude. Solitude that was, in an instant, shattered by a weak but irritatingly persistent knocking. At first, Gretel could not identify the noise, having never been visited by anyone. Finally, she called out the voice command to snap open the electronic seals at the door. Curiously peering over her shoulder, the sight that she behold was, at the very least, astonishing.
It was a boy.
He was wet.
Warty.
Slimy.
Beautiful.
He held a letter in his damp, amphibious hand.
Gretel limped to him on her slightly crooked leg and snatched the paper from him. She scanned it quickly. It was but a short note, and one that she did not take well to. Gretel Wagner was an artist, not a babysitter. Especially not for one of these little, froggy accessories. She looked at him again, cocking her head to the side. Admittedly, he wasn’t what she’d expected. He wasn’t small enough to fit into a handbag. A smile nearly rose to her lips. What a perfect portrait this boy, Tibalt, the letter called him, would make. But a child was still a child, and children were irritating. She scowled down at him. He scowled up at her.
“Little boy. Do you think that I am beautiful?” Gretel asked him softly, sarcasm in her eyes and a German accent on her lips.
Little Tibalt wrinkled his nose and shook his head vehemently. “Your eyes are all buggy, and you walk funny! You talk funny too!” He told her boldly.
“At least I have no warts.” She sneered in quick retort.
A tense silence filled the air. Then, suddenly, the frog prince smiled a little, barely containing his laughter. Gretel grinned. The two of them giggled. Suddenly they were laughing unabashedly. She’d not offended him with her insult. Neither had he offended her. Gretel had made a friend.
“Ach, come, come. You may come inside. I think that I like you, little boy. My name is Gretel.” She introduced herself, delighted by his demeanor, as well as the ugliness that made him seem so very loveable.
“I’m Tibalt, and I’m not a little boy!” This time, he did look offended. His present caretaker only laughed. It was a refreshing thing, to laugh. His spunk was both endearing and inspiring. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her. It occurred to her that it was foolish to have ever disliked children, as she’d never met one since she herself was one. There was such light in Tibalt’s eyes, such mischievousness. For the time being, the lingering pangs of loneliness in her heart were soothed.
She read Maximilian’s letter again, wanting to take no chances with her little charge’s care. This time, something caught her eye. Something about a reward. What sort of reward…? Maybe… A prince…? Of her own? Gretel’s heartbeat quickened. No. No. No, no, no. That was stupid. That was completely absurd. Why would she even want one? This Tibalt seemed to be a good kid, but she’d only known him for mere minutes. Besides, they couldn’t all be good. And finally, they were far too popular. Gretel would not be the slave of fashion. Never her. Rather than thinking about it further, she turned her attentions to caring for the little mutant. He needed to be kept wet. Hm… Interesting. The creatures were frog-like in more than appearance, then.
“Well, not-so-little-boy, perhaps we should draw you a bath, ja? Follow me, then.” Gretel reached out a hand to him. For a moment, he only stared. Slowly, he dropped his soft, moist hand into hers. She grasped it gently, despite Maximilian’s warning of warts. She led him to her spacious bathroom, powered largely by steam, as were so many of her appliances. The bathtub was a large copper bowl standing in the middle of the marble-floored room, very round, as if a cut half of a perfect metal sphere. The edges were high, and ladder was build into the side to aid the bather. Inside the bath were benches of the same copper, running along the inner edge and following the circle. The blonde girl turned a few of the many knobs, attempting to balance warm and cold to keep Tibalt comfortable. No sooner had the very floor been covered that the little frog prince leapt inside, water soaking into his clothes.
“So, lady.” Tibalt floated on his back in the rising water. “Let’s play a game, ok? I wanna play a game.” Suddenly, he was splashing about, splattering his host with water. It didn’t bother Gretel a bit. She reached into the tub and splashed water at him in turn.
“Alright… What games do you like to play?”
A devious smile appeared on the boy’s face. “You wanna play blackjack?”
A surge of tenderness hit her. How sweet… The little dear was a gambler! How could she deny him? Tibalt submerged himself in the water for a moment or two, then reemerged with a grin. He jumped from the tub, sending showers of water across the room. Gretel laughed, amused yet again by his antics. She followed him as he dropped to all fours and leapt to the parlor. From his own pocket, he produced a deck of cards, which he proceeded to sort and deal in a most professional manner.
“So what do you wanna play for? You got any bugs? I like bugs!” He chattered.
“Ja, there are some in the barn. Would you like me to gather some?” Gretel offered.
“Yeah!” He nodded emphatically, and she smiled softly before turning to leave the manor and limp to the barn. As was her custom, she kissed the nose of each cow as she entered, before taking an empty bucket and scooping up the worms, maggots, and beetles that crawled in the hay. Hm… It was worse than she thought. She’d have to remember to buy new straw for her darlings.
Inside her home again, Gretel spent hours playing blackjack with a small amphibious boy. Time passed quickly, and she was content to lose (or let him win), as she had no real desire for the bugs herself. After each win, Tibalt popped an insect into his mouth with absolute glee. At one point, he slurped a worm like a noodle, leaving half hanging from the corner of his little mouth. Immediately, she went for her camera. The portrait she took of him was beyond bad. The composition was poor, the lighting was off, and yet, it was one of her favorites. It evoked a tenderness in her, as well as a smile whenever she saw it. In only one day, the walls that Gretel had built to protect herself had been destroyed, and all because of one little frog prince.
Eventually, Tibalt’s eyes began to droop as he played, and Gretel decided that the time had come to end the game. She allowed him to sit quietly as she straightened his cards for him, before heading to the kitchen to box up the remaining bugs for him to take home. When she returned to the sofa, she found him slumped against a pillow, little face resting angelically. She slid her arms under him to lift him with more tenderness than she’d previously known she possessed. There was a spare room on the same floor, and she laid him gently on the bed, wrapping him in a blanket cocoon to lock in the moisture from his damp clothes. His eyes flickered open, gazing up at her sleepily.
“’Night, Aunt Gretel…” He murmured, before slipping back into innocent sleep.
“Goodnight, little friend.”
When the time came for her charge to leave her, she carried his still sleeping form to Maximilian at the door. She deposited the small and damp bundle into his open arms, tenderly poking at his cheek in a sort of parting gesture.
“Herr Doctor…” She greeted him respectfully, and half in German. “You are blessed to have a boy so charming and intelligent as Tibalt. I thank you for the opportunity to meet him. He is a most special child.”
Her praise of him could last only so long. Eventually, the talk had to end and the door had to be shut. Once alone again, she felt a sadness, her home feeling suddenly empty. Even sitting in the barn with her cows didn’t alleviate her newfound feelings of isolation. There was but one conclusion left to draw. Gretel admitted to herself something that she’d tried to deny her whole life. She needed someone; a friend. A real friend. Not just pets. This frog fad suddenly seemed much less foolish. She too wanted to be among the lucky. She wanted a prince, a child to mother and love. She wouldn’t be alone anymore.
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Posted: Tue Jan 12, 2010 4:55 pm
Dju's Verdict: Is it just me or is Brodi really out of character here? Probably a stupid thing to nitpick on because the character hasn't even been created yet, but he just seems to switch personalities a little. Carhop also gets a... bit off-topic with discussing other people's backgrounds (black gold, etc etc). Especially since you apparently need a lot of prior knowledge to understand the going-ons here.
King's Verdict: Personally, I like the character background here, but Im undecided on the manner in which he's played. I feel like Im hanging around with my group of friends making jokes and references to stuff but it makes this entry feel like... too modern to /now/ than modern to what the time for RB is, even though it is technically 1k years from now anyways. It just seems somewhat out of place. Also I kinda agree Brodi seems a little akwardly played, but.. I cant decipher really what. Anyways, this is an entry that has a little potential but that needs to be dug from it an utilized -nods.-
Carhop Calvalier, Prompt #1
“Bah!” The brunette ripped off the black face mask with the bear decal, threw it on desk haphazardly, tore his shoes and jacket off, and stripped down to his boxers. The door to the “factory” – his morphine lab – slammed behind him. The juice boxes in the refrigerator were calling to him, and he wasn’t in the mood to try and resist their call; low calorie diet be damned. Not only was he bored with his life as a higher up, but Dexter was extremely pissed off. For a week now, he’d been trying to perfect his newest product for Black Gold, a little trip Dexter liked to call “Ska Band’s Silver Stereo.” He had been sure that he nailed the formula, but all the test rats died in a matter of minutes. He’d have to remember the formula though; suicide drugs were becoming more and more popular. He’d name this concoction “Elevator to Paradise” or something lame like that.
Black Gold seemed to love idiotic names; he gave them to all his cronies. Black Gold just liked idiotic things in general, Dexter mused, just look at Big Smiles and that ridiculous costume! The same went for Stormy Days; what was with the contradicting outfit and attitude? The guy smiled more than he sold. Dexter’s own codename, “Papa Bear” was the least idiotic, and at least Black Gold let him chose his own attire. But the fact that he had to sell something with a name as lame as “This Porridge is too Hot” really pissed Dexter off. That’s why he was making “Ska Band’s Silver Stereo”, a good drug with a good name. Alliteration was a nice thing to have in a product’s name; it seemed to draw in more customers. Dexter figured it was some kooky user quirk. Done with his grape juice, he threw it on the waste bin and flung himself onto a plush, blue leather recliner. Turning the televiewer on for background noise, Dexter closed his eyes and let the day’s frustrations flow out of his body from his fingertips, a trick Yolanda had taught him.
It was strange to Dexter, actually having the time to think and ponder. He had only recently graduated, and even more recently gotten a nice seat at the top of the drug food chain. It was a place comfortably between crony and kingpin, both jobs that required an a**-ton of work. He was so used to working ‘til the wee hours of the morning that he didn’t know what to do with himself. There wasn’t much excitement in the public world, especially in a dinky little town like Saltaire. Sure, there had been that ball a few weeks ago, but Dexter didn’t bother attending. Apparently they had given out some sort of valuable little trinket, however, and Dexter slightly regretted not going. There were probably more out there though, and Dexter was sure he would get one soon enough. What were they called again; Prince Frogs or something? The name didn’t really matter, or the function, just as long as Dexter could get his greedy little mitts on it. There had been a huge fuss about it though, so it had to be something good. The rumor mill said they could do anything you wanted, like be butlers. Dexter snorted at the thought; using something that could do anything as a butler was stupid. They would better be suited as dealers, dealers who weren’t stupid and that he wouldn’t have to beat with a crowbar on a weekly basis.
“Come to think of it…” So far, Dexter had yet to give either Big or Stormy a beating that week. He figured that they had finally learned their lesson, and were finally able to sell more than they spent in one week. Yolanda had stopped being a retard in public as well, and had learned to shut her trap unless he asked her a direct question. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to slap around the Prince Frog whenever he got one, his hand got sore from all the beatings.
“Hm.” He had amused himself enough to get motivated again, motivated enough to try making “Ska Band’s Silver Stereo” one more time that day. Just as he had gotten his pants back on, he heard a knock on the door. He sighed, not wanting to deal with people at the time. With his luck, Dexter figured it was probably Tweedledee and Tweedledum, here to report that they had failed to make a profit again. With another heaving sigh and the final snap! of the elastic string of his facemask around his ears, Dexter opened the door, fully expecting tow blubbering idiots trying to talk over one another.
Instead, he was greeted by a strange little boy with limbs way too long to be human, and, was that a tail? What the hell? His skin seemed a little yellow too; did this kid have an iron deficiency? Upon closer inspection, he noticed weird little patterns on the kid’s skin. He reasoned that the kid, as a fetus, had mutated due to radioactivity in Saltaire. Dexter was about to ask him what he wanted, but the amphibian like child shoved a letter into his hands and walked into the house, not bothering to close the door behind him. Amused by the spunk the boy had, Dexter closed the door and began reading the letter.
Dear Sir or Madam,
I know this is probably a bit too much to ask of you without any sort of warning, but I am currently out of town on a bit of a business venture and I cannot take this precious Prince with me. Surely by now you’ve heard of the Princelings being produced at Rheinfels and can recognize by his amphibious traits that he is, in fact, one of them. You’ve been chosen to watch over him for today while I am away, so please take good care of him for me. If I return to find him in a pleasant condition, you may even be considered for ownership of a Prince of your own. This means you must ensure that he is kept hydrated, fed and most importantly HAPPY.
Sincerely, Madam Adelle X.
P.S. If he starts to act up, tell him he's going to get warts like Tibalt. It should get him to settle down.
Right, they were called Princelings. Dexter knew they were akin to humans with amphibian traits, or were they akin to amphibians with human traits? Did it really matter? All Dexter knew was that, if he kept this kid happy and fed, he’d get one - a new crony or maybe even a son to call his own? Dexter wanted to be a father eventually, and make sure he didn’t screw up like his father. Then again, Dexter would rather his son be all human…
“So, kid, what’s your name?”Did the amphibious child even know how to talk?
“Brodi.” Brodi? What the hell? That sounded more like a name from that ancient Pocket Monster show. Dexter couldn’t help but chuckle at the following thought that popped up in his head – what if this kid could only say it’s name, like those old Pocket Monsters? Maybe Dexter could put his Pocket Monster Trainer hat on and act like that Ash Ketchup kid. It would sure as hell beat the mundane life he had going on right now.
“Can you say anything besides your name?” Dexter chuckled, arching a brow at the kid. This could end up being a pretty fun day, depending on his answer.
“Yes.” Damn, it looked like he couldn’t play Ash Ketchup. Oh well, he’d find some way to have fun that involved this kid. If not, he’d just give him a sedative and put him in front of the televiewer until this Adelle woman came to pick him up. Wait a second, how would she even know where to come?
“Kid, how will Adelle know where you are?”
“Only Mr. X calls mom that; she told me to come here.” The last part was chirped, the kid seemed happy enough. If Dexter knew kids though, they could get bored pretty quick if they weren’t doing something. Luckily, Dexter had taken a few classes in college that helped him think on the fly; namely improvisation and improvisation playwriting. Looking around for something to entertain the kid, Dexter spotted a fake apple in the little fruit bowl Yolanda had bought for the house. Snatching the red orb up, Dexter grinned under his face mask. Kids loved cath.
“Alright Brodi, let’s play until your mother gets here then. Have you ever played catch before?”
“Yup!” Dexter could tell Brodi was a spunky one, optimistic and positive about nearly everything. Dexter told Brodi to follow him out to the back yard, and he followed obediently. Good manners. Dexter thought, tossing the fake apple up and catching it on its way back down. He hadn’t played catch in a while, and was glad to be able to again. As they walked past the door that contained Dexter’s morphine lab, Brodi stopped and sniffed the air. This wouldn’t end up well.
“Mister, what’s-“
“Call me Dexter Brodi.”
“Mister Dexter-“
“No, no, just call me Dexter.”
“Dexter, what’s that smell?”
“…Medicine for people in pain. My mother lives in that room, she’s very sick and could die any day now.”
“Can I visit her?”
“No, she’s very contagious. I have to wear a biohazard suit when I’m in there.”
“Oh.” Dexter inwardly sighed, glad that Brodi hadn’t pushed it any further. The morality of the situation was pretty bad, not that Dexter cared all that much. He really wouldn’t care if his mother died; she was just another user like her damned husband. The only thing that made Dexter feel bad was that he was lying to an impressionable kid that wasn’t his own – he had no right to corrupt this kid yet. If Brodi were a teenager, it would be a different story.
They were finally outside, both breathing the fresh air in deeply, and proceeding to couch and hack violently. The pollution in Saltaire was horrible, and it was advisable to not inhale the air in deep gulps, lest you wish to hack up a lung, or so the saying goes. After taking a few seconds to recover, Brodi went to one side of the yard while Dexter took the other. With a strong throw, Dexter launched the apple towards Brodi; with inhuman acrobatic ability, Brodi leapt high into the air and caught the apple.
“Good catch kid!”
“Thanks!”
“Say, your mother said I needed to keep you hydrated. Do you know what she meant by that?”
“Well, she told me I always had to wear these clothes to keep me hydrated, but I need to take at least one swim a day.”
“…” Well crap, Dexter didn’t have a pool. There was the water tank in his morphine lab, but Dexter had already lied to Brodi and said that he couldn’t go in that room. Would the bathtub work? Didn’t kids hate taking baths, though? This wasn’t looking too good for Dexter.
“Something wrong Dexter?”
“How do you feel about baths?”
“I’m not a fan.”
“What if I told you I don’t have a pool for you to swim in?”
“I could take a shower.”
“Yeah… we’ve only got Jacuzzi tubs kid.”
Brodi stopped after catching the ball. He hated baths, they weren’t fun. He wanted to keep playing too, and baths always meant playtime was over! He wasn’t going to take a bath, not even if Dexter tried to force him into the tub! Brodi dropped the ball, and quickly ran into the house, screaming “Catch me if you can!”
“Damn it.” Dexter was quick to pursue Brodi, knowing where he would duck in to. Kids always hid where they were told they couldn’t go, and Brodi would be headed for the morphine lab. Kids would do anything to avoid a bath, Dexter knew, he had been one once. He was slow to open the door to the dark lab, anticipating any escape attempts by the little Princeling. Brodi was fast, most likely a result of his amphibian heritage. With a deep breath, Dexter threw the door open the rest of the way, shouting over the noise that the metal door slamming into the metal wall would make. “Brodi, get out of here!”
The Princeling gave a load croak, jerking as he did so. The result was a loud crash of a table and the breaking of many syringes. The glass was a danger in itself, but it concealed a greater one; needles. If Brodi were to step on one of those needles, he would be done for. Each one had been coated with the failed formula for “Ska Band’s Silver Stereo”, and a single drop in the bloodstream of the amphibious boy would mean instantaneous death, which meant no hope of ever obtaining a Princeling of his own. The sounds had obviously disturbed Brodi, however, and the boy began flailing and croaking, revealing a shard of glass digging deeper into Brodi’s arm as he continued his flailing.
“Brodi! I need you to calm down and stay still!” Dexter shouted, more concerned than ever now. If that glass shard even scraped one single artery, Dexter would have hell to pay. Unfortunately, his shouting was to no avail and only increased Brodi’s frantic flailing. Damn it! Dexter was going to have a dead Princeling to deal with, and a really pissed off mother, if he couldn’t stop Brodi soon. Wait… didn’t Adelle mention something about how to calm Brodi down?
“Brodi! If you don’t stop, you’re going to get warts like Tibalt!” It worked! Brodi stopped instantly, a look of sheer horror on his face. He sat up, staying completely still as Dexter went over to him, keeping watch for glinting needles that could kill him. Brodi was in Dexter’s arms and out of the lab in little time, and on his way to the wholesale sized bathtub.
“…Why did you lie?”
“Hm?”
“Why did you lie to me?”
“About what?”
“Your mom.”
Dexter, now caught in between a rock and a hard place, had to think quickly. He ran the water, placed Brodi on the tub’s edge, and knelt down to be at eye level with the frog boy. With a deep sigh, Dexter began his little white lie. He figured it was better to lie and protect the kid from the truth of narcotics than to introduce him to a world that kills. “You see, Brodi, when I told you that my mother was very sick, I meant that she was dead.” He stripped the child and put him in the tub, turning a nozzle to pour bubbles into the water. “Her disease made her body disintegrate into tiny radioactive molecules that could cause harm to organic matter, like me and you.” He poured shampoo into his hand, and lathered it in the boy’s copper hair. “So that’s why I have to wear a hazmat suit whenever I go in there. I was planning on cleaning it up today, so no harm done.” Dexter smiled convincingly, rinsing the boys head to rid of the shampoo. He handed Brodi a bar of orange soap, assuming he knew what to do with it. “That’s a special kind of soap to wash off radioactive particles, make sure you really scrub. We wouldn’t want you to get radiation poisoning, now would we?” Brodi simply shook his head and scrubbed himself thoroughly with the “special soap.” In reality, the only special thing to it was that it smelled like oranges and nutmeg. Once Brodi was finished, Dexter dried him off and put the boy’s clothes on him.
“Did this ruin your day?”
“No, not really. It was actually kind of fun.” Brodi smiled, pulling on his leggings. Dexter was relieved; had Brodi not taken well to the incident, Dexter would have no chance of acquiring a prince of his own. They both marched downstairs, and Dexter turned the televiewer on. To Dexter’s surprise, that Pocket Monsters show was on. He couldn’t help but be tickled by the irony of it, and sat down on the couch next to Brodi. “Anything you want to eat, kid?”
“Not really; I like this show.” Brodi had already gotten lost in the televiewer, his eyes had grown wide in response to the bright colors and cheesy dialogue. Dexter could get used to having a frog kid around; he needed a bit of regular fun in his life.
Ding-Dong! Went the door, followed by the ratta-tat-tat of knuckles on the door. Dexter got out of his seat, fully expecting it to be Yolanda, back from a day of shopping or whatever it was she did. Instead, he was greeted with a purple haired woman with copper toned eyes, who would have been at least a good five inches shorter than him had she not been wearing heels. “Oh, hello; would you be Madame X?”
“Mama!” A bullet of blue and orange raced towards Dexter and Adelle, nearly toppling the female over as Brodi clung to her waist in excited joy.
“Hello Brodi, did you have a good day?”
“Yeah! We played catch, then I got to use special soap, and then we watched Pocket Monsters! He asked me if I wanted anything to eat too, but I didn’t get hungry, ‘cause I was having lots of fun!”
“That’s wonderful sweetie.” Adelle gave her “son” a genuine smile and a pat on the head, glad to see him okay and so excited. “Well, Mr. Hughes, thank you for watching Brodi today. You should come by and visit us at Rheinfels, I’m sure Brodi would love to see you again.” The frog boy nodded eagerly. “Good-bye then Mr. Hughes, I hope we see you soon.” She began walking off, and Brodi’s mouth started running. Dexter could only smile as he leaned against the door frame, watching the boy go. Today was fun, he mused, watching the mother and son become specks in the distance. Wait, how had Adelle known his name?
“Hello sweetie.” A chipper voice and a kiss on the cheek shook Dexter out of his thoughts; Yolanda had come and gone straight into the house, numerous technicolored bags in her arms. “Anything exciting happen while I was out?” Dexter smiled and gave her a nod. “You’ve always said you want kids some day, right?” He’d explain later, but he had the feeling they would have an amphibious boy in their home soon enough.
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Out with the old and in with the new, we say! Royalty Bound's second contest involves something a bit more special in nature. This is Saltaire's first official babysitting contest, and boy is Maximilian eager to get that little troublemaker Tibalt off his hands. Adelle is a little less, as such, but we have calmed her down enough to agree to partake in the contest as well with her Prince Brodi, who is a little more level headed than his best friend.