Blancwood: The beautiful, prosperous royal capital. It has one of only two national hospitals, as well as the only secondary school and university in the country, the Blancwood Academy. The academy is private, and tuition is very costly, but those who can get an education there from primary to university are very fortunate and become successful indeed. The nobles live mainly in this town, and it's very posh to live near the Blancwood Palace, where the current King Ferdinand Leon Olmo II resides. The castle courtyard is filled with statues of past kings, and some have been broken by disgruntled citizens in the past in revolutions. A grand fountain is also directly across from the palace gates. The Royal Mall is located in this city, as well as many boutiques and other stores. Farms are around the city limits, which are marked by a ring of white birch trees for which the city gets its name. The highway connects to this city.
The city, which is practically the size of a city-state in itself, has its own standing army. It once engaged in war with Cernilia when the emperor made a second attempt to claim it. Without Blancwood, Rubato's economy and population would come crashing down. Cadenza once went to school here, and her first husband Paris Valentia, who was long-believed to have died from war, resides here. The police station here is the center of the Rubatoian Police Department, and is headed by Chief Moreno. The police force here employs a Cernilian citizen, by the name of Inspector Daniela Cruz, and is also rumored to employ a vampire, named Otto von Blod.
Residents: Greene, Ernesto, Hunter, Louis, Celia, Selene, Arina, Yosha, Ms. Silva, King Olmo, Larena, Ace
Agra: Surrounded by canyons and jutting rock formations, it's one of the largest cities further north in Rubato, where the deserts turn to rockier mesas. Much of the soil is reddish in color. Agra is split up into various districts because of its sheer size, including the Western District, which is filled with many pubs, and conveniently the Agra Police Station, the Northern district, which is a bit more lawful than most of the others, and has some immigrants living there, and then the oh-so-infamous "Black Smog" District, which is the hub of the illegal drug trade in Rubato, as well as prostitution, and the black market. It was named for the black smog and smoke that seems to hang perpetually about the streets there. Agra in general is one of the more wild and lawless areas, and has a been of a spaghetti western feel to the bars and architecture. Outside the city limits, but grouped by many as still being part of Agra, is the "Pedra Roja" (literally "red rock") district, which is a community of hermit-like or reclusive mages and magical-drug dealers (who tend to call their shops "apothecaries") with an occult-like and seedy reputation throughout the country. These are seen as the weirdos among even the mages. The highway connects to Agra.
There is much gang and mafia activity throughout Agra, which once was controlled by the Madrigal and Dionne families, until Vivace Madrigal-Dionne's death (my character Cadenza's oldest sister.) Cadenza still has some dealings in this town with its drug trade, especially in Pedra Roja. The Madrigal family name is very well-respected here, as it is throughout most other cities.
Residents: Domingo Vargas
Allegre: Not a town I have written as much about, but Allegre is a border town with the nation of Cernilia. It was once half of a larger city with Denadoro (which is now part of Cernilia), but after the war when the emperor split the nation, the large city was also split. It's very hilly and has some sparse grass, and some of the few scattered nobles in Rubato live here, if they do not live in Blancwood. Their manors are occasionally the victim of higher-scale robberies. A primary school is located here.
Residents: Cindy, formerly Carla, on the outskirts of Denadoro
Pe del Fuego desert: The hottest desert in Rubato, and also the largest. The name translates literally to the "Foot of Fire" desert, because it is said that if you stepped onto the sand with your bare feet, they would be burned immediately.
Isla do Noir: Literally, the "Isle of Black", the Isla do Noir is a craggy, high-cliffed island in the blue-green, churning waters of the Miradic Ocean (think the Pacific) off the western coast of Rubato. It is covered with some grass, but its land is mainly taken up by the very large federal prison, which holds the nation's worst criminals.
Saguaro: A small town that was destroyed in a massive fight between Zorolo's character Monroe, and Mikey's character Cain.
Ceguera que Quema desert: The second hottest desert in Rubato. The name translates literally to "The Blindness that Burns", and it was named because the sun shines down so harshly and brightly that it is said staying there too long would blind you.
Santa Mariela: A growing town in southern Rubato, surrounded on all sides by desert. A river, called the Rio Primavera ("Spring River"), once flowed through the city, but it has dried up scores of years ago. It is connected to Rubato's system of sparse highways, and has one of the country's primary schools. It also has one of the larger bazaars in the nation, outside of Blancwood and Sereia. This city is heavily under the influence of the Madrigal family, as it is where they have lived for generations. Their reputation there is mixed, with the positive deeds of Galliard Madrigal, the inventor and patriarch, and the negative deeds of the mafia, once led by Vivace. But they are highly-respected for providing leadership in the town of whatever kind, and thwarting the police, who are widely believed to be corrupt by many of the poor who do not get such equal treatment. Cadenza Madrigal lives here with her boyfriend and adopted daughter, as do her three remaining sisters and father. It has its own police station, run by the strict Captain Romero.
Residents: Cadenza, Luminari, Arietta, Galliard, Ruin, Leo, Zach, Tyran
Rancha Rosa: One of the biggest cities in Rubato, and the location of one of the two national hospitals, as well as a large police station that is headed by Captain Buffon. Tracey de Carlo works primarily at this police station, and lives in this city with her husband Monroe. The highway connects to this city.
Residents: Con, Damien, Will, Linda, Tracey, Alex, Monroe
Sereia: Rubato's only functioning port town. The culture is somewhat different here, as fishing and seafaring are a part of every day life. The bazaar is down by the docks, and remnants and traces of mermaid statues and sailor life can be found all throughout the city. Many bars are pirate-themed, like the Buccaneer's Boot, and temples are devoted to the Spirit of Water. Sea-vines can be found clinging to some buildings. The genius blacksmith Omar Vargas keeps his forge by the docks, and is a dear family friend of the Madrigal's. The town's name, Sereia, literally means "Mermaid", and it was named by the first settlers there, who believed they had seen mermaids off the coast of the town. The highway's southern most part comes to Sereia.
Residents: Algretta, Omar
Forest of Renewal residents: Gaia, Morticus, Erik, Tierra, Suena
Selma Village (Rameses’ village) residents: Rameses, Malcolm, Magda, Eulie, Adrianne, Pauline, Hyde, other former purifiers
Citta residents (in Cernilia) – Dorian and family
Showing posts with label Rubato. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rubato. Show all posts
Monday, October 17, 2011
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Short Story - The Gypsy Purge of Airopa: Parte Uno
She had been expecting it to be a shack.
But instead, the place that stood before her, just outside of Denadoro, on the line between Cernilia and Rubato, was quite possibly the biggest house she had ever seen. It had balconies, and bay windows, and stories upon buttressed stories rising up towards the high afternoon sun. There was a long right wing that stretched along like the branch of a tree over to the cliffs on the east, and the corridors that could be seen through the windows were filled with countless shelves of yellowing books. The front door itself was a large wooden affair studded with gold, and an ornate doorknocker shaped like a whimsical fairy stared out at passersby with wings outstretched. Some people claimed that the house was haunted, but such houses like this always drew colorful rumors.
Cadenza shifted the heft of the bag hanging from her shoulder, checked her pocket for a charm, and stepped up to grasp the doorknocker. It banged against the door with a ringing, hollow sound that seemed to echo throughout the entire mansion. "Eerie," she thought, standing and waiting for some kind of response. "And we wonder why people think we're witches."
There were heavy, irritable footsteps, accompanied by a grumbling voice and lots of jangling metal jewelry. It approached the door and then there was a noise like a jar full of marbles tumbling to the ground as the door was swung open and an old, leathery tan face stared out from behind a beaded curtain that was still clacking and clattering with motion.
"Who are you?" the voice as wispy as a snake's hiss--ruined only by a bad smoker's cough--demanded.
"Gypsy," Cadenza shot back, pulling the charm from her pocket and holding it out as if it were some sort of badge, or maybe a mint to ward off bad nicotine breath.
The old woman's eyes fell on the little brass and copper sun, studying it curiously at length, stepping back a little into the house and making the bead curtain sway and clatter again. "Navarre tribe," she uttered finally in recognition, in a thoughtful tone that said she'd turned the name over several times in her mind and had dredged up all the history that came along with it. "Which generation?"
"Hell if I know, Signora. Certainly not one of the first. I'm not even from Castile--but anyway, that's not the sort of history lesson I quite came for. I'm told you have the most extensive library of gypsy records and diaries this side of the Seria Ocean. That true?"
The woman had undergone a perceptible change in mood at the mention of the library. Suddenly her eyes became suspicious, protective. "Why?" she rasped, erupting into an unpleasant cough. She paused for a moment to pop a foul-smelling lozenge on her tongue, then said, sucking as the throat drop clacked against gold teeth, "What must you research in my library?"
Oh yes, Cadenza had noticed it, despite all the distracting noises and smells. The stress on "my". This indeed was a woman who'd been troubled before for the controversial knowledge stored in her home, a woman who, if the stories were right, was of a family who'd been chased out of Airopa during the very purge and knew some of the darkest, seediest tales of it. The truth was always found in the blacker parts of history, Cadenza'd always thought. The parts people wanted to hide.
"The reason we're here in this desert, Signora. The purge. The reason why you saw that old Navarre charm and knew it was one of the last of its kind that'd ever be made. Because that tribe's been just about wiped out. As have most of the ones from that time."
The old withered gypsy seemed to consider this, stroking her drooping chins with a handful of large antique rings as she swallowed her throat drop. She ran another judgmental eye over Cadenza, as if seeing her for the first time, and then squinted hard in concentration, her furry brows knitting together. "You are... Sonya's child, yes? Girl I made earrings for...? And now... you've grown so very much... and come to learn your roots, is that it?"
"That's why I remembered you... Sonya always spoke of Signora Carla della Foncé as the most talented and knowledgable gypsy we had left in the community," Cadenza answered, trying to lay the compliments on thick. "I think she took me to you when I was four."
"Yes, I remember..." the thin red-lipsticked lips curled into a grin, "bright-eyed child, sort of curious, a little wary around strangers. Very excited to learn though. You stayed close to your mae the whole time. I think I frightened you a little," the old woman gave a hoarse cackle like a cat dislodging a stubborn hairball. "I thought I might see you again someday."
"Yeah, well... here I am. Now can I come in and have a look at that library?" the younger woman said impatiently, wanting to steer away from the drive further down memory lane.
Carla nodded and drew aside the curtain, taking a step back further into the dimly-lit interior of the house, "Come, come. I shall put a pot of herbal tea on. Good for the lungs."
"Yeah, heh, you would know."
The old woman seemed to ignore the wisecrack, taking Cadenza by the shoulder and leading her into the smoky kitchen full of burning incense and old pots and pans hanging from hooks on every flowery-wallpapered wall. She seemed to have enough cookware to serve an entire army.
"...Got grandchildren or something?"
"Oh, several. Half the town of Allegre must be related to me somehow, dear. And I served as midwife for the rest, I'm certain."
Cadenza stared at her for a moment, swearing that the old woman was grinning at her. "Er... good genes, I bet."
"You'd win that bet," the woman gave a wink that nearly upset Cadenza's stomach. Wrinkly old women should never wink when wearing false eyelashes like that, she thought--it looked like a spider was crawling over her eye. Carla didn't seem to realize.
The younger woman cleared her throat to bridge the awkward silence that followed. "So... that tea? And I'll just go have a peek at the books, sound good?"
"Sure, dear," Carla was busily wrestling with getting some herbs down from shelves in the pantry. Her skirts and veils billowed and rustled like they were in hurricane winds with her effort. "Start with the mauve book at the beginning of the first low shelf. I find it... sets up the feeling for the rest," she gave a labored cough and stumbled back triumphantly with a handful of green herbs, holding them in the air as if they were her trophy.
As she wheezed in the background and the tea kettle whistled softly, Cadenza strode on to the musty corridors that led to, and seemed to have been taken over by, the library. She strolled by, passing her hands over the dusty volumes, trying to judge what passed for a "low shelf" when she came to a small, two-tier wooden cabinet under a window that had a photo perched atop it. The picture inside the frame was sepia-toned and faded from age, but still very clearly seen was the happy couple looking back at the camera on what must have been their wedding day. The bride was a gypsy... that could be told from the golden bangles and earrings that she wore as her dowry on that day. The man... he seemed Airopan, possibly... from Maximilia? He had that dark hair but fair skin, and the moustaches that were all the fashion of the country at that time. There were names written at the bottom, but the paper had crumbled away and it was too difficult to read.
The gypsy searched through the books until she found a mauve-covered one tied shut with a chocolate-colored ribbon, and pulled it from the shelf. When she untied the ribbon and opened to the beginning, she saw that it had signed the name of Carla's great grandmother, Lupe Maneira della Foncé, and there was a clipping from an old research journal on the very next page...
"Sociological Research of Subject 'Gypsies' - Kingsborough University of Behavioral Sciences"
"...They are a superstitious, subhuman culture, with many strange and unreasonable ways. They do not raise livestock, nor grow crops. They have no doctors; instead, they believe "magic" can cure them. They do not have weapons; they believe, also, that "magic" can protect them. They claim not to reject science, but seem to think they can defy the laws of it. They do not trade their gold, but rather hoard it away from generation to generation and display it garishly on their brides. They are akin to witches, and have many scrolls of "spells" and odd talismans they believe to possess power. They travel from place to place, infecting it with their "traditions" and selling their beads and other worthless trinkets of illogical belief. They speak of "Spirits", and renounce any ideas of Heaven or Hell. They idle away their days and nights in dance and song and strange rituals, only further spreading the plague of their superstitions by having more and more children. They are a pox on this land. We must rid ourselves of them, as other great civilizations have done of their burdensome groups in the past...."
"--Friedrick Samuel Taylor, of Kingsborough, Rochester, 12 May 1750"
"...And she said this would set up the feeling for the rest," Cadenza thought, wanting to slam the book shut, wishing she could slam something else--like maybe a boulder--on the man who'd written these words over two-hundred and fifty years ago. "She was f*cking right, if the feeling she wants me to have is wanting to torch any book that says something like this."
But she didn't get up from where she sat, instead settling for turning the page and seeing what more there was. She had to remind herself that she had been expecting things like this. After the clipping, the actual diary seemed to start, written in Signora Lupe's own curly script.
"Dear Diary,
We have been kicked out of the forests of Osterreich this week. We had simply settled down there to tend to our ill after this recent bout of malaria, but the king declared us a health risk to the neighboring farms and ordered us to be cleared out before dawn, lest we face military action. I don't understand this sudden hostility... we had always been welcome to camp in the Weisse lushlands, in the forests and lakes so long as we didn't disturb the farmers kilometers from them. But now... King Bayern has been facing pressure from other nations, our elders have said... pressure to banish us from his kingdom, and... he must be folding under that pressure. We have now been driven out of Ivanova and Osterreich... what will be next? I fear, soon, we may not even be able to return home to Castile... things are beginning to go very bad for gypsies in Maxmillia, even, where my sweet Claude waits... I do hope he will still wait for me on the day we should be wed. I am carrying his child... I feel the baby kicking from time to time, and it excites me... I do wish very much to be a mother. The midwife says I am doing well...
Write again tomorrow, we must be on the move south to Gardenia.
27 Junio 1751"
But instead, the place that stood before her, just outside of Denadoro, on the line between Cernilia and Rubato, was quite possibly the biggest house she had ever seen. It had balconies, and bay windows, and stories upon buttressed stories rising up towards the high afternoon sun. There was a long right wing that stretched along like the branch of a tree over to the cliffs on the east, and the corridors that could be seen through the windows were filled with countless shelves of yellowing books. The front door itself was a large wooden affair studded with gold, and an ornate doorknocker shaped like a whimsical fairy stared out at passersby with wings outstretched. Some people claimed that the house was haunted, but such houses like this always drew colorful rumors.
Cadenza shifted the heft of the bag hanging from her shoulder, checked her pocket for a charm, and stepped up to grasp the doorknocker. It banged against the door with a ringing, hollow sound that seemed to echo throughout the entire mansion. "Eerie," she thought, standing and waiting for some kind of response. "And we wonder why people think we're witches."
There were heavy, irritable footsteps, accompanied by a grumbling voice and lots of jangling metal jewelry. It approached the door and then there was a noise like a jar full of marbles tumbling to the ground as the door was swung open and an old, leathery tan face stared out from behind a beaded curtain that was still clacking and clattering with motion.
"Who are you?" the voice as wispy as a snake's hiss--ruined only by a bad smoker's cough--demanded.
"Gypsy," Cadenza shot back, pulling the charm from her pocket and holding it out as if it were some sort of badge, or maybe a mint to ward off bad nicotine breath.
The old woman's eyes fell on the little brass and copper sun, studying it curiously at length, stepping back a little into the house and making the bead curtain sway and clatter again. "Navarre tribe," she uttered finally in recognition, in a thoughtful tone that said she'd turned the name over several times in her mind and had dredged up all the history that came along with it. "Which generation?"
"Hell if I know, Signora. Certainly not one of the first. I'm not even from Castile--but anyway, that's not the sort of history lesson I quite came for. I'm told you have the most extensive library of gypsy records and diaries this side of the Seria Ocean. That true?"
The woman had undergone a perceptible change in mood at the mention of the library. Suddenly her eyes became suspicious, protective. "Why?" she rasped, erupting into an unpleasant cough. She paused for a moment to pop a foul-smelling lozenge on her tongue, then said, sucking as the throat drop clacked against gold teeth, "What must you research in my library?"
Oh yes, Cadenza had noticed it, despite all the distracting noises and smells. The stress on "my". This indeed was a woman who'd been troubled before for the controversial knowledge stored in her home, a woman who, if the stories were right, was of a family who'd been chased out of Airopa during the very purge and knew some of the darkest, seediest tales of it. The truth was always found in the blacker parts of history, Cadenza'd always thought. The parts people wanted to hide.
"The reason we're here in this desert, Signora. The purge. The reason why you saw that old Navarre charm and knew it was one of the last of its kind that'd ever be made. Because that tribe's been just about wiped out. As have most of the ones from that time."
The old withered gypsy seemed to consider this, stroking her drooping chins with a handful of large antique rings as she swallowed her throat drop. She ran another judgmental eye over Cadenza, as if seeing her for the first time, and then squinted hard in concentration, her furry brows knitting together. "You are... Sonya's child, yes? Girl I made earrings for...? And now... you've grown so very much... and come to learn your roots, is that it?"
"That's why I remembered you... Sonya always spoke of Signora Carla della Foncé as the most talented and knowledgable gypsy we had left in the community," Cadenza answered, trying to lay the compliments on thick. "I think she took me to you when I was four."
"Yes, I remember..." the thin red-lipsticked lips curled into a grin, "bright-eyed child, sort of curious, a little wary around strangers. Very excited to learn though. You stayed close to your mae the whole time. I think I frightened you a little," the old woman gave a hoarse cackle like a cat dislodging a stubborn hairball. "I thought I might see you again someday."
"Yeah, well... here I am. Now can I come in and have a look at that library?" the younger woman said impatiently, wanting to steer away from the drive further down memory lane.
Carla nodded and drew aside the curtain, taking a step back further into the dimly-lit interior of the house, "Come, come. I shall put a pot of herbal tea on. Good for the lungs."
"Yeah, heh, you would know."
The old woman seemed to ignore the wisecrack, taking Cadenza by the shoulder and leading her into the smoky kitchen full of burning incense and old pots and pans hanging from hooks on every flowery-wallpapered wall. She seemed to have enough cookware to serve an entire army.
"...Got grandchildren or something?"
"Oh, several. Half the town of Allegre must be related to me somehow, dear. And I served as midwife for the rest, I'm certain."
Cadenza stared at her for a moment, swearing that the old woman was grinning at her. "Er... good genes, I bet."
"You'd win that bet," the woman gave a wink that nearly upset Cadenza's stomach. Wrinkly old women should never wink when wearing false eyelashes like that, she thought--it looked like a spider was crawling over her eye. Carla didn't seem to realize.
The younger woman cleared her throat to bridge the awkward silence that followed. "So... that tea? And I'll just go have a peek at the books, sound good?"
"Sure, dear," Carla was busily wrestling with getting some herbs down from shelves in the pantry. Her skirts and veils billowed and rustled like they were in hurricane winds with her effort. "Start with the mauve book at the beginning of the first low shelf. I find it... sets up the feeling for the rest," she gave a labored cough and stumbled back triumphantly with a handful of green herbs, holding them in the air as if they were her trophy.
As she wheezed in the background and the tea kettle whistled softly, Cadenza strode on to the musty corridors that led to, and seemed to have been taken over by, the library. She strolled by, passing her hands over the dusty volumes, trying to judge what passed for a "low shelf" when she came to a small, two-tier wooden cabinet under a window that had a photo perched atop it. The picture inside the frame was sepia-toned and faded from age, but still very clearly seen was the happy couple looking back at the camera on what must have been their wedding day. The bride was a gypsy... that could be told from the golden bangles and earrings that she wore as her dowry on that day. The man... he seemed Airopan, possibly... from Maximilia? He had that dark hair but fair skin, and the moustaches that were all the fashion of the country at that time. There were names written at the bottom, but the paper had crumbled away and it was too difficult to read.
The gypsy searched through the books until she found a mauve-covered one tied shut with a chocolate-colored ribbon, and pulled it from the shelf. When she untied the ribbon and opened to the beginning, she saw that it had signed the name of Carla's great grandmother, Lupe Maneira della Foncé, and there was a clipping from an old research journal on the very next page...
"Sociological Research of Subject 'Gypsies' - Kingsborough University of Behavioral Sciences"
"...They are a superstitious, subhuman culture, with many strange and unreasonable ways. They do not raise livestock, nor grow crops. They have no doctors; instead, they believe "magic" can cure them. They do not have weapons; they believe, also, that "magic" can protect them. They claim not to reject science, but seem to think they can defy the laws of it. They do not trade their gold, but rather hoard it away from generation to generation and display it garishly on their brides. They are akin to witches, and have many scrolls of "spells" and odd talismans they believe to possess power. They travel from place to place, infecting it with their "traditions" and selling their beads and other worthless trinkets of illogical belief. They speak of "Spirits", and renounce any ideas of Heaven or Hell. They idle away their days and nights in dance and song and strange rituals, only further spreading the plague of their superstitions by having more and more children. They are a pox on this land. We must rid ourselves of them, as other great civilizations have done of their burdensome groups in the past...."
"--Friedrick Samuel Taylor, of Kingsborough, Rochester, 12 May 1750"
"...And she said this would set up the feeling for the rest," Cadenza thought, wanting to slam the book shut, wishing she could slam something else--like maybe a boulder--on the man who'd written these words over two-hundred and fifty years ago. "She was f*cking right, if the feeling she wants me to have is wanting to torch any book that says something like this."
But she didn't get up from where she sat, instead settling for turning the page and seeing what more there was. She had to remind herself that she had been expecting things like this. After the clipping, the actual diary seemed to start, written in Signora Lupe's own curly script.
"Dear Diary,
We have been kicked out of the forests of Osterreich this week. We had simply settled down there to tend to our ill after this recent bout of malaria, but the king declared us a health risk to the neighboring farms and ordered us to be cleared out before dawn, lest we face military action. I don't understand this sudden hostility... we had always been welcome to camp in the Weisse lushlands, in the forests and lakes so long as we didn't disturb the farmers kilometers from them. But now... King Bayern has been facing pressure from other nations, our elders have said... pressure to banish us from his kingdom, and... he must be folding under that pressure. We have now been driven out of Ivanova and Osterreich... what will be next? I fear, soon, we may not even be able to return home to Castile... things are beginning to go very bad for gypsies in Maxmillia, even, where my sweet Claude waits... I do hope he will still wait for me on the day we should be wed. I am carrying his child... I feel the baby kicking from time to time, and it excites me... I do wish very much to be a mother. The midwife says I am doing well...
Write again tomorrow, we must be on the move south to Gardenia.
27 Junio 1751"
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Short Story Intro (Draft) -- Lahash's Entrance (written by insaney)
I knew that she didn’t want to take me along at all. It was my son that convinced her, if you really think about it. And if you think about it some more, she didn’t want to take my son along, either. I found it odd, since she was doing it for their children and for Rubato on a whole. I offered to go in place of my son, instead; after all, it was my grandchildren that they wanted to fight for, right? She was still pretty much a wall when I offered to, but our persistence actually broke through after a tiny while. Even so, there was that bit of silence before she accepted me.
She really is feisty, but sweet in her own way. I wonder how my son got caught up with such a lady. He’d have to tell me about it, someday. Come to think of it, he’d have to tell me the story of a lot of things.
This wasn’t really... my kind of thing. I usually go it alone, even into a fortress like this. But...for the sake of my children; my two daughters and my son and for the sake of their children, I’ll have to be the secondary force behind this one. She is, after all, the leader and the brains of this operation. I’m just representing my son here and...if she needed it, which I doubt she will, I’d protect my daughter in any way I can.
For now, though, she instructed me to just distract and keep an eye on the guards. This would be easy for a monster like me.
She really is feisty, but sweet in her own way. I wonder how my son got caught up with such a lady. He’d have to tell me about it, someday. Come to think of it, he’d have to tell me the story of a lot of things.
This wasn’t really... my kind of thing. I usually go it alone, even into a fortress like this. But...for the sake of my children; my two daughters and my son and for the sake of their children, I’ll have to be the secondary force behind this one. She is, after all, the leader and the brains of this operation. I’m just representing my son here and...if she needed it, which I doubt she will, I’d protect my daughter in any way I can.
For now, though, she instructed me to just distract and keep an eye on the guards. This would be easy for a monster like me.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Short Story Intro (Draft) -- "I'm not an 'avenging angel', just a woman with some hungry neighbors."
And suddenly, I felt like I was twenty-seven again, headed to take care of Scipio Ciatore in the Rubatoian embassy in Bellavista, Florheim, only this time, no one had sent me. Unless, of course, you wanted to glorify things--wanted to say that the Rubatoians, frustrated over the decades of high tariffs, and food costs, and Cernilia's near-monopoly over some of our barest necessities, had finally sent me there for the emperor as a representative of my people's will. I wouldn't say all that. But then again, I'd rather not make it into the history books. I'd like this just to help my kids, and my kids' kids someday, without them ever realizing what their Mae had to do. Mae was a criminal--and she'll act like one again, for them. For home.
How this all started... the easiest way to know there's a problem in Rubato is to look at the capital, Blancwood. If the academy's having to go without Wednesday's chicken alfredo with cream sauce and Thursday's veal parmesan, you don't have to think hard to figure out what the rest of us are doing without. Clean water. Bread. Fruits and vegetables to make sure our children grow up healthy. Even now, when I may have a whole drawer of those proverbial "silver spoons" in my big house, I can't ignore the struggling of the people I grew up with. I still think of myself as one of them. But I also can't buy them all groceries all year, every year. So something has to change.
Anyway, away from the problem for a moment, back to the present. If you look at a map, it's only a dot, but Cittá is a bona fide citadel. It's been fortified like that since the last Blancwood-Cernilia war, only a handful of years ago. The guards are well-trained, and with their people only a few generations removed from being Rubatoians, there are many gypsies and mages of other kinds on their side as well. It's meant to be the ultimate roadblock for invaders of Cernilia. That's why a small force, myself and my suegro (father-in-law) that I... grudgingly took with me, should have been the best bet, I thought. Not a four-of-a-kind, but a full house maybe, something with a good chance of winning. He was to keep watch and distract any guards that might have noticed my entry into the imperial palace on that night.
How this all started... the easiest way to know there's a problem in Rubato is to look at the capital, Blancwood. If the academy's having to go without Wednesday's chicken alfredo with cream sauce and Thursday's veal parmesan, you don't have to think hard to figure out what the rest of us are doing without. Clean water. Bread. Fruits and vegetables to make sure our children grow up healthy. Even now, when I may have a whole drawer of those proverbial "silver spoons" in my big house, I can't ignore the struggling of the people I grew up with. I still think of myself as one of them. But I also can't buy them all groceries all year, every year. So something has to change.
Anyway, away from the problem for a moment, back to the present. If you look at a map, it's only a dot, but Cittá is a bona fide citadel. It's been fortified like that since the last Blancwood-Cernilia war, only a handful of years ago. The guards are well-trained, and with their people only a few generations removed from being Rubatoians, there are many gypsies and mages of other kinds on their side as well. It's meant to be the ultimate roadblock for invaders of Cernilia. That's why a small force, myself and my suegro (father-in-law) that I... grudgingly took with me, should have been the best bet, I thought. Not a four-of-a-kind, but a full house maybe, something with a good chance of winning. He was to keep watch and distract any guards that might have noticed my entry into the imperial palace on that night.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Short Story: Flight at Dusk
The city at dusk was wild.
Lithe young legs carried her through the jungle of stone and clay, past barred windows and locked doors, over barbed wire fence and through alleyways, all to the pursuing barks of dogs. The rusted streetlamps at the end of each block were coming alive as she passed them, as if the city itself were chasing her. Still far behind, the lights of police cars quested, searching every nook and cranny of Santa Mariela.
Her lungs were on fire and her muscles ached, but she continued to run. The dogs were growing closer. And water! How she needed water, would die for but a sip of water right now! Why couldn't it rain just this once? But her thirst would have to go on unquenched until she reached home and was tugged into the safety and security of the dark house with its traps. Only there could she finally stop, and ease her burdens of that night's events, and finally take a breath of relief. Only when she was told that she was done, by that soothing, authoritative voice, could she rest, never to have to pick up her bow again. In her mind, she could still see the arrow, flying...
A gunshot pierced the darkening sky, with clouds that seemed to bleed the dusky reddish hue of early night and fading day. There were louder, more intense barks, snarling and the scrabbling off paws coming from Reyes Avenue, into where it crossed Rua Fontane, the street she'd been following to her freedom. It would not be safe any longer--she quickly veered out of the glow of the streetlamp, launching herself up onto a closed dumpster and making the leap over another fence. She cleared the barbed wire--but her sandal didn't. It snagged and came loose, the strap broken in half after wear and tear with this last bit of stress. She tumbled to the ground, a segment of the barbed wire rolling with her and cutting open the skin along her shin. She struggled onto her feet, ignoring the pain and the blood dripping down her leg onto the sand, the salt making the wound sting, and began to run again, into the dark, smoky alley. Even though its depths were unknown, it was a thousand times better than the certain punishment that came after her.
She remembered hearing in school the old stories of Gardenians in the States of Cordelia, over a hundred years ago, who were accused of killing a police chief, and found innocent. They were killed anyways, killed because they were foreigners and the Cordelians were jealous of their success. But... the situation was different here. The officer had been from Rochester, and he was the minority here, in Rubato. Would they even bother to fully investigate his death? Could they not just sweep it under the rug, as other places did? She could only hope so.
The alley was longer than she had first remembered. The city felt different at night, less familiar, easier to be lost in and never heard from again. Even though it wasn't late, there seemed to be no activity in the homes she passed, no lights on or sounds of conversation. It was just as well... she didn't wish to be seen as she was. She turned another corner, and saw the far-off beacon of the lamp in the Madrigal window, gleaming through the dusky gloom. Almost there. Almost safe.
She kept running until she collided into a soft, dark shape, and two wrinkled hands forced her to look up. The old, earthy brown eyes set in the sagged, bronze face seemed to look upon the dirty, bloodied girl with pity as her chest rose and fell in frantic breaths.
"What is wrong, my child...?" the worried, motherly voice spoke in Rubatoian. She brushed aside the girl's dark curls, matted to her head with cool sweat. When the girl pretended not to understand her, she drew her own conclusions, "What have you done...? You have a heavy heart..."
The old eyes were knowing... the girl looked into them, finding understanding there, wanting this woman to alleviate her pain and guilt, and tell her everything would be okay. It wasn't her fault, and... and things would end here! She was truly sorry!
But she didn't ask the woman to tell her any of those things. She just gave a stuttered cry, a release of tension, a sad and frightened and panicked sound, and darted out of her grasp, past her and into the dim light of the open street. She didn't stop running until she reached the back of the Madrigal house, at a staircase that descended into the basement, and the third pair of hands that had grabbed her that night pulled her into the dark. Hurriedly, the door was locked, and a lamp in the corner was switched on.
"The kill was efficient, and so was the clean-up, but you could stand to run away better. Don't you always flee well from fights? What happened there, irminha? You tripped?"
There was only a whimper in response from the trembling, wounded child on the floor. She clutched at her leg and stared down, away from the demanding glare of her sister.
"Well, Callahann is dead, so you've completed your task for the family este noche. Bom. They will only get harder from here, though, so quit crying. Grow some backbone," the lady in the red dress, hands held imperially on her hips, turned to the younger, serene-looking woman on the sofa. "Luminari, fix her up. I don't want bloodstains on the carpet."
The younger woman gave a nod, and smiled as she came over towards the girl on the floor. The smile was not a particularly kind smile, just one that seemed to say, "Good job." There was something about it that the girl had never really liked...
Her sister bent down and wiped the blood along the cut on her shin with a cloth, magic glowing around her other hand. The little particles of light collected around the wound, and then disappeared into it. Moments later, the stinging had stopped. It was starting to heal. The girl might have thanked her, but knew it would mean nothing. She brushed herself off and tried to stand. Her hands were still quivering.
"Go and sleep," the woman in red commanded her. "Tomorrow, you shall be taking a... delivery to a Signor Córdoba, a private detective in Cernilia. If he does not... cooperate," she smiled at this, "then... you know how to deal with him. Hasta mañana."
The lamp was flicked off, and Cadenza was left to rest for the night.
Lithe young legs carried her through the jungle of stone and clay, past barred windows and locked doors, over barbed wire fence and through alleyways, all to the pursuing barks of dogs. The rusted streetlamps at the end of each block were coming alive as she passed them, as if the city itself were chasing her. Still far behind, the lights of police cars quested, searching every nook and cranny of Santa Mariela.
Her lungs were on fire and her muscles ached, but she continued to run. The dogs were growing closer. And water! How she needed water, would die for but a sip of water right now! Why couldn't it rain just this once? But her thirst would have to go on unquenched until she reached home and was tugged into the safety and security of the dark house with its traps. Only there could she finally stop, and ease her burdens of that night's events, and finally take a breath of relief. Only when she was told that she was done, by that soothing, authoritative voice, could she rest, never to have to pick up her bow again. In her mind, she could still see the arrow, flying...
A gunshot pierced the darkening sky, with clouds that seemed to bleed the dusky reddish hue of early night and fading day. There were louder, more intense barks, snarling and the scrabbling off paws coming from Reyes Avenue, into where it crossed Rua Fontane, the street she'd been following to her freedom. It would not be safe any longer--she quickly veered out of the glow of the streetlamp, launching herself up onto a closed dumpster and making the leap over another fence. She cleared the barbed wire--but her sandal didn't. It snagged and came loose, the strap broken in half after wear and tear with this last bit of stress. She tumbled to the ground, a segment of the barbed wire rolling with her and cutting open the skin along her shin. She struggled onto her feet, ignoring the pain and the blood dripping down her leg onto the sand, the salt making the wound sting, and began to run again, into the dark, smoky alley. Even though its depths were unknown, it was a thousand times better than the certain punishment that came after her.
She remembered hearing in school the old stories of Gardenians in the States of Cordelia, over a hundred years ago, who were accused of killing a police chief, and found innocent. They were killed anyways, killed because they were foreigners and the Cordelians were jealous of their success. But... the situation was different here. The officer had been from Rochester, and he was the minority here, in Rubato. Would they even bother to fully investigate his death? Could they not just sweep it under the rug, as other places did? She could only hope so.
The alley was longer than she had first remembered. The city felt different at night, less familiar, easier to be lost in and never heard from again. Even though it wasn't late, there seemed to be no activity in the homes she passed, no lights on or sounds of conversation. It was just as well... she didn't wish to be seen as she was. She turned another corner, and saw the far-off beacon of the lamp in the Madrigal window, gleaming through the dusky gloom. Almost there. Almost safe.
She kept running until she collided into a soft, dark shape, and two wrinkled hands forced her to look up. The old, earthy brown eyes set in the sagged, bronze face seemed to look upon the dirty, bloodied girl with pity as her chest rose and fell in frantic breaths.
"What is wrong, my child...?" the worried, motherly voice spoke in Rubatoian. She brushed aside the girl's dark curls, matted to her head with cool sweat. When the girl pretended not to understand her, she drew her own conclusions, "What have you done...? You have a heavy heart..."
The old eyes were knowing... the girl looked into them, finding understanding there, wanting this woman to alleviate her pain and guilt, and tell her everything would be okay. It wasn't her fault, and... and things would end here! She was truly sorry!
But she didn't ask the woman to tell her any of those things. She just gave a stuttered cry, a release of tension, a sad and frightened and panicked sound, and darted out of her grasp, past her and into the dim light of the open street. She didn't stop running until she reached the back of the Madrigal house, at a staircase that descended into the basement, and the third pair of hands that had grabbed her that night pulled her into the dark. Hurriedly, the door was locked, and a lamp in the corner was switched on.
"The kill was efficient, and so was the clean-up, but you could stand to run away better. Don't you always flee well from fights? What happened there, irminha? You tripped?"
There was only a whimper in response from the trembling, wounded child on the floor. She clutched at her leg and stared down, away from the demanding glare of her sister.
"Well, Callahann is dead, so you've completed your task for the family este noche. Bom. They will only get harder from here, though, so quit crying. Grow some backbone," the lady in the red dress, hands held imperially on her hips, turned to the younger, serene-looking woman on the sofa. "Luminari, fix her up. I don't want bloodstains on the carpet."
The younger woman gave a nod, and smiled as she came over towards the girl on the floor. The smile was not a particularly kind smile, just one that seemed to say, "Good job." There was something about it that the girl had never really liked...
Her sister bent down and wiped the blood along the cut on her shin with a cloth, magic glowing around her other hand. The little particles of light collected around the wound, and then disappeared into it. Moments later, the stinging had stopped. It was starting to heal. The girl might have thanked her, but knew it would mean nothing. She brushed herself off and tried to stand. Her hands were still quivering.
"Go and sleep," the woman in red commanded her. "Tomorrow, you shall be taking a... delivery to a Signor Córdoba, a private detective in Cernilia. If he does not... cooperate," she smiled at this, "then... you know how to deal with him. Hasta mañana."
The lamp was flicked off, and Cadenza was left to rest for the night.
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