Tuesday, 13 October 2015

Fight.

This story is for Quote Queste, over at The Splendor Falls on Castle Walls. This was the quote for this month.


https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/14/e9/d9/14e9d998605f03471a7e35c02c0de4cf.jpg

Tybalt shifted in his saddle and turned to look at Thea. She was watching his opponent trot his horse in a wide circle, not paying any attention to him. Tybalt tried to take a deep breath, but his armor restricted his chest. Choking out the air he'd just drawn in, Tybalt, turned his horse around, trying to clear his hand.

He didn't want to fight. Not at all, not even for Thea. She always pretended she didn't care during these fights, always pretended she was cheering for Tybalt's opponent as much as she was cheering for him. He wished she would actually openly pick a side. If she would actually say she didn't love him after all, well then, he could go and leave this tiresome fight and never come back. But she wouldn't say anything. He had only spoken to her once in the last two weeks, and that once had been under supervision of her governess.

"I commend you, Tybalt, for winning the first match today," she had said softly, letting him kiss the air over her hand.

"Thank you, my lady," he had muttered, trying to look straight into her eyes without drawing the attention of the governess. He wanted to know what she really thought. Did she love him still, like she had three months ago, before the French raids, before the government uprisings, before everything had heaved up and then just as quickly, just as strangely, settled down again?

A bugle screamed the final warning for the match's commencement, and Tybalt pulled his horse to a stop and faced his opponent. This was to be the final battle for Thea's hand. Did he even want her hand? Would she actually love and respect him, and could he love and respect her?

As the second bugle sounded, Tybalt turned and watched as his opponent, Sir Doran, rode up before Thea and her father, removed his helmet, and bowed as well as he could clad in full armor and sitting in a saddle.

As Sir Doran trotted his horse back to his starting position, Tybalt urged his horse towards the stand, and halted in front of the king and Thea. He pulled off his helmet, bowed to the king, and then stared at Thea, his eyes trying to pierce her face, her expression, her thoughts.

Thea looked at him squarely, all elusiveness suddenly gone from her face. In it's place, Tybalt saw pride, fear, and love. A great, steady love that was outshining the other emotions. She wanted him, not Sir Doran. She really did love him.

Tybalt lowered his head towards his horse's neck in respect towards the princess he loved so deeply, his heart galloping against his ribs and the armor that protected them. As he sat up again, he looked straight at Thea and took a deep breath as she smiled at him. Then he turned his horse. It was time to fight Sir Doran.

As the two knights held their horses in check at their starting positions, Tybalt tried hard not to panic. His lungs felt compressed together into a lump, and he felt like a page again, unsure of everything.

The last bugle sprawled through the air and into his ears, and Tybalt kicked his horse into a gallop, holding his spear tightly. Sir Doran flew towards him, and Tybalt suddenly felt the crashing sting of his opponent's spear flipping his own out of his hand. Then they were moving away from each other, and Tyablt wheeled his horse around, his teeth, his head growing hot. He had to win. But he had no weapon.

He charged again.



Sir Doran swung at him with his spear, and Tyablt felt the wooden pole strike his on the chest. He catapulted backwards off the horse, his armor creating discordant symphony. Thea screamed and Tybalt tried to get up, but everything was swirling into blackness...

"Cut! It's a take!"

Aaron clambered to his feet, pulling his helmet off his head and swallowing fresh air. Leah slipped off her throne, waved, and walked towards her trailer, already answering the questions of five reporters who had been allowed to watch the shooting.

Aaron clanked himself over to Betty, who was sitting on a camp chair, watching him. "How did I look?"

"Very brave, but that fall must have hurt. You shouldn't do your own stunts."

Aaron laughed and pulled off his gloves. "I like the excitement."

Standing up, Betty took his arm. "Come on, let's go get lunch. Then you have to be back on set."

Aaron glanced at Betty's watch, then smiled. "Okay. Let's hurry; we only have an hour and a half, and I want to spend every moment with you."




Thursday, 3 September 2015

Blog Party Tag Answers.

Over at Miss Dashwood's blog, a blog party is being held for Masked, the modern-day Scarlet Pimpernel adaptation I've mentioned on here before. Anyways, a tag was put out to be answered, and I am answering it. If you want to do so yourself, you can go over to Miss Dashwood's blog, linked to above, and answer the questions!

1. The obvious question... how'd you get introduced to the Scarlet Pimpernel?

Umm... I don't know when I first heard about it, but it was I think through my older sisters. My first taste of it was in the way of several clips from the 1982 movie adaptation on my sister's blog, and then I read the first book for school. I saw the whole of the 1982 movie when I was thirteen, or maybe fourteen. I think it was thirteen. I loved it. :)



2.  If you could meet any of the characters in real life, who would you choose and why? (you can use the obvious answer of Sir Percy if you really want to, but this is your chance to get creative. ;))

Well, I think I would like to meet Sir Percy, because he's the hero, and really amazing, but it might also be fun to meet some others of the league, like Lord Tony and Sir Andrew. As to why... um, they came into my head? (I'm very bad at "Why" questions, sorry.) Chauvelin might also be interesting to meet in a kind of scary way. Just to see what he's like. (I will say here that I think I like the Sir Percy of the 1982 movie better than the Sir Percy of the books, and so will most likely be meaning him most of the time when I talk about Sir Percy, as I was in this question.)

3.  What are your top 3 favorite quotes from the books or movies? (yes, just three)

"Sink Me. So 'tis. But then, if you were to look out of that window, you would see me yacht, the Day Dream, ready to take me-- and my men-- safely back to England." (Not 100% sure that is exactly the way the quote goes, but that's basically it.)

"Call it what you will! I will have the Scarlet Pimpernel's head or your brother's." (A violent quote, I know, but it's fun to say so fast, like Chauvelin does.) (Little fun fact: Chauvelin has his own Wikipedia page. :))

I like the whole scene where Percy is going over Chauvelin's dress. (Not dress dress, but dress as in what he's wearing.)

~All three of these were from the 1982 movie, though they could also be in the books. I don't know. :P

4. Who is your favorite supporting character in the books? (Percy and Marguerite are ineligible)

I haven't read many of the books. I think I've only read all of the first three... So I don't know. :) Sorry.

5. Which film versions have you seen and which do you like best?

I have only seen the 1982 version in entirety, though I have seen maybe a minute or thirty seconds of the 1934 version. I like the 1982 version the best, though that isn't really fair to the other, seeing as I haven't seen it fully.



6. What's your top-absolute-favorite scene in the first book? (if you've read it-- if not, what's your favorite scene in whichever movie you prefer?)

Mm, I don't know... (sorry). It's been a long time since I read it. I did like the ending part, though. I didn't think I knew about the beggar. As for the movie, (I'm allowed to answer that part of the question as well) I don't know. I like the scene where Marguerite comes to see Percy in *SPOILER* prison. *END OF SPOILER,* and the ending fencing scene and all, and the proposal.



7. If you could dream-cast a new adaptation of the book (a period piece, that is) who would you choose to play the roles of Sir Percy, Marguerite and Chauvelin?

Hmmmmm....... well, without remembering descriptions from the books on Sir Percy and Marguerite too well.... (And these are picked just right now-- I hadn't thought about this, so it's not really a dream-cast. :P)


Aaron Tveit as Sir Percy.


Stephen Moyer as Chauvelin. (I picked this picture because he looks sinister.)


Sierra Boggess as Marguerite.


8. Do you think the Scarlet Pimpernel does his rescue work purely for "the love of sport," as the narrative would tell us (and as he would often claim) or does he have more noble motives that he won't admit?  Explain your answer.  Show your work.

I think he does it for the sport of it... but.... then... he's so upset when he hears that the King has been beheaded, and he goes to such great risks to save the Dauphin, so I think he does care about the people he's saving, and wishes to help them even if it's dangerous.

9.  Second to Chauvelin, who is the worst villain in the book series, and why?

Maybe Robespierre, because he is evil. :P (I'm pretty rotten at these questions, aren't I?)

10.  What's your favorite novel in the series (if you've read more than one)?  If not, which one are you most excited to read?

Again, I don't know. I was looking forward to the third one, I think, because it was like the ending in the movie.

11.  If you could change one thing about your favorite version of the movie, what would it be?

The scenes with Armand and Louise. Unnecessary, They could have done it the way it is in the book. 

12.  Lastly... how would you convince a skeptical friend to read/watch TSP?  What is it that you love about it?

Oh, I'm not sure. The romance, the thrillingness of it... maybe I could just try showing the friend a trailer, and talking about Sir Percy's heroic deeds.



Yet Another Period Drama Blog

Tuesday, 1 September 2015

"Letter to Heaven."

I had inspiration for this story last week, and I'm sharing it here.

If I wanted to write fan mail to an author, I could look up their address online or something. But if I want to write a letter to God, how do I do it? Hailey stared out the window up at the sky. Would my letter have to be taken to heaven by plane, or spaceship? How long would it take to get there? Maybe if I took it myself, I could see God open it and read it.
Hailey stuck her upper portion out the window and gazed across the lawn and down the street. The mail truck hadn’t come yet. Maybe she had time to write a quick letter before the truck got to her mailbox.
Grabbing her school notebook, Hailer scribbled a few words down, trying to keep her handwriting neat. This was for God, after all.
She didn’t write much; just a few things about the book of Jonah, one of her favorites. She didn’t want to bother God, who was probably very busy.
After searching for and finding an envelope on her mom’s desk, Hailey stuck her letter inside and sealed it. Taking a pen, she sat down and wrote:
God the Father
Throne of God
Heaven
That should work as an address. Putting her own address in the top left corner, Hailey pressed a stamp onto the envelope and ran outside to give her letter to the mailman, who had just come up the street.
It was really a mailboy-- Kyle, the teenager who helped his uncle with the mail delivery. Hailey halted behind her mailbox and waited as Kyle stopped the truck. “Hi, Kyle! I have a letter to mail!”
Kyle stepped out of the truck and reached for her envelope. “Okay, Hailey.” Staring at the address she’d written, he frowned, then looked at her. “Umm, Hailey, I don’t think you can send this.”
“Why not?”
Kyle sat down on the step of the truck. “Well, I don’t think you can mail things to heaven.”
“Why? Couldn’t you send it up in an airplane? I want God to read what I think about his book, just like authors down here.”
Letting out his breath, Kyle gazed at the envelope, as if trying to puzzle out what they could do with the situation. “Well, I’ll take it to the post office, and see if we can mail it for you.”
“Really, Kyle?”
Kyle got to his feet. “Sure. I’ll try.”
Getting into the truck, Kyle watched as Hailey waved and ran back towards her house. Stuffing the rest of the mail from her parents’ mailbox into the back of the truck, he drove down the street.
When he arrived at the post office, the letter to God was on the top of the stack of mail. Carrying the various envelopes through the double doors of the office, he smiled at his girlfriend, Laura, who worked at the front desk. “Hailey Arnolds, from Oak Drive, asked me to mail this.”
Laura took the envelope and read the address. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. It’s your job to send stuff on its way.”
Kyle went back out the door for the rest of the mail, and Laura scratched her forehead, unsure of what to do. When her boyfriend came back through the door, she hurried over to him. “Kyle, how on earth am I supposed to send a letter to God?”
Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know. Hailey really wanted it sent, though, and I can’t say no to her.”
“But we can’t actually send this!”
“Why not? Just get it to the airport, and have the mail plane take it up.”
Laura put her hands on her hips. “Then what?”
“Well, then it’s up to the guy driving the plane.” Kyle grinned. “Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?”
-***-
Walking up to the mail plane office, Laura felt silly. She knocked on the door, and waited in the wind until the postman opened the door.
“Yes?”
“I have a special delivery for the mail plane. It’s a letter from a six year old little girl named Hailey Arnolds,” Laura said, holding out the letter. “I need to make sure it actually gets sent.”
“As long as it has the correct stamps for its weight, it should be fine,” the man muttered, taking the letter. He squinted his puffy eyes at the address. “Hey, what is going on? We can’t mail this.”
Laura felt a touch of anger. “You said as long as it had the correct stamps for its weight, it should be fine. Is the envelope too heavy?”
“No, but you can’t send a letter to heaven! It isn’t possible!” The man blew out his lips in frustration. “We cannot mail this. I don’t even know if God exists, and you’re asking me to mail Him a letter?”
“Well, I’m not sure either,” Laura said, folding her arms, “but a little girl from our town wants this sent very much. You can try!”
The man rubbed at the envelope with his thumb. “Fine. I can try, but I can’t promise that this can actually get to its destination! It’ll probably end up the ocean.”
“Thank you!” Laura smiled and ran back to her car. The man watched her go, then shook his head. “Hey Art, you have one more letter to take on your flight!”
Art came out of the break room, holding his everlasting cup of coffee. “Okay, let me have it. I’m about to get going... whoa, what is with the address, Harold?”
Harold sighed. “Some little six year old girl wants to mail God a letter.”
Sitting down at the table, Art tossed the envelope in his hands. “How am I supposed to deliver this?”
Harold sat down across from him and scratched his nose. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t know how to get something to somebody who probably doesn’t exist.”
“I think God exists,” Art said. “But I don’t think you can send Him letters.”
“Maybe you can just throw it out the plane window and see what happens.”
Art sucked in the underside of his lip. “It’s probably just going to land in the ocean, or in someone’s tree.” He stood up, grabbed his coat, and waved at Harold. “See you. I’ll tell you what happens when I get back.”
“What are you expecting to happen?”
“I don’t know.” Art wiggled his mouth. “Bye.”
-***-
Art made sure his plane was steady, then picked the envelope from off the floor. Will it ever reach heaven? Can it even reach heaven? Would God answer if it did?
Opening his window, Art stuck his head out, read the address one last time, and threw the envelope up as hard as he could. It stayed on the breeze for a few seconds, then began to drift down towards the earth.
Art sighed. “Too bad for the little girl. I didn’t think that could work.” Shutting his window, he continued flying as Hailey’s letter fell slowly down to the ground. A bird flew into it, squawked, and flew on, and the letter to God drifted into a rosebush.
As Mason waked out of his house, he saw the envelope stuck between the flowers and thorns, and pulled it free. “What in the world is this? A letter to God?”
Walking back inside, he sat down in the living room and copied the return address onto a new envelope, then took out a piece of paper and began to write.
Dear  Hailey,
My name is Mason Turbed. I found your letter in my rosebush today, and I want to help with your endeavour.
You were trying to send a letter to God, right? Well, I’m sorry, but that isn’t possible. We can’t reach heaven, or send things to it. Not even all people go to heaven. I’m sure you've heard it said that everyone goes to heaven, but only some people do. Only those who are saved, bought with the blood of Jesus Christ, go to heaven one day.
Anyway, aside from that, you cannot mail God a letter. But, if you are saved, there is something else you can do to communicate with God. It’s easier then using a paper and pencil, and you don’t have to pay for a stamp. You can pray to Him. If you are saved, God will listen to everything you say, and He’s never too busy, or not within hearing distance.
Hailey, prayer is our way to communicate with God while on this earth. No, you won’t physically hear any answers from God. But sometimes He answers by granting what you ask, or perhaps by not granting.
Another way to hear what He has to say is by reading His Word, the Bible. I think people have called it His letter to us. We can’t send a letter to heaven, but we can read the one God wrote for us before we were born.
I hope you don’t mind this letter, and I hope I haven’t sounded rude. I’m going to pray for you, Hailey. And just because you can’t send letters to God doesn’t mean you can’t write them. Writing prayer is the same as speaking it.
And if you’re saved-- a child of God-- He will hear you.
Sincerely,
Mason Turbed
Mason folded his letter, readied it for the mail, and sat down by the window. “Dear Lord,” he prayed, “please open Hailey’s eyes, if they are not already opened, to see You clearly. Please help her to draw near to You, and please help me to do the same. Please bless and help all the people who tried to deliver this letter, and show them Your truth. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.”

The End

Thursday, 20 August 2015

"Coming Home"

I know I haven't done one of these for a few weeks, for reasons I'll not go into, but here is another Norman Rockwell story.

This painting is called, I think, "Homecoming G.I"

Coming Home
As I leaned against the wall, I felt rather out of place in the run-down street. A happy street, but run-down. The Saucells tried hard to keep their house neat, but Mr. Saucell or Ted seemed to be constantly on the roof of the porch fixing something, and the dirt in front of the house was always collecting trash of some sort.
I glanced around the side of the house. Susie was sitting on the porch with Billy, holding Katrina on her lap. “Katrina, would you go see what mama’s doing?” Susie asked. “I don’t want her to start anything complicated or long, so she can be ready when George gets here.”
Katrina slipped off her sister’s lap and headed inside, and I pulled back around the edge of the wall. So far no one had noticed me, and I didn’t want them to until George came. They hardly knew me yet, and I wanted George to introduce me before the little ones could size me up and see if I was good enough for their brother.
“Hey Ted, are you almost done with the roof?” Billy hollered. “George will be here soon!”
“Yeah, but I want to really fix it this time,” Ted yelled back to his younger brother. “Go inside and see if papa has any suggestions as to where I should place this sheet of metal.”
I peeked around and saw Billy run into the house. Susie stood on the edge of the porch and drooped her arms over the railing, looking down the street. I looked in the same direction, trying to see if I could spot George, perhaps before she did.
Suddenly he came around the corner and I pressed against the wall, feeling nervous and shy. “Mama!” Susie cried out. “George is home!”
I watched from around the corner of the wall as the Saucells’ house and the one next to it suddenly seemed to shed people. Mrs. Saucell came running out the door and stopped on the porch, throwing her arms wide. Billy charged down the steps with Katrina behind him as George stopped and looked at the welcoming committee before him.
“George, welcome home!” several people shouted, including Mrs. Saucell, who was practically bellowing. Her husband came partially out the door behind her, holding his pipe in his hand and looking both startled and happy at the same time, though startled was winning.
“Hey George!” Ted called from the roof. The Saucells’ dog ran up to George, and George crouched over to pet it, then jerked out of his quiet attitude and slammed into Billy in a big hug as his brother came crashing into him. I pressed back against the wall, my dress feeling damp from the bricks, and waited for him to come see me. I didn’t want to get crushed by Billy and Susie, which would happen if we all tried to greet him at once.
I didn’t know if he had actually seen me; he’d been watching his family the whole time, it had looked like. Sighing, I rested my elbows against the bricks and closed my eyes, and George suddenly took my hand.
“I missed you, Helen.”
I opened my eyes and smiled at him, taking his other hand. “I missed you too, George.”
The End
I know it is Thursday, and these are supposed to be posted on Tuesdays, but I never actually did it Tuesday. I was going to, but I forgot.

Tuesday, 28 July 2015

"Lunch With Frank."


This painting is called "The Runaway."
Lunch With Frank
Was I going to go to jail and rot there for years, until I was old enough to really be on my own? I shuddered as the policeman led me across the street, his hand on my shoulder. We walked through the door of the lunchroom at the end of the drugstore. “Sit down, and let’s get something to eat, Tommy,” he said, sitting down on one of the five green-topped stools.
I nervously sat down next to him, using the step attached to the counter so I could reach the seat. The lunchroom man leaned over the counter, a cigarette in his mouth. I could barely see the heading “Special Today” on the menu behind his head. What was the lunch special?
The lunchman smiled at us, his face looking amused as he glanced at my bundle that I’d dropped on the floor and the coat I held in my lap, and then at the policeman’s face. “Did Frank catch you trying to skip town, son?” he questioned.
I nodded shyly. “He found me at the start of the highway. I’m under arrest.”
“No you’re not,” Frank smiled, putting his feet on the counter step. “We’ll get some lunch and then I’ll take you home. What would you like to have?”
“May I have the special, as long as it’s grilled cheese?” I asked quietly, still feeling a little shy.
“I would like that, too,” Frank said, resting his arm on the top of the counter. “As long as it’s grilled cheese, of course.”
The lunchman laughed. “The lunch special isn’t grilled cheese, but I can make you that if you want.”
Frank nodded, smiling. “Yes, please, thanks.”
As the lunchman went to make our sandwiches, the radio on a shelf next to the menu started to play. It was a man making some sort of announcement. “The police station would like to alert the people of Woodinville that a little boy aged six years old is on the loose. He escaped from his house at sunrise, and was spotted by his neighbor, who told the boy’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Fred Gordon. Woodinville citizens are to watch all lunchrooms in the area for signs of him, especially the Martin drugstore, which has a lunchroom attached to it. We have reason to believe that the boy is there. Thank you, and please enjoy the rest of your day.”
I glanced at Frank, who was looking at me, smiling. “Do my parents already know you found me?” I asked.
He nodded. “They weren’t worried, and even tipped me off as to where you’d be-- the highway. Did that show at the movies last Saturday really get to you?”
“Yes. It was about a bank robber who escaped from jail and went west. I thought it was cool. Is that why the announcer was talking like I was an escaped bad guy?”
Frank laughed. “Yes.”
I looked at the lunchman, who was back at the counter, leaning his folded hands on top of it and grinning. “Oh. I guess everyone in town knows everyone else too well for anyone to run away.”
Smiling, Frank nodded. “I guess so.”
I looked back over at him. “How come you came to find me instead of daddy?”
“Well, your parents thought you might appreciate being found by a policeman. It’s something neat to tell your friends. Do you mind?”
I smiled a little. “No.”
“I used to eat grilled cheese a lot when I was little, you know” Frank said suddenly. “One time that I will always remember having it was in this lunchroom, a long time ago. I was sitting right here, and eating with another guy. His name was Hank Martin.”
The lunchman smiled. “I used to be a policeman, Tommy. Frank was only seven when I took him here. This place was my dad’s before I took it over.”
I pulled my eyebrows together for a moment. “You ran away, too, Mr. Frank?”
Frank nodded. “Yup.” He leaned over to me as I looked at him. We smiled.

Tuesday, 21 July 2015

"In the Way."


This painting is called "Roadblock."

In the Way
As I biked up the street, trying to shift my backpack around so it wouldn’t feel so heavy, I glanced up at the sky for a moment. The clouds lay heavily, trapping the humidity near to the ground. I kept pedaling up the street, hoping it would rain on me before I got home. I really enjoyed biking to the library, but getting home was unpleasant, with hills to struggle up and cramped streets to get through.
I turned onto a smaller street, but I couldn’t go very far, because a car was sitting in the middle of the narrow road. Getting off my bike, I walked it around the car, looking at all the people who were gathered. People had come out of houses, were leaning over railings, or were standing on the edge of the road, staring at a small black and white dog. It looked like a pug, but I didn’t know for sure.
A “Pepies” truck was stopped behind the dog, and one of the drivers was standing near the dog, coaxing at it. “Come on, move, little thing,” he whispered.
“Why don’t you just honk the truck’s horn? That’ll scare him away,” I suggested.
A little girl standing against the side of a house shook her head. “We already tried that, and the dog ran under the “Pepies” truck. Now the drivers are afraid that he will go back under if anyone makes too much noise.”
A mailman leaned over the brush and fence behind me. “Come on, dog, chase me!”
The dog just glanced at him and shied away.
A family walked up the street and around the stopped car, the boy carrying a musical instrument case of some sort. The father pointed at the dog and started laughing. “That dog was on this road when we walked this way to go to your lesson, Ted!”
The boy stared at the dog as it cowered away from the dad’s laugh. “Is everyone afraid it will run under the truck?” he asked.
The “Pepies” truck driver nodded. “Yeah. Do you have any ideas?”
Ted smiled and set down his instrument case. Stepping forward, he reached out slowly and tried to pick up the dog. The dog jerked back and run under the truck. As the “Pepies” truck driver banged his head against the truck’s front, Ted lay down on his stomach and scooched under the truck.
“Ted!” Ted’s grandmother cried sternly, her nose in the air, “you’re getting muddy!”
Ted didn’t come out the way he had, but crawled towards the back of the truck. The dog barked and ran out in front of Ted, emerging from under the truck.
“I got him out of the way!” Ted called, rolling out from under the truck and coming to get his case as the “Pepies” men and the other people cheered.

I saw the dog skitter up the street and run off, and smiled. “Good job, Ted.”