Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

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Red Wolf09
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RE: Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

Postby Red Wolf09 » Sat Apr 16, 2011 4:52 pm

            It was almost one o’clock and sitting in front of the principal’s office with a black eye, bloody lip, dislocated shoulder and bruised ribs was the last place I wanted to be. Up until now, I hadn’t really noticed who was around me, ignoring the few students that passed and barely acknowledging the teachers. Wincing and hissing with pain, I sat up straighter and glanced down at the row of chairs along the opposite wall. Settling my gaze back on the empty hallway and stretch of ivory tile in front of me, I was alarmed when I saw a young man sitting in a previously unoccupied chair, directly across from me.

            It was quite a shock when I took in his overall appearance, disheveled and dirty, looking just as bad, possibly much worse off than I was at that moment. Catching my gaze with bright golden-hazel eyes, he flashed a lopsided smirk. Looking away quickly, I heard him chuckle softly, “What happened? Did you lose a bet or something?”

            I winced and frowned, “No. Just got in a fight, nothing to worry about.”

He smiled, “Oh, I see. Are you afraid to say anything more to someone you know, especially when the principal is involved?”

            I crossed my arms over my chest stubbornly, despite the searing agony in my shoulder and ribs. I spoke coolly, although my voice was hoarse from pain, “No. I don’t know you; and even if I did, I’ve never seen you before in my life.” I gritted my teeth for a moment, praying that the principal would show up quickly. “If I may ask, what’s your name?”

            The boy chuckled softly and countered, “Do you really not recognize me?” Hesitating a moment, I took in his dark slacks, ripped and covered in dirt, the light skin and heavily freckled face, the red tunic that hung loosely over his thin frame, noticed the scars and light golden tinge to his almost black hair. Suddenly it clicked, and I gasped, wincing in pain. I stammered, “I-impossible! Hale? That can’t be true!” Pausing to take a shuddering breath, I hissed in surprise, “You’re just a character in a story. Yeah, I know that it’s my story, but still –!”

            Hale smiled wearily and nodded, “Don’t be fooled by what you’re eyes tell you, Aaron. It’s really me. I know what you’re thinking, ‘what is he doing here?’ right?”

I nodded, and he shrugged a bit, “I’ll save you the trouble of asking, and blame it all on myself. My wolf side just wanted to wander and you weren’t around to dictate otherwise – thankfully, neither was Caleb – and I just wanted to see what this place really looked like. Then poof! Here I am, standing outside the lobby doors. I saw you sitting there, and wanted to find out what you’ve been up to that’s so important that you would leave us.”

            I looked away briefly, “End of spring break and school’s started again. I didn’t leave you, not . . . not permanently. I-I was on vacation with my parents . . . was coming back to work on it . . .” I leaned back, tired and in agony. I suspected that my ribs were broken, not bruised, judging by the worsening pain and shortness of breath. I licked my lips slowly as I heard footsteps. Opening my eyes, I saw a nervous look appear on Hale’s face for just a second before he grinned.

            “That’s my cue to go, sorry.”

“Can’t you take me with you?” I whispered hoarsely. My heart leapt for a moment in anticipation as he started towards me, but he simply dropped something around my neck, whispered, “Until we meet again, friend.” and vanished as the principal rounded the corner. “See you later, Hale.” I said softly.

            Mr. Ardle called, “Who are you talking to?” He stalked up to me, and I smiled as I fingered the pouch around my neck. Looking up at him I said softly, “Just an old friend, sir.”

            “Old friend? I see no one here. I think you got a concussion in that fight, Mr. Daniels.” I simply smiled as I heard Hale’s voice whisper, “Let me take care of this.”

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Re: Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

Postby LMGilbert » Sun Apr 17, 2011 11:14 am

I got off the train and, hoisting up my heavy back-pack, started making my way toward the village green. At least, that's where the map indicated I would end up, if I continued along this road, then followed the high street past the estate agent's. As I approached the centre of town, I noticed a number of people dressed as if for a play set in the twenties, and wondered if there was some sort of tableau for tourists about to begin. Just the slice of English village life I was after. But then, it seemed the people were popping in and out of shops, carrying baskets to hold their purchases; they would stop in groups of two or three to chat with each other, often with gloved fingers raised to cover gasps of surprise, and heads swiveling about to survey the street.

As I passed a large, imposing house I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of what appeared to be a sumptuous garden in the Victorian style beyond the stone wall. I happened to glance toward a big bay window in front, and saw the curtain move suddenly as my eye fell upon it. I shrugged, and headed toward the green. I had just stopped to glance down at the map, when I heard the furious ringing of a bicycle bell, followed by an even more furious shouting voice: "Clear out the way, you gormless twit!" I managed to spring out of the path of a speeding bike, carrying a tall mannish woman in patched trousers and a ratty-looking fisherman's sweater. She took the time to wave her fist at me as well, yelling "Bloody tourists!" as she pedalled into the distance. By the time I had recovered, a small round woman was chugging toward me like a spherical steam engine, grasping her market basket and pressing her lips together in her determination to get to me before anyone else on the street.

"I see you've met our quaint Irene," she said in greeting. "Looking for our museum? You needn't bother; it burnt down."

"Oh... well, actually, I was hoping to spend a little time just looking around the village. I've heard a lot about Tilling, you see, and just now I'm on my way to the village green."

"Indeed," she said in a disapproving voice. She obviously felt this was a not a good choice on my part. "Rather common place, in my opinion. There's an excellent tea room in the high street, much more appealing to the tourist. I'll take you." And the lady actually gripped my arm and tried to steer me back down the street in the opposite direction. I stared at her in disbelief; then followed her glance toward the large house I had noticed earlier. The small woman looked even angrier at the sight of an imperious lady coming out the front door holding a market basket. She was wearing the most unusual bright green dress dotted all over with crimson poppies. I couldn't take my eyes off her as she glided toward me, smiling down at me with the most condescending expression I have ever seen.

"Ah, a dear visitor to our quaint village! Are the locals bothering you, Miss? Or Mrs?" She waited for me to fill her in on my marital status. I pulled my arm loose from the first woman, and said "Hello," without satisfying her curiosity. Her smile began to resemble that of a hungry crocodile as I told both ladies that my first stop was going to be the village green.

"No, no, the tea room..." began the round one, but the large one held up her hand for silence.

"Absolutely not! Not the vulgar village green nor the insipid tea shop. What you really want to see, of course, is a splendid example of the traditional English garden... my own little Eden, which I know is an object of great curiosity for you. I saw you looking," she explained, "when I happened to glance out the window to check the weather before going shopping..." This was met with a loud snort from the smaller woman.

"You finished your marketing hours ago, don't deny it! I know because the fishmonger sold you that bit of plaice that I intended to buy for Robert's supper!"

"Really, Daisy, you manage to bring every exchange down to the coarsest level...."

I made my escape while they were busy with each other. Finally I got to the village green. It was utterly picturesque, and I could see signs of some festive activity taking place. There was a big marquee on the grass, under which tables were piled with interesting-looking dishes and bottles; there were folding chairs filled with people, and blankets on the grass as well; out on the pond there was a raft floating, dressed up to look like a sailing ship.I moved dreamily toward the hub of the activity. At the centre of everything stood a willowy lady wearing an elaborate Elizabethan costume, her gleaming golden cap of hair graced with a small crown and strings of faux pearls. She was leaning in to this person and that, grasping hands, giving modest looks all around. Everyone seemed to be congratulating her on a successful performance just completed.

As I approached, I saw her turn to a red-haired man wearing voluminous white pants. She delicately put the back of one hand to her forehead and said, "Georgino mio, do invite all the villagers to help themselves to refreshments under the marquee. Me so sleepy after tiresome play-acting, going to need ickle Mozartino in just a moment. There's a duck." He rushed off to do her bidding, and I saw her looking about with a gimlet eye; nothing sleepy about this lady at all, she seemed to be strategizing toward her next public appearance. Her eyes fell on me, and held my gaze irresistably, while her wide smile ushered me in under the wing of her influence and charm.

"Ah, the visitor I've heard about! Our little village is honoured to receive a rising cultural figure from overseas; of course we will put you to work, a private reading, and perhaps a creative writing workshop for a few of my friends at home?" I could see her planning for future workshops presided over by herself, once she had whetted the villagers' appetite for literature, and set herself up as the local most qualified to lead. Then she pretended to wilt under the burden of her many responsibilities. "And to follow, a treat for you, as my friends will likely insist I play the Moonlight Sonata. Goodness, the people of Tilling work their ickle Lucia so vewy, vewy hard!"


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