Post by Cuauhtemoc Scott on Apr 2, 2008 3:41:26 GMT -5
((I was bored so this whole thing just got written...It's really long 
but it is inspired by some current events in the board's plot 
))
“Tem! Tem!” his uncle’s voice called from downstairs urgently. Tem took one last look at his reflection in the mirror, his black hair was combed and his white shirt freshly pressed. Over the shirt was a green vest with gold buttons and over that was a dark jacket, also fitted with gold buttons, he turned his body one way, then the other. Nothing seemed ripped or wrinkled or out of place, he could only hope that it would remain this way the entire evening. He brushed a little bit of his hair back onto his face because he looked too serious with it all combed back.
“Teeeemmmm!” his uncle called again, sounding even more urgent this time. Tem whipped around and darted down the hall, narrowly missing a small table with a vase of flowers that had been set out. He tromped down the hall, his boots heavy on the carpeted stairs. His uncle was standing in the front hall, inspecting the servant’s work for imperfections, his tall frame was dressed in a dark jacket, with a blue vest beneath it.
“Ah,” he said when he saw Tem, “There you are.” He looked him up and down, evaluating his attire with sharp grey eyes, “Turn,” he commanded.
Tem did a circle, “Honestly, Uncle Vargos, I can dress myself, I swear,” he said tiredly. “You were the one that picked out the whole ensemble anyway.”
“Yes, yes,” his uncle replied, clearly not really listening, he was picking at a piece of lint that was clinging to Tem’s shoulder. “Now, remember to behave yourself tonight. You may find these dinner parties boring, but they are an essential part of life. You are at the age where it is no longer cute to be openly dissatisfied with a party, especially one that I am holding.”
“I know,” Tem answered, staring at the ceiling as his uncle inspected his jacket for more lint.
“Besides, Tem, if you give it a chance you just might find yourself enjoying it,” Vargos said lightly. Tem was about to reply with a cynical comment, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Vargos’ thin, grey eyebrows shot up, “They are early,” he said. “Quickly, to the drawing room.”
They walked to the drawing room, passing the manservant that was going to answer the door. The drawing room was set out to receive guests, there were vases of fresh flowers and a fire crackling quietly in the hearth. The delicate furniture was arranged for fluid conversation and the embroidered pillows that rested on the various chairs were plumped and arranged. The family’s ancestors stared down from stiff portraits in thick, gilded frames. Vargos sank into his usual chair, Tem hovered by one of the tall windows that overlooked their modest garden.
The door swung open just wide enough to admit the servant. “The guests have arrived, Sir,” he said stiffly.
“Show them in,” Vargos said. The servant swung the door open the rest of the way, allowing a train of guests to enter. The first was a large, muscular man who puffed out his chest in a way that only a man in the military could do. His name was Richard Locke, he was a retired general, with an array of awards and medals to his name, Tem didn’t know him well, he just knew his son Davy Locke, a friend from school. Vargos lifted himself from his chair to greet the man, they talked jovially as his wife entered the room. She was plump blonde woman in a purple dress and covered with a thick layer of jewelry, behind her was a slender blond girl. She wore a strand of pearls around her neck and a pastel pink dress, the color made her look young, almost childlike. Tem had met her only twice before, she was engaged to Davy, which was more or less an arranged marriage.
Davy came through the door behind his fiancé, he was as short as Tem, but he was a good deal plumper and blonder. He grinned at Tem as he led his fiancé to a chair. Tem bowed to Davy’s fiancé, “What a pleasure to see you again, Priscilla,” he said cordially. He clapped Davy on the shoulder as a way of greeting, then turned to his mother. “You look splendid this evening, Mrs. Locke,” he said with a bow.
“Thank you,” she replied and found a seat. He knew that she didn’t much care for him because her husband did not, but out of respect for Vargos they were always cordial. Tem knew enough to mimic the behavior. “Sir,” he said, bowing to Richard Locke. The man acknowledged him, then returned to his conversation with Vargos as they found their seats. Tem had just lowered himself into a chair when the servant stepped into the room again.
“Sir, Mr. Jesper Donovan has arrived,” the servant announced.
“Bring him in,” Vargos said. Jesper was another boy that Tem knew from school, his family was close with Vargos as well, mostly because they were all in the same social circles. Jesper entered the room, he was tall and had soft brown hair and an awkwardly large nose. He circled the room, properly greeting everyone, before finding a seat.
“Where is your mother this evening?” Mrs. Locke asked politely after Jesper’s introductions were done. “I had hoped to be able to speak to her tonight.”
“She and my father are meeting with a few nobles tonight,” Jesper said casually, but Tem knew that his parents had probably instructed him to make a special point to say ‘nobles.’ “Just a small gathering, close friends only,” he added, which Davy knew had been coached as well. He and Tem exchanged knowing glances, which Jesper saw and caused him to glower at them discretely.
Davy turned to Priscilla, saying something quietly into her ear. She nodded, but didn’t make a comment. She was a shy girl, which was just as well in this family, where differing opinions were frowned upon at best. Mrs. Locke leaned forward, “What are you two lovebirds whispering about?” she asked cheerfully.
This distraction allowed Jesper to lean around her and gesture to Tem. He made a motion to show a concept like “after,” then pointed at Tem, Davy, and himself and made his fingers walk across his knee.
“Aren’t they just the most darling of all couples,” Mrs. Locke asked Jesper fondly, looking over her shoulder at him.
Jesper immediately stopped gesturing and nodded emphatically, “Oh yes, ma’am, the most darling of all.” Satisfied, she turned back to her son and his fiancé, allowing Jesper to mime drinking a great quantity of liquid out of a mug.
Tem nodded and mimed swimming and drowning, which was recognizable to the other boy as the Wretched Sailor, which was the choice pub of their fellow schoolmates. Jesper nodded.
Tem gestured to Davy, telling Jesper to tell Davy the message they had just acted out. They were going to go to the Wretched Sailor after dinner for some drinking, which was something to look forward this evening. He glanced over at Vargos and Mr. Locke, they were deep in conversation, but Vargos was giving him a look, the look that meant that he was out of line. Somehow Vargos had seen Jesper and Tem sending each other messages, even though he was in his own conversation. Tem hated that sixth sense that Vargos seemed to always have at the most inopportune moments.
The door swung open and servants entered the room, bearing trays of tea and drinks and small snacks. As they set them on the low tables between the chairs, Mrs. Locke was still remarking about the significance of Davy’s match with Priscilla. Jesper was nodding and agreeing, while Davy’s face grew redder and redder.
“Mr. Locke, dear,” Mrs. Locke called to her husband. He looked up from his conversation, “Yes?”
“We are missing your conversation, as well as dear Mr. Scott’s,” she said. “You aren’t going to steal him from us all evening, are you?”
He shook his head, “Of course not, that would unacceptable,” he said lightly.
Mrs. Locke smiled, raising a small hand to her plump neck to rearrange her many necklaces. “Jesper was just noting what a fine match that Davy and Priscilla make,” she announced.
“Ah, yes,” Mr. Locked replied, “I can see why. It stand to reason that Jesper should be thinking about his own marriage, am I right, Jesper?”
Jesper nodded, “Of course sir.” Tem almost laughed, Jesper was not in the market for settling down, he spent most nights at the Wretched Sailor doing nothing but chasing skirts.
“That’s my boy,” Mr. Locke said, happy to have proved his point so easily.
“Tem, also, needs to start looking for a wife more seriously,” Vargos said conversationally. “At this rate, I’m worried that he will never find a suitable girl.”
Mr. Locke laughed, “Well, I do not think that Tem here will find a suitable wife at any rate,” he remarked. “He’s not the most eligible lad in town, if you know what I mean. What, with his mother’s side so tainted-“
Tem felt his jaw clench, he found the sides of his chair with his hands and squeezed it.
Mr. Locke waved a large hand in the air, allowing the party to fill in the rest for themselves. Tem stared at him unblinkingly, jaw clenched and fingers tingling with the force of gripping the chair so tightly. “Speaking of the Western Reaches,” Mr. Locke said, completely indifferent to Tem’s reaction. “Have you heard about the Carthaki sacking of Nanauat? It’s all that I hear about these days.”
“Yes,” Vargos said, “I have heard a great deal about it. It is a most worrisome prospect indeed.”
“Of course it is! Especially with only a silly girl for a leader, she will sit back and let them take everything they can get their greedy hands on. What does a woman know of war? She will flutter her fan at them as the world is covered with Carthaki forces.” Mr. Locke was getting louder and louder as he became more and more worked up about the subject. “If we lose all of our ports in the Western Reaches, what will that do for trade?”
“I know that my trade will certainly be hurt,” Vargos replied. “I don’t use the Nanauat port, but what is next if that is taken?”
“Exactly,” Mr. Locke said. “What will happen? And what will happen if the world is taken over by Carthakis? All culture and civilization will be lost, that’s what will happen. At least with Tortallan ports in the Western Reaches, the savages can begin to see what civilization looks like, but Carthak is only a small step up from the savages, who knows what chaos will ensue if those cultures are allowed to mix?”
Tem’s pulse was practically beating out of his neck now. He gripped his chair more tightly, avoiding the gaze of everyone in the room, especially his uncle. “Indeed,” he said, despite his best efforts to bite his tongue. “What will happen to the savages without the expert guidance of the Tortallans? They will be lost without Tortall’s divine guidance in the areas of teapots and impractical dresses and pointless bows and meaningless chatter that you call civilization.”
Mr. Locke looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Tem to say anything in response to his comments. “These things may seem foolish, but would you rather be back in the Western Reaches, eating dogs and scratching fleas out of your hair?”
“Frankly,” Tem stood up, flinging the chair backwards with the force of his movement, “I would rather be eating the fleas off the dogs than be here talking with you.” He leaned forward, about to leap on the man, when he felt his friends and Vargos get their hands on him. It took all three of them to pull Tem out of the room, he was really going to jump on him or hit him or just anything. They wrestled him out of the room and into the hallway before Tem calmed down enough to be able to be released.
As they were leaving, Tem heard Mrs. Locke say “I see what you mean about bad blood.”
“Boys,” Vargos said, “Thank you, but go back into the parlor.” Jesper and Davy exchanged looks, they knew Tem’s history with violence, when they went out drinking the usual layout was that Jesper chased too many girls, Davy drank too much, and Tem fought too much. Admittedly, they had never expected to see it come out at a dinner party, but they still worried about Vargos, who was, after all, a frail elderly man and Tem was an angry young man. They exchanged doubtful looks with each other.
“Don’t worry, I’m Tem’s uncle for Mithros’ sake,” he snapped at them. They nodded and slipped back into the drawing room silently.
“Tem-“ Vargos started.
Tem swung a fist at the wall, it collided with a bang. “What?” he asked. “Was I just supposed to sit there?”
“Tem-“ Vargos tried again.
“What would you do if he had called you a savage? Blatantly just called you a savage?” Tem asked, almost shouting. He went to hit the wall again, but Vargos grabbed his wrist.
“Stop it,” he said in a strong, cool voice. “It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right, but for Mithros’ sake, Tem, if you act like a savage they are only going to keep calling you one.” His grey eyes met with Tem’s and they stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Finally Tem broke away, he looked at the floor, the rage that he had felt a minute ago was totally replaced with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
Vargos nodded, straightening his jacket. “I’m going to go back in there and fix this. You just-“ he waved his hand, “go.”
Tem nodded, it was these situations when he felt the worst that he had ever felt. Slowly he turned and walked up the stairs, Vargos was right. Vargos was always right.
but it is inspired by some current events in the board's plot 
))“Tem! Tem!” his uncle’s voice called from downstairs urgently. Tem took one last look at his reflection in the mirror, his black hair was combed and his white shirt freshly pressed. Over the shirt was a green vest with gold buttons and over that was a dark jacket, also fitted with gold buttons, he turned his body one way, then the other. Nothing seemed ripped or wrinkled or out of place, he could only hope that it would remain this way the entire evening. He brushed a little bit of his hair back onto his face because he looked too serious with it all combed back.
“Teeeemmmm!” his uncle called again, sounding even more urgent this time. Tem whipped around and darted down the hall, narrowly missing a small table with a vase of flowers that had been set out. He tromped down the hall, his boots heavy on the carpeted stairs. His uncle was standing in the front hall, inspecting the servant’s work for imperfections, his tall frame was dressed in a dark jacket, with a blue vest beneath it.
“Ah,” he said when he saw Tem, “There you are.” He looked him up and down, evaluating his attire with sharp grey eyes, “Turn,” he commanded.
Tem did a circle, “Honestly, Uncle Vargos, I can dress myself, I swear,” he said tiredly. “You were the one that picked out the whole ensemble anyway.”
“Yes, yes,” his uncle replied, clearly not really listening, he was picking at a piece of lint that was clinging to Tem’s shoulder. “Now, remember to behave yourself tonight. You may find these dinner parties boring, but they are an essential part of life. You are at the age where it is no longer cute to be openly dissatisfied with a party, especially one that I am holding.”
“I know,” Tem answered, staring at the ceiling as his uncle inspected his jacket for more lint.
“Besides, Tem, if you give it a chance you just might find yourself enjoying it,” Vargos said lightly. Tem was about to reply with a cynical comment, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Vargos’ thin, grey eyebrows shot up, “They are early,” he said. “Quickly, to the drawing room.”
They walked to the drawing room, passing the manservant that was going to answer the door. The drawing room was set out to receive guests, there were vases of fresh flowers and a fire crackling quietly in the hearth. The delicate furniture was arranged for fluid conversation and the embroidered pillows that rested on the various chairs were plumped and arranged. The family’s ancestors stared down from stiff portraits in thick, gilded frames. Vargos sank into his usual chair, Tem hovered by one of the tall windows that overlooked their modest garden.
The door swung open just wide enough to admit the servant. “The guests have arrived, Sir,” he said stiffly.
“Show them in,” Vargos said. The servant swung the door open the rest of the way, allowing a train of guests to enter. The first was a large, muscular man who puffed out his chest in a way that only a man in the military could do. His name was Richard Locke, he was a retired general, with an array of awards and medals to his name, Tem didn’t know him well, he just knew his son Davy Locke, a friend from school. Vargos lifted himself from his chair to greet the man, they talked jovially as his wife entered the room. She was plump blonde woman in a purple dress and covered with a thick layer of jewelry, behind her was a slender blond girl. She wore a strand of pearls around her neck and a pastel pink dress, the color made her look young, almost childlike. Tem had met her only twice before, she was engaged to Davy, which was more or less an arranged marriage.
Davy came through the door behind his fiancé, he was as short as Tem, but he was a good deal plumper and blonder. He grinned at Tem as he led his fiancé to a chair. Tem bowed to Davy’s fiancé, “What a pleasure to see you again, Priscilla,” he said cordially. He clapped Davy on the shoulder as a way of greeting, then turned to his mother. “You look splendid this evening, Mrs. Locke,” he said with a bow.
“Thank you,” she replied and found a seat. He knew that she didn’t much care for him because her husband did not, but out of respect for Vargos they were always cordial. Tem knew enough to mimic the behavior. “Sir,” he said, bowing to Richard Locke. The man acknowledged him, then returned to his conversation with Vargos as they found their seats. Tem had just lowered himself into a chair when the servant stepped into the room again.
“Sir, Mr. Jesper Donovan has arrived,” the servant announced.
“Bring him in,” Vargos said. Jesper was another boy that Tem knew from school, his family was close with Vargos as well, mostly because they were all in the same social circles. Jesper entered the room, he was tall and had soft brown hair and an awkwardly large nose. He circled the room, properly greeting everyone, before finding a seat.
“Where is your mother this evening?” Mrs. Locke asked politely after Jesper’s introductions were done. “I had hoped to be able to speak to her tonight.”
“She and my father are meeting with a few nobles tonight,” Jesper said casually, but Tem knew that his parents had probably instructed him to make a special point to say ‘nobles.’ “Just a small gathering, close friends only,” he added, which Davy knew had been coached as well. He and Tem exchanged knowing glances, which Jesper saw and caused him to glower at them discretely.
Davy turned to Priscilla, saying something quietly into her ear. She nodded, but didn’t make a comment. She was a shy girl, which was just as well in this family, where differing opinions were frowned upon at best. Mrs. Locke leaned forward, “What are you two lovebirds whispering about?” she asked cheerfully.
This distraction allowed Jesper to lean around her and gesture to Tem. He made a motion to show a concept like “after,” then pointed at Tem, Davy, and himself and made his fingers walk across his knee.
“Aren’t they just the most darling of all couples,” Mrs. Locke asked Jesper fondly, looking over her shoulder at him.
Jesper immediately stopped gesturing and nodded emphatically, “Oh yes, ma’am, the most darling of all.” Satisfied, she turned back to her son and his fiancé, allowing Jesper to mime drinking a great quantity of liquid out of a mug.
Tem nodded and mimed swimming and drowning, which was recognizable to the other boy as the Wretched Sailor, which was the choice pub of their fellow schoolmates. Jesper nodded.
Tem gestured to Davy, telling Jesper to tell Davy the message they had just acted out. They were going to go to the Wretched Sailor after dinner for some drinking, which was something to look forward this evening. He glanced over at Vargos and Mr. Locke, they were deep in conversation, but Vargos was giving him a look, the look that meant that he was out of line. Somehow Vargos had seen Jesper and Tem sending each other messages, even though he was in his own conversation. Tem hated that sixth sense that Vargos seemed to always have at the most inopportune moments.
The door swung open and servants entered the room, bearing trays of tea and drinks and small snacks. As they set them on the low tables between the chairs, Mrs. Locke was still remarking about the significance of Davy’s match with Priscilla. Jesper was nodding and agreeing, while Davy’s face grew redder and redder.
“Mr. Locke, dear,” Mrs. Locke called to her husband. He looked up from his conversation, “Yes?”
“We are missing your conversation, as well as dear Mr. Scott’s,” she said. “You aren’t going to steal him from us all evening, are you?”
He shook his head, “Of course not, that would unacceptable,” he said lightly.
Mrs. Locke smiled, raising a small hand to her plump neck to rearrange her many necklaces. “Jesper was just noting what a fine match that Davy and Priscilla make,” she announced.
“Ah, yes,” Mr. Locked replied, “I can see why. It stand to reason that Jesper should be thinking about his own marriage, am I right, Jesper?”
Jesper nodded, “Of course sir.” Tem almost laughed, Jesper was not in the market for settling down, he spent most nights at the Wretched Sailor doing nothing but chasing skirts.
“That’s my boy,” Mr. Locke said, happy to have proved his point so easily.
“Tem, also, needs to start looking for a wife more seriously,” Vargos said conversationally. “At this rate, I’m worried that he will never find a suitable girl.”
Mr. Locke laughed, “Well, I do not think that Tem here will find a suitable wife at any rate,” he remarked. “He’s not the most eligible lad in town, if you know what I mean. What, with his mother’s side so tainted-“
Tem felt his jaw clench, he found the sides of his chair with his hands and squeezed it.
Mr. Locke waved a large hand in the air, allowing the party to fill in the rest for themselves. Tem stared at him unblinkingly, jaw clenched and fingers tingling with the force of gripping the chair so tightly. “Speaking of the Western Reaches,” Mr. Locke said, completely indifferent to Tem’s reaction. “Have you heard about the Carthaki sacking of Nanauat? It’s all that I hear about these days.”
“Yes,” Vargos said, “I have heard a great deal about it. It is a most worrisome prospect indeed.”
“Of course it is! Especially with only a silly girl for a leader, she will sit back and let them take everything they can get their greedy hands on. What does a woman know of war? She will flutter her fan at them as the world is covered with Carthaki forces.” Mr. Locke was getting louder and louder as he became more and more worked up about the subject. “If we lose all of our ports in the Western Reaches, what will that do for trade?”
“I know that my trade will certainly be hurt,” Vargos replied. “I don’t use the Nanauat port, but what is next if that is taken?”
“Exactly,” Mr. Locke said. “What will happen? And what will happen if the world is taken over by Carthakis? All culture and civilization will be lost, that’s what will happen. At least with Tortallan ports in the Western Reaches, the savages can begin to see what civilization looks like, but Carthak is only a small step up from the savages, who knows what chaos will ensue if those cultures are allowed to mix?”
Tem’s pulse was practically beating out of his neck now. He gripped his chair more tightly, avoiding the gaze of everyone in the room, especially his uncle. “Indeed,” he said, despite his best efforts to bite his tongue. “What will happen to the savages without the expert guidance of the Tortallans? They will be lost without Tortall’s divine guidance in the areas of teapots and impractical dresses and pointless bows and meaningless chatter that you call civilization.”
Mr. Locke looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Tem to say anything in response to his comments. “These things may seem foolish, but would you rather be back in the Western Reaches, eating dogs and scratching fleas out of your hair?”
“Frankly,” Tem stood up, flinging the chair backwards with the force of his movement, “I would rather be eating the fleas off the dogs than be here talking with you.” He leaned forward, about to leap on the man, when he felt his friends and Vargos get their hands on him. It took all three of them to pull Tem out of the room, he was really going to jump on him or hit him or just anything. They wrestled him out of the room and into the hallway before Tem calmed down enough to be able to be released.
As they were leaving, Tem heard Mrs. Locke say “I see what you mean about bad blood.”
“Boys,” Vargos said, “Thank you, but go back into the parlor.” Jesper and Davy exchanged looks, they knew Tem’s history with violence, when they went out drinking the usual layout was that Jesper chased too many girls, Davy drank too much, and Tem fought too much. Admittedly, they had never expected to see it come out at a dinner party, but they still worried about Vargos, who was, after all, a frail elderly man and Tem was an angry young man. They exchanged doubtful looks with each other.
“Don’t worry, I’m Tem’s uncle for Mithros’ sake,” he snapped at them. They nodded and slipped back into the drawing room silently.
“Tem-“ Vargos started.
Tem swung a fist at the wall, it collided with a bang. “What?” he asked. “Was I just supposed to sit there?”
“Tem-“ Vargos tried again.
“What would you do if he had called you a savage? Blatantly just called you a savage?” Tem asked, almost shouting. He went to hit the wall again, but Vargos grabbed his wrist.
“Stop it,” he said in a strong, cool voice. “It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right, but for Mithros’ sake, Tem, if you act like a savage they are only going to keep calling you one.” His grey eyes met with Tem’s and they stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Finally Tem broke away, he looked at the floor, the rage that he had felt a minute ago was totally replaced with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
Vargos nodded, straightening his jacket. “I’m going to go back in there and fix this. You just-“ he waved his hand, “go.”
Tem nodded, it was these situations when he felt the worst that he had ever felt. Slowly he turned and walked up the stairs, Vargos was right. Vargos was always right.
