I’m babysitting my four year old cousin and not feeling well. Also, I’m tired.
What better time to write a blog post, right?
Update #1: THE HOBBIT IS SO AMAZING I CAN’T EVEN! NO SPOILERS, JUST ASDFGHJKL!!!!!!!!! It didn’t follow the book and I was a bit worried that Peter Jackson would totally butcher it, BUT I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER. Okay, the first one didn’t set high standards, so I wasn’t expecting much, but THE DESOLATION OF SMAUG. *spazzes*
My 11 year old cousin thought Thranduil was a girl until he spoke. O__________________________o I thought he was an interesting character. I hope to see more of him and the other elves in the third and final installment of The Hobbit. 🙂
My 12 year old sister liked Kili best. Hm, wonder why…
Update #2: There was a Christmas dinner and show at my church Saturday night and it was amazing! They all did such a wonderful job. ^_^ It wasn’t the typical Christmas play either. They went all out, had “commercials” which advertised used carts “cheap as dirt” because they were so dirty and other things. 😛
Update #3: My grandma is an amazing lady. Just throwing that out there. She had me, my sister, and cousin sleep over, then took us to see The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, which preceded a lovely lunch at the Pita Pit.
Update #4: Yesterday, I was babysitting the four year old, as previously mentioned. Two years ago, I changed my first diaper. (It wasn’t mine, I promise. I’ve long since stopped using those things. It was her diaper. Just felt the need to clarify that.) Since then, I have never changed another diaper and have never felt the urge to. I couldn’t get within three feet of the kid without gagging and I’m not exaggerating. We had no wipes, Mom was taking a nap, and I was the only one mature (and brave) enough to handle the situation.
My cousin laughed at me and so did my sister as they ran back and forth from the kitchen with paper towels. Lovely family.
After nearly choking on the putrid scent and getting human child feces on my hands, I was done. No more butt-wiping for me.
And two years later, that same girl is sitting on the couch, watching Dora the Explorer (and I didn’t remember how annoying it was) and coloring, when she looks up and says to me, “Rana, can you get me some different underpants?”
I was sitting there, like, “x_x Why (dare I ask)?”
“I pooped my pants.”
I’m just sitting here going:
She gets in the bathroom and says, “I’m joking.” I stand there, staring at her until she finally gets it. “That’s not funny, right?”
Yeah, I’m a Sherlock fan, in case you haven’t noticed. 😛 I said, “Not dead” in theaters when we were watching DoS. Because I’m that kind of a person. 😛
This boy is so lovable. ❤
Here’s what he looks like:
Anyway, I’m having so much fun writing him.
Onto the snippets! 😀 I’m doing a lot ’cause I have 13 chapters already and I love this so much. XD I was trying to choose only my favorite parts, but the whole book is my favorite part, so there’s a bunch of snippets. 😛
“I want to be done,” I whisper, dropping back into my chair as I stare at the picture of a handsome gentleman with blond hair and blue eyes.
“I apologize, Miss Holden, but that is no longer an option for you,” Fanon reminds me. He doesn’t seem sorry at all. He’s just like Fëar. Emotionless. Dehumanized.
“As if it ever was,” I retort.
“It was,” Fanon tells me, glancing up from a file on his desk. “Before you joined us. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
“You’re gonna regret that in the mornin’,” Silas warns me, interrupting my thoughts and bringing me back to the present.
“Then I’ll just sleep ‘till noon.”
“I don’t look any different than when you saw me yesterday morning.”
“Not to the untrained eye, anyway,” says Fëar. “But I can tell, Alias, m’darlin’. I can always tell. I’ve had since the beginnin’ of time to practice reading people and I’ve grown quite good at it.”
I sigh. “Stop reading me. It’s rude.”
He shrugs. “As you wish.”
“Good movie, that. You and your date should watch it sometime.”
“He’s not my date. I don’t date my targets,” I groan as I pour myself a mug of coffee and sit down at the table.
A girl on the stool next to mine elbows me with a sly grin on her face.
“Isn’t he a dream?” she asks, nodding in Silas’s direction.
I smile back at her and nod. “A perfect nightmare.”
“I don’t want to kill anymore.” I grind the words out through my back molars.
Fanon leans in and clasps his hands on the desk as he speaks. “You don’t have a choice.”
“What can I do to get out?”
“No, there is way, isn’t there?”
“Well, I could release you from your bond, but I don’t feel much like doing that. Or you could find someone else to take your place. But then you’d still be bound for a year so there would be double the blood on your hands. And there would be no way to redeem yourself after you died, an occurrence which would take place immediately once the year was up.”
My cell phone buzzes on the table.
I flip it open.
“YOU HAVE 1 TEXT MESSAGE.”
I open it and read the message.
“Hey, srry ill be a few mins l8. –SV”
That makes me want to puke. Really?
You seemed like such a wonderful person until I read that text message, Silas.
“Don’t worry about it,” I type with my thumbs before pressing the send button. A yawn stretches my mouth.
“A yawn is a silent scream for coffee, or so I hear,” the barista calls to me. “Can I get you anything?”
I smile at the young lady. “Sure. What kinds do you have?”
She begins rattling off a long list consisting of espresso, double espresso, cappuccino, Americano, café latte, extra shot, and flavored coffees. I inquire as to what options the latter might include.
“We have hazelnut, caramel, vanilla, cinnamon, gingerbread, honeycomb, and mint,” she replies cheerfully.
I run through the list in my head a couple of times before looking back at the brunette.
“What’s your favorite?” I ask her. I’m horrible at making decisions.
“Well, I’m a vanilla person, so I’d go for that. But the caramel is good too.”
“Can I do both?” I ask.
She laughs. “I can try!”
With that, she sets to making my caranilla coffee and returns with a steaming mug of it. I take a deep breath and let it out in a contented sigh.
“It’s rude to break into people’s houses, Fanon,” I shout.
“I didn’t break in,” he replies, appearing in the middle of the living room.
I roll my eyes. “You’re in here uninvited. It’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not. Breaking in implies that I forced myself into your house, which I did not.”
“Alias, darling,” he says slowly, “have you read about the old legends?”
Where is he going with this? I wonder.
“Which ones?” I ask instead.
“On the elves,” he replies without looking at me.
“No,” I tell him. “I’ve read quite of a bit of Tolkien though, if that’s what you’re referring to.”
Fanon chuckles. It’s a deep, throaty chuckle that sends shivers up my spine. He pulls a book off the shelf. Its cerulean cover sports golden letters that form to create the title.
The Truth in the Legends
Fanon begins to read a passage located somewhere in the middle of the book.
“In the old legends, Elves were not the honorable creatures Tolkien led people to believe in. They were powerful, dangerous, and beautiful supernatural beings who are more than likely to harm humans than help them.”
Fanon stops and I stare at him, my jaw hanging open. The fact that he read “are more likely” rather than “would be more likely” bothers me. The way the text is written implies that these creatures are real.
The man continues.
“The word ‘elves’ comes from a Germanic term that translates to ‘nightmare.’
“Now, dear Alias, in light of this new discovery, please keep in mind that if you disappoint me, I will hurt you. The Bank isn’t a game. It’s a business. I would appreciate it if you would treat it as such. From now on, stop playing with your targets and just perform the job. It will be easier on you.”
I tear my jacket off and go through my arsenal which is comprised of five blades, not counting the one lying somewhere downstairs in a puddle of blood.
The spear-point will be for Silas and the drop-point for Mirai. I’ll try to do them at the same time to avoid causing one of them the agony of watching their only loved one die.
I’ll spare them the agony I’ve dealt with these past two centuries.
I hold onto Alex tight, knowing he’ll be gone at any moment. “Elizabeth Barton is dead,” I tell him.
“You could have been Mrs. Elizabeth Wilkins.”
“No, I couldn’t have been,” I sigh. “I would never have left you to this life. I would rather die every day and live in hell so you could be saved.”
Fëar crosses his legs and hovers in the air, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hand.
“Well, we hate humans, basically. So anyway we can hurt them, we will. Immortality is one of those ways. Killing the conscience is another. Though that doesn’t matter much until the soul leaves the body.”
I look up at the navy blue drapes that ensure no sunlight gets in the house. The thick material does its job well.
“So you live to see us hurt?” I ask, yawning. “That seems like a really shallow motive.”
“Oh, there’s more,” Fëar says, flashing me a wicked grin. “You humans don’t know it, but we control the earth.”
I blink. “What?”
“Oh, yeah. President of the United States? He’s the same as you. Of course, we do make exceptions for leaders. They have to die so no one will start to wonder.
“The assassins are all one of us. Most of them fake their deaths, some of them we kill if we think they’ll start telling the world about the Bank.”
“What other leaders do you own?” I ask.
“Well, the politicians are easy to win over. We’ve got some kings and queens.”
“Don’t they have to kill?”
“Yeah. But they do it differently.”
“How so?” I lean forward, curious.
He grins, revealing a set of perfect, white teeth. I notice his bicuspids are sharp. Sharper than any normal person’s. Almost vampirish.
“Do you drink blood?” I ask suddenly, forgetting my previous question.
He sits back, the grin fading. “Absolutely not,” he answers. “No.”
“Are you in trouble?”
I nod. “Been in it for two hundred years and I guess it’s not stopping today.”
“Wait, what? Have you been at the bottle?” Silas raises an eyebrow.
I laugh bitterly. “I wish that was as far as my troubles went, but no. You have to understand that I don’t like this.”
“You don’t like what? Just get to the point!” Silas watches me so closely as if he’s trying to pinpoint the problem somewhere on my face.
“Oh, how much longer must I sing this song?” I mutter under my breath. “It’s an old tune and was never catchy in the first place.”
“Hey, God,” I mutter. “Um, You know what I’ve done. You know I don’t want to do it but have no other choice. This is kind of like a slave contract sort of thing, I guess. I don’t know what to do. I’m lost, okay?
“Like that goat or whatever You talked about finding even when You had the ninety nine all safe and stuff. I’d like to be found again so if You could pick up that lost people detector or whatever You use to find us, I’d appreciate it.
“I’m willing to give this whole faith thing another go if You’ll just get me out of the Bank.”
“Why do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you,” Fëar says. “My feelings toward you are worse than that.”
I had been heading toward the couch, but stop and cast a confused look over my shoulder. “What’s worse than hate?”
“What do you mean?” I curl up on the couch and watch his face.
“Hate simply means I wish ill for you, but use is much worse than that. It’s wanting to hurt you for my personal gain. You might enjoy it for a while, but I’ll only put up with you until your entertainment purposes surpass your usefulness.”
“Sometimes, I think you’re my friend,” I whisper. “But then I have to remind myself that I have no friends and even if I did, you couldn’t be one of them.”
Fëar chuckles. “Smart girl. Yes, you are smart, m’darlin’ but you’re stupid at the same time.”
I sigh. “Oh, go away.”
His chuckle echoes throughout Stone Cross Manor even after he disappears.
NOW FOR SOME SCENES WITH JANUARY BECAUSE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH.
In the park, a man with vertically striped pants (almost like the kind Fanon wears, but in thinner stripes), a coat, some arm bangles, and a black cowboy hat covering half of his face. He appears to be sleeping so I brush past, but his hand reaches out and grabs my wrist.
“Ay,” he says, glancing up at me from his one visible eye. He doesn’t uncross his legs which stretch out on the park bench.
“Let my wrist go, please,” I say, in too much of a nice mood to get angry.
“No, not yet,” he says with a distinct American accent, and sits up. He fixes his cowboy hat and straightens his belt which is old and worn by the looks of it.
“Can I help you?” I ask. I stand far enough away to be able to move if he stands to get closer.
A blue printed scarf peeks out from beneath his dirty white shirt which is covered by a denim jacket. To top it all off, he wears a threadbare wool coat. It all adds up to make an interesting statement to say the least.
His face is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. It’s dirty, but he has angular features, a straight nose, full pink lips, and it’s all framed by long strands of black hair that escaped his loose ponytail.
“What might I be able to help you with?” I ask when he doesn’t continue.
“Don’t know yet,” he says, eyeing me.
“I beg your pardon. I don’t understand.”
He flashes me a white, but slightly crooked smile that I find just darling. A few seconds later, I find myself smiling back at him.
“Would you care to sit with me for a while?” he asks me.
I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve got nothing to lose, so I sit beside the young American man and he releases my wrist.
“I thought you were sleeping,” I tell him.
He laughs. It’s a pleasant sound. I haven’t heard a genuine laugh from an adult in such a long time. If Silas ever laughed, it was because of some hidden nervousness or insecurity. Not like this man’s. It’s clear, loud, and real.
“Most people do,” he tells me with a wink.
I smile and nod, unsure of what else to do.
“Do you need money?” I ask.
He lets another laugh ring in the foggy air. “Oh, please,” he chuckles. When he doesn’t explain the humor in my question, I prompt him for an answer. He looks me in the eye, still grinning. “I don’t need money!”
I blink. “Forgive me for being so frank, but how do you not need money? You’ll freeze before the winter sets in if that’s the only outfit you’ve got.” I gesture toward his thin jacket.
The strange man continues grinning as he leans backward. His right arm rests on the back of the bench. He rolls his first two fingers in a circular motion to prompt me to go on.
“And it baffles me that you would sleep out here on a park bench in the cold if you have a flat or somewhere to live.”
Another chuckle escapes his lips. For some reason, it goads me on.
“No offense, but you’re quite filthy too,” I point out. “If you had enough money to live like a decent person, you would be much cleaner.”
He just keeps smiling. But the light in his brilliant blue eyes tells me he’s laughing at me.
“Plus, you-” I stop and shake my head as he begins to laugh again. “What’s so amusing?” I want to know.
“You put so much faith in something so unimportant,” he explains.
“I don’t understand. Yes, money isn’t the most important object, but without it, life is a lot more difficult.”
The man leans closer to me and whispers, “That’s what they want you to believe.”
I lean backwards and place a hand on his chest to keep him out of my personal space.
“What’s your name?” I ask. He leans back.
“Jan,” he answers. “It’s short for January.”
I wrinkle my nose. “January? Is that your real name?”
He shrugs. “I was born in January. That’s all I know about myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was put in the orphanage right after I was born, so I don’t know anything else. They never named me so I named myself.”
“Who never named you?”
Jan sighs and taps the side of my head. “Not very bright, are ya? No one named me! Not my parents, and no one in the orphanage.”
“Oh,” I say lamely.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” Jan smiles at me. He holds my gaze and doesn’t look away, even when he’s speaking. It’s a bit unnerving.
“Alias,” I answer.
“Is that your real name?” he asks, mimicking the tone in my voice when I had asked him that question.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I respond, with a grin.
“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I would very much like to know.”
“Why?” I stop fingering the folds in my scarf. I hadn’t realized I was doing it until now.
“Because I’m a creeper.” Jan rolls his eyes. “I’m just curious, is all! No need to get so defensive.”
I smile at him and pat his cheek. “Cute.”
I laugh. “No one acts the way you do. It’s cute.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not cute.”
“Then what are you?”
“I’m a loner who happens to be very attractive.”
I smile at Jan and he smiles back. “I’m willing to bet self-confidence is your best quality,” I say.
January shakes his head. “Nope. Humility is my best quality. Couldn’t you tell?”
“I think the longer you live, the shorter your Christmas list gets because you begin to realize that the things you want, you simply can’t find in a shop.” He shrugs and puffs out his cheeks.
“You hungry?” I ask him. “Can I take you out for supper?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Did you just ask me out on a date?”
I shake my head. “No. I asked you if you wanted some free food.”
He spreads his hands out. “Hey, I’ve never not accepted a free meal. But what’s the catch?”
“No catch. Just food.”
“Unless, of course, we eat fish. In which case, there must be a catch for there to be food.”
I smile at him. “All right, what do you feel like eating.”
“People,” he mutters. A large man shuffles past the back of his chair and knocks the back of his head with his elbow.
I lean forward. “I’m not sure what you’re used to eating, Jan, but human beings are not on the menu.”
He laughs. “No! I was just-” He gestures to the man. “I was commenting on people’s manners, is all. Or rather, just people in general.”
I smile. “What? You don’t have friends?”
“Nope. It’s just I, myself, and me against the whole world.”
“Then maybe it’ll just be us against the whole world.”
I look up at Jan. “You’re sweet, you know that?”
He grins and sticks his tongue in his cheek. “Yeah, I think so.”
“What do you want?” I moan.
“Some fun,” he hisses.
“Find it somewhere else. I’m not a Happy Meal.”
A low chuckle sounds in the back of the elf’s throat.
“I don’t need you to be happy,” Fëar clarifies. “I just need the meal. I’ll find the pleasure in it somewhere.”
“I’m not on any menu,” I snap. “Go away.”
He steps toward me and crouches before the bed. His hand stretches out and tucks a loose strand of my dark hair behind my ear. I stare into his pale blue eyes, rimmed with red.
“You still haven’t gotten me the blood I wanted,” he whispers.
“I just killed two innocent people,” I tell Fëar, wanting so much to be able to cry. “I can’t.”
The elf’s hand is on my throat in less than a second. His strangely beautiful face is just centimeters away from my own.
“We made a deal,” he growls. “You’re not backing out, love. I want blood in return for the blood I transferred to your account last time you decided you didn’t want to kill. And, beautiful, if you don’t, just know that I can make your life more miserable than you ever thought imaginable.”
Okay, I don’t know why it turned out so small, but this is my lovely cast. ^_^
Starting at the top left corner and going clockwise, we have Fëar, Fëar again, Stonecross Manor, Alias, Alias again, Silas Vealy, Fanon, Fanon again, some weird blood-smoke thing, the Stalker who I have yet to name, January, and January again.
I hope you enjoyed that horribly long post. Every time, I plan on writing something short and sweet, but then I get going and, well, this is the result. 😛
Now I have a question for y’all.