Crap, I was listening to Mawaru Penguindrum music while writing, to give me some nice new background music. Then I hit one of those tracks that plays during dramatic sad stuff and I’m just like ;_; instead of writing.
I WAS SO CLOSE.
(I have been writing the past couple of weeks but there doesn’t seem to be anything I particularly want to show. Also advance has been kinda slow. Trying to build steam back up now.)
I know that I have made a lot of mistakes in my portrayals of PoC characters; I try hard, but I know that I have a lot of room for improvement. But I really do believe that the only remedy for the issues we’re discussing is more representation and more diverse representation. When only a small percent of YA novels have major characters of color and less than one percent have characters who are gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender maybe it isn’t so surprising that the default in reader’s minds is white and straight. I think the first thing has to change before the second thing can.
Yeah so here’s Faun.
Ebrelle does nothing on accident. Everything has a plan behind it or some ulterior motive. He’s proven over and over to me not to trust him when he so much as steps out of my sight. It’s no surprise to me that this is happening, but still I feel ashamed that I let it happen at all. I should know better than to ever make a deal with Ebrelle, so why am I still in this palace?
Because I want to trust him. Because a very long time ago, when he was very young, he showed promise. Because I’m too stubborn for experience to teach me.
Now that I need to confront him, of course, he’s squirreled away somewhere in his quarters where I can’t get. I poke at the wards, consider finding a hole in them or clawing one into them. But no, I don’t want to start things on that foot. Ebrelle is easiest to deal with when he’s off his balance. He likes when I attack, because then I’m unreasonable, an animal to tame. I’m not just an animal and I’ve learned to play his games as well as the rest of his courtiers. So instead of leaving long scratchmarks down his door, I find a page and schedule a private audience with Ebrelle.
If the word ‘schedule’ means ‘demand on pain of a slow bleeding-out death’, that’s only my superior negotiation skills coming into play.
Keeping myself honest and keeping going with the story! I think I’m really in the heart of it now, so it’s hard to stop going, honestly.
The bell rings that tells me it’s time for me to prepare for the morning’s tasks. I’m ready to go, but Faun doesn’t want me to. He wraps his legs around mine, buries his face into my neck. When I wiggle, he growls, the vibrations rumbling into my throat.
I wrap my arms around him and squeeze. “I need to go, Jhe Faun.”
“No you don’t.” His voice is an extended growl. “Your job is to be here with me. Anything else is extra.” He tightens his grip, claws pricking my sides.
I open my mouth to argue, but then nothing comes out. Faun’s right, after all. Jhe o’Audiva Rocale paid me to be with Faun. I’ve got a duty here. If the King wants to give me other duties, Faun should come first. “You have a point.” I wince from one of the points he’s wedged into my side.
“What claim does he have on you besides your contract to companion with me? Whatever he might want at night, he can’t possibly expect that during the day.”
My cheeks grow warm. I close my eyes. “It’s… not for that. I’ve been offered some other duties, so that after you move on from the Palace, I can still be of some use to the King. He’s being very generous—”
Faun takes two handfuls of the hair that frames either side of my face and steers me to face him. He looks like he’s going to bite my face off, but I think that’s just his expression for concern. “You said you would come with me when I leave, to find your friend in the woods.”
My throat goes dry. I’d forgotten how many offers have been made to me. Everyone seems to have staked a claim on my person by now. “Jhe o’Audiva Rocale says that he can find Elric—”
“Does he. And he wants you with him so badly… why?”
I blink, willing the blush off of my cheeks. “I confess that the reasons may not have anything to do with my competence at either job he’s assigned me.”
Faun blinks slowly, then stares into my eyes for a long time. He snorts and then leaps to his feet. “Go to your appointment. I will need no companionship this morning. Ebrelle owes me an explanation for all of this. I can collect one on my own.” He leaps into the trees and vanishes.
I am skipping ahead a bit because I am a cruel person who is making you wait until the book comes out to read all the hotness. THAT IS THE KIND OF PERSON I AM.
Faun sneezes as soon as I get within five feet of him. The baleful look he gives me tells me everything he knows about where I’ve been.
It must be Ebrelle’s scent. Even I can smell it on me. Of course, to me it’s a comfort. To Faun, who knows what it is? Probably a threat. “I’m sorry. I’ll wash up.”
“No.” Faun steps forward, then sniffs at where my shirt collar opens at the base of my throat. He inhales deeply, his chest expanding far outward. When his lungs reach their limit, his nose bumps against my throat. He closes his eyes, holding his breath for a few moments. Then he lets it out through his lips in a weary sigh. “He must’ve been happy. I miss that scent.”
I’m not sure what to say.
“Come sleep. Bathe in the morning.”
Faun and I curl up in the heap of limbs that I’m getting used to settling into every night. It’s warm against him, and the closeness has been comforting. Tonight, though, he’s more clingy. I wake up several times in the night - he keeps gripping me so hard that his claws dig in. His nose presses against my neck the whole night, his breath tickling the spot where Jhe Ebrelle bit me.
So, I recently flew to Louisiana for the holidays, and 4 or so hours of flight in first class makes for lots of elbow room and lots of opportunity to write! With all that blessed space to think, I ended up with over 2,000 words and the Peacock King rewrite’s first romance scene. Next to a very nice elderly gentleman who I am sure was not looking at my screen at any time. Hey: if feeling awkward is a huge impediment to you doing anything, being a writer is not for you.
It’s Ebrelle and Lyric, and I like how their relationship builds up a LOT more this time. I’ll probably write something up about that sometime, since I had a lot of reasons for handling their relationship differently this time around, and I think my learning experience there is worth sharing. But that’s for another day.
Not a lot of spicy stuff happens onscreen (I will probably write an extra short sometime, revealing what happens when the scene fades to black) but I think you’ll like what does happen. So here’s your yuletime gift: the whole scene, including the prelude to it, with no cuts. (With no edits yet, so if something is wrong it’s because Char didn’t fix it yet.)
I am sorry, Tumblr. It has been 2,533 words since my last confession writing progress update. HERE IS A QUOTE FROM SOME OF IT.
“You will govern Audiva Rocale in your own time, daughter. I shall endeavor to do my best at it until then. Now, with all due respect, I feel this conversation has strayed far from what is appropriate, considering our audience.”
The heat of self-consciousness races up neck and cheeks. I bow and take a step away, afraid to be judged as eavesdropping.
Jhe Rahellene looks over at me for a fraction of a second, then directs her attention back to the King. “I see no reason not to continue.” It’s not disdain in her voice, it’s an implication that I won’t even matter in the long run. I’d feel insulted, but being regarded as an inconsequential person is a step up in the world from being regarded as merchandise.
“Of course you don’t. You are your grandmother’s favorite, after all.” The King turns, then gestures for me to follow him.
“What does that mean? She’s your mother, and she has some very good ideas!” Jhe Rahellene moves to follow him as he leaves the room.
“Yes she is. Whereas I am your father, so of course I have none. I am retiring to my rooms now.” His tone stays mild, but it has an edge of finality.
Jhe Rahellene does not follow. “May the night moon keep you.”
He begins to exit, then pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “And you, until the day moon gives it rest.” He steps through, then closes the door behind me.
1049! And the answer to Kashi’s question from earlier.
“What under the sky are you looking for, anyway?”
The girl’s eyes sparkle with mirth, her cheeks rosy instead of pale with anxiety. She doesn’t seem to amount to much in comparison with the rest of the Court. She’s plain, with short-cropped brown hair and brown eyes, dressed in serviceable leathers that are the most practical in the mews. At exactly Camden’s height, most of the audience outright dwarfs her. But unlike all of them, she’s not afraid of him.
Camden takes a step back, placing a hand on his hip. A grin eases onto his face. “Well now. Who are you to ask, Jhe Falconer?”
The girl bows with brief formality. “I am Rachella of the house of Hawksgard, falconer to the King.” Her hair bobs around her face as she bounces up from the bow. “Honored to meet you, Peacekeeper.”
“Oh, but the honor is mine as well, Jhe Hawksgard.” Camden turns to the throne dais.
The Peacock King’s face is one I’ll remember. For all his tendency to play for dramatics than show his true emotions, this time I believe what I see. Not just regret, but a wistful longing, the kind of sadness one feels when discovering that they may never see a person they know again. “Have you found one of yours under the banner of Hawksgard?”
“Aye, Jhe o’Audiva Rocale. It’s no great surprise, with such a long history of honor and service tied to the name.”
Jhe Rachella blinks, her face pinched as if she’s holding a sneeze. She doesn’t speak out of turn, not with her King in the conversation, but I can see what she wants to say: ‘How is that possible? This has to be a joke.’ Her eyes go to her King, as if he’ll reassure her.
Instead, he looks at her with a wondering curiosity, as if looking for something on her face that will explain how she can be what she is. He sighs, then nods. “Of course. Honor always goes to the Hawksgard name, and now it shall again. Jhe Hawksgard, don’t feel alarm. The Peacekeeper has found you as one of his own.”
940 words today. For those that will find it relevant: I introduce Rachella soon. This is a snippet from the past though.
“OOF.” My back hits the floor and the air gets knocked out of my lungs. The back of my head isn’t doing too great either. I might get a knot back there. Not exactly a rarity in this house. I blink my eyes in an attempt to clear away the stars swimming in my vision. “Lute, I don’t want to play right now.”
I look up at the seven year old on my chest and wonder yet again how a boy half my age is so good at getting the drop on me. Lyric isn’t like this. It’s a blessing how normal that boy is. I couldn’t take two Lutes. The one Lute is staring down at me with those cold, pale blue eyes of his, odd silver hair framing his face. It’s like being stared down by a wolf. It doesn’t help that Lute often pants or growls in lieu of speaking. Dad calls him the family dog, and sometimes I don’t think he’s joking. I swear I caught them playing fetch once.
Lute leans down, unblinking, and sniffs me. Family dog. Heh.
“Lute? I said I didn’t want to play—”
His eyes flash like the light along the edge of a blade.
It’s not me that reacts. It’s Wagner. The gun appears in my hand, barrel whipping up to protect my neck. The room rings out with the sound of metal on metal.
Lute draws the tiny knife away from my neck, then plunges it towards my eye with deadly efficiency. I catch his wrist, sure that I’m strong enough to hold off a seven-year-old, even a crazy Armed one. How the heck did this happen so early?
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