Disclaimer

Posts or comments made by the characters on this blog do not necessarily represent the opinions of Lantern Hollow Press or its authors, and may directly contradict all decorum and good sense.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Artmusiaphobia

You know, ever since I came to live at Waverly Hall and found the Tower of Worlds, I’ve never been able to go to a museum and feel comfortable. Not all museums, I suppose. Bones don’t bother me and the dinosaurs are uber wicked awesome. Even the creepy mannequins are alright. I’ve seen plenty freakier things, though I do have to admit that some of the ones that look like they’re staring at you are just plain weird. I can even handle sculptures, if that’s all there is. Sometimes I keep expecting Aslan to come and breathe on things, but that would be worth hanging around to see.

I guess you have to know that every world’s collection of portals looks different for this to make sense. In Relois it was a cave of crystals. In the othertime/space I think C. S. Lewis heard about and put into the Magician’s Nephew, it was a forest of pools. I went to one world where it was an empty city. On earth we have a freaking huge tower with walls covered in landscape pictures, and each one leads to some world, time, or space somewhere. (Its scary that I can say things like that, and they actually make sense to me!)

So, anyway, it’s the art museums that mess me up now! Rows and rows of pictures. I know they aren’t like the ones in the tower, but I still can’t get rid of the feeling like they’re watching me or something. Like every one of them could be a portal to some world somewhere or a window onto some person. I don’t think I want to meet some of them, personally.

And I SURE can’t imagine what kind of nutty world I might find at the other end of some of those screwy abstract paintings. What were those people on when they painted those things anyway?

TTYL,
Meg

Friday, August 27, 2010

Greetings, lower forms of life!

I am what your people apparently call a squabbit. No, squabbits cannot talk. Nor can we hold one of your pencils—you humans and your blasted thumbs. But I have been around this universe long enough to know how to type. You people really should make the keys bigger. I see Megan pounding away on this ancient thing for hours a day some times, and I do not know how she can hit these ridiculous keys. Of course, I would hazard to propose that having longer fingers would help.

Allow me to introduce myself: On this planet I am called Reep. I generally take whatever name the local inhabitants give me when I arrive on-world, and when I came to yours I was lucky enough to land almost in my new worldjumper’s lap and she herself named me. That kept things simple. I have been watching her since then, trying to make sure she does not get into too much trouble. No, she does not know that I am sentient. Yes, she thinks I’m a cute little cuddly pet. I have moved past my furry form. You should too. If you mention it again or even hint to her something different I will be forced to port you into the chewy center of a mournian stink plant.

You humans really should take good care of your thumbs. I find that many peoples take them for granted. We squabbits know how to appreciate such things. After all, I can port to the other side of a parallel time, but I cannot open the door on the other side of this room.

Must be off. She just turned over in bed and that usually occurs just prior to a bathroom venture. I canot risk her seeing me near the…what do people on this world call it…yes, the “computer.”

Carry on!

Reep

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Sorry Flavia, but I Posted First!

Flavia was originally planning to write today, but I woke up early just to thwart her plans. Vindictive? Perhaps, but if you had known Flavia as long as I have, you'd see how justified my actions are.

You see, Flavia is not like normal women -- actually, make that not like anything resembling normal humankind. From the time we were young children, she has had a fierce temper and inexplicable powers. The two are not a good combination. I believe that the high point of our relationship was the day when I played a small, humorous, boyish prank on her in response to the completely disrespectful things I heard her saying about me (at my own party, I might add). Being Flavia, she went completely ballistic and used her powers to throw me backwards into a fountain and shove a very large frog in my mouth. Painful, humiliating, and, may I add, utterly disrespectful of my position as second prince of Glemaria. Oh, and frog slime tastes disgusting, for those who were curious.

Naturally, our relationship degenerated from there. I attempted once to stop the ongoing feud with an offer of peace, but Flavia would have done of it. I think she thrives off of conflict. I also suspect that she would be worshiped as a war goddess if we lived in Glurmenistein.

Marriage has not softened Flavia. Ours is a political union, and I use "union" in the loosest sense of the word. It's more like two warring countries being forced to submit to a treaty. She regularly makes odd things happen to me: my bowl of soup suddenly slides away at dinner just as I'm bringing down the spoon, paintings nearly fall on me, my trousers suddenly run away and hide from me when I'm dressing . . . it's a rather lengthy list. One night she managed to turn my pillow into an odd fanged creature -- luckily, the enchantment only lasted a minute, or else I might be minus an earlobe. She claimed it was an accident, but I certainly don't believe her. Being a gentleman, I never retaliate, except of course with occasional (and justified) verbal complaints.

So, that's my life summarized, at the moment. The second prince of one of the most prosperous Known Countries, married to a fiery redhead with powers that she regularly abuses. I also have to put up with her pet dragon, who frequently causes accidental fires. And then there's the issue of my estranged father, who has become a mad despot and wants to kill me. Sometimes I envy the commoners.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

My Idiot Son

Well, Crugesellimus was supposed to post today, at least that's what he told me, but instead he's off sacking villages in the Forest of Giant Hairy Ape-Men Who Eat Their Own Feces. What there is to sack in that place I can't imagine, unless you really just have a hankering need for feces.
This is his mother by the way, and I see that he's taken to using that moniker 'Crugg' here. All of you will stop calling him that RIGHT NOW! I've told that boy a hundred times 'Crugg' is not a suitable name for royalty, especially when used by commoner vermin like you lot.
Flavia, Edric, never mind that last part, from what I read you two are royalty so I'm pleased to meet you and I hope you both have a wonderful day. I'm sure you both realize that 'Crugg' is an unsuitable title for royalty. Crugesellimus's true name is Crugesellimus Vantiminy Aristobulus Pamplimpton Udelsfernie. Of course I don't expect any of you to be decent enough to address him by his full name but Crugesellimus is the minimum which I am willing to accept.
To be honest I don't know what I'm going to do with that boy, thirty-seven years old and all he does is sack this and sack that. He'll come home, 'look mom I conquered such and such a kingdom' but three days later he's 'bored' with it and wants to leave. So much potential completely going to waste, and I don't even want to start about that horrible Gethrugb girl he's dating. I don't care how much he 'likes' her, a slave indentured to an undersecretary of the council of the hells is not, NOT good enough for my Crugesellimus.
The little hussie even plans on marrying my boy, well I'm sure that would be step up in the world for her but I'll have no part of it you hear, it won't happen while I'm still alive. I'll find a way to get that miserable harlots claws out of my boy.
And he lives in a cave! I don't care if 'it's a nice cave mother, it's just like a house, I even made a button that lets me move it anywhere in the world' Goblin Kings Do Not Live In Caves! It's just not proper, and I did so much work to raise that boy well.
I could go on like this for the rest of the day but I suppose that would bore all of you so I'll leave it at that. You WILL refer to him as Crugesellimus, and Finnias dear, if you call my boy deficient one more time I'll be at your home with a host of giants tomorrow to crack your head open and feast upon your brain. Then we'll see which one of you is deficient.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Hello, I guess....

Okay, so hello world. Or worlds. Depends on where you are, I suppose, and which way you’re facing. I’m not so sure anymore.

So, I’m Megan O’Riley, and I’m now a completely normal freak of nature. Well, at least I used to be normal and I personally still feel pretty normal, but my life this last while has been anything but. Apparently things tend to happen to you when you stay in a weird house called Waverly Hall owned by your certifiably insane uncle and stumble upon a squabbit, rooms full of growing carpet, and pictures that can suck out your soul. Oh, and did I mention there are also portals to other worlds here? That’s probably worth tossing in.

Could happen to anybody, right? Who am I kidding? This could only happen to me.

And now I’m a worldjumper. I’ve been to several of them now, and seen some really crazy stuff. You know, somehow college is going to seem a little tame, when I finally graduate.

Soooo anyway, I guess that’s about it for now. Reep (the squabbit) is bugging me to get us some dinner. Just don’t touch the pictures.

TTYL,
Meg