Half-Faerie Uncle Seeking Advice

So I finally arrived in the States and reached my sister’s house to be greeted by my charming, young niece, Danni.

Of course, her way of greeting me was to nearly break my knee. I suppose it was every so slightly my fault for getting there at an unusual hour of the night and setting off all the alarms, but I still feel as though I have been abused to an unnecessary degree.

It was not even my fault that I was late. I got a flight in to Dulles Airport that arrived at the timely hour of eight o’clock in the evening. That gave me just a forty minute drive to reach Amanda’s and Geoff’s house and be welcomed by my niece with open arms (or an efficiently executed round-kick. It really can go either way with her). Was I to blame that I received a call from a very distressed acquaintance of mine, begging me to help her hide a newly arrived friend from… out of town? Waaaay out of town?

I’m not here to facilitate refugees. That’s not my intent. I have rather larger issues to deal with. But I am also a bleeding heart for the suffering runaways of other worlds, apparently, because I said, Yes, and went on my merry way nearly an hour in the opposite direction from my niece’s house.

After helping Ms. X and her friend with the new IDs and a temporary bank account, passports, and tickets to an undisclosed location, I promptly turned around and headed back toward my original destination.

The darling girl forgot to turn of the blasted faerie alarms, so now I have a headache as well as jet lag and a sore knee. But I do have a sandwich, and what a sandwich it is…

I forgot. I was going to ask for advice. Well, here it is. My niece is a savvy child and she doesn’t let much get past her. If I am going to be involved in slightly less than legal dealings with a slightly other than natural clientele, how am I supposed to keep Danni from finding out? The girl is only sixteen, but she sees everything.

Teenagers are very inconvenient.

A New Complication

Well, Edric and I have an interesting new problem to contend with: we think that I may be with child. Considering our relationship, you may find this hard to believe. Really, it's all a matter of duty. In our country, the second royal, whether prince or princess, must marry at age twenty and then produce a secondary royal line, for the protection of the Glemarian throne. It's a custom/law that began centuries ago, and Edric and I are as bound to it as anyone. I'm certain we're not the first royal couple to dislike one another, and I anticipate that we will not be the last. Royal arranged marriages, though essential, are not always pleasant for all concerned.

So, now we have quite the quandary. We must continue to evade the king's Royal Guard, but we also must now take care because of the (possible) child. I suggested to Edric that we send a message to his mother, in the hope that his father will show us mercy for the sake of the secondary royal line, but Edric has little faith in the plan. He pointed out that his father is already trying to execute the beginnings of the secondary line (us), so an anticipated grandchild will likely affect little change. Nevertheless, we're going to send a message anyway.

Our scout, an odd but loyal creature named Nobbley, has bravely agreed to carry our written message all the way to Vasminia (the capitol, where the palace is located). In the meantime, we shall continue to stay hidden.

Why The Monkeys?

So I was wandering around in the Forest of Giant Hairy Ape-Men Who Eat Their Own Feces today because...well...because I was bored and the Ape-Men are actually pretty good conversationalists despite their breath. Anyway I was trying to find their camp so I could have someone to talk to other than Olef, he's been on this whole kick about magic actually being the manipulation of atoms and porons or morons...something like that. I have no idea what he's talking about and he won't talk about anything else so I just can't talk to him right now and I was getting a little bored talking to myself.

I was going to summon up Gilly...that's Gilderoy...for some news about the 600,000 hells, then I remembered that I bound him into my teapot. In retrospect that might have been a hasty decision on my part, Gilly is a pretty good source of infernal information, but hey...at least my tea's always hot.

So anyway, I was wondering around in the Forest of Giant Hairy Ape-Men Who Eat Their Own Feces and I wasn't getting anywhere. I mean, you wouldn't think a whole village of giant stinking Ape-Men would be that hard to find, even if they do move around a lot. Then I came across this clearing with two or three dead Ape-Men on the ground and hundreds of monkeys with their heads ripped off. It was the weirdest thing, seriously, hundreds of monkey all missing their heads...where'd the heads go?

Well, one of the Ape-Men wasn't quite as dead as I thought he was, actually he wasn't dead at all, just a little woozy with a nasty bump on his head. He told me that the chief of the Ape-Men had declared war on all the monkeys in the Forest of Giant Hairy Ape-Men Who Eat Their Own Feces. The Ape Men were currently on the warpath slaughtering clans of monkeys everywhere they could find them.

I asked him why they were killing all the monkeys and he said he didn't know, the chief just up and decided that all the monkeys had to die. Why the monkeys? I don't get it.

Mikaela Answers a Few Questions...

Why am I here? Why do I have to answer these questions? This is stupid. What? Some brilliant author posted them in a blog? Okay. Fine. Whatever. Bring on the questions. I’ll answer.

What is your full name?

Mikaela. Wait, do I have to give another name? There are people looking for me. Safe? Really? Here? Fine. It’s Wayre. Mikaela Wayre.

Describe your appearance.

I’m normal. I’m not that tall, not that short. People say I’m too skinny, but food requires, you know, money. Or hunting skills. I have neither. I have brown eyes and brown hair and brownish skin. Lots of sun. Is this really necessary?

Tell about your family.

They died of the plague. Thanks for bringing that up. I had a mother and father and a big brother. His name was Taro.

What is your favorite color?

Blue. No, green. Blue-green? I don’t know! How is this relevant?

What was/is your favorite subject in school?

I liked working with numbers. It was useful.

What is your occupation (or intended occupation)?

Evading capture/death/torture/stupid questions. Oh, you mean before I was run out of my village? I raised horses.

What are some of your hobbies?

See above.

What are some of your skills/talents/accomplishments?

I am, apparently, quite magical. I can talk to fire and horses. I can shape shift a little (by accident) and invade people’s dreams. What can I say? I’m multi-talented.

Who is/are your closest friend/s?

I don’t have friends. My village chased me out with pitchforks, thereby ruining any chance of mending relationships there. The people I travel with, Alec and Tevrin, are… well, they’re…. allies? people who kidnapped me? Fellow magic-users with hidden agendas? Not friends. I guess I could probably call the girl I met on the road, Ryli, a sort of friend. But I abandoned her, more or less, so she probably wouldn’t say the same.

What is your deepest wish?

To not be chased, tortured, killed, etc etc etc for the rest of my life.

What do you feel is your purpose in life?

Ha! That’s what that Fae girl asked me. What’s my purpose? Let me tell you. It’s not to become part of some big overthrow of the Holds. It’s not to use my powers for the good (or ill) of the world. It’s not to follow Alec around forever. That didn’t answer your question? Oh… Well… Huh…

What is your personal philosophy?

Pitchforks = Evil Incarnate

What attracts you to a member of the opposite sex?

Find me a decent one and ask me again.

What is your favorite food?

Anything less than three days old.

What do you dislike most of all?

Today? Alec.

What types of books do you like to read?

I don’t. Books cost a lot of money and reading takes a lot of time.

Describe your ideal place to live.

Somewhere clean, dry, warm, shiny, with wooden floors, solid walls, at least two windows, a fireplace, a pear tree outside, and not a single pitchfork within twenty miles.

List five things that make you feel happy.

Sunshine. Cake. Dry clothes. Venison sandwiches. Alec stubbing his toe, tripping over a branch, and falling into a nearby stream. That was a good day.

What is your biggest fear?

That I’ll have to choose a Hold. And I’ll regret my choice.

Tell me four completely random facts about yourself.

I can’t swim. I can’t dance. I used to think that noblemen had the ability to melt peasants with their eyes… and I’m still not convinced my brother was lying about that. I have trust issues.

Are we done? Because I have more running from people who want to kill me to do...

Exploding Mushrooms?

So...I ate a mushroom today.

Then the house across the field from me exploded and set the entire village on fire. I didn't do it this time I promise...at least I don't think I did. I mean the mushroom did give me kind of a weird feeling. Olef told me not to eat it, something about mushrooms being poisonous and only certain ones you should eat...I wasn't really listening.

Anyway, so the house exploded and, of course, the villagers blamed me. I didn't do anything, it just exploded, really. But I guess I kind of have a reputation or something. Anyway, they all blamed me, said that I cast a spell on it, which is NOT true, and the guy that lived there even said that I told him I was going to blow up his house if he didn't give me all his corn, which is completely not true. I don't even like corn.

The villagers were all up in arms, literally, swords and pitchforks galore. Even having Olef there didn't calm them down and a giant Ogre usually does that pretty well. They were all 'Kill the goblin' when they should have been 'Put out the fire!'...humans don't make any sense...whatever.

I had to set two of them on fire and turn a third into a goat before they decided to leave me alone. I think it was the goat that did it, turning someone into a furry animal really gets peoples attention.

Anyway, that was my adventure for the afternoon. I still have no idea why they blamed me for the house exploding because, as you can all see, I obviously had nothing to do with it. Olef says they had good reasons, something about mushrooms again, I don't know what his fixation with the stupid mushroom is, it was just a mushroom.

Something That Irritates Me

I see that Isaac has posted about how much he hates vampires over at the "Blog of Eeevil" or whatever they're calling it. It seems that evil has a lot of free time, if it can maintain a blog. I suppose that's a good thing.

So I thought that I'd take this opportunity to explain something that I hate- sorcerers like Isaac. Sorcerers, in this world anyway, are people who use magic for darker purposes than most wizards. They specialize in summoning demons, sacrificing to dark powers, and creating spells and potions using arcane equipment and hard-to-find ingredients. Anyone can become a sorcerer, even with very little natural ability. They gain most of their power from the dark rituals they perform, not through any inborn talent. Most sorcerers are driven by their need for power, combined with extreme amounts of arrogance. They all want to be the best, the strongest, the Ruler of the World, ect. (Isaac is an aberration. He seems to be motivated by the need for causing trouble.)

So, why isn't the world ruled by a sorcerer, if that is the ultimate goal of most of them? Because of the arrogance. Eventually, all of them make a mistake. They summon a demon too strong for them. They are taken over by one of the powers they sacrifice to. They make the tiniest error in a potion. They are murdered by a jealous rival. In thousands of years, (or so I've been told by the Fae), not one sorcerer has lived to take over even a continent. And their life expectancies are often very short.

Playing with Gangsters

I really miss Prohibition. I've said it once, and I'll say it again and again: Roosevelt spoiled my fun! Let's face it; the man is a complete killjoy. Prohibition was the best time of my life, and he ended it. What a sap!

I mean, it wasn't perfect of course. Admittedly, I did sorta keep getting into tight spots with Mal DaPone and his gang (mostly a bunch of humorless sidhe who snuck through the trans-Mavalarkkian portal when the guards were out to tea, but I suspect they've got a few other magical folk working for them as well). And Mal is not exactly a warm teddybear - he collects thumbs as a hobby, for one thing. Course, I always got away in the end, but there were a few near misses. I found the human gangsters out in Chicago to be much more fun.

You know that fella, what's-his-name, that guy with the fancy armored car and the sour mug; you know, the fella what celebrated Valentine's Day with a double-cross and a shoot-out? Al something-or-other (told you I was no good with names - I can remember magical folks pretty well, but those human names always trip me up). Anyhow, he was loads of fun to play with. Used to gum up his works all the time. I think I told you about the dingerlywhimsy fun I used to have changing the stuff in the bottles at speakeasies. Well sir, I had more fun than just that, let me tell you!

My favorite thing was to come up on gangsters about to mow one another down with their tommy guns. Just when they let 'em loose, I'd blink my eyes and twitch my nose, give a little tug at the ole adam's apple, and whisper a couple of words. Next thing you know, they're shooting each other with rat droppings. Hee hee hee, what a joke! Sometimes I'd use sheep manure instead. Took those thugs hours to scrub off that perfume, let me tell you. Sure did make them mad, too! Then off course I'd undo it before long, so they'd have real ammunition again. Used to make their bosses completely bamboozled; they'd yell and cuss about it, but never could figure out what had happened.

Boy, I really tormented that Al guy. Used to bewitch his alarm clock to sound like sirens or a firing squad or a female dragon in heat. You know, sorta give him a more effective wake up call. Well sir, he wasn't anywhere near as brave as folks give him credit for. Messed his pajama bottoms more than one morning, let me tell you! And screamed like Fay Wray (course, no one had heard her scream yet in those days, what with the talkies not being around yet)! I got him in trouble with the wife a few times, too - put a kissing spell on his razor so it'd leave blotches of lipstick on his face and neck when he shaved, hid a real flamboyant brassiere under her pillow twice (made sure it was bigger in a few respects than hers was, just to play with the old gal's confidence a bit), and even called up his vacation house a few times and talked with the wife in a real sultry female voice. Hee hee hee! Boy could she crown ole Al when she got her dander up!

Boy, I sure do miss Al. It was real sad when he got sloppy on the income tax and got himself pinched. I lost one of my favorite playthings that day.

"Rocky" the Flying Squirrel

Meg dozed off a short time ago, and when she did she set her computer on a table near the bed. Luckily for me, the instant she turned her back, it disappeared, as things are wont to do around here. I found it inside one of the kitchen cabinets. Mrs. Davidson will take it back to her in the morning. In the meantime, I have a chance to continue my research into your world and its cultures.

Continuing along my previous line of inquiry, I have recently decided to examine the “squirrel” aspect of Meg’s “squabbit” label for me. I am not much better impressed by it than I had been by that “Bugs Bunny” thing I talked about in my last communication.

From my diligent searches, I have discovered a flying creature named “Rocky” that is apparently at least somewhat squirrelish in nature. Here is at least one documented sighting. Once again, I am not amused. This…thing…has two huge and completely useless teeth. In fact, it appears not to be a squirrel at all but rather a flying beaver. How he can fly, given that he has no visible means of propulsion is beyond even my own reckoning. If he is that advanced, one would think he would have better sense than to associate himself with a moose of so little brain or—if the video linked above is to be believed—the moon men at all. I cannot imagine any self respecting intelligent creature allowing itself to be drawn from a hat! At least his tail is respectable.

Where I am perhaps truly out of sorts is explaining how this squirrel thing relates to your flag-clad boxer--Balboa, I think his name is. At least the boxer looks rugged enough to have earned the appellation. Humph.

Carry on!

Reep

The Bigger Foxes Spoil More Than Just Vineyards

Hello again everyone- I think last time Uncle was on here boring everyone with science stuff- so I thought I'd just talk about how my day went today. Well you know, not like a diary- actually it was interesting- and exhausting.

Like I explained last time I posted, I'm basically a bounty hunter. Yesterday I was coming back from checking some traps I set for small game (with meager success- I think someone was messing with them- stupid jealous farmers), and I checked the bounty post and found this very badly drawn dragon-dog-weasel thing... which breathed fire. It caught my eye. I went and found the guy who put it up, and he told me about the monster-thing. Apparently it killed some chickens at first, then went on to goats, then sheep- and finally killed some poor farmer. I don't think anyone actually like him all that much- something about him trying to I felt bad about it- but not bad enough to do it for free.

I went out to the deeper woods- I found tracks, game trails, etc. etc.- looked big enough for something that fit the farmer's artist rendering- so I set snares, and anything else I could think of. None of them worked- this thing just wiggled out of everything, or bit through the lines- but I got a look at it, just as it slipped the last cable- long in the body, like on of those ermine from the north only about as big as a horse- with silver fur (looked like I could get a good price for it) and more canine in features- and it disappeared after giving me what could have only been its equivalent of a gloating smirk. Uncle says its a Fox-Serpent- a big one. The're corruptions of Wind and Darkness, and smart- anyway, no luck today, I'll have to try again for it tomorrow- probably have to break out the spidersilk cable (sticks like crazy, AND it holds a good two tons of weight). We'll see if I do any better.

As Subtle as Amanda's Battle Axe

I am a huge fan of subtlety. Don’t let Amanda tell you otherwise. She’s my sister, so she doesn’t actually know a thing about me. Sisters are absolutely wretched judges of character. Really, she seems to think that I am some sort of irresponsible, immature gad-about who hasn’t a care in the world simply because I don’t take an interest in the family business…

I feel as though I have digressed. I was talking about subtlety. I am subtle, when I need to be. In fact, being a very open, social, convivial sort of person is part of my cunningly subtle plan. No one suspects the friendly, joking one of having deep thoughts.

So let us investigate a hypothetical situation. Let us pretend that a certain half-faerie noncombatant is making preparations to move to America to spend some quality time with his niece while his sister and brother-in-law are out of town. Let’s say that this delightful fellow has purchased a ticket and is all set to leave in a couple of days when he is approached by a panicked individual wearing a very obvious black trench coat and gloves and a hideous hat. Subtle, he is not.

So this chap is trying to get our hypothetical uninvolved civilian’s attention in a very obvious manner. Our hero tries to ignore him, but he doesn’t take no for an answer and approaches.

It turns out that Mr. Obvious is wearing his very secretive coat, gloves, and hat to cover all of his very faerie-esque tattoos covering his arms and face. It also turns out that he has heard through a friend of a friend of an acquaintance’s brother’s boss’s sister’s husband that said neutral fellow is in the habit of helping faeries who are on the run from their own government to assimilate into human society.

Let’s just pretend that this might be somewhere close to the truth. Did he have to ask for help right before I was going to leave the country?

That is, did this hypothetical illegal crosser have to show up right as our hypothetical half-faerie completely unvolved citizen of Britain was about to create a branch of his legitimate, human business in an entirley new country and take a break from his complete, utterly, and entirely hypothetical and nonexistent interactions with the faerie race? Really?

Apparently so. Well, first thing’s first. This unfortunate chap’s going to have to learn how to dress properly to blend in here. Subtlety, friend. Subtlety…