The Serialists - Scene 88

I'm now posting with The Serialists which appears on Wednesdays.

To recap this dark fantasy story so far:

As a small boy of seven, Scorpius was fetched from the nursery where he'd been raised to live among the nobility - fetched not by his family, but by a falconer to serve as his apprentice.

Scorpius soon learned that a close encounter with a dragon was preferable to the cruelties of the nobles he'd once hoped were family. His master did whatever he could to shield Scorpius from the world outside their cottage, but the falconer was merely a servant who must obey his own masters.

An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.

We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.

Scene 88


Scorpius fought the urge to look back into his memories, needing every part of him to remain here in this moment. Pressing his master firmly into the dirt, Scorpius kept his dagger blade trained a mere whisper away from Lord Thibault’s eye.

“So the lord exercises his right to choose,” Scorpius said between clenched teeth, admitting for the first time how wide the chasm between them truly stretched.

“That’s right. I refuse every excuse for a bride they’ve been parading before me.”

He couldn’t help it. Scorpius’ mind cast back to the last time he’d seen his master with the Sibian maiden, clutching her to him, pulling sighs from her lips.

That was all it took, one split second of distraction and Lord Thibault made his move. Scorpius’ dagger spun from his hand. His master rolled forward, crushing Scorpius’ neck and shoulders into the ground. The motion wrenched Lord Thibault’s arm, ripping a cry from him but failing to block his escape.

Scorpius scrambled to retain a hold upon his master, but found himself pinned instead.

“This is a death sentence,” his master had said.

Lord Thibault’s rigid fingers pressed like darts into Scorpius’ throat.

Working to catch his breath, his master said, “After everything we have been through. You would fight to stop me in this.”

Scorpius struggled to read the emotion in Lord Thibault’s eyes. A lifetime of training cloaked his master’s heart from revealing itself.

Words could not form with Lord Thibault’s fingers choking him. Still, he forced his lips to move, his breath to rasp out whatever it could.

“Why bring down your noble house?” he said.

“You fight even me to protect my family?” Lord Thibault said.

“Can you not simply flee?” Scorpius said. “You seek union with her. Can they not take you to live among them?”

After a long moment, his master eased off the pressure on Scorpius’ throat. But he kept him firmly pinned down. “If I had done that, would you have followed me there?”

A flare of anger filled Scorpius with reckless disregard for his own self-preservation. “You forget that I’ve never had the luxury of choice, my lord.”

He was unprepared for the emotion that flooded his master’s face. “So you would have elected to stay in my father’s house.”

“How do I know what I might have chosen? You did not give me such a gift.”

Abruptly, Lord Thibault pushed up from the hold he’d used to immobilize Scorpius. Gazing down as he fought to conceal the myriad of feelings that battled within him, his master said, “No, I did not. Instead I have an attempt on my life.”

Pacing in agitation, Lord Thibault halted in his tracks. “We will return to the palace,” he said, stooping to pick up the scrap of Sibian cloth. “If any word of this circulates, I will know its source. At which time, my memory of your dagger drawn against me will surface.”

Scorpius regained his feet. “Understood, my lord.”

“I don’t think I understand you, Scorpius. If you only knew who it was that the Chancellor suspects of siring you. If you did, you would not be so quick to defend my father, the duke. You would be just as eager as I to leave them all behind.”

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2012

Scorpius will be posted later Wed evening

The good news is - I'm currently working on the costumes, script and stoyboards for the book covers and book trailers for this series, which is scheduled to be released this coming May.

The bad news is - I ran out of hours in the day and couldn't get the latest scene posted. It will be up by later tonight. Thanks for your patience, everyone!

2012 Movie Madness Challenge - February Report

Time for my second status report for the Movie Madness Challenge.






Here is my code for the films:

New to me - N

Repeat viewing - R





I'll also be including how I viewed the films:

DVD
VHS (yes, we have a lot of those, and a VCR)
Network TV
Pay TV
In theatre














The Woman in Black

Theatre

N








Northanger Abbey

VHS

R

















Bridesmaids

DVD

N











Romancing the Stone

Pay TV

R













Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest

DVD

R










Your Highness

Pay TV

N











Downton Abbey, Series 2

Public Television

N


















Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End

DVD

R

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Total movies for February - 8

Total movies for 2012 - 15

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Closing in on the first milestone.

25 Movies: Movie Newbie

50 Movies: Movie Fanatic

75 Movies: Movie Critic

100+ Movies: Movie Master

Six Sentence Sunday - 5

Writers are encouraged to post six sentences from a work-in-progress or published piece. Sign into the Linky at Six Sentence Sunday, and visit other SSS participants.

This snippet from SAINT SANGUINUS takes place when 6th century Welsh warrior Peredur was a boy of eight.

This takes place just after the men of Yn Wyddfrid return with his father's body, following a battle.

~~~~~~~~

I clutched tight to my little sister, rocking her as she matched Mam’s cries.

I couldn’t shed tears because I refused to believe. My heart seemed frozen, my sobs not yet formed even though my eyes saw and my ears heard.

After a very long time, some women from the village arrived to join their cries with Mam’s. One young girl walked up the hill to our hut, gazing down at me with sorrow, her face wet with tears. She wordlessly reached for my little sister, who stretched her arms out for the girl and her more practiced way of holding a wee sister.

5 on Friday - Set 107

Travis at Trav's Thoughts invites everyone to lay down a short set of music that takes their fancies for his 5 on Friday meme.





Here's a tiny sampler of Sting-y goodness.

1 - In Darkness Let Me Dwell - with Edin Karamazov



2 - Spread a Little Happiness



3 - All This Time



4 - Fortress Around Your Heart



5 - A Thousand Years

Thursday Thirteen - 244 - 13 Questions For Taryn Blackthorne, Author of EVEN FOR ME

I have a treat for all of you Big Cat lovers out there. Taryn Blackthorne, author of the shapeshifter romantic suspense novella EVEN FOR ME has dropped by A Piece of My Mind to answer questions about her story and life in general.

Welcome Taryn!

1 - Your novella is a werecat shapeshifter romantic suspense story. Which large cats are your favorites? What attracts you to them?


I’m really interested in North American wildcats, especially the puma/mountain lion/cougar.

I was vacationing with my family in the White Mountains in New Hampshire one year. I was in the back seat, being a bored teenager until my mother gasped and my father slammed on the breaks. I got between the seats in time to see a cougar waltz across the highway. She stopped right on the yellow line, turned to us and gave us the stink eye, then kept going. I’ve been hooked since.

2 - Cougar stink eye - wow. That would be a life-defining moment, for sure. Do you have a cat in real life?


Yep, her super secret ‘pen name’ is She-Who-Oversees-All, or SWOA for short.

She picked me when I went to the Denver Dumb Friends’ League ‘just to look’. It’s a cute story and I love to tell it at parties. Maybe I’ll put it up on my website sometime. SWOA’s pictures are there, but here’s one, just the same. She doesn’t like cameras, just being in control.

3 - Would you consider being spell cast into a shapeshifter a blessing or a curse if it happened to you?

I’d consider it a blessing, think of the calorie burn from the shift alone! The reflexes, the ability to do things no one else can do? Being strong enough to handle anything that comes my way, even a sexy alpha male?

Oh yeah, definitely a blessing.

4 - How does your main character Aislyn feel about it?

Aislyn’s a little different than I am, when it comes to standing out in a crowd.

She’s got mixed heritage (bioDad was Native American), was given up for adoption at a young age and bounced around the foster care system. She finally found a foster family that tried to adopt her, but the legal system didn’t help her out. She grew up wanting to be ‘normal’.

Everything that made her different and unique she saw as a problem. So turning furry? Definitely a curse to her.

5 - Your hero Jackson Havens is a ghost hunter. Is he the sort of male character to which you’re most attracted? Or is there some of Taryn Blackthorne in him?

Neither, really. I had a hard time writing Jackson, because he’s such an arrogant, close-minded SOB.

He’s been taught his whole life to hunt Shifters, to not pay any attention to what they say, who they are as people, how they can actually help, are actually necessary to the local environment. And he never questions his family’s orders.

Stubborn doesn’t even begin to describe this guy, so the more I could rub his face in the fact he has to think for himself, the better.

I’m actually attracted to male characters like Rodriguez. He’s super sexy, to me.

6 - Can you tell us about your forest fire misadventure?

Okay, you know that saying if it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all? Well, my luck’s a little different…it’s not bad per say and it’s not dumb luck, it’s just weird. I seem to be in the wrong place at the right time.

The first forest fire misadventure happened at a friend’s wedding reception. They had gone out on the balcony of this resort to get some pictures taken and in the background was this lovely misty kinda thing that made the pictures turn out beautifully.

It was smoke from one of the worst forest fires in decades. We left the reception just ahead of the fire.

Then there was the time I was on a bus back to the Northern Manitoba town I was living in. Again, forest fire season and again, wrong time at the right place kinda deal. The fire was crossing the highway, literally jumping the bus. That time was a little scary.

7 - How about your freak snowstorm excitement?

I was living in Denver at the time. The city was hit with the worst snowstorm in a hundred years.

I mean, I grew up in Nova Scotia. We have snowstorms all the time. You’d have thought that a big city like Denver could handle some snow.

But no, we were buried inside the house for days until the entire block got shack wacky. We had a shoveling party instead of a block party and set up runs to the grocery stores on the plowed roads for emergency supplies. I remember hearing on the radio that they cancelled city hall.

City hall? Really?

8 - What would you say is worse – fire or ice as weapons of nature?

Being Canadian, I’m torn. I’ve experienced both to the nth degree. Then again, I’ve grown up around the water (occasionally falling in) and driven fifteen minutes ahead of a tornado too. I guess I’ll go with the one that ends up killing me?

9 - If you could choose three fictional fantasy worlds created by other authors to visit for a week, which ones would they be?

Pern because who wouldn’t want a fire lizard or ride a dragon? I cried when we lost Anne McCaffery this past year.

Damar would be second because of the big cats and the horses, not to mention the mental abilities of certain kings and queens. The Blue Sword by Robin McKinley has always been a favourite of mine.

And the third…hmm. Pottermore? Nah. Patricia Briggs’ Tri Cities? Lilith Saintcrow’s Santa Cruz? I don’t know about the third, I’m torn.

10 - More bundles-of-three questions: did you watch much fantasy genre TV when you were a kid? What were your three favorite shows when you were growing up?

Three favs? Hmm, I might be dating myself here, but:

Beauty and the Beast (Ron Perlman version)

ST:NG because I always watched that with my Dad

Gargoyles though they hit during my university years…

11 - EVEN FOR ME is also a romantic suspense. What are your three favorite romantic suspense films?

Sleeping with the Enemy

Romancing the Stone

Mr. and Mrs. Smith

They all count, right?

12 - Definitely!

The natural world is a big interest for you. What are your top five eco-warrior habits?

1. Recycle

2. Reuse

3. Power smart consumption (hanging clothes out, plug in kettles, energy efficient light bulbs)

4. Grow your own.

5. Buy local when you can’t (cuts on transportation impacts AND supports local economy)

13 - How does being an e-book author work with your environmental concerns?

It’s the best of both worlds, I get to tell my stories and save trees! As long as I’m power-smart, of course ;)

Thanks for dropping by, Taryn!

A fellow member of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada, you can find Taryn at her website

Find her on Facebook

Follow her on Twitter

Here's an exclusive excerpt from EVEN FOR ME:

~~~~~


I needed a release and nothing on the television was going to do it for me. I needed to go for a run, but I didn’t trust myself just yet. I had lain in bed for hours, waiting for sleep to take me, counting sheep and the whole works before finally giving up and flipping on the tube.

After tomorrow night, I told myself, if I could wait that long. It had only been four days since the killer struck. Tomorrow night would be five since my last Change, and then on the sixth I could go for a run out here. I’d call Tammy in the morning and tell her I needed some time off. She’d either fire me or understand. I just hoped she wouldn’t toss all my stuff before I got back to claim it. Some of those books had been expensive, not that they’d told me anything useful. I know a few of the titles would have raised a few eyebrows in the local Bible Belt, maybe even gotten me on someone’s black list. Maybe I should donate them or something instead of packing them up. I threw the remote on the bed.

“Damn it.” I hated giving in to it. Meant I had no self-control.

I got up and tugged on some sweats, to wander around outside. I needed something to take the edge off until I could Change. Anxiety always made it worse and I was worried about the killings. The air was crisp and clean up here. And thin. Sound carried better. I heard a couple in the next room over working out the kinks on the bed. I heard another guy watching what had to be a porno-on-demand. What did I expect from a hotel with this price range? I kept walking, away from the grunting and groaning.

It growled inside me. It wanted to be let loose in some form or another. The one it was hearing was as good as any. I felt hot and the restlessness had nothing to do with being bored. I found myself walking towards the hotel bar without thinking and started to steer myself away. I worked in one all day and here I was heading for another? God, I had to be crazy. But the voice growled again. I went back to my bike, thinking I’d take a ride, when I caught a whiff of Bulgari. Hmm, my favorite scent on a man. It seemed too familiar somehow, had an undercurrent of something… Ah ha! The guy Tammy had been laughing at, it was his. He’d followed me out here. I followed the trail while It rumbled around inside my head with anticipation. I bent over, getting lower, closer to the scent, tracking. “Prey,” I whispered to myself.

I stamped down hard and stood up abruptly, feeling totally schizophrenic. I counted to ten, breathing slowly. I started forward again, this time not doing my impression of a Navy SEAL. Walking past a dusty red pickup, I slammed my open palm into the hotel door the Bulgari trail ended at by way of knocking. I heard some hasty scrambling and rustling before the door opened as far as the chain would let it.

“What the—?” He was rubbing his jade eyes with the back of his hand, in a wife-beater and polka dot boxers. His hair was messed up and his lips were slightly parted. Nice full lips and broad, muscled shoulders. I shivered. My head filled with all sorts of things to do to lips like that, ways to make that muscle flex and bend the way I wanted. I shook it.

“Listen, lady, I think you got the…”

“You’re following me. Why?” I always ended up blunt when I couldn’t seem to think things through. I just wish I could blame it on the divergence in my career choices.

He looked at me like I was three kinds of crazy, shut the door and I thought that would be the end of things, but he took off the chain and came out to face me.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Some of the other hotel patrons shouted their thoughts about that question, but I ignored them. I could only focus on the better part of what was in front of me. I was staring directly at his chest and the voice was insistent on getting some of something tonight. If not the woods then it would settle for sweat-soaked sheets and leaving teeth marks on those perfectly shaped shoulders that were so very close.

I turned and tried to walk away, but he grabbed my wrist and spun me around to face him. The look in his eyes said he was pissed. I loved it. She loved it. He drew breath to speak again but he never got to. My mouth was on his before he could utter another sound. This close, the smell of soap, sweat and his heat filled my nostrils. I let it fill me. I growled softly. I watched his eyes and let him have my hand, but ran the other up his chest, over his shoulder and pulled his head down so I wasn’t up on tip toe. He relaxed into the kiss. My tongue started to trace his lips and he released my arm to cup my face, his other hand sliding around to my back. Yes, hissed the voice in the back of my head.

© Taryn Blackthorne

The Serialists - Scene 87

I'm now posting with The Serialists which appears on Wednesdays.

To recap this dark fantasy story so far:

As a small boy of seven, Scorpius was fetched from the nursery where he'd been raised to live among the nobility - fetched not by his family, but by a falconer to serve as his apprentice.

Scorpius soon learned that a close encounter with a dragon was preferable to the cruelties of the nobles he'd once hoped were family. His master did whatever he could to shield Scorpius from the world outside their cottage, but the falconer was merely a servant who must obey his own masters.

An attempt on the life of a young noble while on a hunt sent the falconer and his apprentice on abruptly different paths, bringing Scorpius into the service of Lord Thibault's noble house.

We now continue with Scorpius at age nineteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 87

The chill that squeezed Scorpius’ guts splintered into icy clarity.

Before he dare let reason intrude, Scorpius burst forward to charge his master, taking him down in a breath-stealing crash. Too late, Lord Thibault fought to hang onto the scrap of Sibian cloth sent from the envoy in the secret mountain pass.

Scorpius had been bound, blindfolded, delivered to the Sibiu, charged with delivering a message whose contents he did not know and ordered not to return without an answer. He’d been thrown to the ground, threatened by men and blistered by the heat of the gliding leathery monster of his nightmares.

If the telltale patterned scrap of cloth sent by the Sibian commander--which had cost Scorpius dearly to retrieve--threatened the security of his master’s house, after all that he had been through...and his master, of all people, was the one to send him to fetch it...well, something snapped inside of Scorpius.

A sharp blow from his elbow numbed Lord Thibault’s fingers. Scorpius peeled the cloth free from his master’s grip, but Lord Thibault would not give up so easily.

Hurling himself in a roll forward, his master grabbed Scorpius’ legs to prevent his escape. Scorpius grunted as his chin hit the ground, but he kept hold of the scrap of cloth.

A flashing glance toward his master showed the chilling truth. Lord Thibault’s expression was the same one any adversary would see, just before the killing stroke slipped between unsuspecting ribs.

As cleanly as his former falcon master Richolf’s red tail hawk took down a game hen, Scorpius butted heads with his master, knocking Lord Thibault off balance just long enough for Scorpius to swipe the small dagger from its place at his hip.

Recovering, his master kicked up to wrap his legs around Scorpius’ hips, rolling him. There was no keeping hold of both the cloth and the dagger. As Scorpius’s face ground into the dirt, he loosened his grip on the cloth but tightened his fingers around the dagger hilt.

With all of his might, Scorpius tried to push the momentum farther than his master intended, but Lord Thibault had trained with the same sword master as he. For a crushing moment, Scorpius was immobilized.

Both of them panted for breath.

He knew his master would reach for the cloth. All he had to do was wait.

At the split second when he felt Lord Thibault’s weight shift, Scorpius made his move. Twisting hard to face up towards his master, Scorpius forced Lord Thibault’s attention away from the cloth. Planting his feet solidly against the ground, Scorpius bucked hard with his legs, pitching his master forward.

A mad scramble scattered dust and pebbles along with limbs, fists and feet. Scorpius dug in hard, pinning Lord Thibault’s head in a choke hold with his legs, locking one of his master’s arms awkwardly to the side. With his other hand he slid the dagger within a hairs-breadth of his master’s eye.

Lord Thibault stilled. “This is a death sentence,” he said.

Scorpius snorted wearily. “Bringing down your noble house would end in the same way for you.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to bring it down.”

“You said the cloth made way for the fall of the House of Pruzhnino.”

“I didn’t say that’s what I wanted,” his master said, his voice tight with pain.

“You don’t say it because I have a dagger in place to put out your eye.”

“Why should you care?” Lord Thibault’s voice rose with unaccustomed passion. “What possible difference does the Pruzhnino line make to you?”

“You ask that of me?" Scorpius said, his voice thick with emotion. "Me, with no father. No mother. Me, who only ever had Richolf, and you sent even him from me.”

“And yet you have served me. All these years, you have served me.”

“Do you think a falconer's boy had a choice?” Scorpius fought the rage that wanted to set him shaking. He concentrated on keeping the dagger tip still as Lord Thibault’s lashes blinked against it.

“What do you think that cloth represents?” his master said, pulling his gaze away from the blade to look deeply into Scorpius’ eyes. "That cloth is my choice. And she said yes."

© Julia Phillips Smith, 2012