He found the Fop daintily eating an eclair on a terrace, fingertips coated in powdered sugar. "My dear Tupelo." The Fop smiled at him graciously with long rouged cheekbones. "What new and glorious tidings do you bring our way?"
"I saw the King," Tupelo responded, fumbling nervously in his mackinaw. "I think he was looking for you."
The Fop yawned. "I see no reason he should. I've unearthed nothing of interest to him . . . . lately. . . "
Tupelo wiped his lips with blackened fingers, eying the eclair hungrily.
"Besides. Should the King desire our company he only need find us."
"Okay," Tupelo said. "Just thought you should know, that's all."
The Fop nodded inconclusively. Tupelo produced the Winston butt from his pocket. "Um. Do you have a light?"
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Concerning Events Even More Unreltated
Introduction
The Fop and The Silver Lady had passed the hedgerow when the Ragamuffin King appeared at the fountain. He perched birdlike on the edge of Psyche's knee, dirty coat-tail barely dipping like a paintbrush in the water. He was watching for something behind those matted dredlocks, Tupelo could tell. He also knew the thin partnership the Fop and the King shared had ended, purportedly over a bag of zombie powder. It wasn't he, though; Tupelo tried to steer clear of the King the last few weeks. The King could be irascible in the spring months.
Tupelo turned back to the tall ashtray, fished a butt from the sand with a fingertip's worth of tobacco left. He stashed it quickly in the recesses of his coat, drew a small celtic knot in the sand. When he looked back, the Ragamuffin King was gone, vanished into the park square. Tupelo scanned about quickly, then scuttled out of the square.
copyright 2009
bacon press ltd
tcr
The Fop and The Silver Lady had passed the hedgerow when the Ragamuffin King appeared at the fountain. He perched birdlike on the edge of Psyche's knee, dirty coat-tail barely dipping like a paintbrush in the water. He was watching for something behind those matted dredlocks, Tupelo could tell. He also knew the thin partnership the Fop and the King shared had ended, purportedly over a bag of zombie powder. It wasn't he, though; Tupelo tried to steer clear of the King the last few weeks. The King could be irascible in the spring months.
Tupelo turned back to the tall ashtray, fished a butt from the sand with a fingertip's worth of tobacco left. He stashed it quickly in the recesses of his coat, drew a small celtic knot in the sand. When he looked back, the Ragamuffin King was gone, vanished into the park square. Tupelo scanned about quickly, then scuttled out of the square.
copyright 2009
bacon press ltd
tcr
Monday, February 22, 2010
And Now, a New Season and New Narrative
To Begin With. . . .
But Nicholas was chivalrous, above all else. It was well-known, like a birthmark you can’t hide with clothing, or a withered arm. His eyes would betray it, in the dark hours, and he would sit in the darkness and watch the first snow falling outside the latticed study windows. A virtue streaked like a character flaw in his destiny, spoken over dim fires and homemade caves on the secret places, marred like Galahad. In the end, it would be his undoing.
But Nicholas was chivalrous, above all else. It was well-known, like a birthmark you can’t hide with clothing, or a withered arm. His eyes would betray it, in the dark hours, and he would sit in the darkness and watch the first snow falling outside the latticed study windows. A virtue streaked like a character flaw in his destiny, spoken over dim fires and homemade caves on the secret places, marred like Galahad. In the end, it would be his undoing.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)