So sunday night I’m sitting at home and my phone tweets. It’s the newest Blogging 101 assignment and I’m all about trying to get this one off early. The assignment is to publish a post, on one of the Prompts from The Daily Post. It’s all about having two of my favorite protagonists meet.
Now i’m reading this and the fangirl in me has an instant nerdgasm. I mean really it took her nearly an hour to recover. And then we were off. We wrote the conversation between Love of my live number one and Love of my life number two.
Then the conversation just wasn’t enough, what if they came to my island? What if they both found something there, could I write it from their perspective? Well that one I can answer. Nope. I don’t think I could do either of them justice. I ended up with 1721 words and a new something to feel nervous about.
So here it is. Do you read them too? Did I do them justice?
The Meeting
Tishorn wondered, not for the first time how he got out here. How he got out here in the dew and the chilly night air, running for his life from Jason and his crew. What could he have done soo bad in his short life to deserve this type of luck?
All month things had been happening to him. First a little de ja vou, here and there, remembering things that hadn’t happened yet. Then things had stated moving just shifting positions, an inch or two. It was easy stuff to pass off.
Then about two weeks ago something had happened. He had been at school, and it had been lunch time, all the boys had been playing football in the school yar. He had been out there just like always. And the same self Jason who was chasing him now kicked the ball straight to his face, just as the bell rang again for class. He didn’t have time to react, everyone was turning and running to their respective classrooms, but he just froze, he remembered squeezing his eyes shut and wishing the ball did not strike his face. But the ball never touched his face, he remembered hearing the ball impact but there was not pain, just a flash of green light and a thwang of the standard issue football hitting something. Hard. When he opened his eyes the ball had been lying at his feet. Nobody noticed anything, they had been too busy running to class, nobody except Miss Flinn, who stood there staring at him.
He had shrugged all this off, after all these things didn’t happen to sane people and Tishorn was definitely sane, right? Wrong. A sane man would have kept quiet in Mr. Boyce’s after class when Jason smacked Keri Joshua on the bottom. A sane man would not have stood up and told Jason to back off. A sane man would not have thrown a punch when Jason made that remark about his mother. A sane man would not have felt something go up his arm and then see that green burst of light before Jason’s body crumpled against the far wall of the Lab and all the glass had broken. Windows, beakers, test tubes, everything was in shards from that one blow. A sane man would not have stood around waiting for Jason to wake up.
Because when everyone’s concern for poor Jason, the known gangbanger, drug runner and all around bad boy, who had been molesting an innocent girl in Mr. Boyce’s Chemistry class, had been satisfied. When he opened his eyes, they had all turned scared eyes on him.
Now here he was, being chased though the bush, by Jason and his crew wielding cutlasses, looking to kill the Obeah man. Him. Tishorn. The sane man.
Now he was pressed up behind an old neggerile tree, the rough trunk biting into his back, praying to God that Jason and his crew would just run past. Maybe if he hadn’t been running so hard, he would have noticed the man.
He was convinced that the man had not been there when he’d hooked his arm around the cedar sapling to change his trajectory and lead him to the safety of the neggerile tree. But there he was, a tall man, about six feet, dressed in black leather trousers and a black leather jacket, staring at him. He looked like he was barely twenty, a few years older than Tishorn was.
All the more shocking the man was white!!! Not Caucasian like the tourists that came and went, though his blond hair and sharp nose showed him as European. He was white, like paper, so much so that he seemed to glow against the deep dark night. His eyes were so blue, they looked violet and Tishorn found he couldn’t look away from the man, he wanted to ask the man something but he couldn’t really remember what, so it was only natural that when the man cocked his head to the side then raised his finger to his lips and gave the signal for silence Tishorn did. Just so.
“Ah you go so. Me will go through ya, an’ corner de freak when he run come so” It was Jason’s voice . And they could hear the others run off in another direction.
The man stepped past him, just as something loud and angry in the teenage gangster variety crashed thought the brush into the little clearing next to Tishorn’s hiding place. He man did not make a sound, even though he wore black biker boots with chains hanging down the side.
Jason came barreling through the bush, and stopped just short of the man. He didn’t hesitate, he raised the cutlass in a wide arc, what little moonlight there was finding it’s way through the trees glinted off the blade. But the blow never connected.
The man side stepped the blow so fast, that he was a white streak, there was a blur of motion and then man was holding Jason’s back against his front. One hand round his torso, immobilizing both arms and the other pulling his head, by his short curly hair, to the side to expose his neck. The man positioned himself and his victim so Tishorn had a perfect view of the two. He made sure he made eye contact with Tishorn.
Then he opened his lips, and there were two tiny knives of ivory where his canines should have been. Transfixed the teenager watched as he bent his head inhaling deeply and bit into Jason.
Jason’s eyes fixed on Tishorn for a brief moment, he looked like he was begging for help but no sound left his lips. Only a small trickle of blood escaping the connection where lips met neck, looking black and metallic in the moonlight. Tishorn knew that any sane man would be running. But if he was seeing what he was seeing then he so was no saneman. And besides if the man had wanted to kill him then he probably would already be dead. Jason’s eyes were rolled back in his head now, and this limbs had lost all their fight, and the stranger’s eyes were closed. The way Tishorn’s mother closed her eyes when she ate those chocolate truffle things she loved so much.
There was another rumbling in the bush, close to where they were. What the hell else could be coming? But a few moments later, another man came crashing through. This one was all arms and legs wrapped up in a heavy leather coat and carrying a long piece of wood.
He too stopped short at the sight of the first man and the crumpling form of Jason. This one was tall, taller than the first man, basket ball player tall. The first man didn’t pay him any mine. He was quite plain by comparison, ordinary. He was a bit scruffy, and stubbly, and sacry. He looked like the devil to the first man’s angel.
The second man shouted something in a strange language and the stick he was carrying lit up with blue light. Tishorn could see now that the stick was about 6 feet long, about as wide around as a red bull can and carved all over with symbols, those were what were lighting up. With fire!!!!
“It is not me you hunt.” The first man said, his voice was smooth and resonant, almost musical. His accent helped that, he sounded French.
“Yeah, but I tend not to take kindly to pretty boys snacking on kids in the evening.” Retorted the second man, he was practically growling. “You know, as a matter of principle.”
“Ah yes you and your principles. Very Quaint.” The first man said. Letting Jason’s corpse crumple to the ground, He cut a little bow and said. “I am Prince Lestat.”
“Heh. I’ve read of you, and yours. But that doesn’t make you right.” Said the second man. The first man pursed his lips.
“Sir Knight, you would deny me my existence, even as my very nature saved your quarry from the denizen of society? Would you cut me down even as I have saved the life of your innocent…warlock.” He stumbled over the word and continued. “Saved him from certain death, at this wicked child’s blade?”
“All I see is something that took the life of something else.”
“Should you be out and about among all this flammable wood?” said Lestat, grinning mischievously.
“Shouldn’t you sparkle?” The second man replied, relaxing his stance just a little.
“Ah your infamous wit, I see your case files have done you justice. You are just as stubborn and self righteous as you are portrayed.”
“And you little prince, are just as sappy as stories written by a lady who sips mint juleps with her shrimp po boys.” the second man bantered back, he was leaning on his staff now, looking almost casual. The first man, Lestat gave a crooked little smile and said.
“Far less discriminate killers than I hunt this night. But you know that. Good night Sir Knight.” And with that he was just gone. Just gone, like one of those anime characters doing his jitsu, disappearing in a puff of smoke. Except there was no smoke. Just leaves falling from the Ginnip tree that loomed over them all.The second man turned to Tishorn then.
“Kid you have got to be the luckiest kid ever. If your teacher hadn’t seen you throw up that shield and threw up a hail on the paranet you would be in all kind a trouble”
“Shield? Paranet? What? ” Tishorn was more confused now than ever. First a milk white vampire dressed like a punk rock biker had saved his life. Now he was sharing a clearing with a staff wielding, pyrokinetic, leather clad…mobster?
“mmmffnnn mmmhjbbess” The man’s pocket was mumbling. He held up a finger and reached in to pull out a skull. It was carved all over with symbols kind of like those on the staff, but different. Its eyes were glowing orange, and it spoke. “Harry? Did we get him? Did we find the warlock? Was that a French accent? I thought this was a British colony.”
Tishorn didn’t bother to ask again. He finally gave in to sanity and fainted.
Random_Michelle 