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It’s About Something Not Natural

Before I get to the story part of this I just want to explain to you what I’m looking for help wise. I’ve been working on a second series and I’m getting to the point of flushing out the main issues. I’m wanting to get peoples opinions on the idea and since I now have a Wattpad I thought it would be great to share it on My Works page.

With that said, I have no flippin’ idea what to put it under. I’ve been thinking about this and I’m starting to drive myself a little crazy… okay a little more crazy… than usual. I have no idea what to classify this story as.

Jay is about a freelance genie in the modern world. They partner up with a detective to catch a serial-killer focuses on killing Wishers – the main food source for Genie. Jay needs to find this killer and quick before the humans discover that there are more than just Genies going bump in the night.

Would that make it a murder mystery? Would it be fantasy because it has magical creatures in it… or would I put it under Paranormal since it’s about something not natural… you could even say it’s supernatural:

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Anywho, I will posted the first chapter below and you can make your suggestions since I’m so lost as to where to put this. XD

 

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Chapter 1: Time to Make a Difference

 

I stared into my coffee.

The tar tasting liquid rippled to the same beat my foot tapped against the center leg of the table while my iPod blasted upbeat techno into the cheap dollarstore buds that rested in my ears. After all these years living on this rock nothing compared to the buzz of energy that radiated from hearing a favorite jam shuffle onto my playlist.

Okay, maybe there were two things…

Across from my table at the small cafe on Augusta Ave, right off Queens, a young man sat hunched over tapping away on his cellular contraption. Never had much interest in getting one of those devices – never saw the point. I understood the benefits sure, but I didn’t have enough friends or family to justify the outrageous amount of mullah needed to have one of those things.

It wasn’t his obsessed typing that caught my attention, though.

In a super megatropolis like Toronto, watching the crowds of humans sucked into their 300 dollar mini-computer was a common sight. It was how he was typing. Fingers jabbing in a panicked fray, eyes wide, and mouth open enough to catch the stray fly if he was unlucky. Usually screen junkies typed quick but held the same droned out apathetic expression. His panic, fear, anger, and sadness were flowing out of him like your insides after Chipotle. I could have ignored him. I had done that a million times or more to others in a similar state, but it was what he was typing that intrigued me.

While humans searched for answers in words written on a tiny glass screen I found my answers in their body language. He was too busy to notice the young waitress deliver his latte, not because he had to get to the next level of Candy Crush but for another reason entirely.

The wincing of his brows, the sniffling of his nose… the slight glistening of tears that he held inside as to not make a scene in public were what I saw. The biting of his tongue, the frustrated pulling of his hair and the panicked look around the cafe before forcing himself to take a sip of the latte to try and calm himself – were all I needed to know.

I knew what the kid was going through. I had seen the same painful expression on human faces before. Although the screaming thoughts from inside his head also helped; there was no need to listen to the details.

Mom. Sick. Hospital. Not much time.

                Humans thrived on connections. The whole reasons social media exploded the way it did was for humans desire to feel connected to something bigger then themselves. Before that it was religions and before that tribes. They depended on one another and strived to impress each other. That’s something we never cared for. We didn’t need each other… but it fracking sucked how much we needed these meat suits.

Even with the dependency on humans we were still independent beings. Some of us stuck in crappy jobs, while others – like myself – had the luck to go out on their own. A freelancer, some could say.

That’s why I was sitting in this grated garden chair on the uneven patio lined by a looped metal fence. This was why I was drinking this bitter tar that I honestly didn’t need to drink. This boy was my meal ticket and that’s why I listened to him.

He was like a broken recorded with his thoughts, and although I felt a twinge in my empty chest regarding his feelings about his mom, there were some rules a freelancer like myself needed to follow.

Accident. Life support. Oh God!

The big bearded guy in the sky had nothing to do with it. He gave humans freewill. With that freewill gave the big guy some overdue time off. Of course that’s my own assumption. Never met the being humans called God, Allah… whatever. I didn’t follow their mythology… heck I didn’t follow anything really.

What can I do? How can I help her?

                “Come on, kid,” I grumbled into my coffee before taking a sip. My electric blue bang fell in front of my face before I combed it back with one hand while the other set the chipped mug onto the table. My black fingernails tapped on the sides of the mug, contrasting against the white porcelain.

He only had to say one word.

One word all humans said constantly like it was some kind of greedy prayer.

I looked through the metal grated table at my rolled down combats. They were practical enough with the amount of walking my job required and with this no-shits-given, free-style appearance I had going with my half shaved head and thick framed ‘hipster’ glasses, no one really paid much attention to me. I liked the glasses ‘cause they reminded me of the pair I busted in the 80s, not ‘cause they were hipster. Whatever the hell a hipster was anyway?

I….

                I sat up in my chair, leaning on my elbows along the edge of the unbalanced metal table. From the years of experience the word ‘I’ usually had the word I needed to complete this screen junkie’s request.

I…

                Come on! I wanted to scream, grinding my teeth in anticipation.

I wish her to be okay. I want her to be okay…

                I stood after hearing the magic word, taking a small glass bottle out of the pocket of my sweatshirt as I approached him. I rested my hand on his shoulder. He didn’t notice me and didn’t see me. I was a shadow standing behind him. With knowing that I leaned down close, moving aside his brunette hair to whisper: “You got your wish.”

He didn’t turn around as I gave him a pat on the shoulder. I glanced to his ear, seeing a pale white smoke begin to leak from the cannel onto his shoulder. Wisher essence. Ten times harder than crack and the staple of my diet.

With a pop of the cork I placed the bottle by his ear, allowing the white liquid to fill the bottle. He didn’t react. He just reached to take another sip of his latte before his phone rang.

Slipping the bottle into my pocket, I went through the opening in the metal fence and into the busy morning rush. There came a clattering noise when his chair flew back hitting the pavement when he stood abruptly after hearing the news. I stopped by a newspaper dispenser to admire my work.

Awake? Pull-through? Live? She’ll live! His thoughts flooded my mind. I smirked, knowing all too well what I had done.

 

Bits of Book 2:”Repent an’ I’ll forgive yah”

There was the crackling of explosions in the distance. The familiar echoing of cries muffled by the clashing of metal. His back was wet as his head pounded. He looked up at the burnt sky. A funnel of smoke snaked across his view.

This wasn’t Menk.

Sitting up, he felt the put of his stomach sink. The blood was in the air as blue tattered capes flapped in the wind. The noble war beasts lay like burial mounds as he pulled himself to his feet. He spun, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He couldn’t possibly be back here. It had been years since he stood knee deep in his personal hell.

“Foe…” he heard his name across the field as he bolted in the direction.

This wasn’t real. This couldn’t have been real.

He stopped, seeing the young man pinned under the black beast. Blood dripped from his lips staining his ginger beard. A gash was across his forehead and his crown was buried behind him in the muck.

“Cain,” Foe gasped, leaping into action to pry away the creature laying atop of the King. “Stay still, me boy. I’ll get yah free.”

“Boy?” Cain gave a moist laugh, spitting blood across the front of his armour. “I’m older than yah. Must’ve hit yar head harder than yah thought, eh?”

Foe forced a laugh, pulling the man out of the muck before collapsing beside him. This scene haunted his dreams but never with such detail. He could feel the mud seeping into his boots and squishing between his fingers as he leaned his weight back.  Blood filled the air, along with the sulfur they used in the pop pots. His eyes burnt from the smoke, and ears still faintly buzzed from the explosion.

“I shouldn’ve listened to yah,” Cain croaked. His emerald eyes peered up to the sky. They glistened with tears as they ran down his temples and into his matted locks. “We’d be alive if not for yah.”

“Aye, I know…” Foe breathed heavily through his nose, pressing his eyes shut. He didn’t need some bloody nightmare to remind him of his guilt.

He had pushed for a frontal assault. He had believed he had thought everything through. He had considered their enemy but it was his allies that he had forgotten to count.

They lit the pop pots early. The explosion went off before they had cleared the field. He had convinced them of the plan. He had given the signal to light the pots. It was his fault.

“Rio, Mac, Der, Javi… Me,” Cain listed, “we’re all dead cause of yar stupid mistake. Yah know how good the world would be if I was still alive. If I was still King we’d ‘ave pushed the lines… not sit like me brother’s doin’.”

“I know… yah don’ think I know…” Foe growled, “not a day goes by that I don’ think of what happened. I would do anythin’ to right me wrongs. I’d do anythin’ to bring yah peace.”

“Repent,” Cain muttered, struggling to reach for his dagger. His fingers wrapped around the hilt as he pulled it from the sheath. The silver blade glistened like fire in the dim dank trenches. “Repent an’ I’ll forgive yah.”

Bits of Book 2: “Repent Fer Wat Yah Did!”

When the light faded he moved his arms away to see what had happened. The familiar noise of crashing waves rang in his ears with the calling of gulls that fought the strong winds off the water. The smell of salt and kelp filled the air. The mist from the waves stuck to his wool robe decorating his robe with glass droplets across his sleeves and collar.

Tucking away his glasses inside his robe, Caldor looked around in a daze. This was not possible. Where he stood couldn’t have been real.

The large wooden ships lined the docks. The sky was a mix of dark green and grey that circled together in the clouds over head. Gulls called, fighting the gusts off the water while others bobbed like buoys. Barrels were piled high along the ward, as huts made of drift wood and tarps lined the roadway.

“Fish Bank…” Caldor spat. Everything was as he remembered it. Everything was identical to how it was the last time he had been standing on the docks.

“Boy!” the growling howl sent a current through his back freezing his feet to the wave soaked boards.

Peering back over his shoulder, he felt like that child again standing on the docks that night which changed his life. The man’s wrinkled round face with his yellow stained beard, the vomit on his plaid vest, and tattered hole in the right leg of his brown cotton pants. His thread like hair stiff with salt water hid the red rims of his squinty eyes.

“Father,” Caldor snarled, “why are you here?”

Caldor faced the man, regaining himself as he dusted the droplets that moistened his palms. This obviously wasn’t real. The man that stood before him had been dead for over forty years.

“I’m here fer yah ta repent,” his father’s voice was mostly slurred as he clutched to the brown glass bottle by his side. He lifted the bottle, gesturing towards the ocean where the waves rocked the large ships. “Repent fer wat yah did!”

Liora’s Second Gift: Part 2

If you haven’t read PART ONE click HERE

“Come on, Li,” Cáel called disappearing around the corner of the stables. Hoping the girl wasn’t too far behind him.

The wind tussled her hair, as the cool grass of the garden sent chills up her legs. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest, while she watched the boy walk around the corner of the stables. What was the reason he wanted to bring her to the stables?

Walking up the steps, Liora slowly moved around the corner to see the boy standing with his arms crossed before one of the middle stalls. Cautiously she moved to stand beside the boy, as he wore a large grin on his face.

The stall was empty from what she could tell, although there was plenty of hay covering the bottom. The water trough had been filled and there was a smaller trough set up for food.

“Cáel,” Liora didn’t know what the boy was so happy about, “thank you for the… stall?”

“What?” he turned hearing the uncertainty in her voice. “No, I didn’ get yah a stall. Well… I did but there’s somethin’ in there too.”

“Right…” Liora looked over the hay but still didn’t see anything. There was no movement, no noise, nothing. “Unless you got me the very elusive and rare imaginary gryphon… I’m not seeing what you apparently are.”

“Believe me I tried to find an imaginary gryphon, but I settled for a real one instead,” Cáel stepped towards the stall, leaning over the gate.

“Wait, what? When? How?” Liora shook her head, before hurrying to look over the stall. “You hate gryphons and I can’t own one… unless your father has allowed it.”

“We’d have better luck defeatin’ Sydrin than doin’ that,” Cáel  jested.

“Fine, so it wasn’t your father, meaning you got the gryphon. Why? How?” Liora asked.

“Me da’ suggested I’d have better luck learnin’ to enjoy ridin’ if I got my own beast, so he asked Foe before yar name day to take me to the nests. Since yah were upset about not goin’ to the nests, Foe and I agreed to wait a bit. After a week we ran into the issue of their breedin’ time, and so we had to wait a couple more. This mornin’ Foe took me to the nest, and this afternoon I brought it home. Foe says it’ll be able to ride by summer’s end.”

Cáel climbed over the gate and jumped into the hay before he started kicking it with his feet. Liora cringed, as she crawled over the gate and gently lowered herself on the other side.

“Stop kicking, you might hit him,” Liora ordered, watching Cáel stop mid-kick, “or is it a her?”

“A him,” Cáel said.

“And does this him have a name?” Liora knelt to the ground. The hay smelt fresh while it crinkled under her hands. It picked through her dress, as she continued to feel for the little beast.

“Nah,” Cáel shrugged, slowly moving the hay around with his foot, “I didn’ think I’d need to name him.”

“He can’t just be called him or it for the rest of his life, Cáel,” Liora retorted, sitting up for a moment to look at the boy who was looking down at his feet. “He needs a name.”

The boy shrugged. Liora sighed.

Her friend could learn so much if he only applied himself, but his laziness got in the way of him completing any of his goals. All he cared about was his lute, but that wasn’t going to help him run a country or win a war. Even getting a gryphon – a living creature – appeared to not push him to apply himself.

Liora patted the hay harder feeling a warm lump close to the back left corner. She dusted away the hay, uncovering the small lump of downy white feathers. As she removed more of the little creature’s coverings she noticed the white and grey speckled feathers along his side where his wings were, and a set of large red eyes.

The youngling growled, but she paid no mind as she tucked her hands under his belly pulling him onto her lap. He was soft like dandelion fluff, while she picked the hay out of his frizzy mane. His hind legs were mainly white while grey spots were all the way to the end of the creature’s thin cat like tale.

“He’s a snow tail!” Liora giggled, hearing the creature coo as she rubbed behind his ears. His face was like a snow owl while his body resembled that of a leopard. Snow tails were known to live in cold climates and loved flying in higher elevation. The little guy would love living in Derlin since the capital had both requirements. “He’s big for a babe.”

“Yeah, that’s what Foe said,” Cáel leaned against the dividing wall of the stall.

“How about Blizzard?” Liora suggested; hung up on the fact the little guy didn’t have a name yet.

“That’s a silly name. He deserves better. Somethin’ powerful… somethin’ with meanin’,” Cáel  stated.

“Har – the Dermite that flew over the mountains. Then there’s Evrin. He was a Morzi explorer that climbed to the highest peaks of the western mountains. We called him the snow master because he was said to have the power of predicting the downfalls,” Liora explained.

“I like Evrin,” Cáel smirked, watching how quickly the little creature had fallen asleep in the girl’s lap. “He likes yah.”

“I’m warm, that’s all,” Liora ran her fingers through the soft downy feathers of the creature’s back while Evrin purred. “End of summer and he’ll be able to ride?”

“Yeah, Foe said that.”

Dragons took a year to be a suitable size to ride. Of course they were smaller and spent the first three years with their parents in the crevasses of the mountain. Gryphons were different since they grew faster and gained independence from their parents before they were a year. That’s what made gryphons easier beasts to use and train.

“You should be doing this – not me. You need him to bond to you,” Liora picked Evrin up off her lap. The little ball of white fluff growled, not making her fear him what-so-ever.

“Na, I was thinkin’ he could be ours. Yah ride him and I ride him,” Cáel beamed with his idea. That had been why he had wanted to surprise her. He wouldn’t be able to handle the beast all by himself and the girl had wanted her own bird-lion. This was the best option for the both of them.

“Yes but that’s not how it works. From what I’ve read a gryphon should only bond to one person… it’s a lifelong relationship,” Liora stated, moving the little beast back to her lap as it kneaded her dress with its paws.

“Well I don’ care what the books know, ‘cause I know this. That lil beast likes yoou and me. So let him bond to the both of us. That way yah can ride him when yah want… which honestly will probably be a heck of a lot more than I ever will,” Cáel spouted, crossing his arms.

“But girls aren’t supposed to ride gryphons alone. The rules say –“

“The rules are dumb. Do yah know there is a rule that yah can’t eat cheese at sunset because it was believed to attract fleas?” Cáel spat, lifting his arms. “There are so many rules in that book that aren’t bein’ followed anymore and I choose not to follow ones that doesn’ have real good reason behind it. Evrin’s ours and that’s that.”

Liora liked the sound of that. Foe hadn’t been so open-minded, and she knew Charn would sooner chop her up into carrion than bend a rule for her. It was nice that Cáel was different.

“So, it’s settled. I name yah Evrin,” Cáel pointed to the creature, as the little beast opened his beak to give a big yawn before setting his head back down onto the girl’s lap.

The boy waded through the hay and slid down the wall to sit beside Liora. He patted the little beast on the head before leaning his head back and closing his eyes. His ginger curls fell over his eyes, while his usual crooked goofy smile was plastered across his face. The boy hadn’t needed to be so nice as to share his gryphon. She would have been upset, sure, but that wouldn’t have ruined their friendship. She had understood the rules, but thanks to Cáel she wasn’t so afraid of breaking them.

Maybe change wouldn’t happen immediately but in time, Derm would change for the better.

 

Liora’s Second Gift: Part 1

Brief introduction:

This is a piece from book two.

Liora didn’t have such a good birthday. With a sudden panic attack brought on by the party Foe had thrown for her, the poor girl spent most of the evening lock in her room. Cáel had planned on giving her two gifts for her birthday, but unfortunately one of the gifts had to wait until a later date.

Now, a couple of weeks have passed and Cáel finally has the chance to give the girl the second gift he had been patiently waiting to give her. So, here we go.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The sound of shattering glass tore him out of his thoughts.

“Oh Gods damn it,” she spat. Her fingers quickly tucked the white strand behind her ear as she knelt before the broken vile on the floor. The black liquid seeped between the stone before Liora began dabbing it with the bottom of her apron.

Cáel hurried to assist her. He didn’t need her cutting her hands on the glass. That wouldn’t have been the best lead up to giving her the second gift.

“Cáel?” Liora looked up at him, surprise in her voice. He reached for the glass. “Don’t!”

“Why not? I don’ want yah cuttin’ yarself,” he muttered lifting his hands.

“Never touch something you don’t know,” Liora stated. Removing her apron, she placed it over the glass. “I’ll ask Caldor the best way to clean that later.”

“What is it?” Cáel heard the girl sigh.

Her hands rested on her lap. Her fingernails stained dark purple from the plants she had been working with. A smudge of the same purple was on her cheek.

“I was trying to make my nana’s sleeping bitter. It helps people suffering from insomnia,” Liora explained, standing up to close her grandmother’s almanac. “It’s supposed to help suppress bad dreams.”

“Ya’re still havin’ that dream?” Cáel had no idea. His friend hadn’t spoken about it since she had first experienced it the night of her name day. “Do yah think it’s a vision? Like one of those seein’ thin’s yah get.”

“No…I mean…I don’t think so,” Liora stuttered, “normally I have a trigger like holding someone’s hand or touching an item that belongs to them. I’ve even begun to get less random flash images and can control what I want to see. I don’t believe this is a vision… at least it’s no vision I’ve ever had before.”

Cáel scratched the back of his head. He wanted to help her, but he honestly knew nothing when it came to what was going on with her gifts. He knew what she told him about it. That’s what he had always been there to do; to listen to her and maybe help her figure it out.

“Maybe…” Cáel didn’t want what he was going to say to cause problems.

“Maybe?” Liora pushed. “Cáel, be honest, tell me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched at hearing those words.

“Maybe yar powers are growing… changing?” Cáel suggested. “I mean, sure ya’re a seer but what if as yah grow yar powers do to. Like when yah first woke up in Morza yah had images and then yah could read people’s memories… then the healin’ thin’s happened. What if dreams are a new part of it? A new level to yar gifts?”

The girl looked at him for a moment before looking down at her fingers. She picked at the purple on her skin, while she stayed silent. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything after all. Liora looked so defeated by hearing what he had said. She had told him how much she wanted to be normal. She had shared with him how she didn’t like the attention her powers brought. All Cáel could do was try an empathies, but he couldn’t imagine what the girl was feeling.

“I…” Cáel took a deep breath, “I know this is bad timin’, but I came down here because I wanted to give yah yar second gift.”

“What?” her head shot up and her brow winced. “You already got me my dagger weeks ago. I don’t need a second name day gift.”

“All ‘ight then…” Cáel rubbed his neck, “how about a make yar day better gift? I can’t take it back and I’ve been waitin’ weeks to give it to yah… and I really thought ya’d use it… and yah know I poured my heart and soul into–”

“All right I get it,” Liora cut him off, “quit guilting me.”

“Awe but I wasn’ done explainin’ how I had to climb mountains and fight trolls,” the girl giggled, covering her mouth with the back of her hand before looking away. A smile grew across his lips when he saw hers begin to appear.

“Give me the gift then,” the girl chimed, putting out her hand.

“Actually… I want to give yah the gift somewhere nicer than here,” Cáel muttered, “follow me?”

He headed for the door, taking a deep breath to keep himself calm. The girl hurried to keep up with him as they made their way towards the garden.

Continuing to walk towards the stables, he watched the girl stop to look at him. Her head tilted to the side.

To be continued in PART TWO found HERE!

UPDATE: Free Preview!!

PREVIEW

So… I know I said I would update in 2 hours but Kindle was being a pain… and then I found out the only way to get a free preview was to go through Smashwords. Now that I got that out of the way, I also discovered upon uploading this to Smashwords that the formate doesn’t like wingdings…

I apologize for the 1H and 2G thing for the chapter heads… formatting isn’t as easy as some may say. I also said the book wasn’t going to be perfect… and I have a few days… 2 days until I have to get this all fixed up.

With that being said, here is my gift to you for all being so awesome. A two chapter preview of my book. Enjoy.

Click on picture to go DOWNLOAD it now!!!!

UPDATE: Something Exciting

I have something exciting to share with you.

I’m on the final part of the first book. By part, I literally mean Part. Part Four to be exact.

The way I’ve decided to divide up the book are in Parts. Each Part focusing on a main theme as reflected in the Part Title. This is one reason why I haven’t been sharing chapter updates, as for the moment there are no chapters. I’ve removed them all.

I find chapters to have to serve a purpose and just putting Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 without a title under it is just a waste of space you could put towards adding more story to your… well… story. 😛

We shall see if I’ll change back to the chapter thing, but at the moment I’m liking how things are at the moment.

So here is Part Four (Final Part) of Book 1 of P6

part four

Now to clarify. Parts are not chapters. Parts in the sense I’m using them are defining the end of one piece of the story and moving into the next section of the whole story. Each Part averages over 20-30 pages. I use breaks between events in the parts to indicate change in time, or change of scene.

I find the story flows better this way, but of course, that’s just me. 😛

At the moment I’m experimenting with my set-up and will hopefully find one that pleases me before I publish.

If I don’t, well I have 5 more books to get it right. ^.^

Toodles for now,

Classy Canuck

Dialogue Prompt: Song Bird

songbird

The carriage hit another bump, as Clara instinctively grabbed the handle to the door. The blue velvet curtains swayed allowing some light in from outside. She had tried to get a few moments rest before her busy evening.

Looking behind her, where a large window peered into another compartment, she watched as her luggage hopped slightly in their neat piles. The bumpy ride didn’t seem to disturb her things as much as she had thought, hoping that the small trinkets from her travels inside were still intact.

There came a sudden feeling of someone’s hand on her lap, as she turned to see the older man. It was her manager, an older gentleman with a thick stash. It twisted in a peculiar direction, at times pointing down as the ends twisted into little zigzags. His bald head, when outside the carriage was always covered by a large felt top hat of brown and green, though on stage he seemed to choose to wear a straggly black wig.

He moved his hand back to sit upon his hat, which sat upon his lap. A small smile creased his lips, showing his two front teeth. When Clara had first met Mr. Duncan Rogersford, she hadn’t been sure of her father’s decision on letting her go with him. He had been scatter brained, and his voice was squeaky. Those unusual traits didn’t hinder his ability to manage her though; if anything, he had brought her to the front stage thanks to his unusual eye for details and strange persuading skills.

“Are you all right, my song bird?” Rogersford pouted, lifting his big fuzzy brows like two caterpillars bouncing on a twig. She had been travelling with this man around the world for over four years. She had seen the Eastern Isles, Western Valleys, across the ocean to Felbek, and so much more. The clothing she wore was tailored by the greatest hands in Regbin, with silk material from Erg, as her jewelry was from Calin, and perfume from Syder.

When she had been a child she had wanted to see the world. It was her luck to being the only child to a wealthy inventor that she was taught by those of her art. The very best teachers in music, writing, and vocals were at her disposal. It had been her late mother’s wishes for her to be a child of the arts and stage. If her father had any say she would have likely gone into science.

Clara had been blessed with both a voice and her father’s troubling skills with tinkering. It was by the age of fourteen she had made her first automaton companion. A waste of time and resources, her father had thought as there were enough automaton servants within the house, but Clara knew none of them would ever be hers. She had found the scrap pieces around her father’s workshop, and when she had the time, worked on building her companion.

“I can’t wait to be home; to see my friends from the Ministry of Art. To perform with them on the first stage I sang on. It all will be so wonderful.” Clara sang, looking at the velvet curtain with flushed cheeks. She hadn’t seen Demor in years, though she read about the changes while she was gone. The papers read of new discoveries of steam engines and flying ships. Her father had helped build the first of the flying ships. Surely he had been happy with the results as it was all over the newspapers. The Isles had bragged about Derm’s navy, while Syder envied Derm’s medical advancements.

A group of medical experts were researching the use of old automaton limbs. They were hoping that with mild modifications that a human could use such limbs. Maybe those who had suffered in the war would soon have working limbs again. That thought, made Clara’s heart leap.

Still, she was sure to hear more details about it once returning to her people. They would brag to her about what she had missed. But, wouldn’t they be surprised that she had kept an eye on her country.

This evening would prove to be her welcome back into her home. She would take a short two months break to recover from the constant travelling before going back onto the road and performing once again for the Isles, this time adding Morza to one of her stops. She had been asked to perform in an opera for them, a rare opportunity that made Rogersford’s mustache tingle.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Clara was counting down the hours until she would be home. Maybe her friends would greet her with their warm smiles and simple jokes. Possibly her father would find the time to come to her show. Either way, she knew her fans would greet her.

“We will be arriving in two hours. It will give us enough time to prepare you for this evening’s performance. Your father wishes you to have dinner with him afterwards as well. He will likely bring along some partners to the show, but it will be just him for dinner. One of his most recent partners is a young man making his way in the world with talking boxes. Whatever those are?” Rogersford muttered, moving the curtain to look outside. He knew the young woman was excited to be performing on the stage in her city of Demor. Her return to Demor would prove to be more exciting than when she had left it. “You’re father will be happy to see you.”

“He’s been busy enough; I hope he’s been resting and eating right. I made sure to leave him in good hands after all. ” Clara grumbled, feeling every muscle in her body stiffen as they hit another bump. This time she could hear a faint clicking coming from the back of the carriage. There were all sorts of gifts for friends and family in those trunks. If one had broke – she would be heartbroken. “We need to stop the carriage. I need to check on the luggage.”

“If something broke back there it will make you distraught. If worse comes to worse we can always replace it the next time we return to the place you bought it. Whatever you do now will be pointless.” Rogersford grumble; lifting his sleeve briefly to glance at his watch. “We’re making good time. We’ll have a few hours before the show to check up on things.”

“If you think that’s best. I just don’t want money to have gone to waste. Father wouldn’t be happy with me if it had.” Clara sighed, bracing herself as the carriage rocked after another bump. Taking a deep breath, Clara fixed her hat. It had become tilted during the first hours of travel. “Why didn’t you order tickets for a train? It would have been better for everyone.”

“I didn’t do anything. Your father controls the money for this venture. He said take a carriage, we take a carriage. He’s says Rogersford jump, I will bloody jump.” Rogersford spat, as the carriage hit another bump this time throwing his head into the ceiling. “For bloody sake man, are you trying to hit every hole in the ground. There are people back here!”

Clara watched him bang his fist against the window, as the carriage’s pace slowed. So much for having a few hours to spare once they got into the city. The fact her father still controlled her money annoyed her. She didn’t waste her money like other women in her position. She was given a certain amount to spend each month, and rarely Clara spent any of it, unless on gifts or something she truly needed. If anyone spent money pointlessly it was Rogersford. She kept her money hidden from his greedy little fingers, usually going as far as to stuff her bodice with her change purse. It was really the only thing she had to be concerned about with her manager. Still, the older man only wished her to look her best, and to make a statement. Rogersford bought mostly everything she wore, and paid those that made her look like the diva people believed her to be.

If she had the money in her possession she would have given most of it to a charity of choice, and then the rest into savings. Her father would be allowed to invest her money into what he saw fit, but not control all of it. She had some sense.

The strange man was still banging against the window, throwing out slurs left and right. They had been in the carriage for over eight hours now. They had packed snacks, but as the windows were unable to be opened anymore then a slit to promote fresh air flow, they had been locked in a box together. Clara admittedly had slept most of the trip, but she wasn’t so sure about Rogersford.

Performing on stage was second nature to her, not that she had done it for long. Every performance Rogersford was pulling the hair out of his ridiculous wig. Out of the years she worked with the man, never had he been calm. At times she wondered what he was taking to be so high-strung but other’s she ignored him.

“I think a moments rest would be suggested.” Clara’s calm voice had caught her manager’s ear. He tapped on the window, as he nodded at her suggestion. His normally pale face was flushed red. “Stop the carriage, please.”

It slowed, as she opened the door and stepped out. There was farm field as far as she could see. The sky was blue, as she could hear a calling of crows which perched on the fence lining the road. She couldn’t see any houses, but there was a looming black cloud in the distance. Coal mining, likely was in that direction. She hated how much her people relied on it. That was changing now, with the steam engine coming more accessible.

Her father would likely show her the new flying ships she had read about. He would brag about how he had come up with the idea. The man was a fortified genius, of his generation. To think he was from the lower class would be unbelievable. He was meant to be in the upper aristocrats. The man had learned how to live in such a cut throat world, and dare she say; he was good at it.

Tucking the stubborn piece of hair behind her ear again, she took a slow deep breath. It was a sweet smell of fresh wheat, as the golden strands thrashed in the breeze, reminding her of the crystal waves of Isles. She would go there after her stay in Demor. It was her favourite place to perform. Though, to say she had a favourite place would be a lie. Everywhere she had been had a place equal to liking as the Isles. Theaters, hotels, parties, people, food, were all things to consider when travelling. They all made her stay pleasant, even with the recent wars in South.

“Are you feeling better, Rogersford?” Clara asked, turning to see the man sitting on the edge of the door of the carriage. His leather shoes kicking up the dust on the messy dirt road, while his hat sat on the seat in the carriage. The redness in his face had faded as he looked to have calmed down enough to continue.

“Yes, I am all right, Lady Clara.” Rogersford sighed, standing back up to retreat into the carriage. She could see he was back sitting where he had been moments before. “Let’s go, we need to make good time.”

UPDATE: It’s been a few days

chapter2

And so, here it is. Beginning of Chapter 2. Looking forward to what’s going to happen in the chapters after this one. 🙂

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