Thursday, November 1, 2012

In Which We Meet A Gypsy

Okay, this is another one of those random ideas, this one I had at work.

But FIRST! Obligatory nod of the head, happy dance, spastic hyperventilation, ecstatic wave to November the First. Do you know what that means? If you've been reading my blog you probably should. It means NaNoWriMo!

And if you still don't know what means (where have you been? Under a rock?), it means 50,000 words written in a month. It means the permission to write a terrible rough draft. It means no editing while you work. And it means writing at least 1667 words a day. Or more. Normally more. It means a month of complete and totally literary abandon. At least, that's what they say.

And I've already made my word count for the day!

I'm sitting at 1,683 words and planning on getting at least a few more before I work tonight.

Anyway! The NaNoWriMo discussion is over, (I may have a post dedicated fully to it tomorrow) so onto the gypsy!


Author is sitting in her chair, chewing on a pencil and staring at a blank sheet of paper again. As she is sitting a woman steps out of the shadows, admittedly scaring the bejeezus out of Author. Really, people should be more considerate and warn her before they walk out of her subconscious. 

Author turns, "Who are you?" She is not unfriendly, just curious and lacking in people skills. 

The woman has tanned, almost leathery in it's age and sun-beaten-ness. Long, thick hair hangs past her shoulders and is bright red, except where gray has begun taking over. Around the woman's mouth are faint lines, and make it appear she is about to smile any moment. 

Her clothing is brightly colored, being a skirt that hangs to her knee on the right side, but drags on the ground at the left, and a shirt that appears no more than a long strip of cloth wound about her torso. Both the skirt and the top have bells sewn into them, so every movement or shift of body she makes is heard clearly. There would be no way to move silently in such an outfit. 

"I am Morhaktihna Kryllmynl."

"Uh huh... 'More-hock-teen-uh Krill-men-ull.'" 

"That is correct." 

"You are Zhahilen?" 


"Then you are Zhacorahl."



"I was to be Saralmai. I did not wish it. So I left."

"You left? And made it past the Spine and to the wetlander's world, I suppose?"

"It was not easy, but yes, I did."

"Uh huh. Well, if you would go through that door there behind you and choose a room, I will call you when you are needed. All comforts will be provided for you." 

As Morhaktihna dipped her head and did as she was bade, Author put her head in her hands. What was it with these Zhahilen characters and not following the customs of their people? Most Zhahilen weren't like this. But then again, they wouldn't make good characters if they did as they were expected all the time. 


Well, that was something. 

Happy NaNo'ing all!

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