Vaughn R. Demont's Blog, page 29

From Twitter 11-19-2010

01:36:06: The King's Confidante - Part 27 http://j.mp/9R6hG3
10:35:09: Working on chapter 28 and an Insider Reader list today. Said list will include TV shows. God, am I a product of our educational system...
13:17:37: If pirates say they're only stealing my books because they don't want to pay a percentage to my publisher, why is my tip jar bone dry?
13:21:24: @peachesnjasmin It's both interesting and frustrating to listen to them justify it as well. They really don't see it as what it is: a crime.
16:40:21: @mythicfox Indeed. #dudewtf

Tweets copied by twittinesis.com

Free Fiction Friday: The King's Confidante - Part 27

x-posted to freeficfriday

Welcome back to Free Fiction Friday!

This week's chapter is above average length, coming in at 3500 words, and Spence has crossed the 90k mark!

The archive for the freeficfriday community is up to date, so if you've been looking for where you can read all of the FFF material from all of the participating authors in one place, you're set. :)

Everything's tagged according to author, title, and genre for easier reading, but if you prefer to stick with Spence on my blog, just click the "free fiction fridays" tag if you need to catch up.

This week's posting roster consists of: Vaughn R. Demont vaughn_r_demont , I.D. Locke id_locke , Cassandra Gold cassandra_gold and Michael Mandrake desiresdd .

Interested in joining the Free Fictioneers? We have weekly and bi-weekly slots open for interested authors. For more information, please send any inquiries to the moderators vaughn_r_demont and/or id_locke

Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy this week's chapter of "The King's Confidante". :)



When dawn finally breaks I'm on my back, Rourke on top of me, his lips burshing along my neck, the windows so steamed up I don't even know what part of the City we're parked in. I didn't keep track but I'm pretty certain I've done almost everything two guys can do sexually in the back of a Range Rover without causing physical injury or property damage.

"I'm probably going to miss school today, I've been going all night." I smirk at him. "You know what I mean."

His tongue slips into my mouth, the heat of his body making the weight bearable a bit longer. I could fall asleep right here, in his arms, wouldn't be a bad way to wake up either—

Wait, am I falling for him now? Is this because I want to wake up with someone, or because I want to wake up with him? God damn it, I watch too many chick movies.

I mean, Christ, he's a good kisser, and I don't there's anyone on Earth who knows my body better than he does, and I know I can trust him if I really need to get off—

No, Spence, you're describing a friend with benefits. Close, but not Three Words worthy.

Rourke breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against mine. "We should get dressed before we get an audience."

"Did we even get a chance to talk about my idea?" I wriggle slightly as he maneuvers off me, pins and needles flooding my legs as I paw around the floor for my underwear and pants.

"You starting talking about how we needed to visit a rice warehouse, but that it didn't open until seven in the morning. After that…" He smiles and kisses me gently again. "We passed the time."

I chuckle as I slip on my underwear and then hand him his boxers. "That part I remember, yeah." As I put on my jeans his fingers trail over my chest, the tips of his index and middle fingers drifting around my right nipple, making me shiver and make happy little noises. I turn my head to kiss him, closing my eyes, and letting it linger for a few seconds before I finish zipping up my jeans and start searching for my shirt.

"Spencer?"

"Yeah, Rourke?" I turn around, and lean over the back of the seat, and grab his shirt first, checking to confirm that it's his before giving it to him.

"You don't love me, do you?"

I freeze a second, various syllables and fragments and beginnings of exit strategies and apologies and contingencies. This is it, and I have the feeling how I do this is going to carry a lot of weight. How many shows and movies have I seen where someone truly fucks up this conversation, often for dramatic or comedic value, and the fallout lasts for three seasons or well into the third act or…

But this isn't TV, it's my life.

"I'm sorry, Rourke." I slip back into my seat, my shirt limply in my hand. "I mean, I…" I look down at my knees, because I really don't want to look at him while I'm doing this. "I'm eighteen, Rourke, I'm just a dumb kid, okay? I have no idea what love is. I like you though, I do, I care about you and I don't want to see you get hurt and I trust you and I keep thinking that something will click and I'll realize that that's love but…" I sigh quietly. "I'm so sorry that I strung you along like that, but God, please don't think I've been using you, this wasn't a trick, or a con or…" I finally bring myself to look at him. "I just didn't want to hurt you."

And, strangely enough, he doesn't appear to be angry.

In fact, there's just silence that grows more unbearable with each passing second. I keep waiting for him to say something, to rage, or pat my shoulder and tell me it's all right, or kiss me, or slap me, or, God, just something. Maybe we're both waiting for the other to speak, I don't know, but if that's the case I'm the first one to break.

"How long have you known?"

"Since you told me you loved me in return."

I stare at him a long time, letting it sink in. "You knew I was lying?"

"Spencer, I have been with many men, many women, and of those multitudes a fair number have been called my lover. I am also of the Fae, a race of individuals bound completely to never lie, which engenders an old Phouk like myself to become an expert in reading the real truth buried in the petty honesties. If a Duke with decades of practice cannot mislead me, I doubt you would possess the ability no matter your heritage." I feel his fingers touch my face, caressing my cheek. "But you wanted to love me, and I believe that you truly did not wish to 'hurt me' as you put it."

"You never thought to tell me you knew until now? You've known all along and you still told me that story?"

"You'd bound me, extracted a promise three times, there was little I could do. That you denied the Emerald in the Snow, however, even though that was what you were requesting, it showed me that you didn't see me as—"

"A mark."

He nods once. "Not to mention the situation you find yourself stems partly from your promise to retrieve my son's ashes, a promise one of your clan would never be beholden to, but you risk your life to keep it." Rourke smiles gently, and his lips brush against mine. "I would suppose the morning I realized my love for you was perhaps a glimpse."

"Meaning?"

He leans me backward against the door, his hands running over my chest. "For now, today, I suppose I would call you a friend and consort, occasionally my lover, but I don't believe I would take you before Her Majesty and inform her that I am courting you. I believe, though, that someday you will be that man, and as I am rather long-lived, I can be patient."

"So, you're saying you think we're right for each other, just not right now." How many TV series have been built on that premise, I wonder? "We can still be friends, then?" I look down, and see his hand drifting toward my crotch. "With benefits, I take it?"

He nods gently, but a wisp of his lecherous grin is creeping around the corners of his mouth. "I doubt we could keep our friendship chaste at this point."

I can already feel my body readying up another go, but I'm starting to remember some important things that faded in the haze of passion I've been under for the last few hours. "Rourke, why did you keep his ashes for so long?"

That, understandably, gets his hand off my groin. "He's my son."

"Well, yeah, but I get the feeling there's more to it than that." Rourke looks at me dubiously, and I rolls my eyes a bit. "Fine, someone suggested I ask, but it is a good question. It doesn't mean I'm going to give up on getting it back, but I would like to know more about it."

"Such as?" He leans backward, and begins putting his clothes back on, not making eye contact.

"Well, why did Se— Er, Miss Crazy wait until now to take it? How did the Foxes manage to get it from you and why didn't you ever bother getting it back if it's this important to you?" I sit up, and face toward him. "And Rourke, c'mon, you told me the story, your son was, I'm sorry to say, a private island and a Persian cat away from being a full blown Bond villain."

"He was still my son, Spencer." Anger is starting to work its way into his voice, but I'm on the clock here, Selah is going to kill Thornton tonight with the full moon, so I don't have time to walk on eggshells.

I just stare at him a second. "Did he or did he not try to stab you with the Bloom of Hasseth so that he could feed your soul to the Crevasse of Screaming Diamonds and in return find the Finger of Guk'san?"

Don't ask. I've had that story rolling around in my head for a while and I still have no idea what the fuck any of it means.

No answer. "I get it, Rourke, if you stand mute it's not lying, right? God, just tell me something, okay? If you were worried about him being raised from the dead and wreaking havoc, why have the Foxes had him for… how many years now?" I'd been told but honestly I've forgotten. I know it's a while. "Let's face it, if I could get the urn back then you would've had no trouble. And why'd they just let me walk with it, huh? And please, they blackmailed you into pulling out of the Feud? And here's another thing that's a bit hinky now that I think about it." I lean closer to him, and his breathing is a bit heavier, nostrils flared. "It seems awfully convenient that he just happened to die before his mother could kill him, and that you were there to witness—"

Oh God. I just hit myself over the head with it.

The ferocity leaves my voice as I sit back in the seat. "Oh shit." I glance over at him. "You killed your son, didn't you?"

He doesn't reply.

"But, he was a Ra'keth, and in the story they were badass. No offense, Rourke, but unless you tricked him into falling on his own sword—"

"He was my son." His voice is soft, quiet, his accent gone, replaced by something else clearly not meant to speak English. "He was my blood." A few seconds pass before he continues. "Tainted blood, he called it. We weren't meant to mix with their kind. She was so much stronger than him, he blamed me for that."

"That's why she wanted to kill him?"

Rourke shakes his head once. "Power. Why else? Weak though he was, it was still power for her to take. And fear. He was my blood, but he was hers as well." His eyes glance toward me. "Blood was important to them, in that world."

"So, he could kill her, is that what you're saying, because they were the same blood?" I see him nod in response, and I chew my lip a second, mulling it through. "But she's not a sorcerer anymore, but if she brings him back, they're still of the same blood, so maybe she could kill him and…"

And become a sorcerer again. Oh shit, I figured it out.

Still though, there's a lot of questions I'd ask if I were watching this on TV. "So, why not just take a road trip to Destry Bay and scatter his ashes? I mean, if the whole point is keeping the ashes away from her, that seems like a good way to…"

Rourke doesn't give me anything to go off. I shake my head while I finish getting dressed. "I have to wonder if you've ever told anyone this stuff before. This have to do with me possibly being a Bard, whatever the Hell that means?"

"You are. No one else could collect so many stories in so short a time, know the workings of fate innately—"

"I just watch a lot of TV, Rourke, and maybe spend too much time looking up tropes on the Net. If Fate is cribbing her ideas from sweeps week then I just lucked out."

He smiles knowingly. "Why do you think those things interest you so much? " His accent returns when he starts speaking again. "Only paladins come across more trustworthy, but there hasn't been one of them about in decades."

"Paladins, really?" I tilt my head. "God, please tell me you're not into Dungeons and Dragons, otherwise I'd really have to stop sleeping with you." After a few seconds of no response, I feel I have to explain. "It's this game that really nerdy virgins—"

"I know what it is." Rourke snickers softly. "Someone could take advantage of how easily you get thrown off the scent, you know."

"It's more that I'm waiting for you to give me an answer. I know there's an explanation why the Foxes got the ashes from you, why you dropped out of the Feud. I mean, the only thing that really makes sense is that you'd want to keep your clan from going after the Foxes in retribution, possibly to keep people from getting hurt, but Coyotes make the Feud bloody, not your people. Hell, they were keeping the urn in Tokyo but it was still easy access for them because they can do magic." I lean forward, rubbing my face a few times while Rourke climbs into the front seat and starts the engine. "Aren't you going to say anything? Hot or cold? Red light, green light? Yes, no, definitely maybe?"

"As you've seen, Spencer, simply because I have to tell the truth doesn't mean I have to say the truth. I've been around long enough to learn that well."

"Speaking of which, just how May-December is this thing between you and me? I mean, you said you were going to live a long time, and if you remember all of those worlds from your stories…" I climb into the passenger seat and buckle up.

He checks his blind spot and pulls into traffic. "I honestly don't know anymore, long enough that I remember when Ra'keth still lived openly among the people, but not so long that I remember a time before gods."

"So… more than fifty. Do all Fae live as long as you?"

I see him glance to my right. "Tell me again why I'm dropping you in the heart of Kitsune territory?" We're already into Little Tokyo, and the crowd reflects it, as I can see several Foxes making their way toward Ten Oaths, probably to start a morning shift. Nice to know that tricksters need day jobs too.

"It's for my idea, and you didn't answer my question, and I've already figured out the whole 'asking three times' thing, so could we save the third one?"

"Why do you need to know?" He pulls up to the curb, and unlocks the doors. A Fox passes by and sees the two of us, and immediately pulls out a cell phone, dialing.

"Well, it's not really a matter of needing to—"

"Then I don't need to answer."

I smirk slightly. "So they don't live that long, you're special. C'mon Rourke, refusing to answer is the same as admitting it. So let's lay it out, okay? The Kistune supposedly stole the urn, and used them to leverage you into pulling out of the Feud, preventing any reciprocity, but you didn't get the ashes back. That's what doesn't make any sense. I mean, it's like you wanted them to take the urn because they could keep it safer than you could, and you'd be able to honestly say the Foxes took the ashes and let everyone assume they stole them."

"I was right. I do need to keep an eye on you."

"Shit!" I practically jump out of my seat, but the seat belt prevents that as I twist about to see Shiko seated demurely in the backseat, wearing a blouse, a pleated black skirt, black pumps, and my jacket which looks out of place, understandably. "Where the Hell did you come from?"

She takes off my coat and hands it to me. "You forgot this. You'll be happy to find I cleaned out your pockets for you." She shivers slightly. "Don't thank me, they really needed it."

I look between the two of them a few seconds, in simmering silence. "Neither of you believe in answering questions, do you?"

She nods curtly to Rourke. "Good morning. Why is the King of the Phouka parked in front of my workplace?"

He tics his head toward me. "Dropping off the pup. My guess is he's here to see you."

She smiles genially. "We've developed a rapport, yes." God, this could get uncomfortably awkward given that kiss last night.

There's a flash of movement as Shiko quickly draws a small knife from… God I have no idea where, and before Rourke or I can react, she draws the flat of the blade along my throat. A second later, while I'm trying not to wet myself, the blade vanishes from her hand, and she produces a small compact, and immediately starts applying foundation to her cheek.

Rourke is the first to speak. "What…"

"The fuck?" I inch away, pressing my back to the dashboard, keeping my eyes on her as she preens.

She discreetly covers her mouth as she giggles, and then resumes applying the make-up. "Fulfilling an obligation. I was asked to drag a blade across your neck. Pity it wasn't specified which part of the blade." Satisfied, she closes the compact and it vanishes through sleight-of-hand.

"You were asked?" I blink a few times. "Jesus, Mr. Kazuhiro is that pissed?"

Again, she giggles, covering her mouth. "Oh no, of course not. Kazuhiro-kun would kill you himself if the Feud allowed it, and if he were of the mind to, which I doubt he is. Any vengeance on his part will likely involve trickery. Don't be surprised, though, if you step into a men room's stall and suddenly find yourself in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. Your father asked me to kill you." She studies my look of shock a moment. "He didn't compensate me well enough for discretion, so why not tell you?"

"My father asked you to… Wait, what? Compensation?" I'll admit I have the morbid curiosity of wondering just what my life is worth to him at this point.

"Yes, he renounced any legal claim on a possession I took from him some time ago, and returned something of mine that is quite dear to me. He was quite emphatic that I would not be breaking the laws of the Feud if I were to kill you, though, I'm curious why." She peers at me a bit more intently, and then looks at Rourke. "I don't suppose he actually is of your clan, Phouk? I was so certain he was half-blooded."

"He is as you thought, though it would appear his own trick has worked a little too well."

I slump against the dashboard, catching my breath. I mean, this really shouldn't be a shock, you know? He tried to stab me to death, I'd be shot dead in an alley right now if not for my knowledge of blonde jokes, so what's surprising about him calling out a hit on me? But Shiko? Why her? And…

"Why didn't you kill me? Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful you didn't but…" I shrug once.

The Fox smiles knowingly, her eyes darting to my coat for the barest of seconds. Ah. That's why.

Don't worry, I'll explain later.

"So tell me about this trick you pulled, Spencer." She rests her hands in her lap and waits expectantly.

"I sort of tricked my dad into believing I'm something I'm not." She doesn't prod further, at least not with words, her eyes narrow slightly, and I can see the wheels turning. Might as well just tell her, I need her help to pull this off, after all. "A Ra'keth."

"You…" Shiko points to me. "You got Justin Crain to believe that you…" She points at me more emphatically. "Are a sorcerer?" A few seconds pass before she looks to Rourke, and he nods once in confirmation. Shiko looks between the two of us. "And you two are going to carry that trick further, ensnare his mistress..." She shakes her head quickly, but she's laughing as she does so. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. The Kitsune would never allow the Coyotes and the Phouka to work together on a trick, especially not with a former sorceress as the mark. That's tantamount to an Emerald in the Snow, one for each clan but ours, and that will not do. It would tear apart the Feud and there would be chaos. You're leaving me only one path of recourse."

Rourke doesn't say anything, thankfully, even though he never really agreed to help me out on this further than giving me a ride to Grunstadt. Still, though, I can see a twinkle in his eye, a roguish curve to the grin that's spreading on his face.

Still though, someone has to take the bait, so it might as well be me. "Okay, I'll bite, what are you going to do?"

She then smiles, and it's the same one from last night, her real smile. "Destiny has pitted us against each other for so long, perhaps it is curious what we could accomplish if we worked together."


To be continued next Friday!


And that's it. I'm going to bed. :)

From Twitter 11-17-2010

03:17:00: From Twitter 11-16-2010 http://j.mp/cQxkvr
10:17:05: Okay, enough wallowing. Back to work.

Tweets copied by twittinesis.com

From Twitter 11-16-2010

03:17:39: From Twitter 11-15-2010 http://j.mp/dgYsLq
10:01:34: He didn't copy and send the chain letter to 20 people... and saved $5 in postage. #BadUrbanLegends
11:35:28: Open For Commissions http://j.mp/9UOZCf

Tweets copied by twittinesis.com

Open For Commissions

Well, I don't want to get into it too much for fear of attracting trolls, but I'm hitting a bit of a bad spot, so I'm taking story commissions for a while.

10,000 Words = $50 - $80

5,000 Words/Character Story = $30 - $40

You'll have to give me details on characters, graphic content, all that, and I reserve the right to stop the commission and refund your money in case it gets a little too squicky. Also, this should go without saying, but I won't write underage, rape, snuff, bestiality, stuff like that. However, if you really wanted to see Crain-cest, I'd be open to it, but it'll cost ya. :)

Also, if you'd rather just donate, tip, or chip in, my PayPal is solomonphoenix[at]yahoo.com.

For people who really need to know, the job that was supposed to call me back to work today, didn't, and it could be a few months before they start calling more people back. Also, the part-time job I had to supplement is done for the season, so that money's dried up. Of all the times for the teachers of this district to be fit and hale and for the students to actually behave and get their work done. *grumbles*

From Twitter 11-15-2010

00:57:55: Finished the chapter, up to 88.4k, going to see if I can start the next chapter tomorrow morning. #kingsconfidante
13:58:44: On wordcount, jealousy, and paradigm http://j.mp/9bRmJK
15:48:42: House of Stone's print release date is set! May 3, 2011! Mark your calendars! :) http://t.co/36xUWTv via @amazon
16:36:32: @mythicfox There's a sitcom in here somewhere...
16:44:27: RT @FakeNNWMTips: If the need for sleep is hurting your daily word count, hop on your CB radio and ask truckers where to get the good sp ...
18:53:18: 90,000 words down. I think I really am going to break 100k on this... #kingsconfidante

Tweets copied by twittinesis.com

On wordcount, jealousy, and paradigm

I am a jealous writer, I'll admit it. Normally, I'm a self-loathing writer, a much more common variant for the profession, or a lazy writer, or a frustrated writer, all of which are normal.

I have a friend that I went to grad school with, we had the same mentor, Rachel Pollack, both have occassional trouble with the "basicallys", and let's face it, she's good at her job.

And I am jealous of her wordcount. She can write more in one day than I did in 2 weeks. If she had started writing The King's Confidante on November 1st, she'd be done by now. And it'd be good, and amazing, and it'd probably score a contract.

This, I've discovered, is one of the things writers have to deal with. We all have a friend who's kicking ass and taking names and we wonder why we aren't.

So, trying to be a good Buddhist, I said to myself, "Well, this is obviously showing that you have issues with your own production. If you were truly at peace with your output, this wouldn't be bugging you. You'd just be happy for her."

So I boiled it down further, and asked myself the hard question.

"She's writing every day. Are you?"

Uh, well, you see...

I have a writing schedule, mostly. I work on the FFF story Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.

"So, you do 1000-1500 words a day, three days a week."

So, every day now, I make an effort on The King's Confidante, and when it's done, I'll get ready to work on the Lightning Rod re-write. Seriously, if I'm going to claim to be a professional writer, I should probably act, well, professional about my job.

BTW, if anyone's been following the City stories, The King's Confidante is essentially a "prequel", taking place 4 years before the events of Lightning Rod, or 5 years before House of Stone. I really need to get the timeline updated and reposted.

Also, P.S.: To the writer mentioned above? I am happy for ya, and proud to be your colleague. :)

From Twitter 11-13-2010

23:14:23: Please welcome a fellow writing friend of mine back to LJ, david_m_demar . I'm also pleased to announce that Dave will… http://j.mp/a29cBj

Tweets copied by twittinesis.com

Please welcome a fellow writing friend of mine back to LJ...

Please welcome a fellow writing friend of mine back to LJ, david_m_demar . I'm also pleased to announce that Dave will be joining the Free Fictioneers ( freeficfriday ), so please keep an eye out for him in the coming weeks. Make sure to drop by and say hi! :)

From Twitter 11-12-2010

01:00:28: The King's Confidante - Part 26 http://t.co/7ms89bl

Tweets copied by twittinesis.com