Lynn Flewelling's Blog, page 26
March 10, 2012
A Little Piece of My Childhood
A friend posted this clip from The Friendly Giant on Facebook. I'm so glad to see someone else remembers this lovely, gentle Canadian children's program. Living on the Maine/New Brunswick border, we got the CBC, which had lots of great shows. Not to date myself or anything, but I remember when the show was black and white!
Enjoy:
Enjoy:
Cage Match Story
For those of you who missed the cage match between Seregil and Patrick Rothfuss's Bast from Name of the Wind, here it is. It was a lot of fun to write and got some good comments. (And a few confused ones) The premise is that these two characters were brought together and somehow coerced to fight. In most cases, it's meant to be a fight to the death.
Bast was every bit as attractive as Seregil had been led to believe. Apart from those feet, anyway. One advantage to Seregil's own strange resistance to magic was that simple things like glamours generally didn't work on him if he was forewarned. When he squinted just right, he could see that the black-haired demon's deep blue eyes had no pupils, and that he was moving nimbly around the Waystone's tavern room among the paltry number of customers, playing the smiling serving boy, on a pair of hooves.
And he certainly was a good server, keeping Seregil's dainty stemmed glass topped up with soft cider. It also seemed to be true that the boy was not immune to a pretty face, and Seregil's was never prettier than when he was playing Lady Gwethelyn. Smoothing one gloved hand over the green wool skirt of his plain traveling gown, he gave Bast a sidelong look under lowered lashes, and Seregil could tell from the hopeful smile that tugged at the corner of the boy's mouth that he'd hooked his fish. Seregil touched a finger briefly to the corner of his mouth, then slid it across his powdered cheek to tease a tendril of blond hair that had escaped his simply coifed hair. Bast answered with a wink.
Getting laid wasn't the boys' only concern tonight, though. Bast's gaze was on the inn door as often as it was on the swell of Seregil's carefully crafted bosom.
The tall red haired innkeeper behind the bar—Kote or Quothe or whateverthehell his name was, had spared Seregil a few looks, too, of a less friendly sort, but the rules of this night's foolishness kept him mum. He was a sharp one, and if he was really just an innkeeper, then Seregil would eat his gloves. Alec was fuming outside, likewise unable to interfere.
The hour grew late and the fire began to die down. The locals drifted off in pairs and trios, arguing over the price of sugar loaves and some legend about whether cold iron or hot fire was better for disposing of demons. Seregil knew the answer to that one: both.
The innkeeper gave Seregil a brief nod and Bast a last, worried look, and took himself upstairs.
Alone at last.
Bast leaned over Seregil with a dazzling smile that must have disarmed a good many of the fairer sex. "It's closing time, lovely lady, but I'd be happy to pour you a nightcap, on the house."
"Only if you join me," Seregil replied in his most coquettish voice.
"My pleasure!" Bast went to the bar and fetched two clay cups of peach summer wine.
Really now, thought Seregil, inwardly shaking his head.
Seregil saluted Bast with his cup. As Bast touched his cup to Seregil's, Seregil managed to fumble and slop some of his wine over into the demon's drink.
"Oh, how silly of me! In some countries that means we're betrothed."
"Should I hold you to that?" Bast parried with a smile bordering on a leer.
Seregil simpered, leaning forward and raising his cup again. "To your continued good health, you naughty thing." He put the cup to his lips, but didn't drink.
Neither did the demon.
Seregil set his cup aside with a crooked grin, then pulled off the wig and dropped it on the table beside him. His long brown hair was bound in a club at the nape of his neck and wrapped with fine chain attached to a circlet sitting a bit askew on his head. Both chains and circlet had the dull sheen of worked iron. Bast squinted in pain and pushed back from the table.
"That's better," Seregil said in his normal voice, scratching the back of his sweaty neck. "So, when did you twig?"
"I didn't," Bast hissed. "I'd heard Lord Seregil of Rhíminee was a clever rogue with a long sword and a permanently-attached-at-the-hip boyfriend. When he didn't show up, I figured you were some assassin he'd hired to come in his place."
"That would certainly have been against the Rules."
"Since when does the 'Rhíminee Cat' care about Rules?" Bast shook his head. "Charred hands, but you make a pretty woman. I was a bit conflicted as to whether to chance a tumble before I killed you. When I thought you really were a woman," he added hastily.
Seregil gave him a gracious nod. "You're pleasing to look at yourself, Master Bast, though I can't help wondering what you really look like, under the mask of this— manifestation."
"You don't want to know." Bast stood slowly, and Seregil could tell by the set of his shoulders that the demon was ready to strike. "You don't really think that little bit of iron is going to keep me from ripping your throat out, do you?"
Seregil pretended alarm and sprang to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. "Actually, I—"
Bast was deadly quick, but so was Seregil. Even so, he barely managed to yank off his right glove before Bast's hand was around his neck. Gasping for air, Seregil grabbed Bast by his long black hair with his left hand and pressed his right to the boy's face. Every finger sported a ring and every ring was made of iron. Bast screamed and thrashed, clawing now at Seregil's throat and chest to escape. His fingers snagged in the fragile lacings at the front of the bodice, ripping it open to expose the shirt of iron chainmail Seregil wore underneath, complete with iron breast-shaped domes and a hinged flange between them to protect Seregil's heart. The force of the combined metal knocked Bast across the room and over the polished mahogany bar. Bottles flew in all directions, smashing and clattering. Alcohol of every sort splashed across the floor. A lamp behind the bar took a bottle hit and toppled off its shelf to set the pool of alcohol ablaze.
"Bilairy's Balls, not again!" Seregil gasped, hampered by his skirts and heavy iron undergarments. As he struggled to his feet a blood curdling yowl erupted from behind the bar. Vaulting awkwardly over it, he managed to haul the half-stunned, booze-soaked demon away from the flames just as Bast's clothing caught fire. Dragging him by one hoof, Seregil rolled him in a carpet to douse the flames, then slung him over his shoulder and tossed him out the nearest window, leaping after him. Only then did he notice that the hem of his gown was smoldering. Grabbing the skirts just below the waist, he yanked at the loosely sewn seams and tore them off, leaving himself in a torn bodice, his knee length, double breasted iron hauberk and a pair of lady's riding boots. From somewhere inside he could hear Kote/Quothe/Quiver/Quadrangle bellowing what Seregil sincerely hoped was a fire-quenching spell.
The demon was already struggling to get free of the carpet, so Seregil sat down on top of him to keep him still.
Bast let out a nasty laugh, glaring up at him with unnatural eyes the color of lightning. "At least I get to die amused, you crazy bastard. You look like Xena the Warrior Princess in that get up."
Seregil chuckled. "Illior's Fingers, you didn't just break frame, you smashed it to flinders. But really, this isn't quite how I saw the evening developing."
"Why didn't you let me burn?" Bast spat. "Or are you going to sit there and let all your ironware choke me to death now that I'm helpless."
"That would be a ignominious way to kill such a worthy opponent and I'm really not into torture. All this 'ironware,' aside from being damnably uncomfortable, was just so I could stay alive long enough to talk to you."
Bast struggled again but the carpet held him fast. "What could we possibly have to talk about? This is a fight to death. Those are the Rules."
"Don't mistake me." Seregil reached into his breast piece and drew out a short, wickedly sharp iron poniard. "I will use this, but only if you force my hand. But I'd much rather strike a bargain."
Bast squirmed and turned his face away from the knife, "What sort of bargain?"
"Nowhere in the Rules does it say that anyone has to die; just that someone has to win. So, my life for yours. You swear to let me live and admit that you forfeit the match, and I let you go. That's all I came here for, really." Seregil shifted and crossed his legs. "I'd actually planned on a rigged card game to force the bargain—strip poker, maybe, for a little fan service, but this . . ." He tapped the knife against one iron breast. "Well, it worked a bit better than I'd anticipated. The way you flew across the room? I could hardly believe my luck."
Bast gave him a narrow-eyed look of distrust. "And you claim you don't want to kill me."
"Why would I? You're far too interesting." He paused and spared a sour look up at the alien stars. "Besides, I don't like being forced into false fights, and I never kill unless I absolutely have to. What do you say?"
Bast glared up at him. "Fine. Your life for mine."
"And you forfeit the match."
The demon let out a heavy sigh. "I was hoping you'd forget to add that. Yes, and I forfeit the match."
"Swear by your gods."
"Trusting fellow, aren't you?"
Seregil gave him a crooked grin. "Oh, very. Swear, demon."
"By my gods, I swear it."
"Done." Seregil stood and gave the rolled carpet a shove with his foot. Bast tumbled out of it and sneezed as the dust billowed around him.
Seregil offered his hand.
"Iron!" Bast growled.
"Oh, sorry!" Seregil quickly stripped off the iron hauberk and finger rings, which left him in a short barding jacket, his linen, and boots.
"Fan service?" Bast sneered as he let Seregil pull him to his feet.
Seregil looked down a bit ruefully. "No, just the logical outcome of this unique series of events, I'm afraid. Alec, are you there?"
His blond-haired compatriot stepped from the shadows with Kote/Quothe/ Quotidian/Quark.
Tossing Seregil a bundle of clothing, he shook his head and said to the innkeeper mage, "I swear, he strips down at the drop of a hat these days."
"Lucky for you no one's wearing a hat." Seregil quickly pulled on breeches, a loose tunic, and a proper pair of tall boots. "There, that's much better. Master Innkeeper of the Impossible Name, I'm dreadfully sorry about the fire and all the damage. I'll pay for repairs."
"Indeed you will," the red-haired man replied. "Though I managed to contain most of the flames."
"I'm glad to hear it. I seem to have the worst luck with fire lately."
"He set a friend's house ablaze not to long ago, during a burglary," Alec confided.
Kote/Quothe/Quinoa/Quill raised an eyebrow. "You burgle your friends?"
Alec shrugged. "It's a long story. You can read all about it in a few months time."
"So, is there enough alcohol left in your establishment for me to stand you a drink?" asked Seregil, throwing a companionable arm around the demon's slim shoulders and starting for the side door of the inn. "And hold the poison this time. Really, Bast, fine wine in a clay cup after cider in crystal? What were you thinking? What was it, by the way? Acotair? Wyvern's Blood? Something that would foul the appearance of the wine, surely. Hence the clay cup."
Bast pulled away and folded his arms, though he kept walking beside Seregil as the others followed. "It was arsenic, actually, and I used the aromatic wine to cover the scent and flavor of it, since your keen senses are so highly touted."
"Peach beer would have done as well for the taste and smell, is cloudy to begin with, and would have explained the cup . . ." The pair continued on as Seregil prattled on at length on various clever ways to successfully poison a man.
"Is he always like this?" Kote/Quothe/Query/Quandary asked Alec.
Alec's smile was one of fond resignation. "Yes."
Bast was every bit as attractive as Seregil had been led to believe. Apart from those feet, anyway. One advantage to Seregil's own strange resistance to magic was that simple things like glamours generally didn't work on him if he was forewarned. When he squinted just right, he could see that the black-haired demon's deep blue eyes had no pupils, and that he was moving nimbly around the Waystone's tavern room among the paltry number of customers, playing the smiling serving boy, on a pair of hooves.
And he certainly was a good server, keeping Seregil's dainty stemmed glass topped up with soft cider. It also seemed to be true that the boy was not immune to a pretty face, and Seregil's was never prettier than when he was playing Lady Gwethelyn. Smoothing one gloved hand over the green wool skirt of his plain traveling gown, he gave Bast a sidelong look under lowered lashes, and Seregil could tell from the hopeful smile that tugged at the corner of the boy's mouth that he'd hooked his fish. Seregil touched a finger briefly to the corner of his mouth, then slid it across his powdered cheek to tease a tendril of blond hair that had escaped his simply coifed hair. Bast answered with a wink.
Getting laid wasn't the boys' only concern tonight, though. Bast's gaze was on the inn door as often as it was on the swell of Seregil's carefully crafted bosom.
The tall red haired innkeeper behind the bar—Kote or Quothe or whateverthehell his name was, had spared Seregil a few looks, too, of a less friendly sort, but the rules of this night's foolishness kept him mum. He was a sharp one, and if he was really just an innkeeper, then Seregil would eat his gloves. Alec was fuming outside, likewise unable to interfere.
The hour grew late and the fire began to die down. The locals drifted off in pairs and trios, arguing over the price of sugar loaves and some legend about whether cold iron or hot fire was better for disposing of demons. Seregil knew the answer to that one: both.
The innkeeper gave Seregil a brief nod and Bast a last, worried look, and took himself upstairs.
Alone at last.
Bast leaned over Seregil with a dazzling smile that must have disarmed a good many of the fairer sex. "It's closing time, lovely lady, but I'd be happy to pour you a nightcap, on the house."
"Only if you join me," Seregil replied in his most coquettish voice.
"My pleasure!" Bast went to the bar and fetched two clay cups of peach summer wine.
Really now, thought Seregil, inwardly shaking his head.
Seregil saluted Bast with his cup. As Bast touched his cup to Seregil's, Seregil managed to fumble and slop some of his wine over into the demon's drink.
"Oh, how silly of me! In some countries that means we're betrothed."
"Should I hold you to that?" Bast parried with a smile bordering on a leer.
Seregil simpered, leaning forward and raising his cup again. "To your continued good health, you naughty thing." He put the cup to his lips, but didn't drink.
Neither did the demon.
Seregil set his cup aside with a crooked grin, then pulled off the wig and dropped it on the table beside him. His long brown hair was bound in a club at the nape of his neck and wrapped with fine chain attached to a circlet sitting a bit askew on his head. Both chains and circlet had the dull sheen of worked iron. Bast squinted in pain and pushed back from the table.
"That's better," Seregil said in his normal voice, scratching the back of his sweaty neck. "So, when did you twig?"
"I didn't," Bast hissed. "I'd heard Lord Seregil of Rhíminee was a clever rogue with a long sword and a permanently-attached-at-the-hip boyfriend. When he didn't show up, I figured you were some assassin he'd hired to come in his place."
"That would certainly have been against the Rules."
"Since when does the 'Rhíminee Cat' care about Rules?" Bast shook his head. "Charred hands, but you make a pretty woman. I was a bit conflicted as to whether to chance a tumble before I killed you. When I thought you really were a woman," he added hastily.
Seregil gave him a gracious nod. "You're pleasing to look at yourself, Master Bast, though I can't help wondering what you really look like, under the mask of this— manifestation."
"You don't want to know." Bast stood slowly, and Seregil could tell by the set of his shoulders that the demon was ready to strike. "You don't really think that little bit of iron is going to keep me from ripping your throat out, do you?"
Seregil pretended alarm and sprang to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. "Actually, I—"
Bast was deadly quick, but so was Seregil. Even so, he barely managed to yank off his right glove before Bast's hand was around his neck. Gasping for air, Seregil grabbed Bast by his long black hair with his left hand and pressed his right to the boy's face. Every finger sported a ring and every ring was made of iron. Bast screamed and thrashed, clawing now at Seregil's throat and chest to escape. His fingers snagged in the fragile lacings at the front of the bodice, ripping it open to expose the shirt of iron chainmail Seregil wore underneath, complete with iron breast-shaped domes and a hinged flange between them to protect Seregil's heart. The force of the combined metal knocked Bast across the room and over the polished mahogany bar. Bottles flew in all directions, smashing and clattering. Alcohol of every sort splashed across the floor. A lamp behind the bar took a bottle hit and toppled off its shelf to set the pool of alcohol ablaze.
"Bilairy's Balls, not again!" Seregil gasped, hampered by his skirts and heavy iron undergarments. As he struggled to his feet a blood curdling yowl erupted from behind the bar. Vaulting awkwardly over it, he managed to haul the half-stunned, booze-soaked demon away from the flames just as Bast's clothing caught fire. Dragging him by one hoof, Seregil rolled him in a carpet to douse the flames, then slung him over his shoulder and tossed him out the nearest window, leaping after him. Only then did he notice that the hem of his gown was smoldering. Grabbing the skirts just below the waist, he yanked at the loosely sewn seams and tore them off, leaving himself in a torn bodice, his knee length, double breasted iron hauberk and a pair of lady's riding boots. From somewhere inside he could hear Kote/Quothe/Quiver/Quadrangle bellowing what Seregil sincerely hoped was a fire-quenching spell.
The demon was already struggling to get free of the carpet, so Seregil sat down on top of him to keep him still.
Bast let out a nasty laugh, glaring up at him with unnatural eyes the color of lightning. "At least I get to die amused, you crazy bastard. You look like Xena the Warrior Princess in that get up."
Seregil chuckled. "Illior's Fingers, you didn't just break frame, you smashed it to flinders. But really, this isn't quite how I saw the evening developing."
"Why didn't you let me burn?" Bast spat. "Or are you going to sit there and let all your ironware choke me to death now that I'm helpless."
"That would be a ignominious way to kill such a worthy opponent and I'm really not into torture. All this 'ironware,' aside from being damnably uncomfortable, was just so I could stay alive long enough to talk to you."
Bast struggled again but the carpet held him fast. "What could we possibly have to talk about? This is a fight to death. Those are the Rules."
"Don't mistake me." Seregil reached into his breast piece and drew out a short, wickedly sharp iron poniard. "I will use this, but only if you force my hand. But I'd much rather strike a bargain."
Bast squirmed and turned his face away from the knife, "What sort of bargain?"
"Nowhere in the Rules does it say that anyone has to die; just that someone has to win. So, my life for yours. You swear to let me live and admit that you forfeit the match, and I let you go. That's all I came here for, really." Seregil shifted and crossed his legs. "I'd actually planned on a rigged card game to force the bargain—strip poker, maybe, for a little fan service, but this . . ." He tapped the knife against one iron breast. "Well, it worked a bit better than I'd anticipated. The way you flew across the room? I could hardly believe my luck."
Bast gave him a narrow-eyed look of distrust. "And you claim you don't want to kill me."
"Why would I? You're far too interesting." He paused and spared a sour look up at the alien stars. "Besides, I don't like being forced into false fights, and I never kill unless I absolutely have to. What do you say?"
Bast glared up at him. "Fine. Your life for mine."
"And you forfeit the match."
The demon let out a heavy sigh. "I was hoping you'd forget to add that. Yes, and I forfeit the match."
"Swear by your gods."
"Trusting fellow, aren't you?"
Seregil gave him a crooked grin. "Oh, very. Swear, demon."
"By my gods, I swear it."
"Done." Seregil stood and gave the rolled carpet a shove with his foot. Bast tumbled out of it and sneezed as the dust billowed around him.
Seregil offered his hand.
"Iron!" Bast growled.
"Oh, sorry!" Seregil quickly stripped off the iron hauberk and finger rings, which left him in a short barding jacket, his linen, and boots.
"Fan service?" Bast sneered as he let Seregil pull him to his feet.
Seregil looked down a bit ruefully. "No, just the logical outcome of this unique series of events, I'm afraid. Alec, are you there?"
His blond-haired compatriot stepped from the shadows with Kote/Quothe/ Quotidian/Quark.
Tossing Seregil a bundle of clothing, he shook his head and said to the innkeeper mage, "I swear, he strips down at the drop of a hat these days."
"Lucky for you no one's wearing a hat." Seregil quickly pulled on breeches, a loose tunic, and a proper pair of tall boots. "There, that's much better. Master Innkeeper of the Impossible Name, I'm dreadfully sorry about the fire and all the damage. I'll pay for repairs."
"Indeed you will," the red-haired man replied. "Though I managed to contain most of the flames."
"I'm glad to hear it. I seem to have the worst luck with fire lately."
"He set a friend's house ablaze not to long ago, during a burglary," Alec confided.
Kote/Quothe/Quinoa/Quill raised an eyebrow. "You burgle your friends?"
Alec shrugged. "It's a long story. You can read all about it in a few months time."
"So, is there enough alcohol left in your establishment for me to stand you a drink?" asked Seregil, throwing a companionable arm around the demon's slim shoulders and starting for the side door of the inn. "And hold the poison this time. Really, Bast, fine wine in a clay cup after cider in crystal? What were you thinking? What was it, by the way? Acotair? Wyvern's Blood? Something that would foul the appearance of the wine, surely. Hence the clay cup."
Bast pulled away and folded his arms, though he kept walking beside Seregil as the others followed. "It was arsenic, actually, and I used the aromatic wine to cover the scent and flavor of it, since your keen senses are so highly touted."
"Peach beer would have done as well for the taste and smell, is cloudy to begin with, and would have explained the cup . . ." The pair continued on as Seregil prattled on at length on various clever ways to successfully poison a man.
"Is he always like this?" Kote/Quothe/Query/Quandary asked Alec.
Alec's smile was one of fond resignation. "Yes."
March 9, 2012
March 8, 2012
Cage Match Over
Thanks to all who supported Seregil in the Cage Match. Alas, Team Bast overtook us in the end. :-(
March 7, 2012
Today's Best Typo
"What's your opinion on xxxx?" Thero asked as Runcer refilled his tea bowel.
Are You A Slut? Rush Limbaugh might think so.
Let's find out together.
Read the Mother Jones Article: http://motherjones.com/mojo/2012/03/flow-chart-are-you-slut
Read the Mother Jones Article: http://motherjones.com/mojo/2012/03/flow-chart-are-you-slut
March 5, 2012
Cage Match 2012
The Seregil vs. Bast Cage Match competition is up! Please check it out and give Seregil your vote.
http://sf-fantasy.suvudu.com/2012/03/cage-match-2012-round-1-bast-versus-seregil.html#comments
http://sf-fantasy.suvudu.com/2012/03/cage-match-2012-round-1-bast-versus-seregil.html#comments
February 27, 2012
Random House's 2012 Character Cage Match!
Every year my publisher pits characters from various books against each other in cage matches, the winner decided by readers' votes. This year our own Seregil is pitted against Bast from Patrick Rothfuss's "Name the Wind" series. It's all in fun and good publicity, but that publicity lasts longer when your character wins and goes on to more fights. Patrick being a best selling author, his fan base will be formidable voters. So I need YOU, my dear friends, to support Seregil.
Seregil's match goes live on Monday, March 5. The link is not live yet, but you can get started by checking out the Cage Match Suvvudu site here: http://sf-fantasy.suvudu.com/2012/02/cage-match-2012-the-bracket-revealed.html
So mark your calendars and support our sexy boy! I promise you, the write up I've done of my version of the fight is worth a look. ;-)
Seregil's match goes live on Monday, March 5. The link is not live yet, but you can get started by checking out the Cage Match Suvvudu site here: http://sf-fantasy.suvudu.com/2012/02/cage-match-2012-the-bracket-revealed.html
So mark your calendars and support our sexy boy! I promise you, the write up I've done of my version of the fight is worth a look. ;-)
