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I'm writing Mortal Queen with unholy glee.
Also, thank you for humoring my UnGenius Angst. Pam has guided me towards the much less hot-button epithet Brilliant. I will now be accepting gifts of brilliance, and notices about good deals on e-Bay.
The crucible for silver and the furnace for gold, but man is tested by the praise he receives. (Proverb)
Your reward is:
A Snippet from the Fairy Matchmaker Novel
which is fluff and like World Domination will be an utter mess when I'm through but fun enough I can stand to fix it anyhow:
Back-Story: Sorovyn is prince of a small tribe, and Tara, his official Matchmaker (called the Mortal Queen) just initiated a strategy of leaking his royal status on campus to help herself out. Sorovyn does not know about this, she hopes.
On our way back to my dorm I told Vin that the next two weeks were crunch-time before the big competition. He was graciously permitting me to not worry about him when three heads popped out of a window up the building, sleek hair tumbling about their faces. One girl said, “Hi, Vinnie.”
He waved, though his face was uncertain. Once we were in the first set of doors, I asked, “Did you go out with her?”
“I've never met any of them.”
Oh. Mission Rumor-Mill in fruit already?
Yes, I discovered. All the girls milling around the common area had a smile for him, and some with remarks or greetings. Sorovyn was so very used to it, I was going to crack up, only it was too important. I was totally glad I'd made him come get bottled water. He didn't drink the tap sludge.
As a junior I was in a quad that had a common area. After calling out, “Guy in the room,” I let him in and checked if there were any refrigerated bottles,
“So, something leaked and those girls are piqued,” he said. “What approach do you suggest, Tara?”
He was one of the few people who said my name right (rhyming with Mara, not Sara) it was almost not annoying how much he used it.
“I'm not sure. Without me with you, you'll have a chance to flirt back a bit more. If you get accosted again, I recommend you play Bingley, not Darcy.”
“Darcy? That sounds familiar.”
“Oh. Read Pride and Prejudice, if you want to know what the smart girls love. But not as a textbook, of course. It's the epitome of romantic comedy—though more profound. We don't want that kind of drama. Anyhow—loosen up a bit. Respond not like a public figure, but a possible friend. That ought to be safe and productive.”
He twisted the water-bottle cap off in a quick motion that defined his arm muscle for a moment. Playing Frisbee had shown he was a natural athlete. Not ripped like guys who worked with weights, more streamlined. I was more into buff musculature, but it seemed so typical of the Shere prince that I found it amusing to note.
“So is it the next two weekends, that your competition is, or just the second?”
“The second, but forget the small talk, Sorovyn—get downstairs again before those girls all leave.”
He reluctantly recapped his water and shifted to a stand from leaning on the kitchenette counter. The expression on his face confirmed my suspicions that he was avoiding that return.
“You're a man,” I proclaimed, “get a move on!”
He muttered something, but then thanked me as politely as ever and went out as reluctantly as any cowboy threatened with being “a man”. Fancy it working on nobility, too...
In my notebook I made a report for the day, marking that my line of publicity seemed successful, that the subject noted a distaste of “butch” girls, and a few notes on his own personality. Then Ihid the notebook under my mattress for secrecy and checked through my notes on homework to be sure there was nothing urgent besides my philosophy paper premise.
Yeah, until I was done with championship I really couldn't fit in anything else. But now he had a bit of a fresh start to do for himself what I couldn't do—talk to girls.
