Tagged: royalty

The Silver-Fringed Washcloths

  • by jentiny but sharp
  • “Leave your calling card on the silver tray
  • “I swallowed it,”
  • shrugging his great shoulders
  • we will use the celebrated diagonal method

Tune in next time part 771      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The silver-fringed washcloths in Zeus Pamplemousse’s hands emitted an eerie humming sound. I directed tiny but sharp kicks at Tessa’s ankle in an attempt to break her sock-trance without alerting the loony lunar giant. I tugged on her wrist.

Zeus stood to his full height. Through some rudimentary trick of origami, he folded the two washcloths into a single flat rectangle that he balanced on the fingertips of one hand. It rang like a bell. “Leave your calling card on the silver tray,” he commanded.

Since I don’t live in a regency romance novel, I had no calling card. It was clear that Pamplemousse would never accept that answer though. “I swallowed it,” I lied while tugging Tessa’s wrist again.

Shrugging his great shoulders, the Mad Moon King said, “I can wait.” He cracked his immense knuckles. “I’ve heard of many ways to speed that sort of thing up, but I think that today we will use the celebrated diagonal method.” He reached for me.

I gave up on all subtlety, hoisted Tessa into my arms, and turned to flee.

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I had Loved Tessa for Years

  • by jenby the time I reached my adolescence
  • just a feather duster for company
  • of hazy European origin
  • hands moving upwards
  • took turns holding crowns above their heads

Tune in next time part 749      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I had loved Tessa for years and years. By the time I reached my adolescence‘s midpoint I was infatuated with her, and the feeling had never fully abated. Never mind that she once locked me in the janitor’s closet with just a feather duster for company. Never mind that she’d kissed my brother, that she’d been engaged to John — perhaps still was! Never mind that I was married to Fleur (And Hildegard. And Chartreuse Pamplemousse.), and had an uncountable number of children, many of them with her sisters. Never mind all of it. Over the past few minutes I had become sure that this was the real Tessa, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Before the person in the corridor could enter my quarters, I leapt from the bed and flung the door open. I was counting on the element of surprise, and there was definitely a lot of it, I just didn’t expect to be the one who was most surprised.

“Put some pants on,” said Zeus Pamplemousse. “Or don’t.” He strode into my chamber like a magician taking the stage, his black velvet cloak swooshing dramatically. Tessa stared at him, openmouthed.

Everyone knew about Zeus Pamplemousse, but few people had ever met him. He first rose to fame (or infamy) when he participated in a ceremony of hazy European origin wherein he and his wife Blanchisseuse kept their hands moving upwards and downwards at all times, and took turns holding crowns above their heads, after which they declared themselves the sovereigns of the moon.

And now the Moon King — perhaps my father-in-law — was on my wife’s airship, and I was naked. This had to be a massive breach of protocol.

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Weaponized Humor is Nothing to Laugh At

  • by jenwhat they called “The Toboggan Club”
  • the yeti cost you your leg
  • even her closest friends didn’t know
  • by all the females congregated therein
  • noisy sucking

Tune in next time part 673      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Weaponized humor is nothing to laugh at. “Two Peanuts Walking Down the Straße” had been banned by the Helsinki Convention after Svenborgia used it to devastating effect in their skirmishes with the Pirate-Ninja Alliance. And now I was in charge of Contraria’s humor divisions. It was a heavy burden. I looked forward to my promised shower as a place to clear my mind, even though zeppelin plumbing is well-known for the noisy sucking sounds it makes.

On the way to our royal suite, Fleur took me to see our children. My excitement upon entering the nursery was dampened by the leering looks thrown at me by all the females congregated therein. They were all women who had borne me children, and it was quite alarming to see them all in one place. Isolde was there, surrounded by the squadron of babies she’d delivered at Enigma Fortress. Fleur told me that even her closest friends didn’t know for sure how many there were.

YoYo was there, too, the Yodeler from the Mountain Garrison who swore up and down she didn’t believe in twins. I wondered how she’d coped when she delivered the pair in her lap, but before I could ask I noticed that she now only had one leg. When the children were conceived she’d definitely had two.

She saw where I was looking and said, “Yeti attack.”

“The yeti cost you your leg?” That seemed highly unlikely since the “yetis” of the Paradoxica Region were just people in yeti costumes.

There were other women, too. Too many to take in. Fleur told me they were all members of what they called ‘The Toboggan Club”.

“Get it?” my wife asked. “Toboggan. Because they all took a ride.”

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Dr Ferguson Reached Again for my Waistband

  • by jenwhy would you ever need more than one cat
  • some secrets are just not meant to be uncovered
  • feeling each other up in your pantry
  • shiny because of bug secretions
  • “Who whistles for this long?”

Tune in next time part 655      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Dr Ferguson reached again for my waistband. Before she could accomplish anything, I heard someone clear their throat. My eyes were focusing on things beyond this world, things in the realm of sensuality, and it was nearly impossible to scan the room for the mystery throat-clearer.

I wondered if it might be Deuce Pamplemousse after all, but the pale bald head suggested not.

In an outrageously accented, smarmy voice, he said, “Look at your back! Why would you ever need more than one caterpillar aphrodisiac? Is your manliness so meager?”

“Hello, Arlo,” I snarled. “They’re not caterpillars. They’re slugs, which means they must be related to you.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” The viscount punctuated each word with a clap. “Very. Funny.” He positioned his pudgy body between Dr Ferguson and me.

“Arlo darling, you’re early,” simpered Dr Ferguson. “And you’re still dressed.”

“Some secrets are just not meant to be uncovered,” I blurted. What the hell was Dr Ferguson doing mixed up with the likes of this Svenborgian trash fire?

“Ignore him,” said Arlo. “Come with me, Fergie. I’d like to start by feeling each other up in your pantry. Your chest is so shiny because of bug secretions, it’s very enticing. I want to put my tongue on it.”

“They’re not bugs!” I said. “They’re slugs!” Whatever you called them, the warm, sweet pleasure they brought was overtaking my entire system. I doubted I’d be able to fight Arlo off if he took a swing at me.

“The double slugs are an experiment,” Dr Ferguson said in a babydoll voice, while running her fingertips around on Arlo’s bald head. “He’s my guinea pig.”

Arlo whistled a low note in appreciation of the plan. And whistled. And whistled. He just kept going.

“Who whistles for this long?” I grumbled, right before my consciousness drifted away on a current of pleasure.

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I Dearly Wanted to Get Off this Island

  • by jenIt was fine.
  • crude message printed almost illegibly
  • It’s winter 9 months of the year here!
  • not wear a t-rex costume to a wedding
  • with the snake venom outside of your body

Tune in next time part 575    Click Here for Earlier Installments

I dearly wanted to get off this island, but I tried to play it cool with the Baron. Like I didn’t care either way. It was fine. I was fine. We were fine. I was wary of looking too eager before I heard his full proposal.

“I see you are a shrewd man,” Baron von Dimpleheimer said. “And she is a shrewd robot. Allow me to lay out my proposal.” He crossed the room to a refrigerator made from a large, upturned treasure chest. Stuck to the front with a starfish-shaped magnet was a postcard with a crude message printed almost illegibly on the back. He brought the missive to me. On the front was an aerial photo of Enigma Fortress where I was supposed to be stationed. Emblazoned across the snowy landscape were the words “It’s winter 9 months of the year here!” in a jaunty font. I flipped it over to read the chicken scratch on the back.

“Dear Mum,

Today I learnt that in the Paradoxica Mountains it is frownt upon to not wear a t-rex costume to a wedding. I have been arrested by the Royal Contrarian Fashion Police and am being held in this fortress. Please hire a fashionable barrister to argue my case.”

The card was unsigned, but I recognized the terrible handwriting, and it left me with that feeling you get when you are bitten by a clumsy snake and you experience the pain of the fangs, but with the snake venom outside of your body, sizzling on your skin.

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Brackish Bay Being on a Remote Island

  • by jenanother elderly woman
  • recovered his shiny silk hat
  • more gullible than other persons
  • the man you’re about to meet
  • German power ballad

Tune in next time part 573    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brackish Bay being on a remote island, we were nowhere near Denver. We weren’t even anywhere near Denveristan, a Contrarian coastal village. There was no way I would accompany this specter halfway around the world for some unknown errand. Before I could explain that to him, he launched into a German power ballad. The lyrics were badly translated into Svenborgian, but Jeff had a decent voice.

Brandita took a sharp right off the paved road onto a steep goat track. I bounced around in the bathtub-sidecar like popcorn in the popper, collecting a good many bruises. Over Jeff’s warbling I heard Brandita speak.

“The man you’re about to meet is more gullible than other persons generally are, but not as gullible as we might wish he were. Let me do the talking.”

She swerved around a large gorse bush and braked to sudden stop. I peeled myself up off the bottom of the tub and clambered out in time to offer my hand to help Tessa dismount.

“I’m afraid I can’t join you,” Jeff said. “The paperwork to expand my haunting grounds beyond this bathtub hasn’t been approved yet.” He recovered his shiny silk hat from the drain hole and fitted it atop his shiny bald head. “When you get back we’ll talk more about Denver.”

Brandita led the way through a patch of overgrown shrubbery to a gate guarded by an old woman with a metal peg leg and a nasty sneer. She nodded to Brandita and stepped aside. Further down the path we met another elderly woman, this one with scimitar where her right hand should be.

I wondered what was up with all the retired pirates, and stuck close to Brandita.

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We Rejoined the Officiant

  • by jena number of uninvited guests
  • her attempt at a music career
  • and the tackle box she’d filled with
  • utter his fearful guttural warnings
  • My tradition isn’t weird

Tune in next time part 553     Click Here for Earlier Installments

We rejoined the officiant and finished the walk to the temple where the ceremony was to take place. In accordance with Svenborgian tradition, a number of uninvited guests were chained to seats along the aisle. That kept the invited guests, the ones who actually knew what the Viscount whom I was impersonating looked like, further from me. I might actually be able to pull this off.

We looked quite astonishing. Tessa wore only a clunky gold Rolex, and black lingerie, barely concealed by the flimsy scarf she’d wrapped around herself. It reminded me of the stagewear from her attempt at a music career, back during college. I also looked something like a musician in my mountaineering pants, boots, and vest with no shirt. My chest was much more impressive than the real Arlo’s but there was nothing to be done about that. I adjusted the curly red wig to obscure as much of my face as possible.

The officiant placed tiaras on both of our heads, then led us to the altar upon which was arrayed a collection of stamps, ink pads, Arlo’s passport as well as Tessa’s, and the tackle box she’d filled with rubber worms for the guests to pelt us with as we exited the temple, as they do in Svenborgia.

We stood side by side, our backs to the audience, and listened to the officiant utter his fearful guttural warnings. This is what passes for a wedding ceremony in Svenborgia. I know that every culture thinks “My tradition isn’t weird,” but Svenborgians are wrong. Their traditions are very, very weird.

I stamped the Tessabot’s passport and prepared to be pelted with rubber worms.

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“It’s Ceremony Time!”

  • by jensibilance stretching the second word
  • can’t spell his own name
  • part of a movement referred to as “goth”
  • engraved THIS MAN IS A PRICK
  • label was in his handwriting

Tune in next time part 551     Click Here for Earlier Installments

“It’s ceremony time!” announced the officiant, an odd sibilance stretching the second word.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to marry a man who can’t spell his own name,” the Tessabot raged.

The officiant looked at me askance. He wore as much eyeliner as those teens who are part of a movement referred to as “goth” by the press.

“I can spell my name,” I assured. “My betrothed is merely experiencing cold feet.”

“Cold feet!” Tessa barked. “Cold feet! I should have known what a dick you are the first time I saw the medallion you always wear upon which is engraved THIS MAN IS A PRICK.”

As I suspected, her short circuit had her confusing me with the real Viscount Arlo.

She whispered conspiratorially to the officiant, “To make it all just too perfect, the label was in his handwriting.” She shook her head. “His OWN handwriting!”

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“Take That Wig from Arlo”

  • by jenPlus, we have tiaras
  • Your princess of a husband
  • I stamp hers and she stamps mine
  • black hair cut rather short
  • “I am *deeply* involved in the occult,”

Tune in next time part 545     Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Take that wig from Arlo and put it on yourself,” Tessa said.

I really didn’t want to do that. The red hair looked quite sweaty. But I was still under the Tessabot’s hypnotic control, so I complied.

“Excellent,” she said. “Now you can stand in the Viscount’s place during the wedding ceremony, so that his family and guests will not become suspicious. The wig should go a long way to disguising you. Plus, we have tiaras that we’re both supposed to wear…”

“No!” cried Arlo. “Your princess of a husband-to-be is me, not him! He’s already married to Fleur! He can’t marry you as well! I won’t stand for it!”

“Jason,” Tessa said, “take the Viscount into the bungalow and shut him up. The guests will be arriving shortly.”

Then she told me the details of the Svenborgian royal wedding rite, and made me memorize them. The most important part is when we exchange passports in place of rings. I stamp hers and she stamps mine, and then it’s official. Though how official a marriage between an already married man and a robot could be was a question I couldn’t answer.

A man with black hair cut rather short approached. “I am deeply involved in the occult,” he said, gesturing to some arcane symbols carved into his short hair. “And I will be conducting the ceremony today. You’re looking quite resplendent, Viscount. I’d been told you were an unattractive man, but I seem to have been misinformed.”

I still couldn’t speak, so I nodded as regally as I could without dislodging the sweaty red wig, and continued my furious Goldfishing. I needed to shake Tessa’s post-hypnotic control.

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The Lyrics Tattooed on the Bottom of the Viscount’s Foot

  • by jenhalfway around the world
  • Shouldn’t you be working?
  • all but impossible to achieve with paint
  • my new sex buddy
  • give a really miserable look

Tune in next time part 541     Click Here for Earlier Installments

The lyrics tattooed on the bottom of the viscount’s foot were from one of the many songs Jason performed at my wedding to Fleur. The ceremony and celebrations had lasted two weeks and taken place halfway around the world at the White House. I didn’t remember the viscount being present, as he claimed, but there had been quite a large crowd.

“Shouldn’t you be working? On new lyrics?” I asked Jason. “Instead of critiquing these old ones?”

“I don’t think that’s even a real tattoo,” Jason said. He licked his thumb and scrubbed at the words on Arlo’s ticklish tootsie, but they did not smear. It was the sort of effect that is all but impossible to achieve with paint, implying that it was truly inked there.

Between squeals of laughter, Arlo pulled off his wig and threw it at Jason. “Buy a guy a drink first! The way you’re massaging me makes you seem like my new sex buddy!”

That comment made Jason give a really miserable look to his thumb. “Anyone got any hand sanitizer?” he asked.

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