Tagged: royalty

My Yeti Costume was Uncomfortable and No Longer Necessary

  • by jengiven as a a gift to assorted emperors
  • playful gleam in his dark eyes
  • you are rubbing your shin
  • hardly the strangest or rudest
  • only one manservant

Tune in next time part 501      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My yeti costume was uncomfortable and no longer necessary now that Tatiana had given birth. Everyone here thought I was Jason anyway. I wiggled out of the sweaty fur sheath, which was a difficult thing to do underneath the buffet table. I snatched up my mountaineering boots and put them back on, then crawled to the far end of the table and emerged surreptitiously from my hiding place.

The bidding was up to $2,256,004, and creeping higher.

I heard a very pompous voice that I recognized as King Woody say, “Gherkins like these were given as a gift to assorted emperors and empresses, such as my mother Empress Holly.” He had a playful gleam in his dark eyes, and was standing far too close to Maxine.

“Excuse me,” Maxine said. “But you are rubbing your shin against my thigh and I would like you to stop.”

Woody laughed. “I’m sure it’s hardly the strangest or rudest thing to rub up against you, my dear.”

Maxine alerted a yeti security guard, and it took only one manservant to escort the rude, blustering royal from the auction.

With one fewer bidder, maybe things would move more quickly now.

“Two million two hundred fifty six thousand and five!”

I sighed.

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“What a Magnificent Periscope!”

  • by jenrecently found love for the colloquialisms
  • and six half-brothers
  • hoped it was a prank
  • your crazy-ass granddaddy
  • cats are not a rare species

Tune in next time part 471      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“What a magnificent periscope!” Oksana squealed.

For one chilling second I thought I’d been spotted, until I realized she was utterly fixated on what she’d found in Jim’s leather trousers. I had no interest in watching their libidinal activities, so I put my own (actual) periscope away. I could still hear them, though.

Jim purred, “Your recently found love for the Colloquialisms is adorable.”

“Colloquilia is a beautiful country,” Oksana said, her voice breathy. “And their figures of speech even more so.”

“I used to spend summers there with my twin sisters and six half-brothers,” Jim drawled.

That was a lie. With our father and mother both being president at various times, travel to the enemy nation of Colloquilia was strictly forbidden. I didn’t know what Jim was up to, but I hoped it was a prank as opposed to treason.

Jim went on, “Why did your crazy-ass granddaddy abdicate the throne?”

“He didn’t have a choice, if he wanted to live,” Oksana replied. “Now, Jim, I want you to stalk me like a Paradoxica Snow Panther.”

Oksana was Colloquilian? Snow cats are not a rare species here in the mountains, but exiled Colloquilian royalty certainly are.

What was Jim up to?

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My Blue-Gray Mountaineering Uniform

  • by jenforced to meet with the King of Swaziland to seek clemency
  • scandalous exhibits
  • his mad rush
  • I’m taking a ride with my best friend
  • dangle from the undercarriage like a bat

Tune in next time part 465      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My blue-gray mountaineering uniform bore a strong resemblance to the official groveling suit John wore when he was forced to meet with the King of Swaziland to seek clemency for the series of scandalous exhibits he’d staged across southern Africa in his mad rush to become an infamous performance artist.

“By wearing this outfit it’s almost like I’m taking a ride with my best friend,” I said into the mirror. “Back when life was simpler. Back before he betrayed me.”

It took me a while to do up all the silvery buttons on the vest, and I was confounded by this weird chain harness that went on like a pair of clanky speedos over the pants, and had a holster for my ice axe, that for some reason let it dangle from the undercarriage like a bat. Or, given that it was between my legs, like something else altogether.

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I Had to Conduct the Remainder of the Scampering Ceremony

  • by jenwhile wearing a lizard mask
  • running with scissors wasn’t smart
  • the enduring glow of a tender and true love
  • his skill as a porcelain painter
  • physically could not remove her engagement ring

Tune in next time part 445      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I had to conduct the remainder of the Scampering ceremony while wearing a lizard mask to personify the Great Sun-Iguana, a Contrarian folkloric figure somewhat akin to the Tooth Fairy or Easter Bunny, whose job it was to teach Contrarian children that running with scissors wasn’t smart. After I delivered my anti-scissor-running moral, Mr and Mrs Hedgehog reconciled and were left to bask in the enduring glow of a tender and true love that can only come when a poor writer agrees to forgo further attempts at novelry and concentrate instead on his skill as a porcelain painter.

The ceremony concluded with all the local children scampering in the snow, only there were no children at Enigma Fortress. In their place, the garrison under my command marched about in formation while whooping.

As I removed my lizard mask, YoYo whispered into my ear. “You should be proud. Yesterday is quite sure she’s pregnant. When she showered this morning she physically could not remove her engagement ring or her wedding ring because her finger was so swollen.” She planted a green kiss on my lips. “And I’m quite certain that I’m pregnant, too.”

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Even With Clyde in My Lap

  • by jenfully aware of the ten sets of eyes
  • His Grace petitioned the Count
  • Now he was bleeding
  • too smart for that school
  • I’d suggest no more than a thousand

Tune in next time part 419      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Even with Clyde in my lap, and Jim waving his camera around, I was fully aware of the ten sets of eyes — mime eyes — that were trained on my dancing sisters. I might still have a hope of escaping as long as Jem and Jem’s hypnotic cobra yoga held them entranced.

I had to make Jim see reason. “Our family has standards, Jim.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your standards, brother,” Jim snarled. “The fire eaters want to claim Jem, and I won’t have it! This is the only way to save her.”

“What’s the Lord Carnevale have to do with any of that?” I asked.

Jim sneered his first words. “His Grace petitioned the Count Flambé, leader of the largest fire eater guild, for Jem’s hand. Their marriage would seal a pact between those heartburn motherfuckers and the masked carnivalistos.”

I shuddered at the thought.

“So,” Jim continued, “I’m showing Lord Domino that we play hardball. If he doesn’t back off, something ugly will happen to Clyde.”

The little dog in my lap bared his teeth again, exposing the “woof” painted thereon.

The bicycling mime reentered the laboratory. Now he was bleeding from one nostril, and he had the Donut sister riding on his imaginary handlebars.

Jim tucked his camera into the pocket of his lab coat and grasped the Donut mime by the wrist. She began to flail about, hurling silent insults at us and at the Academy. The thrust of her nonverbal argument seemed to be that she was too smart for that school, but I distinctly remembered seeing her in its halls.

“Relax Ms Donut,” Jim said, thus perpetuating the mystery of which sister was which. “If you don’t calm down I’ll have to give you an injection.”

“I’d suggest no more than a thousand milliliters, and no less than nine hundred,” said Jemma. “Like most mimes she’s built up quite a tolerance.”

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“Evasive Maneuvers!”

  • by jenWilliam’s fifth wife
  • (or tethered goats — whatever you’re into)
  • beige comfort food at its best
  • delivery man for the morgue
  • performing a flourish

Tune in next time part 349      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Evasive maneuvers!” Fleur shouted.

“Yes ma’am,” came Jim’s reply. Fleur and I stumbled into the counters as our zeppelin suddenly lurched to starboard. We looked like we were on the bridge of the Enterprise as Jim quickly dodged to port and we stumbled again.

Picking up the mic once more, Fleur said calmly, “The traitorous acts of the Pentagonal Party will be punished most harshly.”

I’m sure you’ve heard of the Pentagonal Party. Everyone has. But since things are so convoluted I’ll give a brief refresher. Fleur’s father, the Contrarian Warlord and Supreme Calligrapher William Penn XI has, per Contrarian tradition, eleven wives (one for each of the previous warlords who bore his name, and one for himself). Fleur is William’s firstborn child, born to his sixth wife, Agnes Rose, a full minute before her brother was delivered to William’s fifth wife (and Agnes Rose’s older sister) Rose Agnes. The other nine siblings from the first “brood,” as it is called, arrived over the next several hours. This is how it has always been done in Contraria, with the marriages all taking place at once and the pregnancies all conceived to run concurrently, and may the best man win. Fleur was the first time in recorded history that the firstborn was female. William, to his credit, was pleased to have his daughter as heir. Rose Agnes was not. To her, Fleur’s arrival a mere minute too early was an insult. Her sense of outrage was likely enhanced by long-simmering sibling rivalry between the sisters. Rose Agnes and her bodyguard/lover rebelled and formed the Pentagonal Party, and have spent the past several decades plotting to put William XII on the throne in Fleur’s place.

The warlord tried over the years to placate Rose Agnes. I’ve seen the letters he wrote in his impeccable script. “If you will only cease your hostilities and come home, I will be pleased to provide you with several ponies (or tethered goats — whatever you’re into). Our son will be a duke and will enjoy beige comfort food at its best, as prepared by the palace chefs.” It goes on and on in that vein, but Rose Agnes would not hear of reconciliation. In one of her replies she says that if her son can’t be warlord he might as well be a delivery man for the morgue. Her writings are very melodramatic.

Fleur turned to me and said, “I’m going to man the top harpoon.” Performing a flourishing gesture toward a trapdoor in the floor she added, “You take the one in the keel. We’ll blast those bastards out of the sky.”

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“That’s the Viscount’s Submarine!”

  • by jensome sort of wacky hardcore fundamentalist sect
  • what a lucky bastard
  • pay you a whole $250 to serve drinks at their poker game
  • instead of being scary
  • for ever suggesting such a ridiculous trip

Tune in next time part 327      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“That’s the viscount’s submarine!” Isolde cried. “But why would Arlo attack us, Fleur?”

My wife gritted her teeth. “He’s the leader of some sort of wacky hardcore fundamentalist sect.” She steered the zeppelin higher as the sub rammed the aircraft carrier again. “He tried to convince me to let him baptize the twins into it so that he could tell everyone he was their father.”

It offended me to think that anyone might believe that creepy dick had fathered my children.

“It’s not enough for him to be your lover for months and months,” Isolde said. “He wants to control the heirs to Contraria!” Her hand rested on her abdomen. “He will never even lay eyes on the precious child Harry has given me.”

The blue panda that had my son in a front carrier nudged me and whispered, “Do you know what a lucky bastard you are, bedding both of the warlord’s daughters?”

“How dare you speak to me that way!” I hissed. “It’s not like I’m some asshole who agreed to pay you a whole $250 to serve drinks at their poker game! You are responsible for the safety of the royal infant!” I tried to keep my voice menacing, but instead of being scary it came out sounding quite prissy. The man in the panda suit took a big step backward. I kept my eye on him for further signs of inappropriateness while I tuned back in to Fleur and Isolde’s conversation.

“I knew Arlo was up to something,” Fleur said. “I should have exiled him from Contraria for ever suggesting such a ridiculous trip when I was on the verge of labor.”

“It must have been the pregnancy hormones,” Isolde soothed. “I can feel them already, turning my brain to mush.” She smiled beatifically down at her flat stomach. Did she really think she was already pregnant? “I can’t wait until Harry and I can hold our little bundle of joy. I bet it will look just like him!”

Fleur shot me a dangerous look, so I kept my mouth closed.

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Fleur Rang Her Little Bell Again

  • by jenhe sang as loud as he could
  • tolerably well off for a German professor
  • And not in the way he’s usually feeling it.
  • you do a victory dance
  • circuit breakers?

Tune in next time part 321      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur rang her little bell again, and the vice-chancellor of the exchequer joined us in the birthing chamber. I held the children and made faces to amuse them while he, Fleur, and the old incense woman consulted many hefty tomes and divined their official titles. When all was in order, the Royal Contrarian Radio Service members were brought in. The vice-chancellor took the microphone and sang-announced the royal births to the world in ritualistic Contrarian fashion. Contrarian microphones are notoriously terrible, so he sang as loud as he could. My son’s title clocked in at three minutes on the dot, while all the feminine suffixes of my daughter’s added an additional eighteen seconds, and took up the entirety of the allowed time.

With that bit of official nonsense out of the way, I thought I might finally enjoy some time alone with my little family. I was wrong. Fleur’s beautiful sister Isolde raced into the room, afire with manic glee. Now that the babies had arrived, she was permitted to marry Harry, a toadlike Contrarian noble. I had no idea what she saw in him. As I already mentioned, Harry was ugly, and while he might be considered tolerably well off for a German professor, as royalty went he was the bottom of the barrel.

“I’ve been waiting so long to marry my sweet prince!” Isolde sighed. “We can wait no longer. The wedding will be in half an hour!”

“Harry is not a prince,” Fleur corrected. “He’s a junior-baronet, but since you love him so, I grant permission for you to wed upon my ship.”

Isolde squealed. “You are the best sister!”

“Where is Harry?” Fleur asked. “I must perform the anointing ritual.”

“He went ashore,” Isolde said. “He’s feeling seasick. And not in the way he’s usually feeling it.” She winked at her sister. “If you know what I mean.”

“So it’s to be a proxy wedding?” Fleur asked, sounding bored. “You have the ceremony with a stand-in groom, you do a victory dance together as per tradition, and then you take him to your bedchamber and see if you can blow out all the circuit breakers?”

“Precisely.”

Fleur said, “My husband seems to be already dressed for the occasion, more or less.”

“Wait,” I said, clasping my infant children to my chest. “What?” I had always found Fleur’s sister attractive, and it seemed I might suddenly be given permission to bed her.

“Thank you!” Isolde cried, hugging her sister. “I can’t wait to be married to my darling Harry!”

The old incense woman took the babies, and Fleur splashed a bit of ceremonial wine on my temples, inner wrists, and genitals. “For the next 24 hours you are Junior-Baronet Harry,” she pronounced. “Go and wed my sister, Harry.”

“Oh, Harry!” Isolde cried, taking my hand. “I’m so happy!”

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By the Time Isaac was Done with Me

  • by jenwonder if you even miss me
  • people thought they had a far more sinister meaning
  • dressed in a Hazmat suit
  • mixture of ferocity and jocularity
  • nonetheless churning with anxiety

Tune in next time part 223                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

By the time Isaac was done with me I had learned that her real name was Cleopatra, and I was exhausted from my efforts both conversational and carnal. My mind was nonetheless churning with anxiety over the sinister Tibetan chocolate bar, which manifested in my actions as an odd mixture of ferocity and jocularity. The last time I felt that way I dressed in a Hazmat suit and went to the White House to talk things out with Thor. The thing about Hazmat suits is that most people thought they had a far more sinister meaning than I intended. I was just trying to be funny, but you try telling that to the Secret Service.

I digress.

There were no Hazmat suits in Cleopatra’s apartment so it was easy enough to avoid that misstep this time, despite my compromised mental state. As I was getting dressed in the clothes I’d gotten from Jim’s closet what felt like ages ago, Cleopatra turned on the TV.

“We need to make sure your father’s return hasn’t hit the news yet,” she said, flipping through the channels until she landed on the Contrarian News Network showing footage of my heavily pregnant wife Fleur and her retinue, all laughing at the antics of a troop of mimes.

I wonder if you even miss me, I thought, as she threw her arms around the neck of Viscount Arlo of Svenborgia. The damn Svenborgians were all over this mess.

“That Arlo guy is such a dick,” Cleopatra said.

How did she even know who he was?

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“For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”

  • by jennice to see her happy again
  • nothing to do with my sister being in the room
  • in the august presence of rhombohedral crystals
  • break in his young men slowly
  • sang three little boys together

“For he’s a jolly good fellow,” sang three little boys together, in perfect, three-part harmony. The choirmaster liked to break in his young men slowly, which is why he started them off with such a banal tune. Later, in the august presence of rhombohedral crystals and all the other trappings of the pagan altar, they would face a much more difficult test of their nascent vocal talents. The choirmaster’s dedication to musical perfection had almost nothing to do with my sister being in the room, even though, as queen, she could order his execution at any moment. She has a soft spot for the choirmaster, and after all the troubles of last winter, it’s nice to see her happy again.

“Which nobody can deny!”

 

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