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 |  All the GoT stuff, 2024. |
| Apparently this is going to be a load of writing of various types - stories, poems, reviews and, no doubt, just about anything else you can think of. I'll probably update this when I know more. |
 Daisy His face wrinkled with glee and his long, bony fingers tangled themselves in a knot of apparent ecstasy as he described his plan. “Yes, yes, an exploding daisy! They’ll not be expecting that. And curiosity kills the cat, they’ll not resist. So many cats at so many daisies and then, poof! Not that I’m after cats of course. It’s a metaphor, a metaphor for all those who want to smell the pretty flower. And it won’t be a big bang, just a poof, and the air will be filled with my evil, tantalising, red and blue poison, catching in the throat, coating the membranes, eating away at the nerves, drinking the juices of life. “Oh my darling daisies, so pretty and so lethal, appearing overnight in every garden, every cracked pavement, every forest glade. Just think of how they will fill the air, the drifting mists of purple veils, oh, the beauty of it, the sheer, wonderful conception of it!” He turned suddenly from his insane rant to peer directly into my eyes. “And you, you will be able to sit with me and view it all through a million tiny cameras, strategically placed to record the carnage. Oh, Mr Bond, what a happy time lies before us, how glorious a show is prepared in our honour. Just a few more hours and everything will be ready.” He was off again, staring into space as he envisaged the calamity his damn daisies were going to release on the world. I struggled with the ropes tying my hands together but his knots were as fiendish as his plans. “Popcorn! I have popcorn ready so we can sit at our ease as we watch, popping popcorn into our mouths as others choke on daisies. Oh, what fun it will be, just like the movies in the old days, sitting in the dark with our faces reflecting the light from the screen, totally absorbed as we watch the drama unfolding before us and munch on our eternal popcorn. I can feel it now, the butter dribbling down my cheek, popcorn spilling from the boxes and crunching underfoot. Oh, the happy days, the happy days. He was almost dancing now, waving his arms about as he imagined the gruesome delights he had planned for his vile entertainment. And the worst of it was that it was all so completely pointless, that all this invention and planning, these months of preparing the flowers, perfecting the gases, and placing them where they could do the most harm, all was directed to no other purpose than to satisfy some insane urge in the man’s feverish brain. What drove these crazy desires, this hunger to feed on the suffering of others? It made no sense, and, as I watched the madman capering and cooing about what was to come, I knew that humanity’s only hope lay in me, that everything depended on my releasing these bonds that held me helpless in the chair. My fingers worked away frantically at the knots. “I know you’ll come to see I was right, Mr Bond,” he was saying. “Once the world has been cleared of these unsightly creatures, we can build anew a monument to the power of the mind, a towering edifice that declares to the universe our ultimate power and our endless reach. Nothing shall escape our influence and intent. We shall be masters of the universe.” He stopped then and turned to look at the closed door to the room. There was a red light flashing above it. “Hmm, trouble,” he said, flicking a quick glance at me, still held fast in the chair. “A moment, Mr Bond. It seems I am needed elsewhere for a time.” He walked to the door and opened it, strangely backlit by the light outside, his wild hair glowing like a halo around the shadowed darkness of his face. “I’ll be back,” he said, in the worst imitation of Schwarzenegger I’ve ever heard. Then he was gone and I went back to my struggle with the ropes. I thought this would be my chance to get free but, for once, the madman was true to his word. A few minutes passed, then the door opened and he returned. This time he was accompanied by two henchmen, big fellows with bulging arms and tight T-shirts. Their boss was looking rather different, however. He had run a comb through his hair and it now sat flat to his head, making him appear almost human. His lab coat had been buttoned too, so that it no longer flapped out like wings as he walked. He raised an arm to point at me. “Might as well untie him, fellers,” he said. “He’s going back to his cell.” As they went round behind me and started fiddling with the knots that seemed difficult even for them, he stood before me, arms crossed, and a grim expression on his face. “You still don’t believe me, do you?” I snorted my derision. “Not a chance, Professor. You’ll not fool me because I know who you are. I know exactly what you’re doing.” His arms moved to place his hands on his hips. “I’m a doctor, not a professor. As you know because I’ve told you a thousand times before. And your delusion of my being some sort of insane, power-crazed genius may have survived my little performance for today, but it won’t last forever. I’ll cure you, Manstein, sooner or later. I’ll get to you and you’ll know the truth.” “I already know the truth, you mad freak, and I’ll foil your plans yet.” His minions had untied me at last and I wondered for a moment whether I ought to make a break for it. But then they had picked me up like a rag doll and dragged me towards the door. I yelled at the madman over my shoulder. “I’ll win in the end, you bastard. James Bond always does.” Word count: 993 For "Game of Thrones"  The North Remembers, Fantasy & Fairy Tale Prompts 15Prompt: Nobody has encountered an explosive daisy and lived to tell the tale. |
| Sir Bedivere “What am I doing wrong, Lance?” asked Sir Bedivere. Lancelot rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, it’s not your looks,” he answered. “You may be the ugliest face at the round table but they don’t really care about that. Oh, it doesn’t hurt to look good, I’ll not deny that…” He flashed a perfect set of white teeth in his famously disarming grin. “But they’re really after something quite different. Tell me again how you go about this.” Bedivere looked puzzled. “Straightforward enough,” he answered. “First I kill the dragon, of course. No problems with that. Then I go up to her and sorta give this little bow, say something like, ‘Your servant, ma’am,’ and offer a hand to help her get down from whatever pedestal the dragon’s put her on. Dunno why they always have to put her on a pedestal but they do. Expect you’ve noticed that.” Lancelot nodded. “Yeah. It’s to make her more noticeable. She’s the bait, you see. But what happens then?” “Well, I take her down to the horse, she gets on and off we go.” “You walking, leading the horse?” Bedivere seemed surprised that there was any other option. “Of course.” “That’s your answer then.” Lancelot sat back and crossed his arms. “You’re too polite, too correct, too gentlemanly and all that. It’s not what they really wants, you know. Nah, they likes a bad boy that’ll get straight to the point. None of this ‘ecka-scooze me, your ladyship,’ and ‘if you please, ma’am.’ Grab ‘em round the waist to help ‘em down, then take ‘em by the hand to lead ‘em to the horse. Shove ‘em on the horse, then climb up behind, one hand on the reins, the other round the waist and off you go. Gives the two of you a chance to get acquainted, you see.” “Oh, I don’t know if I could do that,” said Bedivere. “Seems a bit forward, if you ask me. And anyway, isn’t just rescuing them enough?” Lancelot gave a cynical glance at the ceiling. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But they loves a bad boy, Bedi, and the rescue is the least they expect. Even a blooming stable lad would do that. If you want their respect, you’ve gotta earn it.” Bedivere looked quite horrified. “Blimey,” he said. “I don’t know what the world’s coming to, in that case.” “It’s just damsels, innit?” explained Lancelot. “They don’t think like we do and they know how to get what they wants. And what they wants is bad boys cos they need someone who’ll scare off the other geezers and dragons. The milksops and dainty boys are just gonna get themselves killed.” “So you reckon, if I treat this next one like that, I’ll be in with a chance?” Lancelot replied with utter confidence. “Exactly. You go in like Flynn, my Bedivere boy, and Bob will definitely be your uncle. She’ll lap it up.” Bedivere went silent for a while, obviously mulling things over. Then, a decision having been made, he looked up and declared in determined tones, “I’ll do it. It’ll be hard for me and I’ll feel like a cad, but I’m sick of being single.” Lancelot smiled. “That’s the spirit. Now saddle up and let’s get going. You have a damsel to save and I’ve a grail to look for. You don’t happen to know what a grail is, do you, Bedi?” “It’s a cup, Lance, a cup.” And so the pair went their separate ways on disparate quests. They were not to see each other for many years thereafter. Lancelot did hear that Bedivere had married the damsel he’d rescued, a certain Lady Belamour of Mordant Vale, and he was quite proud of his own part in the matter. Without his sage advice, he told himself, poor Bedi would never have got himself hitched. It was on an expedition to expel raiders on the northern frontier that the two friends bumped into each other again. Lancelot was quite surprised at the weight Bedivere had put on in the interval and he mentioned it after their happy greetings. “She’s treating you well, I see,” he said, as he patted Bedivere’s enlarged belly. Bedivere smiled broadly. “It’s wonderful, Lance. I’m eating like a king and she keeps the servants working away like ants. I’m out every day on quests and then, when I get home, I get treated to the most amazing feasts. She’s found some foreign cook from somewhere and he makes the most tasty stuff I’ve ever eaten. Even the king commented on it when he came to dinner the other day.” “So I was right about what damsels really want, then?” “Damn right you were, Lance. I couldn’t believe how easy it was when I tried it.” Lancelot laughed. “I knew it,” he said, “I freaking knew it.” Bedivere’s face went suddenly serious. “But now there’s another thing, Lance.” “What, more damsel trouble?” “No, Bela’s a real treat, no trouble at all.” Bedivere’s voice went quiet as he added, “It’s the kids, Lance.” “What, you’ve got kids as well? Congratulations, Bedi!” “Thanks,” said Bedivere, although he didn’t seem too happy about it. “How many?” asked Lancelot. “Five, I think. Little blighters move so fast, it’s hard to count them.” “And that’s a problem?” Bedivere nodded. “That and the fact they’re savages. They're everywhere in the castle, getting into everything, breaking things, trying to break themselves, making a terrible racket, constantly asking questions, and moving so fast I can’t keep up. They’re worse than a herd of dragons. Absolute barbarians, I tell you. They’re driving me nuts, Lance, and I don’t know what to do about it. What can I do?” Lancelot looked at his friend and shook his head. “Now you know why I never married,” he said. Word count: 968 For "Game of Thrones" The North Remembers, What’s His Story, Prompt 4Prompt: You are a knight on the way to save a princess, which is something you do on a weekly basis. Unfortunately, no princess has been interested in marrying you, even after witnessing your heroic acts. |
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