The first time Chuck Yeager ever saw a jet-powered fighter, he promptly shot it down with his Mustang. Years later, a British Royal Navy pilot would have a similar experience during the Korean War in his Hawker Sea Fury. Read more here!
It’s interesting how conversations can rapidly move from one subject to another in an instant. The other day, a few friends and myself were discussing the legendary Miracle On Ice at the 1980 Winter Olympics, when the topic turned to aircraft and the Republic P-47 Thunderbolt, also known as “the Juggernaut” to the USAAF pilots who were privileged with flying it. Quickly, another aircraft was…
(Note: This flash fiction is an installment of “Burnt Chocolate, Fairy King”, a crack rom-com fantasy serial. To read previous chapters, click here.)
The third floor of Grüger Corp exploded, a fiery orange plume poofing into the sky. Ash and debris showered the lawn, and the gust of wind blew back Rulash’s hair.
“Found you,” he murmured as police sirens blared and camera lights flashed.
Rulash launched himself in the air again and glided around the smoke. He snapped his wings against his back and landed in the burnt out office. “Willow,” he shouted, “where are you?”
He ran deeper into Grüger Corp., the shadows of the security men dancing on the wall. He crept upwards, then into another scorched hallway. Then he crept back to look at a directory mounted by the elevators.
“Hey!” shouted a guard.
Rulash stilled and tried to return to the shadows, but he was already spotted. He curled his fist and threw a seed pod at the ground, which burst into blue pollen. The guards filling the hallway collapsed snoring.
He wrenched open an elevator door and gunshots rained behind him as the doors snapped shut again. Flying up the elevator shaft, Rulash started to count the floors.
A light flashed above him, and he saw a man drop something into the shaft above him. Rulash hurled another seedpod at it, but—OOMPH—the object exploded on impact and sent Rulash hurtling back down the shaft. He caught himself with sticky hands, like a bug, against the wall.
He crawled, quiet, instead of flying and slipped past the open elevator and forced himself into a hallway. With his sticky fingers, he crawled along the ceiling, then pushed into a silent glide over the heads of the security forces.
Dust rained down from the ceiling as another explosion rocked the building.
Rulash watched from above as Willow leapt from the shadows and took down three security guards outside the president’s office.
He almost swooned.
“Willow!” he shouted, gleeful. He landed, and Willow punched at him.
He winced, but the blow was directed over the shoulder at a guard who dropped like a rock.
“Your Highness, what are you doing here?”
“I heard you were in danger!” Rulash pushed threw up a magic shield as some guards opened fire on them.
“I’m not, obviously, you idiot!”
Rulash folded his arms, the baby blue shield shimmering behind him as bullets struck it. “Really.”
“Really,” she snapped.
“Come back with me, Willow. If you’re bored, we could’ve started a conflict against the Swamp Mites! I would’ve done that for you!”
“This is my home now, King. I take cooking classes. I have a job. I have friends.”
“I have friends here too,” argued Rulash as security guards began to bang, harmlessly, against his shield. He thought of Sam in the shelter. He hoped he had called his parents. “And a job.”
“A job,” scoffed Willow. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“I’ve had a crazy time in the human realm. Maybe we can talk about it, over coffee?”
“Are you asking me out?” Right now?
“No,” said Rulash, “I just miss you.”
She sighed, furious. “You’re hopeless.”
“I know!”
“I’m not going back,” said Willow. She ripped the door to the president’s office off its hinges.
“Ladies first.” Rulash hesitated. “It does feel a bit strange though, for me to have grown this much and to have come this far…”
“That’s not my problem.” Willow dropped the door. “I’ve gotta save the environment. They don’t care about it here, not really. Not like we do. They’re going to destroy a whole valley.”
“Some of them care,” said Rulash. “They’re not all bad.”
“I know. But this one is. Well, are you coming, or not?”
Rulash shrugged.
When they burst through the door, neither Rulash or Willow noticed the journalist lurking in the corner. Willow grabbed the president and dragged him atop his desk.
“I’ll never give in,” the president shouted at Willow. “You can’t intimidate me!”
Rulash stepped behind Willow, his fists glowing.
“Oh, God! There’s two of you? There’s two of you!”
“No army you can summon will stop me,” growled Willow, menacing. “Nothing will stop me.”
“I’m sorry,” wailed the president. “Stop ruining my life! We won’t do it!”
The job down, Willow and Rulash ran for the window. They jumped through the glass and flew away into the night as the media, police, and firefighters stormed below, and their magic vanished.
“I respect you, Willow,” said Rulash.
“I know,” said Willow. “You seem more free somehow with it.”
“Happy Halloween?” tried Rulash.
She rolled her eyes. “Happy Halloween.”
~~~~
E.R. Warren writes bad poetry and forces her friends to attend impromptu poetry slams, but owns no electric blue clothing. You can read more about her writing and various travel plans here.
(Note: This flash fiction is an installment of “Burnt Chocolate, Fairy King”, a crack rom-com fantasy serial. To read previous chapters, click here.)
Gweniveer had bought him the dress. Or, more correctly, Gweniveer’s mother had bought him the pink thing that was borderline confectionary: white puffy sleeve, heaps of rosy gauze, and beads like tiny peaches. He put on his undergarments, then the dress and bent and stretched to do it up himself. Staring at the mirror, Sam ruffled his own hair.
An orange cat meowed in the doorway, and he chuckled at himself before putting on his wig and sitting down at his vanity again. The skirts blossomed around his desk chair. He stared at the phone.
Then his cell phone buzzed in his pants pocket. He reached over and fished it out. “Gweniveer, go on without me.” A pause, as she spoke. Then, “No, I’m serious. I’ll meet you there later.”
He did not wait for her response. He turned off his cell phone and dropped it on the floor.
Reaching for the phone on his desk, he dialed another number and waited, patient as it rang, but his other hand fisted the delicate gauze forming the outer layer of his skirt.
“Hey, Mom,” said Sam, “it’s me. Happy Halloween.” A beat, then: “I love you, you know that, right?”
Another pause, and Sam wondered how far into adulthood that some people would sound like the adults in the Charlie Brown films: murring, unclear, and viewed from the legs down.
“I need you to understand this,” he interrupted. “I love girls. I also love boys. I love everyone, apparently, in fact.” He cringed to him as Rulash came to mind. “And when you’re okay with that, you can call me back.”
Then Sam hung up the phone.
Sam exhaled.
Like coming to the surface of a pond, Sam began to hear again. The nyaar noise the giant cat Crookshanks made, the barking of the Chihuahua in the back… The tv.
“This is Judy Lane!” exclaimed the reporter with breathless enthusiasm, “and even I can’t believe what’s happening at Grüger Corp!”
~~~~
E.R. Warren writes bad poetry and forces her friends to attend impromptu poetry slams, but owns no electric blue clothing. You can read more about her writing and various travel plans here.
Burnt Chocolate, Fairy King [xviii] :: E.R. Warren
(Note: This flash fiction is an installment of “Burnt Chocolate, Fairy King”, a crack rom-com fantasy serial. To read previous chapters, click here.)
“I am hesitant to ask why you’re dressed strangely,” stated Rulash.
Gweniveer dragged them back to Sam’s office and picked up the television remote. “It’s priceless. Here, you can do your make-up at the same time…”
She opened Sam’s vanity and turned on the local news. “The chairman of Grüger has completely lost his shit! It’s beautiful, after the sludge pit they built at Leans Beach!”
“This is Judy Lane, and I am covering the impromptu press conference called by the chairman of the board of Grüger Corp…”
“What’s Halloween?” asked Rulash, completely uninterested in the television. Sam wiped off his face and began applying foundation.
“You dress up and go to parties. I’ve been preparing for this for weeks…”
“We’re going as a prince and princess,” explained Gweniveer. “Duh, but look at this, he’s foaming at the mouth!”
“Fairies,” shrieked the chairman of the board at the camerawoman on the television. “I was attacked by a winged being, wings, like, like, BUTTERFLIES, big purple wings!”
Rulash froze, then swung wildly back in the direction of the television.
“She told me if I didn’t put my support behind stopping the project in the valley, she’d kill me. They’ve already burned down our valley office site! They’re going to kill us! I’m not crazy,” shouted the chairman, his face like a beet. “Please, we have to stop them!”
“The conspiracy theorists are all over this,” said Gweniveer gleefully. “We’ve called a meeting tomorrow, even though half of us will be hung over after Halloween…”
“Fairies,” repeated Rulash. He looked to Sam. “There’s only two fairies in the human realm.”
Sam paused his make-up, one eye surrounded by pink eye-shadow. “Gweniveer, I’ll meet you in the car when I finish.”
“But—"
“I’ll meet you in the car,” he said, firm.
Gweniveer glanced at the two men and after a moment, left. Sam waited until the bell on the front door jangled.
“I need your help,” said Rulash. “Where is this Grüger? Why is Willow attacking them?”
“I need you to be completely serious with me. Are you joking with me?”
“What do I need to do to prove to you that I’m serious?” cried Rulash. “Wait. Don’t answer.”
The fairy king paused and held up his hands. “It’s Halloween, so perhaps the spirituality of the day allows me to break my original oath."
Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”
“This,” said Rulash, gesturing at himself, “is a disguise. This is me.”
He snapped his fingers on both hands, and Sam toppled from his seat in shock as a shimmery powder covered his office, and Rulash spun around, and like cloth wringing outwards, wings—great bright blue wings, like a dragonfly—unfurled from his back.
Sam gaped. It was Rulash, but like Rulash in extremes, as if everything about him had been cranked up to the max. His hair was bright blond, his eyes an unnerving shade of green-blue, and his face sharper. His movements all flitted, he was sharp and jerky, and alien and familiar as an orchid.
Sam was about to inform Rulash that Halloween was about disguises and costumes, not being yourself, but he just found himself rubbing his eyes.
“You are suitably awed,” drawled the fairy king. “Good. You’ll be more likely to do what I want.”
“What—what you want,” stuttered Sam. He shakily finished his make-up, just to get a sense of stability, and almost put on his blonde wig, but he dropped it on the vanity. “You’re a fairy.”
“Yes. I’m the fairy king.”
“And that girl, she’s a fairy too?”
“Yes, that’s what I’ve been telling you!”
“And she’s performing acts of eco-terrorism against Grüger Corp because they are going to destroy a famous wildlife area?”
Rulash jabbed him in the chest, and Sam wished he had put on his bra because the jab hurt. “This is the sort of thing you need to tell me! I’ve gotta help her. Or stop her. I don’t know which.”
Dazed, Sam nodded and turned around in his seat to open his computer. He did a quick google search, and as he read a couple articles, he glanced over at Rulash, still not really believing his eyes.
“The entire board has agreed to cancel the project,” murmured Sam, “but the president owns the majority share in the company and plans to go through with it. If Willow is threatening people, she’ll go to him next. He’s the missing piece in the puzzle.”
Sam clicked another page. “Grüger Corp has hired a security firm to guard the president. She’s going to be caught.”
“No on my watch,” growled the fairy king. “I’ll get her and take her home."
Shaking, Sam turned back to his vanity.
“It’s almost nightfall,” said Rulash. He walked towards the door to the office. “I should get going.”
He paused. “If I don’t see you again, Sam, I wish you well. And remember what I said about ultimatums.”
“Rulash,” began Sam.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry. For doubting you."
The fairy king gave a dismissive wave. Instead of walking out the door like a normal person, he wrenched open the window with one arm. “It’s all right,” he said. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
Mouth hanging open, Sam watched as Rulash launched himself from the window and flew away into the night.
~~~~
E.R. Warren writes bad poetry and forces her friends to attend impromptu poetry slams, but owns no electric blue clothing. You can read more about her writing and various travel plans here.
(Note: This flash fiction is an installment of “Burnt Chocolate, Fairy King”, a crack rom-com fantasy serial. To read previous chapters, click here.)
Sam put a moratorium on discussing what happened at the coffee shop, and the next day he left with Red the Shiba for her vet appointment down the street. He left Rulash tending the counter, gazing at the clock, as the radio played the latest bastion of their culture:
You know the words to my soul
Do the nasty
Sometimes Sam wondered what the aliens thought or future robot humans would think of the translations. Then he glanced at Rulash again.
Rulash sighed and turned up the radio, and the dogs started barking.
Sam really left.
Dr. Im ran the local veterinarian office, and Sam had a special agreement with her, and she helped with the animals at his shelter. She kept a faded, daisy yellow office and two assistants. Red obediently followed Sam inside, and one of the elderly assistants smiled at him.
"Looking to adopt a dog?" Sam asked her. "Or me?"
"Neither. I have five dogs," chirped the old woman behind the desk. "You're right on time. Head on back."
As Sam and Red made their way back to the doctor's room, the old assistant turned up the volume on the news-stream on her computer, tapping her pencil against her coffee mug.
"Environmental advocacy groups have started protesting outside Grüger headquarters, a private firm, after all members of the board have, for no clear reason, announced publicly that they disagree with the valley's development... This is the largest environmental protest in the city since 1988, when..."
Dr. Im, a woman with a round face and pearl earrings, opened the door from the inside. "Charlotte, could you be a dear and turn that down? Sam, hello, come on in. Hello there, Red."
She bent over and scratched the dog's head. "What brings you two in?"
"Red doesn't seem herself," lied Sam. "I just want to play it safe."
"Good call."
Sam waited as Dr. Im did a couple different tests on Red, and he played on his phone, wondering if Rulash was still mooning in the lobby.
"She has a digestive infection," Dr. Im announced. "I know you have a lot on your hands. If you take this healthy kitten someone just left here, I handle Red until she gets better. How'd you know something was off? Even I couldn't tell until I did the tests..."
"I just guessed," said Sam helplessly. (Because 'my assistant talks to animals' was a little beyond their business friendship.)
Dr. Im patted Red on the head. "You are in good hands, yes you are…”
She leaned out of the door. "Charlotte, give Sam Sasquatch and one of the cat-carriers."
Sam carried Sasquatch, the big-footed black kitten, home with no protest, his mind knotted in confusion, a fur ball from which four clear words emerged by the time he reached his doorstep.
How could he tell?
Such confusion nagged him as he opened the door—because he can’t really talk to animals, fairies aren’t real—and found Rulash exactly where Sam had left him: staring at the clock, sighing behind the counter.
“I leave with a dog and come back with a kitten,” joked Sam. “This is my life.”
He stopped to lower Sasquatch into an open crate in the lobby and made a bowl of food. As he worked, the radio hummed from the countertop.
"Protesters gather around Grüger headquarters as the chairman of the board issued a statement, apologizing for any confusion caused when other members of the board publicly claimed the valley project would cease immediately. As Grüger is a private company, such declarations are strange to say the least, and this reporter wonders what prompted… One of the board members, Ms. Bagging, made local news when she claimed she was assaulted by a masked, winged figure who forced her declaration…"
Rulash frowned and changed the station.
Do the nasty
Do the nasty
Sam patted Sasquatch on the head and turned to Rulash. “Hey, we need to talk.”
Rulash sighed and began drumming his fingers against the counter.
“We need to talk about the other night,” continued Sam. “The more I think about it, the more upset I am—”
“No,” interrupted Rulash.
“No?” Baffled, Sam blinked. “No. I am upset.”
“Not about me,” said Rulash, rolling his eyes. “You’re upset about your issues.”
“My issues are that I have a crazy stalker living in my business. This girl does not want a romantic relationship with you, and deceiving her with another identity isn’t right. She should be able to choose what she wants without you breathing down her neck.” Sam’s voice caught on something. “You have to… respect her choice.”
“It’s not about that,” snapped Rulash. “Something is wrong. She is in danger somehow, and she won’t… I am not a part of her life, so I cannot help her.”
“She looked fine to me.”
“Red looked fine to you!” cried Rulash, gesturing wildly in the direction of the kitten. Sasquatch meowed. “You’re an unobservant, vain ladybug. Willow was beaten and exhausted. She was worrying about something, and I couldn’t help her. Love is letting go, I get that, but love also means you don’t just stand aside and let someone be in danger.”
“Besides,” Rulash continued, “this is about your problem. Why don’t you talk with your parents? Is it because you dress like a woman?”
Sam cringed. None of his friends, even Gweniveer, asked him about his problems directly. It was like a toxic waste dump. Everyone drove around it. He didn’t want to talk about it with Rulash, and he was just about to tell Rulash that, but the man kept rattling along.
“This isn’t about me. You’re too nice. That’s the problem.”
“Too—too nice?”
“Too nice,” scolded Rulash. “For instance, you’ve taken me in without a second thought, even though you think I’m crazy. (Some friend you are.) You’ve put up with me. And I get that you and your strange friends that I’m attractive.” Sighing, Rulash snapped his fingers. “That’s no surprise, as most creatures as found me attractive since the day I was born.”
Sam picked up Sasquatch. Holding a kitten, he knew, would stop him from doing something he would regret.
“But this isn’t about me. When I was a teenager, I struck a deal with a couple bumblebee cities and became their king. Do you think that made my parents happy?”
“Uh, yes?”
Rulash stared at him as if he were the dullest dung beetle squashed on the sidewalk.
“No?” tried Sam.
“They did all kinds of things. They sent treaties and petitions and they tried to get me to do what they wanted, even though it would be bad for me and everyone else. I was happy, so I didn’t compromise. And then, one day I realized that if my parents were good parents and they loved me, they’d get over it, and we’d have normal trade relations. But I also knew that there are lousy parents out there who don’t love their children. I gave them an ultimatum.”
Sam swallowed. “What happened?”
“They weren’t good parents.” Rulash rolled his eyes, and Sam gazed in wonder at his easiness with the statement. “I conquered them. With Willow.”
Trembling, Sam sat down. Sasquatch nuzzled his hands, which he formed like a tent around the kitten.
“What do you like? What makes you happy?” Rulash almost seemed irritated, but Sam was beginning to suspect that Rulash was irritated with friends and polite to enemies.
“I like animals.” Sasquatch meowed, flexing its tiny claws against his jeans. “Costumes.”
“But you’re not happy now. You need to have bigger, more ruthless goals. What’s your ideal life?”
“Well, I… That’s.”
Rulash stared at him, irritated. In that moment, Sam realized that if Rulash had been kind, he would be crying. He wondered if the irritation was a bizarre form of kindness or if Rulash was just agitated.
“So help me, you must have something.”
“I want to open a pet cafe,” blurted out Sam. “I’ve never told anyone. It’s a place where people who can’t have pets visit, buy snacks, and hang out with pets. They have them in Japan, but they’re hard to open here because of the health code regulations and start-up costs.”
“That’ll do.” The clock ticked. Rulash drummed his fingers against the counter, staring out the front door as the sun set.
“For what little it’s worth,” said Sam, “I think you should be direct with Willow too. But respect her judgment.”
A bright red Ferrari screeched to a halt in front of the shelter, swinging expertly into the only open parallel parking spot. Gweniveer threw open the front door, her face flushed.
“Are you guys watching the news?”
~~~~
E.R. Warren writes bad poetry and forces her friends to attend impromptu poetry slams, but owns no electric blue clothing. You can read more about her writing and various travel plans here.
(Note: This flash fiction is an installment of “Burnt Chocolate, Fairy King”, a crack rom-com fantasy serial. To read previous chapters, click here.)
Well, she did not look at all like Sam expected. From Rulash’s description, he had been expecting an amazon: a woman fit to take him down in a single hit.
Now that Rulash had finally found her, the arrogant “fairy king” seemed at a loss for words. He walked up to the counter and hovered across from barista—not literally hover—while he stared at Willow.
“What can I get you, my man?” asked the barista.
“You can get the two of us coffees,” interrupted Sam, saving the moment with sequins and a smile. He leaned towards the barista and considered putting that on a business card. “There’s a great single origin you’ve got in the back, the Ugandan.”
The barista grinned back at Sam, pleased with the attention from the overdressed model-type. “You have great taste. I’ll be right back…” Saving done, Sam retreated to the milk and sugar table.
Waiting, Willow raised her eyebrows in an edgy, polite sort of way. Sam could see that she did not recognize Rulash. Rulash had claimed that he changed his appearance to win her over as a new person, which was crazy, but thus far Rulash’s craziness had been confined to his back office. Watching it happen in the wild, his fixation on some girl actually play out made Sam jittery.
He knocked over a sugar bowl, but no one really paid attention.
The noise seemed to snap Rulash out of his freeze. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Normal, thought Sam. Nice.
“Aren’t you with her?” Willow asked, uneasily.
Uh oh, thought Sam.
The barista returned with the coffee and began brewing it with a wink at Sam.
Sam winked back.
“Oh,” said Rulash with an eye roll, “he’s not a woman.”
“Are you a man?” Willow asked Rulash, surprised.
“Of course I’m a man! Although, in this crazy town, that’s not always clear. Anyway, clearly, we are suited for each other.”
“Rulash,” began Sam.
“Rulash,” Willow repeated, blanching.
“RELISH,” blurted out Rulash. “My nickname is Relish. Because I relish challenges and enjoyable things.”
“Listen,” Willow said, gravitating towards Rulash but with her eye on the door. “I don’t even know you, and—"
“My name is Joe,” said Rulash, glancing at the barista’s name-tag as he handed Sam his drink.
“Oh,” said Willow. She tried to maneuver around him. “That’s cool. Listen, I’m really busy tonight.”
“So, another time then?”
“I’m busy most nights.”
“Why?” asked Rulash. “You look tired. Are you all right?”
“Hey,” said the barista. “I’ve got your coffee…”
Rulash held his palm towards him. “Quiet.” He turned back to Willow, only to find her escaping out the front door. “What… just happened.”
Rulash was frozen again, staring at the empty doorway.
Sam sipped his coffee and sighed at the lipstick on his coffee cup. He looked up at the barista. “Are you high?”
“Maybe,” said the barista.
~~~~
E.R. Warren writes bad poetry and forces her friends to attend impromptu poetry slams, but owns no electric blue clothing. You can read more about her writing and various travel plans here.
(Note: This flash fiction is an installment of “Burnt Chocolate, Fairy King”, a crack rom-com fantasy serial. To read previous chapters, click here.)
A week went by. Then two weeks went by, with Rulash coming in late and slumping into one of the lobby chairs to stare at the clock ticking on the wall. Tick-tock. A dog barked.
Sam stepped out of his purple heels and nudged them beneath the desk. He leaned over the register, looking at Rulash. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Rulash blinked, then continued staring at the clock.
“Let’s go out.”
Rulash didn’t move.
Sam fiddled with the ends of his wig. “I want to go out.” He walked around the desk, his purple dress winking in the cheap lighting, and he dragged Rulash to his feet. The man didn’t put up much resistance as Sam pulled him down the hall and thrust a sweater into his hands. When Rulash simply held it, Sam forced it over his head.
“Damn it, Rulash, this is such a pain with my nails on. Dress yourself.”
As Sam walked towards the door, the dogs started barking and Rulash put on the sweater. He paused beside one of the cages. “They’re saying Red’s sick. She’s not barking.”
Sam sighed, exasperated. “She’s a Shiba. They’re not noisy dogs. Come on.”
“There’s something wrong with her gut.”
“What makes you so certain? You never mess with Red.”
“I actually talk to them, as I’ve told you a dozen times…”
“I’ll take her to the vet,” Sam said, tugging on his heels. “Come on.”
Reluctant, Rulash followed him out the door. Sam dragged him to a bookstore, where he awkwardly flipped through magazines while Sam read poetry, twirling his hair about his finger. In the end, he bought a single chapbook, and Rulash did not really read a single magazine.
They got ice cream (matcha and Earl Grey), then root beer floats because Sam was scandalized that he had never tasted one. Sam was only scandalized when he dressed like a woman, reflected Rulash over his root beer float. That was as far as he got, though. The float was quite good.
Sam opened his poetry chapbook, and insisted that they take turns interpreting the poems. Most of the poetry was so muddled that Rulash did not understand what was going on anyway—Leggy’s people—and it wasn’t long before all objects were being compared to penises and Sam had fallen into a fit of giggles.
“Coffee,” he gasped. “I need coffee. Haha, I still have to finish the nonprofit forms, to submit tomorrow…”
Gliding out the door in his glittering heels, Rulash stumbled after him, laughing. “Or you could go to sleep like a slightly more sane person…”
Sam barreled into the coffee shop. Jazz tinkled from some nearby speakers, burnt sugar smell, espresso…
Rulash froze in the doorway, watching as the barista handed Willow a sack of coffee grounds. Sam stopped and looked back at Rulash, then followed his assistant’s line-of-sight to the girl.
“Ah,” said Sam.
~~~~
E.R. Warren writes bad poetry and forces her friends to attend impromptu poetry slams, but owns no electric blue clothing. You can read more about her writing and various travel plans here.
(Note: This flash fiction is an installment of “Burnt Chocolate, Fairy King”, a crack rom-com fantasy serial. To read previous chapters, click here.)
Gweniveer had pulled up to the curve just as Rulash was walking home from Willow's house again. She hadn't been home. Again. Gweniveer had dumped a stray kitten in Rulash's hands and walked with him towards the shelter, the fur ball rolling and hissing in his hold. Gweniveer had found it beside her office.
"I am not stalking." Rulash dangled the kitten in front of his face. "More like concerned prowling."
"You're not a cat. You have to respect her space. It's her choice. You should be taking in all your options, which would be plentiful if you opened your eyes to the possibilities."
"Such as working with Willow on whatever's keeping her away from her house at odd hours?"
"No," deadpanned Gweniveer. "You're living with one of the most popular drag queens alive and the thought hasn't crossed your mind? Sam, my man."
"I'm not going to stalk Sam," Rulash said, exasperated. "Why would I?"
“He’s like a slice of watermelon: straight on one side, curved on the other.”
“I don’t understand what you mean by that,” snapped Rulash. The kitten mewed, and Rulash hissed at it.
“You’re still incomprehensible. Go talk with Sam. He’s in the back. He’ll enjoy your jabber.”
“I just came to drop off the kitten.”
Rulash opened the door to the shelter with a nudge and the new bell jangling. The warm smell of animal fur and that pine cleaner Sam used filled his nostrils, and he paused to to draw a little x on the calendar in the sitting area. Gweniveer sighed at him.
“I am worried about her,” said Rulash to himself, the kitten mewing and squirming in his hand.
He dropped it in a basket by a register and told it to stay put. Its ears flattened, but the kitten curled up in the basket as stared up at him.
“That never happened with me.”
“Of course not. You’re not me.”
Gweniveer was preparing to stomp on her admiration of his arrogance—and she thought she was unrivaled when in character—but just as she straightened her tie and opened her mouth, the pair heard Sam talking down the hall.
Rulash couldn’t make out the words, but Sam’s voice was quiet. Uncertain.
Which was strange for the strange man. He crept down the hall, and after a puzzled beat, Gweniveer followed him, tiptoeing as well. They stopped beside Sam’s office, their backs pressed to the wall.
As silence stretched in the office, they tried to communicate with hand gestures, but neither understood what the other was trying to say, and it ended in a lot of hands wringing in frustration.
Sam spoke into an old phone, sounding small as the kitten in the lobby. Rulash’s eyes widened.
“No, I didn’t mean that,” said Sam. “I just… I was hoping to come home for his birthday.”
Someone murmured through the receiver. Gweniveer and Rulash leaned towards the door.
“Mom, we’re not going to talk about this now. I told you, my… act has nothing to do with my love life. I’ve gone straight.” Sam’s voice cracked on the word. “There’s no connection. It’s just for fun.”
Another long, agonizing pause.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Maybe Christmas then… I love you.”
Gweniveer pantomimed backing up, back down the hall towards the lobby, and miraculously, Rulash understood. The fairy king and the drag king tip-toed back towards the lobby. Rulash occupied himself with the kitten, quietly, and Gweniveer lowered herself into an armchair, also quietly.
Sam stepped into the hallway, his hands knotted in his hair. He spotted the pair in the lobby and jumped. “I didn’t realize you two were here.”
Sam’s eyes were red. Gweniveer pretended not to notice. “I found a kitten under my office window. I can’t take another stray in, no matter how big and adorable your eyes are when you beg.”
“Okay, sure.” He turned around, distracted. “Where is it?”
Rulash picked up the kitten from the basket, and Sam’s face fell in dismay. “I kept fruit in there!”
Rulash held out the kitten. Sam shook his head.
Rulash continued to hold out the mewing fur ball. “Take the kitten.”
A beat. Then, “Okay,” sighed Sam. Rulash handed him the kitten, and Sam petted its head as Rulash looked on with approval.
“I ship it,” Gweniveer said.
“You can’t ship real people, Gweniveer,” said Sam, tiredly. “We’ve been over this before.”
“What is real?” began Gweniveer. “What if we’re just within—“
“No,” interrupted Rulash, returning his room. “No.”
“No?”
“No,” Rulash repeated. “If I wanted this ridiculous, self-intellect-stroking nonsense, I would have stayed home and actually listened to Leggy.”
“Leggy?” She waggled her eyebrows as Sam suffered in silence. “Leggy… Is this a he or a she?”
“An insufferable idiot. Quell your breeding urges.”
“Keep rocking your thing, Rulash.”
“Same to you,” answered the fairy king dryly.
“Sam, I’ll see you later.”
The two men—sort of men, one was a fairy—stared at the door seconds after it closed.
“I’ll find a spot for the kitten,” said Sam finally. “Someone will adopt it. Kittens… kittens always find good homes.”
~~~~
E.R. Warren writes bad poetry and forces her friends to attend impromptu poetry slams, but owns no electric blue clothing. You can read more about her writing and various travel plans here.
