AN: I haven't written for a while, so here goes. I tried hanging of my
head upside down for a while, I don't know why, but I'm hoping that will
help with the quality of my writing. Ummm…yeah, well…yeah. If anybody is
interested in stalking me (god knows why) my diary address is
http://magenta.diary-x.com so, yeah.
It wouldn't have stung so much if it hadn't been the first time. No one had dared reject me before, all the woman on Transylvania respected me, and even feared me, which pleased me immensely. So, to have Magenta turn me down so, a little bit of hatred could only be deemed as natural.
I knew about her and Riff-Raff; everyone knew. Everyone, that is, except for my boorish cow of a cousin—may she live in eternal decadence. So, my first plan-of-action was to alert the Queen of the goings-on between her newly appointed general and his sister. I would plant a guard on their window ledge. He would have to tell the Queen, the bitch never believed a word I said. If there was one thing that infuriated her most, it was to hear of people indulging in pleasures—without her.
The guard climbed up to their ledge on the chosen night, the two had selected quarters high up, so no one at ground level could see in (curtains, an Earth invention, were never used here, nor was modesty). I suppose it would have been obvious that if my guard could see in…they could see out, but I was so caught up in the plan, the thought hadn't occurred to me until the window was opened, knocking the guard from his perch and sending him splattering into the courtyard below—quite far below, for him, at least.
So, that plan had failed. Sometimes things just don't go right, I was old enough to know that, but as my mother said, "If at first you don't succeed, whine, scream, and connive until you get your way." I was never one to listen to my mother (my family seemed to be filled with boorish cows) but she had a point.
I knew a little bit about Riff, and I knew a lot about jealous rages. And I knew if I mixed the two together, revenge would be forthcoming. And so, with a few forged letters, meaningful glances, and a strategically placed pair of underpants, that scrawny old fool took out my retribution on his prude of a sister without my aid. You can't be blamed for a murder you didn't commit.
So, do I feel a guilty? Not a bit. Like I said earlier: I deserve respect, and God help me, I'll get it.
AN: That was from Delordy's point of view, if you didn't get it.
It wouldn't have stung so much if it hadn't been the first time. No one had dared reject me before, all the woman on Transylvania respected me, and even feared me, which pleased me immensely. So, to have Magenta turn me down so, a little bit of hatred could only be deemed as natural.
I knew about her and Riff-Raff; everyone knew. Everyone, that is, except for my boorish cow of a cousin—may she live in eternal decadence. So, my first plan-of-action was to alert the Queen of the goings-on between her newly appointed general and his sister. I would plant a guard on their window ledge. He would have to tell the Queen, the bitch never believed a word I said. If there was one thing that infuriated her most, it was to hear of people indulging in pleasures—without her.
The guard climbed up to their ledge on the chosen night, the two had selected quarters high up, so no one at ground level could see in (curtains, an Earth invention, were never used here, nor was modesty). I suppose it would have been obvious that if my guard could see in…they could see out, but I was so caught up in the plan, the thought hadn't occurred to me until the window was opened, knocking the guard from his perch and sending him splattering into the courtyard below—quite far below, for him, at least.
So, that plan had failed. Sometimes things just don't go right, I was old enough to know that, but as my mother said, "If at first you don't succeed, whine, scream, and connive until you get your way." I was never one to listen to my mother (my family seemed to be filled with boorish cows) but she had a point.
I knew a little bit about Riff, and I knew a lot about jealous rages. And I knew if I mixed the two together, revenge would be forthcoming. And so, with a few forged letters, meaningful glances, and a strategically placed pair of underpants, that scrawny old fool took out my retribution on his prude of a sister without my aid. You can't be blamed for a murder you didn't commit.
So, do I feel a guilty? Not a bit. Like I said earlier: I deserve respect, and God help me, I'll get it.
AN: That was from Delordy's point of view, if you didn't get it.