Cloak*and*Dagger: *Takes a deep breath* I AM SOOOOOO SORRY!!!!!!!!!! It has
been over a month since I last updated! I never intended to let it stay so
long. You see what happened was that I started a story for an anime that I
watch and I got caught up in that, and then school started, so everything
was really hectic! But guess what? I'm
baaack!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And ready for action! I
come back to all you happy smiling people with more ideas, more insanity,
and most importantly more SALAZAR!!!!!!!!!!!! (Salazar: *Smirks* You know
you love me!) Alright I won't hold you much longer, I'd just like to say
that I'm working on chapter size, so I think that this should be a bit
longer than my others. Oh yes, and I'm not sure if there's gonna be a
Salazar journal entry at the end of the chapter (they're hard to write) but
who knows, I do feel bad about the time delay, so I just might put one up!
On with the story!
Author's Response:
Sophie W.: Sorry Sophie, but I'm afraid that I've never even been to California. I live in New York, and trust me, that's not as cool as it sounds. Wish I lived in Sacramento though. I think it would be cool. I'm so glad you reviewed when you did, because it really showed me how far behind I am. Thanks!
Rockie: How goes it Rockie? Thank you, but you make this story sound like it was written by JK herself, and it isn't that good. Hey this is gonna sound dumb, but what's Justin's last name? It's been bothering me, cause I realized that I don't know it! Well I best get typing, I have a lot to make up for!
Emilia: *Gets all teary eyed, and tries not to cry* I'M SOOOO SORRY!!!! You always talk about how good a writer I am, but here I am taking my (dare I say it?) fans for granted by not writing! I feel like dirt! (It could be the music though. My emotions change with my music, and right now I'm listening to some band called Dream Theater. This song is half depressing half mysterious, it's like a rock opera!) *Smiles* The sequel is going to be fun, but I need to figure out the plot first. I'm halfway done with that! The way I figure it, this story will last only a few more chapters, and then I'll start the sequel. *Sigh* I missed this story! Salazar got rather pissed when I stopped writing, he missed you. I'm not sure if I'll be putting a journal at the end of this, but I feel really guilty right now, so I just might. Well I won't keep from the story any longer!
Disclaimer: No. Just no.
Pearl of Wisdom#6: "Be calm when arguing; for fierceness makes error a fault, and truth a discourtesy."
Chapter11: A Little Research.
The next morning Jamie was awoken rather early by Mortakai, who had chosen to sit on top of her nose (no doubt Salazar had something to do with it.) So as quietly as she could, Jamie got up, got dressed and went down into the common room. There wasn't a soul done there, just the green tint fire, and Clue, which seemed to have been abandoned mid-game. Having nothing better to do, she took out a book to read, but upon opening it the piece of paper that had been owled to her fell onto her lap. She had no time to contemplate it however, because at that very moment a very bedraggled and skimpily dressed Salazar walked into the common room. Jamie stared at him for a minute. He wasn't wearing anything but a pair of boxers and like always had his amulet around his neck, and for a minute Jamie forgot that she was supposed to hate him. He had well defined abs, but shoulders that managed to look slim and muscular at the same time. It was odd, he was hot with his normal baggy clothes on, but without them, his looks increased ten- fold. But Jamie, being as stubborn as she was, pushed all those thoughts out of her head, and quickly looked away.
Salazar, however, didn't seem to have any problem with being seen in his current 'just-rolled-out-of-bed' state, and smirked slightly at her discomfort. "Clue?" he asked her.
For a moment Jamie thought that he was referring to the note she had received, until she noticed that he was pointing at the game board. "Give it a rest already! Don't you ever get tired of playing that game?"
"Not really. It's a mystery, and I love mysteries. I'm good at solving them too." He smiled (not that he ever stopped) "Besides it's better than reading whatever *this* is," he said while quickly snatching her book. "What's this?" He asked when the little mystery poem fell into his hand. Quickly he read it, his eyes widening in something that almost resembled fear. But that was quickly replaced by anger, something that looked most dangerous on his face. "Where did you get this?" He demanded harshly, grabbing hold of her shoulders.
Jamie was truly scared. One minute he had been a crazed silver haired boy, and the next somebody who seemed ready to kill her over a piece of paper.
"Where did you get it?!" He asked again, this time shaking her slightly.
"I don't know," she stammered frightened, "Someone owled it to me!" Jamie was on the verge of tear, and wasn't even all that sure why. It wasn't like he was hurting her, but the look in his eyes just set something off inside her that simply screamed at her to run away before something terrible happened. A few tears slipped free from her eyes.
Salazar's shoulders sagged a bit, while he used his thumb to wipe away her tears. He hadn't meant to scare her or make her cry. All he had wanted to know was where the paper had come from, or who had given it to her, but she obviously didn't know. But his small gesture of comfort only seemed to frighten her more, because she began shaking violently. "Why do I always let my temper do this to me?" Salazar muttered darkly to himself. All his attempts at calming her down failed miserably, and in a last ditch effort he grabbed her in a hug, and began stroking her back (It's been clinically proven that is gesture actually does calm people down. Wish someone would do that to me whenever I get upset!)
Too shocked to move at the sudden movement Jamie just stood there, trying to figure out what had just happened. He had gone from normal him, to him in rage, to-to-to, well whatever it was that he was now. Was it affectionate? 'No,' Jamie quickly dismissed the idea, 'he just doesn't want me to freak out.... too late for that I guess.' It didn't take too long for her to calm down, and Salazar eventually let her go, but refused to give her the paper back.
"Why not? It *is* mine after all!" She declared angrily.
"Because I said so! Nothing good can come from this!" Salazar said matching, if not exceeding, her tone of voice.
"But-"
"NO!" He cut her off. "Listen, you don't need this, you don't even know what it is! It's dangerous, I'm only trying to help!"
"Dangerous for who? You or me?" She asked, narrowing her eyes.
"I'm not having this conversation! This isn't something you'd understand, so just forget you ever had the paper, alright?" This was the most her had ever yelled in over two decades.
"NO! It's my paper, I want it back!" Jamie made a quick grab for it, but Salazar caught both her wrists in one hand. He glared at her, clearly showing that he wasn't pleased at being disobeyed.
"Just drop it," he said quietly releasing her wrists, and walking back towards the boys' dorm, leaving a confused Jamie in his wake. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Cloak*and*Dagger: Sorry, that just felt like a good place to stop. Now I'm not sure what will happen next chapter, but I do know that the story is starting to get towards the end. So keep your eyes open for more chapters, and the Sequel. Now onto Salazar's Journal.
Chapter11.5: A Peek Into Salazar's Journal.
Always wanted a cuckoo clock. A big baroque German job with all kinds of carved foobaz and a little bird that leaps out once an hour and hollers an existential comment about life. So I got one. For my best friend, who also happens to live in the same house with me. See, the way this deal works is that she usually doesn't really like what I give her for Christmas, anyway, and I usually end up with it in the end, so I figured I might as well start out by giving him something I want in the first place, so when I get it back I can be truly grateful. He gets the thought; I get the gift. I know it's wicked, but it's realistic and practical. (And don't get high-minded about this, as if you would never think of doing such a thing. The hell you say. I've been around. I know what I know.)
Anyway, I wanted an authentic antique cuckoo clock. But they cost a bundle. And this store had new ones-overstocked-a special cheap price-hot deal. So I bought one. There were two messages written in small print on the carton, which I missed reading. "Made in South Korea" was one. And "Some Assembly Required" was the other.
The carton produced five plastic bags of miscellaneous parts. And an ersatz Bavarian alpine goatherd hut marked "genuine simulated wood." And to top it off, a plastic deer head that looked like Bambi's mother. I put it all together with no parts left over, thank you, and hung it on the wall. Pulled down the weights, pushed the pendulum, and stepped back. It ticked and tocked in a comforting sort of way. Never before had such an enterprise gone quite so well for me. The damned thing actually worked!
The hour struck. The little door opened. The little bird did not come out. But from deep inside it's little hole came a raspy, muffled 'cukaa, cukaa, cukaa." Three "cukaas"? That's it? That's all? But the hands of the clock said noon.
I peered deep into the innards of the Bavarian alpine goatherd hut of simulated wood. There was the bird. Using an ice pick and a chopstick, I tried to pry the creature forth. It seemed loose. I reset the clock to three. The clock ticked and tocked then clanged. The door was flung open. No bird. Out of the darkness at the back of the hut came "cuck" but no "oo'- not even "aa."
Applying the principle of "if it won't move, force it," I resorted to a rubber mallet and a coat hanger, followed by a vigorous shaking. Reset the clock. Hours struck. Door opened. Silence.
Close inspection revealed a small corpse with a spring around its neck, lying on its side. Not many people have murdered a cuckoo-clock bird, but I had done it. I could see Christmas morning: "Here, Rowena, a cuckoo clock. For you. The bird is dead."
And I did. I gave her the clock. And I told her the story. And she laughed. She kept the clock, too, dead bird and all, for a while.
The clock and its bird are long gone from castle now. And Christmas has come and gone many times as well. But the story gets told every year when we gather with friends in December. They laugh. And Rowena looks at me and grins and I grin back. She reminds me that the real cuckoo bird in the deal was not the critter inside the clock. I remember.
And me. Well, I still don't have a cuckoo clock of my own. But I have kept something. It is the memory of the Christmas message written on the packing carton. It said, "Some Assembly Is Required." To assemble the best that is within you and give it away. And to assemble with those you love and rekindle joy. Cuckoo to you, old bird, and Merry Christmas wherever you are.
SALAZAR SLYTHERIN
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Cloak*and*Dagger: Well that's all, catch you later!
Author's Response:
Sophie W.: Sorry Sophie, but I'm afraid that I've never even been to California. I live in New York, and trust me, that's not as cool as it sounds. Wish I lived in Sacramento though. I think it would be cool. I'm so glad you reviewed when you did, because it really showed me how far behind I am. Thanks!
Rockie: How goes it Rockie? Thank you, but you make this story sound like it was written by JK herself, and it isn't that good. Hey this is gonna sound dumb, but what's Justin's last name? It's been bothering me, cause I realized that I don't know it! Well I best get typing, I have a lot to make up for!
Emilia: *Gets all teary eyed, and tries not to cry* I'M SOOOO SORRY!!!! You always talk about how good a writer I am, but here I am taking my (dare I say it?) fans for granted by not writing! I feel like dirt! (It could be the music though. My emotions change with my music, and right now I'm listening to some band called Dream Theater. This song is half depressing half mysterious, it's like a rock opera!) *Smiles* The sequel is going to be fun, but I need to figure out the plot first. I'm halfway done with that! The way I figure it, this story will last only a few more chapters, and then I'll start the sequel. *Sigh* I missed this story! Salazar got rather pissed when I stopped writing, he missed you. I'm not sure if I'll be putting a journal at the end of this, but I feel really guilty right now, so I just might. Well I won't keep from the story any longer!
Disclaimer: No. Just no.
Pearl of Wisdom#6: "Be calm when arguing; for fierceness makes error a fault, and truth a discourtesy."
Chapter11: A Little Research.
The next morning Jamie was awoken rather early by Mortakai, who had chosen to sit on top of her nose (no doubt Salazar had something to do with it.) So as quietly as she could, Jamie got up, got dressed and went down into the common room. There wasn't a soul done there, just the green tint fire, and Clue, which seemed to have been abandoned mid-game. Having nothing better to do, she took out a book to read, but upon opening it the piece of paper that had been owled to her fell onto her lap. She had no time to contemplate it however, because at that very moment a very bedraggled and skimpily dressed Salazar walked into the common room. Jamie stared at him for a minute. He wasn't wearing anything but a pair of boxers and like always had his amulet around his neck, and for a minute Jamie forgot that she was supposed to hate him. He had well defined abs, but shoulders that managed to look slim and muscular at the same time. It was odd, he was hot with his normal baggy clothes on, but without them, his looks increased ten- fold. But Jamie, being as stubborn as she was, pushed all those thoughts out of her head, and quickly looked away.
Salazar, however, didn't seem to have any problem with being seen in his current 'just-rolled-out-of-bed' state, and smirked slightly at her discomfort. "Clue?" he asked her.
For a moment Jamie thought that he was referring to the note she had received, until she noticed that he was pointing at the game board. "Give it a rest already! Don't you ever get tired of playing that game?"
"Not really. It's a mystery, and I love mysteries. I'm good at solving them too." He smiled (not that he ever stopped) "Besides it's better than reading whatever *this* is," he said while quickly snatching her book. "What's this?" He asked when the little mystery poem fell into his hand. Quickly he read it, his eyes widening in something that almost resembled fear. But that was quickly replaced by anger, something that looked most dangerous on his face. "Where did you get this?" He demanded harshly, grabbing hold of her shoulders.
Jamie was truly scared. One minute he had been a crazed silver haired boy, and the next somebody who seemed ready to kill her over a piece of paper.
"Where did you get it?!" He asked again, this time shaking her slightly.
"I don't know," she stammered frightened, "Someone owled it to me!" Jamie was on the verge of tear, and wasn't even all that sure why. It wasn't like he was hurting her, but the look in his eyes just set something off inside her that simply screamed at her to run away before something terrible happened. A few tears slipped free from her eyes.
Salazar's shoulders sagged a bit, while he used his thumb to wipe away her tears. He hadn't meant to scare her or make her cry. All he had wanted to know was where the paper had come from, or who had given it to her, but she obviously didn't know. But his small gesture of comfort only seemed to frighten her more, because she began shaking violently. "Why do I always let my temper do this to me?" Salazar muttered darkly to himself. All his attempts at calming her down failed miserably, and in a last ditch effort he grabbed her in a hug, and began stroking her back (It's been clinically proven that is gesture actually does calm people down. Wish someone would do that to me whenever I get upset!)
Too shocked to move at the sudden movement Jamie just stood there, trying to figure out what had just happened. He had gone from normal him, to him in rage, to-to-to, well whatever it was that he was now. Was it affectionate? 'No,' Jamie quickly dismissed the idea, 'he just doesn't want me to freak out.... too late for that I guess.' It didn't take too long for her to calm down, and Salazar eventually let her go, but refused to give her the paper back.
"Why not? It *is* mine after all!" She declared angrily.
"Because I said so! Nothing good can come from this!" Salazar said matching, if not exceeding, her tone of voice.
"But-"
"NO!" He cut her off. "Listen, you don't need this, you don't even know what it is! It's dangerous, I'm only trying to help!"
"Dangerous for who? You or me?" She asked, narrowing her eyes.
"I'm not having this conversation! This isn't something you'd understand, so just forget you ever had the paper, alright?" This was the most her had ever yelled in over two decades.
"NO! It's my paper, I want it back!" Jamie made a quick grab for it, but Salazar caught both her wrists in one hand. He glared at her, clearly showing that he wasn't pleased at being disobeyed.
"Just drop it," he said quietly releasing her wrists, and walking back towards the boys' dorm, leaving a confused Jamie in his wake. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Cloak*and*Dagger: Sorry, that just felt like a good place to stop. Now I'm not sure what will happen next chapter, but I do know that the story is starting to get towards the end. So keep your eyes open for more chapters, and the Sequel. Now onto Salazar's Journal.
Chapter11.5: A Peek Into Salazar's Journal.
Always wanted a cuckoo clock. A big baroque German job with all kinds of carved foobaz and a little bird that leaps out once an hour and hollers an existential comment about life. So I got one. For my best friend, who also happens to live in the same house with me. See, the way this deal works is that she usually doesn't really like what I give her for Christmas, anyway, and I usually end up with it in the end, so I figured I might as well start out by giving him something I want in the first place, so when I get it back I can be truly grateful. He gets the thought; I get the gift. I know it's wicked, but it's realistic and practical. (And don't get high-minded about this, as if you would never think of doing such a thing. The hell you say. I've been around. I know what I know.)
Anyway, I wanted an authentic antique cuckoo clock. But they cost a bundle. And this store had new ones-overstocked-a special cheap price-hot deal. So I bought one. There were two messages written in small print on the carton, which I missed reading. "Made in South Korea" was one. And "Some Assembly Required" was the other.
The carton produced five plastic bags of miscellaneous parts. And an ersatz Bavarian alpine goatherd hut marked "genuine simulated wood." And to top it off, a plastic deer head that looked like Bambi's mother. I put it all together with no parts left over, thank you, and hung it on the wall. Pulled down the weights, pushed the pendulum, and stepped back. It ticked and tocked in a comforting sort of way. Never before had such an enterprise gone quite so well for me. The damned thing actually worked!
The hour struck. The little door opened. The little bird did not come out. But from deep inside it's little hole came a raspy, muffled 'cukaa, cukaa, cukaa." Three "cukaas"? That's it? That's all? But the hands of the clock said noon.
I peered deep into the innards of the Bavarian alpine goatherd hut of simulated wood. There was the bird. Using an ice pick and a chopstick, I tried to pry the creature forth. It seemed loose. I reset the clock to three. The clock ticked and tocked then clanged. The door was flung open. No bird. Out of the darkness at the back of the hut came "cuck" but no "oo'- not even "aa."
Applying the principle of "if it won't move, force it," I resorted to a rubber mallet and a coat hanger, followed by a vigorous shaking. Reset the clock. Hours struck. Door opened. Silence.
Close inspection revealed a small corpse with a spring around its neck, lying on its side. Not many people have murdered a cuckoo-clock bird, but I had done it. I could see Christmas morning: "Here, Rowena, a cuckoo clock. For you. The bird is dead."
And I did. I gave her the clock. And I told her the story. And she laughed. She kept the clock, too, dead bird and all, for a while.
The clock and its bird are long gone from castle now. And Christmas has come and gone many times as well. But the story gets told every year when we gather with friends in December. They laugh. And Rowena looks at me and grins and I grin back. She reminds me that the real cuckoo bird in the deal was not the critter inside the clock. I remember.
And me. Well, I still don't have a cuckoo clock of my own. But I have kept something. It is the memory of the Christmas message written on the packing carton. It said, "Some Assembly Is Required." To assemble the best that is within you and give it away. And to assemble with those you love and rekindle joy. Cuckoo to you, old bird, and Merry Christmas wherever you are.
SALAZAR SLYTHERIN
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Cloak*and*Dagger: Well that's all, catch you later!