Fairy Tale
Nocturne
Joren rapped at the huge oaken door of the townhouse, drawing as close under the overhang as he
could to avoid the rain, now coming down in torrents. The peeping window slid open to reveal a suspicious
pair of black eyes. "Yes?"
"Tell your master his favorite pupil is here with an emergency," ordered the boy lazily, rising to his
tiptoes and leaning against the door until his eyes were mere centimeters from those of the doorman. "And
make it snappy!"
The window snapped shut and the door swung open with such alacrity that Joren lost his balance and fell sprawled onto the floor. Propping himself up with a scowl and haughtily ignoring the snickering Bazhir, Joren glared at the shaggy figure whose hand still lay on the doorknob.
"Snappy enough for you, Joren?" asked Sir Myles mildly, shutting the door.
"It isn't polite to make visitors fall on the cold, hard, probably uncleanly floor," Joren snapped, picking himself up and dusting off his tunic.
"Nor is it polite to go knocking on people's doors at 2 in the morning and expect them to rush to your every beck and call," countered Myles.
"I notice you didn't seem to be especially busy elsewhere."
The knight sighed and massaged his temples. "Boy, I swear you would quarrel with the wind. Did you say something about an emergency?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. I," he proclaimed, throwing his head back, an arm across his face and striking a dramatic pose, "am in desperate need of hot chocolate and a place to spend the night. Oh, and also the rest of my life."
"Running away again, Joren?"
"This time it's for permanent," replied Joren confidently.
"That's what you said the last five times. Well, let's see," murmured Sir Myles, scratching his beard. "I can help you with the first two; as to the third, I'll check with the Institution for the Mentally Impaired in the morning." Ignoring Joren's less-than-polite gesture, he turned and beckoned for the blonde to follow him into the living room. They entered a large room with book-lined walls, several plush chairs and sofas, and a roaring fire. "I don't think I've got any hot chocolate on hand. Will herbal tea do?" He gestured for Joren to sit in a large, red velvet chair.
"Do I look elderly?" retorted Joren, ignoring the offered chair and gracefully flopping onto the sofa facing the fireplace. "How about some wine?"
"Do I look senile? You're still a minor," returned Myles. "What about hot cider?"
"What about it? So I'm too young to drink but not to young to sleep with strangers for information?"
"I give up!" Myles threw his hands into the air and started to stalk away. "Nothing is good enough! Nothing will do! Nothing meets his standards! Nothing can suffice! Nothing--"
"Is it alcoholic?" Myles paused in the doorway and turned to stare at Joren, who smiled back innocently, lolling on the couch resting his head on the pillows.
"I refuse to answer that."
Joren shrugged. "I suppose it will do," he replied condescendingly, in the tones of one bestowing a great favor. "If it's all you've got."
"Well," replied Myles humbly, "I'm so grateful that there is something in my poor abode that will satisfy the immense standards of His Royal Highly Selectiveness. Jamil, my good man, make haste to the kitchens! We would not want our good Joren to be forced to actually wait for his drink, especially one of such meager quality, although it is all we have to give." The Bazhir standing outside the doorway bowed
and disappeared.
"Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?" Joren sounded mildly offended.
"No, of course not." Myles rested his hands against the arm of the couch behind Joren's legs. "So, could you happen to tell my why I'm always the one to be graced with your divine presence, instead of some other unworthy mortal?"
"Why, because you're my favorite, of course," exclaimed Joren with a cheerful smile. "Plus, with the others it's just weird."
"Weird."
"Yeah. Like, at Master Tkaa's, everything tasted awful. Nothing against rocks, but gravel stew and igneous sandwiches just aren't my thing. And at Hakuin's, he made me eat raw fish and sleep on a mattress that didn't even have a bed with it! And at Sir Raoul's--"
"You went to Sir Raoul's house?" Joren nodded. "Wasn't Keladry there?"
"Yeah."
"And it wasn't the least bit...awkward?"
The boy shrugged. "A little. They kept giving me strange looks the whole time. And they said I had to cook, but then they didn't like peanut-butter-and-licorice sandwiches so they ordered out for Jindazhen food instead. And that stupid dog stood guard at the couch where I slept the whole time like I was going to attack them in the middle of the night or something. But you don't have a dog!" He smiled up sweetly at Sir Myles, who made a mental note to purchase a dog in the morning.
"Maybe I'll get a dog," he replied mischievously.
"Great! Then I can bring Ariose over and they can play." *So it's true,* decided Sir Myles. *There is no way to stop Joren.*
"Well, your cider will be out soon. I have some business to finish up but once it's done I'll come down and chat with you." Joren nodded and closed his eyes as Myles left the room.
+++
He must have fallen asleep, because he awoke to find himself being molested by a red-headed prostitute. "AAAUUUGGGGGGHHHHH!! What the hell are you doing?!!!" The woman looked up from where she had pulled Joren's trouser legs all the way back to his thighs and was engaged in a rapt contemplation of his legs.
"Calm down, laddie-buck, I was jist takin' a gander at yer shanks." She gave him a playful slap on the
thigh. "With a pair like these, ya'd make
a great whore, kid!"
"Wha...a...a...?" Joren
was at a loss. The red-head nodded.
"Sure would. Between them shanks an' yer lamps an' hair, it's a good thing yer not in that line-o'-work or I'd be outuva job! You'd 'ave lines o' fellas all the way down Main Street! Prolly a few girlies, too." She winked lustily.
"But I-I-I'm--I'm a boy!" He didn't like the direction of this conversation. The prostitute leaned over giving Joren a very good view of the contents of her shirt and whispered conspiratorially,
"Jist b'tween you an' me, boys are th'most popular with men." Before Joren could reply or scream or run for help, Sir Myles walked in.
"Did I hear a scream of terror? Oh, it's you two." He took in Joren's defensive curled up position, the woman's leaning over him, and the boy's eyes which were as wide as saucers. "Rispah, leave him alone. He's disturbed enough as it is without you traumatizing him, believe me." The prostitute--Rispah--pulled back and gave Myles a big wink.
"I was jist tryin' to recruit 'im, Myles. Wouldn' he live the rest of his life in luxury, if he took up a certain line of work?" Myles looked over at Joren's exposed legs long enough and speculatively enough for Joren to yank his trouser legs back to his ankles.
"Yes, you're right. But he's from Stone Mountain, he's always lived his life in luxury. Besides, he doesn't need customers, he's got his own king."
"A king, huh?" Rispah grinned at Joren wolfishly. "I'm impressed. But I though Jonny was all hot an' heavy for Pax--"
"Not that king," interrupted Myles. "The prince of Kangen is entirely enamored with our blonde here." Joren flushed as Rispah let out a whistle.
"Royalty, huh? I guess there's a lot t'be said for a noble's ambition!" She laughed and gave Joren a hearty slap on the back, which it took him a few minutes to recover from. "But why blondes? Jonny's lover-boy is blonde, this prince's boy is blonde--" she pulled playfully at Joren's hair, which had mostly fallen out of its ponytail--"and the most o' the popular strumpets in the business're blonde too, though they weren't usually born that way, if y'get my drift. It makes a red-head feel unwanted."
"Oh, not at all," Myles reassured her. "Red-heads are popular. Jonny liked Alanna, Alanna liked the Shang Dragon, Keladry of Mindelan likes Cleon, and Joren here has the cutest crush on another red-head."
"Excuse me?" choked Joren. "I do not! I don't even know who you're talking about!"
"Well, I guess you could say his hair is brown, if you like.
It's kind of a mix."
"Ooh, what's his name?" asked Rispah,
poking Joren in the stomach. "Do ya call him honey-pie? Cupcake?
Your cuddlebug?"
Joren's glare of disdain lost some of its effect due to the dark crimson blush staining his cheeks. "I don't call him any of those things! And Garvey's hair is ginger, not red or brown!"
"So you do know who I'm talking about!" declared Myles triumphantly.
"Ginger, huh?" teased Rispah. "Not red, not brown, not reddish-brown--ginger. That's sooo adorable." She pinched Joren on the earlobe. "So, lover-boy, have ya told yer cuddlebug you like him?"
"No!" exclaimed Joren. It took him a moment to figure out why the two adults were grinning at him like a couple of loons. "Be-because I don't!" he blustered. "He's--I'm--we're just friends! There is nothing--nothing--else. That's all. Just friends." They were still grinning madly. Why--oh yeah. "And he's not my cuddlebug!"
Rispah cooed. "Isn't puppy love the cutest thing?"
"Indeed," replied a voice from the doorway. A very familiar voice. Once which Joren did not want to hear just now. "You should 'ear the way 'e gushes on and on about this Garrrvey when 'e is with me. 'e must be quite the young man." The name rolled off of Laurent's tongue like a succulent dish as he stepped into the firelight. "Philippe! Myles told me you were 'ere. I apologize for not coming down sooner; I was 'eld up with work, you see." The Kangen slipped between Joren and Rispah, which the boy was unsure whether to consider a blessing or a curse.
"So this is your prince," grinned Rispah, eyes running along Laurent's figure hungrily. "Ya sure know how ta choose 'em!" Joren shrugged and shrunk down in his seat, having decided to avoid all future conversation. He appeared to be surrounded by the three people in the universe it was impossible for him to converse with.
"Well, the two of you have already met Garvey," pointed out Myles,
offering a cup and saucer to Laurent. "He was over here just this
afternoon, if you recall."
"Ahh, you mean that sad little boy?" asked
Laurent, accepting them and taking a careful sip of tea. "'e was so
'eartbroken, though. Philippe said 'e was very
cheerful."
"Cheerful until Joren tore his heart to pieces!" the knight corrected.
"You don't have to make it sound so happy!" muttered Joren, forgetting his decision. "Besides, I didn't have a choice. And you know what else?" He was getting a bit upset now. "He just broke all these vases that I had to go with Sir Paxton to buy, and do you have any idea how impossible boring it is to go vase-shopping? With Sir Paxton?"
"Speaking of which, why are you 'ere instead of with Sir Paxton?" asked Laurent. Joren sank back down again and muttered inaudibly into his mug.
"Joren has run away," Sir Myles informed him. The Kangenesian prince nodded.
"I see...and why did you break your friend's 'eart, Philippe?"
"I didn't," muttered Joren balefully. "I just told him I couldn't go with him to the Summer Festival."
"And why not? Ya'd make such a cuuute couple!" exclaimed--well, you can guess.
"'cause I'm going with Laurent!"
"Ahh, I'm flattered, Philippe! Isn't 'e the sweetest boy?" Laurent wrapped his arms around Joren and pulled him in for a hug. "But, my love, I only wish to 'ave you for the first night of dancing. The rest you may of course spend with Garvey! You only 'ad to ask." He ruffled Joren's already mussed hair affectionately. "Besides, I leave for 'ome in a few weeks; the Summer Festival lasts longer than that. You must find your friend and tell 'im, Philippe."
"I'll think about it." Joren stifled a yawn. He was getting so sleepy...but of course that stupid prostitute was still yammering away.
"So, you two are gonna dance? Ain't the nobles gonna find that kinda fishy?"
"They will not know, my good Rispah. Philippe will be in a dress with his 'air let down; they will think him to be the most beautiful girl at the ball! Oh yes, Philippe! The day after tomorrow is the first night of the Festival, so tomorrow we shall go to Lalasa's shop and get the final adjustments to your dress, alright?"
"Nnn..." Joren was already asleep, head resting against Laurent's shoulder. The black-haired man smiled.
"I think Garvey will not recognize 'is friend in two nights' time. But perhaps I will allow 'im the first dance with my Philippe, non?"
to be continued...
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