A/N: I'm writing this now more out of a sense of duty as well as a reason
to respond to some rather thought-provoking reviews from the last chapter,
sorry if it comes out like crap. To be perfectly honest, I'd rather be
starting on the Buffy fanfic I begged you people to help me with last
chapter. But I can't, for many reasons, including the fact that my plea for
assistance wasn't even acknowledged by anyone. HELLO! PEOPLE! If I'm such
an *amazing* writer and you all are loving this fic *so much*, how about
throwing me a bone here! I. Need. Help. How much clearer can I be? Buffy
fans, EMAIL ME! I need someone who has seen at least the last few episodes.
Gripping the spyglass, I run after Anamaria, dodging the crew and ducking under the ropes. "Anamaria! Wait!"
"A mite busy here, Swallow," Anamaria growls as she stalks among the cannons, checking for loose ties and the like.
"We can't shoot at Faulkner," I declare. Anamaria whips up to look at me. "Will and Elizabeth are on there!" I thrust the spyglass at her so she can inspect the population of Faulkner's decks.
"Dis day just gets better an' better, don't it?" Anamaria grumbles to herself when she spots the pair. She puts down the glass and squints into the middle distance, and I can see her trying to figure out which would be worse, blowing my parents out of the water along with Faulkner, or surrendering without a fight to his most persistent enemy. It's a judgment call I'm glad I don't have to make. "Hurley," she calls her first mate, "Run up the white flag." He starts to protest, but her sharp, "Now!" sends him running. Her scowl looks like she's just swallowed a gallon of sea water, but I can't hide my sigh of relief.
"Thank you, Anamaria," I say quietly.
"Oh, Swallow," Anamaria responds. She looks so lost and angry, and I don't blame her. Somehow I doubt she's been in many surrender situations. "Ye had better make yerself comfortable, he's got a few minutes ta' come abreast o' us."
I walk down to where my crew stands among the Osprey's men, looking just as lost as the rest. Pete's gaze flickers on me, but he appears to find something more interesting to look at somewhere off deck. Stanton and the twins, however, find me plenty interesting, "What's going on, Guinn? Why've we stopped? Who's chasin' us?"
"Well, um," I flounder, trying to think of a way to tell them without going into all the genetic details I've effectively glossed over so far in this odyssey. It's an old habit, keeping them only as informed as they need to be for a plan to be successful, and as it happens old habits don't just die hard, they also bite you in the ass. Peter looks at me, his face steady and unreadable, which only confuses me all the more. Why do I feel so bad when it's not even obvious he's upset? I know that look will be burned on my brain forever, through all my glittery golden thoughts. I know the only way to rid myself of the shamed tightness in my stomach is by coming clean, now, as Faulkner and my parents approach. "Boys, remember when I said we was goin' ta' meet the greatest pirate that ever lived?"
And so, as the enemy descends, I spill my guts before a single sword is drawn. At the end of it all, Jack's letters, Faulkner, the ransom, I feel as hollow as a rotted out log. Somewhere in the telling I gave up my feigned accent. I'm almost ashamed of it now, for using like a cheap mask a thing solely belonging to those who earn it. Though now I have nothing to hide in, nowhere to run. They all know me, Guinevere Turner, horribly well, and I can only await their judgment. My only consolation on that matter is Pete. He looks satisfied, though not smug, and I try not to resent him the fact that with just one look he seems to have tricked me into doing just what he asked on the beach of Jack's island.
"So, that makes *you* the daughter o' Jack Sparrow?" Tuck says this with the excited enthusiasm I would expect from Pete, had nothing- something? - changed at some point.
"With any luck," I respond, "Still haven't quite worked out all the details. And that's Captain Jack Sparrow."
"Full o' surprises, aren't ya', Guinevere?" Pete says quietly.
"Hunh," Tuck says, "Imagine us led by kin o' the great Captain 'imself, an' not even knowin' it!"
"Imagine," Tom replies to his twin, looking thoughtful, "An' as we speak yer supposed father's last great enemy is bearin' down on us?"
I crane my neck and find the action unnecessary; a bridge is being constructed between the two ships. "I wouldn't say bearing, more like smugly strolling down on us." I stand and, followed by my boys, take a place among the Osprey's tense, worried crew. Anamaria stands before the bridge as Faulkner crosses it, her face is a mask of stone. I spot Will and Elizabeth as they follow after Faulkner's first mate. When all are onboard that are coming onboard, which include a few more of Faulkner's men, a deeply uncomfortable silence fills the air like a fog in which Anamaria scowls and Faulkner grins like a malicious alley cat. Suddenly, the cat grin is replaced by a God awfully friendly smile, and Anamaria's mouth drops open.
"Anamaria," he says with almost too much warm familiarity, "So glad to see you again. Took us ages to track you down, but we did, didn't we?" he turns to his first mate, a tall, thick man with matted black hair pulled back, who smirks evilly until Faulkner elbows him with the greatest subtlety. The smirk grudgingly contorts to a happy beam, and my stomach turns. "Do I have a surprise for you, as well," Faulkner continues, and turns to Will and Elizabeth. While Elizabeth's eyes were scanning their surroundings, Will's have been watching Faulkner with unhidden confusion and the beginnings of suspicion. I feel a swell of pride. Though stupid at times, I will never hear Will Turner being called a complete imbecile. I have to say it would probably take a man with a large rock for a brain not to feel the tension sloshing around on the deck, but for having no idea what is really going on I have a feeling Will has figured out quite a lot.
"Hello, Will, Elizabeth," Anamaria says. If her face is stone, her words are pebbles.
"Am I correct that you may have under your care a certain someone of personal value to the Turners?" Faulkner continues, still all sickening smiles.
To save Anamaria the trouble of coming up with some ridiculous lie, I step forward. Oh goodness, being under so much scrutiny in one day can't be good for my health. I can't even bring myself to look at my parents, only glare at Faulkner. I fear I might just have to punch that disgustingly kind smile off of the man's face, but am hindered by the pair of arms wrapped tightly around me. Tearing my gaze from the man to see what unknown is hugging me this time, I find my face filled with soft, sweet-smelling brown hair. Elizabeth has me in a firm hold; her face turned away, her head on my shoulder. My embarrassment turns to concern as her small gasping breaths tell me she is crying. I pat her arm gently, but I can think of nothing to say in comfort. After a few moments she pulls away far enough to look at me.
"I'm sorry," we both say, and Elizabeth's watery grin has me grinning as well. Elizabeth pulls me to her again, and I try to enjoy it, but Faulkner is directly in my line of vision, a black cloud of fake happiness on the horizon.
When we separate, Will has a hand on each of our shoulders as he says to Faulkner, "We won't forget this, Mr. Faulkner. We'll thank you every day for helping us find our Guinevere."
"But of course, I hate to see families apart. And a runaway daughter is such a grievous thing," he looks at me then, shaking his oily head in disapproval. I want to spit on his boots. "But now," he continues, "I will have to ask one favor of you in return."
"Name it," Will replies simply. Glancing around, I notice far too late that the men from Faulkner's ship have silently insinuated themselves into a half circle behind us.
"You can be put in the brig. Men!" On cue we are surrounded, and Will and Elizabeth are torn from me. Other men are at work hustling the crew of the Red Osprey, my own included, through the door to the brig. I wait in expectation for a rough hand to restrict my freedom of movement, but it doesn't come. No, within two minutes the deck is empty of all but me, Faulkner, and a few of his men. The man turns to me, cat grin back in full force, "Now, my dear, do you have any idea what will happen next?"
For once my mind is bereft of sly quips. Sure I have an idea, I have many ideas, each more horrible than the last, but all I can do is shake my head. The first mate and another man sidle up to each side of me, and I can feel their presences like the breath of a man-eating beast on the back of my neck.
"No? Well, let me see if I can illuminate you." A quick nod has me being a little too thoroughly searched by the first mate. Tingling with revulsion after being released, I watch the swarthy pirate hand Jack's compass to Faulkner. He holds it before him, briefly examining the outside before flipping it open and peering into it. He smiles briefly, as if a suspicion has been confirmed. I wonder what secrets the old compass could possibly have to reveal. "Isn't it amazing," Faulkner muses, his eyes glancing from me to the compass, "how uncertain the outcome of a plan can be? One moment, your victory is certain, the next, everything is a-shambles and you must start all over again. That's how I felt when I discovered Sparrow's daughter was roaming Tortuga, and how I felt when Anamaria stole you from me.
"But no matter, it all comes out right in the end." He tosses the compass to me, and I hold it close, like an injured bird. "Coincidences are amazing things as well, I'm finding. Do you know what you and I have in common?"
I try desperately to think of something clever, but nothing comes. Shake. The members of Faulkner's crew that crossed the bridge emerge from the brig and at Faulkner's nod returned to their ship.
"We both are after the same thing: the mermaid's ransom!" He smiles as if he's just done a magic trick. "And you will be the one to lead the way."
I blink, "I don't know the way."
The smile fades, and Faulkner just watches me quietly. There is something in his dark gaze that frightens me even more than the two strong men behind me, something that is twitching inside of him like a taut rope. His next words are as quiet and frightening as his gaze, "Oh, you will take us there. If there is anyone on these godforsaken waters that can find the mermaid's ransom, it is you." Another nod and I am being manhandled across the bridge and onto Faulkner's ship. The quickly fading sun casts long shadows over the ship's decks, and Faulkner calls out orders to the crew. The bridge is pulled in and great, night black sails are unfurled. As the ship begins to move, I am brought to the helm and chained at the ankles to the wheel's post.
"But I *don't know* where it is!" I cry, frustration and anger quickly climbing the charts on my list of emotions. Though they don't claim the number one spot, which is currently held by fear.
"Well you had better find a way quick," Faulkner responded with a cruel smirk, "We don't keep aboard those who don't pull their weight." He and the men with him laugh and begin to walk away, leaving me chained to the helm. "My advice is take a look at that compass," he calls over his shoulder, "Welcome aboard the Black Pearl!"
I sit for a while, waiting for the crew of the Pearl to quit leering at me. It makes me think of a story about Jack Will told me, something about standing very still in a lagoon until all the sea creatures became accustomed to him. Then, I slowly stand up, holding onto the wheel for balance. My chains are simple, being the kinds of shackles they put on criminals feet so they can't run. The two cuffs chaff at my ankles and the chain holding them together around the stalk of the helm looks strong and free of ever so helpful rust. I look at the compass and think of Faulkner's advice. I'm almost tempted to do nothing, just sit in my chains and let the Pearl drift where she may, but I recall the fear I felt under my captor's quiet stare. Just the memory sends shivers through me. Besides that, I feel a curiosity welling up as I turn the compass over in my hands. And, as always, the promise of the treasure is filling my mind like smoke. I can almost see the glitter on the edge of my very sight now. I can concentrate on nothing but that, nothing.
Taking the helm in a firm grip, I let the euphoria take me. I flip open the compass and stare at its mossy inside. My eyes lose focus, I feel as if I might fall into the compass's dark interior. My vision does go dark and in that dark I see the faintest glimmer in the distance, a little to the left. I feel the muscles in my arm stretch and contract in the order necessary to turn the wheel, and the glimmer moves in front of me- no, it's drifted to the right. The wheel turns- there, that's it. The glimmer grows as I keep it straight in front of me. I can't wait for it to cover my whole vision and resolve into heaping piles of gold on a sun-drenched beach.
"You're your father's daughter, my dear!" a voice drifts to me. I smile. It's the last voice I hear for a long time.
A/N: I daresay that wasn't as crappy as I thought it'd be! Now to respond:
Butterfly Dreamer: Okay, I'm gonna end this thing once and for all, so listen up. I will now relate for you in story form exactly what happened when I named this main character and ALL of my main characters.
Well, Rainne thought, it's time. Time to name this puppy. Standing up from her comfy blue armchair and gently setting her laptop on the carpet of her room, Rainne walked to her desk. She sat down in the black swivel chair, and reached for the desk's bottom right hand drawer. She retrieved from the dark interior a thin, medium-sized book that had seen better days. It was a book for baby names. Settling the book in her lap, holding it with her left hand, Rainne raised her right index finger and closed her eyes. With the thumb of her left hand she started letting the book's pages flick by quickly. After a moment's wait, she jabbed the raised finger into the fluttering pages. Opening her eyes, Rainne looked down to see what name the finger had landed on. Under the digit read the name Guinevere. That'll do, she thought, and placed the book back in the drawer. Now, she thought as she sat back down and put the laptop back on her lap, what guy name kind of sounds like Guinevere?
Are we all clear now? I do not have any kind of obsession with King Arthur or Camelot or what have you. It was ALL the finger, I swear! Anyways, glad you like the story so far, keep reading!
hummer: If it makes you feel any better, I never thought you were a guy. Hummer seemed like a rather unisex name to me. Glad my story can give you some joy in your time of need.
Fire Pixie: Thanks for the compliment about my descriptive prowess, but it would've helped me understand what you didn't like about the last chapter if you actually *told me what you didn't like*. Hope you liked this one.
Taka-Ichi-Sisters: **waves back** Cool, it's a family affair over in my fanfic ^^! And to answer your question, sure! The more the merrier, right? What's your idea?
WrdPntr: No offense, but your penname is driving my spell check crazy, lol. Aw, you're so sweet, but I'm definitely NOT the best. Might I suggest the following far superior writers? Gatekeeper, Bombur Jo, March Hare, Tatiana3, Thyme in Her Eyes, whereistruth, DanniB, Harriet Vane, RaeLynn Skye, and wendybyrd. There, educate yourself!
Gripping the spyglass, I run after Anamaria, dodging the crew and ducking under the ropes. "Anamaria! Wait!"
"A mite busy here, Swallow," Anamaria growls as she stalks among the cannons, checking for loose ties and the like.
"We can't shoot at Faulkner," I declare. Anamaria whips up to look at me. "Will and Elizabeth are on there!" I thrust the spyglass at her so she can inspect the population of Faulkner's decks.
"Dis day just gets better an' better, don't it?" Anamaria grumbles to herself when she spots the pair. She puts down the glass and squints into the middle distance, and I can see her trying to figure out which would be worse, blowing my parents out of the water along with Faulkner, or surrendering without a fight to his most persistent enemy. It's a judgment call I'm glad I don't have to make. "Hurley," she calls her first mate, "Run up the white flag." He starts to protest, but her sharp, "Now!" sends him running. Her scowl looks like she's just swallowed a gallon of sea water, but I can't hide my sigh of relief.
"Thank you, Anamaria," I say quietly.
"Oh, Swallow," Anamaria responds. She looks so lost and angry, and I don't blame her. Somehow I doubt she's been in many surrender situations. "Ye had better make yerself comfortable, he's got a few minutes ta' come abreast o' us."
I walk down to where my crew stands among the Osprey's men, looking just as lost as the rest. Pete's gaze flickers on me, but he appears to find something more interesting to look at somewhere off deck. Stanton and the twins, however, find me plenty interesting, "What's going on, Guinn? Why've we stopped? Who's chasin' us?"
"Well, um," I flounder, trying to think of a way to tell them without going into all the genetic details I've effectively glossed over so far in this odyssey. It's an old habit, keeping them only as informed as they need to be for a plan to be successful, and as it happens old habits don't just die hard, they also bite you in the ass. Peter looks at me, his face steady and unreadable, which only confuses me all the more. Why do I feel so bad when it's not even obvious he's upset? I know that look will be burned on my brain forever, through all my glittery golden thoughts. I know the only way to rid myself of the shamed tightness in my stomach is by coming clean, now, as Faulkner and my parents approach. "Boys, remember when I said we was goin' ta' meet the greatest pirate that ever lived?"
And so, as the enemy descends, I spill my guts before a single sword is drawn. At the end of it all, Jack's letters, Faulkner, the ransom, I feel as hollow as a rotted out log. Somewhere in the telling I gave up my feigned accent. I'm almost ashamed of it now, for using like a cheap mask a thing solely belonging to those who earn it. Though now I have nothing to hide in, nowhere to run. They all know me, Guinevere Turner, horribly well, and I can only await their judgment. My only consolation on that matter is Pete. He looks satisfied, though not smug, and I try not to resent him the fact that with just one look he seems to have tricked me into doing just what he asked on the beach of Jack's island.
"So, that makes *you* the daughter o' Jack Sparrow?" Tuck says this with the excited enthusiasm I would expect from Pete, had nothing- something? - changed at some point.
"With any luck," I respond, "Still haven't quite worked out all the details. And that's Captain Jack Sparrow."
"Full o' surprises, aren't ya', Guinevere?" Pete says quietly.
"Hunh," Tuck says, "Imagine us led by kin o' the great Captain 'imself, an' not even knowin' it!"
"Imagine," Tom replies to his twin, looking thoughtful, "An' as we speak yer supposed father's last great enemy is bearin' down on us?"
I crane my neck and find the action unnecessary; a bridge is being constructed between the two ships. "I wouldn't say bearing, more like smugly strolling down on us." I stand and, followed by my boys, take a place among the Osprey's tense, worried crew. Anamaria stands before the bridge as Faulkner crosses it, her face is a mask of stone. I spot Will and Elizabeth as they follow after Faulkner's first mate. When all are onboard that are coming onboard, which include a few more of Faulkner's men, a deeply uncomfortable silence fills the air like a fog in which Anamaria scowls and Faulkner grins like a malicious alley cat. Suddenly, the cat grin is replaced by a God awfully friendly smile, and Anamaria's mouth drops open.
"Anamaria," he says with almost too much warm familiarity, "So glad to see you again. Took us ages to track you down, but we did, didn't we?" he turns to his first mate, a tall, thick man with matted black hair pulled back, who smirks evilly until Faulkner elbows him with the greatest subtlety. The smirk grudgingly contorts to a happy beam, and my stomach turns. "Do I have a surprise for you, as well," Faulkner continues, and turns to Will and Elizabeth. While Elizabeth's eyes were scanning their surroundings, Will's have been watching Faulkner with unhidden confusion and the beginnings of suspicion. I feel a swell of pride. Though stupid at times, I will never hear Will Turner being called a complete imbecile. I have to say it would probably take a man with a large rock for a brain not to feel the tension sloshing around on the deck, but for having no idea what is really going on I have a feeling Will has figured out quite a lot.
"Hello, Will, Elizabeth," Anamaria says. If her face is stone, her words are pebbles.
"Am I correct that you may have under your care a certain someone of personal value to the Turners?" Faulkner continues, still all sickening smiles.
To save Anamaria the trouble of coming up with some ridiculous lie, I step forward. Oh goodness, being under so much scrutiny in one day can't be good for my health. I can't even bring myself to look at my parents, only glare at Faulkner. I fear I might just have to punch that disgustingly kind smile off of the man's face, but am hindered by the pair of arms wrapped tightly around me. Tearing my gaze from the man to see what unknown is hugging me this time, I find my face filled with soft, sweet-smelling brown hair. Elizabeth has me in a firm hold; her face turned away, her head on my shoulder. My embarrassment turns to concern as her small gasping breaths tell me she is crying. I pat her arm gently, but I can think of nothing to say in comfort. After a few moments she pulls away far enough to look at me.
"I'm sorry," we both say, and Elizabeth's watery grin has me grinning as well. Elizabeth pulls me to her again, and I try to enjoy it, but Faulkner is directly in my line of vision, a black cloud of fake happiness on the horizon.
When we separate, Will has a hand on each of our shoulders as he says to Faulkner, "We won't forget this, Mr. Faulkner. We'll thank you every day for helping us find our Guinevere."
"But of course, I hate to see families apart. And a runaway daughter is such a grievous thing," he looks at me then, shaking his oily head in disapproval. I want to spit on his boots. "But now," he continues, "I will have to ask one favor of you in return."
"Name it," Will replies simply. Glancing around, I notice far too late that the men from Faulkner's ship have silently insinuated themselves into a half circle behind us.
"You can be put in the brig. Men!" On cue we are surrounded, and Will and Elizabeth are torn from me. Other men are at work hustling the crew of the Red Osprey, my own included, through the door to the brig. I wait in expectation for a rough hand to restrict my freedom of movement, but it doesn't come. No, within two minutes the deck is empty of all but me, Faulkner, and a few of his men. The man turns to me, cat grin back in full force, "Now, my dear, do you have any idea what will happen next?"
For once my mind is bereft of sly quips. Sure I have an idea, I have many ideas, each more horrible than the last, but all I can do is shake my head. The first mate and another man sidle up to each side of me, and I can feel their presences like the breath of a man-eating beast on the back of my neck.
"No? Well, let me see if I can illuminate you." A quick nod has me being a little too thoroughly searched by the first mate. Tingling with revulsion after being released, I watch the swarthy pirate hand Jack's compass to Faulkner. He holds it before him, briefly examining the outside before flipping it open and peering into it. He smiles briefly, as if a suspicion has been confirmed. I wonder what secrets the old compass could possibly have to reveal. "Isn't it amazing," Faulkner muses, his eyes glancing from me to the compass, "how uncertain the outcome of a plan can be? One moment, your victory is certain, the next, everything is a-shambles and you must start all over again. That's how I felt when I discovered Sparrow's daughter was roaming Tortuga, and how I felt when Anamaria stole you from me.
"But no matter, it all comes out right in the end." He tosses the compass to me, and I hold it close, like an injured bird. "Coincidences are amazing things as well, I'm finding. Do you know what you and I have in common?"
I try desperately to think of something clever, but nothing comes. Shake. The members of Faulkner's crew that crossed the bridge emerge from the brig and at Faulkner's nod returned to their ship.
"We both are after the same thing: the mermaid's ransom!" He smiles as if he's just done a magic trick. "And you will be the one to lead the way."
I blink, "I don't know the way."
The smile fades, and Faulkner just watches me quietly. There is something in his dark gaze that frightens me even more than the two strong men behind me, something that is twitching inside of him like a taut rope. His next words are as quiet and frightening as his gaze, "Oh, you will take us there. If there is anyone on these godforsaken waters that can find the mermaid's ransom, it is you." Another nod and I am being manhandled across the bridge and onto Faulkner's ship. The quickly fading sun casts long shadows over the ship's decks, and Faulkner calls out orders to the crew. The bridge is pulled in and great, night black sails are unfurled. As the ship begins to move, I am brought to the helm and chained at the ankles to the wheel's post.
"But I *don't know* where it is!" I cry, frustration and anger quickly climbing the charts on my list of emotions. Though they don't claim the number one spot, which is currently held by fear.
"Well you had better find a way quick," Faulkner responded with a cruel smirk, "We don't keep aboard those who don't pull their weight." He and the men with him laugh and begin to walk away, leaving me chained to the helm. "My advice is take a look at that compass," he calls over his shoulder, "Welcome aboard the Black Pearl!"
I sit for a while, waiting for the crew of the Pearl to quit leering at me. It makes me think of a story about Jack Will told me, something about standing very still in a lagoon until all the sea creatures became accustomed to him. Then, I slowly stand up, holding onto the wheel for balance. My chains are simple, being the kinds of shackles they put on criminals feet so they can't run. The two cuffs chaff at my ankles and the chain holding them together around the stalk of the helm looks strong and free of ever so helpful rust. I look at the compass and think of Faulkner's advice. I'm almost tempted to do nothing, just sit in my chains and let the Pearl drift where she may, but I recall the fear I felt under my captor's quiet stare. Just the memory sends shivers through me. Besides that, I feel a curiosity welling up as I turn the compass over in my hands. And, as always, the promise of the treasure is filling my mind like smoke. I can almost see the glitter on the edge of my very sight now. I can concentrate on nothing but that, nothing.
Taking the helm in a firm grip, I let the euphoria take me. I flip open the compass and stare at its mossy inside. My eyes lose focus, I feel as if I might fall into the compass's dark interior. My vision does go dark and in that dark I see the faintest glimmer in the distance, a little to the left. I feel the muscles in my arm stretch and contract in the order necessary to turn the wheel, and the glimmer moves in front of me- no, it's drifted to the right. The wheel turns- there, that's it. The glimmer grows as I keep it straight in front of me. I can't wait for it to cover my whole vision and resolve into heaping piles of gold on a sun-drenched beach.
"You're your father's daughter, my dear!" a voice drifts to me. I smile. It's the last voice I hear for a long time.
A/N: I daresay that wasn't as crappy as I thought it'd be! Now to respond:
Butterfly Dreamer: Okay, I'm gonna end this thing once and for all, so listen up. I will now relate for you in story form exactly what happened when I named this main character and ALL of my main characters.
Well, Rainne thought, it's time. Time to name this puppy. Standing up from her comfy blue armchair and gently setting her laptop on the carpet of her room, Rainne walked to her desk. She sat down in the black swivel chair, and reached for the desk's bottom right hand drawer. She retrieved from the dark interior a thin, medium-sized book that had seen better days. It was a book for baby names. Settling the book in her lap, holding it with her left hand, Rainne raised her right index finger and closed her eyes. With the thumb of her left hand she started letting the book's pages flick by quickly. After a moment's wait, she jabbed the raised finger into the fluttering pages. Opening her eyes, Rainne looked down to see what name the finger had landed on. Under the digit read the name Guinevere. That'll do, she thought, and placed the book back in the drawer. Now, she thought as she sat back down and put the laptop back on her lap, what guy name kind of sounds like Guinevere?
Are we all clear now? I do not have any kind of obsession with King Arthur or Camelot or what have you. It was ALL the finger, I swear! Anyways, glad you like the story so far, keep reading!
hummer: If it makes you feel any better, I never thought you were a guy. Hummer seemed like a rather unisex name to me. Glad my story can give you some joy in your time of need.
Fire Pixie: Thanks for the compliment about my descriptive prowess, but it would've helped me understand what you didn't like about the last chapter if you actually *told me what you didn't like*. Hope you liked this one.
Taka-Ichi-Sisters: **waves back** Cool, it's a family affair over in my fanfic ^^! And to answer your question, sure! The more the merrier, right? What's your idea?
WrdPntr: No offense, but your penname is driving my spell check crazy, lol. Aw, you're so sweet, but I'm definitely NOT the best. Might I suggest the following far superior writers? Gatekeeper, Bombur Jo, March Hare, Tatiana3, Thyme in Her Eyes, whereistruth, DanniB, Harriet Vane, RaeLynn Skye, and wendybyrd. There, educate yourself!