This one is also very long, and very stupid. But you've come to expect that by now. Read it past 3 am and you'll enjoy it!
The next few days passed without event. Well, Eragon actually murdered the butcher and a few other people he didn't like - but they deserved it! Not giving him free meat when he asked so politely for it! And Eragon heard that the butcher also didn't approve of Katrina's 'treatment' of his cousin. He even called it inhumane! Eragon had tried to explain that Ronan wasn't human, but the butcher had only snarled that you weren't supposed to abuse creatures of any race. He had to go. And Eragon had to feed his dragon.
Eragon also named his dragon. She was so shiny and blue he decided to call her Blua.
That's a stupid name, Blua had snapped. I've already chosen a name for myself. You're stupid.
What's your name, then? Eragon asked. He was a fast learner - within two hours, he had mastered the art of mind-talking.
A stupid human like you could never pronounce it.
Can I call you Blua, then?
No. I wasn't done ranting, damn it. My name's too fantasy for you.
Oh. But I can pronounce Smaug . . .
Wanna try pronouncing my name, then?
Sure.
Okay, your funeral. Here goes: '''''''''''''''''sdf'sdfdf'ewrwe'thcv'u'ytre'yt'gewr''eu'fj'ncds'fs'i'ruyj'''''''
That's not even a name! Eragon protested.
Yes it is, worthless, it's my name and it's beautiful.
Blua sounds better.
Blua/'''''''''''''''''sdf'sdfdf'ewrwe'thcv'u'ytre'yt'gewr''eu'fj'ncds'fs'i'ruyj''''''' snarled and almost clawed out one of Eragon's eyes. Worthless is a good name for you, she said. That's what I'll call you. And you will not talk to me. When you do, you can call me 'O Lord.' Okay?
No.
Good. Now go fetch me another human, Worthless. Maybe this one can be alive? So good when they wiggle and squeal.
Broom still had not plucked up the courage to speak to the hot'cloak'motherfuckers. Strange, since he was usually so forward; perhaps it was their magical ability to convenience the plot.
But then something did happen.
"Katrina's been acting rather boring and depressed lately," Ronan said one night over dinner. "Something to do with her father being brutally murdered . . ."
"So?" Amycus asked.
"So we're going to spend some time apart."
"Son, this village consists of roughly fifty people. How exactly do you intend to avoid her?"
"That's just my point!" Ronan said excitedly. "I can talk to wolves."
"What the hell does that have to do with the conversation?"
"Everything. When I was running out of Shadar Lo -"
"Out of what? You've never left this village."
"Shut up and listen! I met this cool guy Elyas who also talks to wolves. He's going to take me on a journey so I can learn to control my skills and go on many great quests." Ronan beamed. "Like travel with Gyp - er, the Edema - fuck, I mean Tinkers. Traveling People. And get captured by the KKK - um, I mean, the Whitecloaks. Whatever. It'll be fun."
"I have no fucking clue what you are talking about."
"Mars is bright tonight. Wish me luck my friends, I shall return soon," Ronan said. Then he rose from the dinner table and galloped off into the twilight.
"Actually," Eragon whispered to himself, "It's already night."
The day after Ronan left, Eragon was drowning his lonely sorrows at the bar. The hot'cloak'motherfuckers were drinking nearby and whispering to each other, but Eragon knew Broom had first dibs.
Think of Shai'tan - Sauron - the devil, that's it, and he shalt appear. Broom waddled into the bar. Eragon caught his eye and winked; Broom mouthed 'stay away while I work my magic' and headed straight for the hot'cloak'motherfuckers.
"Hey there," Broom said. "I don't have a library card, but mind if I check you out?"
The two hot'cloak'motherfuckers ignored him. They even scooted their stools away.
"Are you a parking ticket?" Broom tried again. "'Cause you've got fine written all over you."
"įĖĖİłŔ œňŕŐĻĺ ĺīĪĊğ ğġĭĖ ćõ ầ Ḥ?" one of the hot'cloak'motherfuckers asked the other.
"ẒƯḤəʔǹ ǦɓɄƏ űŴəầ ỘễỚ ỤọỎ ộ," the second replied.
{Translation: "Shalt we speaketh to this common rogue, this boastful braggart, this pitiable peasant? He looketh to be a bastard of lowest breeding, and beneath thine eyes." "Thou canst if thou wisheth so."}
{Translation from the poor Shakespearean: "Should we talk to this idiot? We're better than him." "Eh, if you want."}
Then, as one, the two hot'cloak'motherfuckers raised their hand to their hoods, which they slowly withdrew to show their faces.
They were terrible. Grey skin was stretched across bald scalps and bony faces. They had no eyes nor eye sockets, and their teeth were yellow and rotting . . .
They were women. And they were hot. One had shimmery dark curls cascading down her back, while the other was fair as an elf.
"Is there an airport nearby," Broom said, astounded, "Or is that just my heart taking off?" He blinked a couple times in shock, then exclaimed, "Hot, indeed! I'd go straight for the pair of you!"
"Why?" the dark one asked. "We hear you, to say in your tongue, 'get in on' with anything that holds still long enough. Why swear off boys for a single night with me?"
This was too much intellect for Broom to comprehend, especially when faced with such beautiful women. "Are you a banana? 'Cause I want to peel you nice and good."
"It doesn't work as well on humans, darling," she said with a pitying smile. "They aren't quite so firm, and the guts spill out when the skin is removed. Disappointing, really."
"Well?" the blonde one asked. "Are you going to offer to buy her a drink or aren't you?"
"My love for you is like diarrhea," Broom whispered lovingly. "I just can't hold it in."
"Or you could at least, you know, ask her her name," the blonde woman continued. "Or introduce yourself. Or speak one original sentence."
"You want a sentence?" Broom snapped, disappointed that his tricks weren't working. "Fine! Come into the back and have hot sex with me, ladies! That's a sentence, isn't -" He was unable to finish, for the dark-haired woman struck him in the jaw. Broom lost his tenuous balance and crashed to the ground, where the fair-haired woman drove her boot into his bloated stomach. Broom groaned. "Getting ready, are we? But let's not make these other men jealous . . ." The dark-haired woman kicked the side of his head. Hard. Broom fell silent.
"Could someone take this scum outside?" she called to the bar, which had watched with baited breath as Broom went on his hopeless quest.
"Maybe give him a bath while you're at it?" her companion added. "I doubt he still knows how to take one himself."
A few men came up to drag Broom outside. The women pulled their hoods back and returned to their drinks.
Eragon volunteered to help give Broom a bath. The man was still unconscious when he and six other men started, but he woke up halfway through and had a panic attack.
"Why're ya'll pourin' water all ova me?!" he yelped. "I din't do nothin' wrong, why're ya tryin' ta drown me?" He wriggled and squirmed, trying to get away. "I'll fart," he warned.
"You fart, I'll slit your throat and bathe you in your own blood," one of the men growled. They had all been privy to Broom's farts.
The other villagers scampered after they finished their tortuous task, but Eragon stayed and helped Broom don the clean clothes, new since they had had to be sewn to fit Broom's girth. It was nearly midnight.
"Those stupid hot'cloak'motherfuckers," Broom grumbled. "They're so mean. I bet they aren't even human. No human's so cruel as to not give old Broom a little fun . . . nah, they're probably demons. De'mo'ns. And I hate 'em." He yawned. "I'm awful tired, Ery. Why don't we go down to the tavern and sleep there? After a couple drinks, o' course."
Eragon readily agreed. He didn't want to go anywhere by himself in the dark, and now Ronan wasn't here to give him rides back home.
There was quite a fuss at the bar. People were screaming and shouting. The two hot'cloak'motherfuckers stormed out just as Eragon and Broom walked in.
"What happened?" Eragon asked.
"You know those two cloaked women?" the blacksmith said. "You saw they didn't take too kindly to sexual harassment." Eragon nodded, although in truth he didn't know what that was. "Well, your uncle here . . ."
"My uncle's here?" Eragon said excitedly. "Great! He can take me home!"
"He tried to molest them, Eragon," the blacksmith said gently. He stepped aside so that the room was not obscured by his broad shoulders. A body lay on the ground, surrounded by a puddle of blood. "And he didn't stop, neither, so they killed him."
"Fe'min'ists, I hear they're called," another man whispered. He shuddered. "Scary, those. You don't get no sex from them even if you ask nicely."
"Or offer money," another man said, trembling.
"You realize all the village women don't do that either?" Katrina asked, cracking her horsewhip. "Where's Eragon? I'm bored and Ronan isn't here." She sighed, cracking the whip again. "And all the other boys keep running away . . ."
Eragon shrank back. He had seen Ronan's scars. Well, admittedly some of those were from him when they were plowing the fields, but still . . .
Eragon passed the night getting drunk with Broom. They might have done some other things too. He wasn't sure. It was all a haze.
Eragon awoke the next day with a massive hangover. He blinked, closed his eyes and tried to block out the pounding in his head.
Beside him, Broom groaned, fell off the bed, and retched. Eragon squealed and covered his ears, which only caused Broom to retch louder.
"Eragon," the muscley blacksmith intoned.
"How'd you get here?" Eragon asked.
"We're in his house, dummy," Broom said. "Your uncle died, remember? You're an orphan now."
"I'm not an orphan!" Eragon cried, tears spilling down his face. "My mother and father are very respectable members of society, thank you very much!"
"Oh, young Eragon," the blacksmith said sadly. "You never knew your parents."
"Way to rub it in! That doesn't mean they're way better than you!" Eragon said.
"And now your uncle is dead," the blacksmith continued. "Such a shame, such a waste of such a young life . . . Broom has offered to adopt you, but there is also consideration to send you off with your brother. Or I could take you on as an apprentice; together, you and your brother can strive to become Perrin Goldeneyes."
"I'm not that drunk," Broom groaned. "Who in the hell is Perrin Goldeneyes?"
"My appren - I haven't the slightest idea of whom you are talking, dear Broom.
Suddenly Eragon remembered his uncle. Dead. And his dragon. Hungry.
"Where's my uncle's body?" Eragon asked.
"Still at the inn, I believe," the blacksmith said, shaking his head sadly. "No one wanted to touch what had been touched by the fe'min'ists."
"I was touched by -" Broom began, but the blacksmith cut him off. "Do you need to see it, Eragon? Do you need to mourn?"
"Yes," Eragon said, smiling. Then he realized that smiling wasn't the appropriate facial expression for a funeral, so he frowned. Deeply. And then he ran off to get his uncle's body.
Greetings, Worthless. It doesn't look fresh, Blua sniffed as Eragon dragged forward his uncle's body. The blood's all congealed. I told you to bring them alive.
It's a day old, Eragon replied. That's what you're getting, so you might as well thank me for it.
Blua ignored him and flew down to devour the corpse of Amycus Carrow. She had grown much overnight; what had been a tiny lizard with wings was now the size of a house. She noticed him staring and boasted, I can carry a thousand men.
No you can't, Eragon said.
Yes I can.
No you can't.
YES I CAN! She punctuated that by breathing fire into the air. Several trees caught fire.
Now look what you did, Eragon said, as more of the forest began to burn.
Your villager friends won't be too happy, will they? Blua said, grinning.
No, they won't! They'll probably have me flogged and drawn and quartered for arson!
Not my problem.
Yes it is your problem, Blua! Who'll bring you food when I'm gone?
Excuse you, my name is '''''''''''''''''sdf'sdfdf'ewrwe'thcv'u'ytr
e'yt'gewr''eu'fj'ncds'fs'i'ruyj''''''', we've already been through this!
You just said that so I don't have to answer your question.
You're stupid, Worthless.
My name is not 'worthless!'
My name is not Blua. That's not even a name. That's a fucking color with an 'a' added onto it.
Oh yeah? Well, 'worthless' is . . .
The perfect adjective to describe you.
That's mean! And I'm emotionally unbalanced because my uncle just got murdered. And you're eating him!
Oh, this is your uncle? Whoopsie . . . wait a sec, you brought him here for me to eat, didn't you?
No I didn't! Eragon lied. I just dragged him up here so you could pay your respects! And you ate him!
Liar. And he was good. I thank you for the meal, Worthless.
If I call you . . . your name, will you stop calling me Worthless?
No. You couldn't pronounce my name anyway.
Yes I could!
Prove it, then.
"Essssdefesdefdef-ewarewe - oh, who are we? Essdefesdefdef whoare we! I did it!"
You forgot the apostrophes, Worthless.
You don't say apostrophes, Blua.
In the Ancient Language you do. There are words of nothing but apostrophes. Like '''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''.
What does that mean?
It's one of the many words for 'I want to rip out your spleen.'
Really? What are some others?
î ÚÚæņŤ ťō řīp ŏűť ƴœŘ şpĻęėňė
Cool! I can insult people and they don't even know it!
Insult them? It's a declaration of love, stupid human!
Are you declaring your love for me then, Blua?
Argh! It's not Blua. Tell you what - call me Ruyj. Really the abbreviation should be i'Ruyj''''''', but that's probably beyond your capabilities.
Ruyj? Sounds foreign. Does it have cool etymology or something?
Sure, if you call smashing the keyboard 'etymology,' it's very cool.
Will you stop calling me Worthless?
No, but I will fly you out of this burning forest. You'll catch on fire yourself if you stay here much longer.
Eragon looked around - Ruyj was right. Everything was burning. How had he not noticed the heat?
"Do it quickly," he said. He was surprised to hear his voice was deep and commanding - the voice of a general. Or a Dragon Man.
Eragon tried to leap astride Ruyj's back, but she rolled over into the fire and laughed. Then she took off. Eragon felt his heart sink . . . but not for long, for his dragon came back and scooped him up in her claws.
"WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Eragon cried. "THIS IS SO MUCH FUN!"
It won't be when I drop you. And I will drop you if you keep screaming this much.
You're mean, Ruyj.
You're not intelligent enough to be mean, Worthless, she said affectionately.
No, I don't know why I changed Saphira's name . . . Blua was to make a point, but then I decided I didn't like Blua, and Ruyj was what happened when I attacked the keyboard at random. Ah well. Review?