Yes, indeed. If I’d had my way, it would have been a somewhat less “family friendly” show and Marian would have chucked aside her puppy love for that spoiled brat Blobbin aka Justin Beiber with the Scruffy Facial Hair and moved on to Nottingham’s Finest . . .
What if all that anachronistic nonsense on RH led The Treacherous Troll and the Hot Henchman to create the world’s first disco? Hey, if Blobbin could invent hang gliding so he and Mr. Lucky Charms could escape Guy . . .
Drugs for my major sinus/allergy attack, that is. My sneezes have been registering on the Reichter scale, or so I’ve been told by my long-suffering spouse.
Anyhoo, I am kind of loopy and also in a Halloween sort of mood. I discovered today that www.picmonkey.com has just added a new Halloween set of effects, overlays and fonts to play with. You can choose from Vampire, Witch, Demon, Zombie, Day of the Dead and Trick or Treat. Keep in mind the drug thing coupled with lack of sleep, so overlook the typos and other mistakes in the examples below. This Halloween theme is a real treat to play with, so why not give it a try if you are so inclined?
We like Halloween chez Fedoralady. It is Mr. FL’s favorite holiday. We’ve worked a few haunted houses in the past; I’ve always dressed up when work allowed it and won first place for my costume a couple of years ago. Basically we are just a pair of over-sized kids who enjoy being children again for a brief time. I suspect part of my enjoyment is the fact we had no place to trick or treat as children–we were too far out in the boondocks–so once the schools/communities suspended carnivals for a time in our area I felt as if I was missing out on the fun . . .
I am hoping to go to Trick or Treat on Main St. downtown in my hometown this year, with business owners and professionals and their employees and families dressing up and handing out candy to lots of cute costumed kiddies in a safe, controlled environment. It was started two years ago, with the grand finale a performance of Thriller by a local dance troupe and actors from the local firefighters’ haunted house. It was terrific!
Lucy Griffiths is a talented young actress. We all know she loved working with Richard Armitage. She clearly thought he was a great screen partner and, I suspect, she had a wee crush on him, too. Yet, as Maid Marian, she had to pretend to be repulsed by six feet two inches of smouldering, black leather-clad alpha male, preferring an arrogant git of a character who looked like a slightly shopworn Justin Bieber with a hoodie and scruffy facial hair.
I suspect if Lucy had had her way, Guy and Marian would have gotten to know each other a lot better. And Robin wouldn’t have been such a little pervy Peeping Tom!
Sir Guy and Marian. OK, yes, he started off looking at her as a good catch–she was the daughter of the old sheriff, high-born, well respected; she was pretty and she had always been linked with Robin of Locksley. Marian could be one more thing Guy could take away from his hated enemy.
And then–he went and fell in love. Even after she rejected him at the altar and he told himself to forget her, that she meant nothing to him–he still cared. Still wanted to protect her no matter how much potential danger it caused for him. Still wanted her as his lover, his wife, the one he would have a home and family with. He truly had no one; he pinned all his hopes and dreams on Marian returning his love. *sigh*
I still think it could have been a very compelling storyline if Guy and Marian had married, putting Marian in the position of divided loyalties between Robin, her childhood sweetheart and a wanted outlaw and Guy, the husband and sheriff’s lieutenant with whom she found herself falling in love in spite of herself. Robin, pressuring her to still be his spy, and Guy, expecting her absolute loyalty; both men, jealous of the other’s claim on Marian’s heart.
OK, I do need to get some shut-eye. And Photoshop needs to rest. It’s on the cold side here this morning and I need to snuggle under the covers and warm my aching bones, muscles, ligaments, et al. Thoughts of this fellow generally warm me up (see Sunday’s warm-up post). I have some ideas for future posts generated by some of the comments made today–perhaps a poll, for one thing. Anyway, hope Monday morning/afternoon/evening go well for you all.
Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree, stage actor and manager, as Shylock in The Merchant of Venice. Courtesy Wikipedia
Will Shakespeare coined the phrase “Love is blind” and used it in several of his plays, including The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Henry V and The Merchant of Venice. It can be used in a positive light–love can help overlook the flaw in those we love. But it can also bar us from recognizing serious issues. Such as the fact your “love interest” is a cockaloram and gloryhog with a bow fixation who lives in the forest with a lot of other smelly men has and will continuously use you to further his own ends and then go into a jealous snit whilst playing Peeping Tom.
Alas, she rejected this tall, sexy, smouldering black leather-clad Adonis who would have made her his queen . . .
Clearly, Shakespeare had it right. Love is blind sometimes; and sometimes, it is also deaf and dumb. And lacking in the Good Taste Gene, forsooth!
She has spurned him in a most grievous way,
rejecting him at the altar, running away with the man
He most despises.
His handsome face bears the scar of her betrayal.
Cut by the very ring he had slipped on her finger.
He hates her; he loves her.
He wants her to hurt as much, as deeply as she has hurt him.
“Beg!” He commands, the anger contorting his face,
Eyes turned dark with emotion, rage in his deep voice,
His words, his gaze, cut right through her as the flames arise.
She thinks she can toy with him, tease him,
With beseeching eyes and honeyed words, the softest caress
of his arm; it gave him hope, it brought him light–
But “a man like me” will endure her games no longer.
She has rejected him before the world; she will fool him no more.
And yet she does not give up, this high-born lady.
She has a mind of her own, a stubborn will;
No constraints on her freedom will she accept,
Chafing at the unseen shackles now placed upon her,
A captive in a castle, a prisoner in Milord’s cage.
And so she comes to his home, wrapped in the cloak of night,
With beseeching eyes and honeyed words, and is surprised–
For she sees the well-knit man free of his leather armour
The fair, smooth skin burnished in the firelight;
She does not know until now a man could be—beautiful.
“Friendship,” she offers, extending a near-trembling hand,
her heart hammering in her chest as he draws closer to her.
“Freedom,” he answers with a twisted smile, his eyes—those eyes!
Boring into her very soul as his broad hand clasps her small one.
“Friendship—is impossible now. You’ve made that clear.”
Let there be no bad blood, she has said; let bygones be bygones . . .
He hates her; he loves her.
“Have you heard of the power of firelight?” A husky rumble.
“While the fire burns, time stands still. What happens is secret.
Words and deeds, all that occurs, remain hidden to the world . . .”
He draws her closer to the fire, to the flame, ever closer,
Until they both kneel before it, skin bathed in its glow,
“Tell me of your dreams, milady, and I will tell you of mine . . .”
And as she begins to speak, slowly and hesitantly, her guard drops
She leans against that broad shoulder, and sighs.
As he talks of the pain and losses of his past, she looks into the fire
And sees a boy looking back out at her, miserable and alone.
She did not know how much he had suffered; she had never asked.
“I have no one,” he says simply, quietly, with a shrug.
And at that moment, the proud lady’s heart breaks just a little.
She extends her hand again, and takes his, and bows her dark head.
Speaking not a word, she tenderly presses her lips to his hand,
And when she lifts her head, he sees the glistening in her eyes . . .
“I fear I have—misjudged you in some ways, Sir Guy.”
And there is hope and light again for him.
He swallows hard, his fingers seeking out her tousled raven curls,
His touch, gentle, as he rises and lifts her to her feet.
“It is late, milady, and you must return to the castle . . .”
He clasps her hand tightly in his own, eyes beseeching her;
“Will you come back, and visit—in the firelight?”
She smiles. “I shall.”
His heart sings.
(Screencaps from RANet. Poem inspired by the beautiful film Firelight, and the chemistry between Richard and Lucy as Sir Guy and Marian. If only . . .)
My first novella fanfic featured Guy and Marian in an AU version of their story, Dangerous to Know.Practically everyone in the story seems to have a crush of some sort on Sir Guy, which seems perfectly reasonable to me. I turned a character Lucy Griffiths played in one episode of the paranormal drama Sea of Souls into multi-chapter fic Night Falls. Lucy and Richard looked so good onscreen together I just had to give them stories that allowed the sparks we saw turn into a fiery flame. Judging by the tons of G/M fanfic out there, many others felt the same as I.
At any rate, my deep affection and admitted lust for the character has lead me to produce prose and poetry, fanvids and blog entries about the Nottingham’s Finest, the Sultan of Smoulder and Swagger, the Deep, Dark, Delicious Knight–the one and only Sir Guy. He is also the first chaRActer Ladywriter Loved Into Being.
”You will always love me the best, Lady Writer,” Guy rumbles, flicking back a stray lock of raven hair as he gives me a distinctly smug smile, arms folded across his broad chest. I shake my head and sigh. “Yes, you incorrigible creature, you. I always will.”