Daily Archives: June 7, 2012

Someone’s knockin’ at the door . . . at Ladywriter’s

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“Oh, Ladywriter,” rumbled the slightly gruff voice.

“Come in, Sir Guy,” LW responded.

Sir Guy strolled in. Closing the door behind him, the tall, dark and toothsome knight leaned back against it with a nonchalant  air, head tilted and hands tucked behind him. Nobody lounged quite the way Sir Guy did.

“Soooo–you are trying to–go far, far away to see the Creator?”

Ladywriter sighed. “It’s very–tenuous–uncertain for now, Sir Guy. There is the possibility I might get chosen to serve as a reporter at Comic-Con. And then if I am, I have to come up with the cash to cover my travel costs and expenses. Too bad California is so–far, far away. And–” She gave Guy a wry smile. “You may have noticed I’ve been here a great deal more the last few months because I have been out of a job. And then there was that stupid accident.  And in the hassle to get the unemployment benefits reinstated, I’ve lost several weeks of pay.”

Guy’s brow furrowed. “You SHOULD have sent me to that office with my Magic Sword. I’d have gotten you the results you wanted,” he said with a distinctly menacing growl.

“Dearest Guy, I have no doubt you would have gotten results, but we try to avoid the murder and mayhem of the 12th century around here . . . ”

Guy gave a manly sniff and thrust his chin forward. “I wouldn’t have murdered anyone–”

Ladywriter raised a warning hand. “Or torture.”

“Ah–but don’t you wish to torture them–just a little–every now and again, dear LW?” Guy flicked back a strand of his tousled mane and raised a curious brow, a certain glint in those kohl-rimmed eyes. He looked dangerous. He looked hot.

LW heaved a great sigh. “More than you know. But I’m trying to stay out of jail. Benny is a long-suffering man but I do believe even he has his limits.”

Guy shrugged his broad shoulders as he rubbed his lovely aquiline nose. “There are certain things about the 21st century that I still do not quite understand . . .”

Ladywriter gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know. It’s not always easy for a fabulous medieval henchman and dark knight to adjust to it all. But you are doing wonderfully well. Look at all you have learned, dearest Guy.”

Guy’s lips curled into a rather smug smirk.. “I have learnt a lot, haven’t I ? I think you do–understand me, Ladywriter. And feed me very, very well.”

“Is that a hint, Sir Guy?”

Guy’s eyes widened as he assumed an innocent expression.  “Oh, I hadn’t thought–well, perhaps-cake?”

“Strawberry. Lower shelf of the fridge. Low-fat. Not that that makes any difference in your case.”

Guy grinned. It was absolutely the most glorious sight when Sir Guy grinned.

He disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a very large piece of cake, liberally covered in whipped cream, and a tall glass of milk.

“There are a great many good things about being So Not Dead, LW.  Being able to eat anything I wish and not gain an ounce is one of them.”

He took a bite of the cake, his tongue darting out to lick of the excess whipped cream from his lips. “MMMMM. MIster Ladywriter, Snake Slayer Extraordinaire and Marvelous Baker, succeeds again.”

Guy sipped his milk.  Oh, goody. Milk mustache time . . .  Ladywriter thought.

“So, speaking of this Comic-Con—when will you know if you have been chosen for this assignment? Is not the event only a few weeks away?”

“It is–and I just don’t know yet. At least Jonah has already contacted me to ask I live or will be in the area. . . . I think that’s a good sign. ”

Guy took another bite of his cake and chewed slowly, his eyes narrowing“I am certain I could be–persuasive— if you needed me to be . . .”

“GUY . . .”

“Just reminding you that I am always at your service, my lady . . . and, one other thing–”

“Never fear, Sir Guy.  I am working on the first Guyday Friday post even as I speak.”

“No–erm–Thorin?”  His brow furrowed slightly in spite of the lightness of his tone.

“No Thorin.”

Those beautiful eyes lit up. That and the milk mustache were about to do in poor Ladywriter.

“Well–that’ll do nicely . . .”

OK. I did it. I applied.

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Comic-Con Costume Group 02

Comic-Con Costume Group 02 (Photo credit: heath_bar)

This afternoon, I sent off my email to Jonah at CBR applying for a Comic-Con reporter position. After all, what can he do except turn me down? Wouldn’t be the first time someone has said “no” to me, or likely to be the last.

There’s no telling how many other applicants have applied, many of whom may have a much better chance at it than I do. I am qualified and I think I’d do a good job, but I am sure that is true of many others. However, one thing is certain. If I didn’t apply, I couldn’t possibly get the job. And all the discussion of how to finance getting there would be a moot point.

I slept–well, pretty fitfully, plenty of tossing and turning, lots of dreaming; alas, none of them featuring a handsome, regal dwarf.

Thorin is just a beautiful hunk of dwarf in my opinion, silver streaks, stocky build and all. That RA auRA shines through, doesn’t it?

So I feel like hell today, probably look it, too.  My eyes are so fuzzy I couldn’t really tell  what I looked like when I was standing in front of the mirror earlier.

I feel like this kid, although I know I’m not nearly as cute.

So I am thinking of Thorin and Richard and plane tickets and hotel rooms and paying my mortgage and airports and dreams and disappointments and writing and stuff. And kind of wishing I had a big bowl of Blue Bell ice cream.

Hear Him Roar!

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I am feeling very inspired by Thorin right now. So I made up some new song lyrics . . .

 

(with apologies to Helen Reddy-sung to the tune of I Am Woman)

You're My World

You’re My World (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I am Thorin, hear me roar

A dwarf who’s too hot to ignore

I’ll be leading this un-expected jour-ney!

I am Thorin and I’m fly

Check out Orcrist–my oh my!

No more regal of a dwarf you’ll ever see . . .

I am strong. I am invincible.

I am Tho—rin . . .