Forget Black Sky. There were storm clouds a-plenty at Ladywriter’s house. Thorin Thursday had a collision with Guyday Friday, as it were.
“Thorin, Thorin, Thorin. Is that all the fangurlz want to talk about?” Guy was grumbling beneath his breath, a long-haired pussycat tucked beneath his arm as he absently stroked her soft brown and cream fur.
“When will we get to see Thorin? Is it December yet? OMG, he’s so HOT.”
The Dark Knight tossed back his dark locks as he mimicked those annoying Thorin fans in a high-pitched, breathless tone.
Since he was his CReAtor’s er—CreAtion, Sir Guy managed the imitation of a female’s voice extremely well. It just looked rather ridiculous coming out of the mouth of a strapping fellow with an excess of stubble on his jaw.
Guy rolled his kohl-rimmed eyes and gave a distinctly disdainful (but nonetheless manly) sniff.
“Now this damned book is out. Did I ever get an—an annual? No.”
“I know, Gizzy. It’s most distressing,” said the kitty, who was, as you might have guessed, the So Not Dead Puddie.
“After all, you were here first.” She gave her own disdainful sniff with her dainty pink nose. “I know how I felt when Mother and Father started bringing in those other cats . . . why did they need anyone other than ME?”
Guy gave another stallion-like toss of his dark mane. “Exactly.” He sighed. “You and I understand one another so well, Puddiekins . . .”
“You should not forget that today is, actually, my day at the blog,” a deep, booming, authoritative voice said.
Guy stiffened. Puddie gasped. Could it be—
It was. A bearded figure, short and stocky but nonetheless regal, entered the room, clasping an extremely large and shiny sword at his side. Flicking back his long, lustrous locks—yes, even longer and more abundant than Sir Guy’s—he fixed his piercing gaze upon the knight and cat.
“Thorin Oakenshield,” he announced with a small bow to the cat. “I do not believe we have met before, my lady. You have recently joined this company?” (He had briefly met Sir Guy, Dear Reader, on an earlier visit.)
Puddie gave a small nod of acknowledgement. “Indeed—having joined the ranks of the So Not Dead.”
“Ah.” Thorin said. “I cannot yet claim membership in that particular group.”
Guy, whose eyes had been transfixed by the sight of Thorin’s very large, gleaming, lethal-looking sword, lifted his chin and looked down his handsome aquiline nose at the dwarf king.
“It is a very exclusive club. Membership is earned—the hard way.” Guy and Puddie looked at each other and gave a wistful joint sigh.
Thorin drew himself to his full height of (roughly) five feet, two inches, give or take a half-inch, and cleared his throat.
“I have no difficulty dealing with that which is hard, painful or dangerous, of taking on the most harrowing of challenges. I am of the finest dwarven stock, after all. The heir of Durin, uncrowned king under–”
Guy’s eyes quickly began to glaze over. “Yeah, yeah—I’ve heard it all, Oakenshield.” He eyed Thorin’s blade once more.
“Nice weapon,” the Dark Knight said. “Looks as if you spend a lot of time polishing it,” he added with a smirk.
Thorin’s mouth curled into what might have been deemed a smug smile.
“It looks as if your weapon is—non-existent?”
Guy’s face took on a thunderous appearance. “It just so happens I have an extremely large and shiny sword with a magnificent jeweled hilt.”
Thorin tilted his head, blinking slowly. “Oh, really? Where is it?”
Ah. The very question Guy did not wish to answer. Because, of course, Ladywriter had removed it once again just in case Guy got a bit—carried away. Which was horribly unfair. What was a self-respecting dark knight to do?
“It is out—being sharpened. And—polished.” Puddie suddenly piped up in her breathy southern accent.
Guy flashed his gleaming white teeth at Thorin as he gave the cat a small squeeze of thanks. “Yes. Exactly so.” He expelled a breath and raised a single dark brow. “We shall have to compare our weapons—later.”
Thorin gave a conciliatory nod. “Agreed. I must take leave now as it is, after all, Thorin Thursday and I do believe Ladywriter has more fanart of me to post? And I must see more of this annual . . . I bid you both farewell.”
And with a majestic air, Thorin turned on his booted heel and strode away, every inch the uncrowned king.
Puddie gave a small sigh. “He really does have the most amazing hair. I wonder how much time he requires for grooming every day?”
Guy sneered. “Pretty boy. Dwarfy pretty boy.”
Puddie glanced up at him. “But—you are the one wearing eyeliner, Gizzy. And—if I am not mistaken—a touch of eyeshadow, too?”
He sniffed. “But it just makes me look more magnificently virile and sexy.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Doesn’t it?”
Puddie smiled and butted her head against the Medieval Menace’s side.
“Of course it does, Gizzy. And now—some Blue Bell ice cream?”
Guy nodded. “Excellent idea. I could murder a bowl. It’s been, what?—two hours since I last ate . . .”
He flicked back his mane, his head held high. After all, he’d had the lustrous mane first. And the total glamour look. AND the big, shiny sword–
Somehow, Puddie suspected this wouldn’t be the last near-skirmish between her beloved Gizzy and the new Alpha male in town.
That little braid of Thorin’s really was most fetching . . .