Recommended: A New Hype

adventureswithD-final (1)A: Head on over to The Recommenders to tell us what you’re hyped about in upcoming books, movies or shows in the month of May – and get a quick run-down of what we’re looking forward to, as well!

D: What is this we, stuff A? Your plebeian list certainly isn’t what I’m hyped about.

A: I’m going to regret this, but what, pray tell, are you hyped about? And why are you italicizing “hyped?”

D: Hype: Noun – propaganda, excitement, flimflam. Flimflam, A. Flimflam.

A: I think you just like the word flimflam. And I don’t blame you.

D: No, it’s a sham, that’s what it is.

A: A flimflam sham?

D: A . . .

A: Or how about a yam-sham?

D: You are not going to Buffy your way out of this one, A.

A: Oh, yes I am – because I already won. Yam-sham it is. So, what are you yam-shamed about?

D: I hate you.

A: No you don’t. Come on. What are you excited about?

D: Fine. I’m quite pleased that I shall be visiting with – and congratulating – Abd-al-Rahman. He was proclaimed emir of Cordoba, Spain today. I’m so excited for him. He’s been challenging the local rulers for some time now, and I want to give him some encouragement – unifying the fiefdoms is going to take some time, but it’ll be worth it, in the end.

(Long pause. Stares at the Druid. Druid casually checks nails for dirt. A swears she can see a smile winking at the edges of that ridiculously smug face. A huffs and grabs her phone to research.)

A: Um, D – we’re hyped for things happening in this year – not in 756!!

D: Time is relative, my dear A.

A: . . . Fine. Give Abd-al-Rahman my regards.

D: I shall do that.

A: And everyone else who lives in the 21st century, check out the post at The Recommenders, and add your two cents!

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Once more into the breach

D: A, you know, you really ought not to dance.

A: I know. Two very confused left feet – I can’t help it, D. I’m excited!

D: I can see that. You’re looking for me to ask why, I take it?

A: It would help. I’d stop dancing if you did.

D: Fair enough – why are you so excited, A?

A: I’m excited to write Part 2, D! Actually excited.

D: I’m feeling like this should offend me, somehow.

A: Everything offends you, D. Let me explain. I was happy to start this project – surprised actually, since I could finally see you and understand your story. I was satisfied with my writing, and I was giddy when we started this project on the interwebs. I was pleased when I completed Part 1 and edited it enough that it wasn’t too cringe-worthy for my dear friends/editors/readers who are kind enough to tear it apart for the greater good.

That was yesterday morning, D. And then I went out into my sleeping garden and proceeded to get my first sunburn of the year (yay sun!). And all day, Part 2 threaded itself through my mind. And I was excited – so excited that I stayed up until 1 am writing an outline that I’ll rip to shreds today, but has good bones.

I’m excited, D. I want to write this story. It’s been a really long tme.

D: Congratulations, A. I still feel as though I ought to be offended, but I’m also proud of you.

A: Is it wrong that I’m worried now?

D: (Sigh) I’m proud of you because I know how you feel about the 1916 storyline. You were a callous young woman with no knowledge of the world beyond books when you first wrote it. I like that you’re looking at it again, as a mother, as someone who’s lived a little bit more, and changing it. I’m far more comfortable being a part of it; I feel like I am finally part of the story.

A: I’m looking for the compliment in that, and I think I found it. . . so, thank you?

D: You’re welcome, A. . . By the way, are we going to have more introspective forays like this?

A: Oh, hell no! Don’t worry, D. I can’t do this every day. . . remember, deep as a puddle. I promise to keep it to a minimum, so long as you keep up your end of the bargain.

D: And that is?

A: Snarky comments, never-ending second guessing and a ruthless honesty that keeps me on my toes.

D: Almost sounds as though you like me, A.

A: Don’t let it go to your head, Druid. We still have 2.75 books left – a lot can happen!

D: I have been warned. . . but you do like me.

A: D. . .

D: You admitted it – you like me!

A: Seriously, D – how old are you?

D: 1300 years old and male. You like me. Ha.

A: I give up.

October the Ninth, Year of Our Lord 1584

Sean and Maureen:

By now, you may know who I am. It is yet only the beginning of the tale, and believe me when I say that it is a tale to be told. But I’ll not commit it to paper – not yet, not when the end has yet to be written.

You will have questions, and one day I will do what I can to see that they are answered. I said I would do what I could to see you both safe, and despite that she’s a pirate, and now consummate enemy of Sir Richard Bingham, Grania Uaile is as safe as you could hope to be – for now. . .

Is that all you care about?

“. . . I don’t know what you will face on that ship, but you must be prepared to either fight your way out of there or sacrifice your lives.” Grania said this directly to Sean and he looked down at his feet.

He knew she was right. . .  In the end, if Maureen wasn’t free, if she were used as a cudgel to beat Grania, then the fighting and dying weren’t worth it. Sean took a deep breath and met Grania’s eyes without flinching. He would make sure it was worth it.

“Aye, my lady Grania, we understand.”

Sean felt Dubhal put a hand on his shoulder.

“Although, we’ll do our best to avoid it, if it’s all the same to you,” Dubhal said, humor coloring his voice. He motioned to the sack slung across his back. “I have a few extra… surprises if things start to unravel on the Excelsior.”

“I like the way you think, Master Dubhal. I shall leave that to you, then.” Grania turned to the rest of the crew. “You all have your orders, then. Let’s break camp. Phalen is expecting us in the harbor before the sun sets – make haste. . . ”

D: Oh man, I am awesome.

A: You have your moments.

D: No, seriously, I have smoke bombs. I rock!

A: 1300 years of life experiences, culture and wisdom, and that’s all you can say: “I have smoke bombs. I rock!”??

D: What’s your point?

A: Nothing. You’re the one who likes to remind me that you impersonate a god, but it’s the smoke bombs that really get you going?

D: Okay, okay, I’m 1300 years old, I impersonate gods and I get to save the day with smoke bombs. What part of that doesn’t spell awesome?

A: . . .

D: You wrote me.

. . . No one had remained to guard the hold, and Sean helped Maureen up the last rungs of the ladder. His arm around her shoulders, he was about to guide her to the side where their dinghy was tied when a terrific sound and wave of noise rocked the boat. The force of it pushed them to their knees.

When they looked up, smoke was billowing from what was once the stateroom. The wind was rising and in the clearing smoke, Sean spied a single cloaked figure standing at the ragged hole, highlighted by the weak fires left in the wake of his destruction. Sean stared at Dubhal, entranced. Even Maureen was gaping – the entire ship seemed to stop, hold its breath and wait. . .