Jews, Bagels and a Caramel Macciato

A shot of espresso, then two pumps of vanilla. Fill it the rest of the way up with steamed milk, leaving just enough room for the whipped cream and caramel sauce. Deftly, I whip the cream into a perfect spiral on the surface of the drink. Then I take out the small tube of caramel sauce, shake it a few times, and lay it down in a checkerboard pattern over the whipped cream. Another perfect drink.

“Caramel Macciato up!” I yell, as I slide the cardboard cup across the counter.

A Caramel Macciato is a work of art, really. It’s my favorite drink to make. It took me a long time to get it right – for the first few weeks my whipped cream would come out in lopsided blobs, with the caramel sauce welled up uselessly at the side. But I got plenty of practice, and eventually I came to pride myself in my caramel macciato skills. Two things really bother me, though – when someone starts drinking theirs without first looking at it, and when someone orders one without whipped cream.

I know it’s fattening and some people don’t need it. But it just looks so sad without the whipped cream, like it’s only half a drink. Plus the caramel can’t make patterns and pictures on the top – they sink in as soon as I squirt them out. Sometimes I make little sad faces with the caramel on drinks with no whipped cream, to show how the drink is feeling.

There are no more customers in line. This isn’t odd, really, it’s 9:30 on a Thursday and we usually get a bit of a slump anytime a class is starting. They’ll be back.

“Want me to go restock the coolers?” I ask my boss, Linda.

“Sure Hon,” she says, “You just do whatever ya think you should. I’ll give ya a holler if a need you,”

I take the little cart back to the stock room. The stock room is a big room, with shelves full of every kind of food or drink we serve, except whichever one we’re currently out of. I think there must be someone whose job it is to decide what not to order each week, because every week we’ll have an overabundance of most things and an absolute dearth of one particular item, and that is the item everyone will want. This week it’s cream cheese, which is unfortunate, because bagels are basically the only real food we serve, and who’s gonna want a bagel without cream cheese?

I wonder where the association between bagels and cream cheese began. I know bagels were invented by German Jews at some point roughly a hundred years ago. I don’t know why I know this, but I do. I wonder if these same Jews invented cream cheese? I wonder if, in Germany, under the Nazis, bagels were outlawed because they were Jewish, or if the Nazis tried to rewrite history so that the bagel was an Aryan invention. It must have sucked to be a seller of bagels back then, I muse. Or a seller of cream cheese.

I get my cart filled up with drinks and things and get back to the little booth just in time to see our next customer – Julie. I only know her name because I stole a glance at her credit card once when she was using it to pay for her drink. Julie comes in every Tuesday and Thursday morning at precisely 9:45 and orders a bagel with cream cheese and a tall skim latte. She usually gets a flavor shot, but never the same one twice. I think she’s trying to try them all. This is all I know about her. That, and the fact that she’s gorgeous.

I often wonder if Julie has a boyfriend. On the one hand, I mean how could she not? But I know from experience that what I consider beautiful is not necessarily what guys in general consider beautiful. Plus she’s quite, maybe kind of shy. A lot of guys don’t go out for that.

I wonder if she’s Jewish. She does look a little Jewish, and she always orders a bagel. But lots of people like bagels. Liking bagels doesn’t make you a Jew any more than liking pizza makes you Italian. Although not really because modern pizza is an American invention, but I digress. Anyway, I don’t think Julie is a particularly Jewish name.

As I move inside to start Julie’s drink, she surprises me – she orders a tall skim caramel macciato. I start in on the familiar steps – one shot espresso, two pumps of vanilla, all the way up to the whipped cream. I hesitate for a moment, picking up the caramel sauce. The checkerboard pattern seems too bland for a girl like Julie. Maybe I should make a heart? No, too sappy. Her name? That’s just creepy. My phone number maybe? That’d be classy, suave. Or just tacky. Plus I’m not even sure it would fit. I briefly consider a star of David, but that seems like a big risk.

“You ok there?” asks Linda.

“Fine,” I tell her. I settle on a smiley face, a nice, innocent design, and then put a little extra caramel around the edges so it doesn’t affect the taste. I put a lid on and hand it to her.

“Enjoy,” I say, as suavely as I can.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling. I sigh as she walks away. That right there is the highlight of my Thursdays, maybe of my whole week. How sad is that?

Maybe

He is not in love her.

He knows love, in his mind at least, and knows that love is something that comes with time, something that must grow and develop, not anything that can be gleaned from a single conversation, or even from years of casual contact. And so he knows he cannot be in love with her.

Maybe he could be in love with her.

Were the world a slightly different place. If he’d met her a year ago, when he was still single, or if he’d never met Katrina and he was still single, or if he’d had the confidence to approach her the first time he saw her, sitting at the table by herself, reading, maybe if it had been a book he knew, maybe if he could have used that as an excuse to strike up a conversation with her without looking like a complete idiot, maybe, then, maybe, he could be in love with her.

Maybe.

Maybe he will be in love with her. Maybe his relationship with Katrina, wonderful as it seems to be, will come to a sudden unexpected end. and there she will be, funny and witty and gorgeous and perfect as she was that day in the cafeteria. Maybe years from now, when their children ask them how they’d met, the last two years will have become nothing but an amusing anecdote.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Maybe she would never have dated him anyway. Maybe she would have, but she would have turned out to be mean or shallow or boring. Maybe they would have just become friends. Or maybe, just maybe, everything would have worked out fine and he’d be sitting here, at this same table, looking over at Katrina, and wondering if he could ever have been in love with her.

Maybe.

Buffy Fic in script form

Time period: beginning of season six
Scene: Buffy, Xander, Anya, Willow, Tara, and Dawn are watching TV on the couch.
Xander: Ok, so, not that I'm not enjoying "Bride of the Infomercial" here, but... has anyone seen the remote?
Anya: As much as I enjoy the rampant display of capitalism, he does have a point.
Dawn: Are you sure you're not sitting on it again?
Buffy: I don't know... I haven't seen it in a couple hours.
Tara: Oh no, do you think it might be in trouble? Buffy, what do we do?
Willow: Oh! I could do a spell!
Tara: No magic, Willow!
Willow: [sad face]
Dawn: I really think Xander is sitting on the remote.
Buffy: Do you think we should call Giles? I think we should call Giles.
Willow: Do you thing it might have been taken by demons? Cause I know this great spell for finding demons-
Anya: Oh! A Keeyaris demon!
Buffy: A what?
Anya: Keeyaris demon! They're really lazy, so they like to steal remote controls and then use them to control the mortals they steal them from.
Tara: Oh my God Buffy, if one of those things has your remote -
Buffy: We have to find it. Tara, try that locater spell. [Willow and Tara leave] I'm gonna go see if Spike knows anything about a -
Spike pops up from behind the couch.
Spike: About a what now?
Buffy: Spike, what are you doing here?
Spike: Just thought I'd watch a spot of TV. 'S not a bloody crime.
Buffy: You were hiding behind my couch!
Xander: Uh, guys? I know we're all kind of on edge right now, but we do have a remote stealing demon to find.
Dawn: You're sitting on it Xander. I can see the corner of it under your butt.
Anya: Don't look at Xander's butt! That's my butt is only mine to look at.
Buffy: Spike, have you heard anything about a Keeyaris demon?
Spike: Oh, so when you need to know about a demon, I'm your man, but when I just want to watch a bit of TV...
Buffy: Spike, you have your own TV in your crypt! So don't tell me you're here to watch TV, Spike! I know what your doing here, and I'm not interested!
Spike: Fine then. I'm not helping you find your bloody remote, though. You can watch bloody infomercials all night for all I care!
Dawn: Xander is sitting on the remote! I've been saying it all night.
Buffy: Dawn is there something you want to tell us?
Dawn: Never mind.
Buffy: We need to find this remote before things get out of hand. Anya, go down to the magic shop and see if we have anything on this Keeyaris demon. I'm gonna go see if Willy the Snitch knows anything. Xander - check under the couch cushions.
Buffy and Anya leave. Xander stands up, revealing the remote he's been sitting on. Suddenly, it comes to life and bites him.
Xander: Buffy! Ah!
Dawn: Oh my God! Oh my God!
Willow and Tara re-enter.
Willow: Xander, I'm so sorry! I tried to do a spell to find the remote but something went wrong!
Xander: Really? Cause I was kind thinking this was supposed to happen.
Willow, Tara, Xander and Dawn flail around ineffectually trying to fight the remote for about five minutes before Buffy finally shows up.
Buffy: You know what I've come to realize during this whole adventure? It's not about mute, or changing the channel. It's about power.
Buffy and the mutant remote begin to fight. The remote has her cornered when Spike enters.
Buffy: Don't worry. I have the situation well under "control".
Spike helps Buffy kick the remote's ass. Eventually, it lies broken on the ground.
Xander: Great, now how do we change the channel.
Willow [breaks down crying]: I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't - I just - I.
Spike: Wait, Red's spell did this? Then where was the remote in the first place?
Xander: Oh, it turns out I was sitting on it the whole time!
Buffy: Just think - it was right there the whole time. If only someone had realized.
Dawn smacks herself in the forehead very loudly.

A Pseudo-Romantic Vignette

Romance is a sordid affair - it's a combination of conditional hormonal responses, complex emotions, and god knows what else. Sex has a lot to do with it, especially for college students. Anyway, it's too complicated to understand, so we don't really try. If we're smart, that is.
I've never been all that smart, which is why I'm thinking about this at all, especially here and now.
She's sitting next to me, leaning against my chest, almost more out lack of space than anything else. Twelve people, four chairs, and a couch that seats maybe four? You do the math. People are sprawled all over the floor, the chairs, and each other. Anyhow, we're kind of friends, so it shouldn't be weird.
Well, for most guys it wouldn't. But as I said earlier, I've never been all that smart when it comes to this sort of thing. I try to figure out how things work. and I end up getting hurt. I overthink and ruin things that would work out fine if I let them be. So a few days ago, I decided just to stop planning, stop strategizing, and just let things happen.
And now stuff is happening. I'm enjoying the physical contact. I think she is too, but it's hard to say. It feels like she has me at a disadvantage. That's probably not true, but I tend to assume the worst. You would too, if you'd been through what I have. After a while you tend to stop getting your hopes up.
I look down and realize my arm is around her. How did it get there? I think I'd remember doing something like that. But she doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she turns her head slightly and smiles at me. A week ago I'd have been trying to analyze that smile. But not now. You learn not to read people. If you never guess, you're never wrong. You just enjoy it while it lasts - it is what it is.
Most guys actually get this concept. I mean, you see it all the time - guys and girls who aren't in a relationship holding each other, lying together, and generally being close. I've always wondered how they did it. And to think, it was this simple.
She leans her head back on my shoulder. Her hair smells nice. I've never been this close to her before, but it smells oddly familiar. I wonder if she uses the same shampoo as a girl I've dated. Probably not. The scent of female hair always seems to have this effect on me. It's probably pheromones or something.
Her head is maybe an inch away from mine. If she were my girlfriend I'd kiss her right now. But she's not, and that would definitely be going too far. I actually have no reason to believe she wants anything romantic from me. Because she's not me. She doesn't plan ahead. She's probably just living in the moment, enjoying this while it lasts - you know, what I should be doing instead of all this thinking.
But alas, I am a creature of habit, and despite my best efforts, my mind is already reverting to its old ways.
What is she thinking? Does she like me? Does she like someone else? Who is it? Why do I immediately assume there is a "he"? Why wouldn't there be? Is it even possible there's a she?
No, that's silly. It's all silly. I manage to get that part of my brain shut off again. Live in the moment, I tell myself, Don't make plans. Plans just get screwed up and screw you over.
The thing is, I'm not even sure I like her that way. To be perfectly honest, I've never thought about her like that before. Do I really even want to be with her? Or do I just want to be with someone, and she seems convenient?
She laughs, shaking me out of my trance. Something amusing has happened in the movie I haven't exactly been watching. She lifts her head off of my shoulder and turns to look at me again.
she smiles.
I smile.
The person sitting at the other end of the couch gets up, and she slides down a bit to make use of the extra space. Her head is now resting on my rib cage. I reach up absent-mindedly and run my fingers through her hair. She leans back further into my chest. It's still pleasant, but now slightly painful. But I don't want her to go.
The film, ostensibly our reason for being here, has now reached a rather suspensful point. I feel her hand clench my leg. This seems to me beyond the realm of friendly flirting, but I force myself not to overthink. It is what it is. Let it be.
My fingers have moved, seemingly of their own accord, down her neck to her shoulder. I'm not really sure what I'm doing. My hand closes around her shoulder and I can feel her bra strap through her shirt. She yawns, and her body shakes. I move my hand as she lies back.
And now the movie is over. We lie there through the credits, all of us, talking and laughing. Her laugh is beautiful, and I can feel her head vibrating against my chest.
After a while, she gets up. She should go to bed, she says. I should too. I look around. The other loungers are slowly rousing themselves. I notice two friends more intertwined then we were. They show no signs of wanting to get up.
I realize if I wanted something to happen between us, now would be the time. But really, I don't. It was nice, now it's over. It may be too late, but I'm finally coming to terms with that.
I walk home alone, smiling to myself. I don't know what will happen with her. Probably nothing. But I'm content. I've finally found the crucial fact I've been looking for: learning to be single doesn't mean learning to be alone.

Something new

I've decided rules stifle my creativity. From now on if I have an idea, I write it, and if it ends up I have five or six stories running at once, so be it. This story is completely off the top of my head. I do not know where, if anywhere, it is going. If you like it, or if you hate it, please comment - this will determine it's fate.

The boy looks to be about twelve. He's small, a bit pudgy, and has thick red curls. The overall appearance he gives off is that of a hobbit, albeit one who doesn't exercise much. He does not appear all that short, unless you know that he is, in fact, about to turn eighteen. He has probably been wearing the same pair of clothes for several days. His socks do not match.
The girl is nearly sixteen and nothing about her appearance seems to contradict that. She has longish blonde hair tied back in a pony tail and dark eyebrows. She is wearing just a little bit too much make-up, but not so much that it makes her ugly. Frankly, she doesn't need any - her face is beautiful. Her body isn't bad either, although she is, perhaps, a bit flatter in the chest area than she'd like to be. She picked out her outfit on Monday (It's Thursday now.) It involves a very short plaid skirt and a cute light blue top. Light blue is her favorite color - she thinks it brings out her eyes.
Judging from what you can tell about these two individuals, it seems strange to see them sitting together, huddled, as they are, over a large textbook and an open binder, entering equations which he finds facinating and she could care less about. Perhaps he is tutoring her, that would make sense, but it wouldn't explain the apparent closeness of their relationship, the repartee that seems to pass between them. They may be dating, but even the most open-minded, optimistic individual would find it hard to believe someone like her would endure the social taboo of being involved with someone like him, or that someone like him would have the confidence to even approach someone like her.
He holds in information like an airtight seal, and not just useful information - you can ask him what color pants you were wearing on a particular day two years ago, and chances are he'll remember. He's like a human recording device, and he has instant access to all the information stored up there. He's brilliant at math and science - he has taken every math class the school has to offer, and he hungers for more. He is also one of only a handful of human beings in all of history capable of percieving the universe in all five dimensions.
She has a mind like a sieve - at least as far as dates and formulas are concerned. When it comes to social graces however, the tables are turned. To say that she is socially adept would be like saying Stradivarius could make a decent fiddle from time to time. She is the undisputed master of fitting in; her reputation has been finely crafted andornately carved by six years of being with the right people at the right times. She can get anyone to do anything, simply by knowing instinctivly what a person wants and how to offer it to them, even if she doesn't actually have it.
He has trouble talking to people. He generaly finds conversations difficult and confusing, and, not knowing what to say, ends up saying nothing at all.
She could have any guy she wanted - not because she's particularly attractive, but simply because she could manipulate him into dating her - into wanting to date her. It would take her several months, but by the time she was finished, he wouldn't take no for an answer - unless she wanted him too.
He realizes, somewhere, at the back of his mind, that if he ever wants to procreate he will need to develop some sort of social skills (and a shower wouldn't hurt either.) But whenever a thought of that nature creeps toward the front of his mind, he pushes it back. Best not to think about such things - they'll only serve to make him unhappy.
Omnipotence is boring. After about a year, Alyssa (for that was her name) had realized that she could get just about anyone to do just about anything. And for a while it had been fun - for all of middle school, freshman year and most of sophmore year, in fact. She'd gotten whatever guy she wanted, but he always got boring after a while. So she'd break-up with him, but for some reason he'd always come out happy about it. She was passing all her classes despite not having a clue what any of them were about, and she had all the right friends. But she felt unfulfilled. She needed a challenge, something to test her abilities and take them to knew heights. But what? The most popular guy in the school, captain of the football team and in the running for valedictorian? She'd dated him for about a week freshman year. Popular guys were old hat. She considered turning a gay guy straight, but she wasn't sure it was possible even for her. Then it hit her. George.
She'd seen him around quite a bit, but she'd never payed him much mind. After all, if she could get any guy in the school, why should she waste her time with this geek? Two things changed her mind.
First was the idea of symmetry. If she had already dated the most popular, most athletic, and most attractive guys in the school, then why not date the least popular, least attractive, and least athletic? Especially if they all seemed to be the same guy. And maintaining her social standing while dating a geek like this would be an entirely new kind of challege. Alternately, although most of them thought quite highly of her, she realized that her social standing among the geeks was probably actually not as perfect as her standing among the popular people - perhaps ingratiating herself with an entirely new community was the next step.
George was also looking for a challenge. Having completed Calculus as a sophmore and Physics II and Chemistry II last year, he felt as though his mental faculties would decline were they not put to good use. He had decided, after some debate, to focus on figuring out how create a model of the five dimension universe that would make it possible for a mind less advanced than his own to cope with it. Of course he would need to choose the perfect test subject - someone with so little mental ability, he or she would be wholy incapable of concieving of the true nature of the universe. His photgraphic memory centered in on a girl in his PE class last semester. He remembered they had had to do a shuttle run three times and give the instructor their best time. He had been paired with her. After failing to work the stop watch three times, she'd asked him how to get it off of metric time. What had her name been? Alyssa.
And so it began. George and Alyssa. Both experiments, both subjects. Both thinking everything was going their way.

The Ballad of Xindor (COM Prelude 3?)

Well sit down children,
let me tell you a tale
'Bought a man whose nerve could never fail
The greatest elf I ever knew,
(and I've known quite a few)
Bravest of warriors,
Wisest of Sages
They'll sing his praises throughout the ages

Xindor the Incredible!
Xindor the Grand!
Goblinslayer, Dwarf-defender,
Hero of Elf and Man!

Deep below the mountains,
where the sun never shines
The Dwarves worked hard down in the mines
Two thousand dwarves extracting jewels
with finely crafted mining tools
Hardest of workers,
Loyalest of friends,
A good Dwarf's labor knows no ends.

In another mountain
not to far away
Goblins watched the Dwarves working all day
They wanted those jewels all for themselves
They were willing to kill both dwarves and elves
Vilest of villains,
Evilest of foes,
A Goblins treachery grows and grows

Wand'ring o'er the Mountains,
Sleeping in the trees
Xindor the incredible ate some bread and cheese
Such a powerful enchanter, such a brave young elf
Caring for others, but not about himself
Bravest of warriors,
Wisest of Sages
They'll sing his praises throughout the ages

Xindor the Incredible!
Xindor the Grand!
Goblinslayer, Dwarf-defender,
Hero of Elf and Man!

Xindor asked the Dwarves,
for a place to stay
seeing as he'd been wandering
around all day
But the Dwarves saw Xindor's pointy ear
And they said "No elves'll be staying here,"
Stupidest of idiots,
Blindest of fools
Nearly died for having such a stupid rule

Not about to argue
Xindor slept outside
It was cold and windy and
he might have died
And the goblins dug a tunnel way down deep
And attacked the dwarves as they lay asleep
Vilest of villains,
Evilest of foes,
A Goblins treachery grows and grows

Xindor was awakened
By the noise within
Saw the Goblins fight the dwarves and nearly win
But a grudge was something Xindor couldn't hold
Even thought they'd left him out in the cold
Bravest of warriors,
Wisest of Sages
They'll sing his praises throughout the ages

Xindor the Incredible!
Xindor the Grand!
Goblinslayer, Dwarf-defender,
Hero of Elf and Man!

Xindor grabbed a Goblin
kicked him out the door
Cast some spells and soon the Goblins were no more
And the Dwarves said "Xindor, you're our king,"
And they gave him ale and shiny things
And now people everywhere will sing:
(Don't hold back, let your voices ring)

Xindor the Incredible!
Xindor the Grand!
Goblinslayer, Dwarf-defender,
Hero of Elf and Man!

(repeat ad infinitum)

The Mirror of Truth

Once upon a time, there was a knight. He was in love with a beautiful princess, the daughter of the king to whom he had pledged his service. One day, as he approached the castle, he saw an enormous, hideous dragon carrying the princess away. He decided to rescue her. He knew, of course, that he could not just charge in and take on the dragon. He would need a plan, some clever way of defeating the beast. So, he decided to visit the famous Mirror of truth.
The mirror of truth was, as the name suggests, a mirror that would always show you things as they truly were. It was also said that the mirror would answer any question that was posed to it.
The knight journeyed many days in search of the mirror, but found nothing. Finally, as he was walking through the woods, an old woman approached him.
"You seek the mirror of truth?" she asked.
"Yes," answered the knight.
"Why do you seek it?" asked the crone.
"So that I may learn how to slay the dragon!," answered the knight.
The old woman laughed, high and mirthlessly.
"I will show you how to find the mirror,"she said, "But you will not like what you see there,"
"That's alright," said the knight, "I will go anyway,"
"Alright," said the old woman. "Walk east into this forest until you come upon a stream that flows into a cave. You must remove all your armor and your sword, leave them on the shore, and swim under water until you see a blue light. When you come up, you will be in the room with the mirror,"
So the knight went and followed her instructions. As she had said, he came upon a cave with a stream running into it. He dismounted, took off all his armor and his sword, and jumped in the river. Under the water, he swam. After a while he was almost out of breath, but he still swam on. His arms started to feel like they weighed a ton. Then finally, just as it seemed as if he'd lost all hope, he saw a blue light. Quickly he swam to the surface.
Gasping for breath, he climbed up onto the shore. He was in a dimly lit cave. The small pool of water he had come from was all that was there. Then he saw something that made him jump. Reflected in the pool was, instead of his own handsome face, the hideous face of the dragon.
"Are you the mirror of truth?" asked the knight.
"Some call me that," replied the dragon.
"But is it true that you cannot tell a lie?"
"It is true that that I can never intentionally deceive anyone, nor can I give blatantly incorrect information. However, I have found that the nature of the truth varies greatly depending on your perspective. So who can say if what is true to one man is also true to another?"
The knight was confused by this, so he decided not to pursue it any farther. Instead, he opted to pose the question he had come hear to pose.
"How do I destroy the dragon?" he asked.
"which dragon?" asked the mirror.
"The one that has taken my lady!" replied the knight.
"There is no such dragon,"answered the mirror, matter-of-factly.
"What?" asked the knight. "But I saw the Princess being carried away by a monstrous beast!"
"That she was," said the mirror. "If, that is, you are referring to Princess Isabella IV of Alvasia,"
"But I thought you said no dragon had carried her off!"
"I said no dragon had carried off your lady,"
"What is that supposed to mean?" said the knight, infuriated.
"It is supposed to mean," replied the reptilian face, "That she neither is, nor ever was in any sense yours. Legally, she is still her father's, and in spirit, she is her own. In a much more practical sense, she is the dragon's,"
"That as it may be," said the knight, gritting his teeth at what he clearly believed to be a waste of time, "Can you tell me how to defeat the beast?"
"Yes," said the mirror.
The knight screwed up his face, trying to come up with a question that could not being contorted.
"How do you defeat the dragon that carried off Lady Isabella IV of Alvasia nearly a fortnight ago?" he finally asked.
"I don't," answered the mirror, "I'm a mirror,"
"Ha-Ha," said the knight, "Don't you realize a woman's life is at stake here?"
"I don't," said the mirror.
Realizing there was no point in arguing, the knight asked, "How do I defeat the dragon?"
"Which dragon?" asked the mirror.
"THE ONE WE WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT!" yelled the exasperated knight.
"Oh sorry," said the mirror calmly, "I thought you might have switched dragons. Well the best way, it's generally agreed upon, is to kill him. However -,"
"KILL HIM? THAT'S THE BEST YOU CAN DO? I COULD'VE FOUND THAT OUT WITH JOURNEYING HUNDREDS OF MILES TO SEE YOU!" he sighed. "What a waste of time,"
"However," continued the mirror, as if oblivious to what had been said, "You could try challenging him to game of backgammon,"
"Why?" asked the now quite frustrated knight.
"He's very bad at backgammon," said the mirror.
"How will beating him at backgammon help me rescue the princess!?" asked the knight.
"Who said anything about rescuing the princess?" asked the mirror.
"You're lucky you're not made of glass, you know that?" said the knight, angrily.
"Yes," answered the mirror.
"Am I going to get a straight answer of you, or should I cut my losses and just go challenge that dragon?"
The mirror pondered this for a while, than said, "That's all up to you,"
The knight decided to give it one more go.
"How do I rescue the princess?" he asked.
"Assuming," said the mirror, "That we have not changed princesses, than to rescue her, you will have to kill the dragon,"
The knight was ready to explode again, but he took a deep breath, calmed himself, and said, "How do I kill the dragon we've been talking about this whole time?"
"There are many ways," said the mirror. "The easiest it probably to use your sword and stab it,"
"Where?" asked the knight urgently.
"Oh, anywhere," answered the mirror, "Heart, stomach, lungs, all that. Though I think the easiest would be the throat,"
"But what about his scales?" asked the knight.
"They're hard," said the mirror, "And red, and shiny,"
"Yes," said the knight, "but how do I get past them?"
"Well," said the mirror, "Either stab straight through them with something really, really, sharp, or try and slip under them with something really, really, thin,"
"Are you going to tell me anything I couldn't have deduced for myself?" asked the knight, who had by now nearly given up hope of discovering what he was here to discover.
"I already have," said the mirror.
"What?" asked the knight.
"The dragon is very bad at backgammon,"
"Can I use that information to rescue the princess,"
"Unlikely,"
"Is there an easy way to kill the dragon?" asked the knight.
"No," said the mirror.
"Is there anything useful about the dragon you can tell me?"
"Define useful,"
"Pertinent to helping me kill him,"
"Who's him?"
"The Dragon,"
"The Dragon in question is female,"
"Her, then,"
The mirror was silent.
The knight took a deep breath.
"Is there anything significant you can tell me to help me kill the Dragon who is guarding Princess Isabella IV of Alvasia?" he said, his voice level but obviously enraged.
The mirror thought about this. Finally, after several long minutes, it said, "Yes,"
"What?" asked the knight.
"Dragons breathe fire." the mirror began, They have sharp teeth, and scales, and -"
"YAAAAAAARRRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!" yelled the knight. He plunged a fist into the face in the mirror, but of course it went straight into the water. His hand kept going and hit the rock on the side of the pool, scraping the knuckle so that it bled.
"Well that was productive," said the mirror.
"I GIVE UP, YOU USELESS PIECE OF MULE DUNG! I HATE YOU AND EVERYTHING THING YOU STAND FOR!"
"Hey," said the mirror, "Sometimes the truth hurts,"
The knight jumped into the pool. Two days later, the old lady who had shown him how to find the place was discovered, stabbed through the heart, along with two other peasants who had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The knight was later killed after infuriating the dragon by challenging her to, and winning a game of backgammon.

The moral of the story is that some stories have no morals.

Sleep Cycles

This is my first foray in a long time into the world of fan-fiction - specifically, a Harry Potter fanfic. It takes place at some point during Prisoner of Azkaban. Please comment on it - I'll be gone for a week, and I want to have comments when I get back.

"PARVATI! I've given you an extra five minutes already! Get up now, or I start singing!"
Hermione Granger awoke once again to the sound of her roommates' magical alarm clock. She'd bought the thing in Hogsmeade two weeks ago, and it refused to shut up until you were really out of bed. It was only a matter of time before one of the girls decided to throw it out the tower window.
Hermione did not feel like getting up. Even with just her class schedule, she'd had to be awake three hours longer than everyone else, so by the time she'd gotten through her last class yesterday she'd been ready to go to bed. Then she'd had another five hours of homework. After that she could have gone to sleep, but she'd felt obligated to finish up some work on Buckbeak's case first. When she finally got to bed, she only had three hours left until she had to get up.
In the four-poster next to hers, Parvati had finally succumbed to her alarm clock and had left the room. The rest of the girls had left some time ago. Hermione tried to rouse herself, but she just didn't have the energy. She remembered having a dream. This was odd, because she hadn't dreamt in months - she hadn't had enough sleep. She was about to force herself to get up. Then her eye caught the gleam of the time-turner on her desk.
I shouldn't, she thought. I promised McGonagall I'd only use it to get to my studies. I could get in loads of trouble!
But it is for your studies! said another voice inside of her. How are you supposed to get good marks if you can't get enough sleep? Just two more hours, it won't hurt anyone.
Hermione was far too tired to argue with herself, and the bed was so warm and comfortable. She reach over, grabbed the small gold chain, and through it over her neck. Then she gave the little hour glass two turns, and promptly fell asleep.
She awoke some time later. Something was pressing against her. It's only Crookshanks, she thought, Go back to sleep. Then she heard a muffled cry. Startled, she sad up and looked around. There was someone else in the bed with her!
Simultaneously, they turned to look at each other. As the Hermione of an hour and a half ago stared confusedly at her, she suddenly remembered the dream she'd had earlier that night - or actually, not earlier, but exactly then. Only it hadn't been a dream at all.
"What?" asked the other her confusedly.
"It's just a dream," said the more recent Hermione, "Go back to sleep,"
The other her, exhausted, did. The time traveling Hermione climbed over her own sleeping form, slid out of bed and tried to figure out what to do.
She glanced at her watch. The other girls in the dorm would be waking up in half an hour - and if they saw two Hermione's in the room, her days at Hogwarts would be over. She could go back to the common room - but then the other girls would wonder how she'd gotten there so fast. She could go straight to breakfast, but that would raise some uneasy questions about why she was up so early when she'd gone to bed so late. Eventually, she decided to hide under her bed until the other her left to go back in time and get some more sleep, then crawl out and run down to breakfast.
She waited under the bed for about half an hour, but she couldn't keep her eyes opened. After all, she'd still only had about five hours of sleep.
This time what awakened her actually was Crookshanks. She tried to sit up, and clonked her head on the bed. "
What am I doing under the bed? She thought. Then the events of the morning started to come back to her. It couldn't be, she thought, I can't have been that stupid. She decided it must have all been a dream. She glanced at her watch - It was 8:50. She ran out of the room and towards the North Tower for Divination.
She climbed up the ladder at 8:58, and sat down next to Ron.
"Hello," he said to her, "Where were you at Breakfast?"
"I guess," Hermione mused, "I just didn't have the time,"

COM Prelude 2: Dukalb

You've all heard the story of how Magic came to the world, in the Dagger of Arconolia, and how the oceans churned, and the earth split, and the magic belts were created. And most of you probably know the story of how Fahren and her sister fought, and Fahren was expelled from the Citadel of Decorgio and led her people on a twelve year exodus to the forest of Virii. But this shoustory you have not heard. It takes place a few thousand years later, in that same forest.
Once upon a time, in the forest of Virii, there lived a fair elf maiden, with beautiful yellow hair. Now, for those of you less knowledgable in elf lore, yellow hair was the sign of the elven aristocracy among the elves of the citadel- among the children of Fahren, it is considered a curse, a reminder of the oppression they went to the woods to flee. So the girl was ostracized by her fellow elves, and when she came of age, she trained to become a ranger, spending her time defending nature, far from the disapproving looks of the other elves. One day, as she was patrolling the outskirts of the forest, she came upon a dwarf cutting down one of the trees.
This was exactly the situation she was trained to deal with, of course. She silently crept up behind him and poked the very tip of her javelin into his neck.
"Good afternoon, sir," she said, casually.
he jumped, nearly impaling himself on her weapon, then turned to face her.
"You are aware," she asked, "That logging in the forset of Virii is strictly forbidden?"
The dwarf looked frightened for a moment, but he quickly recovered his cool and launched into an elaborate explanation.
"YOu mean, I'm already in the forest of Virii?" he said, questioningly. "Well then, forgive me. I was under the impression it began some miles to the west,"
"You should have checked more thouroughly, then," said the elf maiden, "Though this is the outskirts of our land, you are still in Virii, and chopping down our trees is punishable by death,"
"Surely you would not punish me for that which I did not know I was doing?"asked the Dwarf, backing up away from the tree.
"I'll let you off this time," answered the elf, "But you'd do well to leave as soon as you can,"
For most this would have been enough, but this dwarf, an ambitious young entrapenuer, decided to push his luck one more step forward. After all, the trees of Virii are legendary for their lightweight but durable wood, and a single log would be worth it's weight in gold to an armorer.
"One more thing," he said to the woman, "It seems I've already made quite a dent in this tree trunk. Do you think it will survie?"
"Perhaps," she said, "With the minstrations of our Druids. There is a chance,"
"But not a large one," He said.
"No," she admitted, "Not a large one,"
"Then perhaps you should let me just finish it off," he said, "Seeing as I've come all this way and all. Otherwise I'd be losing quite a bit off of this whole deal - I mean, the time it took me to get out here, the price of my cart to transport the wood and the oxen to pull it, all of this was intended to make itself up when I chopped down a cart full of trees. But if this is one of the magic trees of Virii, well then one should be more than enough to make up my losses. So hows about this - I finish chopping this one tree, load it onto my cart, thne we forget the whole thing. Deal?"
The Ranger just looked at him, with a mixture of confusion and dismay. She couldn't believe a person could not only be this selfish and greedy, but also stupid enough to just admit his motives to her, a sworn protector of the forest. What an idiot, she thought.
"I was about to let you off the hook,"she said, drawing her sword and leveling it towards his head, "Thinking this an honest mistake. But you obviously have no respect for the trees of Virii, or for the gods you put them here. You don't deserve to live,"
"On the contrary," said the Dwarf, raising his axe to block her attack, "I have the utmost respect for the tree and the gods. That's why I want to use their gifts, instead of keeping anyone from having them,"
She pushed his axe out of the way with her sword, then kicked him in the face. Just in time, he ducked and rolled out of her way. She took the opportunity to draw her other sword.
"If you're type had their way," she said as he lifted his small axe to defend himself, "Ther'd be no trees left in this forest, and my people would have no where to live,"
"You think we're that stupid?" said the dwarf. "Look at all the forests that don't have your protection. Have we completely chopped them down yet?"
She pounced at him, swords drawn. He rolled out of the way again, and stood up.
"Obviously, it's a matter of supply and demand," he yelled as he tried to deflect the blows that fell from her swords with his axe, "If we cut down all the trees, we'd be out of business. Obviously, we'd work it out so there were always more of these things growing, and we'd plant new ones to replace them. The only differance would be that-"
He stopped talking because her sword had managed to chop the blade off of his axe. He was now holding a useless handle, two sword points poking into his neck.
She could have finished him then, but something about what he was saying intrigued her.
"Go on," she said, relaxing slightly, "But keep in mind I reserve the right to decapitate you,"
The dwarf was startled to be alive, and nervous as hell, but somehow he managed to keep his cool.
"Well," he said, "The way I see it, as long as you elves are protecting these trees with your lives, the wood will continue to be extremely valuable, and more and more people will come looking for it. Seems to me the best way to protect your forest would be to plant more of these trees elsewhere, thus increasing the supply and decreasing the value of your wood. You give me one seed, and I'll make sure that happens"
"And that you reap all the profits," she said.
"Or we could split them fifty/fifty if you like," he suggested, "I just didn't mention that plan cause I didn't think you'd be interested in it. Wood elves don't tend to care much about money, rangers even less so,"
A thought was now going through the elf maidens head. An evil thought to her, but probably a decent one to most of us. You see, having only become a ranger to get away from the other elves, she had never really been all that happy in the job. Now she was thinking she could go away from this place and live a much more comfortable life. And having never had more than the spartan accomodations of Wood Elf society, this is something that appealed to her.
She pulled her swords away from his neck and placed them back in their scabbards.
"We'll take the tree, and sell the wood," she said, "Then we'll use the profits to buy some land, and plant more of these trees there. We'll run the bussiness together, and split the profits evenly. Sound good?"
"Wonderful," said the dwarf. He looked down at the handle in his hand. "I'll need a new axe," he said.
She handed him one of her swords, then took out the other one and began chopping away at the other side of the tree. It felt good, to defy the elven authorities. She felt so rebellious - cutting down a sacred tree - and she loved the feeling. When the tree fell, they loaded it onto the ox cart and headed for a city to sell the wood.
They sold it for a good sum of money, bought a plot of land, and planted the young saplings in it. And as they waited for their fortune to grow, they fell in love, and built a nice house on the land. They got married and had a beautiful baby boy, whom they named Dukalb, after the Dwarf's father. All of this was on credit from investors who thought they'd be payed back in valuable Virii wood.
Of course, their plan eventually failed - it turns out it was the soil, not the trees themselves, that gave the wood it's special properties, and when they discovered they had been growing useless wood for five years they went into huge amounts of debt, and lived the rest of their lives in poverty. But that's a story for another time. What's important is the child, and maybe this insight into his parentage will help you to understand his actions a little better.

COM Prelude # 1: Ariadne

The bright red sun was setting over the desert as Ariadne finished loading up the camels. She had to work quickly - Jereck would want to leave as soon as the moon came up. Like most humans who lived in the badlands, he prefered to travel at night - sure, the risk of bandits increased, but everyone knew heat stroke killed more people than any outlaw or marauder.
In some respects, Ariadne was far from the perfect person for the camel-loading job. She was a house gnome (gnomus domesticus), and like most of her kind, stood only about 2' 11", short even compared to other types of gnomes. She was also quite young, at fourteen - the equivalent of a child of seven in human years. So, in order to load anything onto the ten foot camels, she had to climb the small portable staircase that had been constructed for that purpose.
Inconvenient as their stature is, in all other respects house gnomes are the perfect servants - they're strong, cheerful, hardy folk, and most importantly, they have the ability to derive happiness from anything. Once a house gnome has worked at an assigned task for a certain amount of time, he or she begans to believe that that task is the world's most enjoyable activity. After that it is very difficult to get him or her to do anything else.
And so, Ariadne was happy. The loading of her master's camels, and their unloading at each oasis, was to her the most supreme bliss - until she was asked to do something else, that is. As she loaded that last bundle onto the creatures back, she breathed a sigh of regret - this was the last time she would get to do that for several days.
As she climbed down the steps, her master emergewd from the small inn where he had been staying.
"Come, Ariadne," he said, "Let's get moving,"
Her master, Jereck, was a tall, slender man with a thin beard, who wore the flowing robes of a desert merchant. She had been traded to him by a party of goblins who had found her as an infant. It was a spot of luck for her that they'd happened upon him - they had been planning to eat her. He had been a good master, teaching her reading and writing, and even basic sums so she could do some bookkeeping for his shop, a job she loved nearly as much as loading camels. He would talk to her as they rode and, in most respects, he treated her as more like a daughter than a slave.
They were headed for Kamrock, a mining town inhabited mostly by dwarves. Dwarves liked beer, and these ones had diamonds they would be willing to trade for it. Luckily for Jereck, a towmn not two days away had a decent brewery, and was always willing to trade it's fruits for leather garments, which a tanner in a city three days from that imparted in exchange for grain. And so on, all throughout the badlands and briefly into the ogre lands, completing a circuit in about 8 months, then starting over again.
Ariadne was looking forward to returning to Kamrock - house gnomes still retain the gnomic love of jewels and precious metals, and she was no exception. She hoped Jereck would let her keep a small trinket. Thoughts of her new diamond necklace filled her head as they tied up the camels at the post outside the cave entrance.
Unfortunately, things were not right. The two guards at the mouth of Kamrock's cave entrance failed to give Jereck the traditional greeting. It didn't take him long to figure out the reason for this - one had had his head smashed in, the other was nowhere to be found. There was a lot of screaming from inside the cave. Ariadne recognized the harsh, gutteral tones of Dwarvish, but the other language was unfamiliar to her. It was loud, and sounded more like roaring sometimes than shouting.
"We're leaving," Jereck announced. He took Ariadne by the hand and turned back toward the exit. Then he froze, horrified.
Four hulking, blue-skinned ogres were standing around the camels. Each stood about 9 feet high, with long tusks curving out of their enormous jaws. They were rifling through Ariadne's carefully loaded and organized saddlebags, yelling at each other in their rough language.
Slowly, Jereck's head cleared enough for him to decide on a plan of action. He drew the curved scimitar at his side and walk purposefully towards the ogres. That's when the crossbow bolt hit him in the back.
Ariadne was confused. She knew she should be trying to save the store and her master, but didn't know what to do. As Jereck fell beside her, she dropped to the ground as well, thinking it the right thing to do.
"Run," wheezed Jereck, "Run towards Canderlass. They don't want you. Don't worry about me, save yourself,"
You never have to give a house gnome an order twice. With a look she bid farewell to her master, her camels, and her favorite jobs and ran out into the desert.
Oner of the Ogres saw her and made an attempt at pursuit, but he didn't get very far before his superior barked an order for him to come back - they had a city to loot, there was no time for chasing little gnome girls.
On into the night she ran, and into the sunrise the next morning, her Auburn hair playing against the bright red sun. She was tired, and very thirsty, but she knew stopping would do no good - Canderlass was the nearest Oasis, and it was a good days journey away. As she ran she began to wonder things- if she would ever see her master again, who her next master would be, or if she'd even have a new master - or die of heat exhaustion long before she reached Canderlass. After about six hours of running and wondering, she could run no more, and collapsed in the sand.
She woke up in an unfamiliar tent, on an unfamiliar cot, looking up into an unfamiliar face. She was a full-blood elf, with the thin, beautiful face associated with that race, and long, bright red hair.
"You're a very lucky little girl," she said, "If we hadn't stumbled on you when we did, you wold have died out there. My name's Emiletha, but you can call me Emmy,"
Emmy, it turned out, along with the other people in that camp, was a wytch- not a "bubble, bubble, toil and trouble," witch who lives in houses made of candy and eats German children, but a wytch with a y, one of the notrious Red Wytches, defenders of wo manhood throughout the badlands. And so Ariadne came to be their disciple. She didn't like it much at first, as there were no accounts to manage and no camels to load and unload, but intime she came to view combat as a sort of very complicated equation.
By the time she was fifteen, she was already a powerful warrior and a respected sorceress, and was chosen by Queen Tezra for a very important mission.

Question

Question for everyone: should I just keep writing and revise everything when I'm done, or should I revise chapter twelve now and post a hopefully more exciting version? Please give me feedback on this.
Now I will attempt to hone my skills with an irrelevant practice action sequence:

Mortimer looked down from his flying gazelle at the herd of attack Guinea pigs who were pursuing the Queen's 1967 Ford Turino. He knew she would not last very long if they caught up with her. He had to act. He urged the Gazelle forward. He could feel the wind on his back as he closed in on the guinea pigs. Suddenly, one of them caught sight of him. It squealed a blood-curtling squeal and jumped into the air. The other oversized rodents turned to face him, hunger burning in their eyes.
They all began to jump into the air. One of them grabbed the gazelle's hoof. His mount furiosly beat it's wings, trying to escape, but it was caught fast. Mortimer looked down at the ground moving below him. I wasn't that high up. He could probably survive the fall. Another guinea pig gabbed the gazelle's hoof. Under the combined weight it plummeted to the ground.
Mortimer jumped off it's back, drawing his peanut-butter-covered mace as he hit the ground. The sticky bludgeon felt heavy in his hand, and the smell of Jiffy (tm) mixed with the smell of blood in the air. Mort looked around. The gazelle was struggling to free it's legs while trying it's hardest to impale one of it's assailants. But the rest of the creatures were fast closing on the queen - and getting away from him. With one last glance at his embattled companion, he hoisted his peanut-buttery weapon into the air and ran towards the herd of guinea pigs.
He was running faster than he had ever run before. He could barely breathe now, but all he could think about was keeping those monsters from getting to the queen. Finally he closed on the guinea pig at the back of the pack. With a final burst of strength, he threw himself onto it's back.
The confused animal looked around, trying to identify it's attacker. At the same time the peanut butter was doing it's job - it's enticing smell had begun to lure the guinea pigs away from the queen. Turning away from their pursuit, they approached him, slowly, letting off low, menacing purrs. Seeing himself hopelessly out-numbered, Mortimer realized he had only one option. He removed the small, avacado shaped projectile from the top pocket of his vest and hurled it with all his might into the air.
As the avacado flew up, time seemed to slow. He could see each guinea pig breathing in and out. He could see exhaust slowly emerging from Her Majesty's tail pipe. And as the avacado reached the apex of it's flight, time stopped. The fruit opened up, and out stepped Franklin Pierce.
"Hello, Mr. Lima Bean," said the former president, with a snicker, "I see you've finally taken me up on my offer. I just hope your prepared to pay the price!"

So, give me specific feedback on that, and I will improve it accordingly. Then I will try to apply that knowledge to my story. Since it will entail many major action sequences in the near future, I felt this was a neccesary step.