First off, Beautiful People. This month (or rather for the month of June) we're to pick our own questions, whether they're questions from our own minds or something pulled from the BP archives. I chose to go the simpler path, and these questions are all from the April 2012 edition. And my Beautiful Person is Brice. Good, 'ole Bricentus Holloman.
I'm not exactly sure what Brice looks like, as he's not given me an exact character description. But I think he looks like this, or this is what I think he might look like after hours spent scouring google for pics...
A little young, yes, as Brice is supposed to be 19. And if I find a better picture of Brice, I'll share it. But you can suspend your disbelief and pretend that's Brice for now. :)
And now for the questions:
1. What is their favourite type of shoes? Something very sturdy, suitable for traveling, fighting, etc, but comfortable enough to not have to think about them being on his feet. So, boots.
2. Do they journal? Brice is not a big writer. He prefers action to words.
3. What’s their favorite animal? Hmm... I've never asked him. He's not too keen on dragons even though his best friend is. Horses have never been a favorite, either, and he positively hates cats. I'd have to go with a dog. Man's best friend. A faithful companion who would follow him into anything.
4. What does their average day look like? At the moment, get up, travel, eat, and go to bed. Brice thinks it a pretty boring regime.
5. Night owl or morning person? (Optional: What time do they usually wake up? Go to bed?) Evening. He can stay up without it having the least affect on him if he's excited. Brice doesn't like getting out of bed, unless it's to do something he enjoys, like eating or fighting. Mornings with an immediate promise of a meal or a pending melee find him bright eyed and out of bed before you can say astounding wingspan.
6. Do they have a sweet tooth? Yes, yes, and yes. Brice loves food. And the sweeter, the better!
7. What colors are their bedroom? The bedroom he left behind on the Vernadun Plains was built of logs as part of a small farm cabin. Right now, his bedroom consists of hard ground and open sky. What his bedroom looked like before Davin and Frendan took him in... ah, I won't say. :)
8. Can they cook? Nope. If Brice had to rely on his own talents to eat, he would starve. Very quickly.
9. What is their favorite household chore? When he lived on the farm with Davin, Brice enjoyed the quick, hearty business of chopping wood. Toilsome hours in the corn field bothered him.
10. Favorite kind of tea? No, tea! Brice detests it. As do I.
And now time for snippets!
These are all (obviously) taken from Children of a Legend, and everything was written last month as part of the June Crusade/Camp NaNoWriMo.
When Olhten pointed to a door ahead and informed them that it was the door to Master Bonsrat's classroom, Davin nearly sighed with relief. Please, Père, let us not be too late!
As he reached for door, Davin heard a sinister voice on the opposite side, hissing out in dark tones, “...of the impossible and dabbler in the unreal!”
Davin's heart constricted. No.
He flung open the door with as much strength as he could muster. The door crashed against the wall with a terrific noise and jerked every head in his direction. Students, sitting at desks, blinked as the light from the hallway poured into the darkened room and began moaning at the interruption. But Davin didn't pay them any mind. His eyes were fixed on the slumped figure at the front of the room, dressed in a shimmering, dark violet robe accented with red and gold trimmings. The leering face looked up as Davin entered the classroom, and Davin recognized it at once.
“You there! Boy!” The miracle man yelled, gesturing with his hands and making his robe flutter in a threatening way. “Close the door! We need an absence of light for this sort of magic! Join us if you want, but I must demand for some darkness!”
“Mal Sorcell!” Davin's voice thundered across the silent classroom and stilled every student tongue. Every person sat up straighter as Davin's words echoed through the room. He would have thought himself to be frightened of this man, but somehow his worry of Rayne being in danger conquered any slight feeling of fear he might have had. “Your magic is evil and it must stop!”
Mal Sorcell guffawed harshly. “And who are you, boy, to deny me my arts? I do them simply for the enjoyment of others.”
“You do them for the enjoyment and benefit of yourself, Mal Sorcell. No one save for your own black soul will profit anything from your chicanery and deceit.”
“Brice!” Davin darted towards his friend, Grant doing his best to stay right behind him.
The sandy haired boy didn't look hurt in any way, at least when Davin knelt beside him he could see no signs of blood, neither dried nor fresh. Brice was draped awkwardly across a pile of rubbish, his gangly arms and legs spread out at uncomfortable angles. But what worried Davin the most was the fact that Brice was unconscious.
“Grant, go see if you can find some water!”
His brother nodded once. “Right.” Then he was gone, running down the alley and back into the crowds on Zerfston Lane.
Davin set about to make Brice more comfortable. There wasn't much he could do there in the alley as everything was covered in decomposing rubbish and garbage. The smell of beer was very strong on Brice's breath, much to Davin's dismay. But thank you, Père, that he's breathing at all! Please let Grant find water! And soon!
Waiting was agony for Davin. There were so many questions crowding into his mind all at once that he was forced to push them all out, so he could focus on the task at hand. The questions would have to wait for later, no matter how desperately Davin wanted answers.
Davin nodded. “Brothers are a gift from Père. They are sometimes the best things that anyone could ask for, but you're right. There is a price. There's a giving up of oneself so that the brother may profit.”
Rayne smiled, her blue eyes warm. “And that price is called love. Grant hasn't learned to love yet, not in the way that our Creator means for us to love one another, and it's going to be difficult for him to accept that lesson, I think.”
“It will be difficult for us all.” Davin agreed.
Davin wasn't sure how it happened, but the two boys rounded a corner and found themselves on the uttermost western edge of West Delt. The only building between the town itself and the vast prairie stretching away toward the distant horizon was a large farmhouse, complete with an old barn. Chickens, scattered around the yard, clucked as they viewed Davin and Brice with ever bobbing heads. A horse whinnied from a dilapidated stall, and a goat knocked its head against the fence closing it in, demanding attention.
Just as Davin and Brice ran into the yard, a young girl bounded from around the edge of the barn. Her faded frock looked as if it had endured numberless washings and owners before her, but the smile and cheerful braid wrapped around her head informed the watchful eye she was not concerned with her shabby appearance. She stopped dead in her tracks when she caught sight of the two boys.
Davin's thoughts raced. There was no turning back now. Can she be relied upon to help us? Or will she turn us in? What if she and all of West Delt are sympathetic to Vernd and his crimes?
Despite his misgivings, Davin decided to trust her. “Can you please help us? My friend is ill, and we desperately need somewhere to hide.”
Lord Vernd paced the length of his study, his black robes billowing out behind him due to the speed of his pace. Sir Gimnder watched in silence, fearful to say anything that would annoy or, worse, anger the lord. In times like this, it was better to let everything but the most important things go unsaid. And Gimnder presently had nothing to say that Vernd would consider important.
“Has there been any news?” Vernd abruptly demanded, his request having been the same for the last five hours.
“None, my lord.” Sir Gimnder replied quickly.
Vernd cursed under his breath. “Krunnerus is not fit to wash pigs. How did I allow him on this mission? Fool that I am! He will ruin everything!”
He stopped before the large fireplace and gripped the mantle with both hands, staring unwaveringly into the fire, as was his habit. The servants had cleared the mantelpiece of all glass vases as every one they had placed there fell to innumerable shards beneath Vernd's violent hands.