The twins' dilemma

I love how one of the twins (Alphonse) throws a fit about how it doesn't matter to Selah which is which-- and then I promptly wonder if I shouldn't change that scene around to his brother.
Albert IS more violent, more prone to an explosion -- or is he? He's very muted, lot of teenage rage (about Pix, and his dad's infidelity) that comes out in violence. Physical, not yelling. Words are a waste of time, and he was a bit of a slow learner, never good at pronounciation and speaking loudly.
--Whereas Alphonse likes dogs, speaks in complete sentences, pays attention to things. But would he explode with words? I think so. Words are his weapon of choice, since he is no good with physical violence.
What brought this out in them? Tomas is... like Fyodor. Both twins have a mix of respect and disgust, respectively. Albert wants to ignore him, Alphonse wants to be noticed.

SheNANigans

Okay, so this has only a little to do with Ire, but I was looking for castle dog kennels reference and found THIS GUY:
http://www.homearchitects.com/castle-home-architect

I did not know these people even existed. Holy crap.

Landria outsources its taxes!

Okay. So the guards are being paid by the castle, because that is who they are paidto guard. But their loyalty is not high. So, they must not be paid MUCH. But they are being paid, by Ire, which means by definition that some kind of tax collection must be going on.
But who is collecting taxes?
Was it the Britacan troops (implementation) and when the Lions drove them off, they drove off the primary money-making operation of the castle, which would leave Ire unable to finance anything, which would mean that things go into disrepair and the people's minds turn to rebellion?
Or was it one, primary, murder that may be entirely unrelated to the taxes themselves (maybe a Britacan soldier was dabbling about with too many men's wives and they put an end to him -- and they realized this was a good way of getting rid of the tax collectors -- and thus the Lions were born. Naturally xenophobic, but thanks to an innate guilt and a knowledge that the Britacans technically owned Landria, they displace it to Peterny. They have the Destroyers' premise to work on there.)
So, it started with a murder, and turned into driving off the Britacans. The middleman system of "we collect the money, take it home, take our tribute, then send some back" sounds about right, and fits the Britacan mentality. Okay.
Now, the thing is, Ire's statement about "forgetting to pay the Britacan tribute" needs to be fixed, because you can't forget something you don't have to remember.
My battery is dying. That's bad.
But the GUARDS. Are aware that Britaca's troops are gone. And they're worried. Looting the castle is the only thing they can think of to keep their paychecks and families semi-balanced and why risk going up against the peasants, who have already decided there are "loyalists" who have to be destroyed? Better to lock the doors and pre-loot the castle.
This, obviously, didn't work.

Selah as Child?

I want to make a sort of major change, and that is in Selah's character. I don't want to put the event (Child) a long time ago, lost in antiquity. I want Selah to be the Child, the one who ended Peterny's civil war.
Pros:
It was ten years ago.
Cons:
It was ten years ago. It's still clearly in the public memory, and it makes it Cor's problem. It might have happened around the same time as Garlanda's death. Matthard, though he claims innocence of age, is less a participant than Selah. But, I kind of like that what they did as children affects where they are now.

Here's how it would read, in dialogue form, from Selah to Matthard:

"We were living in Plock when it was invaded, ten years ago. I was ten, eleven when we moved to a camp outside the capital. A place for new 'Peternians' the king didn't want running down to Landria for help. We were to the north of the city, so we would have to go through it to run south. We also met the Northerners preparing to seige the city. You do know about the famine, I hope?"
"The most embarrassing, selfish part of the story? Yes, I think I've got that down."
"They told us about everything. Informally took over the camp, since most of the guards were won over by their stories. After four days of watching them prepare for a futile, bloody battle, I left. Walked twenty miles to the capital city. When I got there, they must have thought me a Northerner, given all the cooing and feeding. Later, they told the Notherners I had moved their pity. The war was stopped and negotiations began."
"And Landria had some mysterious interest in that?"
"The war kept Peterny busy. Britaca didn't mind it either. There were even special factions within Peterny that were outraged at the war's ending so soon. They sent mercenaries after political officials, the king, and us. We fled south after six months. Landria is safe. It used to be said that the king was the only one happy to see us."
"But that was ten years ago. You've had a change of-- oh. Right."
"Now, we stay 'Peternian' to keep paranoia alive and the border closed."

So....
I think it adds to Selah's character.

Poisoning rationale.

Yes, I'm working on it again. This is my reasoning for why the poison works more the second time around. I'm hoping it's believable.

Oh, and

---

Okay, so Ire is being poisoned, Selah discovers the poison by feeding it to the dogs ne Alphonse. But what kind of poison is it? Is it believable that it's the same kind of poison when last time it was used, the effect was immediate and incapacitating? why did Ire go back to Vivi's this time?

Okay, um, well, the poison is new, made of different herbs, and slightly less potent than before. Why? Why not use the same kind of poison? No- perhaps, Ire's immunity isn't as built up as it was before, because he's still tense, not in the best of physical shape, and hasn't been eating much. Okay. That's believable. He's not in the best of shape, so the poison had more of an effect, though still not fatal. The visit to the hospital was to get a safe place to get food and vitamins, or whatever the equivilant is. Ire is, actually, stressed, so the poison was the last straw.

Vivi has strengthening herbs, that kind of thing, so it's safest to go there. Plus, it's safe. However, he does have to get there, without staggering through the streets. There can't be a window, because his room is on the second floor. He slips out of the back door of the castle, secret staircase (or was that Tern's castle?) and can steal through the cow track to the back door of the hospital. He's done this before, often.

So, we have a viable escape plan, a reasonable reason why he isn't dead, but it's the same poison. But, okay, he shook off the effects the first time around easily. This time -- this time it takes longer. Okay. Um. But. Why would Quinton use the same kind of poison?

Because most are banned, and he figures that Ire won't be expecting Selah to bring him poisoned food. Kay.

Er. Is that it?

Long and short: Ire was affected only a little by the first round of poison because a) he had the antidote on hand, and b) he was in good physical condition, despite mental stress. The second round, he was more affected because a) he didn't have the antidote immediately on hand (but close AT hand, since he was in his room, and b) he was in poor physical condition from eating little, travelling to the hospital each night, and the general stress of campaigning.

Gear up, suit up, get moving, third rewrite, final style, all plot things ironed out all systems are GOGOGO, need to get something concrete done.
Scene list, check.
Motivations, check.
Comfortability with plot, just say CHECK.
If I don't go through with it, I'll have killed another plot just because I got bored, it's a good idea, a good idea.
Funny is good.
In the zone, not... quite... check...
Start, just power up the engine and go.

The king had to die.
Four words and you can begin an epic.

amusing bit

The library was full of books unpublished in Peterny, detailing the histories of Britaca’s tributaries, the Ten Castles – eight, since Peterny had taken over Plock and Worster within two years of their creation. Matthard tried to read them, but too many of the books were on people killing one another, horrible betrayals, complicated politics, and he gave up after the third beheading, deciding that Plock and Worster had been lucky to be invaded while there was still hope for their civilians. Landria had started off with a good king in Macleese and so had some of the other Castles, but most were ruled by corrupt or insane officials.
Treburn fared worst, with a king who had decided to marry a duck and appoint a family of swans as his chief executioner, treasurer, and royal advisors. Britaca had wisely avoided confronting him, probably because their last messenger had returned covered in beak bites.
That, unfortunately, had been the most entertaining part of the book Matthard had tried to read. Everything after that was beheadings and Matthard had trouble enjoying those. He tried talking to Ire, but the younger man was deeply involved in his reading, surfacing only when Matthard asked where the privy bucket was, or if they could yell at the peasants in line from here. He ignored all questions about the election and Matthard decided that was a telling ignorance.
“If I win, what will you do?” he asked. In the past hour, he had adopted the phrase ‘if I win,’ though he didn’t particularly want to think about what would happen if he did.
“Oh, clap, I suppose,” Ire said distantly, turning a page.
“Any special services? Ceremonies?”
“I suspect we’ll elect you with a funny circular hat and people will swear their swords and services and codpieces at you.”
“I think that’s for kings.”
“Is it? I’ve never known the difference.” Another page turn. Ire was a suspiciously fast reader.

Beaches

Late one night, Matthard lay awake in the darkness of the palace. Selah slept near to him, unaware, and he didn't really want to wake her, but the air was so cold.
"Selah?"
She groaned quietly, as she did whenever he spoke her name into the darkness, but she responded and that was something. It had always been something and something had been enough.
"Have you ever been to the sea?" he asked. Now the groan had something of weariness to it.
"No. No, I haven't."
"Could we arrange a trip there?"
"Why, love? Why do we need to go to the sea?"
"Because I went there once. There were seagulls and salt in the air and you could watch ships sailing past without having to worry about unloading them or getting the shipment on time. Habbard has a nice port but even farther north, like the Meridian Straits. They have wonderful beaches."
"Maybe. For now, sleep."
He let her turn over, watching the curve of her shoulder and when he was certain she was almost asleep again, he brushed it with his fingers.
"Can we go in the morning?"

Write or Die goal

AHAHAAAAAAA!
Now I should edit it.

Today's goal - hit at 1941

HA!
I hit my goal and a single-spaced page beyond.
And wow, working on paper, then retyping, works well for me. I've got some awesome details that work well.
I'm like... excited. It's not amazing all the time, but 1,700 is a good daily WC and by the time I slog to 1,700, I'm warmed up, getting in there. Writing.
I just wish I could do it a little faster. =)
I still think Matthard should GIVE Selah the amulet at some point. Here's the snippet I put on AA's LJ.
It's got errors I'm sure. But I want to believe in this story. I think it has the most solid plot since... well, Painting the Match Girl. And I like Ire's pride, Matthard's attempts, and Selah being just... enigmatic. I don't know her well yet. I have to believe in it, even with the skill of the things I read. It may not be the best, but it teaches me and that's all I can do.

By the time Matthard had made it to the meeting place, the lights had gone and so had Ire. It wasn’t until the next morning that he met with the younger man, over breakfast as it turned out.

“Now that you’ve set lateness as a precedent, I can indulge in all my vices,” Ire said, gesturing at the laden breakfast table. Though Matthard had learned Landrians ate small breakfasts and made up for it in various snacks throughout the day, the table was stacked with porridge, eggs, flaked bread, and a jam Matthard couldn’t identify but smelled regal. Was Ire’s vice gluttony? Matthard wondered as he picked up one of the two plates. But no, the younger man was just waiting for him, hands free of plate and food.

“Fill your plate and follow me. We work and eat.”

“You aren’t eating?”

“I might take some from your plate later. Move, we don’t have much time.”

Matthard obediently began loading his place, though he had the unsettling feeling that he was being watched. When he chanced a glance upwards, he saw the cook—it had to be the cook, normal people didn’t have eyes like that—glaring at him from the doorway.

“You make sure he eats,” she said sourly. “I made enough for two.”

“Thank you,” Matthard said, mentally disagreeing. She had made enough for five and Ire had chosen today to be picky. He stocked his plate with enough food that it would be like eating at home only not, as it would seem, at a table. They left the dining room and headed to a branch of the hall Matthard had assumed led only to the gazebo in the courtyard.

Ire unlocked one of the doors and lifted the heavy wooden bolt, setting it to one side. He then took an unlit torch from a holster in the wall.

“It will get dark once we’re inside,” he warned. “Don’t trip.”

It was pleasant of Ire to warn him, Matthard decided as they entered and Ire shut the door. It was, as advertised, dark and the younger man brushed past him.

“I don’t want egg running down the back of my neck when you fall,” he muttered.

“You don’t have many friends, do you.”

“Vivi and I are friends,” Ire said simply and lit the torch. There were no haunted stairs leading down into a hellish dungeon, which all the castles in stories seemed to have. The torchlight flickered against a barren stone corridor with a dirt floor. It was undecorated except for unlit torches holstered in the wall, their number continuing down into the darkness of the end of the hall, where Ire’s torch didn’t reach.

“There are windows and vents, so don’t worry about the smoke,” Ire said, starting down the corridor.

“Glad you thought of that.”

“Are you angry with me?” The younger man asked, sounding bemused. “I made you breakfast and everything.”

“After I asked you to a meeting and didn’t show up.”

“Perhaps I had that coming,” Ire said, lifting the torch higher to navigate a series of turns in the route. Matthard wished he hadn’t— now he could see the webs of spiders that could eat a mouse.

the goal today

Goal for today?
Get to the beginning of the Ire scene. I really like that transition.
But I get to do Selah/Matthard cuteness. SO I WILL GET ON THE BALL.

Here's what I have so far, and will probably edit as I write:

It had been hours since anyone had seen Matthard, so Selah went to search for him in the darkness of the city, armed with a knife that could, with the right amount of sawing and grating, cut meat. It gleamed in the moonlight though, and that was all it needed to do.

But Matthard wasn’t at the hospital, the first place she checked. He wasn’t lost in the marketplace and he wasn’t at the latrine ditch. She paused, upwind of the ditch, and looked hopelessly at the broad fields of grass that were waving their bright heads in the moonlight.

It felt like she was standing on the moon itself, alone and suspended with a space of silence hanging around her.

“Selah?” asked the field, as if it weren’t quite sure. She fumbled the knife into position, dropped it, and the blade dropped shining into the dark earth.

“Matthard?” she asked, belatedly recognizing the voice. A head poked up from above the field like a dwarf coming up from the mines, gold-eyed. Matthard looked so excited she struggled not to laugh. That would only encourage him.

She could see the signs of his travel now, the line of bent grass and moved stalks that led to where he sat, body cloaked by the yellowed grass.

I smell food. Should make food.

Applied to jobs at General Physics and Amazon. Yay. That food smell is really strong.

hm

Write.
Write write write and drabble about it. Later.
Howl and Ire and Michael and Tern would get along. Maybe.
I can feel my style shifting and that's semi-annoying and semi-pleasant, since I know it gets better when I do...

phoo

Now-now I just want to share the story.
Damn.

Not willing to cut

I like this bit SO MUCH.
Don't make me cut it. :'(

"At the moment, Ire almost looked like he’d been dragged through the profanities of either excrement, the underworld, or both. He barely resembled the Ire Matthard conferred with the day before. When dressed in peasant brown and sporting a distinct lack of hygienic care, he looked—

Well, he looked out of place. There were some things even cunning and knowledge that bordered on the psychic couldn’t overcome.

Ire’s natural poise was one of them.

“You look like a nobleman slumming it.” Matthard noticed. Ire scowled, the action making him look just the tiniest bit more peasant-ish. If you were scowling, it meant that something was wrong in your life, which was intrinsically peasant-ish.

But on Ire, it looked like someone had picked out the wrong pair of shoes for him.

“That’s what Selah wasn’t telling me. I thought so.”

“You’ve tried well, it’s just… your stance.” Matthard leaned back on one leg, fingering the stubble that he hadn’t had the time nor razor to shave.

“What about it?”

“If you were trying to say that the world owes you something nonverbally, consider it done.”

“Peasant attitude is surprisingly hard to imitate,” Ire commented, his eyes tracing from Matthard’s face down to the heavily mutilated bundle of papers Matthard had been wringing the ink out of only minutes before. “Are those your notes?”

Selah cannot be a foreign foreigner. She is from a Castle that used to exist just north of Landria and her great grandmother once assisted in delivering a message of peace to end the civil war between Southern and Northern Peterny. She does not resent Abigail for this, merely is annoyed by how often it is used as a weapon against their family.

She is not physically very different, it is simply the trends in her family that run against the norm -- dark curly hair, kept long, sharp nose, modest clothing.

In comparison, Viviane's straight blonde hair, kept as short as is appropriate for her work, is comfortable wearing less constricting and occasionally more seductive, off the shoulder outfits. Quinton appreciates this, and rejects Selah because she is more straitlaced.

--

Rigoletto is a lovely musical. I should buy the soundtrack.

Of meetings

Problem: When do Ire and Quinton meet each other?

Quinton has to meet Ire before Ire can exhibit any signs of poisoning, otherwise it is an anachronism. This will have been the second time Ire has been poisoned in as many weeks. This will probably make him weaker, physically, and may necessitate his disappearing for a day or two.

They should meet, ideally, just before or during the public speaking so it will be easy for Quinton to recognize Ire. His first action will be to catch Selah and tamper with the food. This will require that Ire takes food from Selah, which means he needs to be doing something else.

Phooey.

Quinton also needs to have a good reason not to become president (oh, like, PROPOSING TO VIVIANE? =3).

Celebrate

I figured out what to do about the whole "why Landria has to have an election with two contestants" thing!
And it sounds SMART and IRE-ish, which means I feel smart.
Yays.