Loquacious Dragons & Quizzical Aliens

A Royal Visit

2009-09-09T20:44:00.012-05:00

Gentle sound of water falling, soft rustle of leaves in evening breeze, muffled conversation as chairs are arranged and their occupants settle.

[Gideon] “Good evening, and welcome to all our Earthbound listeners, as well as those who may be joining us from afar. We’ve been away for a while, off on a rather long summer hiatus, but I’m pleased to say we’re starting our new season with an especially—ah, here she comes! As I was saying, we’re honored to have Princess Shaila with us today, all the way from the Kingdom of Ambistron in the Land of Isoladia. Welcome, your Highness, to my humble home. The Princess has lately been on a quest to---Alwynn’s Fire, your Highness! What happened to you?”

Squishy footsteps end in a damp plop into chair and heartfelt sigh.

[Shaila] “I’m so sorry for my appearance, Sir Gideon. These clothes were clean and presentable when I started, but I didn’t anticipate ending up in Galvistor’s gullet.”

[Gideon] “Galvistor did this?”

[Shaila] “Well, he—oh, scales!” More squishy sounds as Shaila shifts in her chair, then a splat as she shakes digestive goop off her hand. “Do you have a towel I could—?”

[Gideon] “Of course. My assistant will get one from the cabana.”

Squeak of chair followed by padding footsteps retreating across the patio.

[Gideon] “That dragon needs to exercise self-control around his food. Thank Alwynn he didn’t digest you.”

[Shaila] “Goodness, no! He wasn’t trying to eat me, but he had to swallow me. We had to set down so I could—well, I needed to answer a call of nature, and when I was—”

[Gideon] “Or maybe he needs some kind of intervention. Is there a Cesar Millan for very large reptiles? Some kind of Dragon Whisperer?”

Footsteps return.

[Shaila] “For Gansur’s sake, Sir Gideon! If you’ll allow me a few words I’ll explain. Oh—a towel. Thank you so much, Mistress-?”

[Gideon] “This is my assistant – you may have heard Galvistor refer to her as the Wikipedia Addict. Thank you, sweetheart. Why don’t you have a seat and start your notes?” Chair squeaks again, click of laptop keys. “It’s not Sir Gideon, .your Highness. Just call me Gideon. I’m sorry I interrupted you. Did I understand correctly? You wanted Galvistor to swallow you?”

[Shaila] “Gansur, I’m going to have to wash my hair again…” Sound of fingers squeaking over gooey hair, and another splat as more slime is pulled off and flung away. “It’s been so long since he’s carried me that way, I had almost managed to forget how disgusting the consequences can be.”

[Gideon] Quick intake of breath as several more glutinous plops ensue. Twin chair scrapes as both alien and typist inch chairs further away. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

[Shaila] “That’s a lovely pond. Would it be all right if I took a quick wash to clean this off?”

[Gideon] “It’s a swimming pool. I don’t think it would survi—er, be suitable for such an honored guest. Would you like to use the shower in the cabana instead?”

[Shaila] “Shower?”

[Gideon] “Of course, it’s…ah. I see. No showers in Isoladia. Well, think of it as kind of controlled waterfall. Hot with plenty of soap if you want to—”

[Shaila] “Soap? That would be perfect! A hot waterfall? Where is it?”

[Gideon] To Wikipedia addict. “Why don’t you show the Princess how to manage things in the cabana? Then ask the housekeeper to put her clothes in the washer and bring her something to wear until her own are clean.”

[Shaila] “That’s so kind of you. It will be much easier to talk when I’m less gooey.” Chairs scrape back as the two women rise.

[Gideon] “I meant to ask -- where is the Dragon?”

[Shaila] “He said something about having a craving for shellfish and took off right after gagging me up. It was a long flight and he has quite an appetite.”

[Gideon] Laughs. “So I’ve noticed. Please, don’t let me keep you.”

Sound of footfalls retreating, one set squishy.

[Shaila] Voice fading as they walk away. “Did I hear your master correctly? Put my clothes in the washer? Does she swallow them…?”

A half hour later…

[Gideon] “Welcome back, Princess. Please sit – I had the chairs wiped down while you were gone. You look much more comfortable. I take it you had no problems with the facilities?”

[Shaila] “It was marvelous! So much nicer than pouring water over yourself in the bath. Breedyn—my husband—must build something like that for our chamber. And the clothes—I love these pants. I used to fight with my father, King Harrimore, about wearing pants in order to ride Galvistor. It’s not something easily done in a flouncy dress.”

[Gideon] “I can only imagine. And the jeans are very attractive on you, as well as the T-shirt. But the towel…” Squeak of chair as he turns toward Wikipedia Addict. “Didn’t you show her how the hair dryer works?”

[Wikipedia Addict] “Yes, sir. But she didn’t like the noise.”

[Gideon] “Ah.” Clink of glassware. “Princess, I thought you might like something to drink. Would you care for iced tea?”

[Shaila] “Ice! You must have an excellent basement to keep ice in the heat.” Sips. “Very good. Thank you. I hope whichever servant’s ‘jeans’ and shirt I’m wearing won’t mind my use of them.”

[Gideon] “Oh, no, those don’t belong to my employees. The shirt is Hannah’s. She’s…well, let’s just say it’s a relationship in transition.”

[Shaila] “Her people must be very brave to wear their heraldic motto so boldly in your presence.”

[Wikipedia Addict] Snickers. “She’s wearing the shirt that says ‘Aliens Don’t Scare Me, I’m a Texan’ on the back.”

[Gideon] Dryly. “Hanna has a unique sense of humor. But enough of my world. You never did tell me why Galvistor took it on himself to swallow you.”

[Shaila] “That’s right. You thought he was trying to eat me. First of all, you should know it is a Dragon Law, a primary law at that, which dictates they do not digest a species of equitable intellect.”

[Gideon] “Yes, I remember something about that.” Pause. “Although I think he had some questions at the time as to what constituted ‘equitable’.”

[Shaila] “The mere thought of eating a person would gag Galvistor! I offered myself to such a scheme once, and he was appalled.”

[Gideon] “You must have been very upset to consider such a thing.”

[Shaila] “I was, and I was very young and self-centered. I wanted my way and would have it, and knew Galvistor would only take me seriously if I tried to force him to swallow me. Not just swallow me, you understand, but eat me. Digest me. Of course, he wouldn’t and in the end I got my way. But…that was a while back. As I was trying to say earlier about my current condition, we stopped so I could take care of personal business and before I could remount Galvistor, a Gryphon came out of nowhere. There was no time for niceties and Galvistor had to swallow me so he could handle the situation. He couldn’t flame, of course, not with me inside, so he had to out-fly the beast. We were already late for this meeting, so he simply brought me via his gullet.”

[Gideon] “I’ll concede it was an emergency. But whatever the reason, you must admit it is a bizarre method of travel.”

[Shaila] “Bizarre? I’ve never thought about it. Messy, yes. And dangerous if one is inside too long—not enough air, you see—but it’s something Dragons can do. And it’s proven quite effective when necessary. I’m surprised, considering you aren’t human, that you would find any form of travel bizarre.”

[Gideon] “You have a point. Is ‘gullet travel’ common in Isoladia?

[Shaila] “I guess just the Royals use the method, now that I think on it. Dragons don’t interact with commoners all that much, other than the ones who are part of the various courts. Dragons are very long-lived, you see, and before the Veil faded, when Isoladia was still cut off from the rest of the world, they produced very few young. A natural balance, Galvistor says.”

[Gideon] “Perfectly understandable. My own species has evolved with similar limitations.”

[Shaila] “His exact words, if I recall, were that Dragons reacted to prevent their territorial natures from overlapping in a finite space. That one took me a while to understand. He always uses large words, I’m afraid. Anyway, now, with the Veil gone, they are able to expand outward. I’m told there are more eggs being laid because the former boundaries have been removed. A wonderful circumstance, I think. Dragons are marvelous creatures. There should be more of them.”

[Gideon] “Not in Houston, I hope. We already have enough traffic.” Silence. “A joke, Princess. The nearest human city to us is rather crowded, and I’ve noticed a Dragon takes up a great deal of space. Galveston seemed to have difficulty controlling his bulk, not to mention his tail.”

[Shaila] “True enough. Except for one small area, my father has banned any of them from landing in our garden. Galvistor has cropped more bushes and trees than I can remember. He can be quite intimidating even when he doesn’t mean to be.”

[Gideon] “So I’ve experienced. That small hedge behind you used to be a great deal taller.”

[Shaila] “I’m curious. Since you don’t have Dragons and I’ve seen no evidence of a stable or horses, how do you travel about? Galvistor said your, uh, body, is only temporary. He said you are really just a very bright light, although he has been known to exaggerate. Do you just, well, float from place to place?”

[Gideon] “When I’m in my energy form, yes. But I most often stay in my human form. Much less disconcerting to the neighbors. The people of Earth have a number of machines to provide transportation by air, water, or land. Forgive me, but from your limited experience with plumbing, would I be correct in assuming technology is not a focus of the Isoladian people?”

[Shaila] “I don’t understand either word, sir. Plumbing? Tech—tech—?”

[Gideon] “Technology. Plumbing refers to the piping involved in channeling water from place to place, as required for the shower and toi—never mind. I think you just answered the question regarding technology. Your world is obviously at a less advanced stage.”

[Shaila] “Why, we are quite advanced! Breedyn, himself, helped redesign our castle to a more battle-worthy condition. Our weaponry is as good as that in any other Kingdom!”

[Gideon] “Fascinating. Then yours is more a medieval society.”

[Shaila] “Medieval? That sounds somewhat…mid-something. Are you insulting me, sir?”

[Gideon] “Absolutely no insult meant, Princess. It’s merely a reference to a society without advanced, well, technology. That is, equipment. Machinery. Expertise in—well, let’s move beyond that. I hope you don’t mind if I turn our conversation specifically to your own life. Much of our audience is fascinated with royalty, and I know they’d like to hear a bit about what it's like to be the Princess. For instance, during one of our recent visits with Galvistor, he mentioned the events leading up to your marriage.”

[Shaila] Pause. “Did he? Exactly what did he mention?”

[Gideon] “Something about a certain amount of drinking, followed by a song-fest?”

Typing stops abruptly as Wikipedia Addict dissolves in a fit of coughing.

[Shaila] “I see. Actually, I know little of the circumstances. That was between him and Breedyn. They were—well, they were enjoying a bit of my father’s Zacra, a potent brew that I don’t indulge in. It goes to the head very fast, and Galvistor does like to drink and sing. But Breedyn isn’t- wasn’t used to the Zacra, so naturally I went to see what they were up to…Galvistor didn’t discuss my part in the situation, did he?”

[Gideon] “Well…he might have mentioned something about your future husband falling on your—”

Very loud coughing by Wikipedia Addict.

[Gideon] “—but I probably misunderstood. He was inebriated when he spoke of it.”

[Shaila] Disapproving. “A condition he suffers all too often.” Clears her throat. “Whatever Galvistor told you was, I am sure, an exaggeration. There was drinking and singing, and Breedyn did fall on me. By accident. But there was nothing extraordinary about it. We did marry shortly after, but I assure you there was no- no impropriety. None whatsoever.”

[Gideon] “Naturally. One would never imply a princ—”

[Shaila] “Just because my father had some plan laid out for our nuptials doesn’t mean that I was involved.”

[Gideon] “I’m certain you weren't.”

[Shaila] Agitated. “Although it was important that we find a man who could handle the changes coming once our separate worlds came in contact, it’s not as if I needed to trap a man.” Chair squeaks as she rises. “Very well, Breedyn did once accuse me of—”

[Wikipedia Addict] “Uh, sir, perhaps we should take a break. Maybe have some refreshments? Why don’t I run into the kitchen and see if your chef has, um, chips and dip, or something. Or maybe some fruit?”

[Gideon] “Excellent idea, sweetheart. Ah, Princess—”

[Shaila] Pacing. “I have to have a talk with that Dragon about his loose tongue and—”

[Gideon] “Let's get something to distr—that is, something to nibble on while we talk. You must be hungry after that flight.”

[Shaila] Stops abruptly. “Did you say 'chips and dip'? Do you mean wood chips? Cow chips? Do you eat such things?”

[Gideon] “Trust me, these come from potatoes or corn. And fruit is—well, I suppose you do have fruit where you come from. Afterwards, you can tell me more about your world."

[Wikipedia Addict] Clears throat. "Maybe she might like to hear about your people, sir?”

[Shaila] “Fruit would be nice…and yes, I would like to hear more about you and your people, Sir Gideon. My life, after all, is rather ordinary. The Veil is gone, and for better or worse, Breedyn’s world and mine have blended. The Dragons are a bit more aggressive than they used to be, but still basically civilized. They help us contend with the monsters that seemed to have awakened after the Veil faded—oh, it’s all quite ordinary. Really. And besides, the details are in the book, should one choose to learn more about me and mine.”

[Gideon] “Which would be The Dragon's Veil of course, soon to be followed by The Dragon's Vision. Shall we adjourn to the house, then? I’d be more than happy to show you my own little corner of Earth. It belonged to my mentor before I was born, which was about a hundred and fifty years ago, when…”

Voices fade out along with two sets of footsteps. Laptop keys continue to click.

[Wikipedia Addict] Typing. "Note to the audience," Muttering. "Darn it, I probably should have mentioned it to my boss before she got here." Louder. "Well, if you want interesting details on 'gullet travel', Galvistor wrote about it in one of his earlier blogs. Look it up at http://www.thewritingdragon.blogspot.com in the archives."

Laptop clicks shut, footsteps scurry to catch up.

An Interview with Sir Cameron MacLeod from "A Highlander For Christmas"

2009-04-01T11:23:00.011-05:00

Sounds of waves crashing against rocks, somewhat distant. Gulls screaming. Wind rushing around rocks, through nearby brush. Approach of thudding dragon footfalls, which stop abruptly. Two sets of human and one set of alien footfalls stop equally as abruptly, simultaneous with muttered swearing in three different languages as all avoid slamming into dragon.

[Galvistor] “Ha! An excellent choice of an interview spot/place/location! Feels much like this when I’m flying—hard wind snaking over my scales. Why I—”

[Cameron] Sound of palms hastily covering ears. “Ack! Ye’ve nay need to shout! Me hearing is perfectly sound.”

[Galvistor] Offended pause. “But I’m not shouting, old man. Human. Uh, chief, if you will. This is my normal manner of speech! Dialogue. Conversation.”

Snap of hinges as chairs are placed on sand.

[Gideon] “Here, my dear, sit there with the laptop. It’s a bit out of the wind. Sir MacLeod? I’ve got a seat for you, right here by me. Galvistor will lounge…well, wherever he wants to. Please don’t take offense at his speech. His voice just fits his size. Like…a foghorn suits a lighthouse. You do have lighthouses where you come from?”

[Cameron] “Nay, we light huge fires much like pyres on headlands.”

[Gideon] “Really? Sounds remarkably labor-intensive. But how do you--”

Loud, feminine clearing of throat.

[Gideon] “Ah, you’re right, sweetheart. First things first. Welcome back, readers. Tonight Galvistor and I have a special guest, Sir Cameron MacLeod, who is taking time out from his fascinating adventures to visit with us. Sir MacLeod, you’ve met Galvistor and me, of course, but may I introduce our assistant? She’s an essential part of our team and--”

[Galvistor] Snorts. “Devoted to that nuisance of a computer she’s forever pounding at, which is why she’s known as the Wikipedia Addict. But she’s somewhat useful/practical/functional, one supposes, since I most obviously cannot be expected to be secretarial due to my stupendous and elegant claws.” Sound of claws clicking together to emphasize sharpness.

[Gideon] “And I’m afraid I’ve never felt the need to learn to type. One can always find staff too…ah.” Embarrassed pause. “I didn’t mean it quite like that, sweetheart. Don’t pout. Uh, why don’t you help us out by describing our guest? I’m sure our readers would like a feminine viewpoint.”

[Wikipedia Addict] Sniff, then creak of chair as it’s adjusted for a better view. “Sir Cameron MacLeod has black hair and blue eyes. Um, really, really blue eyes. I mean, they’re vivid and so-so-”

Loud dragon snort.

[Wikipedia Addict] “Oh, um, yes, well, he’s wearing a pair of all-weather hiking boots, jeans and a very nice sweater which fits him…really nice, because he’s got a…um, I mean a really well built…um, you’re more than six feet tall aren’t you, Sir Muscular? I mean, Sir MacLeod?”

[Gideon] Muffled snicker. “Thank you, dear, we’ll take it from here. You’d best start recording the interview.”

Huffy pause, then rapid clicking of laptop keys.

[Gideon] “You’re around six-four and about two-twenty, aren’t you, MacLeod? And it is a fine sweater. I’m fond of well-made clothes myself.”

[Cameron] “They’re well made to be sure, and something Claire insists upon, but they’re bloody confining. I much prefer me lawn shirt and breachen file, so the air and me whatnots may move about, if you get me meaning.”

Feminine gasp. Typing slows.

[Galvistor] “I understand exactly, completely, totally your preferences, old Scot. We Dragons take great pride in allowing our, uh, reproductive systems freedom of movement and position on our anatomies. Personally, I believe restricting one’s nether regions is unnatural. Why, I recall that once—”

[Wikipedia Addict] “Um, excuse me. What’s a breachen file?”

[Cameron] “Tis five yards or more of wool plaid one wraps about one’s loins and shoulders. Keeps ye warm both day...and night.”

[Wikipedia Addict] Breathy sigh as typing slows even more. “Oh…my…”

[Gideon] “We’d better be moving on. Sir MacLeod – may I call you Cameron?”

[Cameron] “Aye.”

[Gideon] “Thank you. Cameron, we’ve heard some wonderful things about the book detailing your exploits, A Highlander for Christmas. Your writer is Sandy Blair, isn’t that right?”

[Galvistor] “Even I know of her! She’s written some excellent/admirable/ outstanding tales about Scottish humans and their romantic endeavors. Quite the story teller.”

[Gideon] “I agree. A delightful lady. Anyway, Cameron—we’re so pleased you could join us today.”

[Cameron] “’Tis my pleasure, although I must confess that speaking with a dragon and someone who claims to be of another world is a wee bit disconcerting. In any case, thank you for meeting me here…where a man can think.”

[Galvistor] “Ah, don’t be disconcerted. The alien is quite civilized, as long as he maintains human form. And we equally enjoy the ocean’s edge, do we not, old alien? Why, we recently conducted a clam bake, mollusk roast, seafood barbecue on the beach. Of course, this is a tad wilder, what with the rocks and height—although I, for one, like heights/elevations/summits.”

[Cameron] “I as well. This place reminds me of my home in Scotland. Our fortress, Rubha, sat on a rocky headland much like this one.” Chair creaks as Scot leans toward Gideon to whisper. “Is yon Dragon always so… verbose?”

[Gideon] Whispers back. “Always. As if he had a thesaurus permanently implanted in his—”

[Galvistor] “How rude! My nether regions have naught to do with my elevated vocabulary. I simply choose to use language—”

[Gideon] “And excellent hearing, too.”

[Galvistor] “To use language as it was meant to be used – in profusion. A clever manner of interaction humans, and others of less erudite nature, appear to not appreciate.” Sound of agitated sniff. Then…another sniff. Sound of immense body leaning forward.

[Cameron] “Mind that great snout!”

[Gideon] Sigh. “You might as well let him. It’s how he learns about other beings. He asked me to change into my alien form just after we met and then sniffed me before I could stop him. Take my advice - don’t make him sneeze. Not unless you have a complete change of clothing.”

[Galvistor] “I like your smell! A great many foodstuffs are exuding through your pores.” Deep inhalation.

[Cameron] “Hey! Mind what yer about, Dragon! I’ve nay desire to be sucked up into those cavernous holes ye call nostrils.”

[Galvistor] “I believe I recognize…hamburger, French fries…ah, one of my favorites—spaghetti! And—Cervidae!”

[Cameron] “What does the beast accuse me of eating?”

[Galvistor] “Antlered mammal, old Scot.”

[Gideon] “He means a deer.”

[Cameron] “The beast kens all of that from one sniff? Amazing.”

[Gideon] “Oh, no - whatever you do, don’t compliment him! We’ll be here all night.” Clears throat. “We need to move on, Galvistor.”

[Galvistor] Reverberating thump as great body flops back on its haunches. “Ah, yes. Our meeting. Assembly. Get-together. We’ll discuss that enticing smell of blended whisky and strawberries later.”

[Gideon] “Cameron, why don’t you tell us about yourself? I’d be especially interested to learn how you came from a fortress in ancient Scotland to present day Boston.”

[Cameron] “Well—I’m the eldest son of the MacLeod, chieftain of the clan MacLeod. The last thing I remember prior to waking naked as a newborn jay in Claire MacGregor's bedroom is my readying for war.”

Typing abruptly halts.

[Gideon] Chuckles. “Sounds embarrassing.”

[Galvistor] “Well, I continue to fail to understand this human concentration/ focus/fascination with what you call ‘nakedness’. It is merely skin/flesh/the natural exterior of your anatomy exposed. Uncovered. Free of fashion, if you will. For which I am gratified we Dragons have no need. However, this matter of awakening in a female’s bed chamber…is it not a tad inappropriate among humans for a male to access said chamber alone? Without a companion to restrain your—uh—intent? Desire? Lust?”

[Cameron] “Under normal circumstances, aye, for Claire is most definitely bonnie and I did take immediate note of her fine breasts and hurdies. But then my arrival was not the least normal.”

Sound of frantic typing.

[Wikipedia Addict] “Um, hurdies doesn’t seem to be in Wikipedia.”

[Cameron] “Hurdies, my dear, are those fine globe-shaped muscles ye happen to be sitting upon at the moment.”

[Wikipdia Addict] “Oh! My…” More rapid typing.

[Galvistor] “Oh, indeed—a new word for backside! Rear. Derriere. Tush. Hefty haunches. Buttocks!”

[Cameron] Mutters about obnoxious great mouthed beasties… “As I was saying, my last recollection was readying for war. Our liege had decided to stand with the Jacobites. Personally, I've no love for Prince Charlie, who can barely speak Scot, much less Gael, but then what our liege commands, we do. 'Tis the way of the clans.”

[Galvistor] “Ah, yes, it is difficult to be cooperative with one who does not speak your language.”

[Gideon] “I’ve never had a problem with it.”

[Galvistor] “I doubt, old alien, that a singular being as you would understand the concept of clans—a familial grouping I comprehend to some extent. We Dragons, too, are closely affiliated by tribe/family/flock. However, while we are capable of cooperation, our nature obliges us be territorial. Although, truth be told, we are not of an aggressive nature—accept when forced to it.”

[Gideon] “So, Cameron, being a member of a clan means you have to go to war when commanded? It must be terrifying to have so little control over your destiny.”

[Cameron] “Nay, ‘tis simply our way. We pledge fealty to our leader who in turn pledges to do all in his power to keep our lands and people safe. As for fearing battle, I'm the strongest among our clan...and truth to tell, of many more.”

[Galvistor] “I, too, am the strongest among my kin. However, superior intellect does tend to inhibit, on my part, any inclination/penchant/leaning toward display of this obvious fact.” Thoughtful sniff. “I remain…intrigued, to put it mildly, by your proclivity about interjecting yourself, unclad, into the presence of a female. Was she not disturbed?”

[Gideon] “For Alwynn’s sake, Galvistor, not this again.”

[Cameron] “Aye, Claire was a wee bit disturbed to find me looming over her. But no more so than I to find myself alive and well in the 21st century. You canna imagine my shock the first time I set sight on a car belching smoke out its ass like some crazed dragon. I had no notion of what I was dealing with.”

Alien shout of laughter, joined by feminine giggle.

[Galvistor] “Crazed Dragon? See here, old chief, Scot, human of dangling ‘whatnots’! My smoke does not belch! Nor does it—any more than my language—radiate from my sphincter! Posterior. Ass!” Sounds of coughing as Galvistor demonstrates how his smoke comes out.

[Gideon] Coughing and simultaneously muffling a last snicker. “Galvistor, enough! We get the picture. Not to mention the smell.”

[Galvistor] Snap of jaws clamping shut to dispel smoke. “Very well. S’not as if I brought that subject up…humph! Crazed Dragon…”

[Gideon] “Back to what we were talking about – I’m assuming it wasn’t an especially hard blow from a broadsword that sent you several centuries into the future?”

[Cameron] “Aye, we figured out how I came to be here quick enough. 'Twas witchcraft. Aye! But—”

[Galvistor] “Witchcraft? Do you refer to magic? The supernatural? Enchantment? How exciting! Now there is a subject about which I—”

[Gideon] “We’ll explore your thoughts on the subject another time, Galvistor. Go on, Cameron, please. This is your story.”

[Cameron] “As I was saying, ‘twas my trying to go back that caused all the fuss. You see, I first thought Claire a witch and frightened her into telling me all she kenned. When she told me the Jacobites were defeated and that thousands—including my kith and kin—had died as a result, I flew into a blind rage and stormed out. When I came to me senses I knew I had to find a way back…in order to change history.”

[Gideon] “Understandable. And on top of all this, you’ve also had some difficulties with the local authorities, haven’t you?”

[Cameron] “Aye, they've way too many rules here. And let me make one thing very clear, those times I ended up in gaol were in no way fault of mine.”

[Galvistor] “Gaol? Is that old vernacular for jail? Prison? Lockup? Dungeon? Hoosegow? Peni—”

[Gideon] Sound of palm being placed firmly across snout. “I’m sure our listeners would like to know how on Libert’s…er, on Earth did you end up in jail?”

[Cameron] “The first time was after a sheriff tried to take me sword. Can ye imagine a man trying to do such?”

[Galvistor] “I almost swallowed a great sword once. Not a pleasant prospect.”

[Gideon] Muttering under his breath. “Alwynn’s fire, he’ll eat anything.” Louder. “Well, I’ve never understood why one is allowed to carry a gun but not a saber.”

[Cameron] “Neither could I. The second time, a game keep lied and said I’d assaulted him. Had I done more than take back what was mine, had I laid a hand on him I’d have likely killed the fop.”

[Galvistor] “I’d have eaten him! Although, of course, Dragons vow not to ingest a species of equitable intellect.”

Gideon clears throat in warning. Dragon snort resonates.

[Galvistor] “Sorry. Apologies. Profound regrets! Please do continue.”

[Cameron] “Trust me. T’would have given ye heartburn. And then there was that wee bit of reiving I did right before Christmas. But again ‘twas not my fault. I ask you…how was I, a man of the 18th century, to ken that they had such beasts as magic Santa reindeer? That they were pets and not meant for roasting?”

Typing pauses on feminine sound of distress.

[Wikipedia Addict] “Not Rudolph!”

[Gideon] “Shh, sweetheart. I’m sure they were…uh, generic reindeer.”

[Galvistor] “Ha! An issue I’ve contended with a time or two, myself. I love roast deer—although generally I merely swallow them whole. I believe you were maligned/libeled/ slandered in that circumstance, old Scot. Chief. Sir.”

[Gideon] “You’ve had quite a time of it, Cameron. I can’t wait to read about the rest of your exploits in A Highlander for Christmas. I did pick up a copy on my way over – it’s back in my car. Shall we take a break and…”

[Galvistor] “Oh, yes, indeed—time for a bit of repast/feast/chow and a tasty cold ale!”

[Cameron] “Aye. Wouldna mind a wee dram of whiskey meself. The wind and conversation have whet me appetite.”

[Gideon] “Then let’s go back to my place. It’s just large enough for Galvistor to squeeze in without too much damage. I have some excellent imported Scots spirits you might like, Cameron. And of course enough protein on hand for a dragon. We can have a few drinks and a cookout. Come on, sweetheart, let’s pack up.”

Tapping of keys as computer is shut down. Metallic rattles as chairs are folded and stacked.

[Cameron] “Please, mistress, I’ll carry your chair and you can handle your wee black box.”

[Wikipedia Addict] Breathy sigh. “Thank you so much.”

[Galvistor] “I do believe your assistant is going to over-oxygenate her system. Blood. Brain.”

[Gideon] Dryly. “Come along, sweetheart. Try to breathe more slowly…”

Sound of heavy Dragon tread and rasp of tail over sand. Lighter human and alien footfalls following.

[Cameron] “T’was not what I expected, this meeting with a non-human and a beast as grand as a ship. Most civilized, ye are.”

[Galvistor] “Oh, yes! Dragons are the epitome of refined manners. Now… do explain about that overwhelming smell/scent/stench of ripe strawberries wafting from your manly human flesh…”

[Gideon] Even more dryly. “And thus you have an example of a Dragon’s verbal sophistication.”

[Cameron] “I dinna mind explaining. You see after spending my first night in Boston’s goal I came out smelling a bit…ripe. In Claire’s bathroom I found a bottle of red liquid. She said I was to use it to wash me hair. Being a man I’ve hair all over, so...

Voices and footfalls fade out.

Dragons, Aliens and Females - At The Beach Part Two

2009-02-18T09:57:00.007-06:00

Sound of fire crackling, hiss as logs are adjusted, wood added. Soft footfalls as alien returns to his seat in the sand.

[Gideon] “There, I think that should do it. Enough heat for you, sweetheart? I hadn’t expected to be out here until the wee hours of the morning.”

[Wikipedia Addict] “It took a while for the clams to--” Hiccup, muffled giggle. “S’cuse me. For clams to, uh…do clam stuff.”

[Gideon] “I assume you meant the baking. Considering we just ate something which had been entangled in bushels of ocean bottom plant life and subsequently buried, it wasn’t bad, was it? But perhaps you’d better slow down on the ale. It’s a little strong for humans.”

[Galvistor] “Yes, a fine brew, dark stout.” Sound of a long, loud slurp from keg. “A keen spirit--” Hiccup followed by resounding belch. “Beg pardon. Ambrosia—although I do not equate it to the favorite brew of my land, Zacra. The gods know no more delectable, pala—palatable, mouth-watering a flavor than Zacra.”

[Wikipedia Addict] “Za…Zappa? Like in Frank?”

[Galvistor] “Zacra, my dear human. It’s a very ancient recipe, modus operan—operan—uh— formula. Worth my weight in gold.”

[Gideon] “A pricey beverage indeed.”

[Galvistor] “Alcohol in its purest, clearest, most virtuuuuuous form.” The swoosh of a clawed foot being used as emphasis. Squeak of overturning beach chair, thump of chair and occupant hitting sand, human squeal. “Sorry again. Help her up there, Gideon, that’s a good alien. Ah, Zacra. Why, s’been known to lay even a Dragon low. Bring’im belly down.” Hiccup.

[Gideon] “That would explain much about your current position.”

[Galvistor] “A Dragon, not this Dragon.” Pause. “Oh, all right. There was one incident. Episode. Occasion, if you will, when I will admit to inebriation. Intoxi—toxi—I had a snoot full.” Deep chortle. “S’what led to Captain Sol becoming Prince Sol, don’t you know. Led’im straight to the--” Hic “-altar.”

[Gideon] “I guess getting him drunk must be more humane than driving him there at gunpoint.”

[Galvistor] Grumble. “I resent the--” Hic. “implica—suggestion. I wash never a part of the scheme, design, plan that resulted in the Captain and Princess Shaila’s taking vows! Least not that part of it.” Sound of another long guzzle. “That was good King Harrimore’s doing.”

[Gideon] “Are arranged marriages common in – whatever that place is called where you come from? I can’t imagine my…well, I don’t know many women who would put up with it.”

[Galvistor] “S’called the Kingdom of Abi—Ambistron, in the land of…what land is it?” Hic. “Ah—Isoh—Isoladia. Had to happen, you know. The Prinsh—Princess had no choice. Because once the Veil faded, fled, dissipa—dishipa—the darn thing went away!—all that outside violent filtered in. Everyshing—thing—went chaotic. Dishordered. Topsy-" Hic "turvey. Calm became aggression. Fisticuf—fisti—fights broke out. The King needed someone in charge who knew how to handle-" Hic. "the new shituation. Captain Sol suited. Most appropriate male around. A warrior, after all. He fit the bill. Sho to speak.”

[Gideon] “So did you or did you not get this poor soldier…plastered, I think is the word?”

[Galvistor] “Why, I whas innocently enscon—en—laying around the Zacra storage cave when the Captain came to me. I did not force Zacra down his narrow human throat. Of course, once he fell, plunged, went face first into an open keg, that was all she wrote.”

[Gideon] “He tried to drown himself?”

[Galvistor] “Course not! Sol ish not the shui—suicide type. The keg was open. He wash trying to get a drink. Not to say he wasn’t depressed. He wash. I was desh—depressed. Sho we joined forces. And drank. And drank a bit more.” Scuffling sound of dragon stretching out neck toward alien. “If I’m not mishtaken, you are deshpressed tonight, too.”

[Gideon] Long pause. “I’m…it’s a long story. What made you so sad?”

[Galvistor] “Females, of course. What elsh could lead a keen-minded Dragon to imbibe? Shwallow brew. Drink.” Hic. “My Riastor was castigat—casti—mean to me. Seemed to think I was shirking m’duty in naming our young. The Captain—he was confused. Wanted to return to his own land, don’t you know? But—there was the Princess. He’d not admit it, but the Captain was attracted. Drawn. In lusht—uh—lust. You’d know all about that, at leasht part of the time.”

[Gideon] Half moan, half laugh. “Trust me, those feelings follow me right into my Olam form. So you drowned your Captain’s sorrows, then. How did that lead to a marriage?”

[Galvistor] “He was tittering. Tottering. Shwaying most dangeroushly. The King had sent his daughter to the cellar to--” Hiccup and belch, flaming exhale quickly stifled. “Oops! Shorry, little Wi-uh-Wikeda Addit. Woke you right up, didn’t I? Never know what’s going to ignite the old inshendi—incendiary innards.”

[Gideon] “I imagine it was the four kegs of alcohol. You were saying?”

[Galvistor] “Ah, yesh. Yes. The Princess arrived to interrupt our gaiety, and the Captain—poor drunken soul—fell on her! Mosht indecorous! Indecent. Inappro—appropriate. Landed right between her legs. I’m most certain that, had he not been indish—indisposed, t’would have resulted in a premature mating! Ash it was, King Harrimore arrived, took one look, and was mosht upset. Well, perhapsh not really upset. Took care of the problem of making the Captain a Prince to inherit the Kingdom, did it not? A quick rite, marriage, shtand before the altar was required.” Another long swig. Lips smacking. Sound of keg being tossed, splintering wood. “Have you ever had shuch—such an interesting circumstance, old man? That ish, old alien? Old bright light?” Scuffling sound of dragon stretching out neck again, toppling sound of lost balance, human squeal. “Oopsh. Didn’t shee you there. I wash just about to ask your alien if he wash upshet because he hadn’t landed lately between his female’s le--”

[Gideon] Laughing. “Galvistor!”

[Galvistor] Hiccup. “You’re right. Correct. Mosht accurate.” Whispers loud enough to be heard halfway up the beach. “We need to do thish without the presence of a female. She ish already the color of King Harrimore’s bright red tights.”

[Gideon] “Sweetheart, you were dozing off, anyway. Why don’t you go curl up in my car? No, leave the chair and the rest of your things. We’ll carry them back as soon as the fire goes out. We won’t be too much longer. It’s that way, sweetheart. There you go. Keep the ocean on your left.”

Acquiescing murmur, sound of trudging footsteps fading off into the distance.

[Galvistor] “Ah. Alone at lasht! Two males engaged in male-only collush—collusion. Feel free, old light, to share all. Shpill the beans, lentils, seedpods—whatever your preference.”

[Gideon] “It’s nothing, really. It’s just that…” Long pause. “Alwynn’s Fire, why do women have to be so damn stubborn?”

[Galvistor] “Females are the bane of male existence. Whatever the sphec-uh-species. Wholly unreasonable. Unlike we males.”

[Gideon] Rises, irrated footfalls as begins to pace. “I chose Hannah because I thought she was sensible. Galvistor, I’ve had—well, there’s no need to go into numbers. Let’s just say I’ve sampled more than my share of Earth females. Long-legged, full breasted, lips that make a man want to--” Pause and sigh. “But I didn’t want a gorgeous woman. I wanted Hannah. You would think she would be grateful, wouldn’t you?”

[Galvistor] “Ummm. Perhapsh therein lays your difficulty. I’ve yet to encounter, meet, come across a female who enjoys admiration for their common shense. Sense. Females are too cogni—cog—aware of their own attributes. Shelf-centered, as it were. Unlike we males, who are ever about doing onto othersh.”

[Gideon] “Aware of her attributes?" Pacing resumes. "Well, you wouldn’t know that from looking at her. She dresses like she picks clothes at random. And you should see what she drives. For our first meeting, I precisely calculated what it would take to roll an ordinary vehicle to a gentle stop, right where I wanted it. Instead, her wreck of a van nearly caused a major highway accident. But is Hannah grateful I want to take care of her? No!”

[Galvistor] “Females like to think they can take care of themshelves. Ergo, they’ve no appreciation of things, actions, meashures done for their own good.” Sigh. “One moment, if I may?” Sound of another keg being broken open. A slurp, loud and long. “Princessh Shaila, in particular, will do things her own way. Your female shounds much the same. Unappreciative. Shtubborn!”

[Gideon] “You’re absolutely right. And not only was I doing it for her own good, I was trying to save her whole planet. And is she content? Of course not. She wants more.”

[Galvistor] “My profoundest shympathies. Uh, exactly what does your Hannah want? Need? Desire?”

[Gideon] “To have half the say in everything I do. Can you believe it? I’m an Olam, for Alwynn’s sake. Of course I’m more capable of dealing with the alien threat to Earth’s future than a human. My plan required someone like Hannah just to get it going, not to carry it out.”

[Galvistor] “S’no wonder you’re done with her! Good riddance. Fare-thee-well. A suitable dismishsal. Have s’more from this fresh keg.”

[Gideon] Thud as alien ignores the offer and sits. “Ordinarily I’d agree with you.” Long pause. “But now it’s become …complicated. Galvistor, now I need her.”

[Galvistor] “Need? As in want? Require? Have a compulsion for? Ummmm, indeed, that ish a preserved vegetable! Uh…marinated cucumber? No—I believe in your vernacular it is referred to as a pickle. Being in a pickle? Whatever. Perhapsh if you logically explain the inconvenience of her attitude she will seek to alter it?”

[Gideon] "Explain the inconvenience of her attitude? Oh I can just hear her response to that." Muffled snort. “I'd be treated to just how inconvenient I am. I know you mean well, Galvistor, but that wouldn't work on Hannah.”

[Galvistor] “Ah, well, been there, done that. When faced with an immovable object, obstinate entity, obdurate female, s’nothing left for a male to do but to engage in alcoholic conshumption. Wallow, as it were, in drunken companionship. Forget females for a time and indulge our robust male/manly/Dragon thirst!" Pause. "However, I mush note—you appear remarkably-" Hic "shober—uh, sober, non-intoxicated, straight brained, old light.”

[Gideon] “My human form can’t get drunk any more than it can catch a cold. My body just absorbs whatever nourishment it needs for maintenance.” Wistful pause. “Hannah once said I was doomed to be the eternal designated driver. She has a way of looking at things…” Trails off, deep sigh.

[Galvistor] “Then I shall cheer you up another way. Did I mention I shing—sing? Quite well, if I shay so, myself. Would you care to hear the shong I taught the good Captain?”

Clearing of a long throat.

“Ohhhhhh—ahem—” Cough. Another throat clearing.
“...Females, they are turbulent,
with tongues mosh often virulent,
Fractious, shurly, and defiant.
Aggressive, sullen, incompliant.
They attract ush like a flower—
a hungry fly-trap, sharp and dour!
They draw us in and then devour!
Oh, woe the male who can’t eshcape
that rounded breast, that scented nape.
That throbbing heart, so hot and callus,
they’ve got us by our dangling phall—”

[Gideon] “Galvistor!” Clap of hands over ears to block booming voice, choking laugh. “I don’t think we want to attract the attention of anyone else who might be out tonight.”

[Galvistor] “Oh…perhapsh it is a tad risqué for these environs. Interesting, though. If I recall, that’s exactly the point at which the Princess halted our revelry, too. Oh, well.”

[Gideon] “Why don’t we call it a night? Come help me kick sand over this fire.”

[Galvistor] “Quite right, you are. Dawn mush be shoon to break. However, let ush enjoy--” Hic “--a few more minutes of the shurf breaking. The cool breeze. The fire dying…I am quite comfort—comfo—” Snore.

[Gideon] “Galvistor? Galvistor??” Muttering in non-Earth language, stomping around, grunting shove at huge, inert body. Huge sigh. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea…”

Dragons, Aliens, and...Clams?

2009-02-05T19:36:00.009-06:00

Sound of surf breaking, susurration of waves washing in over beach and back out again. Approaching thuds of heavy, sand-muted footfalls and rasp of dragging tail.

[Galvistor] “Gideon, my alien friend, pal, companion in verbal exploitation--I am gratified by your invitation.” Deep sniff. “I love the beach! The smell of damp sodium chloride, the crunch of exoskeletons underfoot, the splash of aquatic vertebrate beyond the surf…”

[Gideon] Approach of lighter tread, moving quickly to catch up. “Did you say ‘squash’? Because I think that thing under your right claw is, or was, a--”

[Galvistor] “Splash was the word, my dear alien. As in splatter, spray, get wet. As for what I trod upon—it was simply an abandoned husk, a mollusk discard, a crustacean cast-off. Not to worry. Nothing viable dwelled therein.”

[Gideon] “In other words, an empty shell. Just for tonight, Galvistor, do you think you could try not to talk like a professor teaching erudition at a prep school? It would make it easier for my assistant to keep up if things were a bit less--”

[Galvistor] “Scholarly? But I am a scholar. I am an erudite! Of course my dialogue is superior. All of Dragonkind—well, at least most of us—engage in advanced wordage.”

[Gideon] Heavy sigh. “Never mind.”

[Galvistor] “Oh, all right! If you’re going to be disgruntled about it—call everything what you will. After all, a fang by any other name is still a ‘tooth’—but more simplistic terms lack passion. Ardor. Zeal. I will speak as I must. She’ll simply have to interpret; after all, isn’t that what Wikipedia is for? One cannot simply slough off the nature of their language, idiom, tongue-waggle anymore than they can disengage their skin.” Pause. “Present company excepted, of course.”

Long silence, as dragon, alien and human walk along beach together.

[Galvistor] “Ummmm…forgive my acute astuteness, old man—that is, old alien—but I perceive there is more to your less than animated demeanor this evening than mere annoyance at my advanced vocabulary.”

[Gideon] “I’m fine.” Trudging abruptly pauses. “Ah...thank you for bringing all of this down from my car. When I was trying to think of a place which might be comfortable for us both, I’d forgotten what a long walk this is.”

[Galvistor] “Don’t give it a second thought. I don’t mind pulling the wagon load of clams and beer kegs at all. Hardly notice it with my astonishing strength.” Muffled thud, sound of creaking wheel being pulled out of a depression in the sand. “It was most kind of you to order enough to satisfy my hearty appetite. Which,” Sniff. Sniff. “amplifies in the sodium—uh—salty air.”

[Gideon] Alien footfalls slow on a wistful pause. “You should see it during the day. Perfect blue sky, sand like crystal sugar. Waves rolling in, sliding out, rolling in again…”

Human footfalls hesitate.

[Galvistor] “I agree, it would be nice to be able to come out here in warm sunlight. I always enjoyed a sunning by The Only Sea, myself…but I appreciate, value, understand the necessity of a night sky. Darkness has its own charms. No worry of bombarding gulls or sunburn—”

[Gideon] “The warmth of scented lotion in your hands, rubbing it onto soft, smooth skin--”

Human footfalls stop. Quivering sigh.

[Galvistor] “Well, uh, I don’t use lotion, you know. An unappreciated commodity in the Dragon world. The sun doesn’t bother my scales, but I have been known to suffer a bit of a scorching to my jaw tendrils—oh, here!”

Thump of dropped wagon tongue, several thuds of heavy body pivoting. Mighty tail swish followed immediately by high-pitched feminine squeal.

[Gideon] “Alwynn’s Fire, watch what you’re doing! You almost sent her face-first into that pile of rotting seaweed.”

[Galvistor] “Oops! Sorry. The old tail gets away from me when I get excited. But—is this not the perfect spot for us to sear a bivalve mollusk? Partake of a seafood barbecue? Have a clam bake?”

[Gideon] “I guess if you don’t want something more sheltered, it’s—”

[Galvistor] “Wide enough to accommodate my bulk—and my tail if I tuck it around—and your own comfortable sprawl. The Wikipedia female can set her little chair right there. Shall I attend to the repast?”

[Gideon] “Please. I don’t have the slightest idea what to do with it. When I have an urge for clams, I usually ask the waiter bring a cup of chowder.”

[Galvistor] “Then allow me.”

Sounds of digging and spraying sand. Scrambling of human and alien rapidly pulling back from the brink. Male cursing and sounds of feminine distress as both dodge raining sand.

[Galvistor] “Oh—sorry. A tad too deep. Cavernous, if you will. Don’t know my own strength. But then—hellooooooooo.” Deep snorting chuckles. “A fine echo!”

[Gideon] Muttering under his breath. “This is going to be impossible to explain to the beach patrol.” Sound of rapid typing. “What, sweetheart? Oh.” Muffled snicker, then louder voice. “Galvistor? Do you think you can impersonate an extremely large pregnant sea turtle?”

[Galvistor] Snort of disdain. “Sometimes, my dear alien, your humor is skewed. Very well, I’ll fill it in a bit—” Sounds of shoving and padding of sand. “There, a perfectly adequate fire pit. Oven. Sandy crock-pot. I might as well obtain some fuel, too. I see an excellent piece of wood…” Voice and thumping footfalls fade out.

[Gideon] “Did he say he was gathering driftwood? Oh, for Alwynn’s--that’s against the rules. This is a public beach and he’s a--”

[Gideon’s assistant, aka Wikipedia Addict] “Really big dragon?”

[Gideon] Sound of hands rubbing face. “You’re right. Let the patrol deal with him, if they’re foolish enough to confront him. He's not my responsibility.”

[Wikipedia Addict] “Sir?”

[Gideon] “Even an Olam gets tired, sweetheart. Hand me that beach towel, would you?” Sound of body flopping down on sand. Deep groan. “I should have postponed this meeting with the Dragon to discuss our next blog. Or cancelled altogether. There are just too many differences between us to make even a setting like this work.”

Rapid approach of something very heavy being dragged.

[Galvistor] “This should do quite well. Nice and dry. Brittle. Devoid of moisture.” Sound of something rolling, a loud thud. “Ummm, it would have fit better into my original pit…”

[Gideon] “Where in all the Guilds of Etokia did you find a whole tree?”

[Galvistor] “You exaggerate. S’not a complete tree at all. Most of the branches are missing. Absent. Gone astray. But if you insist…” Stomping, sounds of crushing, ripping wood.. Swish of tossed wood. A splash. “There. Easily reduced in size. Now, for a little heat…”

Deep intake of breath, swoosh of spraying flames. Fiery explosion.

[Galvistor] “Whoa! Drier than anticipated!”

Loud cursing in multiple languages not found on Earth. Feminine yelp and sound of body being rolled in towel.

[Galvistor] Sniff. “I smell burnt hair. Uh—little Wikipedia Addict, I believe your eyebrows are singed.”

[Gideon] “A lot of her is singed. No need to blush, sweetheart, I’m just putting out embers on your blouse. Here, let me take off my shirt so you can put it on…you have to sit down? There you go. Galvistor, have you lost your mind?”

[Galvistor] Offended tail swish. “How rude! You needn’t be insulting! Impertinent. T’was an accident, after all. S’not as if I would purposefully harm a human, you know.”

[Gideon] “You do realize being fried by a dragon is not in her job description?”

[Galvistor] “Next time, dear girl, I shall bring something in recompense for my clumsiness. A nice jewel. Or a golden Mail Hawk quill—quite nice those quills. Perfect for dipping into ink wells. Give you a break from typing that hard keyboard.” Low grumble. “As for you, surly sir—my first perception of your mind-set was correct. Accurate. Right on. Obviously something other than me is affecting your reason. I’ve but one thing to say about that—it’s time to break open a keg.”

To be continued...

Galvistor Interviews Gideon

2009-01-22T20:43:00.006-06:00

[Galvistor] “Oh, ow! Uh, drat--!” Sounds of thrashing, cracking branches, and underbrush shaking. “Oops!” Loud crack followed by heavy thud. “Well…s’not as if that tree needed so many branches. How that alien expects a beast of decent bulk to make it through such a narrow, confined, arboreal-laden space—and he insisted my cave was too tight! I’ve a mind to—whoops!” Loud crunch of breaking glass, brief electric sizzle. “Ummm. That’ll teach him to reside in the middle of a dense forest and then line the path with landscape lighting. Plenty of stars to see by in any case. And I do have superior night vision.”

Heavy tread continues, accompanied by occasional snapping branch.

“I suppose I should describe the circumstances to you listeners, uh, readers…whatever it is you’re doing here. I am Galvistor, hero of several books and a mighty force onto myself. I am a Dragon, a thousand years old, of great physical presence and, if I do say so, a beast of peerless intellect and verbal ability. Oh darn! Wait…my wing is stuck…” Creaking of large branch, loud twang as it releases. “There. No tears, thank Gansur. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. If you read/reviewed/perused our last post interview, I was the one being digested via verbiage. An astute piece, that post. However, this time around it is I who am the interviewer. Question asker. Researcher into the mystique of the interviewee, who in this case is Gideon Cyrus. The alien, Olam, non-human, and subject of a superb tome himself. An interesting if somewhat puzzling being. He has more than one shape, you know, that of a human and that of a bright light. One word of advice, never sniff the light. It is a nose teaser extraordinaire. A nostril titillation. A mucous arouser!” Sniff. “However, it did clear my sinuses quite nicely. Ah—I see the house ahead.”

Tread picks up speed.

“I suppose it falls on me to describe the setting. Surroundings. Locale. The house wherein the alien resides appears to be quite large. Big. Very well, the bugger is a mansion. Esthetically pleasing, I will give it that. All white stone and glass—I think I shall remain at a goodly distance from it. Here on the far side of the swimming pool should do. My tail and glass are not companionable. Not in the least. No better way, in fact, to prove that two separate masses cannot exist in the same space at the same time. The pool is a mere toe-dipper to moi, but comfortable for human use. Ha—and there is the alien himself, in his human form, sprawled on a chaise by the pool. Relaxed as a boneless octopus.” Sniff. Sniff. “He smells of confidence, though. And something alcoholic. I’ll have to ask him about that…there’s his little Wikipedia addict and her computer. I suppose someone capable of typing has to take notes.” Speaks louder. “Gideon. Ciao, felicitations, howdy.”

[Gideon] Creak of chaise as occupant sits up. “Galvistor. At last. Any problems finding the estate?”

[Galvistor] “The coordinates you provided were accurate, and with my superior navigational abilities—”

[Gideon] “Good. Thanks for meeting at night. It’s no problem for me to travel at any time, of course, but you, on the other hand--”

[Galvistor] “Excellent idea. I, too, prefer privacy. Covertness. Seclusion. I used to move about quite freely, but in this current time and place I tend to stick out like a—“

[Gideon] “Beached whale?”

[Galvistor] Grumble. “Not my choice of analogy. However, it will suffice.”

[Gideon] “Care to come around the deck and join me? I was just having a glass of--”

[Galvistor] “Unfortunately, I’m teetering on the pool edge as we speak. A tad narrow rim to the thing and the trees are pressing my behind. I’d best settle here and not move. Besides, you don’t want my tail too close to your windows.”

[Gideon] “On second thought, you're right. Stay there.”

[Galvistor] “By the way, the suit you were wearing when I sniffed you in the cave—did it survive? Remain intact? Endure the offense? I did want to pay for the cleaning.”

[Gideon] “Ah, no, unfortunately I had to discard it. I couldn’t think how to explain to the dry-cleaner it was covered in dragon mucus. I have to maintain a low profile. Earthers don’t yet know that aliens live among them.”

[Galvistor] “Well, they are not always the most astute/shrewd/incisive of beings. Nowadays they don’t even believe in Dragons. S’not likely they would fathom the existence of off-worlders.”

[Gideon] “A few do, but the rest are willing to believe we’re the most ridiculous things -- weather balloons, swamp gas, even flocks of geese.”

[Galvistor] “I was once mistaken for a dirigible. Airship. Blimp. However, no one has ever accused me of being a goose. I cannot imagine how you could be mistaken for one, either. Your human form is quite solid. Your Olam form—well, it has no shape at all!”

[Gideon] Laughs. “A ball of light does tend to look a bit elastic. But we’ve been mistaken for meteors and flares. There was this one incident over Phoenix--”

[Galvistor] “Wait! Since we are discussing shapes, it behooves me to provide a brief description of your human affectation. For the record, of course.”

[Gideon] “That’s not really necessary—”

[Galvistor] “Indeed it is. I am the interviewer. As such my duty is sacrosanct. I insist. Are your assistant’s little fingers ready on the keys? Very well, for the record: Gideon Cyrus, in human form is approximately 1.8288 meters in height—”

[Gideon] “Six feet exactly.”

[Galvistor] “—athletic but sleek of build—”

[Gideon] “Requiring no bothersome maintenance on my part, thank Alwynn.”

[Galvistor] “—light of hair—”

[Gideon] “It’s called blond.”

[Galvistor] “—with…with…I’m sorry. What color are your eyes? They are simply too small a bit of your anatomy for me to decipher.”

[Wikipedia addict] Dreamy sigh as sound of keyboard tapping slows. “Blue as the ocean on a sunny day.”

Sound of alien and dragon turning to look at her.

[Galvistor] “Ah, well, yes…there you have it. Human manifestation appropriately recorded, registered, written. So, I am curious—do you masquerade as a human instead of taking on a superior form, such as that of a dragon, in order to fit in? Assimilate? Be absorbed into the populace?

[Gideon] “The nature of my solid form isn’t really my choice. I can be an Olam like my father or take on the shape of my mother, who in my case, was a human. There are rumors of very old Olam who can change into other forms, but as far as I know, it’s just a myth.”

[Galvistor] “Then you couldn’t become a Dragon if you wanted? A shame. But—cross breeding of species? I have never heard of such a thing!”

[Gideon] “For the Olam, it’s a matter of survival. We have no females.”

[Galvistor] “No females? How is that possible? How is that bearable? The mere thought shrinks my nether regions in sympathy.” Sounds of shifting to a more comfortable position. “Did they die? Expire? Fly the coop? Or do you reproduce like sporangium? Have there never been females in your species?”

[Gideon] “We have old myths – creation myths, I suppose you’d call them. I imagine you have similar stories about the first Dragons.”

[Galvistor] “Ha, no myth to it! Instinct deep in the cells and excellent historians have passed on our history. At one time we were a violent species, more brawn than brain I’m ashamed to admit—but we have always been normal, reproductively speaking. Fecund. Bountiful in birth. Except when we were isolated in a small territory. A long-lived species doesn’t over-produce when there is no way to expand. But…beyond those considerations, we have always had two genders. Why—for all that they can be exasperating—females are one of my favorite reasons for being male.”

[Gideon] “Mine, too. Well, once upon a time—so to speak—a species as powerful as the Olam attacked and destroyed our home world.” Self-depreciating laugh. “That’s why we know it’s a myth, because there is no species more powerful than the Olam. At any rate, supposedly the few who survived were unable to produce female offspring. We’ve wandered the universe ever since, making bargains with lesser species for access to their females and space on their planets to raise our families. That’s how the blasted agreement with the Interstellar League was reached.”

[Galvistor] “Interstellar League? What is this entity?”

[Gideon] “The governing body of this section of the galaxy. It gives us refuge and allows us access to mates, but we can’t interfere in any way with their policies. And, believe me, sometimes one should interfere with the League. Why, they think Earth is--”

[Galvistor] “Fascinating. Intriguing. But back to different species trying to…I cannot imagine. How would one…there must be some manner of physical negotiation/concession/compromise that enables one to—no, I won’t even try.”

[Gideon] “Best not to. It's enough to know that while I'm in my Olam form, I can't touch anything. One really has to return to solid form. I mean, can you imagine not being able to caress a woman? Or--”

Typing slows with quick inhalation and soft sigh from Wikipedia addict .

[Gideon] “Yes, er, where was I? Oh. Or not being able to caress…um…a lady dragon?”

[Galvistor] Sad moan. “The mere thought depletes me.”

[Gideon] “And sound waves—they’re positively painful. In my Olam form, if I didn’t consciously block sound I’d be able to hear everything for miles, from the humming in underground cables to the sound of your stomach digesting.” Pause. “Actually, I can hear your stomach digesting now.”

[Galvistor] Sound of claw rising to cover for discreet belch. “Sorry about that. I had a particularly pungent but savory ruminant mammal for supper.”

[Gideon] “A whole animal?”

[Galvistor] Clears throat. “A mere deer, my dear Olam. So, continuing in all frankness—you’ve lived on a number of planets and had a number of– ahem–encounters, reproductive engagements, done the naughty with different females?”

[Gideon] “'Done the naughty'?” Chuckle. “I’ve experienced many different females, but they’ve all been human.” Pause. “Although I’ve had my doubts about the current lady in my life. If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d suspect she was Brostinian, she’s so stubborn.”

[Galvistor] “Having been exposed to a number of stubborn females myself, I can empathize. Then you don’t travel? I cannot imagine not flying if one has the ability.” Sound of stretching wing, branch snapping. “Oops. Ah, next to my lucid tongue, my wings are my favorite parts. Well, except for…you know…the part that likes females.”

Typing halts with embarrassed clearing of throat from Wikipedia addict.

[Gideon] “Yes, well, we probably should leave off discussing specific parts for now. Actually, um, an Olam can’t turn fully into his energy form until adulthood, and I am something of a late bloomer. I haven’t had the opportunity to leave orbit yet.”

[Galvistor] “Ah. Well, at least this world isn’t boring. Not as beautiful as mine, I must say, but humans are much the same everywhere—aggressive, inquisitive, stubborn, resourceful, and not without their loyalties and their idiosyncrasies.”

[Gideon] “That’s true. Life on Earth is sometimes chaotic…but always interesting.

[Galvistor] “Still, if you can’t fly, that must curtail your activities. At least from a Dragon’s perspective. Viewpoint. Outlook. What do you do?

[Gideon] “For my first century and a half, I learned everything my mentor, Joshua Cyrus, could teach me. Which is considerable, since like you, he’s several thousand years old. And I’ve handled his wealth – being on a planet for so long allows one to make very long-term and profitable investments. I’m rather good at making money, actually. Now I have a new mission, but I can’t really go into detail about it here.”

[Galvistor] “Why not? Such discourse would enliven the quality of the interview.”

[Gideon] “Unfortunately, it must remain a secret. The Olam have only one penalty for breaking their laws.”

[Galvistor] “Ah, they’ll roast you alive.” Wispy sound of smoke trickling from nostrils. “Of course.”

[Gideon] “Actually, energy forms are hard to barbecue. I’m not sure what would kill me and, honestly, I’d rather not find out.”

[Galvistor] “I quite understand. Not a subject close to my heart, either. Death. Surcease of the life force. Cessation of breath. Entering the great beyond. Passing, moving on, going into the light—”

[Gideon] “Got it. And with that, why don't we call it a night? I don't know about you, but I’m a bit thirsty. I’ve just finished a glass of excellent wine. Would you like one?”

[Galvistor] Sound of dragon perking up. “Do you have ale, perchance?”

[Gideon] Sound of empty glass being placed beside chair, chaise creaking as alien rises. “Would Guinness do? I have a keg on tap in the pool house.”

[Galvistor] “Stout.” Sound of lips smacking. “That would do quite nicely. A keg, you say? Perfect…but then, what will you drink?”

[Gideon] “I can stick to the wine. The ale is right in here…” Crunching sound. “And I’ll get me another wine glass. No, don’t come any further. Please.”

[Galvistor] “Pour something bracing for our Wikipedia addict. She is still a most alarming shade of pink.”

[Gideon] “Ah. Consider yourself off duty, sweetheart.”

Feminine sigh as laptop snaps closed.

[Gideon] “Galvistor, perhaps if you came around to the other side of the pool house we might have easier access to that keg. That’s it. No, don’t go through the hedge…” Sigh. “The gardeners are not going to be happy tomorrow. Watch that tree, it’s got a low--”

Mighty crack from branch, muffled curses. Heavy tromping as voices fade out.

Gideon Interviews Galvistor

2009-01-13T21:33:00.009-06:00

[Gideon] “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for joining us for our first formal interview. We hope to have many more as we introduce you to the inhabitants of our diverse worlds.

“Tonight I’ve moved from where I usually dictate my half of this blog, my own very comfortable study, in order to accommodate our first interviewee, my fellow blogger, Galvistor.

“We are in…well, there’s no polite way to put this. I’m perched on a rock in a cave. A very hard rock in a very damp, dark, and cramped cave. I’m sure your imagination can fill in the details of darkness and dampness, but believe me, I am going to need to tell you why this cave is cr--”

Muffled curse, scuffling and several odd thumps…

“Sorry about that. We’re having to make a few adjustments, because as I was about to describe, tonight’s guest is a bit large and I was sitting in the wrong spot. Had to duck a tail. Um, the tail of our guest, not someone who’s following us. Although I imagine any number of people might follow us, if they saw what I’m seeing now. Galvistor, you are…there’s not another word to describe it except magnificent.” …coughes… “Shiny black scales, great gleaming claws…very nice, uh, jaw tendrils. I wonder, however, about that trickle of green-tinted smoke snaking from your nostrils…” more coughing… “Could you do that a bit less, just for a while? This body’s only human.”

[Galvistor] “Apologies. Just a little internal combustion, heat, temperature regulation, if you will, to warm my gullets. The last time I visited this cave it was drier. Next time I shall assess the situation prior to suggesting a location for our meeting. There you are, the smoke is suppressed, contained, restrained to a more environmentally friendly level.”

[Gideon] “Thank you. And thank you for pausing in what I’m sure is a busy schedule for this interview.”

[Galvistor] “Yes, yes, and thank you for accommodating my requirements, needs, requests.” Muffled exclamation from interviewer as huge claw whooshes through air to tap against scales… “You can see why I find human habitats a tad restrictive. Restraining. Limiting. I don’t recall this cave being quite so tight. But then, my mass has increased since then.” Sound of wing scraping against ceiling… “S’not as if one can consciously oppress their body parts.”

[Gideon] “Actually…but we’re discussing you. Would it be correct for me to assume, from your appearance, that you are a type of reptile?”

[Galvistor] “Am I a reptile? Well, yes…and no. Rather, I am at the higher end of the evolutionary scale of that particular Class of Creature. You know, of course, the Classifications, having studied human-kind as you have?”

[Gideon] “I’ve never spent much time stu--”

[Galvistor] “Animalia, Chordata, down to the Class of Reptilia…the Order however, that is where we Dragons made our bold move toward being beasts of uncommonality.”

[Gideon] “Uncommonality? ”

[Galvistor] “Isn’t that a word? Of course it is! I said it, didn’t I?”

Sound of tapping on a keyboard.

[Gideon] “My assistant has Wikipedia up and she can’t seem to--”

[Galvistor] “How rude! Well, if it’s not in the dictionary, it ought to be! In any case, we are the Order Dragonis…”

More keyboard tapping.

[Gideon] “Ah, shouldn’t that be Order Dragonia?”

[Galvistor] “Yes, yes, I know most Order groups end in an “a”, but did I not say we strive for uncommonality? Difference? The unusual? What other beast can you speak of, expound on, discourse about that has wings and tail and claws and a superior verbal capability all rolled into one?”

[Gideon] “Have you ever met an Xatrobrian? Although I’m not sure if they have wings under their armor. For that matter, I guess no one would consider them verbally skilled. Or even verbal.”

[Galvistor] “A what? Never heard of it. Where does this creature reside, live, linger in residence?”

[Gideon] “On a very hot and swampy planet. I narrowly missed being sent there once.”

[Galvistor] “Well, should I ever endeavor to reach such a rather severe sounding habitat, locale, place I’ll look the beast up. Although I am disinclined to visit swamps. Nasty places, bad smelling. And with my superior olfactory system, I know bad smells when I encounter them.”

[Gideon] “You have impressive nostrils, I must admit. I’ve never seen any quite like them.”

[Galvistor] “Indeed? Don’t get out much, do you? Meanwhile, I digress. My fellow Dragons and I are of the Order Dragonis, without an ‘a’, which sets us decidedly, assuredly, without fear of exaggeration, apart from all other reptiles. Princess Shaila, the heroine of my books, once referred to me as a ‘begetter of toads and snakes.’ A recalcitrant female, the Princess, but that is a whole other discussion.”

[Gideon] “I know exactly how you feel.”

[Galvistor] “Do you? At another time, that will be a delightful dialogue. In any case, I informed the Princess in a very firm tone that toads are wholly unrelated and that a snake’s evolutionary path is much lower, lesser, fundamentally unrelated to such as I.”

Abrupt silence.

[Gideon] “Galvistor? Why are you staring at me like that?”

[Galvistor] “May I ask, with all due respect, deference, esteem—exactly what Classification do you fall under?”

[Gideon] “I don’t believe there’s a classification for the Olam. Are your eyes sensitive to very bright light? No? Then if you like, I can change for a moment into my real form.”

Faint humming sound, followed by a pause…

[Galvistor] “Fascinating! If I may…” Sucking sound of huge inhalation. “Oh dear…ah, ah, AHHH—” Eardrum-shattering sneeze. “Oh.” Sniff. “Bless me. No one else will.”

Short pause, followed by faint, damp hum. Human sigh.

[Gideon] “I suppose I should have anticipated that.” Sound of damp splat followed by low muttering. “One does not sniff an Olam. And my suit--”

[Galvistor] “I do beg your pardon. It's instinct, you know. Impulse. Nature. One simply has to take a little sniff in order to, well, evaluate a being. You have an interesting smell, at that. Rather energetic and crisp, like stratospheric ozone. Can that be dry-cleaned? The suit, of course, not the smell.”

[Gideon] Another sigh. “Perhaps we should change the subject. I’m sure the members of our audience have read other books containing creatures who call themselves dragons and they must have misconceptions as to the true nature of your type. Are you really as violent as we’ve been led to believe? For instance, have you ever been in a fight?”

[Galvistor] “There was a time when I would have resented the implication that I would lower myself to engage in a fight. A brawl. A clash of wills. However, times change and one changes with them. I hesitate to discuss my last fight—or the one before that. No fond memories to either one. Life changing circumstances, both--”

[Gideon] “Life changing circumstances are often the most interesting.”

[Galvistor] “Very well, I will tell you of those, but all in good time. Probably not today. One should begin at the beginning, I suppose. My first fight—ah! An interesting tussle more in line with my intellectual nature. Not that there wasn’t some physicality as well. If one must call it a ‘fight’, it came about because that sneak thief Azurstor had the temerity, nerve, impudence to filch a deer from my forest.”

[Gideon] “You have a forest? Then why are we stuffed into this cave?”

[Galvistor] “Well, alright, the King’s forest. But I’m responsible for it. During my brief sojourn outside the Veil, some of the other Dragons apparently thought I was gone for good because they began snatching, stealing, looting deer and who knows what other food beasts from the forest. I caught Azurstor—”

[Gideon] “Wait. Slow down. The King? The Veil? Who did you say is Azurstor?”

[Galvistor] “Azurstor is the blue Dragon that flies for the Kingdom of Roberyll. The only claim to fame for that small realm is that it contains The Only Sea. At least the only one in Isoladia. Where was I?”

[Gideon] Pause. “Hunting deer?”

[Galvistor] “Ah, yes, the blue thief was caught in the act! I had no recourse, choice, option but to attack. Well, what can I say? I wasn’t quite myself. The air outside the Veil had skewed my thoughts toward a more violent and most unnatural nature. I tore the reprobate’s wing. Stalled his flight in a most satisfying manner.”

[Gideon] “And then you ate him, of course. So the whole sacrificial virgin dietary requirement is just a myth?”

[Galvistor] “Virgin? Sacrifice? Great God Gansur—what a distasteful thought, and totally without merit. No, I did not eat the rascal! One does not consume a species of equitable intellect, no matter how aggravating they are. One certainly does not consume their own species!” Pause. “You don’t, uh, do such a thing, do you?”

[Gideon] “In my Olam form, I don’t even eat.”

[Galvistor] Sniff. “Ah. You have my most profound sympathy. Well, moving on. I did injure Azurstor, but I saved him from a nasty fall. A thousand years of civility, after all, are entrenched in my bones. Afterwards the disgusting creature had the gall to deny his culpability. Guilt. Fault. We had a marvelous oral encounter at that point.”

[Gideon] “Just a moment. Are you telling me all you did was rip his wing and give him a good scolding? What kind of fight is that?”

[Galvistor] “Verbal, my good man. Or…whatever you are. We engaged in a copious, profuse, bountiful exchange of words. Would you care to hear a few of our most memorable exchanges?” Silence. “I shall share them in any case. Do you good to learn from a master. Let me see…ah yes: I called him a ‘rapacious reptilian maggot’. To which he replied by calling me a ‘macrosomatous lizard’. I returned with a ‘miasmatic makebate’, and he countered with ‘mephitic megalonisic’. I got him one up with ‘microsephalic malefic medivor’, and he shot back with ‘mangy mordac—”

Sound of frantic keyboard tapping.

[Gideon] “I’m afraid my assistant has Wikipedia up again.”

[Galvistor] “Busy little fingers, aren’t they? Very well, but if you must please look the words up later. Otherwise we’ll be here all night! In any case, that’s as far as it went. Princess Shaila and Prince Sol—of course, he wasn’t a Prince at that point—interfered. Interjected themselves directly into the fray.”

[Gideon] “By…?”

[Galvistor] “Why—she yelled STOP, and of course, we did. I am civilized, after all. She is my Princess. To hear is to obey.”

[Gideon] “The women of Earth would adore you.”

[Galvistor] “I don’t do everything she tells me. But I try to be reasonably responsive, as suits the occasion and wisdom of the request. To do everything she requests would require that I clone my mighty self. And that I take leave of my phenomenal senses as well. Which I refuse to do. I suppose you have engaged in your share of physical encounters?”

[Gideon] Pause, followed by a laugh. “I suppose mine have been mostly verbal as well, with a few exceptions. But we should leave those stories for another time. You need to stretch your wings and Iwould like to get out of these wet clothes. But thank you again for volunteering to be the subject of our first interview.”

[Galvistor] “Oh, give it no second thought, consideration, reflection. Of course you wanted to interview me. Who would not, superior being that I am? How could I not but volunteer? In any case, you’re on the hot seat next.”

[Gideon] “Hot seat?”

[Galvistor] “Just a little jest, joke, heated humor. I’ll not be setting flame to a rock—or a chair, if that’s your choice of seat next time around. The flames tend to dry me out in any case. Speaking of which—I’m in the mood for an ale. A libation. A cold one. Care to join me, partake, tie one on?”

[Gideon] “I would, thank you.”

Sounds of equipment being gathered, shuffling feet and claws.

[Galvistor] “Not here, of course…oops. Sorry. Gotta watch the tail. So, let’s have that ale, after you dry off, of course. And bring along the little Wikipedia addict. The computer, however, isn’t invited.”

Voices fade out.

And now from the...er, Alien

2009-01-05T23:50:00.009-06:00

Alwynn's Fire, that's a wordy dragon. Hello, I'm Gideon Cyrus...at least that's the name I'm known by on Earth, where I happily spend most of my time these days. Honestly, you have no idea how strange some of the other planets can be, even for an Olam like me. Rude lizards and cannibalistic spelunkers and...well. Just a while ago I almost had to move somewhere else, and it reinforced my appreciation of the finer things one can acquire in a few hundred years of living incognito on this planet, even if lately I've had to expend considerable effort trying to outwit the arbitrary rules set down by my own species.

I'm not fond of being known as "the Alien" - if you ever meet my friend Brost, you'll see I'm the normal one - but that's the role I've been cast in by one of the owners of this blog, who has JUST NOW informed me I'm expected to make regular appearances. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. After employing her to write the latest book of my memoirs, which she insisted should be called Undercover Alien, I consider her a master of procrastination. I know she's trying to make up for it by letting me dictate my contribution so I don't have to sit still long enough to type it myself, but is it really so important to--

Ah. She's pointing out that I left the small matter of saving the Earth until the last minute. But you see, although I'm an Olam and have powers which can boggle the human brain, I wasn't quite myself at the time. And then there was this fascinating, frustrating, female ufologist who I really thought was going to help me... *Sigh*. Perhaps we'd better drop the subject. Let me focus on this job before I get myself into trouble again.

I suppose I need to meet my fellow blogger, Galvistor, since we're going to be sharing this space. Why is it that everywhere I turn, I keep running into people who think I want to be around reptiles? Is a dragon a reptile? No doubt Galvistor will have a word or two (or three or a hundred) to say on the subject.

I'll let you know.

The Dragon Speaks...at last

2008-12-07T19:24:00.010-06:00

Greetings. Ciao. Salutations. I am Galvistor, the lead Dragon in The Dragons' Veil and The Dragons' Vision. I didn't volunteer for the honor of that role; however, having read of my own exploits--actions, activities, deeds of 'daring do'!--I realized I owe it to the world to express myself in a broader venue. I mean, I am a thousand years old. I might be (perhaps, perchance, conceivably) more astute in regard to, well, the business of your world than many claim to be. Or not. And I feel a welling desire, yearning, need, aspiration to occasionally discuss aspects of my own world. The relativity of my input on such considerations as writing, politics, art, chit-chat, whatnot, is for you to judge, critique, review, evaluate. However, be kind in your comments. I am not without my senior moments. A thousand years, after all.

I have hired a scribe to pen my verbalization's. S'not as if I can hold a pen in claw and inscribe my thoughts myself. Pens are too small and my claws not small at all--although I did once dip the tip of one front claw into a well of ink in an endeavor to scratch my name upon a rock. Stone. Boulder. All right, it was a great siliceous slab thrusting from a high mountain side. I'm as environmentally conscious as the next Dragon and certainly didn't want my name scrawled for all eternity on the face of the world if the inscription was less than artistic. It turned out that one's claws are not functional for either art or communication. At least not peaceful communication. Fortunately, few will ever view the high reaches where my pathetic effort came to naught. Ah, well, even a Dragon has his limitations. Ergo, the scribe. Clerk. Journalist. Such a glare she gives me...very well, Writer. One who writes, authors, essays, spills the beans--although I don't partake of beans or peas or other small edibles and therefore do not anticipate giving my Writer the opportunity to spill anything.

There. The introduction is complete. Done. Finished. Ended. Is it an oxymoron to say it is an ended beginning? Oxymoron itself is, in my personal experience, a moronic phrase. I have spoken to many oxen prior to having them for dinner, and not one struck me as a moron. Slow, yes, not swift of wit, indeed, but there is much to be said for a beast of such perseverance, doggedness, resolution in its mindset. Were more Men blessed with that attitude, approach, state of mind, most assuredly the days would pass more smoothly and with greater accomplishment. In any case, I digress. I must contemplate for a few days the matters on which I'll choose to converse. Ah, a weighty enterprise.

Until I return...farewell. Goodbye. Adieu. Ciao.

Fangs (excuse my language) but what a marvelous word "ciao" is, which can be used for both greeting and taking one's leave! Now there is a thought worth thinking on.

Beginning the conversation

2008-11-16T17:34:00.008-06:00

This blog is a concept still under construction and Barbara and I are working on it. Not all is in place yet, as is obvious upon viewing the page, but a beginning is a beginning, so...herein I begin.

Barbara is the author of Undercover Alien published by Crescent Moon Press. This cool 'otherworld' romance can be purchased from the Crescent Moon Press website, Amazon.com, or on her website at http://www.barbararomo.com/. Please feel free to visit there and browse, buy, or comment. I have completed a fantasy duology soon to be published by Writers Exchange E-Publishing. The Dragons' Veil and The Dragons' Vision will be available in a month or so (I hope) at Reader's Eden, Amazon.com, and on my website, which I am in the process of developing. Well, alright, it still exists only in my imagination, but it is at the top of my must be done list. I wanted to have at least one book cover to place there before I set it up and that, too, is in the works. I'll let everyone know when it (the website and/or the cover) is completed.

What Barbara and I intend via this blog is to introduce our characters and our interest in aliens (her) and Dragons (me) by having them do the posting here. We thought it would be fun, at least for us, and hopefully for you as well. If we have intermittent information to impart in regard to what we are personally up to, then our 'guest' bloggers will momentarily step aside to let us have our say. This will be carefully done and with all respect as those 'guests' can be a tad touchy. I don't know about aliens, but one does not interrupt Dragon chatter without due cause. At least not MY Dragons, for whom the spoken word is sacrosanct. Sacred. Revered. Untouchable (as the loquacious black Dragon, Galvistor, would add). They love words so much, they find it difficult to select the best one suited to the comment. They are perfectly comfortable raiding the thesaurus for every available choice, which they do not hesitate to share. Forgive their verbosity when they are posting.

Enjoy, and bear with us as we set up our schedules. Depending on who is free to chat, the voices herein will differ from one posting to the next...or not. Sometimes one or the other will have more free time and that is the one you will hear from at that point. Barbara and I both work around our writing, so free time is (like our words) sacrosanct.

Sherri