Story: Character Studies
Written for: 
brigits_flame, November 2011, week 2
Prompt: Character
Words: ~1500Rating: PG
Author's note: Continued from week 1
Character Studies
“Are you going to sit here and stare at that blank piece of parchment all day?” Neria asked, perched on the edge of Pavron’s cluttered desk. “I’m bored.”
“Well, you certainly aren’t helping much, Pavron snapped. “You aren’t giving me any ideas and I don’t really care how inexperienced you are as a muse. Besides, the way you are tapping your foot is distracting me.”
Neria’s pout turned into a scowl. “So watching that piece of parchment is inspiring, is it? Are you waiting for the quill to pick itself up and start writing? In the three days I’ve been here you haven’t left the house once. You’ll never find any inspiration this way!”
“Fine! I’ll go out! Just don’t wreck havoc here while I’m gone.”
Pavron jumped up, kicked his house shoes into a dusty corner and donned his outdoor shoes instead. He rushed into the hall to put on his dark blue cloak.
For a moment, Neria starred at him in bewilderment. Then she unfurled her wings and whizzed past him.
Hovering in the air before him, she put her hands on her hips.
“Don’t even think about leaving without me! I thought I’d at least get to see something of the world when I left my forest, but I’ve been here in Garhaven for days and the only thing I’ve seen of the town is the inside of this hovel. You are going to show me around or you’ll wish I had simply caused a bit of ‘havoc’!”
To her great surprise, Pavron not only flinched at her outburst but actually looked terrified for a moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
“I guess it won’t do any harm if you accompany me.” He took a loosely-woven straw hat off a hook on the wall. “You will have to stay under this though.”
“Why? I’m used to flying fairly long distances and I can see better when I don’t have to look through that thing. Or are you ashamed of me?”
“Look, I just … don’t want others to become jealous that I have a muse. And it has more gaps than straw anyway, so you shouldn’t have too many problems looking through it.”
Neria gave a huff but decided she had pushed Pavron far enough already.
“Fine.”
She snatched the hat from his hands. Settling on his head none too gently, Neria placed the hat over herself.
“It feels a bit like a prison,” she muttered, “and you could comb your hair a bit more often.”
Without a word, Pavron left the house, closing the door with a bang. He strode through the alley he lived in, sidestepping a pile of garbage. He only gave a brief nod to his neighbor Arna, Regist’s wife but didn’t stop to talk.
When they had turned two corners, Neria realized the entire trip would be spent in silence unless she were the one to start a conversation.
“So, how do you usually start writing? Do you think of a plot, the characters, or do you have the surroundings in your mind first?” she asked.
“I usually start with the main plot first and then work around that,” Pavron replied reluctantly.
“Perhaps you should just try something different this time. Perhaps start with the main character for a change,” Neria suggested. “Sometimes taking a completely new approach can help.”
“I don’t know. I’m not very good with people,” Pavron said. “The only people I’d really consider my friends are Regist and Arna, the others are mere acquaintances. And as much as I liked those two, characters modeled on them wouldn’t be terribly compelling.”
“Well, just keep an eye open during our walk. Maybe we’ll see somebody we can turn into your main character.”
They had been walking along the town’s main street for about a minute when Neria spotted something.
“Oh, look at that guy with the cart!”
“Which one?” Pavron asked, looking at the thick crowd of people surrounding them.
“The one to our right … no, the other right,” Neria said, resisting the urge to use Pavron’s hair as a reins.
“Oh him,” Pavron finally spotted the chubby young man whose cart had a wheel stuck between the cobblestones of the street.
“How can anyone be that unlucky … or that clumsy,” he added as the man stopped tugging at the cart and pushed it backwards instead. The cart jumped out of the rut and upset one of the food stands at the side of the street. Chicken legs and bowls of soup went flying in all directions.
“Perhaps,” Pavron began speculating, “he was born in a small village to …” He watched in fascination as a spooked horse upset the chubby man’s cart and the scene was obscured by a cloud of flour.
“… a miller and his ever cheerful wife. He was their youngest son, born long after their daughter and their two older sons. On the day of his birth, they found a chain with an old locket on it and, seeing it as a good omen, they gave it to the boy as soon as he was old enough to wear it. His parents and older siblings doted on him. All of them had great hopes for him, especially the miller. He wanted his son to become an apprentice at a carpenter’s here in Garhaven. When the young boy reached up to his father’s chest, the miller gave him a carving knife.”
By now, the chubby man had apologized to the food vendor, paid him a reimbursement and was heaving the unharmed sacks of flour back onto the cart. People were realizing the spectacle was over and going back to their usual activities. Only, some of them were discovering there was more entertainment to be had and were gathering around Pavron.
“This turned out to be a mistake,” Pavron continued, unaware of his audience. “The only things the young boy, Berlor, managed to carve, were his own fingers. The village boys were fascinated and dared him to use a larger knife, but Berlor’s mother wasn’t pleased at all. She took the knife away and threw it into the village pond. The miller in turn wasn’t happy about this. After all, he had spent a silver coin on the knife, but he had to accept that the knife would only do harm to his son.”
To Neria’s great amusement, Pavron’s voice was becoming louder as the audience grew, although Pavron was still so caught up in his story that he didn’t notice it.
“Instead, he sent his son to the basket weaver in the neighboring village several months later. It wasn’t long before two men carried a large, lopsided basket to the mill. To the miller’s great surprise, his son was inside, clutching his lucky locket and admitting he had accidentally trapped himself inside the basket he had woven. Everybody agreed there was no use in Berlor’s apprenticeship with the basket weaver. And so, the miller tried one thing after another over the next few years. The only talent young Berlor continued to show was an extraordinary disposition towards clumsiness.”
Pavron finally looked up and noticed the listening crowd. Neria grinned when she saw the tips of his ears go red under the straw hat.
“Then, on a bright October day, several sacks of flour had to be taken to Garhaven. Unfortunately, the miller had a back condition that worsened over night and his wife fell ill with a cold. Berlor’s two brothers had been taken into the king’s service and his older sister’s first child was due any day. The miller had absolutely no choice but to send off poor Berlor. Well, I think you all saw what happened here in town.”
There was laughter in his audience.
“What I think none of you noticed, perhaps not even poor Berlor, is that the locket around his neck cracked open during the ordeal. A small, evil fairy that had been trapped inside since before Garhaven was founded was released. It flew away as fast as it could and can no longer bring ill luck to Berlor. Chances are, Berlor Luckless will, without ever knowing why, suddenly find himself leading a normal, happy life … if his father doesn’t throw him into the village pond for losing a good sack of flour.”
A wave of applause engulfed Pavron. Quite a few bronze coins and even some silver ones were pressed into his hands.
When the commotion died down and the crowd dispersed, Pavron continued on his way towards the harbor. There was suddenly a spring to his step that Neria hadn’t known before.
“I wasn’t expecting that!” He told her excitedly. “I finally managed to tell a story again and people even liked it! Perhaps I should use Berlor Luckless as the main character for my play!”
“It was a great story,” Neria agreed, elated as well. “I hadn’t thought making you think about characters would work this well immediately. Still, I think there are even more fascinating characters you can write about. Berlor worked great for a little story, but I think you might need something bigger for that play.”
From her position on his head, she could see his shoulder slump just a little bit.
“Oh, don’t worry! I think you’ll be fine from now on. We just have to look for some more material and perfect things a bit more. I can’t wait to see how that play turns out!”
brigits_flame, November 2011, week 2
Prompt: Character
Words: ~1500Rating: PG
Author's note: Continued from week 1
Character Studies
“Are you going to sit here and stare at that blank piece of parchment all day?” Neria asked, perched on the edge of Pavron’s cluttered desk. “I’m bored.”
“Well, you certainly aren’t helping much, Pavron snapped. “You aren’t giving me any ideas and I don’t really care how inexperienced you are as a muse. Besides, the way you are tapping your foot is distracting me.”
Neria’s pout turned into a scowl. “So watching that piece of parchment is inspiring, is it? Are you waiting for the quill to pick itself up and start writing? In the three days I’ve been here you haven’t left the house once. You’ll never find any inspiration this way!”
“Fine! I’ll go out! Just don’t wreck havoc here while I’m gone.”
Pavron jumped up, kicked his house shoes into a dusty corner and donned his outdoor shoes instead. He rushed into the hall to put on his dark blue cloak.
For a moment, Neria starred at him in bewilderment. Then she unfurled her wings and whizzed past him.
Hovering in the air before him, she put her hands on her hips.
“Don’t even think about leaving without me! I thought I’d at least get to see something of the world when I left my forest, but I’ve been here in Garhaven for days and the only thing I’ve seen of the town is the inside of this hovel. You are going to show me around or you’ll wish I had simply caused a bit of ‘havoc’!”
To her great surprise, Pavron not only flinched at her outburst but actually looked terrified for a moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
“I guess it won’t do any harm if you accompany me.” He took a loosely-woven straw hat off a hook on the wall. “You will have to stay under this though.”
“Why? I’m used to flying fairly long distances and I can see better when I don’t have to look through that thing. Or are you ashamed of me?”
“Look, I just … don’t want others to become jealous that I have a muse. And it has more gaps than straw anyway, so you shouldn’t have too many problems looking through it.”
Neria gave a huff but decided she had pushed Pavron far enough already.
“Fine.”
She snatched the hat from his hands. Settling on his head none too gently, Neria placed the hat over herself.
“It feels a bit like a prison,” she muttered, “and you could comb your hair a bit more often.”
Without a word, Pavron left the house, closing the door with a bang. He strode through the alley he lived in, sidestepping a pile of garbage. He only gave a brief nod to his neighbor Arna, Regist’s wife but didn’t stop to talk.
When they had turned two corners, Neria realized the entire trip would be spent in silence unless she were the one to start a conversation.
“So, how do you usually start writing? Do you think of a plot, the characters, or do you have the surroundings in your mind first?” she asked.
“I usually start with the main plot first and then work around that,” Pavron replied reluctantly.
“Perhaps you should just try something different this time. Perhaps start with the main character for a change,” Neria suggested. “Sometimes taking a completely new approach can help.”
“I don’t know. I’m not very good with people,” Pavron said. “The only people I’d really consider my friends are Regist and Arna, the others are mere acquaintances. And as much as I liked those two, characters modeled on them wouldn’t be terribly compelling.”
“Well, just keep an eye open during our walk. Maybe we’ll see somebody we can turn into your main character.”
They had been walking along the town’s main street for about a minute when Neria spotted something.
“Oh, look at that guy with the cart!”
“Which one?” Pavron asked, looking at the thick crowd of people surrounding them.
“The one to our right … no, the other right,” Neria said, resisting the urge to use Pavron’s hair as a reins.
“Oh him,” Pavron finally spotted the chubby young man whose cart had a wheel stuck between the cobblestones of the street.
“How can anyone be that unlucky … or that clumsy,” he added as the man stopped tugging at the cart and pushed it backwards instead. The cart jumped out of the rut and upset one of the food stands at the side of the street. Chicken legs and bowls of soup went flying in all directions.
“Perhaps,” Pavron began speculating, “he was born in a small village to …” He watched in fascination as a spooked horse upset the chubby man’s cart and the scene was obscured by a cloud of flour.
“… a miller and his ever cheerful wife. He was their youngest son, born long after their daughter and their two older sons. On the day of his birth, they found a chain with an old locket on it and, seeing it as a good omen, they gave it to the boy as soon as he was old enough to wear it. His parents and older siblings doted on him. All of them had great hopes for him, especially the miller. He wanted his son to become an apprentice at a carpenter’s here in Garhaven. When the young boy reached up to his father’s chest, the miller gave him a carving knife.”
By now, the chubby man had apologized to the food vendor, paid him a reimbursement and was heaving the unharmed sacks of flour back onto the cart. People were realizing the spectacle was over and going back to their usual activities. Only, some of them were discovering there was more entertainment to be had and were gathering around Pavron.
“This turned out to be a mistake,” Pavron continued, unaware of his audience. “The only things the young boy, Berlor, managed to carve, were his own fingers. The village boys were fascinated and dared him to use a larger knife, but Berlor’s mother wasn’t pleased at all. She took the knife away and threw it into the village pond. The miller in turn wasn’t happy about this. After all, he had spent a silver coin on the knife, but he had to accept that the knife would only do harm to his son.”
To Neria’s great amusement, Pavron’s voice was becoming louder as the audience grew, although Pavron was still so caught up in his story that he didn’t notice it.
“Instead, he sent his son to the basket weaver in the neighboring village several months later. It wasn’t long before two men carried a large, lopsided basket to the mill. To the miller’s great surprise, his son was inside, clutching his lucky locket and admitting he had accidentally trapped himself inside the basket he had woven. Everybody agreed there was no use in Berlor’s apprenticeship with the basket weaver. And so, the miller tried one thing after another over the next few years. The only talent young Berlor continued to show was an extraordinary disposition towards clumsiness.”
Pavron finally looked up and noticed the listening crowd. Neria grinned when she saw the tips of his ears go red under the straw hat.
“Then, on a bright October day, several sacks of flour had to be taken to Garhaven. Unfortunately, the miller had a back condition that worsened over night and his wife fell ill with a cold. Berlor’s two brothers had been taken into the king’s service and his older sister’s first child was due any day. The miller had absolutely no choice but to send off poor Berlor. Well, I think you all saw what happened here in town.”
There was laughter in his audience.
“What I think none of you noticed, perhaps not even poor Berlor, is that the locket around his neck cracked open during the ordeal. A small, evil fairy that had been trapped inside since before Garhaven was founded was released. It flew away as fast as it could and can no longer bring ill luck to Berlor. Chances are, Berlor Luckless will, without ever knowing why, suddenly find himself leading a normal, happy life … if his father doesn’t throw him into the village pond for losing a good sack of flour.”
A wave of applause engulfed Pavron. Quite a few bronze coins and even some silver ones were pressed into his hands.
When the commotion died down and the crowd dispersed, Pavron continued on his way towards the harbor. There was suddenly a spring to his step that Neria hadn’t known before.
“I wasn’t expecting that!” He told her excitedly. “I finally managed to tell a story again and people even liked it! Perhaps I should use Berlor Luckless as the main character for my play!”
“It was a great story,” Neria agreed, elated as well. “I hadn’t thought making you think about characters would work this well immediately. Still, I think there are even more fascinating characters you can write about. Berlor worked great for a little story, but I think you might need something bigger for that play.”
From her position on his head, she could see his shoulder slump just a little bit.
“Oh, don’t worry! I think you’ll be fine from now on. We just have to look for some more material and perfect things a bit more. I can’t wait to see how that play turns out!”