Survivor Island Response
This is my entry for the final write_away survivor island challenge. If you like my story, respond. You can respond to more than one story, so if you do like it even a little you don't have to wait to see the others, because you'll still be able to vote for them, too!
Warning, there is a bit of... well, not romance exactly. But cheesy descriptors and whatnot. And implied adult activity.
I've also had about 2 hours of sleep in the last 48, so... it may be a little weird. And I finished watching all of the Jack of All Trades episodes, so I'm coming down off my Bruce high. But enough with the warnings.
Viola sat on the couch, fuming. Scott was, most likely, gone for good, and she knew it was all Jason’s fault. Ever since the accident and Jason’s heroic rescue of her and Thomas, Scott had begun to worship his brother. But Jason hadn’t changed that much, and Viola knew the Scott was heading down a bad road. She had told him as much, and they had fought. Screamed, really. And she’d even thrown a vase, shattering it against the doorframe as he left and slammed the door behind him.
She’d never thrown anything before. She’d always been the picture of composure and calm. Maybe the recent barrage of storms had bothered her more than she realized. For the last two nights, the skies had been alight with flashing of lighting, and the thunder vacillated between sharp whip-cracks and distant rolling sonorous booms. She’d probably gotten a total of five hour’s sleep in the last three days. It reminded her of her last night in Africa, when the rains had come and… she refused to think about that.
She reached for the bowl of Brackle and the remote control, deftly flipping on the DVD player as she tossed a handful of the candy in her mouth. What she needed to cheer herself up was a man-free evening.
”In a time of ancient gods, warlords, and kings, a land in turmoil cried out for a hero. She was Xena, a mighty princess, forged in the heat of battle… “
Viola settled into the couch with a contented sigh, smiling as she realized it was one of the Ares episodes. Ares was hot. All man, all muscle, the freaken’ God of War. Not that she believed in gods, she thought with a yawn. She absently picked up her soda and took a sip.
“Why not?” a deep voice asked from next to her.
Viola turned her head and spartled violently. The man now sitting on her couch grimaced and wiped the soda off of his face.
“What the hell…” she chocked out.
“Why don’t you believe in gods?” he asked calmly.
She simply stared at him. He was ruggedly handsome, with sharp features, dark eyes, and a full, sensual mouth. Her eyes dipped lover and she noticed he was only wearing a loose-fitting pair of linen-like pants. Her fingers itched to run her hands over the muscled on his chest.
“And for the record, I am nothing like that idiot writer portrayed me,” he gestured towards the TV, which was showing Ares hurling a fireball. “What stooples. Half the time I look like a manic, the other half I’m an idiot. I’m also much better looking.”
“There… there were some episodes… where… ah… Ares was quite eloquent in his… um… defense of the necessity of a god of war… Oh my god I am not having this conversation.” Though privately she agreed that he was much better looking.
“I assure you that you are, Viola. And I, like it or not, am the God of War. You may call me Ares.”
“I can call you a figment of my imagination. It was the Brackle, wasn’t it. I heard something about a recall, but I didn’t-”
“It wasn’t the Brackle. Though I don’t know how you can eat that garbage.”
Viola sat looking resolutely at the TV screen, trying desperately to ignore the man that was sitting next to her on the small couch. He leaned toward her, his thigh pressing against hers. She suppressed a shiver. It was official, she had gone off the deep end. These sorts of over-the-top physical reactions only existed in the pages of cheesy romance novels.
“Or in the presence of a god. We have that preternatural effect on mortals.”
“Stop doing that,” she said crossly.
“Doing what?”
“Reading my mind. Talking. Being visible. Take your pick.”
Ares chuckled. “You’re going to be a tough nut to crack. But I need your help, and I’d rather have it willingly.”
“As opposed to what? Unwillingly?”
“As opposed to… unduly influenced, my sholetre.”
Despite herself, her heart skipped a beat when he uttered the term of endearment. She tried to pull herself together, but when she turned and looked at him, she finally understood what it felt like to fall into someone’s eyes.
“My love, my sholetre, the mother of my child,” he whispered in her ear. “The gods have chosen you, and you should feel honored. I give you this to protect you and my daughter,” he said as he fastened a Pynasrikie pendant around her neck. The stone felt warm against her throat, and she struggled to draw a breath.
“I…I…”
“Hush, now,” he said gently, and led her to the bedroom.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
Definitions used:
Brackle
A brittle candy made by the Cadbury company, recently recalled during a factory salmonella scare.
Spartled
To be startled in such a way that fluid spurts from your mouth.
Stoople
Function: noun
Etymology: Modern United States (corruption of "stupid people")
1: descriptive term for individuals or groups who intentionally perform dangerous, foolish, grotesque, or intentionally reckless activities, then advertise their experience through anecdotal explanation or video/digitial documentary (and the stoople went forth and found their flatus did ignite, and they saw it was good, and received cash, prizes and salvation from Bob Saget -- Bible, stoner translation)
See "America's Funniest Home Videos" and "JackAss"
Pynasrikie
A type of sedimentary rock found only in New Zealand, said to resemble ‘the sky on fire.’
Sholetre
Function: noun
Etymology: Early Hebrew / Middle French [sh'l (succulent, scrumptious) etoi (you, to you)]
1: term of endearment - specifically used to indicate a light-hearted, somewhat frivolous relationship (my beauty, my sholetre, my pop-corn cotton-candy apple-kins -- Jane Austen)
Warning, there is a bit of... well, not romance exactly. But cheesy descriptors and whatnot. And implied adult activity.
I've also had about 2 hours of sleep in the last 48, so... it may be a little weird. And I finished watching all of the Jack of All Trades episodes, so I'm coming down off my Bruce high. But enough with the warnings.
Viola sat on the couch, fuming. Scott was, most likely, gone for good, and she knew it was all Jason’s fault. Ever since the accident and Jason’s heroic rescue of her and Thomas, Scott had begun to worship his brother. But Jason hadn’t changed that much, and Viola knew the Scott was heading down a bad road. She had told him as much, and they had fought. Screamed, really. And she’d even thrown a vase, shattering it against the doorframe as he left and slammed the door behind him.
She’d never thrown anything before. She’d always been the picture of composure and calm. Maybe the recent barrage of storms had bothered her more than she realized. For the last two nights, the skies had been alight with flashing of lighting, and the thunder vacillated between sharp whip-cracks and distant rolling sonorous booms. She’d probably gotten a total of five hour’s sleep in the last three days. It reminded her of her last night in Africa, when the rains had come and… she refused to think about that.
She reached for the bowl of Brackle and the remote control, deftly flipping on the DVD player as she tossed a handful of the candy in her mouth. What she needed to cheer herself up was a man-free evening.
”In a time of ancient gods, warlords, and kings, a land in turmoil cried out for a hero. She was Xena, a mighty princess, forged in the heat of battle… “
Viola settled into the couch with a contented sigh, smiling as she realized it was one of the Ares episodes. Ares was hot. All man, all muscle, the freaken’ God of War. Not that she believed in gods, she thought with a yawn. She absently picked up her soda and took a sip.
“Why not?” a deep voice asked from next to her.
Viola turned her head and spartled violently. The man now sitting on her couch grimaced and wiped the soda off of his face.
“What the hell…” she chocked out.
“Why don’t you believe in gods?” he asked calmly.
She simply stared at him. He was ruggedly handsome, with sharp features, dark eyes, and a full, sensual mouth. Her eyes dipped lover and she noticed he was only wearing a loose-fitting pair of linen-like pants. Her fingers itched to run her hands over the muscled on his chest.
“And for the record, I am nothing like that idiot writer portrayed me,” he gestured towards the TV, which was showing Ares hurling a fireball. “What stooples. Half the time I look like a manic, the other half I’m an idiot. I’m also much better looking.”
“There… there were some episodes… where… ah… Ares was quite eloquent in his… um… defense of the necessity of a god of war… Oh my god I am not having this conversation.” Though privately she agreed that he was much better looking.
“I assure you that you are, Viola. And I, like it or not, am the God of War. You may call me Ares.”
“I can call you a figment of my imagination. It was the Brackle, wasn’t it. I heard something about a recall, but I didn’t-”
“It wasn’t the Brackle. Though I don’t know how you can eat that garbage.”
Viola sat looking resolutely at the TV screen, trying desperately to ignore the man that was sitting next to her on the small couch. He leaned toward her, his thigh pressing against hers. She suppressed a shiver. It was official, she had gone off the deep end. These sorts of over-the-top physical reactions only existed in the pages of cheesy romance novels.
“Or in the presence of a god. We have that preternatural effect on mortals.”
“Stop doing that,” she said crossly.
“Doing what?”
“Reading my mind. Talking. Being visible. Take your pick.”
Ares chuckled. “You’re going to be a tough nut to crack. But I need your help, and I’d rather have it willingly.”
“As opposed to what? Unwillingly?”
“As opposed to… unduly influenced, my sholetre.”
Despite herself, her heart skipped a beat when he uttered the term of endearment. She tried to pull herself together, but when she turned and looked at him, she finally understood what it felt like to fall into someone’s eyes.
“My love, my sholetre, the mother of my child,” he whispered in her ear. “The gods have chosen you, and you should feel honored. I give you this to protect you and my daughter,” he said as he fastened a Pynasrikie pendant around her neck. The stone felt warm against her throat, and she struggled to draw a breath.
“I…I…”
“Hush, now,” he said gently, and led her to the bedroom.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
Definitions used:
Brackle
A brittle candy made by the Cadbury company, recently recalled during a factory salmonella scare.
Spartled
To be startled in such a way that fluid spurts from your mouth.
Stoople
Function: noun
Etymology: Modern United States (corruption of "stupid people")
1: descriptive term for individuals or groups who intentionally perform dangerous, foolish, grotesque, or intentionally reckless activities, then advertise their experience through anecdotal explanation or video/digitial documentary (and the stoople went forth and found their flatus did ignite, and they saw it was good, and received cash, prizes and salvation from Bob Saget -- Bible, stoner translation)
See "America's Funniest Home Videos" and "JackAss"
Pynasrikie
A type of sedimentary rock found only in New Zealand, said to resemble ‘the sky on fire.’
Sholetre
Function: noun
Etymology: Early Hebrew / Middle French [sh'l (succulent, scrumptious) etoi (you, to you)]
1: term of endearment - specifically used to indicate a light-hearted, somewhat frivolous relationship (my beauty, my sholetre, my pop-corn cotton-candy apple-kins -- Jane Austen)