Wednesday, June 7, 2017

being pantless

    You know that dream they talk about in movies and TV where the person goes to school without wearing pants and everyone in the auditorium laughs? It's sort of a motif for embarrassment.
    Well, today I lived that nightmare for eight hours.
    Except I was at work and not at school. And I was wearing pants, just not a belt. And no one noticed and laughed.
    How it was the same is how without a belt to clip my walkie-talkie to, I clipped it to my pants and I was conscious of it more and constantly afraid the weight of the walkie would pull my pants down

"Breaking Out" -- excerpt from "Jordian Knights"

Breaking Out
Gunthor Hands was not as regular as many other members of the Jordian National Army, so he rarely went out on missions, but he was definitely a Red ally. A tall blond in his mid-thirties, Gunthor was a teacher and house father at the Forest Valley Academy, a boarding school in Llylowmar Valley, not far from the Rebels’ hidden headquarters. He came from a line of woodworkers. His father and grandfather had chopped trees in Llylowmar for a living. One of his brothers did the same, building furniture in a shop in town. Gunthor applied his skills teaching woodshop and math classes.
Being an educator was just his day-job, though. Right now, he was on a mission for the Rebels, posing as a House customer. Gunthor Hands came up to David one night after the patrons had left the showroom and the other man was wiping down tables.  
“I’m having a party for my cousin’s wedding,” Gunthor announced rather loudly. “I need to rent a room and hire out some girls.”
“Yessir. My name’s Orth,” David responded, standing up from the table he’d been mopping off. He had handled similar requests before. “I’ll take you to the office of Rupert Dane, the House manager.”
When they were out of earshot of the other employees down the hallway towards Dane’s office, Gunthor stopped David by touching his arm.
“Although your hair is a lot different that Shaw described you, David Orth, your eyes give you away. You are to be our Rebel contact on an escape mission we have,” Gunthor said in a near whisper. “Do you accept the task?”
“Reds? I’m not really one, but—”
“Yes or no?”
“Of course, anything.”
“Okay, we shouldn’t tarry long. My name’s Gunthor Hands.” He produced a padded envelope from inside his cloak. “In this envelope are the names of several Jordian Rebels and close allies who are here in the House. We plan on breaking them out. The party is just a cover for the extraction. Try to get these people as well as any you trust to the party room that night.
“Now, show me to Dane’s office so I can schedule this party before anyone suspects anything.”

David was grateful that there were physical descriptions in the envelope and not just a list of names because he only recognized a few of those names.
One of the names he recognized was the drub with the human name of Walter. He contacted Waltsavik Saar-Saar early the next morning because he knew that the drub worked in Dane’s office and could obtain the specifics of the party’s schedule. Saar-Saar knew the time and place of the party as well as the number of people working it and attending it. He went a step further, though, and insured that over half the workers going to the party were on the list Gunthor Hands had supplied.
One name that surprised David was that of his bunk-mate Andrew Howser.

“Fifteen years ago, I was a regular Rebel soldier,” Andrew and David were sitting at the dining room table across from each other. David had just told him that he was on the list of escapee Rebels. They had each eaten ham sandwiches and were sharing a bowl of fried potatoes for lunch, heads close, whispering. “As regular as you can get in an irregular army. Eight years ago I came into the Caverns undercover. I’ve been here ever since, kind of a double agent. I have contact with the Reds and watch out for the people they have on the inside. It hasn’t been regular contact, but I’ve been able to work with the Rebels from the inside several times. And since my name’s on the list, I guess they’re calling me back into active service.”
“You want in?”
“Whether I do or not, I’m all in already. I owe Rex my life and more.” Andrew gave a sly smile. “Besides, I’d really love some action.”
“Any idea why they want you now?” David asked a minute later.
“I suppose it’s because of my knowledge of the tunnels under the Caverns,” Andrew shrugged. He sat back. “In any case, I’ve been assigned to be at this party, Walter saw to getting me scheduled as one of the bouncers. So, I’ll be there.”

It was a Midweek night when Clys was assigned to her first private “party.” She’d been requested before, but until tonight, Reggle had not thought the Sister had the confidence to be by herself. As the bedroom door closed behind the patron, she didn’t know exactly what to expect. He could have just been there for an individual dance. Maybe he wanted to see Clys up closer. Maybe— all Clys was certain of was that she had two hours until the Rebel extraction, she’d seen the time on the patron’s wristwatch.
Her bedroom had changed only slightly since getting to the House. Clys had left the gray carpets padding the walls, but had acquired a red checkered bedspread and a thick floor rug with a floral design on it.
“Do you want a dance or something?” Clys asked, not turning around as she walked across the room.
“We ain’t got no music, so not a dance,” the man said. He was middle-aged, probably near fifty. He wore freshly laundered (yet still stained) clothes of a farmer: flannel shirt and bib overalls. “Somethin’ different.”
“Oh this’ll be something different all right.” Clys turned. She had a false smile on her face. She struck a provocative pose that Reggle would have been proud of. The room was small, but she was standing as far to one side away from the man as she could. His breath could have peeled paint.
“Youse as old as my youngest daughter, I think,” said the man as he sat down on the bed and started unlacing his boots. “But I done her already. If’n she was here I’d make her join.”
“Really?” Clys faced away from the man again to hide her disgust.
“Youse new, though, so this’ll be fun,” he dropped his bib and started unbuttoning his shirt. Clys’ anger grew, but she still smiled as sweetly as she could. “You going ta get ready now or make me wait?” Clys glanced over her shoulder. He ‘was ready.’ He had dropped his pants and shirt in a pile on top of his boots, revealing legs and chest that were pale, pasty, and covered with gray curly hair. Clys noticed the bulge in his off-white underpants. “It’s my birf-day, y’know.”
“Then let’s play a game,” Clys smiled broadly as an idea came to mind. She threw off her gauzy jacket. She knew that it was not what the man had in mind but that it would pass the time. “How about a game of chase?”

After only twenty minutes of playfully circling the room, the man started to get angry. “This ain’t what I paid for. You better give me something or I’ll complain to your boss, and—”
“Gotcha, you’re it!” Clys said, slapping his arm and jumping out of his way again. She jumped onto the bed and onto the other side. Her smile was very coy. He was out of breath from their little dance; she was not. “I thought you wanted something ‘different.’”
“This is too different. I’ll tell and you’ll get in trubble.”
“What are they going to do? I can’t get fired.”
“They’ll beat you when I tell! They’ll pound you when I tell!”
Clys turned to face the man. She was still behind his reach, on the other side of the room again. Reggle had always said to make the man ‘want it.’ She slowly started lowering the shoulder strap on her thin top. “Who are you going to tell?” she still smiled sweetly. The fingers on her right hand were curling into a fist; a fist that he didn’t notice because he wouldn’t take his eyes off her chest.
“That’s more like it,” he said, never taking notice of the drawing back of the fist. He came closer. Clys smelled his breath again and winced. “Take it all off.”
He reached his hand towards her bodice and her fist swung forward. The punch landed hard against the man’s jaw; so hard that the man’s feet left the floor and he flew back against the wall. The thud was masked by the thumping of bedposts in nearby rooms and the carpets hung for that reason.
“If you broke my jaw, I’ll—”
“Tell, I suppose.” Clys’ teeth were still clenched. No longer were they clenched in a sarcastic smile. Her nostrils flared. Had it been possible, flames would have been leaping from her eyes. She tore off her own bodice, completely revealing her breasts. “You want me now!?”
She stepped towards him and he stumbled towards his clothes.
“You ain’t natural. A witch or sumthin. You stay away,” he grabbed an armload of his clothes and backed towards the door. “Don’t get closer.”
“What would your wife say if she saw you standing in your socks and underwear in a cheap whore’s room?!”
She stared at the man. He slammed open the door and started running down the hall.

David had seen some odd things in the month he’d been watching the women’s hall. One time a few young men who were not paying customers had tried (unsuccessfully) to get down the hallway. He’d seen a man in some kind of furry costume come out of one of the bedrooms, satisfied smile on his face. He’d even seen a couple women come out together from the prostitutes’ rooms, but he had never seen a man run half-naked out of one of the rooms screaming about witches the way that this man did.
David smiled and chuckled to himself. He had an idea what had happened, especially after the door closed and he saw the number seventeen on it.
“Clys is one for making a scene, isn’t she?” whispered a raspy female voice from the shadow in the corner no more than a foot behind him. He hadn’t seen the woman show up. Only her voice gave her away. That, and the overwhelming scent of mint. “Nod if you are David Orth or I’ll slit your throat where you stand.”
David gulped and nodded quickly. He had no doubt that this was not a mere bluff.
“Good, I did not feel like killing you. I am a Rebel general. Go to the party room. I’ll collect Clys and the other women who are in their rooms.”

All five of the men attending the party with Gunthor were Rebel soldiers involved in the slave extraction as it turned out. Three of the six women and both of the male bouncers assigned to work the party were to be escapees from the original list that David had seen.
By the time David had entered the room, the tables had turned on Rupert Dane. The House manager was unconscious, tied, with a bag over his head and a gag on his mouth. The slaves were removing their deactivated armbands and the five Rebels had strapped on holstered handguns.
The Rebel watching the door was alerted when the door opened behind David a few minutes after he entered. A woman with spiky pink hair and wearing a military uniform entered the room followed by Clys and three scantily clad women. The Rebel backed down when he saw the woman leading the group. Clys ran forward to hug on one of the bewildered young women who were standing in the room.
The militaristic woman walked up to David and offered a hand to shake. He smelt the fragrance of mint as she neared him and knew her identity before she said her name. “I am Vex Moralito,” she said with a smile. “Sorry about how we met before, David Orth. When leading an operation as big as this, you cannot be too careful.” She was wearing what David found out was a slightly modified Jordian Rebellion Army uniform: dark green pants with red line down the outside, green shirt with black stripes down the left sleeve, yellow shoulder pads, red bandana around her neck and brass pins surrounding her collar. The two revolver belts she has crisscrossing her hips, knives strapped to each boot, and large caliber rifle she hefted when she entered were far from standard issue. The three brass stars on either side of her collar designated her high rank.  “No time for pleasantries, though. We need to get down to business.”
David quickly learned that Andrew had been correct about his involvement. He had, unbeknownst to David at the time, helped in several other escapes in the past. None of the escape operation had been this large before; tonight the Rebels were liberating over a quarter of the slaves held in the Caverns. The people from the House were actually a small portion of the actual numbers.
Greetings between Andrew and Vex were few, though they obviously had worked together many times before; after shaking hands with the man, she gave him almost total control of the operation.
“The entrance to the tunnel is here…” Andrew started, drawing a map onto a sheet of paper taken from the utility rucksack Vex had stashed under a table in the party room.

“I didn’t know your name was on the list,” Clys said to Laura as the older woman pulled a gray dress over the flimsy “uniform” she was wearing. Laura was wearing a short party dress. She had been preparing to make up to one of the men who turned out to be a Rebel soldier.
“I don’t think it is on the list. I was just assigned to work the party.” The two women came together on one of the rooms’ four couches while Andrew and the other Rebels plotted at the party room’s round wooden table.
“Well, surely you can come with us, then.”
“Why would I want to?”
Clys was shocked. To her, the idea of having any kind of sexual relations was awful. It was worse, but only slightly, than exposing nakedness in the provocative dances. She had heard Laura’s take on prostitution but thought that surely her feelings would be different when it came time to make choices. “You are better than this, Laura.”
“I choose this life, Clys.”
“You are so smart, though—”
“And you think I’m acting stupid for wanting to stay, don’t you?!” Laura snapped at Clys, stood, crossed her arms and turned her back against the Sister. “This is not your life, Clys. It is not your decision to make.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, okay?”  Clys reached her hand up to the younger woman. “You’ve made up your mind. I respect you for that. C’mon now, I just don’t want you mad at me for what may be the last time we talk.”
“You know you’ll have to beat me like that,” as Laura hugged the other woman again she waved a hand towards Dane. “Otherwise they’ll know I let you escape.”
“We will tie you up before we leave.” Vex stepped up. She handed Clys a length of rope she’d pulled from her bag as soon as her meeting with Andrew ended. “And we are about to leave.”
“The knots won’t be painfully tight,” said Clys as she looped the rope around Laura’s wrists, behind her back. “I won’t hit you. Just pretend that I did.”

The plan was to meet another squad of Rebels and the rest of the escapees in the basement of a building adjacent to the House. Over forty humans and drubs followed Andrew into the service tunnel off the basement. A dozen small oil lamps were produced and lit.
The tunnels they entered were access tunnels that were used for service workers to reach the network of sewage and water pipes below the Caverns. They criss-crossed each other below the Caverns buildings and reached out in every direction.
Andrew led the procession through the gloom for close to an hour before David started a conversation with the young man walking beside him.
“My name’s David Orth. What’s your name, kid?”
“First off, I’m ugly, but not a goat.”
“Sorry,” David replied. He mentally kicked himself, remembering that some language-usage could really cause offense. “Where I grew up, that was just slang for ‘young person.’ ‘Youth.’”
“Aegeon,” he said, shaking the proffered hand. He had a motley mane of dark hair and wore long sideburns. His shirt and pants were so sweat-stained and dirty that it was noticeable even in the low light. David estimated him to be seventeen years old. By the light of the lamp he’d been given to carry, his black eyes and sharp teeth flashed as he talked. “I’m not a Rebel. You?”


Thursday, May 4, 2017

Another excerpt from "Jordian Knights"


Breaking Out
Gunthor Hands was not as regular as many other members of the Jordian National Army, so he rarely went out on missions, but he was definitely a Red ally. A tall blond in his mid-thirties, Gunthor was a teacher and house father at the Forest Valley Academy, a boarding school in Llylowmar Valley, not far from the Rebels’ hidden headquarters. He came from a line of woodworkers. His father and grandfather had chopped trees in Llylowmar for a living. One of his brothers did the same, building furniture in a shop in town. Gunthor applied his skills teaching woodshop and math classes.
Being an educator was just his day-job, though. Right now, he was on a mission for the Rebels, posing as a House customer. Gunthor Hands came up to David one night after the patrons had left the showroom and the other man was wiping down tables.  
“I’m having a party for my cousin’s wedding,” Gunthor announced rather loudly. “I need to rent a room and hire out some girls.”
“Yessir. My name’s Orth,” David responded, standing up from the table he’d been mopping off. He had handled similar requests before. “I’ll take you to the office of Rupert Dane, the House manager.”
When they were out of earshot of the other employees down the hallway towards Dane’s office, Gunthor stopped David by touching his arm.
“Although your hair is a lot different that Shaw described you, David Orth, your eyes give you away. You are to be our Rebel contact on an escape mission we have,” Gunthor said in a near whisper. “Do you accept the task?”
“Reds? I’m not really one, but—”
“Yes or no?”
“Of course, anything.”
“Okay, we shouldn’t tarry long. My name’s Gunthor Hands.” He produced a padded envelope from inside his cloak. “In this envelope are the names of several Jordian Rebels and close allies who are here in the House. We plan on breaking them out. The party is just a cover for the extraction. Try to get these people as well as any you trust to the party room that night.
“Now, show me to Dane’s office so I can schedule this party before anyone suspects anything.”

David was grateful that there were physical descriptions in the envelope and not just a list of names because he only recognized a few of those names.
One of the names he recognized was the drub with the human name of Walter. He contacted Waltsavik Saar-Saar early the next morning because he knew that the drub worked in Dane’s office and could obtain the specifics of the party’s schedule. Saar-Saar knew the time and place of the party as well as the number of people working it and attending it. He went a step further, though, and insured that over half the workers going to the party were on the list Gunthor Hands had supplied.
One name that surprised David was that of his bunk-mate Andrew Howser.

“Fifteen years ago, I was a regular Rebel soldier,” Andrew and David were sitting at the dining room table across from each other. David had just told him that he was on the list of escapee Rebels. They had each eaten ham sandwiches and were sharing a bowl of fried potatoes for lunch, heads close, whispering. “As regular as you can get in an irregular army. Eight years ago I came into the Caverns undercover. I’ve been here ever since, kind of a double agent. I have contact with the Reds and watch out for the people they have on the inside. It hasn’t been regular contact, but I’ve been able to work with the Rebels from the inside several times. And since my name’s on the list, I guess they’re calling me back into active service.”
“You want in?”
“Whether I do or not, I’m all in already. I owe Rex my life and more.” Andrew gave a sly smile. “Besides, I’d really love some action.”
“Any idea why they want you now?” David asked a minute later.
“I suppose it’s because of my knowledge of the tunnels under the Caverns,” Andrew shrugged. He sat back. “In any case, I’ve been assigned to be at this party, Walter saw to getting me scheduled as one of the bouncers. So, I’ll be there.”

It was a Midweek night when Clys was assigned to her first private “party.” She’d been requested before, but until tonight, Reggle had not thought the Sister had the confidence to be by herself. As the bedroom door closed behind the patron, she didn’t know exactly what to expect. He could have just been there for an individual dance. Maybe he wanted to see Clys up closer. Maybe— all Clys was certain of was that she had two hours until the Rebel extraction, she’d seen the time on the patron’s wristwatch.
Her bedroom had changed only slightly since getting to the House. Clys had left the gray carpets padding the walls, but had acquired a red checkered bedspread and a thick floor rug with a floral design on it.
“Do you want a dance or something?” Clys asked, not turning around as she walked across the room.
“We ain’t got no music, so not a dance,” the man said. He was middle-aged, probably near fifty. He wore freshly laundered (yet still stained) clothes of a farmer: flannel shirt and bib overalls. “Somethin’ different.”
“Oh this’ll be something different all right.” Clys turned. She had a false smile on her face. She struck a provocative pose that Reggle would have been proud of. The room was small, but she was standing as far to one side away from the man as she could. His breath could have peeled paint.
“Youse as old as my youngest daughter, I think,” said the man as he sat down on the bed and started unlacing his boots. “But I done her already. If’n she was here I’d make her join.”
“Really?” Clys faced away from the man again to hide her disgust.
“Youse new, though, so this’ll be fun,” he dropped his bib and started unbuttoning his shirt. Clys’ anger grew, but she still smiled as sweetly as she could. “You going ta get ready now or make me wait?” Clys glanced over her shoulder. He ‘was ready.’ He had dropped his pants and shirt in a pile on top of his boots, revealing legs and chest that were pale, pasty, and covered with gray curly hair. Clys noticed the bulge in his off-white underpants. “It’s my birf-day, y’know.”
“Then let’s play a game,” Clys smiled broadly as an idea came to mind. She threw off her gauzy jacket. She knew that it was not what the man had in mind but that it would pass the time. “How about a game of chase?”

After only twenty minutes of playfully circling the room, the man started to get angry. “This ain’t what I paid for. You better give me something or I’ll complain to your boss, and—”
“Gotcha, you’re it!” Clys said, slapping his arm and jumping out of his way again. She jumped onto the bed and onto the other side. Her smile was very coy. He was out of breath from their little dance; she was not. “I thought you wanted something ‘different.’”
“This is too different. I’ll tell and you’ll get in trubble.”
“What are they going to do? I can’t get fired.”
“They’ll beat you when I tell! They’ll pound you when I tell!”
Clys turned to face the man. She was still behind his reach, on the other side of the room again. Reggle had always said to make the man ‘want it.’ She slowly started lowering the shoulder strap on her thin top. “Who are you going to tell?” she still smiled sweetly. The fingers on her right hand were curling into a fist; a fist that he didn’t notice because he wouldn’t take his eyes off her chest.
“That’s more like it,” he said, never taking notice of the drawing back of the fist. He came closer. Clys smelled his breath again and winced. “Take it all off.”
He reached his hand towards her bodice and her fist swung forward. The punch landed hard against the man’s jaw; so hard that the man’s feet left the floor and he flew back against the wall. The thud was masked by the thumping of bedposts in nearby rooms and the carpets hung for that reason.
“If you broke my jaw, I’ll—”
“Tell, I suppose.” Clys’ teeth were still clenched. No longer were they clenched in a sarcastic smile. Her nostrils flared. Had it been possible, flames would have been leaping from her eyes. She tore off her own bodice, completely revealing her breasts. “You want me now!?”
She stepped towards him and he stumbled towards his clothes.
“You ain’t natural. A witch or sumthin. You stay away,” he grabbed an armload of his clothes and backed towards the door. “Don’t get closer.”
“What would your wife say if she saw you standing in your socks and underwear in a cheap whore’s room?!”
She stared at the man. He slammed open the door and started running down the hall.

David had seen some odd things in the month he’d been watching the women’s hall. One time a few young men who were not paying customers had tried (unsuccessfully) to get down the hallway. He’d seen a man in some kind of furry costume come out of one of the bedrooms, satisfied smile on his face. He’d even seen a couple women come out together from the prostitutes’ rooms, but he had never seen a man run half-naked out of one of the rooms screaming about witches the way that this man did.
David smiled and chuckled to himself. He had an idea what had happened, especially after the door closed and he saw the number seventeen on it.
“Clys is one for making a scene, isn’t she?” whispered a raspy female voice from the shadow in the corner no more than a foot behind him. He hadn’t seen the woman show up. Only her voice gave her away. That, and the overwhelming scent of mint. “Nod if you are David Orth or I’ll slit your throat where you stand.”
David gulped and nodded quickly. He had no doubt that this was not a mere bluff.
“Good, I did not feel like killing you. I am a Rebel general. Go to the party room. I’ll collect Clys and the other women who are in their rooms.”

All five of the men attending the party with Gunthor were Rebel soldiers involved in the slave extraction as it turned out. Three of the six women and both of the male bouncers assigned to work the party were to be escapees from the original list that David had seen.
By the time David had entered the room, the tables had turned on Rupert Dane. The House manager was unconscious, tied, with a bag over his head and a gag on his mouth. The slaves were removing their deactivated armbands and the five Rebels had strapped on holstered handguns.
The Rebel watching the door was alerted when the door opened behind David a few minutes after he entered. A woman with spiky pink hair and wearing a military uniform entered the room followed by Clys and three scantily clad women. The Rebel backed down when he saw the woman leading the group. Clys ran forward to hug on one of the bewildered young women who were standing in the room.
The militaristic woman walked up to David and offered a hand to shake. He smelt the fragrance of mint as she neared him and knew her identity before she said her name. “I am Vex Moralito,” she said with a smile. “Sorry about how we met before, David Orth. When leading an operation as big as this, you cannot be too careful.” She was wearing what David found out was a slightly modified Jordian Rebellion Army uniform: dark green pants with red line down the outside, green shirt with black stripes down the left sleeve, yellow shoulder pads, red bandana around her neck and brass pins surrounding her collar. The two revolver belts she has crisscrossing her hips, knives strapped to each boot, and large caliber rifle she hefted when she entered were far from standard issue. The three brass stars on either side of her collar designated her high rank.  “No time for pleasantries, though. We need to get down to business.”
David quickly learned that Andrew had been correct about his involvement. He had, unbeknownst to David at the time, helped in several other escapes in the past. None of the escape operation had been this large before; tonight the Rebels were liberating over a quarter of the slaves held in the Caverns. The people from the House were actually a small portion of the actual numbers.
Greetings between Andrew and Vex were few, though they obviously had worked together many times before; after shaking hands with the man, she gave him almost total control of the operation.
“The entrance to the tunnel is here…” Andrew started, drawing a map onto a sheet of paper taken from the utility rucksack Vex had stashed under a table in the party room.

“I didn’t know your name was on the list,” Clys said to Laura as the older woman pulled a gray dress over the flimsy “uniform” she was wearing. Laura was wearing a short party dress. She had been preparing to make up to one of the men who turned out to be a Rebel soldier.
“I don’t think it is on the list. I was just assigned to work the party.” The two women came together on one of the rooms’ four couches while Andrew and the other Rebels plotted at the party room’s round wooden table.
“Well, surely you can come with us, then.”
“Why would I want to?”
Clys was shocked. To her, the idea of having any kind of sexual relations was awful. It was worse, but only slightly, than exposing nakedness in the provocative dances. She had heard Laura’s take on prostitution but thought that surely her feelings would be different when it came time to make choices. “You are better than this, Laura.”
“I choose this life, Clys.”
“You are so smart, though—”
“And you think I’m acting stupid for wanting to stay, don’t you?!” Laura snapped at Clys, stood, crossed her arms and turned her back against the Sister. “This is not your life, Clys. It is not your decision to make.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, okay?”  Clys reached her hand up to the younger woman. “You’ve made up your mind. I respect you for that. C’mon now, I just don’t want you mad at me for what may be the last time we talk.”
“You know you’ll have to beat me like that,” as Laura hugged the other woman again she waved a hand towards Dane. “Otherwise they’ll know I let you escape.”
“We will tie you up before we leave.” Vex stepped up. She handed Clys a length of rope she’d pulled from her bag as soon as her meeting with Andrew ended. “And we are about to leave.”
“The knots won’t be painfully tight,” said Clys as she looped the rope around Laura’s wrists, behind her back. “I won’t hit you. Just pretend that I did.”

The plan was to meet another squad of Rebels and the rest of the escapees in the basement of a building adjacent to the House. Over forty humans and drubs followed Andrew into the service tunnel off the basement. A dozen small oil lamps were produced and lit.
The tunnels they entered were access tunnels that were used for service workers to reach the network of sewage and water pipes below the Caverns. They criss-crossed each other below the Caverns buildings and reached out in every direction.
Andrew led the procession through the gloom for close to an hour before David started a conversation with the young man walking beside him.
“My name’s David Orth. What’s your name, kid?”
“First off, I’m ugly, but not a goat.”
“Sorry,” David replied. He mentally kicked himself, remembering that some language-usage could really cause offense. “Where I grew up, that was just slang for ‘young person.’ ‘Youth.’”
“Aegeon,” he said, shaking the proffered hand. He had a motley mane of dark hair and wore long sideburns. His shirt and pants were so sweat-stained and dirty that it was noticeable even in the low light. David estimated him to be seventeen years old. By the light of the lamp he’d been given to carry, his black eyes and sharp teeth flashed as he talked. “I’m not a Rebel. You?”

"Do you want the truck or the doll?"

"Do you want the truck or the doll?"

    I have long attempted to punch the holes in stereotypes that aren't ever 100% accurate. I have attempted to show that I am unique, and by my example show that all people are unique. One form of stereotyping I haven't done much busting on is gender stereotyping.
  There has been gender identity typing for many, many years. One of the plainest types of typing happens even before a person is born. It centers on the use of colors for babies. You know this typing, more recognizeable than any method for putting people into gender boxes.
  Pink is the color used commonly for girl babies and blue for boy babies. They future mother is often showered with gifts of a certain color. I don't really like pink, but I know that has nothing to do with my maleness. I just favor cooler color, greens and blues. And, to some degree I think that's true across the board.
  Many boys don't like pink and many girls do. But not all. Not by a long shot. Kids should be allowed and invited to make their own choices about how their bedroom should be decorated, at least to the extent of their favorite colors.
  I don't advocate exclusively gifting the mother of a female baby with pink items at all. Nor do I advocate switching it up and gifting only blue items to the mother of a female baby. Newborns cannot make choices, so I think the coloring of the nursery should vary: blue, yellow, green, red, purple, orange.
  A mix of colors, not a monochromatic décor. When the child is old enough to make choices, there won't be a colored box to break out of. There would be a rainbow to make selections from.
  This post, though, while about gender stereotyping, is not intended to be about colors at all. The topic for coming at gender types is toys. How toys are used to define children. How toys create boxes for children.
  An anecdote from a friend of mine was recently posted online. This anecdote was made both to entertain and make the reader think. I'll change names for legality, but I think you know where I mean:
 
"I am a drive-thru cashier at MacDowel's. The other day I received an order from a customer for an Emo Kids' Meal. Instead of the typical 'Boy or girl toy?' that cashiers use to categorize patrons, I asked 'Do you want the truck or the doll?' This, of course, threw the customer off a little. They came back in a second with: 'I have a girl.' Again, I asked 'Do you want the truck or the doll?' My manager scowled at me for what he considered me badgering the guest, but when answered 'truck' and complimented for not typing his daughter, I was praised."
 
  Although not totally attributed to this particular episode, my friend was christened Employee of the Month at that establishment, I like to believe that his not assigning a toy based on gender was a major reason for the honors, though.
  See, girls can prefer trucks and boys can play with dolls. Society has assigned toys based on gender markers, like the junk in a kid's pants has anything to do with their pretending habits!
  MacDowel's (and every other foodery with meals for children) has placed kids in boxes for far too long. Breaking out of this box is a little thing, really, but in doing so, we are letting our children know that they are free to have their preferences. We, as parents, are open to them making choices in other things.

Note: Although I never really liked the doll toy with my meal, I preferred the typically 'girl' movie figures and stuffed animals to what was given as 'boy toys.'


Thursday, April 27, 2017

Jordian Knights - part 2

A Young Friend
As it turned out, the voice belonged to a young boy by the name of Ian Michael the Ten. He was thin, pale-faced, and brunette. On either side of his nose, the boy had freckles. He timidly had removed the locks in the back of the door and opened it after the dog had barked twice. He recognized the dog, threw his arms around his neck and started talking rapidly to David.
“I found this room two days ago and it is one of the Rebel safe-houses for sure on the Underground Trail because besides just food and drinks there are clothes and quilts here but not any guns or anything like that. Over here is a bed and it isn’t really dirty so I bet they’ve been here recently to change the sheets. I am too young to use matches so I didn’t start a fire in the fireplace over there so last night it was kind of cold but not too bad because I had quilts. Do you want some water? This barrel has fresh water in it and come over here and sit down and we can meet. Will you be my dad? Because you are old enough to but are still pretty young. And is this dog yours?”
David just smiled as he was ushered into the small room. It had once been a supply closet of some sort. Against one wall was the bed the boy had slept in. Opposite of it was a pot-belly iron stove, a wooden table, a chair, and an open trunk. In the trunk were the foodstuffs and some dry supplies left by the Rebels (people who David wanted to hear more about).
David sat down in the wooden chair and started to inventory the contents of the trunk as he asked Ian probing questions. This is what he found out:
Ian Michael was given the surname ‘the Ten’ because his father and eight of his older brothers had the same name. He had six older sisters. This Ian was seven years old. There were fifteen years separating him and his next older sibling and for this reason, he had always been left out. Although he had been born into one of the most powerful families in the city, Ian knew that he was not an heir with power. The family neglected him. He had run away from home.
The urban area in which David found himself was called the Gray Zone. It was in the country known as the Jordian Impur. The Gray Zone was run by two major factions, the Purps and the Golds. They were really street gangs, left in charge by the federal government after abandoning the city three generations earlier. Purps, of which Ian’s family belonged, dwelt on family lineage and succession when determining political control, while Golds took a very mercantile approach.
The Jordian Rebellion Army, or Rebels, was a semi-militaristic underground faction which sought justice for the country. It was an irregular army with the purpose of leading the people to eventually overthrow the Impur. It had safe-houses like this room scattered around Jordia. They were part of a network known as the Underground Trail, used for hiding ex-patriots and runaways from the government.
Ian really looked up to the Rebels with a kind of hero worship familiar to David. Only, when he had been young, that kind of idolatry had been reserved for baseball players; men that in the mind of a boy could do no wrong and who were much larger than life. Like David, Ian had never met one of the objects of his idolatry.
“Really, though, David, will you be my dad?” Ian added again, changing the subject yet again while the man asked questions aimed at gleaning more information about the country.
“I’ll be your friend, Ian.” He was crouched beside the cold stove, attempting to breathe life into the tender he’d sparked a match into. “You already have a family, and I’m sure they miss you.”
“Weren’t you listening? There are, like, a bajillion boys in my family and they will never notice me gone because I have so many cousins and nephews to take my place.” Ian shook his head. He had already told David that each of his older brothers was married and had children, as were each of his older sisters. “I see my real dad for dinner mostly and only see my real mom a couple times a day. I don’t even have a regular nanny. I’ve had four nannies this year. I just want you to be my new dad.”
“Have you ever heard the term ‘father figure?’” David deflected the request again while he put a pot on for water to boil on his new fire. Ian seemed like a good kid; he was inquisitive and smart as they come, but David hardly felt that adopting a child with no knowledge of his own identity would be a good idea.

After they breakfasted a little longer on toasted bread, bacon and coffee (dark as mud, but drinkable) David and Ian prepared to leave. David rummaged in the trunk and found a longer black overcoat to trade for the tux jacket and found a pair of boots that fit him fairly well. He made a bedroll from a couple of blankets and tied it with twine from the trunk. Ian packed some food, matches, and utensils in the rucksack he’d found next to the bed.
David took a charred stick out of the fire and wrote “Thanks” on the table in black lettering, and then the little group left the room and went up the stairs. Ian said he’d just been waiting to have someone go with him.
David and Ian talked as they walked. The dichotomy of Ian’s maturity and intelligence and his actual childishness amazed David. At street corners, Ian always held his hand up to David and stopped, “because children always have to hold a grown-up’s hand when crossing the street.” The boy talked incessantly, and not merely repeating sayings he’d heard from his nannies. He talked about books, music, and even politics.
He was definitely wise beyond his years. David marveled at how thoughtful the boy was; he had looked in the family library and copied onto a piece of paper the map that had been drawn by his uncle four years earlier. Unfortunately, there were no street signs on the corners indicating the street’s names that had been on the map, so they were as confused as if they didn’t have a map to follow at all.
David tried to figure out some of the landmarks that were mentioned. After about three hours and half a dozen turns up nearly identical cobblestone streets, David figured they were almost to the edge of the huge urban area.
When Timber suddenly stopped abruptly at David’s side and started growling, both the boy and the man knew something was wrong. Timber faced an open door-frame. It looked empty and the room inside was dark.
David stepped slowly into the doorway. He stood for a minute to let his eyes adjust.
Outside, Ian asked "What is it, David?"
There was a chair propped next to the boarded window. There was a three-inch hole in one of the boards. There were foot trails in the dust. Someone had been watching them. David peered deeper into the building. It was too dark to see into the next room.
Outside, Ian repeated "What is it, David?"
"Just an empty room, Ian," he responded over his shoulder.
When he got outside, he roughly scratched Timber's head. David smiled at Ian.
"We've got a couple hours 'til sunset. Let's go."
The rest of the day, David felt that they were being watched.

Near sun-down, they came to the edge of the city. The road ended abruptly at the edge of a rocky fall. There had apparently once been a bridge over this wide cement-lined river. David looked right and he looked left. The deep riverbed with its broken cement sides ran as far as the eye could see in either direction. There wasn’t much water at the bottom. It must have been a dry season.
“You didn’t tell me that the Gray Zone was an island,” David said to Ian. There were concrete pilings in front of them where a bridge had once been.
“I didn’t know it was. I just saw this word on the map—does ‘island’ have an ‘I’ in it?”
David chuckled. “I knew by lunchtime that you weren’t leading me to your home, so you didn’t need to lie.”
“I am running away from home you know. So, well, would you have brought me if you knew at first?”
“Yes, I’d still have stayed with you, Ian.” David tossed his bedroll on the ground. “This is as good a place as any to campout tonight.  The sun is getting too low. It’ll be dark and we shouldn’t climb down those rocks at night. Tomorrow morning we can find a way across the little river at the bottom.”
“Can we make a campfire?”

After they had supped on a few items warmed over the little fire David had made, Ian cuddled up against the man on the bedroll and begged for a bedtime story. David searched his sparse memory and pulled out a story he could remember.
“A long time ago-- over two thousand years—there was a young girl,” David started.
“Was she my age?” Ian interjected.
“Older than you. So maybe I should start that she was a young woman, not a ‘girl.’” David paused to rethink the story again in his head. “She was older than a child, but not quite an adult. She lived with her parents still. Her name was Mary. She was going about her chores one day--”
“What is a ‘chore’?” Ian asked.
“A job around the house she had to do, like keep things picked up.”
“So they didn’t have a maid?”
“No, Ian, they did not. Cleaning house was one of her jobs, and one day an angel of the Lord came to her and said,” David felt Ian shift and said quickly before Ian could interrupt, “An ‘angel’ is a special messenger from God, who is also called ‘the Lord.’ Angels are larger than people and bright and shiney, like they glow usually.
“Anyway, this angel just appeared while Mary was sweeping the floor at home and said: ‘Greetings, precious woman, the Lord is with you!’ Mary fell to her knees because the angel was so special.
“’Don’t be afraid, Mary,’ the angel told her, “because you -- even you -- have found favor with God! You will conceive and give birth to a son, and he will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David. And he will reign over Israel forever; his Kingdom will never end!’
“Mary asked the angel, “But how can this happen? I don’t know man.” Again, David sought to explain quickly what that meant. “That means that she did not have a husband yet.”
“My sister didn’t have a husband when she had a baby. Does this just mean that Mary had not done it and gotten pregnant?”
“Exactly, Ian, so she was confused about how she could have a baby.”
“And there is one God, right?”
“Right.”
“And he is called ‘Lord,’ too?”
“Yup,” David replied. He hoped Ian would fall asleep sooner than later and stop interrupting the story so frequently.
“The angel replied, ‘The Holy Spirit of God will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the baby to be born will be holy, and he will be called the Son of God. For nothing is impossible with God.’
“Mary responded, ‘I am the Lord’s servant. May everything you have said about me come true.’ And then the angel left her.”
“Is this a real story, David?”
“It is.”
“Really real?”
“Yes.”
“Then how come the baby is your ancestor and this was a long time ago?”
“Different ‘David.’ This one was a king.”
“Oh.” Ian snuggled closer and yawned.
David fast-forwarded his story a little.
“Right before the baby was to be born, Mary got engaged to a man named Joseph and the ruler of the country said everyone had to go to their family’s hometown to be counted. Mary had to go with Joseph because she was going to be his wife soon. They couldn’t get a room in an inn in Bethlehem, David’s city–”
“That was Joseph’s hometown?”
“Yes, Ian, it was.”
“King David?”
“Yes.”
“Mmmm.” Ian snuggled closer and yawned again.
“They couldn’t get a room in an inn in Bethlehem and had to have a little campout in a stable that night. And Mary actually had her baby there. Mary swaddled him up in clean cloths and laid him in a manger for cows’ food.
“It just so happened that the same night there were men taking care of sheep nearby. All of a sudden, the same angel that appeared to Mary appeared to them.  They were terrified, but like with Mary, the angel reassured them. ‘Don’t be afraid!’ he said. ‘I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people. The Savior—yes, one who will save the people—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David! And you will recognize him by this sign: You will find a baby swaddled snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger.’”
“That’s like us, David.”
“What do you mean, Ian?”
“We need a Savior in Jordia. We have the Rebels, though.” Ian snuggled closer and yawned yet again.
David continued: “Suddenly, the angel was joined by a vast host of other angels—the armies of heaven—praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in highest heaven, and peace on earth good will towards men.’ When the angels had returned to heaven, the shepherds said to each other, ‘Let’s go to Bethlehem! Let’s see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.’ They hurried to the village and found Mary and Joseph. And there was the baby, lying in the manger. After seeing him, the shepherds told everyone what had happened and what the angel had said to them about this child. All who heard the shepherds’ story were astonished, but Mary kept all these things in her heart and thought about them often."
David heard a small snore. Ian was asleep. He smiled, scratched Timber’s head, and fell asleep himself.

In the morning, after a breakfast of heated bacon strips and coffee, they started down the side of the stoney riverbank.
“Did the baby grow up?” Ian asked.
“He did, of course,” David started. “There aren’t a lot of stories about when he was young, though. The gospels – those are the holy books that are like biographies for him – only tell one major story from the time he is born until when he is thirty years old.”
“And now he is dead,” Ian said, matter-of-factly.
“Wrong, Ian,” David smiled. “It’s been a couple thousand years, so it seems odd, but he is still alive. I see the confusion on your face, but that is a totally different story.
“You asked about when he was growing up, so I’ll tell the story about when he was twelve in this story.” David was glad that Ian didn’t interrupt his story. He just talked as the climbed down the rocks leading to the narrow flow of water below. “Mary, Joseph and Jesus went to the big celebration in Jerusalem as they did every year. After the celebration was over, they started walking home to Nazareth, but Jesus stayed behind. His parents didn’t miss him at first, because they thought he was with his cousin. But when he didn’t show up that evening, they started looking for him. When they couldn’t find him, they went back to Jerusalem to search for him there. Three days later they finally discovered him in the Temple – God’s special building. He was sitting with the religious teachers, listening to them and asking questions. They were surprised that such a young person was so smart and gave such good answers. His parents didn’t know what to think. ‘Son,’ Mary said to him, ‘why have you done this to us? Your father and I have been frantic, searching for you everywhere.’ ‘But why did you need to search?’ he asked. ‘Didn’t you know that I must be in my Father’s house?’ But they didn’t understand what he meant. Then he returned to Nazareth with them and was obedient to them. Still, Mary remembered all these things in her heart."
Ian stopped climbing and just stared at David.
“I have a question.”
”What is it, Ian?”
“Jesus he was the son of a god?” Ian asked.
“Not a god, Ian, the God.”
“I have heard of the Goddess but not the God,” Ian says. “He must be the Goddess’s husband.”
“Where I come from, there are different names for the one God.  I don’t know much about this world’s spirituality, but I think the God and the Goddess are the same person.”
“How?”
“It’s a mystery, Ian, but remember how you are a brother, a son, and a nephew all at the same time? Well, God is like that. Different people to different people and still the same One Person. One Highest Being. One Deity.”
“I want you to be my father like Joseph was Jesus’ father. God was really really his Father, and Joseph was his father too.”
Before David had a chance to reply to this, a shout from their right cut him off.
“I know who you are!” a rough man’s voice shouted.
David and Ian turned to see a man dressed in a yellow suit lined with fur standing about thirty feet away. He looked out of place standing on the rocks. His hair was trimmed and combed. His shoes were not scuffed by the road at all. The smile on his face did not reach his eyes, though.
“I had a man watching you the last day. He told me about you. You are a son of Ian Michael. There is a reward for your return among the Purps. I could hold you for ransom.” The man casually walked towards them. David stepped in front of Ian and Timber growled slightly. The man looked at David, seemingly noticing him for the first time. “And who are you?”
“Just a man, travelling with this boy. He’s my charge and you can’t take him away.” David realized that this man must be a Gold leader, one from the faction opposed to the Purps.
“I have seen Purps go to the dedication to their colors as to dye their eyes, but never to this extent,” he said, matching David’s stare. The Gold had bluish-gray eyes and David’s were deep violet. “Yours look natural.”
David saw men coming towards them in his periphery. They were both carrying weapons. Over his shoulder he whispered to Ian, “Run. Hide.”
The next second seemed in fast-forward. Ian started to run towards a bush thirty yards away, the two rough Golds began running also, David tackled the closest, Timber jumped at the second, and the Gold leader shouted again: “Bounty for that man’s eyes! Twenty silvers! I want them in a jar!”
David knocked the club from the arms of the Gold as he brought the man to the ground. He was younger than David, taller and with powerful lean muscle. The Gold dug his knee upward and into David’s chest. David threw a punch into the younger man’s jaw, sending him falling to one side.
The call from the leader brought a half a dozen Golds from out of nowhere to attack David, and he was quickly overcome. He had been kicked twice in the legs and side and elbowed once in the face.
He was pinned to the ground by two men while a woman straddled his chest. Dirty bleached hair hung down around her face. She flashed a toothy grin and a thin fishing knife. “Your eyes are pretty, Purp. Worth twenty silvers to me mates and me.”
Before losing consciousness totally, David heard a shout of “Reds in!”