For the longest time, I thought this:
was the worst curse possible... but this week has shown me an old Elizabethan one is far, far worse.
I had noooooooooo idea.
But after missing four days of class (here's hoping and praying I don't miss a ton next week!!!!!!), laying in bed for hours on end aching all over and unable to put two thoughts together because chicken pox itches so abominably badly, my head hurting, my eyes hurting, unable to sleep or do anything actually constructive either... believe me, a pox is way, way worse than a lego. *shudder*
I did spend some time praying for those with chronic diseases - I can be an absolute wimp, and just thinking about people who have to deal with pain on a daily basis made me feel even worse. Beyond horrible.
So that was my week... :P I found myself complaining in an email to a friend how, unlike getting hurt, chicken pox wasn't even an experience I could include in a story (because, come on, nasty though it is, chicken pox doesn't make for a whole lot of dramatic tension, sorry...), and was therefore useless to me as a writer... and then my complaints morphed into a ridiculous story. One which I have no idea if I'll ever actually write, but... this short introduction was fun to mess with, nonsensical though it may appear to be. I said I couldn't put two thoughts together. XD
"WHAT?" he roared, and it was truly a fearsome thing to see. Dark brows lowering furiously, the mob king actually stamped his foot, and Ellian barely kept back his smile. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, bowing low before the man. To slip now would be fatal, and when he straightened, his face was properly calm.
"Yes, my lord. It has indeed been confirmed. You have chicken pox." The pronouncement nearly sent him over again, and once more he hastily bowed his head. "My humble wishes for your quick recovery."
"This is impossible! This is the week we move against the Esserhenes!" The man turned away, throwing up his hands before twisting to scratch the back of his neck.
"Oh!" Ellian leaped forward. "Do not scratch, my lord! It will leave scars! Here, I brought something with which to cover your hands."
Frowning even more heavily, the man turned back to him, and then stopped short, staring a moment is silent disbelief before breaking out in another outraged roar. "STOCKINGS?!!?! Are you now joking with me! Scars are what a man lives for! Begone with those ridiculous things!"
Ellian twisted his face into something at least approaching concern. "Not scars from a late-come childish illness, my lord! The scars you now have, those are the kind a man earns! Those such as this disease would give you… those are the kind from which women turn in disgust and which make men hide their smiles behind their hands. Please, my lord, I beg of you. Cover your hands quickly."
The man let out another frustrated howl, then snatched the socks from Ellian's hands. "You must stand at the door and let no one in, so long as I am wearing them! I will not be laughed at!"
Widening his eyes, Ellian shook his head. "No, my lord! Certainly! I will guard your dignity with my life." He bowed once more, then turned to open the black bag at his feet. "Please swallow this powder, my lord. It will decrease the itching."
The man nearly lunged for it. "Quickly, quickly, give it to me! I am like to go mad - why did you not give it to me earlier, fool!"
Ellian quickly shook his head. "Forgive me, my lord, but I did not know for sure if it would work. Here, take it with water." Actually, he'd had to mix the drug in an overly hurried fashion - hopefully it was the right dose. At some point he'd learn to carry it with him. Incredible how useful the stuff was to have around. Not that he regretted in any way the anonymous phone call he’d made to the police, turning in the man who’d taught him to make it. That guy was a creep.
And here was another. The mob king tried to swallow, and then gagged.
"Haste, drink the water!" Ellian said, mentally rolling his eyes at how that had sounded. At some point he'd get the hang of talking this way, too. Just not right now. "It is very powerful; that's why it tastes so bad," he explained, and the man tilted back his head and swallowed the rest with a gulp. Ellian almost had to respect him for that. Almost.
Wiping his mouth, the man shook his head, almost gasping. "It's not working!"
"Give it a moment, my lord. Soon… soon it will. Perhaps you should give the order yourself that you do not wish to be disturbed - lest they do not at first listen to me."
The man nodded, took three strides to the door, opened it, and bellowed out, "The next one through this door will lose his head! Whatever the physician commands, do it - the order is straight from me! And remember - come in only if you wish to DIE!" He slammed the door, then glared at Ellian.
"It's not working!"
Ellian smoothed his face into a convincing smile. "Do not doubt my skill, my lord. It will work, never fear."
Fifteen minutes, and the man would be out cold - and he'd have three hours, minimum to find the information he sought. Then he'd be home free.
And when he left, he was totally leaving the man with socks on his ears, as well as his hands.