Obligatory New Years Resolution Post

ImageI don’t make resolutions.  I’m pretty terrible at keeping them, and I don’t like being a disappointment.  Besides, I do make it a point to be awesome every goddamn day, and to try my hardest to be increase my awesome quotient on a daily basis, so there’s no real reason for me to make particular resolutions.  I’ve got too much to do on a daily basis (besides being awesome, of course) and too much to think about to focus on some arbitrary goals that are based on whatever’s on my mind at midnight after a few glasses of wine and champagne.  So, I’m just going to continue doing what I’m doing and being awesome all year long.  And this year will be all the more awesome because I won’t be so stressed out because I won’t have this uneasy feeling that I’m failing at something.

So, that’s all there is to say about that.  Here’s a new scene I wrote the other day to break in the New Year:

When Nariva entered the grand ballroom, she couldn’t help but feel a giddy happiness well up inside her.  This is where she belonged, among the richest and most powerful people in the country.  With her beauty, the men flocked to her, and she never failed to find herself attached to a position of power and able to manipulate events to her liking.

Gliding gracefully down the stairs to the ballroom proper, she could hear the whispers following her.  The rumors surrounding her appearance at court were wide and amusing, but none came close to the truth.  Either none of these people knew anything about what was happening in the North, or they simply weren’t swift enough to connect her to it.  Smiling and chatting her way through the room, mentally filing the men by their power and the women by their beauty, Nariva wondered if the people this close to the seat of power could truly be that blind.

Nearly an hour later, she was flirting with a tipsy young lord whose family came from the North, though he himself had spent his entire life in the Capital.

“What is your House name again, my lady?”  The young lord slurred, leanding in to get a better look down her low neckline.

“Cherand.  My family has been advisors to the Sithias for generations.”  She moved closer to him, running a hand along his arm.  “And your family?”

“Oh, we own some land near the border with the next province.  We have farmland and livestock, of course, and a small village.  My elder brother helps my father run it, mostly.  I stay here and ensure our interests are represented.  And, of course, act as an advisor to Cimmeron.”

“So you’re an ambassador of sorts?” She said flirtatiously, allowing his hand to remain on her waist.  “And friends with the First Prince to boot?  Impressive!”

“Liverion!  Always with your hands on the prettiest girl in the room!  Has this fair creature given you permission to assault her person in such a manner?”

Turning to the strong male voice behind her, Nariva found herself looking up into the deep brown eyes of a man that until this point she had only seen from afar; the First Prince himself, Cimmeron.  And he was taking her hand and bowing over it.

“Are you all right, my Lady?  Lord Marfalie means well, but he’s never quite discovered how much ale is too much.”

“My Lord Prince,” Nariva replied breathily, spreading her skirts into a low curtsy.  “All is well here.  Lord Marfalie and I are simply discussing our families in Geranda.  I’m sure his familiarity meant no disrespect.”

Cimmeron eyed her appraisingly for a long moment, then bowed slightly.  “Very diplomatic, my Lady. I have yet to learn your name, however.”

“Lady Cherand, my Lord.  Lady Nariva Cherand.”

“Well, then, Lady Cherand, if you would allow me to escord you, I’m sure we can find more suitable conversations partners for you than our Lord of the Ale.”  He offered her his am, and she took it, inwardly marveling at her luck.  She had come here hoping to attach herself to someone in power to pull herself up – she’d never expected to land the First Prince at her very first event.  Cimmeron stopped long enough to request that the servers ensure that Liverion’s mugs were well-watered through the rest of the evening, and then they moved along towards the more powerful area of the room.

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