Category Archives: Character Sketches

Tidbits about previous and upcoming characters and places in Faery, Mundane, the HyperDimension, Cyberspace and parts further out.

Mama Bear Gossips

girl rides bear
Mama Bear tells all to some listening ear while Vasalisa rides

What do you mean telling people I am manipulative? I most certainly am not. I do offer my considered advice, but people take it on their own, or to their sorrow, they don’t. I cannot make anyone do anything, any more than you can, you silly author.

So what if I did put it into Panya’s mind that she might drown the poor, misbegotten waif to better comfort the miller in his grief over losing his wife. He would surely have thought that the water monster had taken the child when she abandoned him.

Well, of course the fish abandoned him when her red hat was taken. She could not stay above water without it, and it would be foolish to drown in the air. She is sensible for a fish. And what mother, piscine though she might be, would not take her child? Leaving the child behind was not acceptable. She is no sort of decent mother. What if she does wail along the river at night? It is no concern of mine. It was an indecent marriage.

What do you mean, the child can’t breathe water? Well, due to her parentage, she has the worst of both worlds. Have you seen the webs between her toes? It’s disgusting, but she must have her feet to manage things—can’t hide those toes with decent socks or shoes, only those clogs she wears.

Yes, the first time she came here, she still had her hands, and she was so sweet, a lovely, golden-haired child, barely out of toddlerhood. The fish was clearly a bad mother, as she let this child out of her sight where she might fall into the millworks or into the pond at any moment.

I didn’t realize who she was until she came visiting that first time, and we found her asleep in the cub’s bed, sucking her webbed thumb. But Cobb fell in love with her at first sight, and when her mother abandoned her, it was simple to let her come here for comfort. Her.father had certainly gone off the deep end. I’ve hoped that she and Cobb would live here with me and take care of me in my old age.

Fairy godmother images

Just some fairy godmother images I likedSmiley Godmother

Fairy Godmother on Coffee
Every fairy godmother has her favorite stimulant–looks like this one drank some of Maven’s coffee.
Betty Boop Mother
I don’t quite get Betty Boop, but someone clearly does, in sparkly purple.
Damoiselle Dragonfly's Fairy Godmother
Damoiselle Dragonfly’s Fairy Godmother – This one looks more like Black Arlet.
Fiona Silverthorne, Fairy Godmother Superior
Fiona Silverthorne, Fairy Godmother Superior, on a good day

Brewster “Silicon” Jones

Brewster “Silicon” Jones noted the sunshine slanting through the computer lab window across his monitor, making the monitor nearly invisible in the glare. Like a search light from a cop car, it invaded from literally outside his domain where he was no deity, no more than bar slime. “Where the sun don’t shine” was pretty much where he lived. Yet the golden beam of slightly swirling dust reminded him of his promise to Red to be home early, before sunset, before the full moon rose. He had planned to leave long before now.

She was doing ritual tonight—the Great Rite. She thought she needed a god with a sword to become the goddess, and he was certainly willing to oblige. His intent wasn’t focused in the same direction as hers, but he’d enthusiastically share his energy for her to work her magic. It was great sex.

He slipped out of the lab and into his car, a middle-aged Buick that generally ran under the radar when he didn’t slip into his “usual suspects” mode. He stopped at the liquor store for a bottle of tequila. It would slow him down just a little before hand, and ground them after—blending the four elements, he called it: lime for air, ice for water, salt for earth and tequila for fire. She loved margaritas. He picked up some limeade from the convenience store next door while he was at it, just in case she had run out.

He was still half a block away from her house when the Buick sputtered and quit.

Out of gas–again.

He slipped the transmission into neutral, and willed the car to coast into her driveway.  IT rolled to a stop just before the tires hit the curb.

Might as well call it magic, he thought, magic being more reliable than luck. She’d have enough gas to siphon out, or she would take him to get some later, maybe in the morning. Give him an excuse to be late to work.

Life is good, he thought, watching the red sunset fill the western sky through the pines behind her house. Tomorrow would be a nice day—maybe he would call in sick. It was still early enough in spring for him to come down with a bit of a cold, and he’d likely be hung over anyway. He grabbed the booze and went in to worship his goddess.

Who is Maven? A bit of a Scene

When Maven Morrigan slid down from the front seat of her minivan, her pumpkin of a rump caught the duct tape that held the seat together, releasing the broken spring below.

“Damn! Story of my life!” Her last pair of panty hose ruined, another piece of her world fell apart.

Finally Maven worked the wire loose from her skirt, leaving a small hole in the polyester.

A pointed end to the worst day of her life. She’d trundled through every temp agency in the county in search of a paycheck. Even the teenage manager at Burger Haven shrugged and glanced at the semi-retired folks serving up the fat of the land. Nobody wanted a middle-aged ex-teacher when ex-CEOs were available.

She rolled her eyes in disgust. Through a break in the clouds, the evening star perched bright above the crescent moon, a spot of beauty ending an ugly day.

“Star light, star bright
First star I see tonight
Wish I may, wish I might
Have the wish I wish tonight.”

Shivering on the asphalt, she discarded one wish after another.  A golden SUV and a ripped personal trainer? A fire, chocolate and one enormous chair? A ticket into the witness protection program?

Wishing! Waste of time. She stomped to her door. If wishes were Harleys, she’d still have to put gas in them. No point in making believe. Work harder. Play the game. Keep your mind to yourself.

Her kitchen was bare. She’d sold most of her keepsakes and anything else she could liquidate at the flea market, even her books after her unemployment ran out. What was left was brown, too boring to show dirt. Could one die from beige?

A cold chill swept through her. Maven shivered again. The heater was set at hypothermal to save electricity. She reached into her pocket book to put the last of her change in the empty jelly jar on the counter.  Then she remembered giving it–her lunch money—to the woman at the copy center for stamps for the last pile of resumes lying there to be mailed in the morning. She’d forgotten to take them with her.

People survived being homeless, living outdoors and eating irregularly, so Maven made herself glad she had a cold apartment to come home to with a bed and running water.

The last four crackers with scrapings of peanut butter made her supper at the kitchen sink while she heated water, saving the last of the coffee for the morning. She poured hot water into a cup and sipped, draining her anger and warming her belly and her hands.  On the cup was a cartoon of a cleaning lady who wanted to know where her fairy godmother was.

“If my fairy godmother showed up tonight, I’d…I’d…” Maven shook her head and set the empty cup in the sink.

Still wearing her coat, Maven trudged to the bedroom to change for bed. The image of the star shone in her mind, glowing in the deep blue dusk, and the sliver of moon smiled at her, the promise of a peaceful night, and perhaps a new day, the promise of a new start. She had a few more resumes to send out, and she might hear back any day from the dozens sent before–still a bit of hope left.

Maven quickly shed her clothes and got ready for bed. Once under the covers, she began her ritual of deep breathing, partly to relax and center herself for sleep, but mostly to bring on a hot flash, which it always did, eventually. She’d learned that trick in many workshops and therapy sessions. She might not relax, but she would get warm.

She imagined sheep jumping over the star and the moon, then a cow, the cat and the fiddle, and other silly characters. As her cheeks finally flushed and the warmth flowed through her body, Maven thought of little boy blue, curled up in his haystack. Her last thought as she rolled over to go to sleep was “I’ll think about that tomorrow at Tara.”