I sketched Othello after he murders Dezzy (poor Des)

Said sketch:

sketch 107a5

So I’ve been thinking about my moral compass, and I think the biggest horrible thing that happened to me in early life was that I was taught by many and varied peeps not to have any solid understanding of lying by omission.

I’m fixing that so I can be a confidently authentic and not-backwards-lying person. They were some gnarly, misguided degenerates, all those folks. Here is some story.


A Waiting Game

Moffer Bones stomped over to grab me, and I’m sure he was planning to half pick me up and force me to walk out of his house. I was planning on coming right back if he magicked me away like he’d done before.

I mean, my game plan was to persistently haunt Moffer Bones until I had all the answers I needed about how to protect my wings and what was going on with the Queen, so I was not particularly concerned about him hefting me about and dropping me off outside the woods.

I was actually (ahem) looking forward to the manhandling parts, because it would be, like, the third time I’d been touched by another person. (So far all my touching had come from Moffer Bones, and I was not complaining at all. He was so flipping hot.)

So anyway, he stomps over to my chair and bends a little, getting ready to grab me around my upper arms, and I was sitting there in my gorgeous hoodie and jeans. I wasn’t doing anything, but when Moffer was about three inches away from touching me, he froze and his eyes got all tense.

“Stop doing that,” he says.

I had no idea what he was talking about. I was just sitting there, but he made this irritated, snarly face and started to get really flushed.
Don’t,” Moffer Bones said, and his voice, I am bound by an allegiance to the truth to state, was obviously aroused.

I thought he was trying to play a trick on me, so I smiled at him in a blithe way, and Moffer Bones made this angry, hissing kind of noise, stepped away from me, and stalked deeper into his house. I think he went into his bedroom and slammed the door, because there was a big banging sound, and then I got up and went over to shut his front door, because I didn’t want any fauna or strangers to come poking into his house just because he’d left his front door ajar. You know, because he’d opened the door prior to throwing me out, but then he did this whole song and dance about how he wouldn’t touch me.

I figured my not-talking strategy had been serving me pretty well up to this point, so after I shut the door I went back to the chair and just sat and waited.

I’ll skip all the boring parts, but I was there for a long time. After hours had passed—and night had fallen outside. I mean, it was in the depths of the night when this next part happened. I don’t want you to envision the sun just having gone down or something, because it hadn’t. This was late, what I’m about to tell you next.

Hours have passed, right? And Moffer Bones, after all this time, comes striding out of his room, still blushing, and he settles on the couch across from me, and he glares at me for a while.

Then he says, “Will one kid do it? I could maybe compromise and give you one kid.”

He looked so serious. I was sitting there, still keeping my mouth shut and my face neutral, but inside my heart I was like . . . ‘What? What, now?

I mean, it sounded like he was offering to give me a kid. Like, you know, that we would have a kid together, which was about the weirdest thing he could have said. I didn’t even know this guy, and he’s all, ‘I’ll impregnate you if you go away!’ Like, what a strange dude, right? He seemed really serious about it, too.

You’re reading Victor Poole, and in my current novel, someone just had a visit with a dentist (who is also a gangster!). You can get my latest book here.


Man on Horse (plus Rebel Fairy)

man on horse


(If you recall, our fairy has been worming answers out of Moffer Bones, and he has just explained her unconventional family tree.)

A Staring Contest

This was just a lot to take in, you know? Part of what was so strange was that now I knew who my father was, and you have to understand, fairies really don’t find out about their dads, like, ever. When a fairy mom puts her stuff out there, a bunch of different fairy dudes will come along and—you know. Put in their half, so a fairy baby really might be from a handful of guys. There’s a crowd of potential fathers, so for me to know who my dad is was just . . . really odd.

I mean, every other fairy knows who their mom is. The moms raise the kids, right? Thats how fairies do things, and I was the only fairy I knew who didn’t have any idea about my mom. Except now I had a flower mom. Ugh. So weird.

I kind of believed Moffer Bones at this point, because everything he was saying did make sense, and he had that reliable sort of look in his eyes. I mean, I trusted what he was saying. It seemed really legit. After he said this about there having been three babies like me, I wanted to know who the first one had been. Like, there was me, right? And then this other fairy girl, Monacsta, who I’ve always been told tried to assassinate the Queen and is now a statue (poor Monacsta!), and then Moffer Bones said there was another one, and I knew that the Queen must have drained this other fairy’s powers until they seemed average, so I wanted pretty badly to know who this third half-sibling was.

(All three of us came from different flower mothers, so that’s why I’m saying half siblings like this, because we are.)

Anyway, so I broke my strategic silence and asked Moffer who the other one was, and he got kind of this distasteful look on his face and said “You know that grumpy old dude called Bo?”

I said I did know Bo, and Moffer Bones said, “Well, it isn’t Bo, but Bo has a best friend who lives under a mushroom cap and doesn’t mix socially, and Bo’s best friend is your oldest half brother. His name’s Dez and he’s a *freaking* mess.”

(Moffer Bones said the real word, not ‘freaking.’)

I asked why my half brother was a mess, and Moffer Bones grinned at me.

“It’s a long story, Winstance. I’ve given you all sorts of information now, and I want my turn. What message did Amance send me this time?” He had this twinkle of hard, shiny fun in his eyes, and he looked cynical and remorseless, and I just sat there and did not say anything.

Moffer Bones narrowed his eyes at me. “You can’t just sit there,” he said in this really accusatory voice. So I did, I just sat there.

We stayed like that for a really long time, too. Like, it turned into a kind of battle of wills, which I won.

I say that I won because Moffer Bones got up and went and opened his front door, and I was still sitting there waiting. He broke first, so the victory was mine, I felt. He opened his front door and said “Get out,” and I didn’t say anything, and I didn’t move, and Moffer Bones left his door wide open and came over to grab me.

Aaaaand, this is where things got really weird. Prepare yourselves for strangeness, guys.

You’re reading Victor Poole, and in my current story, a young man is (painfully) having some tattoos removed. My latest story you can get here.

Rough dragon sketch . . . and story : )

Here is the promised rough dragon sketch!

Rough Dragon Sketch:

some dragons


(In our story so far, the rebel fairy wanted to run away in order to experience love and wear snazzy, modern clothes. On the road to her goals, she ran into some complications with the Fairy Queen and the mysterious (and handsome) Moffer Bones. Our rebel has found out she is not, in fact, pure fairy. Enjoy:)

Complicated Fairy Genealogy

Moffer Bones sat up on the couch across from me—I was in his chair, this comfy white chair in his living room, and he was across the coffee table from me—and he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, and he got this intense look in his eyes.

He was so darn glamorous. I was a little bit tempted to go over and sit next to him, just to be closer. I didn’t. Obviously he didn’t like me or want me in his house, but by gum, I wanted to kiss the guy. And, you know, have a fling. Get my heart broken. All that fun stuff.

Um, so he sat up and leaned forward, looking all serious, and he had just said that he would explain better, and this is what he told me:

What Moffer Bones Told Me

  • 600 years ago (I already knew this story; everyone knows this story) the next heir to the fairy throne, Prince Zaeffo, did a huge no-no and fell in love with a wood nymph named Yeaai.

When he told me this part, about Prince Zaeffo falling in love, Moffer Bones made this dismissive face, like love was the silliest thing in the whole world. This—kind of pissed me off, but also intrigued me, because it wasn’t the same expression fairies make when they’re poo-pooing the idea of romance. Moffer Bones seemed to take the whole idea of love personally, which kind of added to my suspicion that he was entangled in some mysterious sort of fated relationship thing with the Queen. Color me curious, for sure! Anyway, back to my list:

  • Zaeffo fell in love with the nymph, Yeaai, and had a baby with her.
  • The baby was named (I’d never heard this before, so yay for keeping my mouth shut and being observant!) Hozlefunashti (which apparently, in wood-nymph language, means ‘I really wanted this kid, and don’t judge him for being half-fairy.’ I hadn’t known before that wood nymphs were as judgy and exclusionary as the woodland fairies are, but apparently—they are!)—

Let me start that item over. The baby from the fairy prince and the nymph was named Hozlefunashti, which is sure a mouthful, but a really cool name, I think, and the baby was, as a blend of nymph and fairy, permanently banished from the forest, because apparently he had a lot of power and no respect for either group of people. He caused problems for everyone, but Moffer Bones didn’t elaborate about what those problems were.

  • Hozlefunashti is now living somewhere on the opposite side of the world and nursing a bruised ego while missing his mother, who still lives here in the forest. (She’s a wood nymph, so she can’t leave. You know, because she’s a tree most of the time.)
  • His mother also misses him.

Prince Zaeffo, like I told you a lot earlier, got his wings stripped off, was made to live as a mortal in human form for one lifetime, and then got transformed into a river, which is apparently about twenty miles outside the forest. And also, Moffer Bones said that he’s been to see Prince Zaeffo before, and the Prince, according to Moffer, is fully sentient and kind of hates being a river. (What a mess, right?)

  • Before the kid, Hozlefunashti, was banished from the forest, he was going around and—well, being kind of a hooligan. He was trying to—um. You know how I told you that lady fairies leave their fertile egg-things lying around in flowers for the man fairies to come along and—do stuff with? Well, Hozlefunashti, as a kind of joke, had been going around and trying to fertilize fairy eggs. And the fairies were offended and outraged and kicked him out of the forest. And Hozlefunashti, in a fit of pique, snuck back into the forest and—well, um. He spread himself all over a big field of flowers kind of in spite, and then the fairies caught him and did a lot better job of throwing him out so he really couldn’t come back.

And . . . Moffer Bones told me that the fairies tried to—dispose of all those ‘contaminated’ flowers, because the fairies were annoyed, and apparently even though they tried to get rid of Hozlefunashti’s genetic material, every two hundred years or so since then, a random fairy baby pops up in a flower, because Hozlefunashti’s, um, male stuff is apparently pretty much indestructible and can—uh, impregnate flowers, since he’s half wood nymph.


And then Moffer Bones told me that, um, these babies who spring up are isolated from the rest of the fairies and allowed to grow up a bit, and then Queen Amance, who’s been in power since before Prince Zaeffo had his half-nymph child—and they’re brother and sister, apparently. Queen Amance is Prince Zaeffo’s older sister. I had not known that before. I thought they were cousins, but Moffer Bones told me that the fairies kind of smudged over the records and bloodline history after Prince Zaeffo got a wood nymph pregnant. Also, it sounded to me like Queen Amance was really excited to boot her younger brother out of the succession, since he was supposed to be King after her reign was over. (Royal fairies kind of take turns, and the throne passes after an interval of time, instead of when the last monarch dies. So Amance is having more than her fair turn, basically.)

Anyway, Moffer Bones told me that these random Hozlefunashti babies who pop up—and there have been three of us so far, apparently. I’m the third one. Um, these babies who pop up from flowers are really powerful, and don’t keep the rules very well, and Queen Amance just waits until the babies get old enough and then starts leeching power off them until they either turn into an average fairy with less power or else she—well, she didn’t kill the last one, but—you remember that stone statue I told you about? That one girl, Monacsta from two hundred years ago who got her wings stripped away and is now a stone statue? Yeah, apparently Monacsta is my half-sister. So.

Talk about a weird day, right?

You’re reading Victor Poole, and in my current novel, someone is being held a prisoner and experiencing a lot of stress about the situation. You can get my latest story here.

Dragon hunter and more story

dragon sketch


(If you recall, Moffer Bones has just explained that Winstance is one quarter royal fairy, one quarter wood nymph, and half flower. He also believes the Fairy Queen has already explained this to Winstance and is expecting a message of some kind from the Queen.)

The Birds and Bees of Fairy-Kind

I mean . . . a flower? My mother was . . . a flower? What?

Luckily I was still feeling some leftover annoyance from the way he’d been refusing to answer for so long, because my face stayed pretty calm and stoic, despite the shock I was experiencing. I say this was lucky because it meant that Moffer Bones stopped being so flippant and tried to tone himself down to match me, more. He said, “I’m sorry. I guess it’s kind of big news. Um, how’d you take it? And what do you really want from me? Usually Amance is trying to get a date out of these little messenger-ploys, so what’s she after this time?”

I just stared at him. My mind was still circling around this insane thing he’d just told me, that I was—half flower. Like, what? How is someone half flower? It’s not like I had blossoms springing out of my head every spring or something, and I sure as heck looked exactly like a normal fairy. I guess my face was pretty disgruntled, because Moffer toned it down even more and got kind of sympathetic.

“Did she leave out the part about the flower?” Moffer Bones asked. I couldn’t really help myself, and I let out a kind of scoffing breath, because—a flower? Seriously? I was pretty sure this was some weird kind of joke, because baby fairies simply do not burst up out of flowers.

Oh, you probably don’t know how baby fairies are born, so . . . I should probably tell you that, so my reaction makes more sense. Um, I told you before about how fairies really, really aren’t into touchy-feely stuff, like, at all, and they don’t engage in romance. I mean, there is no cuddling, or—well, no one has crushes on each other, and there is no love, in the sense of anyone partnering up and wanting to spend time with each other. Fairies are just super, duper hands-off and independent, and they don’t like to be touched or to feel too—um. Too—I don’t know how to say this.

They don’t want to feel like anyone relies on them in an emotional sense, and they, in general, value their internal autonomy to kind of a ridiculous extent, in my opinion. I mean, the rest of the fairies, the vast majority of them, by which I mean everyone but me, is just—cold. Emotionally, they’re very calculating and cold, not in a mean way, I think, but that’s just the way they’re wired. I’m not that way, so you can imagine how no one among the fairies particularly gets along with me, because—well, I have a lot of emotions and a bunch of them center around love and wishing to be touched, and to touch in benign, happy, silly-flirty kinds of ways. Plus the more serious kinds of touching, and I want to have love with a capital L.

So I’m really different that way, and I was setting out to tell you how fairy babies are made. Well, it’s not very romantic, and I don’t think it’s particularly interesting. You know how some kinds of—like, fish, I guess? Um, some creatures will have a male and a female where their, uh, bits never actually get involved with each other? Like, one of them lays out the eggs or whatever, and then the other half of the species strolls along and kind of—spreads the spermy stuff? Yeah, that’s how fairies do things, except the girl fairies, after they plop—sorry, this sounds really gross, but—um. Let me think of a more delicate way to say this.


So the lady fairies, when their bodies go into that overdrive of ‘I must have a kid!’, they go along to a couple of different sorts of flowers that grow in the forest, and they—secrete—yeah, I’ll say secrete, that’s nicer than plop. Um, the girl fairies secret some stuff on the flower, and it apparently smells good to male fairies, because then the male fairies will come along after the female fairy is gone and—uh. Do their thing, you know. Get their half involved, and then they also stroll away, and the girl fairy comes back at some point and gets the fertilized stuff, and—yeah. That’s as much detail as I am willing to share, because the rest is kind of gross. But she gets the material back in and grows a baby, and eventually plops it out into a flower, and then she is super hands-off and feeds it and teaches it how to be a regular fairy, and by the time the kid is about five, he or she is cut loose and just on their own.

There you go. That’s regular fairy reproduction, and of course I’m this wild anomaly because I want to do things the more—uh. Carnal way. Not that I want kids, because I don’t right now, or possibly—I don’t know. I’m too young to be thinking about kids, but I want love, and all the warm, cuddly parts. Of course I’ve kept most of that wanting to myself, because the other fairies would see me as an aberration, because I am. I’m abnormal, compared to how all of them are, and the takeaway from this whole story is that I was a little baby in a flower and my mother never showed up. You know, like I just told you about how the mom fairy has the baby in a flower and then feeds the kid? Yeah, I just was in a flower, and no mom, so I always figured that my mom had me and really just walked off.

And now Moffer Bones was telling me I had spontaneously combusted into being from a flower. Like, uh, no? That’s now how making babies works, you know?
He had just asked me if the Queen had failed to mention this ‘your mother is a flower’ element, and I guess I looked pretty disbelieving, because Moffer Bones laughed, kind of in a pitying way, and he told me he would explain everything better.

I was like, good, because yeesh. I sure wasn’t buying this flower business. I was pretty sure, at this point, that he was using ‘flower’ as a metaphor for ‘deadbeat mom’ to try and spare my feelings, which I did not appreciate. I mean, I’m not a little kid, and I got used to not having a mom about fifty years ago, so come on, Moffer Bones! Be honest with me, you know? So this is what he said next.

You’re reading Victor Poole, and in my latest story, a new guy is grooming a horse creature while being inundated with valuable insider knowledge.

Face Practice and Musings

Here is this drawing for more face structure practice:



So… I was thinking the other day about how, um, when you get rid of icky stuff in your life, there comes up this other issue where I think you have to replace the ucky crap with nice things. So that’s what I’m doing right now.

Victor Poole, you’re so vague!

I know, I know. That’s one of the alluring high points of my personality, is my meandery abstruseness. : D Let’s talk about one of my actors for a minute, okay? Just for the sake of storytelling, we’ll call him Henry. Ahem.

Henry carried his body in a very odd way. He had developed flexibility for the physical discipline he was into, but he had little to no core strength and made strange flaps with his feet, which, together with the way he disengaged his hips, made him seem just a little like a disorganized, svelte duck.

A duck, you say? Well, you’re a turkey, Victor Poole!

Okay, thanks. Um, and the interesting thing about Henry was that his energy was diffused in a heavy stream from his upper shoulders to the midpoint of his waist. He was like a human waterfall, but the water (his natural impulse streams) didn’t gather into a pool or collect anywhere in his body, so the total effect of his personality was a little like a pleasant humanoid mister.

You know, a machine that sprays out a gentle, refreshing mist? Except that was his personality shooting out like that, and he didn’t have any leftover for himself, because he didn’t have a retaining container built into his physical or spiritual form.

Henry needed

a container to catch and utilize his own energy. Ideally, he would have constructed such a catch-all retaining unit in his hips, between the iliac crests of his pelvis.

I think his feet would have straightened out if he’d kept his own personality inside his body, and then he would have walked more like a sleek, powerful great dane or German shepherd, instead of like a wandering, handsome waterfowl.

And now, some story.


A Reluctant Crush

If you recall, Winstance is in Moffer Bones’ house and attempting to collect intel on her wings, mysterious powers, and current situation. Enjoy.

So Moffer Bones was sprawled all over his couch, looking like life was just too much for him, and his head was tipped back and everything, so his freaking hot jawline was just—man, he was amazingly attractive in that moment. I was trying to say, his jawline spoke to me, and it said ‘I am the most incredibly perfect person you will ever meet; love me.’ Obviously his jaw itself wasn’t the full person, but I mean Moffer Bones as a whole was having that effect on me, and I was working really hard on not getting even more of an embarrassing crush on the guy.

Had I explained yet that I had a devastating crush on Moffer Bones? It wasn’t one of those crushes where you’re, like, totally on board with things, either. I was resistant to my feelings, because I felt it was pretty clear that he really didn’t care for me. I wanted to have a whole lot of romance with a variety of partners in the future (one at a time, in succession, just to make that clear), but I had no interest in, like, developing feelings for anyone who wasn’t even mildly interested in me. Like, how humiliating and uncomfortable would that be? Super humiliating and uncomfortable, that’s how much!

Um, and so I was fighting back against my, uh, natural inclination to fall into a super deep attraction for the poor guy, who obviously just wanted me to go away. I wanted to go away, too! I just had to find out all the vital information he had so that I could protect myself and avoid whatever further traps and weird ploys the Queen Mother was likely to spring at me, you know? I mean, I felt bad for Moffer, and I didn’t want to bother him any more than I needed to to keep my wings safe and find out what the heck was going on.

Anyway, so he was lounging back on the couch looking persecuted and insanely hot, and I was trying really hard not to notice how ridiculously perfect and yummy he looked (soo yummy!), and he kind of laughed again, but in this romantic, hollow way (and I’m not just saying that. I want you to know that Moffer Bones had this, like, aura of cool charmingness, and he really was being all—all supermodelly through this bit of the action. I wasn’t projecting and being all gah-gah or something. So!)—

Starting over, he laughed in this hollow, ‘my life is so overburdened with unreasonable care’ kind of way, and he cast this glamorous, irritated, lazy glare at me (I cannot overemphasize how complex and completely gorgeous his glare was, which is why I’m adding all this description; he made this huge impact on me, is what I’m getting at)—

Sorry, okay. So he glares at me, in a very beautiful way, and then he says, “Are you seriously telling me you don’t know what you are by now? That’s rich. Right. So your price is that you’re going to humiliate me before you get down to brass tacks. Great. Fine. You’re a real nice kid, Winstance. Did she tell you about all the birth lore, too?” After he asked that, he narrowed his eyes and scowled at me.

I had NO IDEA what he was talking about. I mean, did he think I’d gone and had some kind of negotiation with the Queen? Was there some other important ‘she’ hanging around the forest I was unaware of? I mean, I know almost all the fairies, and aside from the Queen and a few members of the royal family, we’re really pretty much all the same.

I stuck to my original plan of just listening (already I was learning a lot of useful things, even if it was fragmented and confusing!), and Moffer Bones and I kind of had a staring contest. I think he was trying to break down my resistance or embarrass me or something, but I had on those incredibly comfortable jeans and the best hoodie in existence, and they were like armor or something. Plus, they smelled like Moffer Bones, and he smelled *really* good, so he truly was not scaring or intimidating me at all at this point.

I waited him out. This is what he said next.

You’re reading Victor Poole, and in my current novel, someone is making a sneak attack on the main group (and it’s thrilling and stressful!). You can get hold of my latest story here.

Yup. Yeppity yes.

So here is some story. I keep starting a regular blog post and then I get into a sort of epic panic-attack meltdown over . . . nothing.

This has

happened to me before, when I’m processing crap. And boy, am I processing crap! Ironically, I get the most stressed out when everything is going well in my life, I think because I start feeling safe so scary shit from years ago is all ‘I will surface now!’


Mostly I’m just scared. Like, I have at least fifteen to twenty years of terror stored in my body, and it hasn’t had a cozy, warm place to come crawling up before, and now things are calm, so–hello obliterating terror.

Feels incongruous.

Here’s a

fun secret: [redacted] [also redacted] Look at me being all resilient and shit!

I did have a severely delayed adolescence because they starved me. That was kind of a cultural thing, also. Don’t feed the children, because . . . something to do with religion.


So here I

am, and I’m pretty sure I won’t end up posting this, because BLERGety-puff. No, I don’t know what I mean by that.

I’m working on some books. I’m doing sketching stuff.

I’m just–so a few days ago I was thinking about writing a fairly long, involved blog post about my–I’ll call it the perma-chip-on-shoulder issue.

You know, being

kind of perpetually pissed off at people in general for a wide variety of reasons. I really think all of that annoyance and frustration is misdirected and I just have to focus it in the proper direction before it’s going to go anywhere (by which I mean, process so I can let go of it in a healthy way).

And then I come smack up against the secondary but perhaps more insidious issue of feeling utterly invisible.

You know, that my backstory is unpleasant enough that people literally don’t want to hear about it (’cause yucky), except that’s all of it. That’s it, you know? I don’t have any fun, nice bits of backstory, so I’m kind of standing there thinking, ‘Quick, come up with pleasant chit-chat!’, but there isn’t any, really.

So I tell stories instead.

It’s really

kind of exhausting.

Sigh. Plus, hello flashes of sudden adrenaline-slash-terror!

Eventually I’ll get through it. I got through the other stuff.

And see, the thing is that the whole shame-spiral issue is about keeping secrets, which, you’d think the optimal approach would be to expose all the secrets, right? And I have no issue doing that, on principle, but then I come up against the fact that these people, the various entities who misused me, don’t matter to me. I don’t care about them. I’m not invested in that story; I just want to get through the remaining physical after-effects and move on all the rest of the way with my life.

I really don’t

want to be that person who is perpetually banging on the drum of ‘my life was so hard!’ I don’t think my life was that hard, really. It sucked, yes. People did not protect me or stand up for me or even notice that unethical shit was happening to me (or they just kept their eyes closed), but I don’t really care. I just need to work through the various lingering symptoms and then I won’t ever have to think about this stuff again. You know?

So the easiest thing, it seems like, would be to just go all exposé, and let’s lay out the crapfest of my early life, but I just don’t care. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not invested in any of the shit that happened back then; it’s just the after-effects physically that I’m still working through right now. You know, the psychological and physiological mementos of extremely unideal origins.

The story itself is boring; a whole lot of people have appalling parents, or were surrounded by mildly evil people long ago, or are so now. That’s commonplace, and not news. Wrong, yes, something for me to get hysterical about, no. Something to prevent, yes, something for me to fixate on, absolutely not.


Here’s what happens next with Winstance.


If you recall, Winstance, having sat in a tree for three days to think, has just strolled into Moffer Bones’ house and called out for him. He is now very annoyed and we’re waiting to hear what he will say next! And . . . go!

A Frustrated Moffer Bones

So he was pacing around, right? And looking pretty intense, and then he said, “How much did she tell you?”

Well, I had no idea at all what he was talking about, so I stuck to the plan of clamming up and looking mysterious, which totally worked, because Moffer Bones kind of made this desperate, angry laugh and threw his hands up into the air.

“Great! So what do you want? What are your terms, Winstance?” he said, and he sounded really sarcastic and a little bit scared, honestly, when he said my name, which sort of freaked me out, because . . . well, I didn’t know who ‘she’ was, that he thought I’d spoken to, and I also was really not at all caught up to why he would be afraid of me.

Now, before my long stint of hanging out in that rotten oak for three days, I would have jumped in and just tried to calm him down and seem as nonthreatening as possible, but I was pretty determined to get to the bottom of things, and I was very much wanting to find out how to protect my wings and figure out what the crap was going on in my life now, so I went on looking just as stoic and—um. Like, stern? In a negotiating sense? Yeah.

I kept doing that and not saying anything, and Moffer Bones kind of started to mutter to himself about, um, dumb old fairies, and magical essences coming back to bother him, which sounded really intriguing, and then he stopped pacing and spun to face me, and he was like, “So what’s your price? How much do you want from me before you’ll just go away?”

I still had no clue at all what was going on here, but this did sound like an opening negotiation I could really use, so I repeated what I’d asked in the first place, and I said, “What am I?”

Moffer Bones made another cynical kind of snort and flopped down onto his couch, and he just stared at me for a minute with his head tipped back against the sofa. He looked so freaking attractive, and all—um, disheveled? Like a guy would look if he was being hounded by blackmailers or something, but all the stress just made him completely adorable. He had that gorgeous, persecuted hero thing down pat. Sigh.

You’re reading Victor Poole, and I feel terrible right at this moment (but it’ll pass, because it’s all subjective and from a looong time ago). In my latest novel, one of the bodyguards is having a kind of light anxiety attack about his next step in life, and you can get my latest story here.

The Infamous Leaf-Dress, plus some story!

Here is a sketch of Winstance. In progress, so . . . yeah.

Aaaand I was going to tell you a bunch of what’s been going on in my life, but mostly it comes down to: I feel tired! Which is not particularly entertaining, so here’s that picture I started:

Beginning sketch of Winstance in her hated leaf-frock:

rebel fairy more resolution crop

And now, here’s what happens next with our rebel fairy. Remember, she’s been hiding in the top of Moffer Bones’ rotten oak for a few days and thinking about her plans for the immediate future (and trying to figure out what kind of ‘creature’ of mystery she might actually be).


A Benign, Determined Break-In

So I broke into Moffer Bones’ house, which turned out to be laughably easy. I had been kind of afraid that maybe he would have magical defenses set up all around his place, but I just made myself really small with magic and walked through a crack in the back wall. Strolled right in, and then I flew sneakily around until I found Moffer Bones.

He was in his bedroom, and I only peeked in the open door long enough to see that he was there. I didn’t spy or find out what he was doing at all, because I didn’t want to be a pervert or anything. I mean, I know I was already crossing a whole lot of lines just by coming into his house unannounced, so I didn’t want to exacerbate that by being all—snoopy.

Anyway, so I caught a brief glimpse of his cute, jeans-clad legs on one side of his bed, with the door half-open the way it was, and then I went back into his main room, made myself approximately his size, and shouted for him to come and see me.

Moffer Bones came rushing out into the living room looking—well, looking like a guy who’s just had some random fairy break into his house, and he glared at me for a bit before he said anything.

You’ll remember that I’d been, from his perspective, gone for three days, and he just had this really intense look on his face. To be perfectly honest, it almost seemed like he was afraid of me, which I guess, if he was, that would go along with me being some kind of powerful, mysterious creature or something. (I was really hoping he’d spill more beans on this topic, honestly.)

Anyway, he had this odd look on his extremely handsome face, and I was working really hard not to blush, because ye gads he was attractive, and then he said, “What are you doing here?”

I said, “What am I?”

That’s all I said, because I wanted to find out what his response would be. Something that I’d decided while I’d been hiding up in his tree was that I had been talking too much during our first encounter, and not listening enough, so my plan was to just keep my ears open and figure out as much as I could by, like, absorbing all the details of what he said.

Okay, so like I told you, I said, “What am I?”, and then just hunkered in to wait and see what he would say or do, and Moffer Bones, this caramel hunk with dark blue eyes, he shoots what felt like laser beams at me for a moment and then says, “How did you get in here?”

Well, following my previously stated plan to just listen, I didn’t say anything, and Moffer Bones let out this harsh laugh, almost like he’d been afraid I would come back and now here I was. It was as if he was having this separate conversation with himself, inside his head, and I really, really wanted to find out what that internal dialogue was like, so I just kept on not saying anything.

Moffer Bones stared at me for a long moment, and then he blushed, and then he started pacing around.

I was really excited, because he wasn’t shouting at me to go away! So far my plan to be silent and observant was totally working out, so I just stood there and did my best to look calm and enigmatic, and now I’ll tell you what he said next.

Oh, and I want to mention that, like I told you earlier—um, I had mentioned how I felt like I would feel tons better if I could talk to Moffer Bones while wearing regular, modern clothes instead of my annoying leaf frock, and now I was standing there in his jeans and hoodie—which felt so, so amazing against my skin, gosh—and it turns out that I was totally right! It made a huge difference, and I think a main reason why I was able to pull off being calm like this was because I was wearing clothes I liked. Yay! Anyway, so now I’ll tell you what Moffer Bones said.

You’re reading Victor Poole, and in my current novel, the newbie hunters are bringing the captured quadrupeds back to the main camp. You can get my latest story here.