Word: Simpatico

simpatico

/sɪmˈpɑ tɪˌkoʊ, -ˈpæt ɪ-/

adjective

1. congenial or like-minded; likable:

I find our new neighbor simpatico in every respect.

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              Ted muttered and grumbled as he settled into the too heavy covers.  He pulled and tugged at the sheets, but they refused to cooperate with him.

                “Oh for pete’s sake, Ted, what’s wrong?” Asked his wife, Jill.

                “Nothing.  It’s these sheets is all.  They just won’t settle right.”

                “It’s not the sheets.  You’ve been grumpy all afternoon.  What happened.”

                “Nothing.” Ted insisted again.  Jill looked at him in the way only she could.  That look had power over him.  It was better than any truth serum could ever be.  Ted grumbled, but relented.  “I met Liz’s new boyfriend today.” he said sullenly.

                “Oh, is that all?” Jill said.  She climbed into bed next to her husband.  “Why is that making you so upset?”

                “It’s just...I was so ready to hate him, you know?  I mean, how dare he even think of touching our baby girl?  But he’s just so…so…likeable.” He shuddered as he said that last word.  It was like poison to his very being as a father.

                “Well, isn’t that a good thing?  That Liz found a nice boy should make you happy, right?”

                Ted huffed.  “You don’t understand.  You’re a mother.  I’m a father.  It’s an entirely different relationship.”

                “So tell me.”

                “I just.  I wanted to strangle him for daring to even think about touching my baby girl.  But then he opened his mouth.  He was polite and charming and witty and, and nice.”

                “So you’re getting upset because you don’t have a reason to hate our daughter’s boyfriend?”

                “Exactly!”

                “Doesn’t seem very fair, does it?  I mean, why are you even trying to hate this boy?  If you just met him at a school event or something, you wouldn’t have any problem with him, would you?”

                “Well, no, but I didn’t meet him at a school event, did I?  I met him when Liz introduced him to me.  As her boyfriend.  I mean, why does she even have a boyfriend?  She’s only fifteen. She shouldn’t be dating.”

                “You don’t remember much about being a teenager, do you?”

                “Not really.  But she’s too young.”

                “She doesn’t think so.  And neither do any fifteen year olds.  Look, Ted, you’re just going to have to get over it.  Just thank god that the boy Liz wants to be with is so good.  It could’ve been worse.  At least she isn’t dating some bully or punk or something.”

                “I guess that’s true.” Ted admitted. 

                “What’s this boy’s name anyway?”

                “Josh.”  Ted thought about the last name.  Did he get a last name?  He could not be sure, but he thought he did.  “Josh Tanner, I think?”

                “Tanner…Tanner…” Jill thought, mulling the name through her mind.  “Oh I think I know who you’re talking about.  Really, he is a fine boy.  I know his mother from PTA meetings.  It’s a good family.  Liz will be just fine with him.”

                “I just don’t like it, is all.”

                “I know you don’t.  But that’s not going to change the fact that she’ll keep dating him.  The sooner you come to terms with that, the better you’ll feel.  And if it’s any consolation, high school relationships rarely last passed college.”  Jill almost left it at that.  “Then she’ll be able to date lots of other boys.”

                “What!?” 

***************************************

I can't say I have much experience with dads like this.  My dad never seemed to have a problem with my sister's boyfriends at any rate.  Of course, he did threaten them with a plastic butcher knife, but that was about it.  Of course, my sister was never one to bring home loads of guys, so there was that.  

Word: Katzenjammer

katzenjammer

/ˈkæt sənˌdʒæm ər/

noun

1. the discomfort and illness experienced as the aftereffects of excessive drinking; hangover.

2. uneasiness; anguish; distress.

3. uproar; clamor:

His speech produced a public katzenjammer.

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               Brad groaned as consciousness slowly crept up on him.  He felt like someone had used his throat as a distillery while another using his skull as a drum set.  There was a heavy booming noise to his right, but he dare not see what was causing the tiny explosions.  He knew the moment he did, his eyes would be hit by spears of light.

                He slowly attempted to move.  That was a mistake.  Whatever surface he was on was hard and unforgiving.  He did not make another attempt.  Instead, he focused on just his arm.  He raised it to nurse his head and shield his eyes.  His arm stopped a few inches off whatever he was laying on.  Not because of his inability to raise said arm, but because something was actively stopping its upward motion.

                Against his own better judgment, he opened his eyes.  The room he was in was dimly lit, so instead of spears, it was more like pointy sticks.  He could deal with that.  He was in a stone room with nothing in it, save the metal slab he was both lying on and shackled to.  The explosions turned out to be water dripping down from the ceiling.  The water had spread out quite a bit, and it seemed like the entire floor was damp.

                Brad had no idea where he was, or how he had gotten there.  He was so worried that he almost forgot his hangover.  Almost, but not quite.  His far too sensitive ears picked up the screeching of metal hinges and the scraping of stone and steel, all coming from behind him.  They were followed by footsteps belonging to what had to have been a giant.

                “Oh good, you’re awake.” Came the booming, but distinctly female, voice.  Brad winced in pain.  “Oh, sorry.  I’ll talk softer.”  She said at a much more human volume.

                She came around to the side of the bed.  She was a pretty, young blond woman.  She looked familiar.  He forced his mind to work, and even though it protested, he remembered her.  The two of them had been talking last night at the bar.  They had appeared to hit it off, and she had invited him back to her place.  He remembered her named started with an “A”.  He wanted to say either Ashley or Amanda.  Something along those lines.

                “Do you remember me?” She asked. 

                “I think so.” Brad said.  He thought for a moment.  “Ashley, right?”

                “Wow, I’m impressed.  With how you were drinking, I didn’t think you’d remember my name.”

                “Oh I get it, I really do.  I normally don’t remember names very well.  I make an exception for the really pretty ladies though.”

                “Oh my, and what a sweet talker.  And here I thought it was the alcohol.”

                “Only partially.  So, uh, think you can maybe let me up?”

                “Oh no, I’m sorry, but that won’t be happening.” Ashley said through a sharp intake of breath.  “That would ruin all my carefully laid plans.”

                “Which are?”

                “Brad, let me ask you a question.  Do you remember high school?  More importantly, how well do you remember those you went to school with?”

                “High school?  Can’t say I remember that very well.  I mean, it’s been, what, twelve years now?  Oh, I do remember I was a huge jerk though.”

                “Well, I’m glad to hear you admit that.  But I was talking about people, specifically.”

                “Oh.  Well, sorry, but I don’t remember too many people.  Like I said, twelve years.  It was a long time.”

                “That’s too bad.”  She said slowly.

                “Although, since you bring it up, I can guess what’s going on.  I was mean to you way back when for one reason or another.  You went through a big change and, instead of just rubbing ‘what could have been’ in my face, you decided for a more…painful revenge.  Do I have that right?”

                “Wow.  I’m impressed.  You got it in one.  I didn’t think you would, since you were never particularly bright back then.”

                “Oh, I’m still not.  I just watch a lot of TV and movies.”

                Brad kept his voice light and cheery, but he was anything but.  In fact, a small pit of unease was slowly building.  It had been building since he first found the cuffs on his wrist, but the fact that she so easily admitted her intention to torture him made it build so much faster.

                “I suppose this is similar to a bunch of slasher flicks, isn’t it?”

                “Pretty much, yeah.  So, you watch those too?”

                “Not really.  I read about them, but never cared to actually watch.  Why?”

                “Well, it’s just that it usually doesn’t end well for the torturer.  Of course, it usually doesn’t end well for the victim, but the torturer usually gets him at the end.  Or, hers in this case.”

                “I’ll have to be careful then, won’t I?”

                “Might help if you let me go.  All fun and games right?”

                “Nice try, but no.  Although, I will give you a chance.  If you remember me and why I’m doing this, I’ll let you go.”

                That was not good.  His high school had a lot of people in it, and at least six of them were named Ashley.  He did not remember being mean enough to any of them to warrant this kind of treatment though.

                “Ah, see, that’s a bit tricky.” Brad admitted.  “Like I said, twelve years does funny things to memory.”

                “That it does.” Ashley said, nodding in agreement.  “I guess that means you don’t remember me specifically, do you?”

                “Not as such no.  I mean, all I really have is your name.  That’s not a lot to go off of, even if I did remember everyone from back then.”

                “Ah.  You are absolutely right.  I guess I am being a bit unreasonable, aren’t I?  Okay then, I’ll just tell you my last name and see what comes up.  My full name is Ashley Rachel Hendricks.”

                Brad thought about the name for a moment. He somehow dredged a vague memory out of his still pounding head.  The pit became a gaping chasm. 

                “Oh crap.” He said.

                “Oh good, you remember, don’t you.” She said happily.

                “A little bit, yeah.  So, does that mean I can go free?” He said.  He felt a drop of sweat run down the side of his head.  “That’s what you said you’d do right?  If I remember you, you’d let me go.”

                “I did say that, didn’t I?  Although, I did have a stipulation about my motives.”

                “It’s because I ignored you for most of the time, and when you asked me out I called you fat?”

                “I remember the exact phrase was something closer to ‘tub of whale blubber’.  I also recall a few shoves.  Down some stairs.”

                The memory came rocketing back.  Sweat beaded on his head and his stomach twisted as he recalled laughing as the then portly teenage girl fell.  Back then, he had reveled in the laughter of those around him, in particular the head cheerleader who had been with him. 

                “Such a shame, but since you did not, in fact, remember the entire story, I won’t be letting you go.” Ashley said.  “Although, since you remembered part of it, I’ll give you a little reprieve.  See, I’m going to do what you did, and ignore you before I hurt you.  But now, I won’t ignore you for quite as long.  Sounds good, right?”

                “Uh…” Brad said.  He was no longer hiding his distress.  “Not really.”

                “Good.  That’s the point.  Oh, and, since you were so kind as to mention it.”  Ashley leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “Look at what you missed out on.”

                She pulled away and stood tall, making sure he saw as much of her as his limited vantage point could see.  Then, without another word, she turned and walked slowly, deliberately, out of his field of view.  He heard the door screeching closed and he was alone.

************************************************

Remember kids, don't be a bully.  It's mean, cruel and unnecessary.  Plus, you never know who might grow up to be a psych killer out for revenge against all their old bullies.  So play it safe, don't be a bully.  Your life might depend on it.

Word: Myrmidon

Myrmidon

[mur-mi-don, -dn]

noun, plural Myrmidons, Myrmidones

[mur-mid-n-eez] (Show IPA)

1. Classical Mythology. one of the warlike people of ancient Thessaly who accompanied Achilles to the Trojan War.

2. (lowercase) a person who executes without question or scruple a master's commands.

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               “Titia, come here.” Said Lord Hector.

                A slight but very pretty young woman approached him.  She wore a fairly standard maid’s uniform, save for the collar, which was slightly too high.  There was something about her eyes though.  They seemed dead somehow.

                “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Hector asked.  He held her by the chin and stroked her skin, like he was petting an animal.

                “She is.” Peter answered.  “Where did you find her?”

                “Oh, some little backwater village.  She was wasting her life as an herbalist’s apprentice.  I’ve put her to much better use, really.”

                Peter thought it was the other way around.  With her soft, gentle features, he could see her doing very well as an herbalist. 

                “I’m sure.  But it doesn’t look like she’s very happy here.  Is there anything wrong with her?”

                “Nothing wrong, no.  And she came with me just fine.”

                “I see.  You know, I’ve heard that young ladies from small villages have problems with obedience when put into positions of service.”

                “Titia has no such problems, I assure you.  She follows my every command to the letter.”

                Peter would have been impressed with the claim, if it were not for the look in the young woman’s eyes.  There was something more to this, he felt sure of that.

                “Really now?  Such loyalty is impressive, especially in one so young.”

                “Loyalty has nothing to do with it, I assure you?”

                “Than what is it?”

                “Titia, show him.”

                Titia pulled down the cloth covering her neck.  There was a band of metal around her neck.  Intricate runes were deeply etched into the metal, and the entire thing seemed to be coated by a thin layer of glass, or some other clear substance.

                “Is…is that what I think it is?” Peter asked in a hushed voice.

                “Indeed.  A genuine slave collar.  Magnificent, isn’t it?”

                “Aren’t those illegal?”

                “Technically, yes.  But, my good, sir, such things are hardly a problem.  Laws, you see, are for the general populous.  It makes them feel safe.  Like they matter, and that someone is taking care of their needs.  It has no bearing on those in our position.”

                “I see.” Peter had to fight to remain in his seat.  There was no part of him that agreed with his heavy-set host.  Still, it was best to play the part.  For now.  “Aren’t they hard to get?”

                “It can be a bit tricky, yes.  Not many want to risk making them.  But once you find someone, you can get as many as you want as long as you have the coin to pay for them.  Me?  I have five more just like Titia here.”

                “Six?  You really have six of them?”

                “Oh yes.  And my wife has three.”

                Nine.  Nine people forced into slavery by the lord and his wife.  It was unspeakable what they had done.  Peter took a few moments to compose himself.

                “Are the rumors about the collars true then?”

                “Of course they are.  As long as Titia wears her collar, she’ll do anything I ask without hesitation.  I told you where I found her, right?  Well, when she was there, she was too…too nice.  Not a wicked bone in her body.  Now she’ll gut a man like a fish without blinking if I tell her to.”

                Peter’s blood ran cold.  “And have you?”

                “Have I what?”

                “Had her kill anyone?”

                “No, of course not.  Titia is too frail for that.  Besides, I like to keep one girl with a bit of innocence.  No, I have another slave that’s much better suited to eliminating those who displease me.  She’s an assassin, you know.  Used to work for the highest bidder.  Now that I’ve collared her, she works only for me.”

                “And you’ve had that one commit murder?”

                “Murder is what peasants do.  I have her eliminate those who get in my way, that’s all.”

                “Will the courts see it that way I wonder?”

                “Who cares what the courts say, really.  I practically own the courts.  I’m sure you’re the same in your domain.  It’s what separates us from the common folk, you know.”

                “Ah, yes.  Of course.  I understand completely.”

                “I thought you would.  Titia, we’re done with you now.  Leave.”

                The young slave left the room without a word.  Peter watched her leave out of the corner of his eye.  Hector continued to talk about things he felt were important for being a lord.  Peter only half listened and provided a few words here and there.  He was actually looking for a chance to leave the man’s estate.  He had been after Hector for years, and only now did he have enough evidence.  Peter, enforcer for the courts, would show Lord Hector just how much sway the law really had.

******************************

Sorry  I didn't use that first definition there.  That probably would've been cool.  Instead you get this.  I hope you can forgive me this transgression.  

Word: Emolument

emolument

/ɪˈmɒl yə mənt/

noun

1. profit, salary, or fees from office or employment; compensation for services:

Tips are an emolument in addition to wages.

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              There was a timid knock on the door.  Renald bade the person on the other side to enter.  He was somehow not surprised to see the slight form of one of his servants, Erren.  Renald allowed the teenage boy to speak.

                “Sir, I would like to talk to you about my work.” Erren said while wringing his hands.

                “Yes?  What about it?”

                “Are you pleased with my work?  Do I do a good job in your eyes?”

                “You do, yes.  I dare say you are proving to be one of my best serving boys.  What of it?”

                “In…in that case, I would like to request additional payment.” Erren cringed and looked away from his master.

                “Additional payment?  What’s this all about?  You’ve always been satisfied with nothing but food and shelter as payment.  What else could you ask for?”

                “Well, money, sir.  Not much.  Only a few small coppers a week.  One or two will suffice.”

                Renald looked intently at his nerve wracked servant.  He steepled his fingers under his chin and considered the request.  This was a very sudden change, and a very dangerous one.  True, a small copper or two a week was not much; it was not even enough to buy a small loaf of bread.  But it could lead to requests for ever increasing amounts.  And, if his other servants found out, they could make the same demand, which could hurt his finances quite badly.

                “Why do you want money at all?  I provide all your needs, don’t I?”

                “Yes, sir, you do.  Quite well.  But there is something I am trying to do.”

                “Which is?”

                “I am building something.  It is not something big.  Just a little something in my spare time.  I have made do with what I could salvage off the streets until now.  But the last few parts I cannot make on my own.  I must get them from a store, and I would never even dream of ruining your good name by stealing.  And so I need money.  A few coppers, when properly saved, can buy much with enough time, sir.”

                “True enough, true enough.  How much do you need to buy everything?”

                Erren shifted his weight, and Renald could see sweat starting to bead on the boy’s brow.  “Two ringed silver for everything.”

                “That’s no small amount.” Renald said slowly.  It was enough for an adult to live comfortably for a week.  Workers at his stores made around that much, but Erren was not a store worker. 

                “Yes, sir.  I know, sir.  But I am not asking for that amount.  A copper a week will do.  It does not even need to be a large one.  A small copper will suffice.”

                “What exactly are you making that needs two ringed silver’s worth of goods?”

                “N-nothing important, sir.  Just a little toy.”

                “Show me.”

                Erren bowed slightly and ran off.  He was gone for a good half of an hour before reentering Renald’s office.  The boy carefully placed a small wrapped bundle on the large, wooden desk.  Inside the rough cloth was a figure of a man made of a patchwork of metals.  It was obvious it had been made out of old, worn out materials, but had been cleaned off well.

                Renald took out a small eye lens and examined the partially exposed interior.  It consisted of gears and rods of metal that had been finely constructed out of the poor quality materials.  There were master tinkerers and smiths that could only dream of making something so intricate.  Still, there was empty space inside of it.  Space that practically demanded to be filled by something. 

                “It is supposed to be able to move on its own.” Erren said.  “It does nothing right now.  Not without the correct parts.”

                “I see.” Renald could see much to gain from something like that.  If it could indeed move on its own, then there were hundreds of uses for such a thing.  “And you say you made this on your own?”

                “Yes, sir.”

                “How did you learn to make something like this?”

                “I watch people.  Whenever I am able to.  I watch the tinkerers and the smiths and the glassblowers and the sculptors.  Whenever I have a spare moment that I am not on a job for you, sir, I watch them.  I do not think my skills up to par with a true master, but it is sufficient for me.”

                The boy clearly underestimated his skills.  In some ways it was better that way.  Renald could make use of the tinkering prodigy that Erren was shaping up to be.  Still, it would not do to give the boy too much leeway.  He might begin to suspect what such skills were truly worth. 

                “Very well.  Two small coppers a week.” Renald said.  “But this is not to spread, do you understand?  None of my other servants are to know about this.”

                “Yes, sir.  I understand.  And thank you, sir.”

                “Now, unless you have anything else to ask, you may leave. And take your little toy with you.”

                Erren complied with the order quickly, leaving Renald to his thoughts.  Two small copper coins a week.  Such a small amount.  Beggars on the street made more.  But the possibilities of what two tiny coins could bring in that boy’s hands were endless.  And that was a price Renald was more than willing to pay.

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Always do your part to support a future artist.  You never know where a person's talents may bring them.