Word: Predilection

predilection

[ pred-l-ek-shuhn, preed- ]

noun

a tendency to think favorably of something in particular; partiality; preference: a predilection for Bach.

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               “And you’re sure this will work?” Tamrin asked. He looked at the pendant critically.

               He was not an expert on magical items, but it seemed magical enough. And the shop keeper swore it would work. Of course, if it did, it was far under priced, which made Tamrin wary. But he always heard stories about small shops selling wondrous items to the right person. Maybe he was just the right person to own this particular item.

               “Of course it will.” The shopkeeper said. “I guarantee its function. The hard part will be setting everything up.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “This pendant is actually two pieces. You keep the main piece, and give the other, small piece to the target.”

               “Please don’t say it like that. You make it sound like I’m an assassin.”

               “My apologies, but it is the correct term. Anyway, you give it to the…intended recipient. Then, you simply wait. The magic takes a day to really set in. After that, the person will begin to see you more favorably. A person who hates you will simply dislike you. And a person who likes you will like you a lot. The longer the two pendants are active, the more favorably the person will see you. And then…”

               “And then she falls in love with me.” Tamrin said hopefully.

               “Quite so, young man. And, best of all, she will not even notice she’s under the effects of a spell. That’s why this is so much better than a…”The shopkeeper’s lips contorted as he forced the next words out of his mouth. “Love potion. Those might be fast, but they’re obvious to anyone with eyes and a bit of sense, and they’re so temporary. With this pendant, the effects are subtle. So much so that nobody but a trained mage will notice. And they’re much more permanent.”

               It sounded perfect. Exactly what he needed. To win the heart of his beloved, he needed something like this. It was not like he had much else going for him. He looked at the ornate pendant again, already picturing the perfect life it could give him.

               “Perfect, I’ll…”

               “Before you buy it,” The shopkeeper interrupted. “I am legally obligated by the Mage and Enchanter’s Council to give you a few warnings. First, this is not mind control. It simply makes her see you more favorably, makes it more likely she’ll treat you well and like you. It does not make her obedient, nor does it change her personality in any way. Second, should the use of this item produce any issues in any way, I am not legally responsible for the well being of you, the intended recipient, or the item itself. Third, the use of magic items in general may, in rare cases, cause unintended side effects, and their use comes at your risk. Understand?”

               “Uh, I think so? Yes?” He was interested to hear more on those side effects, but somehow he did not think he would get a list. More likely, he would just be told to check with the local Mage Council branch office.

               “Wonderful! In that case, that will be 2,000 gret.”

               Expensive, yes, but still less than it was technically worth, provided it worked as intended. Tamrin had been saving for years for a chance like this, and he was not going to waste it. 

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If you had an item like this, who would you use it on? And would you even need to?

Word: Hebdomadal

 

hebdomadal

[ heb-dom-uh-dl ]

adjective

taking place, coming together, or published once every seven days; weekly: hebdomadal meetings; hebdomadal groups; hebdomadal journals.

noun

a weekly magazine, newspaper, etc.

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               The explosion filled the air with sound, smoke, and flame. The dust caught on the breeze and slowly began to either settle or blow away. The people nearby scrambled to get away, running as fast as they could. Those further away from the blast had a much different reaction.

               Many stopped to watch what they knew would happen. Others kept going about their day. The building which had been blown up showed sign of movement. A figure began to make itself known in the ever thinning smoke and dust.

               The man there wore black body armor with blood red highlights. His face was obscured by a heavy helmet, and he was covered with pouches. Everyone nearby took in his visage, one which normally inspired fear.

               “He’s late this week.”

               “Is that new armor? I think that’s new armor. I liked his old set better.”

               “Why’d he go after that bank? He already tried that one last week.”

               The bomber either did not hear the varied comments of the public, or chose to ignore them. He had bags of money from the bank he had just robbed, and now it was time to make his getaway. His attempt at fleeing was interrupted by another man. This one wore a much more colorful outfit.

               His muscular form was clad in a silver outfit with a stylized blue insignia depicting a starburst inside a circle. The most notable feature about his appearance though, was that he was flying. The onlookers took out their cameras, ready to film the battle. Not that any of them needed to. This one would probably go the same as last week’s. And the week before that. And, well, all the previous week’s battles.

               As the hero gave his speech, a slight variant of the one he normally used, the onlookers talked.

               “How do you think the escape will happen today?”

               “I hear they aren’t really fighting and it’s all staged. That’s why it happens at the same time every week.”

               “Ah man, my phone’s dying. Guess I’ll catch the fight later.”

               The battle between hero and villain began. Both took to the skies, one under his own mysterious power, and the other with rockets built into his armor. They circled each other for a moment before they both charged. A mighty clash of energy and physical might rang out overhead. Shockwaves flew forth, knocking a few unlucky bystanders down, but none were harmed.

               The villain pulled out new weapons from somewhere that nobody quite knew where, using them on the hero. The hero would avoid the attack and counter with a superhuman punch, which would be blocked by an energy shield. The exchange when back and forth in a dance that everyone watching knew well. After the first few minutes, only the most dedicated continued watching, and even few were still filming.

               “Eh, I’ll catch it later. I’ve gotta get to work.”

               “That’s it? Another gun? Boring.”

               “Hey, how much longer do you think this’ll take? My arm’s getting tired.”

               Suddenly, with a mighty hammer blow, the villain was sent crashing to the ground. His shield, weakened as it was, had been unable to stop the full force of the hero, and had shattered under the powerful attack. The villain shook his head and picked himself off the ground. The hero slowly descended, giving his usual ‘come quietly’ speech. That was how most of the people knew the fight was over.

               The villain, unwilling to be captured, taunted the hero one last time. He slammed his hands together, and a massive burst of light and sound issued forth. The super charged flashbang stunned everyone present, including the hero, for a few seconds. And, when everyone had recovered, the villain was gone. The hero growled, and flew off, determined the catch his nemesis next time he showed. With the spectacle done, the bystanders went about their day as normal, knowing this would all happen again next week.

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

If you're going to be a supervillain, try not to be predictable. That means don't attack on a regular schedule. It'll just lead to problems.

Word: Skylark

 

skylark

[ skahy-lahrk ]

noun

a brown-speckled European lark, Alauda arvensis, famed for its melodious song.

verb (used without object)

to frolic; sport: The children were skylarking on the beach.

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               John and Sarah watched their kids run around the yard, laughing and shouting as they did. They were playing some child’s game, chasing and being chased by something that did not exist. And the two adults had to admit they kids were good at it. If Jack did not know any better, he would have sworn they actually were playing with something.

               “We’ve got some good kids, don’t we?” He said.

               “Yeah, we do.” Sarah agreed. “But why mention it now?”

               “Well, when I’m at work, all I hear about is kids playing video games and watching YouTube videos.”

               “Jason and Loura do both of those. What about it?”

               “True, but not as much as what I hear. Those two are just as happy running around, chasing the air. Our kids have imagination that I never hear from anyone else.”

               “Good point.” The two of them said nothing as they watched their kids playing. “We should make sure they keep it. You know, encourage creativity and all that.”

               “Obviously. Make sure they drawn and play music and all that.”

               The kids stopped running, probably to catch their breath. They spoke quietly to each other. At least, John thought they were talking to each other. There were times when one would talk, and it would be several seconds before the other replied. And there was something else. He thought he saw some kind of distortion in the air around them, but it was faint and probably just a trick of the light.

               Jason, the older brother, walked over to his parents.

               “What is it, sweety?” Sarah asked.

               “Mommy, can we have some juice?” The boy asked.

               “Of course, dear.  Hold on, I’ll get you some.”

               “And some for the fairies too?”

               “The fairies?” John asked.

               “Uh huh. We’re playing with them, and they’re really nice. They said that they like juice too.”

               “Oh, well, in that case, I’ll get a little bit just for them.” Sarah said with a twinkle in her eye.

               “So, do you want to tell me about the fairies?” John asked.

               “Uh huh. They’re really nice. They said they like to play with people, but don’t get to. They said it’s because nobody can see them, but Loura and I can because we have magic and stuff.”

               “Really? And what kind of magic do you have?”

               Jason shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. The fairies can’t tell yet. They just know we have it.”

               “Well, if the fairies say so, it’s probably true.” John said. He could not suppress his smile. His kids really did have a wonderful imagination, and he would not be the one to squash them. Although, he could still encourage a few more practical traits as well. “But you know, being able to use magic is really hard, right? So you have to be smart and study really hard in school, okay?”

               “Okay.” Jason said.

               At that moment, Sarah came back out. On a tray, she held two child sized cups of apple juice, and a few thimble-fulls of the same.

               “You didn’t tell me how many there were, so I brought a few.” She said, following their son. She set the tray down and rejoined her husband.

               They smiled and winked at each other, happy that their kids were shaping up to be so creative. Both kids drank their juice and then picked up a thimble. Jack saw something. At least, he thought he did. He thought he saw the juice flow up over the lip of the thimble and disappear. But that could not be right. He had to have been seeing things. It was several yards away, and such a small amount that he was certain it was his eyes playing tricks on him.

               “Hey, Sarah, did you see something weird just now?” He asked.

               “I…don’t know.” She said. “I thought I did, but I just can’t tell for sure.”

               So it was not just him. Was it?

               “You don’t think…” He began.

               “No, no. Couldn’t be. Fairies aren’t real. Are they?”

               Once hydrated, the kids went back to their game. Sarah moved quickly to retrieve the tray of cups and thimbles. When she came back, she looked mystified. Not one of the thimbles held any juice. She sat down, setting the tray on the floor. In silence, the two of them watched as their children played with fairies. 

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Let's just hope they aren't mythologically accurate fairies. Those can get...nasty.