Friday, October 2, 2026

Word: Behindhand

 

behindhand

American  
[bih-hahynd-hand] / bɪˈhaɪndˌhænd /

adverb

  1. late; tardy.

  2. behind in progress; backward.

    They were never behindhand in following artistic fads.

  3. in debt or arrears. 

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

                    Jack was late. He was late in so many ways. He just hoped she was in a merciful mood today. Otherwise, he may not be going home today. He burst into the building’s lobby and rushed through the unfortunately familiar halls. He got several glares as he ran, but he did not care. He only slowed when he arrived at the heavy wooden doors.

                    Jack took a moment to compose himself. He was already late, a few extra seconds would not hurt. He took several deep breaths, then knocked. There was no answer. Jack knew better than to knock again though. Doing so would only upset her even more. Eventually, the voice calling for him to enter came. He immediately entered the office.

                    “Ah, Jack. I was wondering if you would show up.”

                    Juliet sat behind a large wooden desk. She was, as always, immaculately dressed. A suit that showed just enough of her figure to cause most men to lose their cool, while also hiding enough that she could easily be underestimated. A face equal to most supermodels that could break men with a glance, should she want to. Jack just hoped she would not turn that kind of gaze on him.

                    “Y-yes, Ms. Conway. I’m sorry.” He did not give an excuse. Such things were pointless.

                    “I’m sure you are. Well, have a seat and we can talk business.”

                    Jack sat in a chair in front of her desk. One of several. All three here hard wood with only a thin cushion. A far cry from her chair, which was more like a throne with wheels. He swallowed a lump in his throat as she placed her arms on the desk and rested her chin on her hands. Her sleeve tightened just a tiny bit. Enough to remind Jack of one of the many reasons to fear this woman.

                    “Now Jack, I won’t ask why you were late to this meeting. Frankly, it doesn’t matter. What I will ask about is why you are so late in your debt payment.”

                    “Uh, well, Ms. Conway, I—”

                    Juliet held up her hand, stopping him. “No excuses, Jack. You know how I feel about excuses. All I want to know is why you have not paid your debt to me. I believe I’ve been more than fair in my terms, and quite lenient in the repayment schedule. And yet, your first installment is late. By a week. This is unacceptable, Jack. Now, I’m a reasonable woman,” Jack had to bite his tongue to keep his face neutral at that. “if you give me a valid reason, I’ll let you off easy. A veritable slap on the wrist. But give me an excuse, and I’m sure you know what will happen.”

                    Jack took a deep breath. “I was going to make the payment.” He started. Juliet’s face darkened. “Honestly, I was. On my way to the post office. But I was jumped by some guys. I didn’t see their faces, but—”

                    “Jack. Are you telling me that you were robbed?” She stood up.

                    “Y-yes ma’am.”

                    She put a hand on the edge of her desk. “A robbery. Are you sure that’s your reason for being late?”

                    Jack pushed the chair back a little. He knew he was telling the truth here, but that did not make him any less nervous. The truth did not matter. Her judgement of the truth did. And if she determined he was lying?

                    “Oh, Jack.” She pushed the desk to the side. The heavy wooden desk and everything on it. Moved aside like a cheap plastic toy. “I thought we had an agreement. I give you money. You pay the money back. I thought you knew this.”

                    “I…I swear, I’m not lying!” He practically shouted.

                    “How many times have I heard the old robbery excuse, I wonder.” With her path clear, Juliet slowly started walking towards him. There were a scant few steps, but she took each one with a slow but inevitable gait. “I was hoping you would come up with something better.”

                    Jack did the only thing he could think to do. He quickly stood, turned around, and lifted his shirt. He heard her steps stop.

                    “What’s this, Jack?”

                    “The…the bruises, Ms. Conway. From the robbery.” He had seen them in a mirror. They were quite extensive. He heard Juliet come closer and run a hand along them. Luckily the robbery was a few days ago, so they did not have the sting of fresh injuries.

                    “Hm. Well, for once it seems like the robbery excuse might have some merit. I will, of course, be looking into the validity of your claim. You do know that, right?”

                    “Yes, Ms. Conway, I know.”

                    “If you’re really telling the truth, I’m willing to renegotiate. To an extent. But if I find these bruises of yours were from anything else…” Her hand closed on his shoulder like a steel vice. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what will happen.”

                    “Yes, Ms. Conway, I know.”

                    “Good. Now get out of here. Do work on getting my payment, and be more careful out there. It’s a dangerous city.”

                    When she let go, Jack immediately bolted for the door. As he left, Jack had never been so grateful that he had been robbed in broad daylight as he was in that moment.

     

Friday, September 25, 2026

Word: Avarice

avarice

 [av-er-is] / ˈæv ər ɪs /

noun

  1. insatiable greed for riches; inordinate, miserly desire to gain and hoard wealth.

  ******************************

                Hector sat before the old woman. At least, she appeared to be an old woman. If the stories were true, she was far more than that. The air around her was certainly different from that outside the small tent. And not just because of the incense the gave the space a heavy herbal scent. It was more like everything inside the tent, the air included, was part of the woman. Hector did not let that bother him. As long as he did not provoke her, he would be fine.

                “Greetings, hero.” The woman said. Her voice was thin and hoarse. But there was something odd about it. Hector almost thought there were two voices, one occurring just beyond the range of his hearing. “I know what it is you come for.”

                “I’m sure you do.” Hector replied. “What will it cost me to learn what I want?”

                “Nothing you need to worry about. I am collecting my payment even now. Do not worry, it shall not harm you.”

                Hector looked inwards, trying to find what he was losing. He could not feel anything different. That was good. If he could get the answers he sought without losing anything of value, he could only think of this as a complete win.

                “Very well.”

                “Good. Now, you come seeking power, yes?”

                “I do. I wish to know the best way to grow stronger so that I may triumph over the evils that plague this world.”

                The woman’s mouth curled up into a toothy grin. Her teeth were uneven and yellowing. And some of them seemed sharper than they should have.

                “I can do this. I can give you knowledge of your greatest strength, so that you can grow it. Or I can give you knowledge of your greatest weaknesses, so that you may correct it. Either will accomplish what you seek.”

                “Not both?”

                “Not with the payment you are providing.”

                That was a disappointment. But he would not press the matter. That would likely lead to him gaining nothing, or worse.

                “In that case, tell me my weakness. I shall strive to eliminate it.”

                The woman’s grin grew a tiny bit. She looked at him long and hard. Then she spoke.

                “Avarice. That is your weakness.”

                “Avarice?”

                “Greed. You seek to possess much. More than you need. More than you should have. Power. Gold. Even social connections. You seek all of it, even at the expense of others.”

                “That…that’s not true.” Hector said quickly.

                “Is it not? Tell me, when you and your companions found that magic book last month, what did you do?”

                “I took it, obviously. I was the best choice.”

                “Were you? That book was for the element of water. You are a user of light, are you not?”

                “I…am…”

                “And your companion, an elementalist. One who uses water quite adeptly.”

                Hector’s brow furrowed in thought. Was she right? Had he made an error in judgement that day?

                “Now tell me, why did you really want that book.”

                “Be…because…” Hector started, but stopped to think. Why had he done that? And now that he thought about it, the same could be said for several other magic items currently in his possession. Weren’t there others who could use them better? There was only one real answer he could give. Well, there were several, but only one that he knew, deep down, was correct.

                “Because I wanted it. I wanted it for no reason other than I wanted it.”

                “Yes. Good.” The woman said. “The first step to overcoming a weakness is to admit that you have it. Recognize your own greed. Know it. And then learn to overcome it. It will not happen right away. It will be a slow and painful process. But if you can overcome your own avarice, you will grow considerably. As a hero. As a member of a team. As a person. Now, I have given you the answer you seek. Go and make use of what you have learned. And perhaps someday you will find your way back to me. Good luck, hero.”

                Hector wanted to ask more. So much more. But was that his greed, or was it curiosity? No, it was best to leave now and think. He had a lot of soul searching to do.

Tuesday, September 15, 2026

Word: Croquembouche

croquembouche

 [kroh-kuhm-boosh, kraw-kahn-boosh] / ˌkroʊ kəmˈbuʃ, krɔ kɑ̃ˈbuʃ /

noun

French Cooking.
  • croquembouches
  1. a pyramid of bite-size cream puffs coated and held in place with caramelized sugar.

 ************************************

                Mary felt it. Something stupid was about to happen.

                “Hey, Mary!”

                She winced. She knew it was going to be something stupid. Brad hadn’t even asked her anything yet, and she knew it. Her day had instantly gotten dumber, just with his presence. Still, she put on her best fake smile and turned to face the guy.

                “Hi Brad.” She purposely did not give him any opening to keep talking. It would not work, of course, but she would be damned if she gave him any excuse.

                “So, you might have heard that my nephew is having a very special birthday on Saturday.”

                “That’s…nice.” A pit formed in her stomach. A birthday could only mean one thing.

                “Yup, sure is. Kid’s going far in life, you know? Anyway, I heard you do a bit of baking and was wondering if you can whip something up.”

                “I’ll…think about it and let you know. Probably by the end of the day.” She would, of course, politely refuse. There was still plenty of time to get the kid a store-bought cake.

                “That’s cool. Just know he would love to have a home-made dessert for his big seven.”

                “He’s turning seven?”

                Brad nodded enthusiastically. Now she wanted to bake for this party even less. A kid would be perfectly fine with a normal cake. An ice cream cake if his parents wanted to get a bit “fancy” with it. She was about to reply when something Brad had said started ringing alarm bells.

                “So, Brad, what kind of cake were you thinking?”

                “So you’ll do it? That’s awesome! I can’t wait to tell—”

                “I didn’t say that. I asked what kind of cake your nephew wants. That’s going to play a big part in whether I agree to do this.”

                “Well, my little sister wants something a little different for his party. Cakes are overdone. Anyone can make a cake.”

                Mary resisted an eye roll.

                “She wants something fancy. Uh, what did she call it? Croak…something.”

                “Croak…something?” That feeling of dread grew. “

                “Yeah. Big tower of cream puffs.”

                “Croquembouche?”

                “Yeah! You know what it is?”

                She took a deep breath. “Brad, did you seriously just ask me to make a croquembouche for a seven-year old’s birthday party?”

                “Well, he’s six and turning seven, but yeah. Is that a problem?”

                “Oh, I don’t know. How do I feel about making one of the most technically difficult and precise French desserts in less than three days? How do you think I feel?” She made sure to add in as much of her frustration and lack of interest enter her voice as she possibly could.

                “Oh, it can’t be that bad. It’s just a bunch of cream puffs.”

                “A very specific type of puff pastry, arranged in a very precise way, and intricately decorated with very fine caramel threads. I could go into all the reasons why this is a difficult dessert. And I could tell you what it’s normally reserved for and why. What I will tell you is that no baker will make a full croquembouche for a kid’s birthday party. Especially not so close to said birthday party. You can ask around at any bakery in town. They’ll all say the same thing.”

                “Come on, Mary. Be nice.”

                “No, Brad. My answer to your request is no. Especially since I’m guessing you’d hope I would do this for free.”

                Brad recoiled in shock. “Free? Absolutely not! You would be given an exclusive invitation to the greatest birthday celebration in town.”

                “This party wouldn’t happen to be the one for your nephew, would it?”

                “Obviously.”

                “So…you want me to do a highly technical, intricate bake with very little time to spare, and the only compensation is to attend a child’s birthday party. Yeah, no. I’m not doing that. Go buy him an ice cream cake. He’ll be thrilled.”

                Mary did not give Brad more time to say anything. She turned around and walked away. Hopefully by the time she got back his attention would be locked on someone else. Probably another person to try and sucker into his ridiculous baking request.