Profane Tales Comics: Gelding in the Fairlands (pg 1 of 9)

Gelding in the Fairlands: Prelude (page 1)

A/N: What do you all think of the comic "borders?" I am thinking of doing the next like an illuminated manuscript. Pg 2 coming soon! Also click HERE for the comic previous to this one.

Ode to Joy-10.3: Izzy

10. Teatime Travesty

ii. Izzy

“WHERE IS THE BEAUTIOUS QUEEN OF DENMARK!”

The voice woke the earl from his sleep.

The first horror that struck him was the thought of his mother ranting and raving.

He saw that the sun was quite down and lit a lamp to navigate the halls. That voice had come from downstairs.

“Mother!” he called out.

The royal red of the hallway revealed itself as his lamp light chased the shadows. His deep voice carried through the mansion.

He reached the spiraling staircase but halfway down a shaky singing voice raced up. This is when Orion slowed his step and his voice sped slightly. A maid?

No, the maids were quiet. They went about unseen. And this voice was clear and certainly not modest.

“Oh, what an unquiet grave!

What an unquiet grave!

Unquiet grave!

Unquiet!

Grave!

Grave!

Grave!”

At last his lantern showed him the person ascending the stairs as he descended.

The words to his own poem-- stashed away in private, vowed never to be published—sung to him by a strange voice. The light revealed the face of a woman. They met at the middle of the stairs. When the light revealed her in the full he saw that she was wearing a pair of rat ears on her head, her hair flaxen white. Her body was donned in a fur suit that lessened at the chest to  peak at her cleavage. Her arms bare and her legs in long pink stockings. And in her hand she held a giant rat tail that trailed from her bottom.

“My favorite poem I read!” she exclaimed in a clear voice. “You are quite a poet. But a tad depressing. Perhaps a sarcastic ode to one of your abusers would be nice.”

Orion blinked at the woman. Her eyes looked almost red in the darkness.

“Can I help you, miss? Perhaps if we work this out I won’t even ask why you’re dressed as a giant rat.”

She gave a small squeak, “I am a rat! It’s me! Izzy.”

She did not look like anyone he knew. “Is this a silly joke of Brigid’s?”

“I am not a joke, my lord. I’ll have you note I am very sensitive. Just like you. So you best not make jokes at my expense.”

There was even that garish pink bow on her head.

“I see the beauteous queen of Denmark looks sleepy. So I put your mother to bed for you.”

“What?” Orion jumped into action, pushing past the strange woman.

He was on the ground floor and rushing to his mother’s room. The door opened easily and the image of his mother sleeping peacefully in her bed was the only thing that kept Orion from reacting violently to the strange girl on the stairs. Deanna lay with her black hair obscuring her face. The gray at the roots were hardly clear in Orion’s lamp light. He swiped the hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. The earl leaned down and kissed his sleeping mother’s forehead.

When he returned to the stairs the girl had her long nails in her own teeth, biting, shaking. “I did good?”

“Izzy?”

“Yes,” she answered, batting her eyes.

“Go back to the pet room and in the morning you will not be five feet tall. This is one of my fits…Goddamn it.” He pushed past her and stomped up the stairs.

“Why don’t you love me!” Izzy called after him.

“Because you are a figment of a deranged mind.”

He could hear swift footsteps following him. Izzy slipped in front of his path and held out her hands. “Is this about the pellets? I could not find any other place to go. I know it’s very unbecoming,” she gestured daintily and pulled at her own tail in anxiety. “Will you forgive me?”

“You are a rat. You make pellets. There is no need for apology. Now kindly let me alone.”

“But you will need me soon…” she gave a soft sigh as he walked past.

“I’m not entertaining this. Tomorrow the new medicine goes.”

“She hasn’t much time, Orion…” Izzy gave a sad noise. “Deanna…”

When Orion turned he saw that there were tears in the woman’s eyes.

“She has wished a guardian for you.”

“…How dare you speak of her so simply and…” he stopped himself. He needed to stop speaking to a figment of his imagination.

“I am your puca,” Izzy giggled.

Orion turned away. His studies in University had leaned heavily on Demonology. He needed no definition of a puca. When he turned around to see the woman again there was darkness where she had stood. A large white rat crawled over his shoe and scurried off into the hall.

“A new way to lose my mind…” he spoke to the empty hallway.

Ode to Joy-10.2: Maids Seem to Run

10. Teatime Travesty

ii.     Maids Seem to Run

Orion seated himself across from the maid and his wife. He was this once willing to hire a woman on the spot simply because he dreaded meeting a stranger’s eyes. After the fiasco with Amadeus surely the whole county was talking. Though the virtue of the maid who ran away, Bri reminded him, was fair and she would likely not gossip of her last employer’s home for this would ruin chances employment elsewhere.

Bri always showed him the practical side of things.

Another practical reason to live with her.

But Bri was aloof in the conversation, allowing Orion to interview the new woman with improvised questions.

“Of course we trust you with the baby. We would just prefer she remain in Julia’s watch most of the time. She is still so tiny. I do not even joke. Her head is about this big.” He picked up a tea cup.

That was when he saw it.

The tiny white creature crawling on the floor, standing up like a person to stare at them. Instead of screaming, Orion nudged Bri.

She gave her sudden laugh and this made the maid jump.

Orion felt his insides coil into a knot. They would not flex even as Bri’s words repeated to him in his head.

“She laughs at everything,” he told the maid.

Lately Bri and Orion had become more forthcoming to their staff, especially about Bri’s bizarre laugh.

“Oh yes. I apologize. It’s quite strange but sometimes I laugh for no reason at all, dear.”

Orion folded the napkin on the table into origami as the women spoke and the large rat ran about the room as though it were her own. Her little pink bow was her crown. He saw tiny pellets left in Isolde’s trail. Orion flicked his origami rat under Bri’s nose.

“That’s adorable, muffin. You’re very talented. Isn’t he just darling?” Bri asked the maid.

To Orion’s surprise the young woman seemed charmed. “It’s a mouse, isn’t it?”

“A rat,” Orion corrected with purpose. “We get them in these parts. The size of cats. Legend has it they can grow to be the size of a baby horse in Dartmoor.”

“Yes, Dartmoor is frightfully haunted,” the maid fueled the fire without knowing.

At last Bri’s large eyes widened and she seemed to see the rat at the door as it scurried out.

“Pardon me, dears.”

Orion watched his wife exit. She did seem rushed and so he made an excuse for her, “Probably maternal instinct.”

The maid nodded, a pleasant smile on her face.

Orion liked her. He gave her a smile back. At this moment his stomach had coiled and knotted and his heart was speeding from the earlier panic he felt but with no more purpose. The thoughts had left and yet his body was reeling from the unpleasant experience. “Well, Miss Summers. I am pleased to welcome you on board here. We like to communicate with our staff and we do prefer you to be comfortable. And…”

He felt the tension reach its peak.

“Excuse me.”

He lifted his tea cup, pinky up and lost the contents of his stomach in it. When he thought it was finished he closed his eyes. But another wave hit him and the water and tea of the day spilled into the tea cup.

Orion picked up a napkin and cleaned as best he could.

“I apologize, miss. It’s not contagious.”

He lifted the whole tray from the table. “My wife will get you a fresh tray.”

The woman’s face was frozen, unable to give a reaction.

“Make sure my mother gets put to bed on time,” Orion reminded Bri.

He was lying in bed while his wife felt his forehead.

“Teatime Sick. Orion’s own recipe. If you were feeling ill, why did you not tell me?” Bri grumbled.

“I certainly did not know I was going to vomit into my tea cup, dear.”

“You need to rest. Take your sleep aid.”

“I cannot. The new doctor told me to avoid anything that wakes me or sedates me.”

Bri blinked at her husband for a long time. “That makes no sense. Half the time the problem is you cannot rest. Without those things, what control do you have?”

“I do not know. Did you catch that horrid monster?”

“No,” Bri spoke tearfully. “Poor Izzy. She’s going to be smashed by someone’s foot or eaten by a cat. She’s a pure blood domestic. Imported from Scotland. Never been wild in her life. Little princess.”

“Princess Rat. I remember that tale. The Brothers Grimm told it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She gets eaten.”

Bri frowned and swatted at Orion with a wet rag that she set on his head. “In a few hours you should eat if you can. Settle your stomach. I will make sure Deanna is taken care of, do not worry.”

“Sometimes she hides in places they cannot find her…” Orion called to his wife as she left the room.

He lay back down in bed and looked to the opium pipe Bri had left on the nightstand. After five days of purging it felt as though he would be trashing his suffering simply to go back to the opiate. But his addiction called to him. And he had been chasing sleep off and on for the past few days. Such purging had made little difference.

And so Orion gave in to his oldest enemy and friend.

intermission: Orion's Poem "Unquiet Grave"

What an unquiet grave

A tomb so un-still

Howls rising in the night

The souls so dark and ill.

Now sing “Rest in Peace.”

You sing “Rest in Peace.”

What an unquiet grave,

We hear your foot falls pass.

Whilst we rant and rave

Your hands, they point, you laugh.

Laughing “rest in peace.”

“Poor fools, rest in peace.”

God’s cast-offs,

Live behind iron bars

God’s last thoughts

Were of earthly black scars.

For the lunatics need

These irons ‘bout their wrists.

For we lunatics plead

For death’s noble kiss.

Hell unsheathes in our eyes

The eyes of the weak

Wicked and then tragic

Avert yours when we speak.

You will rest in peace.

You know Rest and Peace.

Heretical writings

Ask you to touch the madman’s sick bare hand

Without your gloves.

Contagions damned!

Heretical writings

Ask that you visit this restless old grave

Out of your love

Even touch the mud

Leaving flowers with cards “from…”

What an unquiet grave.

poetry: Nonus- "I used to be a bad man"

I used to be a bad man
Until they took my mind away
And now I am not accountable
This is what the doctors say.
One marvel they held from me
In my own time
Was that the heart may still beat
Without the mind.
And mine is surely lost
While the heart is on display
My chest gaping open,
All the rest in decay
Except for this evil thing,
destroying all in its way.

I have never been my master
I have never known liberty
From the chains of this monster
Inside of me
I have never opened my heart
To good and fruitful results
Only to blood
Pure as fetid mud.
And the irony, it is
I never knew of this
I never knew I had heart
Until I lost my mind....

And as it turns out
You can kill the mind quick,
And leave the heart beating.
Who would have guessed this?
And it becomes my fate
To wonder beneath
The dark waters I drowned
In the limbo where I bleed.
Every face laughs
There is the man with no mind.
I used to be a bad man
When I had the choice to find
The pathway between the two
And choose where good lies
But now I am a fool
Choice-less and blind.

I have never been my master
I have never known liberty
From the chains of this monster
Inside of me
I have never opened my heart
To good and fruitful results
Only to blood
Pure as black mud.
And the irony, it is
I never knew of this
I never knew I had heart
Until I lost my mind....

(c) 2012 Luz Briar.

poem: Frailty & Flowers

The smoke is cleared
The faces bright
They are smeared
With make-up, right
Left
Down and upsides.
I see your hearts
and your minds
I shot the dart!
The fault is mine.
Felt
it deep in your lives.
I say I'm sorry.
Hypocrites.
But you tossed me
Far aside
like a ragdoll, like a shoe, like any toy.
And you should say
"I didn't lie."
Start a new day,
thought I'd die.
Like your ragdolls, like your shoes, like your old toys.

Woe is me; I'm tossed aside
Poor fragile flower.
But frailty thy name is You
I gave You your power.

poem: MONSTERS

It’s a fickle attack on me
By things that do not exist
And like last time it will tackle me
And beat me with airy fists.
Until the sun rises and I purge
Myself of the fear.
Until I am one with the cruel surge
That lives off our bitter tears.
 
But the sun is taking its time
Banishing the night
And the shadows dance across my walls,
Little balls of light
Whisper of the crumbling
In my ears, rasping inundation.
Whispers and mumblings
Chip at my foundation.
 
Shadows tiptoed into my soul like vermin
Half-truths, unruly
Coil around my heart, squirming
Through tunnels, run through me.
Until the sun rises and I see through
The delusions of the night
Until I hear something strong and true
Not these spider strings; these lies.
 
But the sun, this time, is slow
To rinse away the lies
To dry up the doubts that soak
Me to the bones with fright.
Promises of a doomed me
Of every comfort thing
Promises that loom to be
The end to comfort.
 
I know the dark night of the soul
Comes to its end each time
But these monsters! God! They have a hold
This night is long.
Its grip is strong.
Will I ever see the light?

© 2011 Luz Briar.

Ramblings of a Mad Earl: forward (poems)

Forward

In 1830, the remnants of a songbook and several poems were discovered in Tealburrow Inn, Dart Moor England. The writings were of the hand of Lord Constance, Jared Garth Hookwell II, 2^nd Earl of Constance. Enigmatic, considering the man scarcely mentioned his artistic pursuits in life. A shadowy figure in history, the earl’s late sister Andrea Hookwell also left a telling journal that sheds light on much of his hidden work. Relatives and associates believed Lord Constance to be mad. The writings found in 1830 were part of the earl’s luggage. He had returned to England after nearly two decades in Belize. Reasons for his stay in Belize, according to some, had to do with his mental instability. Reportedly the earl was a calm and sophisticated man but had bouts of intense mania, during which he would ramble for hours on end, froth at the mouth and hallucinate. For these reasons, he lived over the ocean, separated from his family in England for their own good.

Shortly after the discovery of his luggage, Lord Constance was declared missing. It would seem after his return to England, he vanished. Now until his wife Deanna Hookwell arrived to search for the husband she had been expecting to return, did anyone note his absence.

Among Lord Constance’s poetry and lyrics can be found an interesting use of coded metaphor, a fascination with the ancient Roman Emperor Caligula and an eerie self-awareness. The hints of a horrific childhood, the trauma of having his sister commit suicide, his slip into madness and elegant self-loathing litter the pages. Important figures in his life make appearances; a relative who isolated and abused he and his sister, his beloved sister Andrea, his first-mate during a stint as a ship captain during the war, his wife, the son he never met, a ward he raised in Belize, and numerous lovers.

By 1831, Lord Constance was officially presumed dead and his young son bestowed with the title. If this is so, Lord Constance would have been 47 when he disappeared and left behind the puzzle that is his life. He never met his son. His body was never found. His mental illness remains undiagnosed by historians who cannot decide if the man suffered from severe post-traumatic stress disorder, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, dissociative identity disorder or plain psychopathy. Only one thing is clear; Lord Constance had some idea that he was mad, and he did his utmost to hide it. Like his historical counterpart Caligula, he remains an enigma; feared, pitied, lost.

(To Read the Poems:  http://luzbriar.deviantart.com/gallery/29102584 )

©2010-2011 Luz Briar. Characters, Poems, and ALL content property of author. ALL Rights Reserved.