Once upon a time ...
This faery tail (starring faeries, and lots of tail) begins as all stories begin, you, the fair maiden (sort of), a damsel, the darling daughter of the distraught Duke offered in sacrifice to appease the dastardly dragon of dangerous destruction.
A faery tail like every other faery tail. And the 'tail'? Yours, that is?
It is currently tied to a tree in Naughtyham Forest.
And being left out in the forest, well, it isn't all that bad, being it's the end of summer, so it's a bit cooler in the forest, but it's pretty damn boring waiting to get eaten by the dragon. I mean, at least they could have left some books with you, but those darn superstitious villagers are simpletons after all. I mean, really, sacrificing a fair maiden, who just so happens to be neither, to a dragon so it'll leave you alone? Won't that actually encourage MORE bad behavior from the terrible lizard (which is the translation of 'dinosaur' not 'dragon' but that's just an oh-by-the-way FYI for ya) so it can get MORE meals of stressed damsels?
I mean DISstressed, JEEZ!
And, you being tied to the tree? TOO TIGHTLY!
1. When you get untied to be eaten the blood-rush to your pinched-off limbs is going to be EXCRUCIATING!
2. Wouldn't you know you have an itch on your nose that just won't go away and is DRIVING YOU CRAZY!
And let's not talk about the ants ambling around the tree bark.
And the mosquitos.
But there it is. That is: you, tied to a tree, waiting to be eaten.
And it's past lunch time.
But then a terrible scream practically rends the sky, driving all these petty concerns from your mind, and you feel the ground shake in one-two-three-four-time as you sense the lizards approach. You smell the fiery stench of brimstone and know your end is near.
Chipper, bright sunny day for an ending, you note casually.
But then, in front of you, a vision appears, a knight in polished, shining armor comes galloping at full tilt, clop-de-de-clop, clop-de-de-clop, and he reins up sharply, stopping suddenly in front of you.
He lifts his visor, and you see crystal blue eyes, just barely reaching above the bottom of the visor.
"Fear not, fair maiden," he calls out, somewhat muffled from his armor, "I shall defendest thine honour and rescue thee!"
You look up at your salvation, this youth on a grey mare, and several thoughts collide in your overloaded brain that was all too recently on the lunch menu:
1. Did he really just say 'defenest' 'thine' 'honoUr' and 'thee'? 2. They are recruiting these guys younger and younger these days, aren't they? Like, I could be his mother, for goodness sake! (Ashamedly: being no spring chicken anymore) [ed: but that's okay, sweetheart, and did I just kill the buzz?] 3. And 'fair' ... he's like pasty-faced, does he never get out into the sun at all? 4. Blue. Eyes. Oh, my gosh! If he weren't a guy, I would so ... stop it, stop it! Behave! 5. How?
So the last thought, being one of the more pressing ones, is the one that is ripped from your throat in desperation.
"How?" you ask ... desperately (obviously)
The knight unsheathes his sword, schwummmmm! and holds it aloft.
"With mine vorpal blade, Schwannstucker!" he declares determinedly ... in his rather high-pitched voice.
This does not reassure you so much as raise more questions, like:
1. "Schwannstucker"? Really? 2. Oh, my God; his voice hasn't even broke yet! I wonder if his balls have even dropped! 3. Not that that matters ... 4. ... as given the tremendous size of the fiercesome dragon, with gun-metal-green scales that clank against each other in an awful din, you're thinking yon knight is the appetizer to you, the banquet. 5. Did I just think to myself 'yon knight'?
You'd slap yourself, if your hands weren't very securely tied behind you against the tree. (Very uncomfortable).
'Yon knight' is undeterred by your questioning look, slams his visor down, and shouts out a muffled "Gloriana!" as his horse rears up (epic pose that) and charges into the fray, heedless of the smoke and flame issuing from the rampant monster, charging toward its own prey.
The fight is at an inconvenient angle, being behind the tree, but you hear the charge, and a clang, and a loud bellow from the dragon, and a not-muttered oath of: "Shit!" from 'yon knight.'
'Yon knight' has a potty-mouth.
He comes back into view. His vorpal sword did not go 'snicker-snack' as in Jabberwocky, ... or if it did, that's how it met its end, being now snapped in half. The knight casts aside 'Schwannstucker' (you titter at the name, and then mutter, 'well, it looks like no schwanns are being stuck tonight!' (you impertinent thing, you!)) and grabs his lance stuck in the ground behind a tree 50 meters outside the fray.
"What's the name of your lance?" you can't but help to shout out to yon knight.
"Deus ex machina" he answers gravely and charges back in the fray.
Odd name for a lance, you think. But then the battle is joined again, and you hear a scream of agony from the beast.
Mine knight! Mine hero has struck a blow in the dragon's underbelly! you rally to hope.
The hope is soon turned to surprise when you hear a furious: "You bastard! That was my asshole!" a deep, rumbling voice that you can only assume is coming from the dread lizard itself.
Dragons can talk?
The young knight's piping voice is affronted: "I am NOT a bastard, I'm ..."
But before he can continue, he's interrupted by the dragon's sarcastic retort: "Whatever!"
Then a more reasonable, "Look, if you don't want me here, you could have just asked, you know! Jesus H. Christ, I'm going to be shitting fire for a week!"
The youthful knight is not the only one with a potty-mouth, you think, and you note, surreally, that your thought has a sardonic tone.
Too many surprises and stressors today for a 'fair maiden.' That must be it.
"Dragon," begins the knight, "begone from these ..."
"Yeah, yeah," the dragon says tiredly. "I know the drill. Damn, I haven't had a virgin in weeks! What am I going to live off of now? Carrier pigeon, again?"
Hm. No wonder why the messages the Duke has been sending out to his allies have been ignored for these many-a-month.
The young knight is unmoved: "I care not your discomfit, foul beast! Leave now and ... hey!"
'Hey'? you wonder ... and then gulp in shock.
Right in front of you is a long, reptilian face, much like a horse's, but as long as you are tall, hazel eyes the size of saucers, and smoke curling out of fist-sized nostrils.
The dragon looks into your eyes, you feel its hot, sulfuric breath blasting onto your bodice as it snorts an exhalation.
It pulls back a bit; looking both surprised and disappointed at the same time.
"Looks like I wasn't going to get a virgin, anyway," it grumbles to itself.
You feel heat suffuse your cheeks, and you hope to God yon knight didn't just hear that, but then the dragon's face is right in front of the knight on his horse, and something of a sneer curls the dragon's lips.
You can't quite hear what the dragon says to yon knight, but it's something about appearances.
Can a knight seat ... embarrassed? ... on a horse? Yon knight shifts uncomfortably on his ride.
"Oh, well!" the dragon gripes, the spreads its enormous wings, and, crouching, POUNCES into the sky, the wings flapping in loud thunderclaps as it flies, limpingly, away toward the distant mountain range known to be terrorized by the monster.
The knight walks his horse up to you and solemnly proclaims, "Fair princess," he begins ...
"Actually," you interrupt, "I'm not a princess."
The knight pauses, lifting his visor.
"Huh?" he asks ... 'intelligently.'
"My father is a Duke, so I'm just a Dame, see?"
The knight blinks and mutters a "Whatever," and disparaging: "Nobles."
You bristle. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Never saw a day's work in your life, have you?" he retorts hotly in his youthful voice. "Did you break a nail, fair lady?"
"Excuse me!" you say hotly, as hot as your cheeks feel with the anger burning them brightly, "but you're one to talk! You're not the one tied to a tree about to be eaten!"
The knight looks away and blushes ... a light pink lemonade, you note, and whispers an ashamed "Sorry."
He dismounts. Quite an effort with all that armor, probably weighing as much as him, it looks like, and takes out a short sword.
He says a mismash of sounds, something like "washy-touchy" in an explaining way.
"What?" you asked in utter confusion.
But then in two swift strokes, he cuts the coils of rope binding your upper body.
The strokes also happen to cut into your dress, exposing your shoulders.
But not cutting INTO your shoulders, you notice, thanking God.
"HEY!" you exclaim.
Everybody is saying 'hey' these days, it seems.
"What?" the knight snickers unapologetically: "it could become the latest fashion in court."
You find no humor in his snide observation, and explain your point of view in royally pissed-off tones as he infuriatingly and calmly ignores you as he (now carefully) severs the remaining bonds with his short, but very sharp and deadly looking sword of oriental extraction.
MEN! you think angrily to yourself. Please with your resolve NEVER to marry one of these stupid and callous oafs.
A promise you've kept for more years than has pleased your father you ruefully reflect.
You find your reflections take a new turn now that all the coils binding you to the tree are cut, for your limbs that up to now have had their circulation cut off, feel gravity again from the ground and the rush of blood.
It's all too much for you: your weight that you now have to support, and the pin-prickly pain of newly awakened appendages.
You collapse to your knees right in front of the knight. You would have crashed into his armor, face-first, if he didn't react quickly, catching you in your fall.
"Jeez, princess," he begins, surprised and annoyed, "no need to worsh-..."
His scathing remark is cut short by your cry of pain and your obviously complete lack of motor control. His face softens, and he gently guides you to the soft, fern-covered forest floor, laying you down on it, and rubbing your limbs back to life.
His touch seems somehow ... wrong. Somehow ... delicate. The pain, so recently incapacitating, is soon dissipated, and you are able eventually to sit up, resting in his support.
He smiles kindly down at you.
Well, you think, perhaps not all men are jackasses.
But then the knight looks up sharply into the forest, at the same time the horse's ears go right back into its skull. You can see the whites of its eyes as it looks in the same direction in terror.
A low moan comes from the forest, and you can hear a shuffling sound and the branches sway in a breeze that isn't there.
The knight utters another oath, holding tightly to the reins of the now panicked horse. "Zombies!" he curses.
"What?" you say again.
You hate being the one who appears to be the dunce. Years of schooling, but you still have that terror of being exposed as a dunce.
The knight looks very, very grim. He pulls a long, slightly curved simple wooden scabbard from the saddle and lets go of the reins.
The horse immediately gallops off.
