Copper lights; Heavy stone

With but few exceptions, it is always the underdog who wins through sheer willpower. -Johnny Weissmuller

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Penny Escobar
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Copper lights; Heavy stone

Post by Penny Escobar »

(Originally posted on Mar 21, 2017)

My name is Peninnah Isadora Carlotta Escobar Rodriguez.

It’s a mouthful, I know.

I introduce myself as Penny; Ms. Escobar if you’re nasty.

Most assume that it’s short for Penelope and I almost never correct them. Usually my name ends up being butchered at the start, which while that does bode well for me for other reasons, can be incredibly annoying. So Penny is it. Don’t call me Pen.

Which is exactly what my new landlord was calling me as I stood in the open courtyard somewhere in Battlefield Park.

“So Pen, can I call you Pen?” An excitable awkward sort of bookish man somewhere in his early thirties asked while holding a small ring with keys dangling at the end of it.

“Penny.” I said while pinching the bridge of my nose as my eyes squeezed shut. Trying not to lose my temper, I took a deep breath and then looked back up to him, forcing a smile out at him.

Deep breaths Penny. Don’t light the little nerd on fire.

“Please call me Penny. I’m not fond of,” I trailed off with a wave of my hand as I half explained.

“Oh! Right. Penny. I’m so sorry.” Immediately apologetic, he even started to give a half bow until the jingling keys in his hand drew his nervous attention there and he remembered the task at hand. “Penny,” he started again, this time holding out the keys towards me. “Here are your keys.”

He carefully dropped them into my palm, as if he expected a spark of electricity to hit him if our hands touched. I got the impression than if I jerked any part of my body in his direction he would have leaped right out of his skin. I couldn’t tell if that was because of him, or because it was me.

“Thanks,” I said as my gaze drifted up and around the courtyard. New life was just hinting at its arrival through the dirt and stone that surrounded us. Spring was here.

We would have probably stayed there in silence except for the chirping birds in the not so distant trees, but he was staring and I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to appear as though I had noticed.

After he cleared his throat however, I couldn’t pretend any longer. “Yes……? Uh….” I realized I had forgotten his name and turned back towards him.

“Tim,” he reminded me. He looked ready to ask me something that weighed on his mind. After a few hitched breaths, he tumbled out with, “So the building behind me here is where the kitchen will be, but construction is working on the whole indoor plumbing thing. If you need anything for your new place just let me know and we’ll get it added to the list. There’s lots of decent places in town to eat though and if you need me to show you around I’d be happy –“

My palm raised out to him, the signal for stop. He gulped and froze, and I could tell that he was just barely shaking. I had the vague notion that if I sneered and muttered something incoherent at him, he’d probably piss himself. Inwardly I frowned, we were getting off on the wrong foot. He didn’t need to be terrified of me.

“Tim, don’t worry. If I need anything, I’ll be sure to ask. I’d like to get a lay of the land myself first. Helps me stay oriented.” My hand lowered as I spoke and I did my best to put on a gentle and friendly smile.

Tim relaxed a little. Or at least, he wasn’t shaking anymore.

“Right,” shaking his head and letting out a nervous laugh as if something I said was utterly obvious and he should have realized it sooner. “Of course, of course. I’ll be in the Great Hall if you need me.” Gesturing again behind him towards the massive stone building in the center of the compound.

Soon Tim scurried off as I jingled the keys in a wave behind him and I turned to face the heavy oak door to my new home.

A wizard in a stone tower, I snorted to myself. How cliché can you get Penny?

I hate moving.
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Re: Copper lights; Heavy stone

Post by Penny Escobar »

(Originally posted on Mar 24, 2017)

I don’t hate moving because I dislike change, although I can’t deny that I don’t particularly enjoy that either. I find comfort in routine and the familiar. I imagine most people do in general. I don’t hate moving because of all the heavy lifting and shifting about, you can always hire someone to help with that. The paperwork that is commonly involved in moving isn’t an issue with me either; my penmanship is pretty good. Or at least, you know, legible.

I hate moving because it feels remarkably like taking inventory of yourself. Your belongings are taken stock of; you decide what is important and what isn’t, maybe come repeatedly face to face with harsh memories that you’ve temporarily forgotten, then the physical garbage is purged, the excess and unnecessary is donated or tossed aside, and you box up the rest until your entire life is packed up in a trio of old weathered trunks. You take it from the comforting place you’ve grown accustomed to, or even loved, and shove it all into a new place (or new to you at least). And this place is usually cold and empty. Maybe even sterile. Some people like the chance at new beginnings, the fresh slate, white canvas. But that’s not what moving feels like to me.

Moving reminds me that I am alone in the world (or worlds as the case may be with this place). This isn’t a new thing, but it is scar that I don’t find any comfort in opening and allowing it fester. And if the events that transpired while I was packing had already left me feeling open and raw, moving certainly would make me extra grouchy. Enough so that even I could tell that I was being particularly surly without trying.

I don’t like being grouchy.

I’m dangerous when I’m grouchy.

So I only move if I really really have to.

This Spring, I had to.

Work you see. Nothing particularly dramatic and sinister. But when you’re a Wizard and you make your living through your ability to use magic, you go off and move to whatever place where you get hired.

And if that place just so happens to also be a land full of monsters and magic, should you be terribly shocked that you are directed to the location of a moderately sized castle with a tower for rent? I hear that there’s a massive graveyard not too far away.

This should be fun.
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Re: Copper lights; Heavy stone

Post by Penny Escobar »

(Originally posted on Sept 5, 2017)

I hate sprinting.

It was the continuous mantra that buzzed loudly in my head while my breathing kept time with my foot strikes against the ground. I pinned my elbows to my side even though my arms kept swinging in near sync with the extension of my legs before I spotted that old weathered sign proclaiming it was The Red Dragon Inn.

Almost there, I reminded myself.

Managing to avoid a collision with oncoming foot traffic on the sidewalk, I twisted out of the way of a flower vendor and soon came to a screeching halt in front of the inn. Then immediately doubled over because I was certain my heart would explode out of my chest since it was pounding so hard. At the last minute, I remembered to breathe, but all I could do was heave several wheezing gasps for oxygen. Black spots and stars speckled in front of my eyes as I doubled over, hopping in the back of my mind that I wasn’t about to puke like the last time I did sprints. Here, I’d be seen puking by strangers as opposed to vomiting in front of an assortment of woodland creatures.

And as much as I didn’t particularly care what strangers thought of me, it wasn’t really a scene I was interested in having now. Approaching footsteps stalled, then started up the steps, and I looked up meet the eyes of a fresh faced young man just finishing a run of his own by the looks of it. I couldn’t quite smile, but I almost found my voice.

“Hey,” breathlessly greeting him before my head dropped and I continued trying to reign in enough oxygen. I coughed and phlegm caught in my throat, but I managed not to choke. Reminding myself I was in public, I didn’t hack up a lung or spit and instead turned towards the railing of the porch to use as a hand hold while stretching.

“Don’t die,” he called, sounding serious.

Naturally I took it as good humor, but didn’t even look up from my left heel high up on the porch floor. I automatically responded with, “Not today my friend. Not today.” And it wasn’t until I finished speaking that I realized it was the same back and forth Joey and I had before stepping out on a mission.

Immediately I threw myself back into focusing on stretching, pulling the sole of my shoe back towards my glute, unable to decide if what I was doing was a hamstring stretch or a quadricep stretch. Though I knew the difference in the muscles, I often mixed up which stretch did what and since my entire leg often felt like it was on fire. Hopefully it would at the very least stretch my hamstring, because I didn’t look forward to a muscle cramp there in the middle of the night.

Still counting silently in my head, I realized that he had left and returned with a pair of water bottles, offering her one of them. Is he hitting on me? Wait, no stop it Penny, don’t be ridiculous. It’s a bottle of water and you need a drink.

I scolded myself out of the ego boost, reached up and took the bottle with a quiet, “Mind reader, thanks.” The rubber of my leg dropped back to the ground and I started for the steps wondering if I was about to have a Bambi level sprawl on the porch. Every step leaked more confidence into my limbs and I opened the water to take a few satisfying gulps on the way up the stairs and for the front door.

In the middle of drinking still, I caught his warning in my ears before I got too far on the porch. I quirked a brow up and eyed him sidelong as I paused frozen there for a half a beat. I couldn’t decide if he was half fae or a race that I wasn’t familiar with, or maybe even just young. Not intending to crowd him, I walked over to get the same view he had through the window and spied the bubbling outbreak of chaos.

“Uh, yeah I think you’re right about that one.” Agreeing and pressing a hip against the railing for balance as the bottle was set aside and I leaned over slightly to wipe the excessive sweat from my face and brow. I could feel the rippling waves of tension and energy...not quite magic but it reminded me of it coming from inside. Doing what I do best; sitting and waiting for the action to come to me while pretending to not notice it, I cleaned off my face. And felt satisfied that no one was looking my way as I lifted my shirt up.

More footsteps approached while the young man headed for the door and gave what I suppose was a warning, though it sounded like a grunted slur. I kept my hand at my side, thumb ready to activate any of the copper laced rings on my fingers while my attention started to split off him and to the others arriving on the porch.

Naturally my eyes sank down to the dog first, waiting to see if I’d be recognized. He was either too distracted by the outbreak of violence in the Inn or, more likely, heavily domesticated and had no interest in anyone besides his owner. But since the dog wasn’t wound up to cause any trouble, he wasn’t a big concern of mine either.

So, I looked around and made a poor attempt at changing the subject, trying to thank the young man for the water as he dropped down onto the swing. When he shrugged, I started leaning towards the notion that he was just young, but then questioned that again seeing as how he was uneasy and distracted by the tussle inside. Attempting to smile to him then in a quiet type of reassurance, I looked over to another addition on the porch.

My mouth flew open to give way to a snarky comment, but I managed to can the rest of my own peanut gallery commentary while more and more people arrived. The latest was a bubbling teenage girl, but I couldn’t decide what decade she was from because her slang sounded off. Or maybe I had started to get old? Feeling certain on the teenage label for her though, and with luck I kept myself from laughing at her heckling to the action inside.

My stomach growling though clued me in that I wouldn’t be able to linger out there on the porch for much longer. No one had looked my way yet in response to any monstrous growls, but that was probably because they were all in my head. I was still certain I’d need to get something to eat before I thought my own arm looked delicious though, so I hoped the few gathered outside would have something in mind nearby.

Directions too would be nice since I’d be walking. Satisfied that walk would be my cool down even if I was questioning if I had enough money shoved in my shoe to purchase the extensive buffet my stomach would request, I straightened up and posed the question of a nearby recommendation for food.

Trick, I listened when he and Jackie had both given out their names when I said my own earlier, offered to guide me to the Marketplace and I couldn’t decide if he was shy or embarrassed in the way his smile flashed across his face. For a second I wondered if he was like me, if his smiles came on so slow, but faded in a flash. But that wasn’t really something you could tell about a person when first meeting them.

I was trying to keep an eye out for any landmarks that Tim had told me about as we walked along the sidewalk, and it wasn’t until I heard Trick ask, “New to Rhydin then?” That I realized we had probably walked more than a few blocks in total silence.

I could tell he was studying my profile, but it didn’t last long enough to feel creepy. I could only hope he didn’t find something off putting, and assumed as such when he didn’t sudden run away screaming. Good to know that I probably didn’t have any more beetles in my hair after the events of that morning.

“I arrived in the Spring actually, so a few months.” How long ago was mid-march? Inwardly I winced realizing that I was closing in on six months here already. And I had gotten a bunch of nothing done here except keep tabs on Tim. “I guess I don’t get out much?” I tried to laugh it off and then got distracted by the subtle change of building materials from one distract gate to another. Dragon’s Gate reminded me of a puzzle box, intricately woven together pieces each supporting each other and making the whole structure stronger. And I was sure there were a few dragon scales along the walls, but maybe that was just my imagination.

Upon entering the marketplace though, the building materials changed. The colors were overall the same, but the structures were almost…. Cheaper. Construction smelled fresh, but maybe even a little weak. I could smell wet paint just barely on the air. Then I remembered Tim telling me that the marketplace regularly got blown up on a presumably weekly basis.

I asked if he was a local, and he confirmed as such. I didn’t question his self-depreciating tour guide skills, deciding that he teetered between being an introvert and still shyly finding himself.

Yup, young no matter what his race may be Penny.

I had a voice of reason, but I still felt a little egotistical thinking he was toying with the idea of flirting with me. It was the audible gulp he gave that made it clear to me that I made him nervous for some reason, so I went with the usual excuse no matter what the age (or at least for those who had bypassed puberty): Hormones.

I almost laughed out loud because he asked a question that reminded me of that Russian Scientist’s poor lead in to sex. I explained, only vaguely, some of my work out routine and just barely managed to refrain from asking Trick if he was a swimmer. Deciding it would be very poor form to frighten him off, especially before I had found the taco truck, I wisely kept my mouth shut on the topic.

Luckily, the subject shifted, but I still had a sly curl to my tone. I felt envy when he admitted to being a racing pilot, wondering if he ever felt like a soaring bird when he was in the driver’s seat of what he called pod racers. They sounded like small aircrafts and I really loved few things above the idea of being able to fly.

But I was still probably a horrible person for even coming close to teasing the fresh-faced teenager with any innuendo, no matter how slight.

I could smell barbacoa as he explained a few general basics of pod racing, but with his slight animation for the topic I hoped he wouldn’t hear the low pitting growl of my stomach as it erupted in my abdomen. Certain I had seen a smile, I matched it with a flash of my own. Slow to start but there, even if it didn’t linger long enough to feel it in my cheeks.

My goodbyes were quick things, just as quick as his smiles it seemed. When he asked if I was certain I’d find my way home, I found my hand settling on his arm for a reassuring squeeze and a gentle sweep of my hand down the length of it. “I’ll be fine. Thank you again Trick.”

I didn’t linger and turned away from him, continuing for the Taco King truck. My steps might have gotten faster as my stomach gurgled and snarled, but I glanced over my shoulder back to him and gave a wave, trying to convince myself that nothing could be heard over the sound of Mariachi Pop.
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Re: Copper lights; Heavy stone

Post by Penny Escobar »

(Originally posted on Sept 10, 2017)

Milling through the crowds at the stadium didn’t put me as on edge as I had expected it would. Crowds don’t bother me of course, but I honestly hadn’t known what to expect once I had gotten out there to start with. I had been to a couple of stadiums in the past, but this was certainly on a much larger scale. Considering these pod racers went a kabajillion (direct quote from a six or seven-year-old rattling on in front of me at the entry gate) miles an hour, it made perfect sense for the stadium and race track to be massive.

Arriving early, in hopes of determining if my being around things in Stars End would be a life-threatening hazard, but so far there were no explosions, which honestly would have been an extreme reaction. If work has taught me anything though, it was to prepare for the worst, and even then, the unpredictable would still happen.

The flashing lights and screens everywhere made me think of a futuristic Vegas or Time’s Square, while the people making up the crowd reminded me of being at one of the Sidhe functions. Only with less gut wrenchingly terror and fear of being turned into a plaything or a meal. The out of this world didn’t seem unnatural to these people, and I suspected it would end up meaning I could easily go under the radar and go unnoticed. It was a sharp contrast to keeping secrets back home, and I wondered if it would end up making me jaded and desensitized. I wondered how common it was for the population in Rhydin in general to be unimpressed and bored.

The thought didn’t linger as I found my way to the skybox and let out a slow whistle upon entering the posh and swanky suite. There were others inside already and I returned their curious but polite smiles with a quiet one of my own. I must have wandered through the crowds and the stadium longer than I realized because it sounded as if things were getting ready to start.

Double checking the seat number before finding it, I settled in with a race program that was left on the cushions of each one. Flipping through it briefly, I spotted Trick’s picture and a short bio of him and the others on Bluestar Racing, his Team I gathered. It took me more than a minute to realize that was the same team the announcers were discussing over the speakers.

“So, it’s his first race back for the team since he broke his arm Buck. Any speculation as to what actually happened? Think it was foul play by another racer on another team? Or maybe even jealousy sparked by his success by someone at Bluestar? Perhaps they’re not really the good family the media likes to make them out to be.”

“Well Troy, that’s hard to say. And of course, there’s been a lot of hush hush no comment talk coming from Bluestar. It does make you wonder what secrets they’re trying to keep over there. I heard the kid has a temper and punched a minotaur in the gonads for calling him ‘boy’.”

Laughter followed from both announcers and I rolled by eyes and turned a page of the program.

“Well I’d imagine that would break anyone’s hand who was brave or foolish enough to try it.” A third voice pipped up.

“I heard he was angry after finding out how much the others on the team roster were making per appearance and had a tantrum, ending with him roid raging out in Rhydin’s Marketplace. But Bluestar didn’t want the league drug testing him, so a fake cast was put on as part of an elaborate cover-up.”

An annoyed exclamation came from behind me, leading to me glancing over my shoulder.

“Esh these ****ers like to hear themselves talk. Buncha bull****. Of course that isn’t what happened,” one guy said while tugging on the lip of a baseball cap and scowling at one of the screens overhead.

Others agreed with various nods and general exasperation. “Yeah, but what can you do?” I heard a voice ask.

I glanced up to the pair of speakers on opposite sides of the skybox, where the announcers’ voices were coming from.

With a flicker of focused will and a murmured, “Malificous,” the speakers sputtered and crackled before falling silent.

Instead of complaints there was a quick round of cheers. “Now we don’t have to listen to their crackpot theories. Hey Cammie, turn on WHAM 101.1 instead.”

Satisfied, I settled back in my seat to catch the beginning of the race.

I always hated sportscasters.
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