Remember Worthymyre and Falcom? "...don't pick the youngest one, I hear she's quite plump." Well, I did some editing to their section the other day and even turned some serious attention to the romantic and tormented hero, Mendithas. I can't disclose that part yet though because I was writing fast enough to keep up with my mind and it yet needs editing. However, I will disclose here some of Worthmyre, because he's a funny old bird and Falcome is as handsome as a summer's day and as dry-humored as an autumn leaf. Not to mention as dull as a rock (and just as thick). Anyway, it's long but if you're really interested, here it is: Sin Is A Myth: Chapter Two Worthmyre always noted her as being ‘a deipnosophist woman, sharp witted and pleasantly loquacious.’ For Worthmyre, anyone sharing his passion for confabulation was a pleasant person. Falcom, however, did not share such an opinion, but remarked sourly that Iona had a sharp tongue and was dully garrulous. However, this was only natural coming from a gauche man who never had a strong disposition in conversation and was indeed a man of few words. It was a long walk to the Varberas’ front door and most of the journey was spent under the obstreperous talk of Worthmyre, whose deep vibrato voice satisfied his rather intimidating embonpoint stature. He was the sort of man who earned silence by the simple clearing of his voice, and was quite talented in having deep discussions with the northern wind (who had informed Worthmyre that his name was Huey), for the wind was the only thing that lingered long enough to listen. Worthmyre understood its whispers and returned its quarries with long-winded explanations. The pity in this is the mere fact that Worthmyre often spoke with his beady eyes closed and would never understand that Huey was a phantom of a coming storm. But no one had the courage to explain this to the wise and opinionated Worthmyre. Falcom, who cared more about the blatant truth than whimsical suggestions, had scolded the man for his idiocy and tried to explain the truth about Huey. The argument was a loss. Worthmyre did not hear him, partially because he did not wish to hear him, and also due to the fact that he was too busy trying to talk over his spiteful nephew. Falcom, in turn, decided that Huey was a good friend for Worthmyre; Huey would never argue Worthmyre’s point and he was always subservient to the conversation. Huey and Worthmyre held magnificent discussions wherever they went. Falcom grew so used to it that he began to ignore Worthmyre all together, causing the man to repeat his questions several times before Falcom understood that it was he whom Worthmyre was addressing. Naturally, this would irritate Worthmyre and he would smack the backside of Falcom’s head, spitting, “Answer me, boy! Did you think I was talking to myself?” Their trek to the Varberas Estate (if you dare call it that) was an unusual one, so Falcom did his best to pay attention to what Worthmyre was rambling about. It was a difficult task and he would often miss large chunks of the monologue, tuning out during the subject of hens and then tuned back in when he thought he heard Worthmyre say ‘naked’. “…after that. It’s about time people in this village began giving back some of those rapport courtesies that the Varberas family once showed us. Seven daughters! Who would believe! Framos is going to face a hard time marrying them off. Such a fine name, too, don’t you think? Varberas. Strong, proud, would have done a woman good to gain a name like that. Oh well. You can’t direct the wind but you can always adjust the sails, I always say.” “I haven’t heard you say it before.” Falcom remarked. “You never listen to me anyway.” Worthmyre said pompously. “If you were a wise man like me, you’d know a thing or two about things. Now listen here,” He stopped his feet and swung around, bumping Falcom sideways with his large, rounded belly. “Vilencia is doing you a favor, letting you see her daughters, you understand? Just as I’m doing her a favor by letting one of them marry you. You just be nice and pretend to be impressed. I don’t want anyone getting insulted. And watch that raffish mouth of yours. You just stand there and look charming. All the town knows those poor girls are puckish, scapegrace creatures locked in cages and who knows what sort of hullabaloo they might get into at the sight of you.” Falcom tried hard to fathom what Worthmyre meant, but the composition of his words dissipated from the time they left Worthymyre’s mouth to the moment they reached Falcom’s ears. Accustomed to never understanding what the plump man said, however displeased in this not-knowing, Falcom responded in his common answer that, no matter how tired Worthmyre was of hearing it, always answered. And so, Falcom turned his eyes to feign full attention this time, and asked curiously, “What?” “For Heaven’s sake boy!” Worthmyre boomed, a large roll of his stomach bouncing up as he stomped his foot, “Empty your ears of sand and take those rocks out of your skull so you can hear me!” Nevertheless, Worthmyre promptly resumed walking and continued his train of thought aloud with each pounding step. “God only knows how she’s done it, and it’s yet to be seen by my eyes if she’s really managed it at all. Seven daughters! Half the town didn’t even know about the seventh until a year after her birth! It happened two years after the youngest, Efestasna, or something like that. By the way, whatever you do, don’t pick the youngest. I hear she’s quite plump. Vilencia must be old and gray by now, having to deal with all those little ones. It’s a wonder she didn’t run away, really. It takes a doughty woman to go through something like that. Framos, of course, could handle it. You know, come to think of it, I’ve completely forgotten about their single pearl.” “Their what?” “Their son! They had one, the primogeniture, the false beginning to a happy family. I wonder how the little fellow turned out. One could only imagine the kinds of things a single boy in a house of girls would be reduced to. Why, I wouldn’t be the least surprised to find the scrawny thing playing dolls and sewing right along with his sisters. But no, no, you’re right, Framos would never reduce his single son to something like that. The boy is probably a bull, masculine and mean. Framos probably sold the mule and put reins around his neck to plow the fields! What an ox! The next Hercules, I’d wager, that’s the only son Framos would have if he were only blessed with one, which clearly he is, for how could a woman so far down this road produce another offspring? And even if such a miracle did occur, how could a single woman handle them all? Infant and child, tender and wild. It remains unbeknownst to me whether or not they ever hired help in rearing those pups. By pups, of course, I mean babies. No, I think you’re wrong now, I remain on my first position of the boy being a pansy, learning to tie ribbons and hide the stitching in a dress. Heavens, I hope I can separate him from the others, I’d hate to have you fawning over one of your own!” With that, he roared with laughter, the great ball of blubber in his stomach jiggling up and down. Falcom had never spoken a word during the entity of the dispute as to the outcome of the Varberas son, Worthmyre satisfying the dispute by his own trail of thought. (Or perhaps it was Huey who had argued.) By the end, Worthmyre circled back to his original assumption, concluding, quite certain, that the Pearl of Framos was nothing but a shiny pebble, perhaps pretty to look at, but virtually worthless. More previews to come (maybe). Carrie On to part II...