Mary Sue Project - Part 2

Graceful piano music floated through the afternoon air. Birds in their new nests lifted their heads to listen to it, and toddlers, waiting for lunch, tipped an ear towards its sweet serenade. Inside the mansion, Cynthia's manicured fingers dance across keys. Her nails were painted with a thin pink gloss. Golden light shined in from the sun-roof and shone down upon her hair and her hair alone. It brought out the gold in it.

Clastro folded her arms and seethed as the lady started a verse of Pachabel's Canon. Every note bruised her skull. Alison couldn't help but feel that the song being played wasn't supposed to exist in this universe, and it surrounded the girl with more apparent mystery. Franko walked into the room following a maid with a tray. The maid set the tray on a small tea table and Franko sat in front of it. He looked about ready to say something, but lost it in the sound of the music. Two verses passed, eventually reaching a majestic conclusion, before anyone could speak again.
Cynthia closed her book of sheet music and turned around.
"Oh, Franko. You should have said lunch was ready."

Franko shook his head. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself. Come on, sit down." He motioned for them all to sit in the chairs. The group complied and meal was started.
"Franko tells me" Cynthia noted between graceful sips. "that your looking for someone. Someone in power? Maybe I could help you."


Clastro looked at Franko over her bread. "Did he? What else did you tell her?"
Franko was eating his own bread. "I told her what you told me. We're looking for a women with a cape."
Alison snorted beverage up his nose, accidentally. He was also beginning to wonder where all his dialog went. Cynthia blinked pure concern through her tear glands. She offered Alison a tissue, which he promptly used at the table.
"Thanks for the offer, but I can't think what help you could be." Clastro tried desperately to discredit Cynthia in any way.
"She's the daughter of the local lord." Franko debunked. "If anyone has met caped people around here it's going to be her."
"It's not like she's gonna know every caped person in the territory." Alison debunked back.
"I've met nearly every person in my father's lands, and many others in the neighboring ones. I'm familiar with every lord in neighboring lands." (Behold the italics of absolute grace)

Clastro and Alison dropped their jaws at Cynthia's apparent omnipotent wisdom. Clastro was even more astonished at the way she recited it like she was giving directions to the store. The acute knowledge even seemed to have Franko off kilter. Cynthia looked back and forth across their faces. "My friends, did you doubt I could keep my word? I will introduce you to every caped person in my knowledge until you are satisfied you have found the right person."
Alison snerked. "Lady, you don't even know what we're gonna do to the person." He was filled with joy at his first line in months.
Cynthia shook her head with a smile. "It does not matter to me what you seek to do. I only wish to help people in need." And her eyes shined with promise.

As he gazed into her eyes Franko was filled with a memory he'd long since wanted to forget.
Long awaited child of peace.
He shook the memory from his mind and re-focused. Why was he thinking that?

Alison was laughing. Not the fun kind, but the snerking kind that says you missed the real joke. Cynthia wondered what there was to get.
"Y-you don't even realize- BAHhahahaha! Your gonna be helping us commit m-" Clastro slapped her hand over his mouth.
"It's nothing to worry about." Clastro laughed nervously. After a bit Cynthia joined her, though it was short lived. Cynthia soon returned to her usual distant, sorrowful, and did I mention mysteriously alluring expression.



There was an awkward silence during which Cynthia adjusted her hair back behind it's ear and smiled so sweetly, yet nervously. Her luscious, gentle pink lips curled up into a small awkward smile. Then, her eyes shone with ingenious beyond her age.

"How about this." The others stared up at her as she broke the silence. "I'll host a party and invite as many cape owning people as can come. Then, you can look over them and try to find the person your searching for."
"What are you gonna call it, the Cape Caper?" Alison snickered, just before Clastro beat him with the teacup, which promptly broke.
"That sounds like a wonderful idea." Cynthia's eyes glistened. Everyone stared in shock. Two seconds later, Franko got this huge, out-of-character grin on his face. He walked up to Cynthia and sdqueezed her hands gently between his own.
"Yes," He agreed. "That sounds like a great idea."



Another teacup flew through the air and hit Franko on the flank of his head. He rubbed it impatiently, switching his grip on her hands to only one of his own. "Ow. C'mon, Clastro. You've gotta agree it's not a bad idea. It's a lot faster then visiting each person individually."
Clastro bit her lower lip and held her tongue. She didn't think it was bad, she just couldn't stand the look Franko was getting.
"Look," Clastro held the teapot at ready. "we'll go through this party plan, but if nothing turns up then we really have to get going."
Franko stared at her long. "Deal."


Hours later, the main hall of Cynthia's house was filled to the brim with important looking people, all wearing capes. The capes came in all shapes and colors. Short red capes, long blue capes with gold undersides, V-cut tie-dye capes, capes embroidered with elaborate family crests; all were seen under the roof being worn by equally decorated people. The trio looked around with mouths agape. (hehe, agape sounds like a cape)

Mary Sue Project - Part I

Another beautiful morning. Children were giggling on their way to school, shop keepers shouted out to welcome customers, and the work animals were baying their morning songs. Franko pulled back the silken curtains and let the sun soak into his eyes. He sighed deeply. He didn't know why, but every morning had been like this since they came to this city. Pleasant, welcoming, warm and bright. And, for reasons he couldn't explain, he was loving every one of them.


Clastrophobia wasn't loving them so much. Mornings like these made her feel nauseous inside. Every morning here was like a hammer hitting her in the head that scooped her brains with the pick end onto a skillet to be scrambled like eggs. She looked at Franko through narrowly opened eyes and groaned. He was doing it again. Clastro shut her eyes tight, not wanting to see the worst part of their nightmare of a stay.



Every single morning, Franko looked out the window directly at the tower across the way. The tall, ivy covered tower was home to the tragically beautiful Cynthia, daughter of the town lord. She had been the one to take them into her home when her father was about to turn them away at the door three nights ago. It was hailing when they came to the door, and she was the most wonderful thing they'd seen in weeks, as she still was for the two guys. For Clastro though, she was an abomination of the senses. She had to get the guys out of there, or kill Cynthia while trying.



Franko sighed again, causing Clastro to shudder in disgust. Cynthia had appeared in her window. Gently she sang with the voice of an angel. Bird gathered around her windowsill and perched upon her shoulders and fingers. The work animals, happily going about their work, looked up at their mistress with admiration. Even Alison, who got up earlier to poke the dogs with wooden sticks, beamed with pride at the chance to hear such a beautiful voice. Cynthia's wonderful, soprano voice rose to a high point that carried itself all the way across the city. Everyone stopped their work to lend an ear.

"So beautiful." One villager noted, with a tear in his eye.



The song ended just as the sun was starting to rise into its higher position in the sky. There was a moment of silence as the city slowly came back to life. The animals continued their own work song, and children continued to giggle their way to learning. Cynthia giggled like a bubbling brook at a joke a bird was telling her. It whispered sweet nothings into her ear, then hopped to the end of her finger.

"No, really?" The bird nodded, an unusual characteristic for it. "Then you should say." The bird looked shy. "Go on, tell her. She's waiting for you." Cynthia lifted her hand, coaxing the bird to fly. The bird looked hesitant, but flew away with zest. Cynthia smiled, her sea-green eyes shining like emeralds. She pressed her hand against her lip and stifled the last of her hope filled laughter.



Franko didn't realize it, but he'd slumped down into the windowsill and was pressing both hands against his cheeks. He giggled when she giggled, and he watched the bird absent minded as it flew away. This was another part of the morning her couldn't get over. Cynthia, he thought, must be the most wonderful person he'd ever met. Beautiful beyond compare, she had radiant hair that fluttered in the wind. Her golden-auburn curls bounced about playfully with every step she took. Her laughter was perfect harmony; her smile the most perfectly cut diamond. He couldn't think of anything about her that wasn't perfect. Even her flowing, satin dresses remained unmarred despite age and weather. And yet, she always looked so sad.



"You know," Franko said dreamily. "I heard that used to be her mother's dress."

Clastro didn't want to hear it. She looked at Franko with burning fury in her eyes. Really, anyone who looked could see burning infernos instead of pupils. She slammed shut the draw she'd stored her things in. She couldn't take it anymore. She stepped over, grabbed Franko by the hair, and shook his head.

"Agh!" He thrashed about and reached for her gripping hand.

"Did you forget what we're doing here?" Clastro ripped and pulled in three different directions. "Who we're looking for?!"

"I know, I know!" Franko managed to rip himself free of her grip. Her stood on level with her, rubbing his head. "But are we really going to find some "lady in a cape"? Do you know people that could be? Look Alison is exhausted." He thrust a hand out the window, Clastro looked. Alison was wasting his energy antagonizing the animals. She looked at Franko sceptically. Clearly he was making excuses, they both could tell.

Franko's expression went from defensive to apologetic. He took Clastro's hands.
"Come on, Clastro. Let's stay here for just a few more days. I- I feel we're gonna find something any day now." Clastro ripped her hands from his grip. He was being pathetic in her mind, and she couldn't stand to see another minute of it. She stormed out the door and down the stairs of the guest house. Franko sighed with exasperation and rubbed his still aching head.
All the while, Alison rolled in the dirt with animals.

CynthiA

When the rain stops I'll be with you as you caress the half-wilted petals, so pink, upon the cherry tree bow. The air will whisper in your mist, and fall gently again upon the cobblestones. You will sink into the cracks gently, just like you used to sink into the old chair by the fire. Then, so soon you will return above to dance among the very rays that have enthralled you away from my presence. She is a bitter mistress that teases us, and tests your very will.

I have longed for this rain- this rain that brings you in it's wake. It beats down the rhythm of my dying heart, so quickly at times, but then almost slowing to a complete stop. I feel a rain inside as it holds me close by my clothes, telling me that it is all I have left. It's wrong. When the rain leaves, I have you in soft whispers.

"Cynthia?"
Oh! You may wonder who this man is which startles me from my writing. I understand he is a man with great purpose, though he has yet to tell me what that purpose is. His name is-
"Why are you sitting in the rain?"
Oh, goodness. He has taken my hand, which was placed so carefully upon the writing book you left me the night of the.... the night of the ceremony. How I miss your gentleness, like a spring brook. I remember you smile, and a laugh like water falling gently over stones. But this man has not your gentleness as he pulls me to my feet. I slip and start to fall on the rain covered stones. The rain thinks it mocks me, but I am not ashamed. I fall perfectly into the visitors arms, as if it were choreographed. I smile my thanks at him and he looks longingly into my eyes. I prey his forgiveness that I can only wait for you.

Oh, our book has fallen into a puddle. It is soaked with water, but, when the rain ends, it will only be soaked with you. The man props me up like a statue, putting me in exactly the same position. I don't mind.
"Aw, man. Your book got wet."
He moarns my loss, though it is only temporary. In the end, the same water that chides me now will be my long lasting link to yo- What is he doing?
"We better take it inside and dry it off."
No, he takes it away. Our link will be ruined! Don't take it into the house, where I can no longer here him. (Him is you.) Oh, I am sorry. The falls freely to my eyes, and I fall to the ground like wilting petals that try to cling to lost life. I- my book, our book!