Bedtime Stories

In the deep, dark recesses of the nursery shelves there rests a little book. It is the sort of book with a plain yet textured cloth cover, the sort with yellow vellum like pages, a fancy built in ribbon bookmark and forward font. It is not a remarkable book by any account, which might be why it rests in the deep dark recesses and hasn't been cracked more than once.

However, should you be so curious as to sneak it from it's hiding place, should you be so bold as to crack that plain yet textured cloth cover open, you might see the following inscription:

To my nephew, on the occasion of his birth;
I don't expect that we shall meet
At home, at school, or on the street
For, I fear, your folks and I
Have never yet met eye to eye
And so this gift I give to you
May you grow your own brain, too.
Love, Auntie

And that is it, all that is inscribed in a clear if bold hand upon that inner cover. It might explain a little more why this particular book has been stuffed away, separated from the brightly wrapped, happy text of walking teddy bears and talking birds, of Mooses in Flooses on the Isle of Tooses, and those cute little rhymes we all know so well. If, for some reason, you can't guess why it's set apart, then, by all means read on. Some people just need to learn the hard way.

The Prince's Pride

Once upon a time, there lived a very handsome prince who happened to be a complete jerk. No, really, if you had looked up asshole in a dictionary of the day, you'd see his woodcarving. We're talking about the kind of dick who'd spill a jar of jam on a freshly washed floor, just to see the servants have to rewash it, or who would order up a gigantic banquet that could feed 100 peasants only to feed it to the dogs. He also stole candy from babies for fun.

It's probably not too surprising that our prince ran afoul of a witch. He should have known better, but then, he was bored and his courtiers were bored, so he had the old woman hauled into his throne room to face his court. The crone was nervous, and stood there blinking blearily as she was minutely inspected by the idle rich brats surrounding her. The prince let her squirm for a full five minutes before rising. "Read my fortune, witch," he so ordered her, with an imperious air, and a smirk about his lip.

"You're Highness," the old crone tried to explain, all a'tremble before her sovereign lord, "I don't tell fortunes. I am but a humble herbalist- a naturalist, if you will."

"A natural what?" The prince laughed, and with him, laughed his cronies. "I've seen less warts on a toad, less rolls on the ocean, and less whiskers on a cat!"

The witch flushed a mottled red. "Yes, Highness," she darkly muttered. "I'll just be going, then."

"Not so fast, woman," rang his princely decree. "Since you are a herbalist and not a fortune teller, I will have you make me a potion instead."

"What kind of potion?"

"A potion that will make me irresistible to all who see me!" And the prince did smile and look indulgently upon his gasping court, basking in their attentive rapture. "And I want it within the hour."

With a shrewd squint, the witch eyed the young man. "All right," she graveled, "I will craft you such a potion, your highness, and return before the hour is up." With that, she waddled from the room as fast as her thick legs would carry her, ignoring the jeers and chortles of the prince and his court.

For a time the prince indulged himself in drink and song, while he and his cohorts waited for the witch's return. True to her word, before the time limit had expired, she returned clutching a vial of steaming brew in her claw-like hand. It looked vaguely of boiling swamp water and smelled almost, but not entirely, unlike cabbage. This she presented to the prince with a hissed warning. "Do you take heed, highness. To be irresistible may indeed prove more than you care for."

"How would you ever know, crone," came his disdainful reply as he accepted her offering. The court quieted down in expectation as he held the concoction aloft; they leaned forward in anticipation as he placed the vial to his lips. Then, they all blinked in surprise when he suddenly barked out a mocking laugh. "A better idea- here, woman, you drink this! Let us make the old bat irresistible!"

The witch's eyes widened in alarm while the couriers all laughed heartily. "Oh, no," she croaked, backing up from the throne. A negligent flick of the prince's wrist brought forth two stout guardsmen who none-too-gently pushed her forward. "Your highness, please, do not!"

"Oh, yes," he cruelly mimicked, thrusting the vial into her shaking hand. "I'd think you'd want to be irresistible? Let us do it this way; should it work, why, I will marry you myself. And if it does not, well- then we will know you for the charlatan you are and it's off with your head!"

The rousing cheer from the court met this declaration, and the witch knew she was in for it now. She gave a resigned grunt. "Well, how could I ever refuse an offer like that?" She hissed, right before downing the contents of the vial all in one mighty gulp. Tense moments passed as the prince and the court hawkishly watched the woman for any change in her at all. When nothing happened, the prince got a truly evil glint in his eyes.

"Ah ha!" He exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in glee. "It didn't work. And now-"

"Pardon me, your highness, but it did work." The witch cackled and shooed off the two guardsmen who flanked her. "Now, you honor your pledge and marry me."

"Marry you?" The prince blurted, incredulously. "Of course!" And then he blinked, not even mindful of the collective gawking of his courtiers. He tried again. "Yes, I will marry you."

"He's bewitched!" Someone cried. "Enchantment!" Yelled another, "Someone seize that woman!"

But the witch, calmly, held up a restraining hand that, though it shook with age, never-the-less restrained quite well enough. "No," she commanded clearly, "no one will be seizing me. You, fellow, go fetch the priest." And the man she had pointed to, the second cousin of the prince himself, twice removed, on his mother's side, ran off to do her bidding. "The rest of you, shut up and watch. Now, come here my handsome husband and give your wifey-poo a kiss."

Contesting Gertrude

Once upon a time in the kingdom of Hall, there was a mighty king who had seven daughters, all of whom were lovelier than the last. Especially lovelier than the last, for the youngest of these daughters was, it must be told, rather on the plain side. To be more exact, she was rather mannish in appearance and often the good folk of Hall thought that some stork got a bit confused as to gender. Her name, whether by coincidence or design, happened to be Gertrude.

Now, Gertie was a good girl, and a smart girl, and a kind girl, but even when she was young and rather cute, people could not seem to get over the fact that she was just not very feminine, especially when compared to the beauty of her sisters. Indeed, princes and lords came from near and far to court the prettier daughters and so they were married off, one by one, as each became of age. Their weddings were all lush, extravagant affairs, beautiful, delicate, lovely, and cemented many an important political alliance between the King and foreign interests. But Gertie, well now, not a single prince or lord would look twice at her. It seemed being good, kind and nice were just not that important in the grand scheme of things.

As the occasion of Gertieï's 18th birthday drew close, the King secreted himself away with his advisors. "What shall I do?" He asked his them "She is two years past the age of marriage and STILL no suitor has come to claim her. To have a spinster daughter, even one so good and kind as she is, would be a shame I could not live with."

"You should send her to a nunnery," one suggested, piously. "It is not uncommon for nobility to sacrifice a spare daughter or son to the clergy."

"You should pick one of your secondary nobles and bribe them to marry her-I mean, reward him with a rich dowery," another postulated, greedily.

"You should ignore the problem, for it is no problem, and just let the girl find her own way in life," suggested a third, apathetically.

All of these suggestions were met with strong opposition by the other members of the advisory board, and one by one were discounted. Finally, one of the men, a silent sly fellow, chimed in with his own idea. "You should attach the kingdom to her hand," he purred, a grin about his mouth. "Whom-so-ever should marry her shall inherit the throne itself, since you are without sons. And in order to win the princess, and the kingdom, there should be a great contest, opened to everyone." As ludicrous as that idea was, it seemed after much debate, the one with the least fault. After all, the other princesses had married foreign princes; the people would hardly want one of those on the throne!

Naturally, when informed of this, Gertrude was quite perturbed. She turned to her father, her blocky body tense and her husky voice trembling. "Father, I protest this. I feel as a prized pig to be put forth before the rabble! Should I not get to choose for myself my future husband?"

"Don`t be silly, Gertie, that is not how it is done."

"But I have been a good daughter, a faithful daughter, a kind a true daughter, have I not?"

"You have."

"And though I am not much to look at, do I not have fine and noble qualities of mind and spirit?"

"Indeed."

"And this is how you repay me, by making me a second rate prize in a contest for the throne?"

"Gertie, my dear, I do love you, but do let us menfolk handle these matters? There`s a good girl, run off and play now."The King patted her upon her frizzy-haired head, a patronizing smile upon his lips. Gertrude`s own lips pressed in a firm line, but she said no more on the matter.

And so it was decided. The King set forth a decree that on the 14th of June, The princess Gertrude`s 18th birthday, there would be a grand contest. The winner of the contest would not only marry the princess and so become royalty, but also inherit the kingdom itself. It was a desperate ploy to be sure, but the people loved it. To them it seemed the King was giving a great opportunity to their sons.

On the bright, sunny morning of June the fourteenth, the festivities began. First, there was a courtly appearance by the King himself and his daughter, who donned a veil for the occasion. Before the royal box there were scores upon scores of young and not-so-young men, all hoping that they might be the next king. Beyond them were even more scores of non-contestants, hoping that they`d get to be related to the next king, or at the very least, get to see someone disemboweled. They were not the most enlightened of people.

"My people!" the King began, raising his hands in an affectionate, fatherly gesture, "There will be three trials to determine the victor of this contest; the trial of the hand, the trial of the head, and the trial of the heart. Each contestant will have a fair chance, though those who prove best in each match shall move on. He that wins the most contests shall be declared here by sun`s set, my son and heir."To this, there came a raucous cheering from all throats save one. Since it was so very noisy, no one noticed the one absent voice from the princess in the box. In disgust, she had left.

First came the trial of hand, for it was greatly believed in those times that he who had the most might was the most right for ruling purposes. The contestants all lined up with each other and a massive brawl ensued; unarmed of course, the King had no wish to decimate his population with undue throat slittings and the like. Instead the men fought with fist, with feet, with head, and with knee and generally beat the ever loving crud out of each other, to the spectator`s delight. Fifty men entered the fray, but as the fight went on, that number dwindled by half, and then half again, until there were only two left standing. One was a rather handsome, dashing if utterly arrogant captain of the guard; the other was a plain, short, beardless and mud covered body with a stocky build. Both were battered and bruised, but they eyed each other with obvious malice of intent, and soon set into each other.

It was clear from the onset that the captain was the better trained, and the more massive of the two. However, the muddy peasant was a down and dirty fighter with more than one trick hidden away. In short, the match was fairly even and the people were vastly entertained. The captain won, just barely, and over his vanquished foe did gloat a bit. "Now then, boy," he panted, "See what a proper training will do for you? But no hard feelings, you fought well, for a peasant."

The peasant said nothing, but glared at the captain in high irritation.

The next contest was that of the head, for it was widely known that any future king should be smart, or at least, not an idiot. For this match the best ten of the first were, after a period of rest, brought back to contest each other once more. And what better way to show off one`s intelligence than by the lordly game of chess?

Match after match was played, and each victor moved on to another opponent, one who had also won, while those who lost rejoined the spectators. At the end, once again, there were two; the fair captain, and the muddy commoner. The two eyed each other with less malice than the first match, each more wary and, perhaps, growing a begrudging respect for the other`s abilities. This time, the peasant won out, capturing the Captain`s king in a surprisingly swift and cunning game. "Now then, captain," the muddy one chirped, "see what proper training will get you? But no hard feelings, you played well- for a soldier."

The captain`s eyes narrowed to little slits as he eyed this upstart across the table, contemplating who the first would be on the block once he was king. "There is still one trial left, my boy," he said, "and this one should be the most telling."

By now, the people had picked sides, each according to his favorite, for they knew that in the next bout there would be but two contestants. Oddly enough, no one bothered to ask Gertie which one she might prefer, or which one had her favor, not even the contestants. But then, she was not watching the spectacle anyway, and everyone had quite forgotten about her.

"The trial of the heart," intoned the King most seriously, drawing a hushed expectation from the crowd. "In this trial, we will see the courage, the nobility of spirit, the just righteousness that a king should possess. Each will be taken to the side of the Lonely Mountain in which dwells the dread Black Beast of Bog who, years ago, had stolen the royal scepter. He who can face this beast and retrieve the scepter and bring it back to us, shall be declared the winner!"

Thus, the captain and the peasant, each armed only with a sword and shield, were taken to the mountain. "You should give up, boy," The captain said, this time without much a sneer to his voice. "In all honesty, neither of us is likely to survive this contest. As a soldier, I am trained to accept my eminent demise, but you should return to your home and family and have no shame of it either."

"Oh, all the sudden concerned for my welfare?"Grumped the peasant, looking up the dark, rubble strewn slope of the mountain. Way up high there was a gaping black hole, in which the horrible beast dwelt.

"I respect you for your cunning, and your perseverance. That you are even still standing here as we listen to the howls of the beast which shall shortly eat the both of us, commands me to respect your courage as well. We need more men like you in this kingdom, not less."

The peasant snorted. "You ain`t kidding. Still, we must go on and end this silly thing, and the prize is very great- a whole kingdom after all."

"And a princess," The captain reminded him. The muddy commoner simply glanced sidelong at the captain and said nothing. Together, gripping their weapons tightly, they ascended the mountain.

The Black Beast of Bog sure lived up to its name. It was black, most certainly a beast, and smelled quite strongly of a festering, stagnant bog. It`s claws were easily a foot long, it`s teeth double that, and it was both scaled AND furred. It also had wings, a spiked tail, and fiery eyes that balefully sized up the would be heroes- much as a peasant would eye a potato, or a captain of the guard might eye a frosty brew. It, thankfully, did not talk, only roared loud enough to shake the mountain, and launched into attack.

The captain fought valiantly; the peasant did as well. Both knew within seconds of the battle that they were not going to win this one. "Flee!" Called the captain. "I will draw it off!"

"You just want the kingdom!" Shot back the peasant, dodging the encroach of snapping jaws.

"You`re a stubborn boy," muttered the captain, parrying a claw that near took off his head. "Look, grab the scepter- it is right over there- and run already, would you? I don`t know how much more of this I can take!"

The peasant glanced aside and saw the scepter, a bit less lustrous than it used to be what with the gore and dried spittle and furry chunks dried onto it, and got an idea. Grabbing the thing, holding it aloft, the peasant shouted, "HEY! Beast, I got your treasure!" And ran for the mouth of the cave as fast as possible. The beast swatted aside the captain as he tried to block it, and went after the impudent whelp who dared steal his sparkling thing.

The peasant ran, and ran, and scrambled when the desolate rock strewn mountain side prohibited running. Behind him came that beast with a serious fury worked up. Then, as the beast made a lunge for the fool, the peasant dodged right, left, then right between it`s legs. Forward momentum being what it is, the beast could not stop itself, and flopped, flipped, then fell with a tremendous shriek of outrage right off the side of a cliff.

Do not worry too much, remember, it had wings. It should be all right.

Back at the cave, the peasant revived the captain, who gratefully thanked him. "Now, go on, lad, it is yours rightfully, it was your courage that regained the scepter. Clearly, you bested me this round."

"Yeah, I did, and don`t you forget it," grinned the peasant, thrusting the scepter into the captains hand. "But I can`t marry the princess, or be king."

"What? Then, why did you- I mean, you went through all this- I mean-What?" This particular captain of the guard was a real smooth talker.
The peasant laughed, a short amused laugh, and replied, "Trust me, captain, you are the better man." With that, the peasant turned and left.

The captain, bewildered, clawed and crawled his way off the mountain then back to the King, to the cheers of all who saw him. He of course had every intention of telling them all that the peasant had actually won, but there was nary a chance; there was a great deal of rejoicing and playing of pipes and dancing and the like as the people welcomed their future king, and the present King strode to embrace his heir. "Well done!" The King proclaimed. "Well done, my son!"

"But, your majesty," the captain began, fighting to be heard over the din, I-"

"Yes, yes, come see the princess, meet your future bride!" Whatever the captain was trying to say was drowned out by the cheering crowd as he was half led, half carried, to the royal box.

Seated there was Gertrude, plain and simple stocky Gertrude, her hands folded modestly upon her lap. At the approach of her father and husband-to-be, she rose and curtsied, as would be expected of her. The captain frowned, and squinted at her.

"Have we met, Madam?" He asked of her.

"Perhaps," she replied, with an enigmatic smile. "So, you have won, have you?"

"Your highness," the captain took a deep breath, determined to tell this lady the truth of the matter, "as I tried to tell your father, I didn`t really-"

"Captain," Gertie replied calmly, taking the scepter from his hand, "I respect you for your cunning, and for your perseverance. That you are even standing here, trying to speak what you need not, commands me to respect your courage as well- we need more men like you in this kingdom." And when she smiled, the rather surprised captain looked at her again, at her eyes, at her nurture beyond her nature, and he realized that she was beautiful. So, he accepted his victory, and she his hand, and the two lived a long and loving life. When the time came, they ruled with justice for the most part, for not even good, kind, smart people can get everything right all of the time. But they tried, perhaps, a little harder than most.

List of Birthdays

If you are not on this list and feel you should be, do smail me! I tried to get everyone but ya'll know my brain sometimes takes a holiday.


January

11 sassysubsis

February

3 Jennie
13 Amethyst
19 Violin
22mister_ed

March


1 Anasazi
18 Stella_Lumia
21 Kyoko
24 Waijay
29 NOT Sage

April

4 Paddy
8 Luckykitten
30 LucidDreams Raggy

May

4 Tomato GreenRowan
7 Lorax Kimmee
13 MysteriousGirl
14 Victoriac07
31 Shadow

June

5 brooki3cooki3
12 queen
19 Alenwen
26 Raven


July

14 brentroger
17 Hamda
20 KarenP

August

16 KimC
26Searchname

September

9 Blazhy

October

10 Illyria
13 Ava

November

11 Fate
15 Destiny Reaper
15 Lia
17 Pumpkin
17 Wanda
21 Tropicandy
23 SexyFart

December

6BEACH
21 Crash
25 Icarus
25 Rox

THANK YOU

Although I did the layout, story, art and code for this profile, I could NEVER have done it had I not first started learning how subeta likes things coded from Subeta Lodge and the tip to trick the anchor problem from Subeta CSS Compendium . So my sincerest thanks go out to both the site and the guide maker for being generally awesome ^.^

In this section I will be placing Art! given to me or bought by me or even done by me as it fits. Will credit with each picture. To begin with...


By the lovely Cinderella




By the magnificent Hamda