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For their fifth anniversary of going steady, he wanted to surprise her.
The restaurant was a few notches above their usual price class, and she felt somewhat awkward and underdressed at first. The food was very good, and so was the conversation.
It turned out that the real surprise followed after the dessert. He knelt in front of her, presented her with a diamond ring and asked, “Will you marry me?” Conversations around them stopped, other guests curios at the display.
Very quietly she answered, “We need to talk about this.” It all broke apart.
Both of them were distraught about their shattered illusions.
“I don’t understand. I thought we were… why?”
She’d had the way back to try and sort her thoughts to explain, and started by showing him her hands, fingers spread. “Have you ever seen me wear a ring?”
He shook his head. She hadn’t even owned any for a decade.
“That’s because I don’t like them. And real jewellery is an atrocious waste of money. And I know I told you that the whole ‘diamond engagement ring’ thing is nonsense made up by jewellers to make people to waste money on superfluous… bling.”
“But don’t you think you’re over-reacting, to refuse because of a ring…” It did not make sense to him.
“That is not the point, it’s that I thought you knew me better. Not only the ring, I rememer not long ago there was an ad for a TV show involving public marriage proposals, and I found it so off-putting that I said how it seemed to be designed to pressure the person being asked into accepting, in the heat of the moment, or lest the audience disapproved. And judging from the muttering in the restaurant, I was right.”
“I didn’t mean to… I was certain you’d accept, or I wouldn’t have spent the money and effort.”
She sighed, not sure anymore if she was making sense. “I would have, on the spot, if you had just simply asked.”
“But why did you not, then?”
“Because I want you to know who I am, not expect me to follow some clichéd script, as if I were a kind of generic, instantly replacable puppet.” It seemed to get through to him, at least a little, so she followed up with, “You told me you don’t like sports matches, so would you like if I bought stadium tickets for you? I know you meant well, but it’s a matter of respect.”
He obviously swallowed the first reply that came to his mind, and after some thought reluctantly admitted, “Maybe I should have known you would see it as some kind of… herding, or something.”
He sighed, and she sat next to him on the couch as he went on with a slightly ironic quirk, “I’m sorry I didn’t consider how little you think of Hollywood romance.”
“I’m sorry the evening did not turn out as nice as you expected.” She hoped the tone hinted at the ‘but I am not taking the blame’ that she did not add explicitly.
He took out the ring case again and asked, “Well, what now?”
“Let’s just take a bit of time. You kept the recipet? Then you can put the money by for something that’s actually needed. Maybe the fridge or the car breaks down, or we’ll have a wedding party to pay for…”
He gave her a lopsided look.
“I never did say ‘no’. Just, let’s see what happens.”
Originally published at ankewehner.de. You can comment here or there. Tags: stories
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So, recently I finished re-reading Making Money, the 36th Discworld novel, by Terry Pratchett. I have read all of them, some of them more often than I can remember.
I’m a bit sad that in my mind the best part of Making Money is that the list of Discworld books on the first pages includes those for younger readers as part of the main series, rather than on a separate list. People going “they are children’s books, so they’re not Discworld book” were a kind of pet peeve of mine, while this novel just fell flat, to the point that I took a break to re-read a 50 volume manga series between chapters.
There were a few bits of impressive or funny descriptions, sure, and I did finish it, and maybe it’ll grow on me if I re-read it more often. For now at least, it just doesn’t click.
Mr Bent’s sermon-rants about gold at the start put me off, and the idea (suggested on the backcover an by Moist von Lipwig in the text) that he might be a vampire does not gel from the start, considering that that would be the first vampire not admitting to being one in how long? The entire series?
Gladys, the golem with a crush on her boss, the abrasive Adora Belle Dearhart, Moist’s old associate with the denture troubles, the Leonardo-with-a-narrower-specialisation, the generic slightly mad scientist and interchangable Igor, the utterly pathetic bad guy Cosmo… No-one in this book caught my sympathy or interest, which is sad.
As to Moist, in Going Postal his crazy stunts to revolutionise the mail system were fun to read. In Making Money, the things like breaking into his own office at the start make sense as something to show he doesn’t deal well with routine, but, well, compared to his last book, his later actions seem rather boring, at least if you already have a basic idea of how money works despite not being backed by gold.
What comes to my mind when comparing those two books is how mundane Making Money is. Paper money is something we all are used to. There were some bits of description that tried to create a sense of wonder about how a penny would “turn into different things” depending on what it was exchanged for, but for me it just didn’t work. Money is something practical and lacks the “magic” and personal touch of the written word that, in form of letters, drove Going Postal.
Superficially, the cabinet and the golems added some magic to Making Money, but it seemed rather tacked on rather than integrated into the story.
In summary, Making Money seemed to me mostly like a mix of “let’s write about how money works” and “let’s modernise Ankh-Morpork” with story sprinkled on top, rather than the (admittedly very high) quality of storytelling that I love so about other books in the series.
Originally published at ankewehner.de. You can comment here or there. Tags: discworld, reviews
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Tarci and Reena had been as close as sisters, but things had changed. It had started slow, but once it had been known that Tarci was pregnant, Reena started avoiding her. It was hurtful and confusing, but since wondering did not help, Tarci waited for an opportunity when they were alone, and asked.
“Why won’t you talk to me anymore?”
Reena averted her eyes. “I’m sorry, I…” She shook her head. Tarci trembled. She was afraid of them domehow drifting apart entirely, but her old friend reached out and held her hands. “I was afraid of telling you something, of hurting you. That’s why I avoided you.”
“I’m worried now, so you might as well tell.”
Reena sighed deeply. “It is not really my place to – yes, I will tell you, let me finish. It’s not my place to tell you what to do with your life, but, your love… Oh, how can I say this. When I look at him, the spindliness, the long, narrow face, the bright eyes, the way he moves quickly when he moves, but not at all when he stand still… He’s just so weird. Beautiful, but beautiful like a waterbird, not a man.” She must have noticed that it gave Tarci a little sting, and went on, “He’s nice enough to talk to, mostly, and I’m sure you know your mind, and I wish both, all of you happiness.” With a shrug she ended, “I just don’t understand how you could bed an elf.”
This conversation was weird indeed. As the awkward pause caused by Tarci’s attempt to figure out if she was angry grew too long, Reena muttered, “Not my concern, I said.”
Tarci smiled crookedly. “At least we’re talking again.”
Originally published at ankewehner.de. You can comment here or there. Tags: fantasy, microfiction, stories
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Because it was better than thinking of anything else she might complain about regarding being trapped in an abandoned mine with a collapsed entrance, Nico said, “You know what I hate most about this? Not being able to see a thing.”
Her companion did not answer, but there was a brittle little crackling noise, and a faintly glowing, angular object between their thumb and forefinger.
“Oh, thanks. What is that?”
“A piece of my soul.”
“And it… glows.”
“Temporarily. It will last a few hours.”
“Um. And that’s no problem, ripping a bit off your soul?”
Her companion seemed as confused at the question as she was at the whole thing, but after a moment answered, “It will grow back.”
“OK, then.”
Originally published at ankewehner.de. You can comment here or there. Tags: stories
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His first impression was that of being hungover. Headache, nausea, and a marked gap in his memories… He was cold an in an awkward position, so he tried to fix that and discovered the handcuffs. As he tried to orient himself, he found that he lay on uneven ground, rocks and pebbles, slick with moisture. The staticky sound he had thought were part of the headaches actually came from outside his head. He was in a dimly lit half-dome, dark rock in his back, arced, white walls that seemed to be moving slightly in themselves in front, as well as another huddled figure who seemed to be watching him. He got a vague impression of a teenage girl in too big men’s clothes, barefoot.
Pushing himself up a little, awkwardly, he croacked, “What… Where?”
“About ten metres downriver from the start of the rapids,” came the reply, matter-of-factly.
It took him a few seconds until he fully understood she meant on the ground of the river. When the realisation hit him, it brought with it some shreds of the day before. There had been a metahuman emergence, some elemental cluster, and things had gone terribly wrong when trying to make contact, and –
“I shot you.” He remembered her face when she was hit. Should have been dead. Then her body had turned to water and, carried by momentum, splattered all over him.
“Yes.” Her cold tone peeled away away some of his shock. He understood an unspoken “you should keep that in mind” in the pause following. “You can make up for that. Tell me where my friends are now.”
He did not even know.
Originally published at ankewehner.de. You can comment here or there. Tags: modern fantasy, stories, super heroes
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