by M.C. O'Neill
***
Five miles from On’dinn’s little bedroom, Quen’die and Lauryl’la were propped against Lauryl’la’s sofa pigging out on a big bowl of fried mushrooms and avocado dip. It was so great to have the whole house all to themselves as Lauryl’la’s folks were off training for the weekend. Since only coverage of the pyramids and the king’s assassination attempt polluted the manascreen with ceaseless certainty, the duo summoned a movie from its flow. It was an old Kumarian horror flick by the name of Mystics in Lank’aa that their parents had probably freaked out over when they were their age, but it was still pretty creepy.
“I’m going to get so fat from eating this junk!” Lauryl’la puffed her cheeks out like a hamster hording pellets and the two maidens cracked up laughing.
“What do you mean, maiden? Even when you do that, you still look skinny!” Quen’die retorted with a twinge of baseless jealousy as she too was quite a thin one.
“Whatever,” Lauryl’la rolled her eyes. “You’re totally skinny too. We just need to make sure this stuff doesn’t make our faces look like tomato flatbread come Moonday.”
“Hmm… It’s still good. I don’t care,” Quen’die popped another fried fungus into her mouth and nearly choked on it from laughing at her own gesture of dietary defiance.
The manaphone startled the two as it called with a song of announcement, “Maiden Quen’die, you have a message left from Mavriel Dara’vanian…”
Two pairs of eyes lit up to the sizes of saucers and they met each other with shock and glee. They both hopped up and down on their haunches and screamed their heads off with more laughter. Lauryl’la’s chubby pet lynx Bonkers ran out of the living room as it could no longer bear the insanity of two teen maidens with the whole house to themselves.
“Ehh…Dara’vanian? Like the manascreen company?” Lauryl’la cocked an eyebrow in disbelief to her goofy comrade.
“Gods! He must be rich!” Quen’die met her friend’s revelation with another gale of cheerful screaming and Lauryl’la couldn’t help but match it.
“Hold the phone, maiden,” The elfmaid slapped her thigh, attempting to bring them back down to reality. “Nobody from Avalon is rich. Not Dara’vanian rich.”
“Well, maybe he’s just distantly related to them or something. Hey! Maybe he could at least get me a new manascreen for free!” To that, Quen’die and her friend continued with another round of joyous shrieks.
“I’ve just gotta see this message,” Quen’die stated after the pair settled down from their comedic episode.
To: Quen’die Reyliss
From: Mavriel Dara’vanian
Dearest Quen’die, I had an excellent time tonight and it is important that I see you again. Please call me up as soon as you can.
“Wow! He sounds like he’s all business or something,” Lauryl’la frowned upon reading it from over Quen’die’s shoulder.
“I don’t know. He’s from Avalon after all. Maybe they’re just like that over there,” Quen’die shrugged her shoulders with indifference. “I should call him up now!”
“No! Don’t do that! Not yet, anyway.” Lauryl’la arrested her friend by grabbing her bony wrist. “You’ll totally look desperate! You can’t let these guys think they have the upper hand - ever. Why, I plan to ignore Cheatsheet until at least Marsday or maybe even Midweek.”
“Really? That long?” Quen’die knew she wasn’t very fluent with the language of the opposite gender, aside from the drama on the manascreen, but those productions had never seemed to focus on the small nuances like when to call a male back.
“Absolutely!” Lauryl’la exclaimed with much seriousness. “If you give them an inch, they expect a mile, and since Mavriel is older and at University, he’s probably pretty advanced with the maidens. You need to be careful with this one.”
“Yeah, he’s at least two years older than me,” Quen’die pondered in deep concentration. “That’s pretty old.”
“Yes, it’s ancient! All the maidens at school are going to talk anyway if you two hook up, but if you let him get the best of you, you’ll never hear the end of it. Especially from Lith!”
Lauryl’la didn’t mean to bring her up again as the witch had been the topic of conversation for their entire drive home, but the pair figured that she got what she deserved in spades. Either way, it was something for her friend to think about if she decided to jump the gun and allow some university lad to hold the cards in their relationship. Quen’die was rather vulnerable then and the last thing she needed was to be heartbroken by some foreign cad. It happened all the time to Atlanteans, male or female regardless. Someone from an exotic land would saunter in and use their worldly charm to take advantage of the unsuspecting.
Quen’die couldn’t help it for some reason. She felt compelled to call the plains elf right then and there. “Well, what could go wrong?”
“Plenty!” Lauryl’la shouted with shock at the suggestion. “He could leave you in the dust and, the next thing you know, he’s on to his next co-ed conquest who is at University! You won’t be able to compete with her experience and he knows it. First, he’ll start an argument with you out of the blue and then, when you want to talk about it, he’ll suddenly forget how to speak Atlantean. It happens all the time with these guys from other lands who think they are the love god himself!”
“Uh, yeah, Rylla, but that won’t work because all Avalonians speak Atlantean anyway!” Quen’die raised a defiant red eyebrow.
“Oh, maiden, that doesn’t matter! We have to talk, seriously. But first, I need to get more avocado dip.” Lauryl’la got up and made her way into the kitchen as Quen’die sat on the floor in front of the screen with much to consider.
Mavriel seemed righteous, she thought, but what really could go wrong? Many of the maidens at school did indeed get their hearts broken by males all the time, but why would anyone want to do such a thing to her, she wondered? She wished she were more experienced with these matters and had such opportunities earlier on in her life, but she had to start somewhere soon, and now was no better time. Just in case, Quen’die controlled her impulses and waited for her tall friend to return with some more dip and sisterly advice.
