Thursday, December 1, 2011

Day Eighty-Nine: December hurts my head

Winter has arrived, diary. You probably felt it last night - I was assigned overnight duty 'cause Bernard is sick, and once the day turned over the nice weather immediately switched to snow. Lots and lots of snow.

It's really frightening to watch the seasons change. One second you're looking down at a clear, grassy land, and the next it's absolutely coated in white. It hurts to get smacked by the first volley of snow, too. I got buried in the middle of stretching. Gave me a headache for the rest of the night.

Rain in Goblinoster all year 'round, sudden blizzards here. If you can call huge globs of packed ice and snow descending from the heavens a blizzard. The weather's so weird.

Anyway. Double shift today, and I was back on the walls, so I spent most of my time clearing the battlements of ice with a shovel. Libby gave me a nice new scarf - made of wood, unfortunately, 'cause she's a carpenter, so now my neck is full of splinters - and my guard outfit kept me warm. I'm glad the king insists on baggy uniforms for the normal guards, 'cause those poor royal guards are dressed in stupid flimsy fabrics that don't keep 'em warm at all. Their sleeves are about as menacing as my socks. What happened to their old Omega Corps armour? I'll never understand royalty.

Met up with the prince again today, diary, which I would have preferred to avoid, 'cause he just reminds me of the meeting with Eve the other day. He was upset when I told him that things didn't go well, though he says he knows why:

"You don't know how to talk to her. You don't get her language."

"Huh? I do so. What other language is there?"

"Lord Knight Eve's weird. She doesn't talk like us. You just gotta read between the lines."

"I don't understand what you mean, majesty."

The prince heaved a snowball at me in the middle of a backflip. "Don't call me majesty! I'm Logan! I hate it when people call me 'majesty'."

I brushed the snow away. "Yes, sir."

"LOGAN!" he yelled, and hurled another snowball. This one spun me around, and I nearly fell off the battlements. "I'll be your interpreter. We'll set up a date or something. It'll be great fun."

"Wh… huh?" I was too busy watching the frozen alligators and piranha and whatnot in the moat to get what he was saying. (I feel sorry for 'em. Gods know how they stay alive all winter, but they do.)

"You, me, Eve. Next week. You'll see. Dammit, The Baron! Bye!" And off he went.

I tried to grab the prince, but he leaped down into the bailey and disappeared. All I could do is uselessly call out and ask what he meant. Then The Baron went hustling by, and, well, that was the end of the conversation.

I don't get it, diary. Why's he care? Doesn't the prince have better things to do than play matchmaker between me 'n Eve?

... wait. That sounds wrong. I meant a father-and-daughter kinda matchmaker. But wait, that doesn't sound right either, 'cause... we're not a match, you know? She's my KID oh, forget it.


Dragomir the Guard

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