Contest 5 - "Worst Moment Ever" Story Contest

[kysseh]

Contest 5 -- The Worst Moment of My Life Thus Far!

Sometimes, you just have a bad day. Sometimes, it's a bad sevenday. And there are just some moments in your life that are so horribly humiliating and embarrassing that you never want to repeat them again. It can be a brief split-second humiliation or something that never goes away. Regardless, it can be the worst moment of a person's life, and we would like to know about the most embarrassing moment of your character's life. It does not have to have a plot of any sort. It can just be a short snapshot of that moment when your poor charrie wanted to melt into the ground and disappear forever.

Prizes

For each character that you write a story for, you get 2 marks, and you are certainly allowed to do one for each of your characters should they be quality entries that suit the rules. First place gets 5 marks, and second place gets 3, in addition to the two marks received for just entering! If you would like to not be included in the judging, please just make a note on your entry; you'll still get the two marks for entering but not have to deal with the suspense of finding out who wins.

Rules:

1. All entries must be in by Friday, September 19th.
2. Please post your entries in this thread, and include a title and the name of the involved character!
3. You may do entries for more than one character.
4. No plagiarizing!
5. Make sure it follows the Selenitas history and does not alter any crucial timelines or characters.
6. Please make them at least 750 words long.
7. Staff members may enter for the two marks per character but may not be allowed to have their entries count for judging.
8. No posting works-in-progress in the thread, please!
9. Please keep all entries to PG-13 or below rating.

[neeuqtar]

"Fellis is Green, Rouge Very Red--
Trusting Bronzer Means Green in Your Bed"

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” The chant started out soft but got loud enough that a couple of the boys keeping watch turned to shush the crowd, who repeated the whole cycle. At the center of the thick ring of boys were two young teens, stripped to the waist, each with a small glass bottle—no more than a pint or so—of quickal in front of them, sitting at a small round table. They ignored the crowd, staring at each other. This was a battle of pride, two bronzeweyrlings who hated each other with perfect hatred.

“Fifteen marks,” the tall blond sneered, tossing a handful of marks onto the table. The crowd stilled, the attention of the boys on the two in the middle. His dark-haired opponent reached into his beltpouch and pulled out all he had—three and three-quarters marks.

“Three and three-quarters marks and a firelizard egg.” The blond grit his teeth. How dare the other weyrling bring up the crux of the matter? For R’non had found a firelizard clutch, and a gold one at that, and had distributed all but two eggs: the two largest. And R’non had snubbed, of all the weyrlings, his biggest rival.

“Loser has to dress up as a woman for a sevenday.”

“Loser has to Chase Elianoreth,” R’non countered.

“And then run a lap around the Weyrbowl,” the blond snapped.

“Two,” R’non countered, leaning forward.

“Three!”

“Naked.” The blond narrowed his eyes, then nodded. R’non spit into his palm and held it out in the traditional manner of sealing a deal. The blond sneered and spit on the ground next to R’non’s foot. And then they stood as one, each glaring their hatred at the other.

And the chant picked up again…

---

Beautiful blond Lord A’xom of bronze Meraxeth threw an arm around R’non’s shoulder. The other bronzeweyrling shook with rage, his face a mask of embarrassment and anger. Rouge darkened his cheeks, and pencil heightened the length of his lashes, while dye made his lips red and round. The dress hardly fit, but the lady’s corset was managing to transform his muscled body into a caricature of the narrow waist and figure favored by the richest of women. His hair—well, the long braid he had favored was unbraided and curled, scented lightly with perfume, all at the tender care of H’krel of Elianoreth, who was very, very pleased that R’non was going to be in his green’s maiden Flight. Very, very pleased.

“What do you want, A’xom,” R’non got out through his clenched teeth.

“Now, now Rama,” the other bronzeweyrling said pleasantly, a smile brightening his face, “That’s no way to act towards a man like me! You lost, fair and square, my fair lady. Now eat your words.” A’xom hissed the last as a whisper into R’non’s ear as his hatchling gold peeped sleepily from the blond’s shoulder. The other bronzeweyrling could only stand and take it. He had lost, after all, though he hadn’t expected A’xom to spike his already strong quickal with fellis. He should have, though, and as he’d managed to chug the whole thing (and almost die of alcohol poisoning as well), even his ensuing three-day coma wasn’t enough to prove the use of fellis. He would have to get revenge some other way.

---

Elianoreth! How lovely are your wings, is the wind under your wings! Rath bugled to the skies as the green took Flight. Their pairing was a thing of weyrling legend already, a full Turn for all the boys to be inculcated. A full Turn for the tale of “Rama’s” defeat and embarrassment to be spread about the Weyr. A full Turn for Rath to learn just what it was that His perfect R’non had promised, and to throw himself into the wooing of the green whole-heartedly.

Just as H’krel had thrown himself into the wooing of “Rama” just as whole-heartedly, nevermind that R’non would never, ever have any interest in any male as anything besides a friend. But the conclusion of this relationship was forgone in a foolish, stupid bet which had seemed so clever last Turn. It still burned that A’xom had won with fellis; it burned worse that A’xom’s gold had proved to be very prolific in her Clutching, making the bronzerider rich in his own right, not just because of his descent from the Ruathan Lord Holder. It burned worst that A’xom was weyrling Wingleader, and R’non his Wingsecond. Ever since that day, always second best…

The first flood of lust hit him, and R’non took his punishment like a man, flinging himself into the outpouring of emotion so that he wouldn’t have to feel the heat of his cheeks, embarrassment and lust as H’krel went from the most annoying man-slut in Benden Weyr to the most beautiful creature on Pern, or the tightening of his whole body in anticipation of the only outcome of this Flight: his Elianoreth. His H’krel.

I Chase you, I alone! But I will prove myself to you, most beautiful one!

---

“Mmmm… Rama, you are good at this,” a throaty voice said, caressing R’non’s hearing sensuously. He muttered something, half asleep, before light assaulted his eyes as the curtain to the Flight weyr was flung open by another figure. It took a few moments to realize that a warm body was pressed against his own, and a few moments longer to realize that the warm body belonged to H’krel.

R’non flung himself out of the bed to the floor, scrambling for clothing, as H’krel protested the intrusion.

“A’xom!” he whined. “What are you sharding doing??” The bronzer ignored the greenrider sprawled on the furs, instead smirking down at R’non.

“Well, it looks like you finally figured out your place, Rama, but you don’t really have to grovel,” he sneered. R’non flushed and rushed to his feet, hands clenched in fists so tight that his knuckles were white. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Rama?” A’xom asked, voice poisonously sweet. R’non closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and through a force of will relaxed his body. Then he opened his eyes again and smiled coldly.

“Why, yes I do,” he replied. “But at least I don’t have to use fellis to get there.” A’xom’s face went white.

“You can’t prove that,” he hissed. R’non smiled a little wider.

“No, I can’t,” he agreed. “But funny how a story can spread.”

“Fellis?” H’krel’s wavering voice met his ears as he shoved past A’xom to the outside. It almost made up for the fact that the crowd outside, composed entirely of women, burst into giggles as soon as he stepped outside and started his final punishment.

But not really.

[dragon]

Unintended word blunder
Crevenaire

Working in the barns was not the best task in the world … but at least nothing was being slaughtered this day. Crevy was busy forking hay to each pen of new mothers, making sure that they had plenty to eat, so that they could feed their babies well, until the new spring grasses stared coming in. It was still cold outside … too cold to be turning out the new babies that were being born right and left. On one side of the barn were stalled the herdbeasts and runnerbeasts with their young, and on the other were the caprines, all curled up together for warmth … where the larger animals weren't able to lay on them and crush them. Next to them, scattered in an amongst, were all the babies.

But in yet another pen that had a little heater stove running in it, were the few babies that had either lost their mommas, or had been the extra babies that the mothers couldn't support. These were sleeping near the warm stove peacefully, as Crevy spread just a little fresh hay about for them to sleep in. She checked the stove, to make sure it wasn't running out of fuel, and then left back to the house. It was time to feed those sleepy babies …

After warming some milk and pouring it into the various bottles – big ones for the herdbeasts and little ones for the caprines – Crevy started hunting up the teats to go on them. The larger ones were easy to find, and she fastened them on with a quick twist and knot of string, making sure the cloth teats were secure. The young animals could really suck them off, if they weren't fastened just right, she'd learned… and could even choke on them.

But the little ones, she hunted all over the room for them, and could not find them anywhere. Where were those sharding things?? After deciding that they weren't there to be found, she tied her coat closed and went back outside, to another outbuilding where they might have been stored. Going in there wasn't much fun … it wasn't heated at all. Shivering and breathing on her hands from time to time, she rooted through all the items in there, hunting for the teats. Not finding them there, either, she headed back to her starting point, starting to get a little irritated. The milk was going to need to be reheated, at this rate!!

Picking up the larger bottles, she went back to the barns and fed the herdbeast younglings, making sure they were all fed the proper portions that wouldn't make them sick. The calves sucked the milk down hungrily, slobbering and drooling the whole while, getting the bottles, themselves, and Crevy completely soaked in bubbly, milky drool. The whole thing was gross, and she fled the barn as soon as she could. She much preferred feeding the caprine babies … they were far cleaner about it!! Dumping the arm load of bottles in a wash basin, Crevy washed off her coat, arms, and hands, before taking a rag to her skirts.

"Ugh … gross…!!" she griped, throwing the rag back into the wash basin. She'd take care of those slimy bottles later. Hopefully, Dax wouldn't find these things sitting in the basin when he got back from market. Her mother's cousin's cousin could be picky about these things, but … she really needed to feed those other babies.

Starting the search yet again, Crevy tried really hard to not get mad. But it was getting harder. Someone had hidden them! They had to have, whether knowingly or not! They certainly weren't where they'd been left to dry a that morning! Finally, she decided it was time to rope in some help. She wandered the entire house until she managed to find Dax's daughter. Stopping the girl, she tried very hard to not snap when she asked: "Do you know where the caprine sized teats are?"

The girl merely shrugged. "I dunno. Dac moved them when he washed a tubful of gloves." She said, referring to her brother.

"And where is he?" Crevy asked, getting a little on the impatient side. The sooner she got this task over with, the sooner she could do something a little less gross.

"Now? I have no idea. He might be updating the breeding records." She shrugged, and wandered off.

Gritting her teeth to keep from yelling in frustration, Crevy hurried to the office chamber where Dax kept the ranch's records. Sure enough … seated next to a roaring stove at a table, was Dac, scribbling sloppily at several unrolled scrolls.

"Dac!" Crevy said, stopping in the doorway.

Blinking, Dac looked up from what he was doing. "What?" he asked, quietly.

"Where are my nipples?" she demanded.

Dac only blinked, and then arched his eyebrows inquisitively.

Only then realizing what it sounded like she'd just said, Crevy fled the room again, without the answer she'd wanted.

[dragon]

One Bad Day
Cloar

Cloar woke up before Rukbat was yet out of it's cradle in the east, and he groaned the instant he realized he was awake. His head was throbbing like he'd been kicked by a runnerbeast in the ear. Reaching up to hold his head, he just lay there for a moment, in a heap of rumpled bed clothing. It was cold in the room … and the temperature was not helping his aching head at all. Why in the world did he have such a headache, anyway? It was completely uncalled for, as far as Cloar could tell. Finally, he decided that it wasn't going to go away, and he'd best be getting up if he was going to get any breakfast. He could already hear his mother in the kitchen. Each spoon clanging into a pot or pan rang like a gong in his head and it was just horrible.

Rolling out of bed, he managed to leave most of the blankets on the bed. Oh, but the floor was cold! He curled his toes as he minced across the wooden floor to where the rug was sitting in front of his clothing trunk … it was much warmer than the floor simply just by being a woolen rug. And it had been placed there specifically for that reason. Wiggling his bare toes down into the warmer cushion of the rug, he pulled the trunk lid up and drug out some clothes to don for the day. They weren't much to look at … covered in grease and oil stains, with a few small burnt spots still raggedly showing their faces. The larger burn marks had all been patched over by his mother, before she'd washed them. Pulling a shirt over his head, he then pulled on a set of trousers. And over that he dropped yet another layer – a heavy tunic. This piece was also augmented by being covered in a thin layer of rawhide on the front, to help prevent burns.

As he dropped the lid shut, he turned to head back to his bed, where he had left his boots, only to stub his littlest toe rather hard on the bottom corner of the trunk. Cloar yelled, and hopped across the floor on his uninjured foot. Plopping down on his bed, he inspected the banged up toe while hissing. Wiggling, it, he ascertained that it was not, after all, broken. He took great care in stuffing his feet into stockings and then into his boots, however, babying that toe. It really did hurt!

Stumbling his way through the door of his shared bedroom, he rubbed at one eye as he entered the lantern-lit kitchen. "Good morning!" His mother greeted.

"It's not morning yet … sun's not up." came his standard reply. He neglected to mention that so far it had not been a good morning at all, as he flopped down in a chair with a yawn.

He was allowed to sit there unbothered for a time as various members of the family moved about … his father, uncle, and a few of the foster children moved about him, and he almost went back to sleep despite the throbbing in his head and the racket from breakfast being made. And then the call for breakfast his mother was shouting out the kitchen door that led outside roused him from his stupor. Eh? What? Breakfast? Oh, yeah …

Cloar got up and made his way to where the bowls of breakfast were setting on the counter … the table was by far not big enough to hold everyone's dishes and the meal, and for as long as he could remember, breakfast had always been get-your-own from the kitchen. He picked up a wide, shallow bowl from the stack that had been set out, and set about filling it as full as he could heap it.

"Leave some for everyone else!" His mother protested, laughing, shooing him back to the table as his father and uncle came stomping back inside, shedding coats.

As he made his way back to the table, one of the fosterkids shoved past him in the crowded space, and the bowl of food went spinning out of Cloar's hand to crash loudly on the floor about five feet away from him. The food splattered all over the place, as Cloar sighed slowly, just staring at it dejectedly. He didn't really notice what all went on around him, as he was all too aware of his headache again, Cloar eventually did notice that a canine had been allowed in, and the beast was busily cleaning up his breakfast. A new bowl was placed in Cloar's hand, and he was guided toward the table. By who, he failed to notice. Everything was fuzzy.

After finally getting some breakfast in him, eating with the rest of the family, he donned a jacket and stomped out through a blustery, damp, cold wind toward the forge, following after his father and uncle, yet ahead of the fosterkids that were also being taught the trade. When he arrived at the heavy wooden door, he was left there to hold it open for the other kids following after him, as the two adults started up the fires in the forges, getting everything heated up and ready to go for the day. Even now, only the faintest blushing in the east hinted that Rukbat was even going to make a show. Most of the stars were still quite visible in the inky night sky. As the last body filed past him, he let go of the door, and let it swing under it's own heavy weight back toward the building. Only when it was close to being closed did he reach out for it, to catch and slow the arrival, and latch it against the wind.

Instead, it smashed his thumb in the jamb. Cloar yelled like a wild wherry had a hold of his jewels, and slammed a thick shoulder into the door to get it to open again, rescuing his thumb. It throbbed madly, completely bright red. That was definitely going to bruise.

"Are you alright?" his uncle asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Cloar lied, sucking on his thumb. It wasn't broken … thank Faranth for small favors.

He drew the door closed again – carefully this time – and latched it with his good hand, still holding the banged thumb in his mouth. Moving deeper into the forge that was slowly starting to warm up under the heat of the fires that would soon be making metal red hot – if not completely melting it.

Cloar was given a series of rods of metal to heat and beat flat. What the flat pieces would later become, He had no idea yet. Could be anything functional, or it might just become decorative twisted scrollwork in a stair banister in the main hold. There really was no telling, since he was not making the finished product. While waiting on the first stick to heat up to proper temperature, he donned a pair of gloves and started moving bundles of rods and flats out of the way, transferring them to another location where he would not have to trip over them. In the process of putting down the last bundle that he needed to move, however, he managed to get his hand pinched between it and the last one. Hissing, he yanked his hand out. The glove stayed behind, however, trapped in the metal shafts. He glared at the now skin-free finger. It was seeping slightly, but …he'd live.

As he turned around to see what the progress on the first rod was, he managed to get his knee burned on a chunk of metal that his uncle was carrying past. It was not red hot – it didn't even look hot. But it sure felt hot!! He yelled, again, and jumped backwards, rubbing at his knee.

"Oh, apologies. I didn't see you there." His uncle said, swinging the metal away from where Cloar was standing. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah… I'm alright." Cloar managed, trying really really hard to not start cussing up a storm. The sun wasn't even up, yet! What kind of day was this going to be??

Hopefully, the building wasn't going to burn down. That would be very, very bad.

And then there was a lot of yelling at the other end of the forge, and Cloar could see yellow light flickering where it ought not be flickering. "What the -?" his uncle asked, dropping the metal and running to go see what was going on. Cloar only limped in that direction … there seemed to not be a part of him that did not hurt. His head. His belly was already feeling empty again. His right toe, his left knee. His right thumb, his left hand… Ugh!

And then he saw what was happening … one of the barrels of oil had caught … and despite efforts to douse it by suffocation, nothing was working. Instead, the fire was spreading like a demon possessed.

"Get out!" his father yelled, waving an arm at everyone else. The foster kids bolted for the door, and Cloar turned to dive for the same destination … if that fire wasn't put out, it was going to spread to the other barrels of oil, and then there would be no stopping it!

The youngsters all waited outside in the cold, watching the forge building with trepidation, until finally the door slammed open again, both adults running for cover.

They grabbed at the apprentices, and drug them along after, and just as they rounded the house, there was a massive explosion, and half the building went flying in fiery chunks.

Puffing, his father dropped onto the ground, as his uncle just stood there and glowered at what was left of their lively hood burning down to the ground. Cloar just stared in mute horror …

After a time, his father only laughed slightly, and got back to his feet. "Don't worry about it, boy. It can be rebuilt … at least no one died!"

Cloar just stared at him in utter horror. Please … don't … !!!

[ladybug]

Beginning of the End
Starring Rilyer, age 14.

The day started out like any other, perhaps even better. It was warm and sunny, and Rilyer woke up in a good mood despite his rumbling stomach. He dressed quickly and headed down to breakfast. As he walked towards the dining hall, he could hear miners and children alike yelling and laughing, the usual hubub of mealtimes.

Elita, his youngest sister, met him at the door. She was ten, four years younger than him, and it sometimes seemed as if she lived to antagonize him. Ril elbowed her playfully in the side, more interested in the food beyond the door than in whatever she wanted to say to him.

“Don’t push me,” she snarled, turning her nose up and giving him her best pout. “Come on, there’s something I want to show you.”

“Does it involve eating?” He asked plaintively as his stomach gave yet another pronounced rumble.

“You can eat breakfast after this,” she told him, and without waiting for another answer, she grabbed his hand and tugged him into the dining hall.

“I know how much you love animals,” Elita was saying as the siblings wove in and out of the crowd. “So when Ardyck found some puppies, I told him you would definitely want one.”

“Puppies!” Rilyer’s face lit up, his eyes widening and a grin spreading across his face. “Hurry up! Let’s go!”

Elita sniggered and led her brother to a table right in the middle of the dining hall. Ardyck, a burly apprentice miner, and a few of his friends were sitting together with a wooden box in the middle of the table. Rilyer generally disliked Ardyck’s crowd, because they teased him for wanting to be a “sissy” Harper instead of working in the minds, but he didn’t care what it took to get a puppy.

“Can I see please?” Rilyer asked, wedging himself in between Ardyck and one of his cronies, directly in front of the box.

“Go ahead. You get first pick of the litter, Ril, because I know how much you like them...”

There was a general scattering of snickers across the table, but Rilyer ignored it. Leaning forward, he eagerly slid the box lid off...

And a big rubber spider popped out at him! It was a mean trick, and it was embarrassing to fall for it. But that wasn’t the worst thing. What came out of his mouth had never been heard before, a high pitched squeal which broke in the middle and ended deeper than it was ever meant to be. The laughter was cut off abruptly, and everyone at the table stared at Rilyer, who had his hands over his mouth.

“It looks like your Harpering days are in for a change,” Ardyck finally said snidely. Rilyer, still without saying anything, rose and looked down at Ardyck, shaking his head in silent denial. Then he turned and ran, breakfast forgotten in the midst of this unfortunate discovery.

To continue his wonderfully mature reaction, Rilyer ran to his mommy. Ettia was in one of the lesson rooms, getting ready for the next group of Holdbrats.

“What’s wrong, Ril?” She asked, noticing his upset expression.

“I think my voice has started changing,” he said, whispering so the inhuman squeal wouldn’t sound again.

Ettia smiled and sat down at one of the desks, motioning for her son to sit at the one beside her. “Rilyer, we’ve talked about this already. When a boy reaches a certain age, changes occur...”

Rilyer let out the loud, exasperated sigh of a martyr. “Mother! I know all that! I just...I just...what if I can’t be a Harper?”

Ettia shook her head. “It could happen, Rilyer. There are plenty of other jobs, here and outside the Minehold. You love animals, why not become a Beast crafter?”

Rilyer slumped down in his seat, his face contorting into a fierce pout. “Because I don’t wanna!”

“Now you’re just being immature, Rilyer. I’ll gladly coach you about singing with your new voice when it’s done changing, but I won’t tolerate any whining,” Ettia said, her voice gentle yet firm.

“I’m just not going to talk at all!” Rilyer blustered, leaping out of his seat and stomping away, arms crossed. Indeed, for the next four hours or so, he did not utter a peep. Not talking grew tiresome quickly, however, and he started to speak again at the end of the first day. His voice continued to be unreliable, and his mother told him that he could probably never be a Harper. Ettia had never been wrong before about an apprentice’s changing voice, and Rilyer decided that he was doomed. Eventually he decided to run away and live with the whers, but that’s a whole other story.