I am a fine artist.
Artists sketch when they're bored.
Writer's also sketch...but their pictures are made up of words.
I have been sketching a little story I call DEVIL'S MOXY (sorry, the title is mine now, don't try to steal it! I know it rocks!), and I have no idea where it is going so far. I have a fantastic couple of characters that have come to life on me. A woman named Shannon (goes by Tink) and a really cool vampire named Peter Van Willows (Nune). And the story takes place in 2 different times, and 2 different countries. 10 Years ago in Vienna, Austria when Shannon was a 17-yr old on holiday, and then in Athens, GA ten years later.
And Tina lives on a Horse Farm and rides at the Olympic level.
So let's review: beautiful girl, devilishly handsome vampire, lots of horses...
Plot? Hey, back off, this is still just an exercise, a sketch. The author is working on another project seriously (Rabbit:Chasing Beth Rider), and this one is just for fun...for now. But one day it will become the CURRENT PROJECT...
For now, it is good, clean fun.
If anyone reads this blog, they will peek into DEVIL'S MOXY a good 2 years before it goes to print. Have fun and if you want to see the next chapter, you'll have to leave a comment. Otherwise, the sketch-artist won't know the sketch was enjoyed...
DEVIL'S MOXY word-sketch, pre-novel by ellen c maze
Chapter 2 (probably) Tink stroked the Belgian’s thick neck and hopped off his broad back. Turtle was not a particularly slow animal, but his back was the widest part of his body. She grinned as she rubbed her sore thigh muscles.
“You’re killing me Turt!” She reached for the reins and pulled them over his poll with effort. He was seventeen hands and not likely to lower his head and help out. Tink turned to lug the fuzzy giant back to the barn and waved at the youngster trotting her way.
“Kelly! Where’s the fire?” Her histrionics were well-documented and Tink was not taken in. The teen reached her side breathing hard.
“Tink! Mrs. Tankersley’s looking for you! You need to go see her right away. The buyer is here and she wanted you to show him around the property!” Fourteen-year-old Kelly spoke in short, excited bursts and Tink shook her head and smiled.
“Okay, okay, Kelly. Calm down. I’m going.” Tink tugged three times on Turtle’s reins before he made any forward progress. Kelly kicked her mare into a trot and was tracking left along the rail, pigtails flying. “Kelly! Heels down! Eyes up!”
Tink laughed at the kid’s enthusiasm and led her giant Equine pal toward the barn. The covered arena was situated across the driveway from the stables and Tink noticed an emerald green Lexus parked beside Mrs. Tankersley’s Jeep. So the new owner drives a luxury car. Point one. Tink was collecting facts for the boarders; they would inevitably pester her for information in tomorrow’s lesson.
Tink stopped in the barn entrance and looked up to the wide metal sign that hung above her head. WILLOW’S WEEP FARM. She had named the place herself. Evelyn Tankersley bought the property fifty years ago and converted the unused fifty-acre pecan grove into a highly functioning boarding and training stable. Evelyn called it ‘Tankersley’s Belgians’ until Tink came along five years ago and added Olympic level instruction in jumping and dressage. Today, the elderly Tankersley sold it lock stock and barrel, and Tink was only one of thirty-two people who were directly affected. What would the new guy change? Will he close the Boarding Stables? Will he hire new personnel? Not knowing plagued the lot of them. Tink set her jaw and towed Turtle past the threshold.
“Here I am Tink!” Lucy, a fourteen-year-old Pony Clubber jogged up carrying Turtle’s giant blue halter. “I got him!”
Tink handed her the reins. “Okay, Luce, but I’m going to check his feet. Don’t forget his feet.” She watched Lucy nod and tug the horse’s reins looking like an ant pulling a building. “Tinkers! Get over here!”
It was Mrs. Tankersley. Tink hopped to and comically jogged to the office door. She had a good rapport with the old horsewoman and she would miss her a lot. The office door was open and Tink stepped just inside and waited; hands behind her back at casual attention. She could see that a man sat at the desk, his back to her, and she wanted to make a good impression. After all, her future employment rested squarely in his hands. Mrs. Tankersley stood up from her chair and gestured toward Tink in the doorway.
“Mr. Nune, this is Tink Hattering, my barn manager…”
Tink stepped forward and smiled broadly for her new employer as he stood up and turned to face her. As soon as their eyes met, her expression fell and white spots filled her vision. It was him; the first man she had ever loved.
No…it was the vampire. And he had come back for her.
Peter stepped to the young woman’s side and caught her as she collapsed. With his arms wrapped around her, her body right up against his, he was rushed back in time as the memories of a decade ago flooded his mind.
Ten years ago, Vienna. The woman in his arms was a child of seventeen that year and he had already seen six hundred birthdays. She was a visitor to his country, on a very short one-month visa. But together, they had stretched the days into eternity.
Peter forced the memories away for the moment fought to remain expressionless. The old woman did not need to know any of his past, even if it included her barn manager. He carefully placed her on the office sofa and arranged her arms across her chest. She was even more beautiful now. As a child, she was all legs and arms, exuberance and audacity. She was fearless with wild eyes that flashed with whims even he did not understand. Now, although he got only a small glimpse of her before she recognized him and lost consciousness, he saw in her eyes maturity and compassion.
Mrs. Tankersley made it to his side and began to fan the young woman with her hand and call her name loudly. Peter smiled and patted her wrist gently, indicating that he had the matter well in hand. She frowned, indignant but returned to the desk, her face flush with surprise and unease. She was seventy-two if a day and Peter knew she battled pancreatic cancer—he had a knack for smelling cancer. Always had.
His fainting friend stirred and he rocked back on his heels stooped next to her. He whispered her name—the one she used back then.
Her eyelids fluttered and she opened her eyes.
“Peter?” She spoke his name as if she hoped he’d shake his head. But he nodded and stood to his feet. She did not make any move to rise but she never took her eyes from his.
“Oh thank goodness, Tink! You ‘bout gave me a heart attack! What is wrong with you? Be sure you get enough fluids when you’re riding all day!” Mrs. Tankersley at her desk slurped from a bottle of water as she shouted.
Peter paid her no mind. He would not be the first to break visual contact. He looked into Shannon’s stormy blue eyes and waited. If she was anything like her old self, she was good at the game. Two or three long seconds passed and her lips parted to whisper to him.
“What are you doing here?”
Peter thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and tilted his head toward the old woman. “I am buying a horse farm.” He matched her tone and watched her delicate hand travel up to her throat. She pressed it there protectively. Peter shook his head, “I just came for the horses, dear. Just the horses.”
“Get up silly! I need you to show Mr. Nune around. Come on!” Mrs. Tankersley came around Peter and pulled Tink to her feet.
Peter smiled, his lips pressed together and watched her gather her wits.
She was going to be fine. She had always been a hardy and resilient type.