Trailer Trashed: A Severely Fractured Fairy Tale

Trailer Trashed: A Severely Fractured Fairy Tale (2)

"Art thou truly unhurt?"

British accent. Extremely British accent.

Oh, lordy.

I shut my jaw with a snap. "I'm alright. I think I passed out for a minute, but I'm pretty sure I'll survive." I opened my mouth-and Jimbo began having a very loud, very wet hairball beside us.

The man in the suit of armor looked over at her, equal parts curious and repulsed. "Thy cat?"

"She's fine," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Jimbo, with a final sound like her insides were about to become her outsides, vomited a four-inch chunk of matted black fuzz and cat food at the man's knees.

I sighed. "Cute."

She coughed again and blinked up at me.

With a rustle of armor, the man scooted back. Tugging his helmet off-he gasped in relief, although he apparently hadn't wanted to because he blushed-he shook his matted, rumpled head. It must have been warm in the armor (which is like saying it must have been chilly in Antarctica) because he was dripping sweat. "I am Prince Fflewddur Fflam, son of Tryffin Sel, of House Donbar, fourth heir of-"

"Whoa, whoa, hang on; I haven't quite gotten past the 'prince' part."

"-fourth heir of de l'ile Honfroi," he finished triumphantly.

"Can you spell any of that?" I asked incredulously. Seriously, who gives their kid any of those names?

"If it vexes thee, you may call me Flam. 'Tis shorter."

"Uh huuuuh," I said slowly. "Okaaaaay, Flam... I'm Cody Taggert, daughter of Sean and Beatrice Taggert, of House Trailer Trash, first heir to nothing at all."

He looked hurt, sensing my sarcasm immediately. "Dost thou jest?" Apparently he had to make sure.

"Yes, I jest. I jest a lot. Particularly when an overgrown kid playing dress-up nearly runs me down." My skunk-eye was having a profound effect on him; he was starting to stare more at his knees than at me. I am not going to feel bad, I told myself, when he darted a look into my eyes and my heart started going all stupid again. "You didn't hurt me too bad. I'm alright," I found myself saying, and I just barely managed to squash a smile before my lips started to curve.

Triple dammit!

I grabbed Jimbo and plunked her in my lap to give me something to do with my hands. She burbled indignantly at the treatment and seriously considered disemboweling me with her claws, if I was to judge from the look she shot me.

"Thy cat-" he began, pointing at the angry feline in my lap, but I cut him off. "She's fine."

He went back to staring speculatively down at his knee-guards and I to stroking Jimbo. She accepted it grudgingly.

"Is thy name truly Ko-Dee? Codee? Kody...?"

I glanced up; he was muttering it to himself, trying to form his lips into the appropriate shape to sound the word. I cleared my throat and he stopped. "Yeah. Cody Dawn-Marie Taggert. Your name is really... er, Flam?"

He nodded. "Prince Fflewddur-"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it!" I hurried to say. We'd be here all night if he started in again.

The dampness of the leaves and soil had begun to leach through my jeans, moistening my shins. The man in the suit of armor didn't seem to feel it as he sat, still studying the ground, his gauntlets on his thighs. He had laid his helmet beside him, standing it up with the visor still raised.

Licking my lips, I scratched Jimbo's spine. She arched into my nails with an appreciative meow. "So where's the rest of your cosplay group? Where are your friends?"

"I do not know. We were riding at a gallop to Donbar Keep, the home of my father," said Flam, and I rolled my eyes, more for his benefit than mine, "and you appeared before me. I apologize and prostrate myself before you, beseeching thy forgiveness for my ineptitude."

He seemed to keep dropping out of his dated speech, like it was something he had to remember to use. However, there was still something odd about his regular tone, something stilted and archaic that both pleased and confounded my ears. "Do you mind leaving out all the "thee"s and "thou"s and "art"s? I feel like I'm in a bad production of Shakespeare." Cliché, I know, but it would get the point across.

"Pro...duc...shun? Shakes pier? Lady, I confess, I know nothing of these words."

"Urgh." It was like talking to a four-year-old. An extremely good-looking, polite four-year-old who had been raised by King Arthur.

"I may, however, speak more commonly," He continued over my grunt of exasperation. "As that is my lady's wish," he added, almost as an afterthought, and he beamed at me. Nice smile, my brain said, and then my brain yowled angrily at itself for being a traitor.

With a sigh, I got up. "Can you tell your horse to stop eating my mom's daisies?"

"Hmm?" Flam perked up. "Oh, as my lady wishes. Kingsley!"

The horse, a mighty white stallion (it was definitely a stallion because I could see his stallion bits), swung its head away from the box of ravaged, half-chomped blooms.

"...Never mind."

The horse was already walking to his master, and leaned his head on Flam's. Flam laughed. "Good boy. I apologize for his behavior," he said aside to me.

I wasn't dead or in a coma from head trauma. Unfortunately, I did still have a guy and a horse outside my trailer. Said guy thought he was a prince from the Middle Ages. Said horse ate my mom's flowers.

Jimbo bit my hand for letting my mind wander.