(1) “Oh! never try for the top job! Too many want to knock you off. Not even second or third, a comfortable spot somewhere near the top is best. And it’s So interesting watching the carnage. You might even get a book about it.”
(2) “Famous!! You want to be famous, Are you stark raving mad!”
[AN: Once again I have to remind my dear followers that I can only handle one prompt at a time. I know it’s a pain in the anatomy to submit prompts individually, but it’s a literal pain in my wrists to do multiple prompts at once. PLEASE submit your prompts individually]
(1)
Merryl was, as far as all other contenders were concerned, very bad at the Game of Houses. The goal was to win the throne, and power, and enough loyalty to actually enjoy it for a while.
But Merryl never got further than advisor to the throne. She had a high-born, if incompetent husband, and a healthy clutch of children who were allowed to marry into the lesser families of the court. Many weren’t even sure she was playing.
But the smart players, those who knew how the Game was really played… they made certain they had Merryl’s favour. Followed Merryl’s advice.
Because they knew for certain that Merryl was playing the Game. She was playing the long game. She didn’t want or need the power of the throne.
She had the power of the Monarch’s Ear. She was in every court session. Whispering or murmuring advice into the current King or Queen’s right ear. And if they had a sour ruler? One who was rotten on the inside? They would inevitably make the mistake of imprisoning Merryl or threatening her family.
And that King or Queen had only days to live.
She had been sentenced to execution five times in as many years, and it was behind these prison walls that Jolf the Gnarled met with her. Ostensibly to play chess.
“The people want a Givalda on the throne. The people are stupid. The entire family is rotten and debauched. Except for you.”
“Huh,” Jolf moved a pawn. He did so awkwardly. A birth defect had left him with but three fingers on his dominant hand. The other was a paralysed claw. Disease and disaster both had left him looking like a monster. “They say I am the physical manifestation of my family’s sins. They would go through and then execute all of my family before they’d accept the likes of me on the throne.”
“They will do that, I have no doubt.” Merryl delicately moved a piece. She wasn’t playing to win. She was playing to keep the game in play. “I will write letters to my daughters… and then to my sons. And then to my granddaughters. I trained all my children in the ways of the game.”
Jolf uncurled from his habitual stoop. Staring at the grey-haired woman who had lived so long in an age of knives. She had clever children… who she had placed carefully across the entire realm. Thrice before, this woman had written letters, and a new monarch had pardoned her. “I dare say they play it as well as you.”
Merryl smiled. “You’re smart. Good. Are you smart enough to play the fool?”
“Madam, I once saved my sorry excuse for a skin with a joke.”
A rook moved across the checkered space of the board. “I remember. Play at being addled. Let people laugh at you. Be bumbling… but in your own lands? Be generous. Care for the health and welfare of your subjects.”
“More generous than I am? My family demands their taxes.”
“A lottery will suffice for generating that revenue. In fact… quietly run several gambling chains. They will fill your coffers very sweetly and none will be the wiser. Just make certain that some of the funds go to charity houses for the poor. And run them very well.”
“The favour of the people…” Jolf murmured. “Others will leave their lands to share in mine. I might snap up my cousins’ neglected lots in a game of dice.”
“Indeed. It’ll be easier when you seem stupid.” A knight. “Are you capable of siring an heir?”
“Capable, aye. No woman would want me, though.”
“I’ll search for the right one. I’m very good at this.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“For public appearances, it might be advisable for you to cultivate a slur, stammer, stutter or other speech impediment. So long as they underestimate you, you are safe.”
The current King died in the following week. It was no great shock that the next monarch in the throne immediately pardoned Merryl to resume her place just to the right of the throne. She survived five more monarchs and two more incarcerations before Jolf and his surprisingly lovely and loyal bride were placed jointly on the throne.
By that time, the only Givaldas left were Jolf and his shockingly adorable children.
Who were all taught the Game by their Aunty Merryl.
(2)
“The Consortium’s gettin’ a gig,” Shayde argued. “Why not me?”
“Because you’re not representative of a planetary body, nor enough citizens to become a virtual planetary body. Galacticly speaking, you don’t have a presence. Without a presence, you can’t really have a culture. Therefore, you’re not really allowed to share.”
“Bullshit.”
Rael boggled at her.
“I have the culture I left. Six billion souls or more left behind in time. I saw a lot o’ the planet. Learned a lot o’ the languages. I can sing a damn lot o’ the songs. Pop me in a damn museum an’ I’ll bring ‘em all tae life fer anyone who’ll listen. Anyone who’ll ask.”
“And your reason for doing this is…?”
“I always wanted tae be Noticed. Cut an album or more. Somethin’ other than bein’ trapped in a room full'a fusty old nerds who keep calling me 'my dear’ and talkin’ right over me, ye ken.”
“You want to be a… what was the phrase? Pop star?”
“Somethin’ like that. Just… a space to be me and loved for it too. Is that so nuts?”
“Yes,” said Rael, a little too quickly. “You get sycophants, toadies and pretenders latching on to your tail coats. And paparazzi in the hydrangeas. Or… anywhere they could hide. They try to capture pictures of you with your pants off.”
“They’re still around?”
“They’re almost extinct, but they do exist.”
Shayde blew a raspberry. “They’d 'ave tae work hard t’ catch me with me knickers down.”
“Telebees,” said Rael.
“Ye woh?”
“Tiny drone cameras. They can get into your private spaces through the air vents. And get some -ah- very intimate photographs.”
“Remote controlled, aye?”
“Aye-uh. Yes.”
“Faraday cage in the privy?” she suggested.
It was shocking how quickly she adapted. “That,” he said after pondering the concept, “is a very astute idea.”
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