NINE Excerpt

Dear my esteemed and wonderful readers,

NaNoWriMo is finally over! For a geek freak like me, it was probably one of the top three coolest things I've ever done, and I have to say, it was rewarding. I completed the challenge and reached 50,000 words in thirty days, but I am sad to say that my novel is far from over. Nevertheless, I thought that I might share an excerpt with you all. Hope you like it! (Keep in mind, it is still a first draft, so some parts might seem crummy; those will be dealt with during revisions.)

We all stand in a big clump, gazing around the area to try and familiarize ourselves with each other. Osmond looks as if he wants to say something.

         “Well,” he says awkwardly, “hello.” He tosses his hands up in a feeble attempt to be friendly, but he seems more shocked and nervous than socially skilled.

         “Oh, just cut to the chase,” says the nun, apparently having woken up on the wrong side of the underground rock. “My name is Sister Eleanor Grace, and you will call me by nothing else.”

         I am not sure how to respond to her angry, authoritative attitude. Should I feel like I have met my soul mate, or should I object and take charge myself?

         “This is the drunk—I mean, the gentleman—Mr. John Terrence,” she says, gesturing towards the tall and scrawny man. He nods faintly, still staring off into space.

         “You like alcohol, huh?” I ask him, trying to remain friendly to one of my people. “What’s your favorite kind?”

         Before he can answer, Sister Eleanor Grace looks at Osmond and points at me, not even glancing at my face.

         “Who is this?” she asks, straightforward and almost rude. Osmond looks slightly taken aback, and I know that I am, because I stand up and retaliate with full force; it’s not time to lose to this woman. I have decided: I don’t like her.

         She finally looks at me, with a scowl on her face to match mine, even possibly surpass it.

         “My name is Donovan Cuthbert Montgomery,” I state, matter-of-factly, with a proud and gruff aura. “I am a lawyer of London, England, a graduate with three college degrees from Cambridge University, and way above your league, you rosarie-wearing, gila monster-faced, rude sister from St. Richard’s Catholic School.” I put on a half-scowl, half-smile expression, as she gives me a slightly puzzled look. “Oh, I know who you are, NUN,” I continue, answering her obvious facial question, “The Dragon Lady of St. Richard’s Cathedral isn’t exactly a quiet subject in my township.”

         She doesn’t smile, but she looks back at the redhead for a moment, who shrinks back and gives me a look that clearly tells me to quit before she starts talking.

         But naturally, I don’t; how could a nun beat a lawyer in a debate?        

         She holds her finger up to grab my attention, with not a drop of low confidence about her aura.

         “You listen here, JOWLS,” she demands of me, scowling. “I’m sure you have grown up believing that you were superior to people, but tell me, has anyone ever told you how beefy you are?”

         Slightly taken aback, but not completely, I respond with a simple:

         “Yes, in fact, and I haven’t cared in the slightest.”

         “Well, I’m going to tell you again, because you deserve it: you’re fat. I say, that roll of skin that hangs out of your collar is just as thick as your skull, which is saying something.”

         As she takes a breath and thinks of other things to hold against me, I glance over at the redhead girl, who grins in amusement; I can tell that she has seen Sister Eleanor Grace in action before.

         “Now, you may have been told that you are smart, powerful, or even useful in your life before, but listen to me now, and I won’t lie to you like those people in your past: you are a reptile so low and so flat, not even your mother with all of her size and massive proportions could crush you with her heel, which I am sure she has been longing to do since you were first born. And believe it or not, she is probably almost as hefty as you are.”

         I just let my jaw slowly drop, only half aware of it as it moves. Her tone remains powerful, sturdy, neutral, and taunting as she speaks to me, making sure that I will never ever retaliate.

         “So, one final warning, you incredibly large lawyer: you are in my domain now, and no one comes into my domain and OVERTHROWS ME.”

         The redhead just sinks to her rear end, as if trying to remain inconspicuous.

         “Get the picture?” she finishes, putting on an even more distinct scowl and smile as she stares at me.

         I refuse to be treated this way. I won’t be taken down by a NUN.

         “Well, did you know that your cheekbones resemble the eye sockets of a rotting skeleton?” I ask her cruelly, narrowing my eyes. I can feel the air of intensity and suspense as we face off, already clashing for power after about two minutes of knowing each other. I will not stop, however, until I win, and she will have to accept that.

         “The fact is, Mr. Montgomery, you look about as much better than me than a tarantula does to Queen Victoria,” she responds, still not giving way. “The fact is, you are trying to beat me and gain the position of most respect and power, but here’s the thing: you THINK that you are superior to ME, but I KNOW that I am superior to YOU. Any questions?” She continues to glare triumphantly, but I still will not let her win this.

         “Well, you black-dressed, grumpy old she-male, let me get one thing straight: you think you have the right to insult me when all you do is clean your church all day and act like your very own aunt has passed away in a meat grinder. Why is this? Is there some sort of motive behind your feeble reasoning?”

         “I can see a million reasons, but instead of answering your question, I’m going to put you down to prove that I have every right to be winning this debate. I’m going to make one point clear, and then you’d better keep on walking, because I’ve got people to talk to that could make you look like…well…yourself; the truth is, I admire your attempt at trying to persevere and beat me, lard-face, but why don’t you go try your insults on someone who actually cares next time? Sorry, JOWLS, but you just can’t win today.”

         And with that, she smiles tauntingly and walks past me, briskly introducing herself and the others to Osmond, Andrew, and Adelaide. I just stand with angry defeat, staring off into space like a drunken monkey. As John and the teenager pass by me without a word, the redhead stops directly next to my head and whispers in my ear.

         “Yeah, I don’t like her either,” she states, keeping her voice so low that I can hardly hear her, and I’m only a few inches away. “She did that to me when we first met.”

         She glances at me, proving that she is on my side.

         “Well, my name is Rowan,” she says, outstretching her hand to shake mine. Instead of rejecting her kind gesture like I usually do to people, I return it, looking her in the eye with slight confusion. “And I will help you bring down Sister Eleanor Grace.”

         I smile. “Ready to take on the hungry dragon?”

         “Oh, yes. And I am definitely ready to slay it.”

         “Bring it on,” I finish, with a newly-kindled confidence.

c. Taylor Ward 2012. All rights reserved.