competitive thoughts

         Seth sat comfortably aboard the Falcon sipping a tall cup of southern sweet tea. He sat watching Gertrude, who sat across from him, a small table between them. He said nothing to her but kept his eyes focused on her. The tea was good, the silence sweet and invigorating.

         Gertrude shifted uncomfortable at the eyes watching her and pursued the power of her mind to convince him to talk. It was not working. She was thinking he was a bastard and of all the bastards she could wind up with she got the damn king. She wanted to talk to her mother and get some serious advice or at least permission to wave the white flag. Her pleasure at the hunt was taking a serious beating and she felt like a goddamn amateur. She watched the eyes. It was like he was cataloging every damn thing about her and filing the information away. ‘In a heartbeat sir’ how the hell did one compete with that shit and the whore says no more than ten words and the bastard was wanting to marry her. She tugged her braids wondering what the hell she was missing.

         Seth smiled watching her blue eyes, thinking she was feeling like he did when his mother told him the most dreaded words, ‘wait till we get home.’ He wondered how long before the eyes would begin watering up, seeking compassion. Perhaps he should send her a bone and let her chew on it for a while. He took another refreshing drink, smacking his lips a bit louder then he wanted to.

         Gertrude still trying to keep a straight, strong face convincing herself that tears would not help in the moment, however later they might be more convenient or believable. She contemplated her assets figuring something was missing from the bag of goodies. What the hell did that woman do to get that 'will you marry me?’ She had it and maybe she should wring her pretty little neck and get the info out of her. She smiled thinking the wench probably did not know what the hell she did anyway. She was probably laying her head on a pillow dreaming dreamy thoughts of the man, placating her dreamy reality. Some women could be such idiots, but not her damn it, not her.

         Peanut, ah yes, peanuts thought Seth, as he popped a few into his mouth. He wondered if the woman had shot all her arrows and was contemplating how to get some back or heaven forbid, new ones. Maybe he should just give in and submit to the pleasure it would bring. The fool said 'yea, yea' and he almost choked on a peanut.

         Serves him right eating those damn things, ignoring me thought Gertrude. How long was he going to drive her mad. If she could find that little angel who shoots arrows, she would shoot the bastard and he'd be a goner. Cupid, that’s the naked little bastard that shoots the love arrows. Of course she meant that sweet little angel. 

         Cupid could not even help the woman imagined Seth. She was hopelessly selfish and too blind to see the reality of her selfishness. One can’t  go trough life with the me, me attitude and expect everyone to capitulate. Hell he thought, she could probably find all kinds to capitulate, just for her. It must be horrible being beautiful, picking thru the dross to get to the gold. He thought he can’t be more than silver, but honestly more like tarnished copper, but the position was gold. He smiled again wondering how the other women wrenched the gold out from under men who were smarter than him. The woman did have some damn cute freckles though.

         The bastard is selfish, it’s always about him reasoned Gertrude as she nibbled on the end of a braid. He sees it this way, he sees it that way and damn it he has to be always right. The frustration yanked the braids again. The man was always right. How the hell does he do that? For once she wanted to be right and perhaps that was a key or a new arrow in the quiver of lady Godiva. She smiled, a ride through somewhere protesting something or another. Her mind was hurting and she was getting sleepy, nodding off now and then. Perhaps she would dream of being a countess, no it would have to be queen, no second class countess pleading with the king.

         The woman fell asleep, the nerve of the wench thought Seth. A nap did sound very good and he shifted to a comfortable position. He cursed the fool and warned him not to send Gertrude in a dream, on a white horse, naked or he would find some evil way to torment him.