The Swashbuckling Adventures of Banyan Larou
For those who wish to add onto this story, please take note of the story settings - I have a general outline of the plot and a short character analysis. Also, be aware that this is a satire (a story that pokes fun, often times utilized with humor, at a certain society or social mores). I would appreciate rooms to follow some coherant flow of logic to the general syntax, diction and time-frame; after all, it's part of the challenge!
There have been many stories of the piratical nature, but none could buckle his swashes quite like Captain Banyan Larou. Does knowing the time frame really matter? No, for all that needs to be known is that the British and the French hated each other, as it had once been. And so enter the scene of two young children, sitting in a Bahamian tree and talking.
"Edwin, have you spoken with your mother yet?
"Thirteen years old and already a nag! I'll do it when I feel like doing it." The look on her face provoked an immediate amendment of his original thought however. "Uh . . . and I feel like doing it now!"
Emily Bourbon was your typical, everyday, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, indescribably beautiful British damsel - a fine love interest for the purposes of such a story as this brought over from England at the tender age of eight.
"Well, Edwin?" Emily stamped her foot impatiently.
He shook the dumb look from his face and stammered, "oh, uh, right. I'm on my way!" The boy leaped from the tree with the finesse as one experienced but stumbled awkwardly on the impact, like the klutz he was. Once dusted off, he ran down the path towards his home.
The house was larger than a breadbox yet smaller than a mansion - well sizable enough for a servant or two. Edwin barged into the structure, as boys often do, and almost careened past his mother who was in the dining room, drinking her afternoon tea. "Mother I have something to tell you!"
The regal lady clinked her teacup onto its saucer and cleared her throat in a quite unladylike manner, fraught with deeper meaning.
Edwin decided to test her. "Mother! I am dying!" he exclaimed melodramatically.
"That's nice, Son. But can you wait until I've finished my tea?" The clock seemed to tick louder as each second passed by. Finally, she finished, turning her attention to her son. "Now, what was that you were dyeing? A new cloak? A scarf perhaps?"
Frustrated, he rolled his eyes. "Never mind that, Mother. I have an announcement to make. Emily Bourbon and I are to be married!"
"Congratulations, Edwin!"
"I am now a man of fifteen years, Mother, and you can no longer tell me what to do with my li . . . did you just say, 'Congratulations, Edwin'?!"
"Of course I did, Dear. When is the wedding?"
The boy was now completely flustered. "You aren't going to yell at me?"
"Close your mouth, Edwin it is not gentlemanly. This is your life and it is not my place anymore to run it. I would request only that you would give me the same consideration.
His mother had never been so congenial before, instantly arousing Edwin's suspicions. "Is there something that you are not telling me?"
"There is no easy way to say this, so I will just say it. Your father is dead and I am remarrying another."
"You have been corresponding with Father?! When did he die?! Who is this man that you are marrying?! Is he a good man?!"
"Calm down, Edwin. A staunch English subject should never carry on as so - think of the scandal it would cause if people found out how flamboyantly you are acting. You are to marry, I am to marry."
There have been many stories of the piratical nature, but none could buckle his swashes quite like Captain Banyan Larou. Does knowing the time frame really matter? No, for all that needs to be known is that the British and the French hated each other, as it had once been. And so enter the scene of two young children, sitting in a Bahamian tree and talking.
"Edwin, have you spoken with your mother yet?
"Thirteen years old and already a nag! I'll do it when I feel like doing it." The look on her face provoked an immediate amendment of his original thought however. "Uh . . . and I feel like doing it now!"
Emily Bourbon was your typical, everyday, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, indescribably beautiful British damsel - a fine love interest for the purposes of such a story as this brought over from England at the tender age of eight.
"Well, Edwin?" Emily stamped her foot impatiently.
He shook the dumb look from his face and stammered, "oh, uh, right. I'm on my way!" The boy leaped from the tree with the finesse as one experienced but stumbled awkwardly on the impact, like the klutz he was. Once dusted off, he ran down the path towards his home.
The house was larger than a breadbox yet smaller than a mansion - well sizable enough for a servant or two. Edwin barged into the structure, as boys often do, and almost careened past his mother who was in the dining room, drinking her afternoon tea. "Mother I have something to tell you!"
The regal lady clinked her teacup onto its saucer and cleared her throat in a quite unladylike manner, fraught with deeper meaning.
Edwin decided to test her. "Mother! I am dying!" he exclaimed melodramatically.
"That's nice, Son. But can you wait until I've finished my tea?" The clock seemed to tick louder as each second passed by. Finally, she finished, turning her attention to her son. "Now, what was that you were dyeing? A new cloak? A scarf perhaps?"
Frustrated, he rolled his eyes. "Never mind that, Mother. I have an announcement to make. Emily Bourbon and I are to be married!"
"Congratulations, Edwin!"
"I am now a man of fifteen years, Mother, and you can no longer tell me what to do with my li . . . did you just say, 'Congratulations, Edwin'?!"
"Of course I did, Dear. When is the wedding?"
The boy was now completely flustered. "You aren't going to yell at me?"
"Close your mouth, Edwin it is not gentlemanly. This is your life and it is not my place anymore to run it. I would request only that you would give me the same consideration.
His mother had never been so congenial before, instantly arousing Edwin's suspicions. "Is there something that you are not telling me?"
"There is no easy way to say this, so I will just say it. Your father is dead and I am remarrying another."
"You have been corresponding with Father?! When did he die?! Who is this man that you are marrying?! Is he a good man?!"
"Calm down, Edwin. A staunch English subject should never carry on as so - think of the scandal it would cause if people found out how flamboyantly you are acting. You are to marry, I am to marry."