Current mood:

contemplative

An Update?
Ah, well. I read this really excellent piece--a discussion, really--about Kidnapped (one of my favorite novels, think that I'd place it top 5). Got me thinking on the lines of a story-review. Or something. I'll see where it takes me.

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“My dear Freddy,” said I with a slight nod of condescension, “it is so good to see you here again. Well again too, I see.”

Freddy beamed up at me, his now slightly pudgy face glowing with an appreciative red glare. “Oh? Is it you then, Miss–,” he scrambled to his feet, ready to perform a most obsequious bow at the slightest provocation, “sorry, what name is it that you go by now? I wouldn’t want to...” he ended with a courteous blush.

My lips turned up in the expected smile. “It is Galatea. Miss Galatea.”

Freddy's brow knitted for a surprisingly short moment before pinpointing the source. “The statue? Oh.” His eyes roamed my gray-clad figure. “It’s most lovely, of course, Miss Galatea. If I may so raise myself to ask, if you wouldn’t mind, may I intrude upon you to ask why? It–pardon me for making assumptions–seems a bit out of character for you.”

I smiled. I was certainly getting to the good part soon. “I was reading.”

The easily flustered man frowned momentarily when I did not continue.

I only turned to the passing server, halting him with a gently held out hand. “A drink, Freddy?” I took one glass, leaving my hand hovering over another expectantly.

“No. I mean, if you please Miss, I think–I would be most obliged, that is, if you wouldn’t mind me drinking, I’ll take one.” His hand collided with mine and recoiled as I tried to hand him the glass I had removed at ‘please’. As I waved the server on, Freddy turned his eyes down, abashed, before finally getting his fingers around–of all things–the stem, holding the drink most indelicately. Though if he had been less indelicate I would not have liked him half so much.

He recovered himself and threw the drink down his throat quickly, then looked at me sheepishly. “I apologize Miss Ever–Galatea, I mean, Miss Galatea.”

“Oh, that is quite fine, Freddy,” I answered nonchalantly. I lifted my drink to my lips thoughtfully, allowing my eyes to wander the room of milling people.

I turned back to my admirer when I sensed his discomfort growing. “Have a seat, won’t you, Freddy?” I sat without waiting for his reply, and he followed suit moments after.

“I took it from Liza.”

My companion blinked at my seemingly inane comment. “Excuse me, Miss Galatea?”

I looked above his head. “My name. I wanted to be Liza for a day.”

“Liza? Who?”

I sighed, careful to force in my trademark frustration. “Liza, darling. From Shaw. But Liza, or even Eliza, is such a tedious name.”

Recognition came quickly. “Pygmalion, then? But why would you want to be Liza? She’s so–she’s just refined gutter findings.”

I lifted an eyebrow before deciding that outrage would better suit my purposes. “How now? Come. Do not dismiss her like that. Why should I not want to be someone who rises so entertainingly?” I softened my tone, and continued with a touch of sorrow, allowing my eyes to mist over. “Do you not think it more admirable to raise from the gutter than to be born into the high only to remain stagnant?”

“I–I wouldn’t know. But surely a girl from the gutters couldn’t really lose all her failings. Why, I mean, she could never compare to one such as you, Miss Galatea.”

I sniffed. “Why should she have to?” I lowered my voice. “I was not born so high, either.”

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This is getting way too drawn out for my tastes.

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Okay, randomness. Whatever. I didn't even get to the book discussion part. I got too caught up in the girl, an all too common failing with me.