An Ice Meeting

Nightfall invaded, overpowering a desert region notifying Baron Connor Win; daylight vanished hours ago, formally confirmed moments later when a lone clock sounding instrument, inside the one room cottage, royally gonged away.

“Did I just count eight?” Baron Connor Win distracted, eyes leaving the glowing monitor where fantasy battles played out, using words generating imaginative dream experiences that started during his youth and developed, playing an artistic inspired English writing class game, destined to establish goals, spilling over into adulthood, creating a well-known mass distributed successful book series.

Building different storylines throughout the years, featuring civil war conflicts between large population zones featuring, one garden cultivating its own identity while the other setting accepted the concrete jungle description, earning the ‘empire’ nickname. These feuding debatable casual conversations constantly alerted a neighboring local metropolis spouting brotherly love sentiments, pleading ‘services needed, desiring diplomatic easing tension actions performed and accomplished, clearing up any north/south misunderstandings.’

Rapidly tiring, hungry, Baron Connor Win continued the wintry stroll, feeling evening frosty conditions challenge the exercise before coming upon a Castle facade structure and its glaring marquee reading ‘Discounted Appetizers’. Accepting the tempting luring tease, finding a second energy wind to climb a small cement staircase, Baron Connor Win, knew losing was never a possibility. Promptly, following negotiating the large moat imitating wooden entry, the respected fable fixture entrepreneur proceeded through the welcoming gate.

Bypassing the gaming area, pausing acknowledging sponsor representatives pushing buttons hoping to receive an instant lucrative payout, Baron Connor Win entered the cantina style restaurant.

Sitting down, the whole atmosphere where a glass window surrounded the dining area, allowing realistic panoramic views presenting reality-based ice related recreational activity against televisions broadcasting the working scheduled hockey games.

“You blew it!” Baron Connor Win exclaimed, catching a swirling red-light signal alarm, after one camera captured its message sending the viewer information.

“Out tonight? Baron Connor Win?” A young lady came over, holding a small notepad.

“Craving a small quick snack,” Baron Connor Win answered, putting down the menu, “and I will order full garlic knots at half price.”

Competing with the electronic monitor league fantasy trip for attention, Princess Violet combatted her own internal nerves, skating around the lonely rink as the customers cheered pucks and sticks.

“Poppa, I fell again,” the monarch family member announced, hoping forgiveness would be heard throughout the quiet surroundings.

“You must try harder,” parental guidance granted, making the maturing teenager learn another life preparation lesson safely, not worrying about any spilled blood, except the few droplets dispensed from the bruised cut.

“It will heal,” the future King proclaimed watching the next throne occupant, leaving the training stage.

“Her skin needs to be tougher,” King John Charles remarked.

“My skin looks fine,” Princess Violet declared, pulling the door, separating the cold surroundings with hot food entertainment.

Laughing Baron Connor Win, invited the adolescent over, “Baron Connor Win, I hope you did not see me fall on the ice and scrape my knee.”

“It was very amusing,” the author honestly critiqued, “I do say myself.”

“Are you still spinning stories that are not true? Baron Connor Win?”

“I will let you know my dear, I have been spinning fictional tales all afternoon, so my reader can think, before they speak,” Baron Connor Win defended, “I just stopped here to enjoy some garlic and hopefully it will keep the blood sucking freaks away.”

“Blood sucking freaks?”

“Here have a few knots, the garlic will make those wounds disappear and the blood sucking freaks will not be interested.”

“You know my stomach breeds butterflies when I go airborne,”

“And what? Spin,” Baron Connor Win grinned.

“Just like you, Baron, spin and stimulate my audience,”

“That is right,” Baron Connor Win replied, comforting observing the true innocent character lick the garlic, before devouring the bread, “you do those moves, Princess with your physical beauty, an army can be dealt with peacefully but below, your sharp blades potentially can take anyone’s breath, eternally silencing them.”

“Actually, Barron Connor Win. This is a competition, a sport, not some combative war,” Princess Violet retaliated.

“If it is a fair competition, Princess, why don’t participants who go first really have the same chance to be a winner then those who are last?”

Staying quiet, Princess Violet listened, “you are auditioning to be in the big production, a future headliner,” the published storyteller consulted, “and each experience will make you grow and,”

“I will be prepared to be Queen, tomorrow,” Princess Violet concluded, adding the factors together,

“Is that fair?” Baron Connor Win needled a certain point.

“For me,” the youngster replied, appreciating all the patrons, who now inhabited the scene during the facility’s provided free skate hour, “but what about the others?”

“You get them to talk, enjoy healthy non obligated conversation,” Baron Connor Win illuminated.

“Isn’t that what you do? Baron,”

“I transport readers to unbelievable locations in their minds,”

“And that makes them feel better,” Princess Violet surmised.

As the unwanted crumbs waited patiently to be transferred towards the dishwasher, Baron Connor Win paid the bill, leaving a tip, then escorted Princess Violet passed the one arm bandits.

Outside, both could see the one street skyline, encouraging Princess Violet, “are you trying to con me Baron or show me how to win.”

“It is all in the interpretation,” Baron Connor Win told the athlete as she pecked his cheek, leaving a red gratitude autograph.

Now alone, Baron Connor Win grabbed a handkerchief, softly removed the lipstick beauty mark wondering, “how did she do that?”