Anyone But Rosa

So, I wanted to do a continuation of THIS story I did, where the prompt was to use the sentence “Rossamund was a boy with a girl’s name”… and then I did.

Simple enough, I think.

This is set far into the future, beyond its prequels middle school setting, and I hope you enjoy 🙂

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Anyone but Rosa 

“Hey Tuesday!”

He turned, smiling, and accepted the pat on the back as Rudy slid past him to the bus. His rucksack was full to bursting, same as Jackie’s, and he shared a look with Monroe. He and Monroe had packed the suggested amount of clothing for the trip, had packed the weather-specific pieces in the fairly full suitcase the four of them were sharing… and they were likely the only ones who would be able to travel comfortably on their hitch-hike around Scandinavia.

“Ross, why do you still let him call you that? Why do you still go by that nickname?”

He shrugged, and helped the driver get their suitcase into the storage compartment, handing over his backpack and then Monroe’s.

“That’s the thing about nicknames… they tend to stick.” Sadly. Tragically.

He’d gotten used to it.

“Mundy, get in the bus already! I’m not sitting next to tuna breath over here!”

He’d also gotten used to Jackie. She had a unique way of addressing people, in that she never used their actual names.

He did end up sitting next to her on the bus, and so got the honor of listening to her snore for most of the ride.

He sighed, and looked over her head out the window.

He thought it would likely be confusing for any friends they met along the way… because what would they call him? He had so many names to choose from.

His parents called him Rossamund, as that was the name they put on his birth certificate; from that Jackie called him Mundy, and through that nickname his classmates (including Rudy) stated calling him Tuesday, and later in college he was known primarily, as Monroe called him, Ross.

He was a man of many names…

But, Rossamund, Ross, Mundy, or Monday, at least he was consistent in his personality.

Jackie, once she’d moved on from her identity of the Tomboy of the class, had jumped from protest to protest, each cause greater than the last, with the latest being the injustice of feminazi’s trying to say tampons were Anti-Feminist.

She was currently very against feminazi’s giving feminists a bad name.

Rudy had shed his quiet-boy skin from middle school and had reveled in how genetics had favored him, finding sports more challenging and more extreme to throw himself into… it occasionally meant he also found various things to throw himself off of, the higher the better, and this trip was his way of trying to find himself.

He wanted to be able to throw himself entirely into his occupation, and to do that he had to settle on one thing.

He could only hope that finding himself didn’t turn into Rudy getting the rest of them lost.

He wasn’t terribly worried though, as Monroe had everything in their trip planned out, maps and back up maps on hand and in backpack and in pocket…

From what he’d gleaned, Monroe had been a bit of a bully as a child—a fact, he supposed, that would likely explain why he was so sensitive to his various nicknames. Now he was the very definition of a gentle giant, but once upon a time he’d likely have been one of the boys to make fun of him for having a girl’s name.

He’d met Monroe in college, sharing a room and then an apartment with each other… Monroe didn’t understand how he could introduce himself as Rossamund, offer the option to call him Ross, and be entirely fine with a manic girl crashing into their dorm calling him Mundy, and another guy shouting out for him, for ‘Tuesday’, across campus.

“Look, if they’re bothering you,” he’d once started, concerned and protective and likely thinking back to his own days of bullying, but he’d waved him off.

“I have a strange name, for a boy, and there are worse things to be called.”

He always remembered that. There were worse things to be called.

When signing things, he always signed his full name. He signed Rossamund, because at the root of it, that was who he was.He didn’t think he’d changed all that much

Ross was from Rosaamund.

Mundy was from Rossamund.

And, strange as it was, Tuesday was from Rossamund as well.

Okay, it was from Rossamund after taking a side trip through the mind of a dozen thirteen year olds, but the origin was there all the same.

Now, he looked out at the passing landscape, down to the blur of faces alongside the road, and wondered what other nicknames he would get here.

He was looking forward to it, actually, what different people with different languages would do with his name… because as ‘bad’ as any of them could end up being, there was always something worse.

Because Rossamund could be Ross, or Mundy, or even Tuesday, but he would never, ever again allow himself to be Rosa.

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So, hope you enjoyed that, and look forward to more fiction 🙂

I’m looking forward to the next prompt 🙂

Any Day of The Week

So hey all 🙂

Super excited about this, because you know how I went and wrote a fic for From My Write Side? This thing here?

Yeah, I won the prompt! I got to choose the next one! Sam asked that I find a first line from a book.

And I chose…

My prompt!!!

My prompt!!!

Enjoy!

Any Day of the Week

Drawn by me :)

Drawn by me 🙂

The thing about trying to choose your own nickname is that it never turns out the way you expect.

Not when you’ve got a group of dedicated thirteen year olds on hand.

When he’d changed schools he’d thought that perhaps he’d go by Ross—in fact, he’d gone to his teacher before hand and had told her that he’d prefer to be called that.

Because that was a suitably masculine rendition of his name.

But instead, his name got called out and yes, he got teased…

And gained a nickname just about immediately.

It was just from his new friend Jackie, who said she actually liked his name, and though it was only her who called him it while the rest of his classmates gained perverse delight in calling him by his full name, he thought it was pretty cool.

Because… well.

Rossamund was a boy with a girl’s name.

He didn’t know what his parents were thinking when they were naming him, though there was a strong possibility that it went along the lines of ‘we wanted a girl,’ but there it was.

There he was.

With a girl’s name.

Being called Mundy wasn’t all that bad, really, especially compared to the Rosa he’d gone by at his old school… it wasn’t great, and made him think of cartoon characters, but it wasn’t bad.

He still introduced himself as Ross, still got introduced by Jackie as Mundy, and still got called Rossamund by the rest of his classmates, and for a while it was good.

Until, of course his real nickname was decided on.

Because someone finally said Jackie’s nickname, and thought it was funny.

“Mundy… Mundy? Hah! Like Monday?”

“Mundy, Monday… yeah! It’s like Monday with a western accent!”

“Mundy, Tuesdy, Wensdy, Fraaaahdy, Sayturdy, hahaha, Sundy, hahahahaha…”

So, of course, his nickname had to be born from this masterful bit of wordplay.

It had to come from this in-depth thought process.

It just had to work out like so.

Because obviously, when Rossamund became Mundy, which sounded like Monday, it obviously meant that the best nickname for him would be…

Tuesday.

—-

Hope you enjoyed 🙂 And this propmt is due by July 23rd, so you have time to write your own… *cough* you should do it *cough*

😀

I’m looking forward to the next!

EDIT: Now with a sequel. Click HERE to see how Rossamund turned out as an adult 🙂

My Dog’s Thoughts

This is what I think goes on through my dogs’ head while he’s having doggy thoughts.

Also featuring the Corgi Calvin, who we are dog-sitting.

Here I sit, inside, peering out at my domain. The back yard.

I remember each and every spot I have ever peed, so long as I am able to get a good sniff of the place, and I am content.

I sense a disturbance.

My sight hones in on the problem—my Person, The Boss, is petting the Interloper.

Calvin.

I sit up and start barking, wishing to go Outside and also get the pettings, and Boss Speaks.

I stop barking.

Tilt my head.

What was I…?

Oh, yes, the pettings. Calvin should not get all of the Boss’ pettings!

Boss is not moving, and so I take up barking again, wishing to Be Outside Right Now, and another of my People let me Out. It is the Cheese Man.

I wipe my nose on his hands in thanks and bound outside.

I must get to Boss, must get to pettings!

Boss calls out a greeting, and I no longer remember what I was looking for, what I was aiming to get…

Ah! There’s Calvin!

He pants and twitches his ears in my direction, and I pounce in his direction, my feet landing just short of his paws as I dip down into a stretch.

Boss gives me a pat on the head, and I dip my nose down to bop Calvin on his head.

He does not look impressed, so I do it again.

He makes what Boss calls his Gremlin Noise, which is actually Calvin saying Back Off. Or, well, when he’s directing it at me, that is.

I do not.

Because when Calvin makes that noise at Boss he means Pet Me, and I want that to happen to me, so while Boss’ fingers scratch Calvin on the short fur on top of his head, I sniff at his face and welcome Boss using her other hand to scratch me around my neck. It is a good scratching.

Mmm.

Calvin makes the Gremlin Noise louder when I lick his face and nose, and he snaps at me when I lick over his eye.

I do not understand why he will not play with me.

I jerk my face back form his, and consider him for a moment.

“Woof!”

Play with me.

I bark right in his face. Right by his extra large ears, which I am not at all jealous of, not when Boss likes my own so much as to call them my ‘pigtails’, and Calvin turns and catches my whiskers in his mouth.

When I jerk back, he has a tuft of my fur in his mouth. I’m pretty sure this means he loves me.

I make a sad noise at him, and turn to Boss to find her smiling… Boss is happy! Boss is Happy! She is also close

She stops smiling when I lick her teeth, but then, when I lick Calvin’s mouth he stops smiling, too. Most dogs, I find, do not like me licking their mouths.

Most dogs also don’t like it when I lick their genitals, either.

Sadie didn’t.

I wonder when I will once again see Sadie.

I love Sadie.

Sadie’s Gremlin Noises were much more impressive than Calvin’s.

I wish Sadie were staying with us instead of Calvin.

Calvin is preoccupied with trying to get my fur from his mouth, so I curl myself around Boss’s feet.

It is not as comfortable as curling up in her lap, or even in curling up in the mysterious bed that showed up at the same time as Calvin—it even smelled like him, mysteriously enough, as it is obviously My Bed, the same way My Crate is My Crate…

Everything in the House is Mine.

It is My House.

I sigh, and am happy.

This is Gwynn when he's at his wooliest.  Also after he's had a chance to get at a puddle and wallow for a while...

This is Gwynn when he’s at his wooliest.
Also after he’s had a chance to get at a puddle and wallow for a while…