Blondhilda and Lady Luck

Here's another tandem story from me and Anchorite. Anchorite wrote a scene and I wrote some scenes around it.

Blondhilda and Lady Luck

Part 1
Chris Hugh

"Darling," Blondhilda whispered lusciously, holding a manicured hand over the phone's receiver. "It's your editor."

"Why does she want to talk to me tonight of all nights?" Stanley muttered, grabbing his poker chips from the pants he'd wore the day before and stuffing them in his pocket.

"I think she wants to know why you haven't submitted the manuscript you promised her two weeks ago," Blondhilda answered, literal minded as ever. "Should I tell her you're on your way to your nightly poker game and don't want to talk to her?"

"Tell her I'm not here," Stanley snapped, walking into the hall.

"Just a moment," Blondhilda said politely, putting the phone down. She followed Stanley into their spacious foyer, where he was pulling on a jacket. "Stanley, you are here. How can I tell her you are not here if you are here?"
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Grimgudrun: Another tandem story from the world of Blondhilda

Here's the beginning that my writing buddy, Anchorite, wrote:

She sat cross-legged with her head facing downwards and her lank black hair falling in a cascade to obscure her face. She found a strange sort of comfort in holding this position for sustained periods and in her own estimation this was her longest interval yet, although she could not measure it with any precision. She had nothing other than the warrior’s garb that she wore and her two trusted weapons that provided her only companionship in this featureless void. Her surroundings were nothing more than infinite emptiness lit by an unnatural dull glow without an apparent source. She had long ago learned how to visualize outside this barren realm to gather glimpses of the outside world beyond this interminable abyss.

She concentrated and visualized her reflection on the empty space between her crossed legs. She did not sit on the ground or floor per se, as there was only a milky white mist around her in all directions with no obvious floors, ceilings, or walls. She could walk forever in any direction and never reach a destination and she could likewise climb up or down in any direction and sit or lean wherever she wanted as if a solid surface had spontaneously materialized before her. She looked into the reflection of her sunken eyes ringed with dark circles and fair skin rendered wan by the lack of natural light; although unlike the featureless surroundings her body had a hard lifetime’s worth of accumulated scars, burns, and tattoos.

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Blondhilda: The Flensing Hour

My writing buddy, Anchorite, wrote a Blondhilda story. His challenge to me was to take what he'd written and continue it. I accept the challenge! Here is the story.

This is Anchorite's beginning:

Blondhilda focused her warrior’s vision on seeing through the fog as thick as the mystical mists of Niflheim. She made out urban lights in the distance, but these had the warm glow of gaslight rather than the more modern lights of contemporary Midgard. The style of the architecture that she recognized suggested Victorian England, which was an environment that she had not seen since Stanley wrote her into the story of “Blondhilda and Sherlock Holmes in the Case of the Missing Crown Jewels.” She had enjoyed that adventure and remembered how Stanley had told her that she needed to venture out beyond her comfort zone into different genres to build her skill set beyond straightforward hack and slash. She had a great time working with the detective and Stanley assured her that he was a public domain character, so he was well within his rights to team her up with him.
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Blondhilda and the Evil Twin

For the exciting genesis of Blondhilda, click here

For the exciting genesis of Hello Sailor, click here

Blondhilda and the Evil Twin

My writing buddy Anchorite wrote a Blondhilda story. I took it and wrapped this story around it, using some of Anchorite's dialog. Can you guess what I wrote and what Anchorite wrote?

Stanley stared fixedly at the ceiling and walls. Light green ceramic tiles, waterspots showing where tiles had fallen off. Water was dripping somewhere; Stanley could hear it, smell it.


A spider spun its thread from the ceiling, lowering itself toward him. The single glaring bulb in the ceiling backlit the thread, turning it to silver and gold. Stanley tried to get up, then saw he was strapped down. He looked to his feet, saw them in padded leather restraints that were attached to the white enamel hospital bed. His arms were strapped to his side.

"Hello! Nurse! Is anyone there?" The spider landed on his forehead. Stanley closed his eyes and endured. It was only a spider. Then something touched his hand and he noticed the scurrying sounds. How long had he been hearing them without noticing? More sounds and more things, furry whiskered things touching his bound right hand, squirming against his immobilized body, gnawing.
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Short Story: Blondhilda and the Holiday That Dare Not Speak Its Name

This is a real licensed Sanrio product

Since Blondhilda and Hello Sailor were new to American society, Stanley Chester Brown decided to spend Saturday taking them to America's cultural hub, the place where people of all ages gather, the private commercial area that has taken over the role of the town square as a place where people congregate, a place of such importance that the Supreme Court of the United States has recognized that the property rights of its owners do not outweigh the right of political activists to exercise their free speech there.

They went to the mall.

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The Legend of Blondhilda Story V:

Mr. Kitten in Valhalla

by Chris Hugh

Oroka thumped her elbow on her desk, propped her head on her hand, turned to her best friend Nakama and announced, "I'm bored."

Suddenly a Ninja burst into the classroom. The girls turned toward him sleepily as he waved his single-edge curved katana sword in a fiery blur. Oroka and Nakama rolled their eyes and Nakama smacked her gum. After a few seconds she caught Oroka's eye and used her chin to point at the Ninja, who was poised to behead Oroka's boyfriend, Taikutsu. With a sigh, Oroka used her fingernail to flick one of her magical sushi-shaped pencil erasers at the intruder. As soon as it touched him, he turned into a cute, plush toy and ran out of the room screaming something about hara-kiri.


The two girls giggled. "So, why are you bored?" Nakama asked as Oroka dispatched the next two Ninjas with a rubber Ebi and Tekka Maki.


"I don't want to be a magical Manga girlfriend anymore," Oroka whispered, looking sidelong at her boyfriend, Taikutsu, who was surreptitiously cleaning the puddle under his desk.


She gathered up her pet, Mr. Kitten, as he walked in carrying a small, black, vaguely pineapple-shaped object he'd stolen from somewhere. An evil-looking man in camouflage jumped into the classroom with a vicious look on his face. He snorted smugly, uttered a threat and reached for his belt. Then he patted around and looked down. He blinked a few times, muttered an apology for the intrusion and backed out of the room. Oroka hugged Mr. Kitten and slid the grenade into her pink plaid backpack.



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The Legend of Blondhilda Story VI: Evil Appliances and the Three Fridges of Fate

Evil Appliances and the Three Fridges of Fate

by Chris Hugh

"Fire!" someone shouted and the word echoed in Oroka's sleeping mind.

Not fire, she thought in her dream. Darkness. Suffocation. All her precautions had failed her, just as she knew they would. She groaned in her sleep. The dream was terrifyingly real: she was stuffed in a refrigerator, like so many female comic heroines before her. She'd known this would be her destiny the moment she lost her powers. That was the day she stopped being a Manga Magical Girlfriend and became a Disposable Romantic Interest.

"Fire!" the voice cried again. Oroka's dream shifted. Was she at the gun range? She spent hours there every week, honing her skills in a hopeless effort to escape her fate. Or did she have heartburn? All the takeout meals took their toll. She hadn't set foot in the kitchen, not once since she and her boyfriend moved to the United States.

Something landed on the bed next to Oroka and broke the dream. She smiled in her sleep. It was Mr. Kitten, her magical cat. Then she frowned as she began to wake up. No, it couldn't be. Taikutsu had insisted they leave the cat behind in Japan. Now he worked as a robotics scientist on a top-secret project, and she spent her days alone, trying to survive.
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Exercise: Blondhilda and Hello Sailor Disagree

The writing assignment was: write a story about two characters who are faced with the same challenge and who have different approaches to responding to it. I called on my characters of Blondhilda and Hello Sailor, and here it is.

_

Blondhilda and Hello Sailor Disagree

"The injustice of it!" Blondhilda cried. "I cannot abide it!" She stood up from the recliner and shook out her sheet of pale golden hair. A glowing light suffused the room and she held her sword high.

"Stop, Blondhilda," Hello Sailor said, hopping up from her own recliner. An inexplicable breeze tossed back her hair and ruffled her miniskirt. "We cannot directly interfere with the affairs of mortals. We must let them find their own way."

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The Legend of Blondhilda Story IV: Bondhilda and the Escape from the Insane Asylum

Blondhilda and the Escape from the Insane Asylum

by Chris Hugh

The Norse goddess looked down at Stan fondly, her great bosom heaving in happiness.

"Now we can be together forever, my Stanley!"

Stanley Chester Brown, fabulously successful graphic novel author and former lawyer, proudly stood on his tiptoes. He kissed Blondhilda's gorgeous lips and the entire Hall of Valhalla erupted into applause. Shields clash, swords rattled, goblets clinked (and were quickly drained), and many mighty fighting men and mighty fighting wenches yelled "Aooga!"
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The Legend of Blondhilda Story III: Blondhilda and the Mystery at Skull Manor

Blondhilda and the Mystery at Skull Manor

by Chris Hugh

Stanley Chester Brown, world-famous graphics novel artist and newly-wed husband of the Norse Goddess Blondhilda, adjusted his thick glasses and peered down the steep stairs. A large crumpled form lay there. Stan had been awakened by the sound of running feet followed by the boom of a shotgun. Now the head of the stairs was splintered by a shotgun blast and a dead man lay at its foot.


Stan and Blondhilda had booked two weeks at an abandoned manor house on a deserted island. The vacation was a gift from Loki, the Norse god of mischief. The honeymoon had started out pleasantly. The accommodations were lovely and the combination gardener, cook and butler had been exemplary. Unfortunately he was also an amateur photographer. When Blondhilda found certain candid honeymoon videos floating around on YouTube, she'd discovered the multi-talented man was the shape shifter Loki. She kicked Loki off the island, literally.

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Story 1: The Birth of Blondhilda

The Birth of Blondhilda

by Chris Hugh

Blondhilda jumped from the pages of the graphic novel storyboard. Literally.


Stanley Chester Brown, author and illustrator of the fantastically successful Blondhilda series, scooted back in his Aeron drawing chair until he bumped his head against his wall of vintage Star Wars posters. He looked up at Blondhilda through heavy glasses that now hung from one ear.


Stan stared at Blondhilda, shaking. She towered over him in her high-heeled thigh-high Viking warrior boots. Her feet were planted shoulder width apart, her arms on her hips. The architectural-inspired designer lighting glinted off her scanty armor. An icy wind roared through Stan's work studio, scattering papers onto the gleaming hardwood floors, rushing dramatically through Blondhilda's flaxen hair and tossing Stan's comb-over onto the entirely wrong side of his head.

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Heather Goes Straight

My writing buddy and I generally trade one story a day. He often writes elegantly and with great insight on lesbian relationships. He wrote a nice story where Claire and Heather sneak off to a hotel. Heather is hiding her lifestyle from the other lawyers at her firm; their relationship is quite moving and beautiful which of course inspired me to write a story to ruin their day. Hehe. I hope people will enjoy it in the evil, sarcastic spirit in which it was written. If you find yourself getting upset, don't forget the way I skewered Ann Coulter in The Bride of Frankenstein Dances with Celebrity. Here I'm trying to offend the other end of the political spectrum.


If you're familiar with Blondhilda, see if you can spot her. She's going under a different name here...

Heather Goes Straight

"Well, wasn't that interesting." Eve absently tapped her ornate letter opener against the table. Rainbow Gorilla, the radical gay group, headed by Heather's vindictive ex-girlfriend, had just outed Heather in the middle of a legal conference and thrown banana-cream pies at all the senior partners, including Eve. Eve had used karate to deflect the pie, then had single-handedly overpowered all the protestors and held them for police. She smoothed her flaxen hair and surveyed the male partners who had only just stopped gibbering in the corner.

"I guess my career is over," Heather mumbled.

Eve stared at her with glacial eyes until Heather quailed. "What do you mean by that?" Eve asked softly.She owed that woman an apology. Heather knew that now and she also knew she did not currently have the strength of character to offer one. She considered returning to the hotel room she was sharing with her girlfriend Claire and winced with disgust. An honest yearning, long denied, stirred in her. She went to a bar near the military base and found herself a man for the night.

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Short story: Blondhilda Saves SCB

Here's Blondhilda, the graphic novel warrior goddess-turn real goddess saving her creator, artist and author Stanley Chester Brown.

Blondhilda and the Hydra

Blondhilda and the Hydra

"Look, I don't know," the woman's voice said. "The car started, okay? I don't need a jump anymore. Just get him into your car and go!"

Blondhilda gunned the engine and the powerful motorcycle surged. The hostage was out in the open desert, just over the rise ahead, his cellphone transmitting his kidnappers' conversation through Blondhilda's headset.

"Alright—get in here, you," a male voice said. Blondhilda heard a door slam. "What are you waiting for?" the same voice shouted, seemingly to the other driver. "Go!" Blondhilda came over the ridge and spotted the cars. A yellow sedan on the left and a red on the right, so close they almost touched. Each suddenly accelerated in opposite directions.

Blondhilda had to choose which one to follow.

"What the--" the male voice said. "You've got a cellphone!" There was the sound of a sharp blow and a yelp of pain. The phone bounced off the floor. "You think I can't shoot you and drive at the same time?" Feedback stung Blondhilda's ear as an explosion came through. The man cursed. "As soon as I get this gun unjammed, I'm blowing your head off." More curses and muffled thumps; then the phone went dead. In seconds Stanley Chester Brown would be dead too.

Blondhilda expertly twitched her machine to the left and gained on the yellow car.

* * *

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Drabble: "Blondhilda and the Lawyer"

Blondhilda the Warrior Goddess plays against type here as a forensic technician from my upcoming The Mr. Kitten Murder Mystery.

Blondhilda and the Lawyer

by Chris Hugh

Forensic technician Blondhilda Brown held her pen in her teeth as she coiled her flaxen hair. She stuck the pen through the bun and faced the lawyer. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely! I have to know."

"I understand you're upset." Blondhilda looked down at the body, then back to the lawyer. "But why do you need the exact time of death?"

"He was on the clock. We need to bill the client."

Blondhilda drew an ornamental sword from the wall. "This is a crime scene," she said coldly. A chill wind blew. "Leave now or I'll cut your billable rate permanently."

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