romancing the savannah

Heh.

The only other trainee to come over with me to my office used to work for American Airlines. She tells wonderful stories. It's the one and only place I can bond with people pretty easily. Tell me a story, I'm so yours for life. Seriously. I will make you sit down and *talk* to me for like, hours, which actually makes me highly endearing if you like to talk. Though don't stop. Or I'll start talking and it will all go to hell. *g*

Anyway, during her years there, she travelled a lot, got lots of free miles, the usual cool things about working for an airline, and she's been almost everywhere in the world Americans can legally go and some that--maybe they can't. She's like a living, breathing friendslist, y'all--*that* is how many stories she can tell, and it's amazing.

I'm wondering if I can get it right without her way of weaving words. Hmm. Let's find out.



Once upon a time.

Mel is--forceful. She's--I'm not sure how to put this, because I really don't know many people who are *themselves* so thoroughly, but she is. She belongs to herself, she's comfortable with herself, she's--I don't really have words for it. She's what my friend Vannezsa is going to be in a few years, when she's had time and experience to grown and mature, and what I'll never be. She's *smart*, in that way that's the melding of intelligence and inner strength and experience and certainty that even if she's wrong, she's wrong for the right reasons. She comes off a little abrasive, but it's more that she doesn't suffer fools at all. She doesn't just *feel* confident, it's like she IS the meaning of confidence, like an intrinsic part of her. The kind of person that makes you feel ten times more competent in her presence, because she expects it of you. I mean, like she expects people to breathe, because it just *is*.

Does that make sense?

Physically, she's a little shorter than me, heavy, with great taste in clothes.

Years ago, Mel and her friend did a tour of Africa. They started in South Africa, and let me point out, this was pre-Mandela, and she's black, so--yeah. She was traveling with two coworkers--basically, they were doing a short continental sweep. South Africa, through the middle, and some touring in Kenya before some time in the north, I think Egypt, but we stop here in Kenya, because this is where Things Happen.

Her, her friends, and their guides stayed the night in a small village that I dont' remeber the name of, but was mid to south of the center of the country. The big attraction seemed to be a fertility festival of some kind.

Okay, if you don't see where this is going, really, you don't read *nearly* enough fanfiction.

Anywya, during the festivities, a younger male approached. Mel described him as a living zoo, as he was, and I quote, covered with more skins that she could identify animals. Approaching the males with Mel, he carried on a long, long conversation, often motioning toward Mel and her friends, which was, to say the least, making Mel a little wary.

A lot of motioning. Her wariness doubled when his motioning was directed toward *her*.

After a while, the guide, amused as shit, comes back.

"Mel, that was SomenameICan'tPronounceorSpell. He is wondering if you are married."

Mel, like I said, is about as far from stupid as they come. "No. Why?"

"He wishes to marry you."

Mel just looks at him.

"He's a prince."

"Uh huh."

"He finds you very, very attractive."

"Ye-ah. Um, no, I think not."

Guide is not thrilled, but goes back to tell Zooguy, who is crushed, but as Mel pointed out to me, from what she could tell, one of his other wives could surely comfort him.

Which you know, is kind of cool, since I don't know many people who have gotten proposed to by princes, and I said so.

Mel: "Jenn, they don't have *electricity*."

Jenn: "But a *prince*--"

Mel: "Of bush people! They hunt dinner! Live dinner!"

Jenn: "Still--"

Mel: "Jenn--doing laundry in rivers."

Jenn: "Well--"

Mel: "No running water."

Jenn: (light dawning in horror) "No *toilet paper*."

Mel rolls eyes to heaven. *g*

'Cause you know, as a slash writer, I've gotten really *really* sensitive about the use of toilet paper.

Still, though. *sighs* It's a kind of romantic story.

*happy place* I have a friend who was proposed to by a prince.



I really am a whore for romance. I mean, any kind these days.

I need to do something interesting so I can have a story. Dammit.

Comments

[miella]

First, that's an awesome story.

Second: I will make you sit down and *talk* to me for like, hours -- this means you and I in the same room would be highly dangerous. I wouldn't shut up, and you, apparently, would only *encourage* me. I think it would, like, bring an apocalypse, or something, 'cause when I'm on a roll, I *so* need outside intervention to stop. *g*

[emrinalexander.livejournal.com]

Oh my god, that's a STORY. *G* - what a great thing to have happen!

It also gives me an idea for a story where Clark and Lex go on vacation and they are on a safari and someguywhoisaprince of bush people wants to buy Clark from Lex, and Clark gets pissed at Lex because Lex is considering it "He offered me 600 head of cattle and my own village, Clark!"

[norah.livejournal.com]

Apropos of nothing, I recced you today (http://www.livejournal.com/users/makesmewannadie/91469.html). Just thought you might like to know.