Riding the Vaucoos--novel progress
I'm past the 70k mark on rewriting Riding the Vaucoos. The end is in sight. Here's a snippet from Chapter Twelve, where the deviant Zarene likes to make things from the crude tarp left her when she was exiled to Bleagor Rock in the Sea of Despair.
Zarene was in need of a champion, so she created one. Gorhagathon had bored her by now. Despite his ferocious mouth and innumerable savage eyes, there was only so much she could do with the creature. Crisscrossing him through the sky, having him chomp at the barrier, was all well and fine, but she needed a creation who could rise above mere skymonster. So she made Ponce.
Ponce’s name, of course, was a derivative of Prince, a bigger, meaner version of Prince Jovenal. In addition to the tarp, she had fortified him with a boulder that lay near the crags by the shoreline, a huge flinty hunk of stone that only her champion could lift. It gave Ponce weight and bulk, the tarp bound him together, and Zarene gave him a soul. Or a half-soul, to be more accurate.
He wasn’t the smartest of creatures, though he did have a presence. No one could deny that. He even resembled Jovenal. Somewhat. Despite his massive thews-big, thick cords of muscles that throbbed and glistened along his bare arms, chest, and legs-he did have the prince’s curly blond hair and facial cast. And though he lacked the crown prince’s adorable qualities, he more than made up for it in fierce demeanor. He was made to kill and conquer, not to be a paramour. But since she was making a man-thing, why not pattern him after one dear to her heart. Could anyone fault her for that?
“Speak to me, Ponce!” she commanded. “Proclaim your fealty to me!”