I haven’t posted any of the birds in a while, but here’s Leslie, a little diva who was ADAMANT about not wanting cuddles, but instead chose to creep right up to my ear and yell “HAAAALLLLP!!” in her little five-year-old’s voice when she saw me petting someone else.
Sorry for the crappy video– the lighting sucked and she usually clams up when she knows she’s being recorded.
(Also, she’s blind in one eye, which is why one of them looks weird.)
Day 18/30 BatB Lines Prompts: “A Diva Needs Their Beauty Rest”
A series of 100-word drabbles on Prince Adam’s morning of his fifth birthday. There are fourteen drabbles in all. Consider them like vignettes in a way.
A boy prince wakes up at five,
all of five years old. He counts on his fingers, amazed now he can count his
age using all the digits on one hand!
He wants to go wake his mama, tell her it’s his birthday today, but he daren’t,
for his father would wake up too and be angry. He knows, however, the kitchen
would be awake, or at least Cuisiner would be its only soul there, cooking up
the day’s breakfast, a few hours away. The boy can’t go back to sleep,
excitement singing through his body down to his toes.
The boy tiptoes all the way to
the kitchen, tiptoeing down the stairs as softly as possible. He peeps around
the room; the kitchen is lit by only a few candles, Cuisinier hard at work with
“You’re early, Lumiere,” the cook
rumbles, “Unless you’re not him. Mrs Potts? Is that you?”
The cook pauses his work, spins
around, and his eyes widen in surprise on seeing Prince Adam.
“Adam! You’re up earlier than the
“I’m five today.”
“Ah.” The cook points at him with a knowing smile. “Too excited to
go back to sleep?”
“Much too excited!”
Cuisiner has a sense of good
humour—he allows the boy to enter—mind
the oven, it’s hot!—allows Adam to plop down at the staff table. He feels
the boy’s eyes watching him as he returns his attention back to his work.
“Five! Years! Old!” the cook
marvels, emphasising each word with a dramatic thunk of his knife on the chopping
board. “Time went fast.”
“Really? It felt like being four
took forever! I already feel ten!”
Cuisiner’s laugh echoes. “You
want to be ten already, is that it? I swear, you’ll be ten before this year’s
When Lumiere enters, he is amused
to see the boy already up. He isn’t surprised—he remembers being a little boy
once, too excited on waking up knowing it was his birthday. He’s certain Adam
feels just the same. He pulls out a chair at the table, flops back in it, lanky
legs stretched out before him.
“All of five today!” he marvels,
“Soon you’ll be a man!”
He encourages the boy to go back
to bed—he needs his sleep, or he’ll be too tired for the day’s adventures.
“What kind of adventures?”
“Fun adventures! All I can say!”
He goes back to bed, and he still
cannot sleep. Lying on his back, Adam hears the first peeps of the dawn chorus,
and, elsewhere in the castle, a fiddle plays—long, soft, lullaby-like notes. He
closes his eyes, letting himself drift off to the melodies. It is only when he
feels his mother gently shaking his shoulder to wake him, his eyes opening to
the sun rising in the east, does he know he had drifted back to sleep again.
His mother plants a kiss on his forehead. He reaches his arms up for a snuggle.
I think when you wear eccentric clothing and you perform confidently on
stage it’s easy to assume someone is an asshole or a diva, and I don’t
think I am. I’m sure I’ve had my moments, but I think I’m pretty