Lord Sin's Loinfire Club reads.... Cupid's Melody

Cupid's Melody, by Karen Fox

Faery Nic Stone had no idea he was about to make the mistake of his eternal life when he asked the Queen of the Fae to grant immortality to his beautiful bride, Anna. To become immortal, he discovered only too late, Anna first had to die and then be reborn...
It has taken twenty-five years for Nic to re-enter the mortal world to search for his lost love, but he is convinced that he has finally found her. After all, Dianna Fielding is the spitting image of his wife. Masquerading as her gardener, he vows to seduce her heart all over again. But why is it her sister Stacy, who makes him ache with that all-too-familiar longing? Either someone has cast a spell on him, or Nic is falling in love with the wrong woman. If he follows the stirrings of his heart, will he find true love--or will his beloved be lost to him forever?



Allow me to set the scene: among the book-strewn (roleplay books, Seven Basic Plots, any number of history books, far too many on Beowulf, Left Behind, A Concise Dictionary of Old Icelandic, both novels of the Romantic Period and romance novels...) living room, a group of students gather, the remains of a very satisfying dinner settling in their stomachs. They are scattered about the room, perched on various bits of furniture (which is all from Ikea) and the large sheepskin rug.

There is a huddle of drinks on the coffeetable: Tolstoy (Spirit drink: a clear light Spirit distilled from Molasses, which has been likened to paint stripper, nail varnish remover and wood alcohol); Vladivar Vodka (made in Glasgow, also known as the Vivamort); Shlœr... (which is non-alcoholic and very pleasant); Kick (the Tesco equivalent of Red Bull); Apple Juice (far, far too much of it); Château Montner (for the cultured people, to be drank out of pint glasses and coffee mugs.)

Notable fixtures to the room include an inflatable Christmas tree (which eventually gets groped by the drunken Dwarf), an enormous bronze plate on the mantlepiece (which has seen too many demonic sacrifices.)

And so we commence:


The rules of the game are discussed and the new members are inducted into the ways of the Club. There is a discussion of what to read and blurbs are read. Azrael complains that blurbs are all too long and there is much snatching and general rowdiness. The pink and yellow cover of Cupid’s Melody finally catches our collective eyes and...


Big L picks up the volume begins reading. He clears his throat: “Nic Stone, with no ‘h’...”

(You see, dear reader, among the proposed books were volumes from The Black Dagger Brotherhood series...)

Hero, Nic Stone, is stalking is reborn wife. He teleports himself into her room, whilst she's alseep, after recognising her scent from outside the masion.

The smells confirmed that this room belonged to a female: floral yet definitely female.

Sordan: "He’s already realised she doesn’t smell quite like her, right?"

By the Blessed stones...

Azrael: "We have to drink for that, but what category does it fall under..."

Discussion ensues, and left Nic Stone to his stalking of his dead wife as a new category is added: 'tard faeries.

Big L: "Now, right, he’s just teleported right into her room and is stroking her lips..."

Azrael realises: "Wait, his name is Nic Stone..."
Cathed: "That’s the rubbishest name for a faerie ever!"
Azrael: "His just swearing by himself now, isn't he?"

Loinfire Club concedes that whilst it might be his ancestors and his family name, it still seems a tad narcissistic. That and the inescapable euphemism.

Desire, longing, love returned...

Cathed: "I like the fact that desire comes first. Desire. Longing... and love! I love this girl."

Big L points out that he'd "already sworn on his own 'nads", so there really isn't anything that could possibly be beneath him.

Nic Stone continues to generally and rather creepily fondle and kiss the sleeping woman, whom he believes is his dead wife reborn with no memory of him.

Nic Stone realises that his "girlfriend" doesn't have the straight hair he remembers.


Sordan: "She’s had a perm! I no longer love her!"


Who was she?


Sordan: "Who have I been tricked into molesting here?"

The woman had awakened... with a vengeance.

Balance: "So she kicks him in the fork and he shouts, 'Stones!'"

The Chronicler is further convinced it's just a euphemism for Bollocks!


"My apologies..."

Cathed: "You smell just like someone I knew..."
Azrael: "Obviously this happens everyday, it's a sort of trial and error process..."

...for she was busy lifting the lamp from beside the bed...


Sordan: "Is she going to lamp him?"

...As she rocketed it toward him with the force of a Pro Bowl...


Azrael: "What is Pro Bowl?"


The Original Recipe Anthropologist arrives "just in time" and a short digression about the quality of the film, The Golden Compass ensues. Consensus seems to be that the tampering with the storyline and the shifting of the conclusion of the first book to the beginning of the next film is a bit silly.

There is another digression about milk and biro reviews on Amazon.com, which seems to have spurred various people to feats of near creative genius.


The plot is summarised for the Anthropologist: "He fell in love with a girl in a greenhouse..."


The Anthropologist: "In terms of treatment of stalkerish behaviour it isn't as bad as the Native American one we read the other time, where the guy breaks into his not-yet-girlfriend’s house to leave her some shoes, and the first thought which she has when she sees it, her first thought is "oh, that guy left me some shoes.'"

The Anthropologist: "Which was after he's gone through her underwear, of course, marvelling at how it's different from Native American underwear..."
Big L: "Because native American underwear has tassels and beads."
The Anthropologist: "Because it’s not made of buckskin. Because everything worn by the Native Americans is made of buckskin."


Sordan protests about this digression into Native American underwear and states that stupid fae are superior.


Azrael: "Which book was this?"

The Anthropologist: "The Savage Noun saga."
The Balance: "No, it's Noun-animal."

Sordan's enthusiasm quells us all to continue.


The heroine is introduced. She is the woman that Nic Stone was trying to sexually assault the night before. She is rather too impressed by the fae's one kiss.


Had he been a dream?

The Anthropologist: "It's the kind of dream that Freudians are very interested in. You're sexually assaulted by a faerie, you say..."

But what a dream...

The Chronicler: "Being sexually assaulted in your sleep is sensuous?!"
Azrael: "In that it involves senses, yes."

Every hormone in her body snapped awake to beg for more.

Everyone with any background in biology shudder.

The Anthropologist: "That has to be uncomfortable... OMG my daylight but not but yes..."
Azrael: "Whilst she experiences several periods every minute."
The Balance: "So she was having a heart attack... Also if your hormones snap it must mean they've congealed somehow. Maybe the protein chains are breaking."
Azrael (who works at a biochemical lab by day): "Peptides! Peptides rule!"


The Balance accuses Azrael of being "Captain Peptide!" Clearly the alcohol is getting to everyone at this point.
Big L: "Take is glasses off, he will become Captain Peptide!"


Various hands snatch away Azrael's glasses.


Azrael: "Oh no! I’m discovered! Does anyone want to buy some oxytocin?"
The Anthropologist: "Now he needs to zap us with his protein-chain-snapping gun to destroy our memories."


The company summarily forget the past few minutes of the conversation and all return to normal as Big L continues to read from Cupid's Melody...

She padded into the kitchen to pour a super-size mug of coffee, then took it into the office. Staring at her desk littered with papers, the schedule tacked to the bulletin board, the overflowing in box [sic], she closed her eyes.


She hadn't intended it to be like this. She'd had dreams of her own once, before Diana had sung that first fateful song and climbed the beginning steps to stardom.

The Anthropologist: "Anyone above the age of 12 say supersize, except for McDonalds employees, of course..."
Sordan: "I was wondering about the padding into kitchen. It happens in so many romance novels."
The Dwarf sniggers over "overflowing inbox."

The Chronicler is appalled.

Here occurs some more talk of pseudonyms and which ones are more guessable than others. The Anthropologist complains as there are only about twelve of her kind in the world and there is only one, herself, that attends this society.


She pushed the intercom button. "Who is it?"

"I'm here to repair your harpsichord," quips Sordan.


In a surprisingly short time, the doorbell played the beginning notes of Diana's first hit...

Cathed: "How tacky is that? Having a doorbell in your house be of your own song?"

Blessed with Hollywood appeal, he had dark brown hair, the colour of melted chocolate and equally chocolate eyes - eyes that stared at her so intently she feared he could see into her soul.


The Anthropologist: I won’t be able to picture him without that an oil spill for hair."


"You said Brad sent you?" she asked again. She trusted her accountant. He'd screened employees for her before.

Cathed: "Brad is a really bad name for an accountant."
Big L: "It's because it's a porn name."
Cathed: "Would you like me to check your figures?"
The Anthropologist: "It’s rebel instinct. His parents named him Brad and instead of running off to become a porn star, or joining the circus, he goes into accountancy."


Brad is fast becoming everyone's favourite character. We picture him ridding off into the sunset, because everyone misunderstands him, thinking that he's just an accountant. We imagine him being desperately in love with Stacy (the heroine). We think of him drinking Jack Daniels and smoking by a desert, his troubled past haunting him. We picture him starring in a spin-off book, The Rebel Accountant's Secret Bride.

Azrael: "Found with the rebel alliance of Leicester."

His smile equalled the power of a full orchestra.


The Chronicler feels that sentence simply snarks itself.


"The grounds are extensive, and you'll be caring for everything: the trees, the shrubbery, but especially the flowers. Have you had much experience with alpine gardens?"

He nodded. "I have experience with all areas of gardening."

The Anthropologist: "You just missed the perfect opportunity to say 'caring for your bush.'"

Big L: "Flowers might be worth doing a category for since he's a gardener who's a fairy."
Discussion ensues and the category added.


Brave daffodils trumpeted their bold faces into the capricious mountain springtime...


The Anthropologist: "All this talk of flowers is just foreshadowing that this one weakness is robots. Like the Monkey film but not."
Azrael: "Anyone getting the feeling that she's going to get tentacle-raped by a rhododendron bush soon?"

The Balance: "Like in the Evil Dead?"


Well, Brad would only send the best.


The Club approves of Brad, too.

Smiles like that should be illegal.

Azrael: "So by extension, orchestras should also be illegal."

It is to be noted that as the plot progresses, and Stacy, the heroine, takes Nic, the hero, around the garden, Nic is increasingly convinced that Diana, Stacy's sister and popstar extraordinaire, is his dead wife reborn.

Selling Diana's underwear on the I-net...

Sordan: "Honestly, the I-net?"
The Anthropologist: "Clearly it's because this is a futuristic setting in which Microsoft and Google have fallen and Apple has taken up the internet and renamed it the iNet."

Azrhael: "Why is he getting shifty every time they mention the garden?"

Now he owuld be here daily, able to see his Anna... Diana.

The Chronicler questions his logic.
The Anthropologist: "Maybe he's going through a phonebook: Annabella. Joanna. The number of people called something related to Anna in the world is large, but not infinite, so it should be doable, if you're immortal and have lots of free time, which all fae clearly do.”


With a grin, Nic sprinted into the vast gardens, inhaling the crisp spring air, unable to keep the joy from his step...


Sordan breaks out into The hills are alive...


A fairy named Columbine is summoned by Nic and is told to do all the gardening. There is much disapproval of his slacking off and the exploitation of the underclasses of fae. Exposition abound as Nic tells the

Magic would take care of most of it, but he could use some pillywiggings' help on the flowers...
Screams of pain result. The Watcher speculates on an allusion to Midsummer Night's Dream, but the pain is thus all the more accute.


It is revealed that Titania made his lover, Anna, immortal for the painting her portrait.


The Anthropologist: "That's the stupidest crazy fairy fantasy price ever!"


Columbine acts as a sort of yes-man throughout the conversation, You are an acclaimed artist! and I bet you knew her on first sight!


He paused, waiting for the constriction in his throat to ease.

Everyone drinks for Medical Complications, Asthma, in fact, as Azrael pointed out.


The Anthropologist: "The mental image I have now of him is of a man with petals surrounding his face, melting chocolate oil-spil hair and a red, sniffly blocked nose.... when your reader gets that mental image you should really stop writing."
Big L: "Or breathing."


There are more groans of pain over Diana's popstar career.


"You're Fae. No mortal woman can resist you if you so decide."


We all note that the word used is resist, not say "can resist falling in love with you." After all, no one can resist when gagged and bound.

He hadn't used magic to win her the first time, and he didn't intend to use it now. Magic was for more concrete things... like tending a garden.


Azrael: "Like a concrete garden?"

Cathed: "Is this equivalent to the part in a Disney film when all the birds and animals are helping the pretty princess?"

Off to a good start, I am.

The Anthropologist adds Yoda ears to her mental image.
"Everything green is similar: Yoda, the Irish, gardens."


Big L suggests we should just record this and ensues there is a slight discussion on how long it would take to transcribe this properly.


And he'd found definite, hot passion... and a foot in the gut.

Azrael: "Anna was a lot like a foot in the gut?"

She would me more attractive if she smiled...


Cathed: "Just buy her some hair strengtheners and watch her smile at them."
The Chronicler is somewhat confused about the metaphysics of reincarnation and how much personality and appearance of one person is preserved between lifetimes.


With magic, nothing is impossible...


There is talk of wizards and what they do, such as creating owl bears (in D&D) and the creeping suspicion of a deus ex machinas from magic appearing in this book.

The Chronicle continues... in chapter two...