Corianne and the Whemblings

I was struck with inspirations(kind of) whilst driving to a babysitting job one fine afternoon. Immediatly upon the child's restive state(sleeping) I began furiously writing. Here is part one of my labors. I intend to keep this up, and like "Unnamed Story" I will post a portion every week or so.
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Corianne immediately went to her room upon entering the Flanders’ residence on 1423 Rosings Way. She had only one thought driving her actions. Earlier that week, she had made the mistake of beginning a new book, this one capturing the horrors of the French Revolution in a very real way, and now she was determined to finish it.

The Guillotine and the Cross lay on her bedstand, exactly as she had left it earlier that morning. She immediately dove into it. An hour later, in the same position her mother found her,

“Are you still reading? Don’t you have better things to do?”

Corianne was used to the antics of this woman who she firmly believed resented bringing her into the world. So she merely replied, as dramatically as she could muster,

“My dear mother, to read is my life’s delight! That which makes my heart beat and gives my soul song.”

Her mother gave her a nice long eyeroll. She then took leave of the room, saying, “Corianne, I wish you would spend your free time actually doing something worthwhile.”

This issss worthwhile. Corianne thought as the steps of her mother faded down the hall. She could think of nothing better than, in the words of Mr. Darcy, “Improving her mind with extensive reading.”

Another hour later and Corianne had completed the historical account, and was lying on her bed dreaming of a story in which Corianne joined the attempts of one Sir Percy in rescuing the innocents of the French aristocracy from the evil Robespierre.

This was the perfect way to unwind after a day at St. Dymphna’s. Her Latin, Greek, and Literature filled mind reveled in the chance for some personal time with which to expand her knowledge.

Now that her mind was momentarily satisfied Corianne began the ritual that was performed most everyday upon her return from school. She changed from her uniform, which today consisted of a grey skirt, a black blazer, and green and gold striped tie into an outfit she found infinitely more casual, yet ever the more sophisticated.

She sighed and sat down to her homework, an exercise which tested both her mental facilities and her patience.

“Arma virumque cano, my dear Corianne!” sighed the dark haired beauty walking next to her up the gravel path that lead to St. Dymphna’s. 

“And who is the man this time, Celeste?” sighed Corianne. Celeste had the propensity for attracting the attention of handsome young gentlemen wherever she went. Her fair white complexion, accompanied by extraordinary lush hair, and beautiful dark brown eyes allured many.

“No one here, I’ll have you know,” she replied flippantly. Corianne was very much aware of her friend’s opinion of the young gentlemen who attended St. Dymphna’s. It was daily, almost hourly, that her friend complained of either their not being comely enough, or of their being much too concerned with knowledge and learning.

“I expect you want me to inquire further into this new development, Celeste. I will not now, however, as I must get to Medieval History, I will see you at lunch,” and having said as much Corianne took herself off.

Celeste had been her dearest, most bosom friend as long as she could remember. As a result, Corianne had become used to her flirtatious ways and attitudes. As much as she feigned apathy towards Celeste and her relationships with the various gentlemen about the town, she was always quite intrigued. She remained, curious, however, until lunch period came two hours later.

Corianne swiftly exited Calculus, the most terrible class in the universe, and proceeded on her way to the grove Celeste and her occupied on the edge of the forest that surrounded the school. She wove her way through the crowds of students that were wont to lounge about on the lawn until she reached her destination. Surprisingly, Celeste was not there.

Corianne laid upon the grass, and thought about what they had gone over today in Church History.  She imagined she was the blazing Joan of Arc, atop a noble steed, leading the French forces into battle. She hardly noticed getting up, and taking a branch, beginning to swing it back in forth as she play acted decapitating the enemy English with it.

It was upon this scene that the condescending Keith Herlton entered. He surpressed his immediate amusement, and found a “weapon” as he termed it, of his own. He jumped out from behind the tree currently shrouding his prescience and directly into the line of fire from Corianne.

“On Guard!” he shouted, deflecting the blow, and disarming his opponent in one easy step.

Corianne fell to her knees in surprise; Keith to his in laughter.

When both had composed themselves Keith began, “Really Corry, daydreaming again are you? One wonders what is going on in that head of yours.”

“Let me assure you sir, whatever it is, it is NOT your business. As I have informed you for the past seven years of our acquaintance, my name is Corianne, not Corry. If you continue to abuse my name so violently so, I shall- I shall-”she paused to dwell upon the most horrible form of punishment her mind could possibly muster.

“You shall what? Behead me with a stick?” Keith laughed.

“Whats all this?,” came a voice, as Celeste emerged from the path leading to the grove, “Oh, its you Keith, whatever are you here for?”

“Just heard the call of the English horn, and came running, I suppose, I shall leave you now ladies.”

Before the young man made his exit, however, he stopped, approached Corianne, tapped her on the head, and with a final grand smile said,

“You really ought to get that looked at Corry.”

He then proceeded to walk away.

Corianne merely sighed, she was used to such treatment from her peers, sans Celeste of course.

“Now,” she began, “Pray tell me about this new gentleman?”

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Pray tell me what you think of it, reader, whomsoever you may be.