So here he is. Behind the question mark. Myren is shy. (not really, but I couldn’t get him to pose in his chauffeur hat so this was the compromise.
But this doesn’t answer the question of “Who is Myren the Chauffeur?”
Let me tell you about Myren…
He’s a chauffeur who wears many hats. That old saying should be “A Myren of all trades” but they wanted a name with one syllable so they changed the saying to “A Jack of all trades”.
Myren might be considered uppity by some, but he claims he has “the appropriate standards of decorum befitting his station”. So I asked him what the heck his station was, being a chauffeur and all, I figured him for the “downstairs” end of the station house, but he doesn’t seem to agree. Myren said, “My station being in a manor house it doesn’t matter which floor it’s on.”
I got a warm tingle at the mention of the manor house and said, “Aw, shucks, Myren.” I forgot to point out the drafty old nature of the castle-manor house and the complete and utter lack of decorum found therein. I’m a writer. I don’t know decorum from pot roast. (unless it’s burning in the oven and causing plumes of smoke to draw the local fire department to the door–then I’m all filled with decorum and miraculously transform into the lady of the manor. Myren, at these times, beams with pride in me. The firemen generally snicker.)
So back to the “who the heck is Myren” question. He has a stiff upper lip. I tried to get him to see a doctor about it once, but he’s attached to it. The lip I mean. He likes it the way it is. Unwavering.
Myren’s past: A total mystery. He had his past references call me. I don’t know who they were. They were not from the local prison–I checked. (One can’t be too
careful choosey when hiring a chauffeur these days – not too many men are willing to be at the beck and call of a writer-queen to drive them wherever they want to go on a moment’s notice.) He had good manners and could drive. (I overlooked the occasional eye-roll during the
What I know:
Myren looks good in a suit and hat. He drives fast and can find anything (with the help of electronic navigation–so who can’t do that? So I guess what I’m saying is he’s not a total moron with electronic gadgets).
He’s stealthy. I never know where he comes from.
I call out “MYREN!” and he appears. Or I ring a bell, or bang the gong (not really–we don’t have a gong, but it’s something I’d love to try to https://www.viagrasansordonnancefr.com/viagra-naturel/ see if it works). (I don’t have a bell either–just making a point about the stealth.) He can fix the car and repair the occasional leaky brick in the castle wall. He can scare other scary people away. (this is very handy on occasions when I venture out to do research for the “intrigue” portion of my stories.)
I bounce things
off Myren. I don’t mean I throw balls at him like he’s a cement wall and I’m playing catch with myself like I used to do as a kid. I mean I toss ideas at him and he’ll give me feedback in his stiff-upper-lip-long-suffering way. Come to think of it, a lot of Myren’s feedback is subject to much interpretation–as in I never know what the heck he’s really thinking, so I guess what I think he’s thinking and he nods–“Sure, that’s it.” (Once again, I overlook the occasional eye-roll here.)
Myren is good company–kind of like Kitty, only much taller and he doesn’t purr. He mutters a lot. That’s when he must overlook my eye rolls. But at least he doesn’t growl. (We had a butler once who growled. He scared the neighbor’s pit bull so we had to get rid of him. I bet that not-growling thing is more important than you’d have thought.)
But mostly, because I’m a story-teller from way back, Myren is like a story, as in the proverbial tall-tale. You know the kind–like the characters invented in a story world, or the castle. Except for the fast driving–that part is real (ask the cops if you don’t believe me).