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bard-llama · 1 year ago

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WiP Monday: Iorveth and Zoltan's History

Okay, I'm impatient and not waiting until Wednesday. This whole fic started because in the games, Iorveth and Zoltan very emphatically hate each other. That kind of animosity comes from familiarity, you know? So... enjoy.

(under a cut because tumblr fucked the formatting options)

“Has anyone ever noticed,” Dandelion slurred. He, like the rest of them, was on his third bottle of wine and most definitely not sober. “How Zoltan is so adamant that Iorveth hates him? Like, I don't think I've ever actually seen them interact, but Zoltan is very insistent that Iorveth does not like him.”

“So?” Geralt asked, raising his eyebrow and covering a burp.

“Soooooo,” Dandelion waved his hand around, nearly overbalancing himself, “me thinks he doth protest too much!”

Roche blinked. “Wait… are you saying Zoltan secretly likes Iorveth?”

“No, no, no,” Dandelion’s hair fluttered around his head as he shook it. “No, I’m saying there’s history between them. Something that makes them despise each other.”

“Do they, though?” Triss asked. “I mean, they’ve kind of mutually avoided each other, now that I think about it, but it’s not like they’ve gotten into huge fights or anything.”

“I dunno,” Geralt mused, “I mean, Zoltan was pretty insistent that Iorveth hates him. Though… he never actually said what he thinks of Iorveth beyond general insults towards the Scoia’tael.”

“Exactly!” Dandelion snapped his fingers. “I tell ya, they’ve got history. Significant history. The question is… what is it?” He waggled his eyebrows expressively in a way that made him look rather barmy, but then, he kind of was.

Roche took another sip of wine. “I mean, Zoltan was – is? – fairly anti-Scoia’tael. And if my intel is right, the Scoia’tael asked him to lead a squad. Maybe there’s just mutual irritation that he turned them down and doesn’t like them?”

Geralt hummed consideringly, but Dandelion shook his head, “nah. That kinda hatred isn’t business-related. It’s definitely personal.”

“Maybe they’re exes,” Triss chuckled, refilling her wine glass. “Can you imagine? What an odd couple they’d be.”

Triss’ giggles made Roche tilt his head to picture it. Iorveth, who was already annoyingly tall, with Zoltan, who came up to Geralt’s stomach (and around Roche’s chest, but he was not short, so he wasn’t thinking about it) – the two of them together? How would they even do anything?

Actually… “Is that common? Elves and dwarves? I kinda thought they broadly hated each other?”

“They do,” Geralt grunted. “Before humanity, elves were the conquerors of the continent. Dwarves, on the other hand, have never had a problem getting along and living harmoniously with other species.”

Dandelion nodded in agreement. “Have you ever been to Mahakam? It’s really quite incredible! I mean, awfully stuffy and there’s a reason many dwarves live amongst human settlements, but gnomes and dwarves live perfectly peacefully together. And the craftsmanship! Oh, you wouldn’t believe some of the things I saw! There was this one sculpture of a dryad and she had the biggest–”

Geralt cut him off, knocking their shoulders together. “The point is, dwarves typically find a way to coexist. Even with elves, who tried to conquer them before humans had the chance.”

“That’s interesting and all,” Triss swirled her wine in the glass, letting it breathe, “but what does that have to do with Zoltan and Iorveth? Neither of them are that old… are they?”

There were frowns around the table as the four of them considered that.

“I don’t… think so?” Dandelion shrugged. “I mean, Zoltan’s old to me, but I think to an elf, nah. I mean, dwarves don’t live quite as long as elves, right?”

“Yeah,” Geralt tapped his fingers against his chin. “Iorveth was pre-humanity, though, wasn’t he? Isn’t that what the Scoia’tael were always saying, about him being one of the last true Aen Seidhe? That means born pre-humanity, right?”

Roche pursed his lips, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe?”

“The point is,” Triss refocused them, slurring slightly, “it would be a little strange, but it’s possible. And elves and dwarves have grown a lot closer in the last millenia or so, because of humanity’s oppression. So like… they could be exes.”

“We could ask them?” Geralt suggested hesitantly.

“Oh, that’ll go well,” Roche snorted.

“No, no, that’s a great idea!” Dandelion fluttered his hands excitedly. “We can put them on the spot, make them tell us!”

“Neither of them are exactly communicative about shit they don’t wanna talk about,” Roche pointed out, but Dandelion ignored him.

“Who knows where they are?”

“Probably not together,” Triss said, shaping each word very intentionally. They’d all had more than a little to drink – which was what made the idea of interrogating Iorveth and Zoltan about their history actually kind of appealing, to be honest.

“Oh, oh! We can split into groups and ask them and then see if their stories match!” Dandelion bounced in place as he spoke. Given he’d consumed a significant portion of the wine they were drinking, Roche was mildly impressed that he didn’t lose his balance.

Geralt just looked amused. “All right,” he agreed. “I definitely want to see Iorveth’s face when he’s asked if Zoltan used to be his ex.”

“Good! Then you and Roche can go ask Iorveth and Triss and I will ask Zoltan!”

“Okay, but you get to do the actual asking,” Triss said, crossing her arms.

Roche opened his mouth to ask why it was automatically assumed he’d go see Iorveth – but in truth, he was kind of curious about what Iorveth would say. At any rate, he was more curious about Iorveth’s reaction than Zoltan’s.

“Fucking okay, guess we’re doing this,” he snorted to himself, slinging back the last of his wine and stumbling to his feet.

Geralt chuckled, stretching and joining Roche. “Iorveth likes playing out in the gardens,” Geralt said.

“May as well start there, then,” Roche shrugged, waving for Geralt to precede him.

Iorveth was indeed in the gardens, as the light musical notes they could hear as soon as they left the main house of Corvo Bianco attested to.

When they approached, Iorveth glanced over them, lowering his flute. “Gwynbleidd,” he greeted, voice pleasant. He did not acknowledge Roche.

Roche frowned. “We had a question,” he managed to get out, only slurring his words slightly.

He could tell Iorveth was curious by the way his eyebrow twitched, but Iorveth still did not acknowledge him. He scowled at the elf.

“We were wondering,” Geralt said loudly, “what was up between you and Zoltan.”

Iorveth snorted roughly. “Decidedly nothing.”

“Yeah, see, it’s that ‘decidedly’ that makes us curious,” Roche responded, swaying slightly in place.

“Zoltan insists you detest him,” Geralt said slowly, “and it kinda seems like more than just a disagreement over the Scoia’tael’s methods.”

“Detest?” Iorveth repeated. “I suppose that’s one word for it.”

“And another would be?” Roche asked.

Iorveth glared at him.

“How do you two know each other?” Geralt asked curiously.

Iorveth snorted. “You are old for a dh’oine, Geralt. But even so, can you comprehend what it is to live for century upon century? For millennia?” He shook his head, “I have seen elven society rise and fall, driven near to extinction. I have met many, many people during that time. That you should know some of them is statistically expected.”

“That was a helluva non-answer,” Roche pointed out.

With a heavy sigh, Iorveth shook his head again. “Zoltan Chivay is a human sympathizer, willing to stand at their sides even after all they’ve done. That is your answer.”

“Aren’t you technically standing at our sides?” Roche asked before he could think better of it. Beside him, Geralt groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Iorveth’s glare was impressive, but it probably would’ve been more intimidating if Roche wasn’t seeing three of him.

“Dandelion,” Geralt began, and Roche’s lips twitched at the way he was shifting the blame for their curiosity onto the bard, “thinks that you used to be involved.”

Iorveth’s face darkened significantly in what had to be an answer, right? But the elf didn’t say anything.

“So?” Roche prodded. “Are you exes?”

Iorveth didn’t answer, instead saying, “the bard is entitled to believe what he will. And I owe you nothing.”

“That kinda sounds like a yes,” Geralt said, genuine surprise on his face. “How, though? I mean, you’ve been fighting humanity for ages and he’s – I mean, you just called him a human sympathizer. How did you two even know each other?”

Appearing irritated that they weren’t taking the hint and leaving him alone, Iorveth scowled at them.

“C’mon,” Roche goaded, “you know we’re gonna keep asking. Isn’t it easier to just answer instead of being all mysterious and broody?”

Iorveth’s glare sharpened, but he did lower his flute, pursing his lips in thought. “I’ve been fighting humanity for ages,” he repeated Geralt’s words. “Yes. Do you know why?”

“What?” Both Geralt and Roche blinked, taken aback.

“I have lived for over a millennia,” Iorveth said, “since before humanity tainted this continent with their filth. But I did not begin fighting humans until Aelirenn’s Uprising. Do you know why?”

“Uh…” Roche frowned, thinking back on his history. He’d heard of Aelirenn, of course – an elven commander who had rallied elves to fight back against humanity in the 1060s, 200 years ago. She’d lost horribly and most of her troops had died. But he wasn’t sure he knew of anything else that had happened around that time.

Still, Iorveth revealing this much was eye-opening. Iorveth had only been fighting humans for 200 years? What had he done the rest of that millennia of life?

“I was a musician,” Iorveth said simply. “For 1100 years, I played music for human and elven and dwarven audiences. I wasn’t delighted to live alongside humans, but I did, because what other choice was there?” He turned away from them, looking out over the gardens. “There were too many humans to avoid, but I believed we could live in peace, despite the growing evidence to the contrary around me. Despite the way elven schools and museums and concert halls and places of worship had all been destroyed. I thought it didn’t concern me – that as long as I focused on my music and didn’t cause a problem, the violence would spare me.”

Roche swallowed, an unreasonable amount of guilt crawling up his spine.

“Then humans proved that they would slaughter us all, whether we wanted to live in peace or not,” Iorveth said, voice dark, but gaze still fixed on the poppies Geralt grew. “I was lucky,” he snarled, mouth twisted with scorn. “When Marshal Raupenneck slaughtered the inhabitants of Loc Muinne, I wasn’t there. When men and women and children were murdered in their sleep for the crime of being elves, I wasn’t there.”

“Iorveth,” Geralt began softly.

“I lived in Loc Muinne for decades,” Iorveth forced out. “All of those elves were people I knew, people I’d lived beside for years. And then they were dead, not because they’d done anything to provoke humans, but because they were elves, and humanity couldn’t abide by that. And then,” Iorveth’s knuckles were white around his flute, “then that – that dh’oinefucker Chivay had the fucking audacity to argue against fighting humans.”

Iorveth took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“So yes,” he concluded, “I detest Chivay. I detest any who could look at that slaughter and decide that humans could still be reasoned with.”

Roche and Geralt shared a concerned look, but Roche was certain that if he spoke right now, Iorveth would decide to repay him for the harms suffered at humanity’s hands. And he wouldn’t really be wrong, would he? Roche had done a lot of awful things and true, he hadn’t slaughtered the inhabitants of Loc Muinne… but he had pacified the Mahakaman Foothills. The elves and dwarves he’d eliminated had been fewer in number than Raupenneck’s victims, and they’d been rabble rousers and criminals to boot – but somehow he doubted Iorveth saw it that way.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmured quietly.

Iorveth barked a harsh laugh, a sound devoid of mirth. “Your pity is useless,” Iorveth snapped, but his next words just sounded tired. “Go away, dh’oine.”

Roche swallowed hard, feeling absurdly concerned over his once-enemy. But if Iorveth didn’t want Geralt’s sympathy, then he certainly wouldn’t want Roche’s, so Roche curled his fingers into tight fists and turned to leave, Geralt following him hesitantly.

The earlier haze of intoxication had faded almost completely and Roche felt far too sober as he murmured to Geralt once they were back inside the main house, “we never should’ve asked.”

Geralt nodded solemnly. “I wonder how Dandelion and Triss’ conversation with Zoltan went.”

“Guess we should probably find them. Warn them not to ask Iorveth.”

“Yeah,” Geralt agreed, tilting his head to listen intently for a few moments, then guiding them towards the training grounds.

As soon as they exited the house, Roche could see Zoltan spinning his war axe around, going through drills. Dandelion and Triss stood a respectful distance away, but Dandelion didn’t know the meaning of silence, so he was chattering away incessantly.

“Geralt! Roche!” Triss waved at them once she spotted them and Dandelion and Zoltan both looked up to see them.

“You look like your dog just died,” Zoltan commented tactlessly.

Roche winced. He wasn’t wrong, but it was hard to muster a smile when he could still hear Iorveth’s bitter laugh echoing in his ears.

“We asked Iorveth about you,” Geralt grunted.

Zoltan blinked. “Oh. Is that what you’ve been trying to ask?” he turned to Dandelion with an arched eyebrow.

“Obviously!” Dandelion put his hands on his hips.

Triss just groaned, rubbing her face. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “What did Iorveth say?”

Zoltan snorted roughly, “I can guess. Never met anyone who could hold a grudge as dedicatedly as Iorveth.”

“Yeah,” Roche grimaced. He’d always begrudged Iorveth that, always been irritated that Iorveth would hold his past against him forever while acting like the elf was in the right.

But after Iorveth’s story, he could kind of understand why Iorveth was so adamant in his hatred of humanity.

“He didn’t really say how you knew each other,” Geralt murmured. “But he, uh. He shared why he began to fight humanity. And–”

“And I’m right in the middle of that,” Zoltan nodded. “Doubt he’ll ever forgive me that. Not that it matters, the depths he’s sunk to.” Zoltan’s face twisted judgingly.

“He was different when you knew him?” Dandelion asked softly.

Zoltan’s quick ‘ha’ of laughter sounded almost painful. “Different. Yeah, you could say that. At the time, he was – well. He was a lot more like you than like the elf he is now.”

Roche blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“What do you mean, ‘like Dandelion’?” Triss asked.

“I mean what I said,” Zoltan shrugged. “He was an artist and a diva. Positively lived for scandal.”

“Iorveth did?” Geralt’s face was disbelieving.

“Yeah, he’s changed quite a lot, hasn’t he?” And not for the better, Zoltan’s face implied.

“He, uh. He told us why he changed. Sort of.” Roche dug his fingernails into his palm, trying not to feel guilty for events he’d had no hand in.

“Yeah,” Zoltan sighed, grief overtaking his expression. “It was…” he shook his head, “it was a horror. There’s no other word for it.”

“What was?” Dandelion asked.

“Loc Muinne,” Zoltan said. “Iorveth lived in Loc Muinne when Marshal Raupenneck massacred the city. It’s what radicalized him.”

“Oh,” Triss and Dandelion both looked as taken aback as Geralt and Roche had been.

“But,” Triss started slowly, “how does that connect to you?”

“‘Cause I was the one advising him not to fight,” Zoltan shrugged. “You can imagine how he took that.”

“Why though?” Roche asked. “I mean… you’re a warrior, right?”

“Always have been, aside from a few forays into mining,” Zoltan nodded.

“So… why advise him not to fight?”

With a deep sigh, Zoltan set his axe aside and met their gazes squarely. “What you have to understand is that when I say Iorveth was like Dandelion – I mean he was. He’d never held a blade in his life, had no earthly idea of how to fight. I was certain he was going to get himself killed. And he almost did. Hell, I thought he had for a long time. Wasn’t until Eirien received a letter from him that I discovered that he’d managed to survive the slaughter that was Aelirenn’s Uprising. One of the only elves his age left, you know? The rest of them…” he pressed his lips together, shaking his head.

“Who’s Eirien?”

“Oh. Uh…” now Zoltan just looked awkward and it made all of them suspicious.

“What, was she his ex or something?”

“Ha. No. Uh…” Zoltan gulped. “She’s his daughter.”

Roche stared, stunned. “She – what!?”

“With who!?”

Zoltan just looked at them.

“Oh my gods, you have a daughter!?” Dandelion shrieked.

“I’ve lived a long time,” Zoltan shrugged. “And we were together for a while.”

“Long enough to have a kid,” Roche said blankly. “You – seriously? I didn’t even know dwarves and elves could reproduce!”

“‘Course we can,” Zoltan shrugged. “Biologically, we’re more alike than humans and elves, you know. We both originated on the continent.”

“Yeah, but–”

“Granted,” Zoltan tilted his head, “it doesn’t happen that often. Most dwarves, even those who don’t resent elves for our history, have little interest in living alongside them. Though you do get those Scoia’tael dwarves,” he shook his head, judging expression back. He really did not have a high opinion of the Scoia’tael.

“So… you had a kid with Iorveth!?” Triss clarified. “When!?”

“Centuries ago,” Zoltan said simply. “She was about three hundred when Iorveth made his suicidal last stand with Aelirenn.”

“What happened to her?” Geralt asked.

“She lives in Mahakam,” Zoltan smiled slightly. “Makes beautiful bronze sculptures and has no real interest in ever leaving the mountain.”

“How come I’ve never met her!?” Dandelion demanded. “I’ve been to Mahakam with you!”

“She’s shy,” Zoltan shrugged. “And we were busy with other things.”

“Yeah, but–”

“Hold on, hold on,” Roche interrupted. “You’re telling me that not only did you and Iorveth have a kid together, but that she’s alive and well and you both keep in touch with her!?”

“Yeah? You gotta understand, Eirien came of age around 150. So we were pretty involved in her life until then, but you know how kids are. They want to spread their wings and explore on their own. So we keep in touch, but she’s got her own life and she doesn’t want us hanging around watching over her.”

“150,” Geralt repeated. “Does that mean you and Iorveth were together for a hundred and fifty years!?”

“Sure,” Zoltan said casually. “Maybe closer to two fifty.”

“That’s so long,” Roche boggled.

“Only to a human. And it’s not like our lives were completely entwined for that whole time. We each had our own things going on and we both traveled a lot.”

“Still,” Geralt frowned. “That’s a long time to end on a bad note.”

Zoltan hummed, “‘s the way life goes, is it not? Sometimes you have a falling out with people you’re close to and sometimes you never quite recover from that. And then sometimes,” his voice took on a scathing tone, “you go on and become a terrorist and mass murderer.”

Roche winced. “So… no interest in reconciling?”

Zoltan snorted, giving him a side-eyed look. “What is there to reconcile? We knew each other when the world was wholly different and we were different people. The people we are now… why bother? He thinks he’s some kind of hero, fighting for elven freedom. I think he’s nothing but a bandit, notorious for killing innocent men. It is what it is.”

Triss frowned. “Do you miss him? The Iorveth you once knew?”

Tilting his head, Zoltan shrugged. “I miss a lot of people I once knew. I’m just glad Eirien has no interest in his fight.”

Roche nodded slowly. Both his lover and his daughter disavowed his fight. That had to suck for Iorveth, even if they weren’t wrong to do so.

“So that’s it? You and Iorveth just hate each other now?”

“Pretty much,” Zoltan’s expression was neutral. “Why?”

“Seems a shame,” Dandelion said softly. “So much history, curdled into hatred.”

“Most things about Iorveth curdled into hatred,” Zoltan said easily. “Frankly, I’m surprised he’s even willing to be here amongst the very humans he hates so much. Though… I suppose he’s not really got anywhere else to go. Not these days.” He shook his head, “at any rate… things have changed. Whether we like it or not, humans rule this continent. What point is there in fighting against the inevitable? And humans aren’t all bad.” He grinned, nudging Dandelion, who beamed at him, breaking the tension that had settled over him.

“So,” Geralt asked, changing the subject, “any other kids hiding in that past of yours?”

Zoltan just laughed, not answering. Instead, he hefted his war hammer up. “Say… anyone want to spar?”

As much as Roche really did kind of want to test his merit against the dwarven warrior who apparently had centuries of experience, he didn’t feel ready to set all of this aside yet. But he wasn’t sure what more could be said, so he excused himself and wandered back into the main house, frowning deeply with his brow furrowed in thought.

He almost bodily ran into Iorveth in the foyer and when he stumbled back, stuttering out an apology, he figured that was a bit of a sign. So even though Iorveth ignored his apology and turned away, Roche felt compelled to say it again.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry humans did that.”

Iorveth froze, not looking at him.

He swallowed and forced himself to say, “I’m sorry for the role I’ve played in humans oppressing elves.”

Scoffing, Iorveth whirled around to scowl at him. “You’re sorry!?”

Roche clenched his muscles, willing himself not to falter before Iorveth’s anger. “Yes,” he said simply. “I did what I did for Temeria. But that,” it was hard to admit, but… “that doesn’t make it right.”

He really, really wanted to add something about the Scoia’tael not being in the right either – they did kill innocents – but he bit it back, aware that Iorveth wouldn’t take it kindly. And he wasn’t trying to piss Iorveth off, he really wasn’t. He just… what? What was he trying to accomplish here?

“No, it doesn’t,” Iorveth bit out, not giving an inch.

Roche gripped his temper between thumb and forefinger and willed himself not to rise to the bait. He didn’t want to get into a screaming match with Iorveth. He wanted–

“I can understand,” he said slowly, “why you started fighting humans. I – I may not approve of your methods, but my opinion doesn’t really matter.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Iorveth repeated.

Biting back an annoyed groan, Roche continued, “so why are you here now? You hate humanity. So why are you living alongside a ton of us in a land where there aren’t really any other elves?”

“There aren’t any others because humans murdered them all,” Iorveth said stiffly.

“Okay, but all the more reason to be anywhere else, right? So…”

Iorveth dragged a hand down his face and it looked like it physically pained him to admit, “where else could I go? I’m still wanted in the North, what little of it isn’t Nilfgaard. All the homes I once had are gone. So where should I be?”

Roche wasn’t sure he had an answer. “Mahakam, maybe? If your daughter lives there?”

Startling lightly, Iorveth’s eye narrowed suspiciously as he scoffed. “Fucking of course Chivay told you. What other parts of my life did he decide needed public scrutiny?” There was old anger behind his words and Roche bit his lip.

“Not much,” Roche said. “He did say you used to be a diva. And big into scandals?”

Iorveth snorted. It was not a happy sound. “Scandals sell tickets.”

Roche couldn’t resist asking, “was being with a dwarf terribly scandalous then?”

Even though Iorveth frowned, he still answered. “At the beginning, sure. Definitely sent some of our elders into a tizzy.”

“Right,” Roche nodded, unsure of what else to say. “Uh… want some wine?” he offered.

Iorveth’s face was definitely judging. “Haven’t you had enough?”

“Ha. Decidedly not,” Roche chuckled. He wasn’t even feeling it anymore, which clearly meant that he needed more.

#the witcher #wip wednesday

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polarisgreenley · 10 months ago

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A Bouquet of New Beginnings Chapter 13: "Whitty Pear"

Floriography - Harmony & Prudence

Summary: Just a weekend with some gals and opening trap doors.

[AO3]

Below is an excerpt of the chapter, full chapter can be viewed from the AO3 link above!

Incessant bangs roused Artemis from measly hours of sleep; Nocturne protested within her arms with a meow. With the still lingering tiredness from the earlier adventure, she managed to shuffle herself up and opened the door.

“Imelda?” Artemis mustered out with a still gravelly voice. Imelda, who stood there with both hands on her hips and dressed in Quidditch gear, snorted.

“Glad you remember my name," said Imelda sarcastically. "Didn’t believe it when Violet said your bed curtains were still shut.”

“Sshh, you’ll wake Nerida and Priscilla,” shushed Artemis as she let the black-haired girl in. Her simple braid slipped off her shoulder and dangled to her mid-back as she shut the door. Nocturne rubbed himself around her ankles as she read the shared clock. Seven-thirty.

“Nerida would sleep through a bloody graphorn charge. And Priscilla isn’t even here; probably off with whichever friend in season. Hurry on and get changed; we’re going to strategize how to bludgeon that motion sickness out of you.”

“That isn’t how motion sickness works,” mumbled Artemis.

They’d never arranged anything, but they’d run into each other every other morning at the pitch. Or rather, Artemis was already there and Imelda came around in her flying gear. Each time, Imelda insisted Artemis fly with her, and without reason to refuse, she obliged.

Imelda shrugged as she sat at the edge of Artemis’ bed, the beryl eyes on the two sets of folded uniforms on the small, plush ottoman.

“Where’s the rest of your clothes?”

“You’re looking at them,” said Artemis as she grabbed one set.

“Seriously?”

“Dragon?”

“Ah, right, forgot about that.”

Artemis lifted an eyebrow; Imelda smirked.

“Anyways. Priscilla wasn’t thrilled. Insisted I’ve plans tomorrow.”

“Right. You’ll probably be marched into Gladrags and that frilly boutique. Good luck with that,” snorted Imelda. “Anyways, beating out your motion sickness. Spintwitches is open again.”

Artemis stepped behind the shade and started to change. “Spit witches?”

“Spintwitches,” corrected Imelda. “The sporting shop. Albie Weekes runs it – a bit barmy, but he’s got some brains. Heard he made some broom upgrades. Maybe you won’t get sick on a broom with one.”

Artemis grimaced. “I did say I don’t do well with swerves.”

“Yes, but curling on the ground like a pill bug?”

Artemis rolled her eyes at the tease.

“Besides, I don’t own a broom,” noted Artemis as she finished changing. Nocturne jumped onto the table and looked expectantly between her and the mirror on the floor.

“So get one! You won’t need to borrow the school’s then. Plus, it’s a handy way to escape if you’re surrounded by Ashwinder wankers,” reasoned Imelda

Artemis hummed. “You have a point.”

“I always have a point.”

“Fair,” said Artemis as she began her usual braiding ritual.

“Settled then, we’ll go after we fly,” said Imelda. Her beryl eyes met Artemis’ forest greens in the reflection. “Wait here.”

Artemis lifted an eyebrow with half her hair braided as she watched Imelda leave. Nocturne tilted his head before he pawed over two hairpins. She chuckled as she met the cat’s head bump with her own forehead.

“Thank you darling. Such a gentleman.”

Nocturne puffed his chest in pride. Artemis looked back briefly to check that Nerida’s curtains were still drawn. It seemed she really could sleep through a whole conversation.

The door clicked as Imelda returned with another set of Quidditch uniforms before they were flopped on her stack of Healing books.

“Now you have three sets.”

“But I – ”

“ – Keep it, they don’t fit me anymore” insisted Imelda as she crossed her arms and cocked her hip.

Artemis gave a smile. “Thank you, Imelda.”

“Whatever,” said Imelda as she rolled her eyes. Imelda reached toward her desk and picked up the perfume bottle. “La Fleure?”

Artemis chuckled as she finished pinning one braid around her head. “It was a gift. Apparently, it’s for… special occasions, but the bottle’s too beautiful to be stuffed in a drawer.”

Imelda gave a hum as she kept reading the bottle.

Artemis continued wrapping her other braid around. “What is Anne Sallow like?”

“Why?” Imelda asked, her sharp eyebrow lifted.

“Just curious.”

Imelda huffed a laugh.

“Take Sallow, shrink him a few inches, give him long hair and put a decent pair of tits on him.”

“Imelda!”

“You chide, but you’re smiling,” remarked Imelda as she smirked.

Artemis rolled her eyes as she placed the final pin. Her reflection smiled back at her.

“I didn’t need that image, thank you.”

Imelda barked a laugh, though she turned serious a moment later.

“Want my honest opinion?”

“Here I thought you were always honest,” said Artemis. Imelda lifted a corner of her mouth.

“Huh! Didn’t think you had cheek in you. But I’m starving, so after breakfast. A proper breakfast, not just green apples,” said Imelda.

The subject matter closed until they were on their brooms and above the Ravenclaw tower, far away from prying eyes and ears. The cool wind lifted her bangs as her ribbon fluttered.

“Anne’s not a bad sort. Roomed with her before she left. Decent enough chaser that I didn’t want to throttle her. But the general opinion of her went up when she left. Pretty sure only Ominis was her true friend.”

“…went up when she left?”

“Yeah. I assume you know Anne’s been sick since last year?”

Artemis nodded; she’d garnered that to most, Anne Sallow had ostensibly left the school due to a long-term illness. Only Sebastian, Ominis, and now herself knew that she had been cursed.

“Well. Anne’s always been cheery and polite enough to everyone. Taste for chaos that even made Garreth’s explosions look tame… though she partook in most of those. Part of that Crossed Wands club. Had a wicked tongue and temper too. Nobody really talks about the latter two now that she left,” explained Imelda as she moved forward.

Artemis kept up as she casted a pre-emptive libro; the wind pressed against her chest faster and harder. She tightened her core to keep herself as steady as possible.

“When you said Ominis was her only true friend, what did you mean?” Artemis asked curiously. Their voices were louder to cut through the whipping sounds from the speeding air.

“Exactly that. Can’t exactly call Sebastian her friend when he’s her twin. Both are friendly enough with most people, but it’s surface level. Pretty common for Slytherins. Anyways, that trio stuck together like a permanent sticking charm. Even last year, Sebastian and Ominis stuck together and nobody entered that third slot.”

Artemis agreed with that thought. Despite the friendships she’d formed here, Henry would always remain her closest friend. She highly doubted there would be anyone who could surpass him.

“That is, until you gave Sebastian a right battering. It’d been a while since I’d seen either of them take to someone so quickly.”

Artemis chuckled awkwardly; she wasn’t sure where she stood with the blond at least.

“Still got your insides together?” Imelda asked, completely unaware of Artemis’ turmoil.

“Oh yes.”

She casted another Sensory Balancing Charm.

“Then you better keep up. We’re beating out that motion sickness. Race you to Hogsmeade!”

“Again, that’s not how this works...!”

Imelda only deigned her with barked laughter.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #a bouquet of new beginnings #imelda reyes #nerida roberts #violet mcdowell #priscilla wakefield #mirabel garlick #artemis loreley

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rabbit-bf · 2 months ago

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If I start posting about Harmony Barmy by tomorrow you know what happened

#it’s OPENING NIGHT BABY #WEEEEEEE

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culttvblog · 9 months ago

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Number 6 Was a Plant: Living in Harmony

The introduction to this series of posts considering the theory that Number 6 didn't really resign and is a 'plant' in the Village may be read here: https://www.tumblr.com/culttvblog/738540162388213760/number-6-was-a-plant-introduction

Spoiler: this blog post spoils the identity of Number 1.

Just to recap what I've been thinking when considering the series in this light: I've been thinking it more likely that Number 6 planted himself in the Village having heard terrible things about it, because of the absence of support from his previous employers, who are clearly up to their necks in the shenanigans. Since he has clearly given his working life to a responsible job, I have surmised that discovering that all his former colleagues were either psychopaths or cabbages and that the whole thing is happily supported by the authorities in London, must have been very distressing. Seen in this light, the show isn't about the influence of society on the individual, it becomes a rogue male scenario, where the unnamed protagonist has a mission. A rather confused and confusing one, admittedly, but still.

I had also predicted that the show would fit the 'plant' theory less well as it went on. I have a theory that McGoohan thought along the lines that if Lew Grade wanted more episodes he could damn well have them and made them barmy on purpose. Of course there is no evidence for this, but the fact remains that any theory of the show always tends to get derailed by Living in Harmony and The Girl Who was Death, because they are out on their own.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I found that I had no trouble at all fitting my existing train of thought about the 'plant' theory to this episode. In fact it slipped in like in to a glove. I'm still rather gobstruck by this.

On one level I was going to say that since Number 6 is a plant and is investigating former intelligence colleagues we could look on the events of Living in Harmony as history's barmiest team building exercise (hallucinatory drugs, anyone?). Hear me out, but the Village already has the residents dressing up strange and doing strange things: getting them to act out a scenario in a fake Wild West village isn't that much weirder than anything they've already done. Alternatively, of course, you could say that Harmony is an allegory for the Village or for the world or intelligence services.

However the themes I outlined at the start are fully contained in this episode, so if you want to understand Number 6 as a plant, you can continue to do so with no trouble and explain the change of set in any way you like.

Consider, for example, the way Number 6 says he doesn't like the way Harmony is run. This line is obviously familiar from the whole series, and I'm sure he frequently expressed his dissatisfaction with his employers until appearing to resign. However instead of the 'Why did you resign' theme, this continues the theme where Number 6 is criticising the Village/Harmony. He continues to investigate rather than being questioned, exactly as he would if a 'plant'

When Catherine is found guilty of aiding a (significantly) 'prisoner' to escape, the judge tells Number 6 that 'When you work for me I'll let her go.' The judge makes him sheriff. Here, Harmonyh is trying to find a weakness in Number 6 and compromise him by giving him a gift. Did I happen to mention that virtually everything that has happened in the Village displays a complete absence of understanding that you can't bribe someone like Number 6? He has already commented that he's not for hire and tells the judge he might regret making Number 6 sheriff. Like everything else NUmber 6 does, he finds out more about Harmony by his new role. It's almost as if finding out what's going on and intervening where he has to is the point of everything he does, not any desire to go on holiday and be left alone.

Living in Harmony actually takes the scenario that Number 6 is investigating and the only one who is able to do anything about the situation, a step further. This happens at the point where the man approaches him and tells him they have decided to clean up the town but the townsmen and Number 6 can't do it without helping each other. Up to now in the series the help he has apparently been offered has tended to revolve around escaping or sabotaging. I think sorting it out would be far more up Number 6's street.

I wouldn't go to the stake for this idea, but I think there is another hint as to the end of the show in the judge's indication that Number 6 works for him and he'll kill Number 6 before he goes to work for another outfit. Immediately after he says that Number 6 tries to strange him only to find out that he is strangling a paper cut out and find himself back in the Village. This suggests that the authority figures that Number 6 spends the series fighting against aren't real or don't have real authority and the real authority is him. This episode continually refers everything back to Number 6 himself, and from that reality there really is no escape.

The only real difficulty I would suggest is that it is not possible to fit the details of this episode to the plant theory given that so much that happens isn't real. However, this difficulty may be avoided by assuming the episode is all allegorical pointing to a reality in which Number 6 is a plant. You may consider this a fatal flaw to the idea, of course.

To my surprise I am going to conclude that it is very easy to fit the hallucinatory events of Living in Harmony to the 'plant' theory, because it continues all the other themes of the series when seen in this light.

This blog is mirrored at

culttvblog.tumblr.com/archive (from September 2023) and culttvblog.substack.com (from January 2023 and where you can subscribe by email)

Archives from 2013 to September 2023 may be found at culttvblog.blogspot.com and there is an index to the tags used on the Tumblr version at https://www.tumblr.com/culttvblog/729194158177370112/this-blog

#60s tv #the prisoner #number 6 was a plant

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blogs0728 · 1 year ago

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Some knowledge about cricket

Introduction:

Welcome to the captivating realm of Cricket, often hailed as the gentleman's game—a sport that transcends borders, cultures, and generations. This blog takes a deep dive into the enchanting world of cricket, unraveling its storied history, the exhilarating thrill of the game, and its enduring influence on fans across the globe.

Section 1: The Ballet of Willow and Leather

Cricket is a ballet of willow and leather, a harmonious yet fiercely competitive spectacle played out on fields that span continents. From the iconic cricket grounds of Lord’s in London to the bustling stadiums of Mumbai, each match stands as a testament to the spirit of sportsmanship and camaraderie.

Subsection 1.1: Origins and Evolution

The roots of cricket trace back to the 16th century, evolving from a rustic pastime into a global phenomenon. Delve into the transformation of cricket equipment, playing styles, and the emergence of different formats, from the timeless Test matches to the electrifying T20s.

Subsection 1.2: Icons of the Game

No exploration of cricket is complete without paying homage to the icons who have graced the field. From Sir Don Bradman's impeccable technique to Sachin Tendulkar’s unparalleled records, we celebrate the players who have become synonymous with cricketing greatness.

Section 2: The Symphony of Cheers and Roars

Step into a cricket stadium, and you'll be greeted by the symphony of cheers and roars—a cacophony of excitement that unites fans in their shared passion for the game.

Subsection 2.1: Cricketing Cultures

Cricket is more than a sport; it is a reflection of diverse cultures and traditions. Explore the unique rituals, chants, and celebrations that accompany cricket matches worldwide, from the spirited tunes of the Barmy Army to the sea of blue at an Indian cricket stadium.

Subsection 2.2: Unforgettable Moments

Cricket is a treasure trove of unforgettable moments, from last-ball thrillers to historic milestones. Relive the heart-stopping finishes, jaw-dropping catches, and emotional highs and lows that make cricket a rollercoaster of emotions.

Section 3: Beyond the Boundary

Cricket's impact extends beyond the boundary ropes, influencing societies, sparking conversations, and fostering a sense of community among fans.

Subsection 3.1: Cricket and Culture

Discover how cricket has woven itself into the fabric of various cultures, influencing art, literature, and even politics. From Bollywood movies centered around cricket to cricket-inspired paintings adorning galleries, the sport's cultural significance is undeniable.

Subsection 3.2: Cricket as a Unifier

In a world often divided, cricket has a unique ability to unify. Explore instances where cricket has served as a bridge between nations, fostering diplomatic ties and creating moments of shared joy and sportsmanship.

Conclusion:

As we conclude our journey through the cricketing cosmos, one truth becomes evident: cricket is not merely a sport; it's a narrative that unfolds on a grassy stage, captivating millions with its elegance, unpredictability, and unifying spirit. Whether you're a seasoned cricket enthusiast or a newcomer to the game, the cricketing world welcomes you to witness the magic that continues to define this remarkable sport.

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shahid12 · 1 year ago

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Cricket Odyssey: Embracing the Elegance and Spirit of the Gentleman's Pursuit

Introduction:

Welcome to the captivating realm of Cricket , often hailed as the gentleman's game—a sport that transcends borders, cultures, and generations. This blog takes a deep dive into the enchanting world of cricket, unraveling its storied history, the exhilarating thrill of the game, and its enduring influence on fans across the globe.

Section 1: The Ballet of Willow and Leather

Subsection 1.1: Origins and Evolution

Subsection 1.2: Icons of the Game

Section 2: The Symphony of Cheers and Roars

Step into a cricket stadium, and you'll be greeted by the symphony of cheers and roars—a cacophony of excitement that unites fans in their shared passion for the game.

Subsection 2.1: Cricketing Cultures

Subsection 2.2: Unforgettable Moments

Section 3: Beyond the Boundary

Cricket's impact extends beyond the boundary ropes, influencing societies, sparking conversations, and fostering a sense of community among fans.

Subsection 3.1: Cricket and Culture

Subsection 3.2: Cricket as a Unifier

Conclusion:

0 notes

thecringefailintherye · 4 years ago

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Melody (S.W.A.L.K) 1971 Livewatch

I have seen this movie. but not the whole thing (i got interupped the first time i watched it)... so here goes!

movie load please

20 seconds of logos???

guitar song™

this movie is so nostalgic for no reason

Mark Lester and Jack Wild: did you mean, Oliver Twist and The Artful Dodger?

and tracy hyde shes here too

i love this movie sm wtf

can these credits end????

ok yes they can

70s film marching band scene

ornshaw drinking whiskey before band bc why not

danny is bby

mY mOtHeR dId It SiR

dannys mum is so annoying wtf

i really love tom ornshaw

run bitch run

The BB™

SET FIRE TO THE NEWSPAPER???

look at his lil face ❤

MELODY MY DAUGHTER

a gowdfish please

aww look at her

“ive done all those things i wanna try something new” LIKE DRAWING TIDDIES? DANIEL

“ah a boy gave it to me at school” was it ornshaw, i bet it was ornshaw

BITCH YOU RIPPED DANNYS TITS DRAWING

melody girl you cant play that fucking recorder

this film has great cinematography wtf

Melody Perkins Deserves The World !!

the gang go to school

Ornshaw Gets Bullied

“the jewish boys may now leave for private study” what about the jewish girls?? there’s clearly girls in the class?? why do they have to listen to the bible

ornshaw’s porn bible

DOES ANYBODY KNOW WHO JESUS WAS???

dont smoke at school kids

okay so shes peggy, why is she credited as maureen. who the fuck is maureen

hear me out, muriel is a lesbian. noone kisses for over five minutes unless youre proper horny and this bitch is like thirteen. she also says “i dont know, i never used to kiss boys”, because SHE DOESNT. shes lying because she doesnt kiss boys. shes closeted and thats whys she says she does. also, she got angry at peggy for saying she fancied a boy.

W I C

“saucy turtles make terrible bathmats, charley” okay okay jeez

ornshaws accent is everything

The Gang sneaking through the fence what will they do

uh oh danny

AWH YOURE BARMY

thats def gonna explode later

ornshaw gets kicked off the bus

but now hes on it

ornshaw and danny have such a wholesome friendship too bad melody ruins it oh wait

you’ve heared of ornshaw gets kicked off the bus now get ready for... ornshaw gets kicked out of the strip club!

you cant get a taxi!!! watch me hoe

where did ornshaw get the chewing gum from wtf

“shes always talking about people like you...” OH OKAY DANNYS MUM IS CLASSIST

“he could do with a heart attack!” WOAH OKAY

time skip to school

oh no danny’s seen melody

“we have three admirers of the dance!” ah shit

ah so maureen is the girl in green

why is ornshaw just standing there

FREE YOURSELVES

the girl gang is hilarious i love them

Muriel Kisses A Tombstone

uh oh dannys been found out

“HES A COWARD CMON”

ornshaw just yeeted his cat

i hate dannys mother sm

assembly time, an iconic part of british comprehensive school, since covid, i cant say i miss it

danny and melody !!

DANNY PLAYS CELLO THIS IS IMPORTANT INFO

melody and her friend are there because plot

melody sweetie baby i love you but you cant play the recorder

THEYRE PLAYING IN HARMONY DKDJSKDJSJKK 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

this is cute as fuck

melody is babey

oh explosives time??

i just dubbed these kids ornshaw and the pyrotechnics crew and it fits

dannys parents are annoying

i quite literally hate them

DANNY SPILT HIS COKE ITS SUCH A SIN

“neviw”

melody girl are you okay

melody are you lying about getting raped

oh time skip to school

we’ve hardly seen ornshaws home life so when will we properly meet him??

god i fucking love ornshaw its mad

oh this is an iconic scene if there ever was one

“go on tom dance with her” oh the ONE TIME ornshaw is called by his first name

youre mad !!

“girls are a load of snotty nose little so and sos” ornshaw aro king

is ornshaw.. scared of women

whatddya mean i dont dance very well!?

is it bad i lowkey crackship peggy and ornshaw now

YOU DANCE STUPID!

no one:

ornshaw: kicks peggy in the shin because he cant dance

“you big fat fool” yikes

danny u ok

ALL ORNSHAW AND HIS MATES DO IS CREATE EXPLOSIVES DJDKJSKt

oh it worked for once

i feel so fucking sorry for melody wtf

bb 🥺

im at the bit where melody is crying while putting on her mothers makeup

SWEETIE ITS OKAY

OH TIME SKIP TO SPORTS DAY!

this film is so fast were already an hour in!

ornshaw giving actually solid life advice?? are you sure this is the same movie

“you youre gonna be bloody useless!”

i literally love ornshaw so much

FUCK DANNYS MUM

GO ON DANNY

YES MY BOY

time skip to school 3982903843290

wtf is a young latin scholars book

lahtimah

not ass latimer, arse

i hate the latin teacher

ornshaw every second: right uh erm um uh so yes sir oh uh mhm

*ornshaw and danny shoving pillows up their underwear*

“dont worry about it!!” dude hes getting spanked by the latin teacher ofc hes gonna worry about it

ornshaw and latimah

“vacate your mouth”

“because its a silly out of date language sir!!!” hes not wrong

uh oh

what will slapping ornshaw’s ass with a dap even gonna do???

oh hi melody forgot about you

AWH DANNY SWEETHEART

“cmon danny dont let her see you cry!” i want a friend like ornshaw man

melody is just STANDING THERE LIKE GIRL LEAVE

“you can buzz off now love, tara, tooduhloo” have i said i love ornshaw? because i love ornshaw

danny dont abandon ornshaw !!

oh this is sad

danny? danny?? danny!!!??? DANNY!!?? 🥺🥺🥺

ORNSHAW RIGHTS MAN

ive felt sorry for literally all three of these kids now

ah fuck now ornshaws having a mental breakdown in the school halls

danny and melody’s relationship is so innocent and wholesome

this is literally so bittersweet, like we’re seeing danny and melody being all cute and happy but we know that back in school ornshaw is literally having a breakdown over them

im tearing up over a movie about schoolchildren in puppy love

“will you love me that long?” “of course! ive loved you a whole week already!”

“hes come to tea! his name is daniel!” melody hes not your pet

melodys dad seems so cool why was he arrested

donald????

i genuinely love melody’s dad

melody dramatically eats toast

time skip to school AGAIN

OH GOD I’M ACTUALLY CRYING

melody and danny are out on a date having fun and its the same song playing as the scene earlier on when danny and ornshaw went off somewhere at the start of the movie, melody has quite literally replaced ornshaw

i have real tears rn

they skipped school to go to weymouth

danny and melody are literally adorable man

“shall we get married?” arent yall like 12????

oh back to school they got in trouble for skipping

apparently the poor cast got spanked for real and like yikes

we want to get married :D

ITS NOT MENT TO BE FUNNY!!

leave danny alone!

leave melody alone!

ornshaw please stop

ornshaw stop taunting him this is gonna end shittily

OH SHIT

THEYRE STRAIGHT UP FIGHTING

ORNSHAW AND DANNY ARE MF WRESTLING EACHOTHER TO THE GROUND

okay now ornshaw is literally beating him up okay

danny this is your fault for ditching him for melody sorry

top ten best anime fight scenes

latin man is back because plot

DID ORNSHAW GIVE HIM A BLOODY NOSE

i’m sorry danny 😭😭

ORNSHAW. DESERVES. THE. FUCKING. WORLD. AND. MORE.

let melody and danny get married!

wait so if 20 is twice as old as her then shes.. ten?? i think

melody ily

“all i want to do is be happy” BABY

OH FUCK YOU MRS LATIMER

oooh

THEYRE GOING TO GET MARRIED BY THE RAILWAY

ornshaws unnamed friend is the true hero of this movie

is this the movie climax???

run! ornshaws unnamed friend! run!

IM SORRY THE’RE LITERALLLY GETTING MARRIED I’M 😭

“we are gathered here today to join this man and woman in holy matrimony.. shaddup”

ITS NOT FUNNY ITS SERIOUS

IS ORNSHAW STRAIGHT UP MARRYING THESE TWO IS HE THEIR VICAR

HE IS AS WELL

“DICKS IS COMING!!!” as soon as they were getting the rings

RUN !!!!

ornshaw just threw the bible at his re teacher from the re scene at the start i love him

DANNYS MUM HAD IT COMING

name a more iconic trio than melody perkins, danny latimer, and tom ornshaw, i’ll wait

GO PEGGY!

ORNSHAWS UNNAMED FRIEND IS GONNA FINALLY GET HIS BOMB WORKING!

YES

GO ORNSHAWS UNNAMED FRIEND

“i’ll get you ornshaw!” dude how is this his fault its yours for unterupting the wedding latin man

again ouf is the true movie hero

wait latin man is dicks??? whos wannabe remus lupin then????

this just in: ouf is actually named stacey

oh god thats actually such a bittersweet ending

melody and danny trolleying off into the sunset

im actually crying like a baby rn

god that was such a good movie

#you're my melody #melody #melody swalk #swalk #s.w.a.l.k #melody 1971 #tracy hyde #mark lester #jack wild

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v-thinks-on · 5 years ago

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Six Feet Apart

Note: Now for something a little bit different. I didn’t expect to write quarantine fic, but I was thinking about how Jeeves and Wooster usually keep a little bit of physical distance between them, and was wondering if actually being forced to keep that distance might change things, and so this happened.

There was no way around it; old Bertram had fallen ill. I went to bed a little early the night before, a little scratchy, perhaps, but no worse for the wear, and woke up feeling like I’d been bowled over by a freight train. I shivered and ached and felt like I was made of lead - all together not a pleasant picture by any means. Now, I’m a usually healthy fellow, but I’d heard from Jeeves - and you know how he keeps up on everything - that the flu wasn’t just in Spain, and it was only a matter of time before it came around to our neck of the woods. I’d already known a couple fellows who fell ill, but they were just some distant acquaintances - uncle of a friend of a cousin sort of thing - I never thought it would come knocking at my door.

But there I was, pilled up under every blanket in the house - Jeeves tells me I had a fever of a hundred and three - hacking up a storm. The doctor was called in post-haste, of course, medicine was doled out, and orders were given that no one was to approach my person unless absolutely necessary for fear of contagion. I would like to hope that Jeeves put up at least a bit of a fight in the old feudal spirit, but in the end, the doctor’s wisdom won out and I was consigned to languish on my lonesome.

To tell the truth, the better part of a week passed in hazy delirium, and even now I only recall a few passing moments and couldn’t tell you if they were real or just dreamed up. But eventually, one morning - or rather late afternoon - I managed to sit up on my own, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and had the wherewithal to wonder when Jeeves would come in with the oolong.

To my rather indignant surprise, Jeeves did not appear shortly with the oolong. I was eventually greeted by a nurse, who examined me from a distance like I was a pregnant rhinoceros. Her mouth and nose were covered so we didn’t even have to breathe the same air. It was she, I believe, who informed me that, despite my recovery, I was to remain under quarantine for the foreseeable future - at least what felt like the foreseeable future, and a little while beyond it - and that no, Jeeves would not be coming with my morning tea.

I don’t mind a little peace and quiet, but by the time they finally let me out of that flat I had just about gone bad. I never realized just how small it was and it’s never felt quite so miniscule since. That first breath of fresh, unfiltered air, as I stepped out onto the street at long last, was like a breath of life. I strode along, cane in hand, feeling like a new man, beaming and waving at everyone I passed - maybe I had gone a bit barmy, but at the time I didn’t have it in me to care.

My luck had turned, and it wasn’t over yet, because I was just strolling down the way, not a care in the world, when I nearly ran straight into the man I most wanted to see. Of course, Jeeves shimmered out of the way just in time, but I caught him round the shoulder before he had made too much distance between us. Now, I’m generally not a clingy sort. I can entertain myself well enough, and Jeeves and I are usually content to exist with a comfortable distance between us, but after a few weeks of being tip-toed around like Aunt Agatha when she’s on a roll, a fellow can get a little lonely.

“Sir?” he asked in a most disapproving way, but he must not have minded too much, because he didn’t move away.

“They’ve set me free at last!” I proclaimed, steering him toward the park.

“Yes, I am aware,” Jeeves answered drily. “It was my intention to return to the flat and return it to a habitable state.”

I waved it off. “Oh pish! It’s too nice a day to waste inside! You’ve got to tell me about everything I’ve missed while I was locked away.”

“Very well, sir,” Jeeves said, and resigned himself to the perfect weather and my gregarious company.

Eventually we meandered back to the flat, and Jeeves set about tidying up in his usual fashion. I was content to just sit back and watch him work for a while, relishing the sight of everything back in its place. I glanced at the latest paper that Jeeves had been kind enough to fetch for me in town, but it only held my attention for so long. Jeeves had moved on to the kitchen by the time I tossed the paper aside, so I ambled in to join him. I wasn’t a common visitor to Jeeves’s lair, and he seemed a little surprised to see me as I stepped through the doorway that separated his domain from mine.

“Sir?” he said, his attention torn between me and the food cooking on the stove.

“Don’t mind me,” I insisted, “Just wondering what’s for dinner.” I took in a deep breath and it really did smell delish, especially after what felt like ages of living off of whatever I managed to scrounge up. I’d almost forgotten what a real meal tasted like.

“I hope it’s to your liking, sir,” Jeeves said, but he was smiling a little, like he did whenever I finally noticed his latest feat.

“Absolutely!” I exclaimed, drifting a little closer to take it in. I leaned over Jeeves’s shoulder until I nearly bumped up against him and I had a sudden desire to press closer still, but I knew better than to encroach.

As it was, Jeeves glanced my way, but he didn’t seem to mind.

So, I lingered, watching him put the finishing touches on my dinner with well practiced ease. I didn’t dare go near the stove myself; we’d had one early disagreement and that had been the end of that.

At last, Jeeves jarred me back into the present - “Sir, if you would wait in the dining room, I will be out momentarily.”

“Right ho!” I exclaimed, never one to argue, and did as I was bid.

I didn’t have long to wait before Jeeves shimmered out with the daily bread. He laid it all out on the table and asked, “Is there anything else you require, sir?”

“No,” I said, but as he began to fade out just as quietly as he appeared, the whole room started to feel a little sparse and empty - a little less lively without his presence to fill it up, if you see what I mean. So, on a bit of a rummy impulse, I called out, “Jeeves, you could join me, if you wanted to. For dinner, I mean.”

He turned sharply to face me, and for a moment I could have sworn he was going to say yes, but that feeling was gone like a flash. He only said, “Thank you, that’s very generous of you, sir,” before receding into his lair.

Dinner was fine, but after that, I sort of gulped it down. While Jeeves cleared up the table, I meandered over the piano. I had played around a little while I had the place to myself, but it just wasn’t the same.

Now, I started with gusto on one of the old favorites:

“In the land of San Domingo,

“Lived a girl called Oh! by Jingo,

“Ja da Ja da da da da da, ump-a, ump-a, ump-a, ump-a...”

Sure enough, Jeeves came drifting in, looking a little less than pleased.

I finished up the chorus before calling it a wrap. Instead, I asked, “Jeeves, what was that clever song you picked up?” I tried humming a snatch of it, though the old cranium was a little foggy on what it sounded like.

But, of course, Jeeves was undaunted by garbled melodies. With a polite, “If I may?” he sat down beside me at the piano and had it in no time. It was all I could do to keep up with the harmony - though I may have first taken a moment to inch a little closer on the bench.

Jeeves finished with a flourish and I burst into applause. “Brilliant!”

“That’s very kind, sir,” he said with a little bow. He looked rather pleased with himself.

We paused for a little while before the next set. Jeeves looked as fresh as ever, of course, but after all that exertion, I was feeling a little winded - perhaps I wasn’t quite back to my old self after all. I tipped over a little and my head found Jeeves’s shoulder; a nice comfortable place to rest for a moment or so.

For a while, Jeeves didn’t say anything, content as we were, I suppose. I think I may have dozed, because I started a little when he asked, “Sir, is everything alright.”

I forced myself upright, feeling rather top-heavy. “I’d say so,” I attempted. “Just a little tired all of a sudden, but I’ll be right as rain in a jiffy.” At least, that was what I tried to say, but the last word was interrupted by a large yawn.

“I see,” Jeeves said rather dubiously. “I can demonstrate another piece tomorrow, if that would be to your liking.”

I brightened immediately. “I’d say!”

“Very good, sir.” Jeeves pushed back the piano bench a little and got to his feet, but he remained hovering by the piano. “Do you require any assistance?”

I shook my head and braced my hands against the piano bench, readying them to push me to my feet. “I think I’ll be alright. Thank you, Jeeves.”

He wasn’t fooled. But, with a tremendous shove, I managed to get myself upright, and I walked confidently toward the master bedroom with hardly a totter, though my legs felt rather laden. Jeeves drifted after all the while.

I got as far as the tall mirror in the bedroom and began fumbling with my cufflinks, cursing all the many layers of my raiment.

“Might I be of assistance?”

I had nearly forgotten he was there, he’d been so quiet, and jumped a little at the interjection. My wardrobe wasn’t usually so complicated that I needed help with it, but my arms had gone all stiff and heavy, and there was something that seemed rather pleasant about the whole idea after being without Jeeves for so long, so I answered with an enthusiastic, “Righto!”

I held up my wrists and Jeeves efficiently undid the cuffs before taking a step closer and moving on to my waistcoat. Each movement was quick and precise, like everything else Jeeves does. I’ve often thought he could have done a zillion things with that brain of his, and maybe I’d spent too much time surrounded by doctors, but all I could think was that he’d make an incredible surgeon with hands like those, but there he was helping me instead. A thing like that warms a fellows heart. After spending a few long weeks feeling like I was alone in the world, here was Jeeves to remind me I wasn’t alone at all.

He was done in a jiffy and then it was off to bed. I could hardly keep my eyes open as Jeeves covered me in blankets to keep out the chill.

“Good night, sir,” he said, before turning off the light.

“G’night Jeeves.” I fought off the tendrils of Morpheus long enough to say, “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back, sir.”

Before he could drift into the other room, I reached out and somehow my hand found his. I just gave it a quick squeeze of a reassuring sort, maybe to assure myself he was there, and then at last, I surrendered to sleep.

#v writes #Jeeves and Wooster #quarantine

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