#and making him dance a hornpipe

[hey-scully-itsme]

i know some people find the bear costume bit in Post Captain to be a bit implausible but I really love it bc obrian is committing so hard to his Actaeon bit that he’s literally putting one of his characters into the skin of a hunted animal.

[bomberqueen17]

Liveblogging the Aubreyad: Post Captain Part Two

More book, less background, all spoilers.

I will here put in a plug for listening to the Simon Vance audiobooks of this series on 1.25x speed, can't recommend highly enough. Except his foreign accents are terrible, I won't lie about that. Anyhow. Get a library card and check these out if you would rather not read my summaries, which despite their thoroughness are not entire. The books are a challenging read but I did manage it at 12 but I did that through the power of being a socially isolated undiagnosed neurodivergent child so I don't necessarily recommend that either.

A NEE HOO, the book:

In part 1 we got female characters (sweet innocent Sophia? or her worldly, dashing cousin Diana?), sweet bachelor pad, social lives, horse farts, and *jazz hands* financial ruinnnnnn, and our intrepid heroes have fled to France where a Frenchman ruined Jack's composure by kissing him. But now, war has broken out, and they must flee without being arrested, which will be very difficult because Jack is approximately the most ostentatiously English person ever to have existed on this planet, in this universe.

And so now we pay off on my earlier bullet-point about Jack's fursona.

I had genuinely forgotten about this when I first relistened to the books. I listened to this long expounded-upon scenario, where a convoy of English prisoners of the French is resting and there's a man with a tame bear passing by and the prisoners, especially a sea officer trying to impress a lady in company with him, want him to make the bear dance even though it is hot and the bear is obviously tired, and the gendarmes finally come over and insist that the bear must dance to prove it really is a tame bear, and I was just expecting this to be some background descriptive passage included in the book for the atmosphere as so many are until, as they are finally left alone and the bear-leader is sitting counting up the coins people tossed at them, unaccountably reciting them to the bear as if the bear is going to care, the bear out of nowhere answers him.

“When one sea-officer is to be roasted, there is always another at hand to turn the spit,' said the bear. 'It is an old service proverb. I hope to God I have that fornicating young sod under my command one day. i'll make him dance a hornpipe - oh, such a hornpipe. Stephen, prop my jaws open a little more, will you? I think I shall die in five minutes if you don't. Could we not creep into a field and take it off?' 'No,' said Stephen. 'But I shall lead you to an inn as soon as the market has cleared, and lodge you in a cool damp cellar for the afternoon. I will also get you a collar, to enable you to breathe. We must reach Couiza by dawn.'

Stephen for his own inscrutable reasons names the bear Flora and tells everyone it is a female bear whose female troubles make it bad at dancing. Meanwhile Jack is being slowly murdered by the suit, his bare bloody feet glued to the costume's paws, insects eating him, never able to eat or drink enough, always overheated. By the time they make it to the Spanish border, Jack is nearly dead. It's a good character study: he is still thinking tactically at some times, still has the capacity to wonder whether Stephen might yet betray him, to notice that he has heretofore in their acquaintance underestimated Stephen severely, but his innate and natural response to this kind of hopeless privation and suffering is to simply submit to it and endure, doing whatever Stephen tells him to, understanding that there is no useful resistance he can make; he resents Stephen but also recognizes that Stephen too is suffering, this is simply what must be done and he must endure it, beyond any concept of limits. As they finally reach Spain he sits on a rock and dreamily tells Stephen he is glad Stephen seems so happy, and just sort of echoes whatever Stephen says, clearly well beyond comprehending what's going on anymore. (He does revive once the bear suit comes off.)

He spends some time very ill in Stephen's house just across the border. Stephen owns a castle there, though it's mostly in ruins. Once Jack can move, they make their way, this time both as humans, down to Gibraltar, and book passage home in an Indiaman* that has happened to put in there for repairs.

[* for the record the word Indiaman refers to a merchant ship plying the rich trade route to India, and would have female pronouns, like any ship. Actual human Indian men, if sailors or soldiers, are referred to as Lascars, with normal human pronouns as applicable, and as far as I can tell this is just a neutral descriptor and even though racial attitudes of the time were what they were, was not ever particularly used as a slur. Now You Know. Listen I'm trying to look things up as I go, since there's Period-Typical-Everything in here, but I might miss some, do be advised; I don't intend to condone any anythings in any of this nor do I wish to carelessly use loaded terms but it can be difficult to suss out what's what in the modern context.]

Aboard that Indiaman is another of my earlier bullet points: yes it's TOM PULLINGS. Jack recognizes him by his huge grin from across the ship, he's so delighted to see them, human sunbeam that he is.

Never confirmed as a lieutenant after the acting commission Jack had given him in the Sophie, quite without any political influence or hope of help in that quarter (though Jack had written letters of introduction for him to every single captain he knew who he thought might have a spot for him), TOM PULLINGS has given up on the Navy and taken a job with the East India Company, which pays better but is entirely without glory or hope of promotion.

“Why, sir, I could not get a ship and they would not confirm me in my rank. No white lapels for you, Pullings, old cock, they said. We got too many coves like you, by half." ''What a damned shame," cried Jack, who had seen Pullings in action and who knew that the Navy did not and indeed could not possibly have too many coves like him.

Another fun bit of fuzzy timekeeping which I should tally somewhere here is that while we know Jack and Stephen's adventure in France was of some considerable duration, every so often for the next few books Pullings will point out yet another Indiaman and say delightedly "I made two voyages in her", and I should start a running tally of How Many Indiamen Has Tom Pullings Been In somewhere because each voyage is a minimum of six months, and we have seen Pullings earlier in this book, he attended the St Vincent Battle Ball in February of-- whatever year that was. (Side note: Mowett mentions having served previously in the Namur, which was at the Battle of St Vincent, and it was only three years before, so it's perfectly possible he was there, but it's never brought up. Thinks to think upon!)

(I am sure some fan at some point has already done this work. But all the discussion boards are from 2003ish and it is hard to search them. Better than modern fandoms, where it all vanishes into private Discords, but it is... sort of sad, to look through the moribund message boards and remember being in spaces like that and how great they were. RIP to the golden days of the Internet.)

I've already explained how promotion works, so I don't need to elaborate on how very slim Pullings's career prospects are. He shows Jack all around his ship, and Jack tries very hard to be polite, but merchantmen, after the Navy, are a sort of sorry, squalid state of things, and there's not a lot to be polite about. Pullings clearly does the best he can but he has only a thin crew, a poor-sailing sluggish fat ship, and a timid captain to work with. What's worse, many of the crew are Lascars-- fine seamen, but they seem poorly; the initial assumption that they are simply not used to the cold proves wrong, it turns out that they're all succumbing to the flu, which is affecting the Europeans too but is hitting the Lascars that much harder. So the ship is now critically short-handed, with many of the crew incapacitated by the flu.

And then a French privateer heaves into sight, the Bellone. The captain doesn't know what to do and is terrified. Pullings beats the ship approximately into shape by sheer dint of competence and strong feeling, but there's not a lot of hope, he quite simply has very little to work with. Jack steps up and volunteers to take charge of one of the divisions of guns. It is so long since they have been used that he has to fire one to blow the port lid off, it having been painted into place long ago.

A brisk action ensues, but the Indiaman, despite all the heroics Jack and Pullings can manage, is overwhelmed and taken. Jack and Pullings are both moderately-to-severely injured in the fight, Jack left briefly in a coma after falling down a hatchway and Pullings being both shot and stabbed. The French steal everything aboard the ship including the passengers' personal property and Stephen's surgical implements that he was in the middle of using, impose a heavy prize-crew, and undertake to sail the Indiaman to a Spanish harbor. Jack will certainly spend the war a French prisoner, with no hope of getting home, getting a command, advancing his career, staying relevant.

But then an English brig, recognized as the Seagull by Pullings because his uncle used to be the sailing master in her, shows up and fights the French prize-crew to a standstill. Our heroes spend the action locked up below, but the French captain lets them out when the action grinds to a pause, the Seagull heavily damaged trying to repair itself enough to continue. Things look bad; the Frenchman is annoyed and might just sink the Seagull out of spite, but then a squadron of homeward-bound Royal Navy ships of the line round the headland-- the HMS Colossus, a 74, the Tonnant of eighty guns, more behind them-- and Jack puts his hand down over the touch-hole of the gun the Frenchman was about to fire at the Seagull and coldly tells him he must surrender to the brig.

Which he does.

So now Jack is home to England, and back in the running to get himself a ship so he can participate in this war and stay alive in his career-- but where he also is still at constant risk of being arrested for debt.

The new First Lord of the Admiralty is Lord Melville, whose family name is Dundas-- the older brother, in fact, of Heneage Dundas, who was a midshipman and then a lieutenant alongside Jack, one of his best friends. Melville thinks his younger brother is a bit of an idiot, but has some small fondness for Jack anyway. So there's hope. But Jack is arriving so late that all the best posts have already been snapped up. Melville promises to do his best to find him something, but tells him not to hold out much hope of something actually good. Jack does explain his specific problem, however-- the debt thing-- and Melville is understanding of it at least.

Jack has taken lodgings in a tiny shack outside of town with Stephen, giving rise to this charming description, please to look out for a particularly excellent 19th-century word usage:

At present they were lodging in an idyllic cottage near the heath with green shutters and a honeysuckle over the door - idyllic in summer, that is to say. They were looking after themselves, living with rigid economy; and there was no greater proof of their friendship than the way their harmony withstood their very grave differences in domestic behaviour. In Jack's opinion Stephen was little better than a slut: his papers, odd bits of dry, garlic'd bread, his razors and small-clothes lay on and about his private table in a miserable squalor; and from the appearance of the grizzled wig that was now acting as a tea-cosy for his milk-saucepan, it was clear that he had breakfasted on marmalade.

Stephen you slut indeed.

They go to a party-- a risky proposition, with Jack a wanted man, but Everyone who is Everyone will be there, and he quite simply needs to remind his various powerful acquaintances that he is here and in need. So they go. Diana is there, and also a well-connected, very wealthy merchant named Canning. Canning's merchant ships are very much preyed-upon by privateers-- especially the Bellone-- and he has been commissioning privateers of his own to defend them. He very politely, indirectly goes as far as is decent toward offering Jack the command of the latest of these, which is to be very large and powerful indeed. It is deeply, deeply tempting, and Jack considers it at length, but his ambition above all else lies with the Navy, and Lord Melville is also at the party and tells him he should come the very next day to a meeting, Melville thinks he might have something for him.

Diana also offers to Jack that he might come see her the next day. He points out, sensibly, that he is at risk of arrest, and so it would be deeply irresponsible of him to go jaunting about the city. She scorns him for this, saying he is being a coward to even consider such things as his own personal ruin. She quite openly only wants him if he's willing to ruin himself for her.

Jack goes out for a walk late that night, out in a deserted area, to think. A man tries to mug him and his immediate reflex, honed by kind of a lot of hand-to-hand combat experience, is to just absolutely beat the shit out of the guy in about two blows. He lays him out cold and then, standing over the body, realizes he can't leave the man lying here as it's coming on to freeze and the fellow will die of exposure. So, cursing how complicated everything always has to be on land, he carries the man home, as you do, and ties him to a chair, and promptly falls asleep in the other chair waiting for Stephen, who went to visit other friends after the party.

(Several times in the series it is made plain that Jack has been at sea since he was an actual child, and his understanding of how laws work by land is very extremely fuzzy at best; his education in general is shockingly lacking. He knows the Articles of War cold, could recite them back to front, can cite them by number unfailingly, but only has a vague notion of any other kind of law, and no idea at all how the land-based justice system actually works. And how could he?)

Stephen comes home near dawn to find them thus, Jack asleep in one chair, and the would-be mugger wide awake, terrified, and extremely-competently tied to their only other chair.

The would-be mugger is an excellent plot device: he succinctly and intelligently explains to Stephen and the reader exactly how English debt law works, he himself being extremely experienced in it. (Stephen is gently spooning food into the man's mouth even as he is still tied to the chair, he having admitted he only took up trying to mug people because he had not eaten in several days.) Jack also forces the man to eat some of Jack's own breakfast, under peril of being headed up in a cask and tossed overboard, which makes plain to everyone involved a) how serious he is and b) where he's more normally accustomed to being.

Jack makes his way to the meeting with Melville, who finally offers him a ship. It is not a good ship. Melville actually feels guilty to even offer it. It is called HMS Polychrest, it is a misguided experiment gone wrong, built by a corrupt dockyard to the specifications of an ill-informed landlubber with ideas. But, it has cannons and it technically floats, so Jack takes it.

He's aware that Melville feels like shit about it, though, so he figures he has one, and only one, big concession he can ask for. And he shoots that shot on one, very dear, very precious thing that he very badly wants:

TOM PULLINGS, to be made lieutenant at last, and to serve with him in this misbegotten floating disaster.

I will break off again here because this is too long. Stay tuned for PART THREE, in which I promise I'll tell you how Barret Bonden punches out a cop.

[doggerel-catchall]

The Yellow Rose of Spitville

If you go down to Spitville in the morning or the eve, You'll be mildly nauseated, and you'll prob'ly want to leave, But in house in Spitville tangled o'er in leafy vines Lives the one I call my sweetie, and I'm proud to call him mine.

He frightens little children when he's taking out the trash, And his front is always covered with last Sunday's succotash. He loves to dance a hornpipe with a cutlass in his teeth, On the front porch, in an apron, with nothing underneath.

He's the only man in Spitville who can skin a five-pound rat, Which he then leaves on the doorstep as a furry welcome mat. He wears a candy necklace when he putters in the lab, And he uses mud for aftershave each morning - just a dab!

On Tuesdays he does arts and crafts with filth and old toupees; He makes his hats from chicken necks, his boxers from souflées. Oh, I'm going down to Spitville to see my love tonight, 'Cause he's making manicotti, and it ought to be a sight.

[thegreenleavesofspring]

Fëanáro took a sip of his wine, looking around the crowded room. It hummed with voices, laughter swelling ever and anon like waves above the ambient buzz. Red hair and black hair and gold all mingled together in a great and glorious swirl, Turkafinwë and Findaráto each cheerfully trying to drink the other under the table to much good-natured ribbing as Arakáno kept score. And Findekáno in the corner with his arms over the shoulders of Angaráto and Aikanáro, who had his free arm around the waist of a dark-haired woman, and all four of them were laughing uproariously at something while Nelyafinwë sported a pained smile and dancing eyes over his wine and tried to pretend that it really wasn’t as funny as his cousins were making it out to be. Nerdanel and Eärwen and Anairë and Indis were all clustered together over near the fire, and while they could just be commiserating, their shifty body language and the surreptitious glances they kept throwing out at the room in general raised Fëanáro’s suspicions.

But he was distracted from the wives by a whoop and turned to see as Írissë flung herself with wild abandon from one rafter to the next, clinging on and laughing aloud as Alatariel girded up her skirts and clambered onto the table below to leap up and attempt the feat for herself. A silver-haired man below watched with decided amusement, sipping lightly at his white wine, while beside him a lady who resembled him rather closely buried her face in her hands in patent embarrassment. The dark-haired man beside her patted her shoulder comfortingly even as he grinned upwards at the two women competing along the ceiling, and on his other side two identical young men whispered together and threw considering looks at the rafters.

Fëanáro looked around with the sudden suspicious feeling of being hunted and spotted Arafinwë and Ñolofinwë bearing down upon him, each with an arm about the other’s shoulders and a glass of red wine in their other hand. As they came up Ñolo flung his freer arm around Fëanáro’s shoulders, skillfully not spilling a drop of his sloshing wine. “Brother! Why lurk over here by the refreshments? Never were you one to hide away from attention! Come forth, come forth, for if you tell me you have developed a case of shyness I shan’t believe you!”

“You are drunk, Ñolo,” Fëanáro observed, permitting himself to be borne towards the center of the room, his arms winding of their own accord about his brothers’ shoulders.

“He is getting there,” Arafinwë agreed solemnly, and took a deep swallow of his drink before adding, “and you are being a stick in the mud, Náro, and that is my job, so come along and enjoy yourself for once!”

“You are not a stick in the mud,” Fëanáro informed his youngest brother, and it was just possible that he’d perhaps had just a bit too much wine already himself, “you are a piece of driftwood in the sand.”

“Very true.” Arafinwë nodded seriously, and sent a sweet smile towards Telperinquar when he glanced over from where he sat beside Turukáno and Itarillë. The laughter of the wives by the fireplace was nearly drowned out by Alatariel’s victory-crow from overhead, swiftly overshadowed by Telufinwë and Pityafinwë clambering onto the table to perform a lively hornpipe played by a snickering Kanafinwë.

Fëanáro, sandwiched firmly between his brothers in the very midst of their family, looked around and smiled, content.

[xn3city]

And he was right

Gene Wilder willy wonka was like 2% away from slamming Grandpa Joe's head into a door frame

[wicked-women-maturematriarchs]

He's my young son-in-law, well ex but he is mine now. OH DON'T BE SILLY IT'S NOTHING SEXUAL!, he just does what I tell him and I keep him as a pet. I take care of his hygiene. I shave his private parts and diaper him and dress him in female clothes. He likes me tickling him but not disciplining him but he knows I have to do it for his own good. I like to hire him out to work and entertain my Friends in his spare time from his normal work. He still gets shy when naked in front of the Ladies but he also gets erect The extra money comes in handy for him as he needs to supplement his keep as I control all the finances here DON'T I DEAR!.

OH HE'S SUCH A SILLY SISSY BOY! The Ladies love it when he gets embarrassed and red in the face. They love stripping him naked as the day goes on. My favourite is his little sailor outfit, He does his little hornpipe dance and gradually strips naked. We then like to give a hands on full body inspection. Any bum fluff or stray hairs on his body he gets spanked over the knee. I keep the ruler handy but not to measure his little winkle but to give it a little tap to keep it under control.

Ladies just love his performances. Especially the look on the Ladies faces the first time they see it.

LADY:- "OH YOUNG MAN I SEE YOUR PINNY IS COMING OFF!".

Male server:- "Excuse me Madam but I believe it is still very secure"

LADY:- "NO ITS COMING OFF AS I HAVE JUST DECIDED"

Having a male serve in just a loosely fitting toga always gets to a point it will fall off. With his hands holding a tray he just has to make sure he does not trip and just carry on regardless.

When domestic chores are needed to be done, things do get very serious.

Maid inspections can be quite an ordeal. Holding up his dress and pinny he is then pants-ed in front of a Lady.

That car needed to be spotless and shiny hours ago. She is late for Her appointment TOMORROW!

"OH DEAR YOU MISSED A SPOT! NOW HOW DO WE RECTIFY THAT I WONDER"

"Excellent! your wage has been paid into my account again"

A regular occurrence but one that always brings a smile to his Mistress and owner as he stands with hands on head naked. She may even let him play with himself.

[sasorikigai]

The reasons why I am dying to watch FX’s limited series Shōgun:

1. Lord Toranaga (Sanada’s character) dancing hornpipe.

2. Lord Toranaga disguised as a woman in a dark cloak and dark kimono and dark hat and dark veil in a highly secret escape attempt.

3. Lord Toranaga swimming naked 😏 (it is one of his pivotal hobbies), as he makes all of his samurai learn how to swim.

4. Hiroyuki Sanada’s character finally not fucking dying for once; even with him as one of the protagonists in the series (aka what happened to his character in Syfy Hellx), he always ends up dying in the end. Eventually Lord Toranaga will become, obviously Shōgun, so I’m really looking forward to that.

[tinyshe]

                            Tam O 'Shanter                                                                                                                                                                By Robert Burns                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, And folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousin, at the nappy, And gettin fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.         This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter: (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, For honest men and bonie lasses.)         O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A bletherin, blusterin, drunken blellum; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was na sober; That ilka melder wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roarin fou on; That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied, that, late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Ot catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.         Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises!         But to our tale:—Ae market night, Tam had got planted unco right, Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony: Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; And ay the ale was growing better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious Wi' secret favours, sweet, and precious: The souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.         Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy: As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!         But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white—then melts forever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide: The hour approaches Tam maun ride,— That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.         The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand.         Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,— A better never lifted leg,— Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, Despising wind and rain and fire; Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, Whiles glowrin round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch him unawares. Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.         By this time he was cross the ford, Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drucken Charlie brak's neckbane: And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole, Near and more near the thunders roll; When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze: Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing.         Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou can'st make us scorn! Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil; Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil! The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventur'd forward on the light; And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!         Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillion brent-new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock bunker in the east, There sat Auld Nick in shape o' beast: A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge; He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.— Coffins stood round like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; And by some devilish cantraip sleight Each in its cauld hand held a light, By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table A murderer's banes in gibbet airns; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; A thief, new-cutted frae the rape— Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted; Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o' life bereft— The grey hairs yet stack to the heft; Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.         As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: The piper loud and louder blew, The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit Till ilka carlin swat and reekit And coost her duddies to the wark And linket at it in her sark!         Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens! Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!— Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gien them aff y hurdies, For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!         But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Lowping and flinging on a crummock. I wonder didna turn thy stomach.         But Tam ken'd what was what fu' brawlie; There was ae winsom wench and walie, That night enlisted in the core (Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore. For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perish'd mony a bonie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear); Her cutty sark o' Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie. Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!         But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r, Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jad she was and strang), And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd; Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain, And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" And in an instant all was dark: And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied.         As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When plundering herds assail their byke; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.         Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the key-stane of the brig: There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross. But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake! For Nannie far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle— Ae spring brought aff her master hale But left behind her ain grey tail: The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.         Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son, take heed, Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, Remember Tam o' Shanter's mear. [X]

[seanfalco]

(More Than Just) Travel Partners - Part IV

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Jaskier x f!Reader Word Count: 3.7k Rating: E Warning(s): Smut a/n: okay so, I promise this is a reader insert.  There is a plot relevant reason why the reader is introduced with a name, you just have to find out why.  :3

[ Masterlist ]

——

This was it, the hour of the king’s party.

Upon arrival at the palace you’d been surprised to find that even a humble minstrel such as yourself was to be treated like a guest, and you and Jaskier were shown to separate rooms to freshen up.  Your stomach buzzed with anxiety as you checked your reflection in the large gilt framed mirror in your room.

Nerves about the party mixed with the lingering apprehension from your episode in the market the other morning until you were pacing the room, muttering positive affirmations under your breath in an attempt to calm yourself.  The knock at the door startled you, but you were glad to see Jaskier standing there, a reassuring smile on his face.

“You ready?” he asked, his blue eyes flicking down to admire your new dress once more.  “For the record, you look amazing, by the way.”

“We look amazing,” you insisted with a grin, admiring him in return.   Suddenly you remembered the gift you had for him and swore under your breath, rushing back into the room, wanting him to wear it with his new doublet.  “Hold on!  Just a moment!”

Jaskier followed, watching you curiously as you rummaged through your belt pouch, left on the bed.

“Forget something?” he teased.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed instead, giving Jaskier a level look when he merely stared at you in confusion.  “Come on we’ll be late.  Close your eyes,” you repeated.

Sighing dramatically Jaskier obeyed, an amused half grin playing at his lips.  “What are you going to do to me?” he asked coyly, wriggling his eyebrows though his eyes stayed closed.

“I’m going to prick you with this pin if you don’t stop moving,” you grumbled, fastening the small silver brooch you’d picked out at the market to his lapel.  “There,” you breathed, stepping back.  “You can open your eyes now.”

Jaskier’s eyelids fluttered open and his hand went to his collar and he turned toward the mirror.  “You got this for me?” he murmured in disbelief, leaning closer to his reflection to get a better look.  

“I saw it at the market and thought of you,” you replied simply.

When Jaskier didn’t respond you stepped up to his side, your reflection joining his in the mirror.  “What’s wrong?” you asked, afraid you’d upset him somehow.

“Nothing.”  He grinned, turning to you.  “It’s just, I can’t remember the last time someone gave me a gift just for the hell of it.  Thank you.”

You could already feel your cheeks heating.  “Compared to how much you spent on this dress, it’s really nothing,” you murmured.

“Well I don’t think it’s nothing,” Jaskier said, hesitating before leaning forward quickly to press a chaste kiss to your cheek.

Without giving you time to react properly besides pressing your fingers to the place his lips had been moments ago Jaskier hooked his arm with yours and pulled you out into the hall, laughter in his voice.

“Come on, they’re gunna start without us if we don’t hurry!”

——

The throne room was resplendent in gold and royal purple with candles glittering on every surface and you couldn’t help but gape at the sight.  Courtiers and revelers filled the long tables arranged around the great hall, decked in their finest garb and jewels, and you were somewhat surprised to find you blended in quite well in your fine new dress.  The rich smells of the different dishes laden on every table had your mouth watering and you chewed your lip as you decided which you wanted to try first.

Catching Jaskier watching you with an amused smile you leaned in so he could hear you over the hum of voices.  “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Really?  I couldn’t tell,” he teased dryly.  “If you don’t pick your jaw up off the floor you may trip over it.”

“Rude,” you gasped, elbowing him in the ribs, unable to hide your smile as he winced.

Taking your place with the other musicians you eyed them as you began softly tuning your fiddle.  You were the only woman in the group.

There was one bard that stood out to you above the rest, wending his way across the room, lute in hand, toward the royal table to speak with the king.  He was a peacock of a man, his doublet richly coloured and the silk hat on his golden curls bore a ridiculously long feather.

“Let me guess, that fellow over there is the friend you met with yesterday?” you asked Jaskier.  He glanced up from his lute, his gaze following yours.

“Yeah, that’s him, Monteforte,” he grumbled darkly.  “At least Valdo Marx isn’t here,” he added under his breath as the King rose from his seat to address the crowd, welcoming them and calling for the food to be served.  As he sat, the bard Jaskier had called Monteforte stepped out onto the floor with a flourish, much to Jaskier’s chagrin, his lips twisting with disdain during the man’s performance.

After a couple songs Monteforte swept his arm out, gesturing toward yourself and Jaskier.  “Your Highness, I’d like to introduce my old friend, Jaskier and his lovely companion, Miss Aevryn.”

Jaskier threw you a shocked glance before composing himself and swaggering over to Monteforte.  As you followed, trying to look half as self-assured, you noticed the way the guests tittered excitedly when Jaskier took the floor; several ladies’ gazes following him with interest as they spoke in hushed tones behind their silk fans.

Curtsying to the King to match Jaskier’s bow you positioned your fiddle under your chin and began to play on his count.  Closing your eyes you focused on your breath and the feel of the strings beneath your callused fingers; the sound of the music and Jaskier’s voice filling the hall.  Soon people were getting up to dance and the overall feel of the space was becoming more familiar to you, chasing away the nerves that threatened to overwhelm you.

After several songs Jaskier turned the floor over to you and you nodded to the rest of the musicians to back you up, playing the first notes of a lively hornpipe; looking to show off a little.  Surveying the crowd when you could spare the concentration, you managed a smile and a wink for the King, who looked absolutely tickled, before finding Jaskier.  You half expected him to be surrounded by a handful of young countesses or the like, but to your surprise he stood off to the side speaking with Monteforte, their eyes flicking to you as the other bard clapped Jaskier on the back.  

‘What’s that all about,’ you wondered, dying to know just what the two were talking about.

Bowing to the King after several more songs you headed straight for your table and downed a glass of wine before searching the room once more for Jaskier.  The revelers were everywhere now and it took several minutes for you to pick him out, circled by a group of noblewomen.  Scowling, you poured yourself another glass, thinking to numb the pang of jealousy in your chest with more wine when Monteforte approached, his gloved hand extended.

“I’ve been waiting all night for this chance, my dear, and I’ll be damned if I don’t take it before someone else snatches you up.  Won’t you please honour me with a dance?”

Taken aback you stared at his hand before glancing back to Jaskier, whose gaze met yours across the room.  Clearing your throat you nodded, setting down your goblet and taking the bard’s hand.  Joining the other dancers Monteforte spun you and you fell into step with him easily.

“Julian was right about you, you know,” he murmured cryptically, flashing you a charming smile.

“Julian?” you asked, confused.

“Forgive me, Jaskier,” he clarified with a chuckle.  

“And what was he right about?” you asked, watching Jaskier out of the corner of your eye.

“That it would be a travesty if you were not in attendance tonight,” Monteforte replied smoothly.

“What do you mean?”

“Those were the words he used as he begged me for an invitation for the two of you.  I must admit I was rather surprised that he was more worried about making sure you should be in the spotlight than himself.  I’ve known Julian for a long time and believe me when I say that this is a first for him.  I’d say he cares for you rather deeply.  He hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off you all night, you know?”

Monteforte smiled knowingly as you fought for the words that were caught in your throat.  

“Ah, speak of the devil,” he announced as Jaskier appeared at your side looking flustered, a frown creasing his forehead.

“Okay okay, that’s enough of that,” he exclaimed shooing the other bard away.  “I’m cutting in now.”

Monteforte merely smiled as he bowed to you and backed away; the amused look in his eyes speaking volumes.

“Hey, he didn’t say anything, oh I dunno, inappropriate to you, did he?” Jaskier asked, a touch defensively and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“No,” you gasped with mirth as he spun you across the floor.  “We talked about you actually.”

“Me?”  Jaskier nearly stumbled, muttering something about loose lipped cads under his breath.  

“Why did you tell me that Monteforte invited us to play tonight when he made it sound like you begged him for the honour?  Is that why you didn’t want to meet him initially?”

The more questions you asked the more uncomfortable Jaskier appeared.

“I told him not to tell you,” he grumbled under his breath, glowering across the room at the other man.  Turning back to you he sombered.  “I”m sorry… I wanted to surprise you with this, and yes, I didn’t exactly want you to see me abase myself for this opportunity,” he admitted.

“He said you did it for me,” you murmured, watching his face carefully.

Jaskier’s eyes met yours as the music stopped.  

“I did.  I would do anything for you.”

The words were so soft you almost didn’t catch them as the next song began and the other dancers moved around you as you stood still in the middle of the floor.  Overwhelmed with affection you did the first thing you could think of, leaning in to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

“Oh, Jask.  Thank you.”

——

Jaskier sat down heavily on the edge of his bed as you took a swig from the bottle of wine you’d taken with you once the party had finally wound down.  Giggling, you handed him the bottle before plopping down next to him.

“That was so amazing,” you exclaimed, replaying the evening over in your head, still in awe of everything you’d gotten to experience.  Jaskier stiffened next to you as you leaned into his side, but didn’t move, instead offering you the bottle back.  

Feeling slightly tipsy, but not yet drunk you shook your head, not wanting to worry about a hangover in the morning.  Shrugging, he brought the wine to his lips for another long drink.

“So,” you mused, warm and slightly uninhibited; the words falling from your lips without filter.   “You seemed a bit jealous when Monteforte asked me to dance.”

 Jaskier choked on the wine, quickly pulling the bottle from his mouth to cough.  “Wha -- no!” he spluttered, setting the bottle on the nightstand and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  “I certainly, was not, jealous,” he remarked haltingly.

A coy grin crossed your face.  “I dunno, you extricated yourself from that group of ladies rather quickly in order to steal me away from your rival,” you pointed out.

Jaskier cleared his throat, not quite looking at you.  “And I suppose you weren’t jealous either that I was surrounded by beautiful women all vying for my attention?”

“Nope, not at all,” you quipped, though your voice came out tenser than you planned.

“...Aev,” Jaskier sighed, his expression sobering.  “How long are we going to keep up this farce?”

“What farce?” you asked, voice cracking, and in that moment you wished more than anything you had the bottle of wine back.

“That we’re not crazy for each other.”

“Jask…” You couldn’t remember leaning in, closing the already thin gap between Jaskier and yourself, but as your eyes flicked up to his you realized just how close you were and suddenly you hesitated; wanting so badly to just give in.

What’s stopping you?  A voice in your head whispered.

I’m afraid, you whispered back.  Afraid of trusting, only to get hurt again.

But think of what you’re missing if you don’t even try?  The voice replied, giving no quarter.  We both know you want this.  Have wanted it for a long time now.

“Aevryn?”  Jaskier breathed, his lips so close to yours and you shivered at the warmth of his breath against your skin.  Closing your eyes you pulled away though every fibre of your being screamed in protest.

“I can’t.”

Your voice came out more like a strangled sob and you pushed off the bed, the urge to run growing.

“Why not?” Jaskier asked, following you to your feet.  “Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh Gods, no!” you exclaimed, looking at him and then and knowing it was a mistake.  

“Then why?”  The crack of desperation in his voice was too much and you shuddered.  

“Because if I kiss you now, i won’t be able to stop,” you whispered.

“Then don’t stop.”

Jaskier’s plea broke what little restraint you had left and you fell into his arms, your lips colliding.

The whine that left your throat was quickly swallowed as Jaskier deepened the kiss and you eagerly gave in, pulling him closer, stumbling back toward the bed as his hands roamed your body.  Your head swam at the intensity behind his kisses and you tugged at his open doublet in a feverish haste to undress him.

Spinning you suddenly Jaskier tilted you back and a gasp burst from your lips as you fell to the bed and he shucked off his jacket, climbing over you to resume where he’d left off kissing you thoroughly.  The soft moans and whimpers he managed to elicit sounded foreign to your ears, but all you could think was that you wanted more.

Desperately your hands went to his undershirt, fingers fumbling with buttons until the light fabric fell open, baring his chest, and you ran your fingers over the dark exposed hair.  Humming into your mouth with pleasure at the feel of your hands on him Jaskier ran a palm up the outside of your leg, pushing up the tulle of your skirt and massaging your soft skin as his body pressed you further down into the mattress.

Your bodies nearly flush you gasped as you felt his arousal straining his trousers and the fog of lust cleared for a moment as the reality of what you were sprinting headlong toward caught up to you.  

“Jaskier, wait,” you murmured hastily as his lips left yours to gasp a breath and he froze, worry flickering across his visage.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, the huskiness of his voice sending heat flooding through you despite your request.

“I need to tell you something first.”

“What is it?”

“My name isn’t Aevryn.  It’s [ y/n ],” you blurted out, the urge to tell him the truth overpowering the white hot desire that gripped you.

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t interrupt as you quickly continued.

“I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid.  I’ve been on the run, hiding for so long now,” you trailed off, shame welling up inside you and you turned your face to the side, unable to face him.

“Hey,” Jaskier murmured as he gently turned your face back to him, his hand caressing your cheek.  “I know.”

Swallowing, you nearly gaped up at him.  “You know?” you asked, unable to keep the incredulity from your voice.

“I guessed, anyway,” he admitted softly.  “I figured you would tell me what you were running from when you were ready.”  A chuckle burst from his lips then.  “I didn’t exactly think it would be in the middle of getting hot and heavy.”

You couldn’t help but huff a laugh in return at the irony of it.  “Yes well, I didn’t want you to go into this, believing a lie.”  Taking a shaky breath you looked into his face, your hand reaching up to comb your fingers through his mussed chestnut hair falling over his forehead.

“Jaskier I’m married.”  There you’d said it.

If he was surprised he didn’t show it.

“My-my… husband,” you began, fumbling over the word, now foreign to your mouth, “he’s a monster.  He —“ Having to stop to take another breath Jaskier waited patiently, his thumb slowly caressing the length of your jaw as you fought to get the words out.  “He would beat me when he was unhappy and-and… I had to get away from him and there was no other way.”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Jaskier quickly assured you, not wanting you to have to put your pain into words.  “I get the picture…” Sadness filled his blue eyes, but he didn’t pull away.

“You’re not mad?”  The question left your lips in a whisper.  “You’re not going to leave me?”

“No.”  The fierceness in Jaskier’s voice stunned you and all you could manage to do was stare at him.  “Aev — [ y/n ],” he corrected, seeming to savor the sound of it, “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to leave.  I-I think I’ve finally discovered what pleases me and I’m not going to let it go.”

“Oh, Julian,” his given name fell from your lips and you tightened your arms around him, pulling him back down to you.  “I want you,” you admitted softly.  “Now there are no more secrets between us.”

A smile spread across his face and he leaned forward to press his lips to yours slowly, his kiss gentle but far from chaste, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as he pulled back slightly to catch your gaze.  “I want you too,” he groaned, resting his forehead against yours.

“Then don’t stop.”  

You purred his words from earlier back to him, your eyes finding and holding his as they darkened with lust.  The low desperate growl that rumbled from his throat sent heat pooling low in your stomach and then his mouth was on yours again, though this time slow and deliberate as though he were savoring you like he savored your name.

Breaking to pull his shirt over his head he pulled you up with him, his hands deftly working to loosen the laces on the back of your dress as his lips explored your neck and jaw until your dress fell away.  Lowering you back down Jaskier eased the delicate fabric down your waist and your lifted your hips so he could slide it off completely, letting it pool on the floor, soon joined by the remainder of his clothes.

By the flickering light from the fireplace you admired him, committing his body to memory, as no doubt he was doing the same.  Crawling back over you, his hands gliding up your body stopped to caress your breasts as he kissed you, tasting you, the heat between your thighs spreading.

You could feel his hardness twitch against your thigh and you rolled your hips against him, pleased with the low groan it drew from Jaskier’s lips.

“Jaskier,” you moaned and could feel his grin against your skin as his hands continued their exploration of your fevered flesh.  “Please…”

“Please what?” he asked, lifting his head to watch you.

“Please, touch me,” you said, breathlessly.

“Oh, but I am touching you,” he replied, pausing to trace a finger teasingly down your navel and over the crest of your hip; your body practically quivering in response.  He was so close to where you wanted him and it was clear he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted until you begged.

“Jaskier please, you know what I want,” you tried again, but the coy smile that curved his lips wickedly made it clear you would have to say it.

“Do I?” he mused, leaning back down to trail kisses across your chest, nipping at your skin between each open mouthed kiss.  The warmth of his tongue nearly drove you mad and you finally gave in.

“I want you inside me,” you gasped in frustration and Jaskier chuckled in response.

“Oh, like this?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow as he brushed his thumb over your throbbing cunt and slid a finger between your folds, adding a second one as you rolled your hips instinctively to meet each slow thrust.

“Are you always such a tease?” you managed to gasp, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Maybe I just want to take my time with you,” Jaskier replied, wetting his lips.  Your eyes followed the quick swipe of his tongue, biting your lip as his fingers continued to move in and out of you, curling up to hit just the right spot.  “All the best things are worth waiting for, are they not?”

Smiling, you pulled him closer, kissing his laughing lips, feeling the heat between your legs coiling.  Just as you hit the brink, ready to overflow Jaskier pulled his hand away and the frustrated whine that left your lips only seemed to fuel him.

Before you could complain, you felt his length press against you, replacing his slick fingers and you shuddered as it teased your entrance.

“Oh please,” you whimpered, closing your eyes.

Jaskier kissed you slowly as he pressed into you by increments until he was fully sheathed.  “Oh fuck.”  The plea that tumbled from your lips was soon replaced by moans that grew louder as he began to move in you, thrusting slowly at first until he was certain you were accustomed to his size.  

At some point you wondered if the guests in the rooms next to his could hear your cries, but you were past caring.  All you could think of was him and how wonderful the moment was, how good and right he felt, until you could no longer think at all, the pleasure his every movement, his every touch overwhelming your senses, pushing you toward the edge.

Your cries reached a fever pitch, mixing with his string of praise and encouragement, begging you to cum for him, to call his name.

And you did.  

[jovialyouthmusic]

Past Times

A Period drama featuring an ancestor of Bastien Lykel 

Elizabeth longs to meet the Captain again, and her wish is fulfilled.

Word Count 3060

A/N I know I have taken a long time over this - life has been busy, but this has been great fun to write. No warnings - this is regency Scotland and our heroine moves within very genteel circles!

3 Family and Familiarity 

‘Amelia, do stop fidgeting’ Lady Charlotte snapped ‘Madame Burlét needs complete quiet and tranquillity when she performs.’

‘This chair is too hard’ Amelia complained ‘and I’m hungry, you wouldn’t let me have that cake I wanted’

‘It is not polite to take the last one unless it is offered’ she hissed ‘You are a young woman now, behave like one, not like a child’ Amelia pouted and made one last little wriggle before she sat still.

Madame Burlét was a nationally famous Soprano singer who was touring Britain. She was performing at the assembly rooms in one of the smaller rooms, a rare treat, and Elizabeth’s family had managed to reserve seats for Lady Charlotte and the two young women. All the best families attended, and Elizabeth had been thrilled to see the Captain in the throng of people waiting in the vestibule. However, they had not the opportunity to greet each other, and as it was not well known that they were seeing one another, it was not seemly to greet each other in too familiar a manner.

Elizabeth was painfully aware that the Captain sat on the other side of the aisle, and if she turned her head just a little, she could see his handsome profile, the faint scar on his cheek visible to her. Her mother nudged her arm and she dutifully looked straight forward at the pianoforte where her music master sat awaiting Madame Burlét. It was an honour for him to perform with her, and his reputation had increased greatly. Consequently it was a feather in the cap of Elizabeth’s family to have such a person teach their daughters.

Finally, only a few minutes after the allotted time, the singer swept in. She wore an elegant ivory silk gown, high waisted, gathered only just under the bust, allowing her full movement to breathe. The sleeves were in mode, just enough to cover her shoulders, the neckline showing off her ample cleavage, a pearl necklace adorning her throat. Her hair was elaborately coiffed, pulled up and ringleted, a hairpiece of ivory and pearl shining softly in her chestnut hair. She made a little bow and introduced herself in a heavy French accent. She had been trained in the best schools on the continent, but had recently made her home in London, where she was reputed to be romantically involved with a famous baritone singer. Their duets were renowned for their sublime quality, but sadly they only performed together in the English capital.

She nodded to the pianist, and soon the music swelled and her voice filled the air. It sent shivers down Elizabeth’s spine and she was soon transported away from her boredom and restlessness. As she sat, she caught a small movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned her head slightly to see the Captain engineering to look her way by inclining his head to scratch at his ear. Their eyes locked for a second and a small smile graced his lips. She quickly looked away, her face burning and her heart skipping. She wished she could use her fan to cool her cheeks, but did not wish to distract Madame Burlét. She caught her mother frowning, and looked down at her lap, her fingers tightly interlacing with each other.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, concentrating on the music again. However, try as she might, the presence of the Captain drew her mind like a magnet. She desperately wanted to turn her head again, and pictured herself dancing with him, able to gaze on his features as she wished. But did he dance? She sat still and fixed her eyes on the performance, but every little move to her side where the Captain sat drew her mind. It seemed an eternity before the performance was over, and there was polite but enthusiastic applause. Her mother rose as the audience started to file out of the room, and so did the two girls. As they moved out into the aisle between the seats she was painfully aware of his presence. Either her mother and the Captain timed it just right, or it was pure serendipity that he stepped into the aisle at the same time. He paused and gestured to the three women, initially to allow them to pass, and then feigned surprise at meeting them.

‘Lady Charlotte, what a pleasure to see you’ he said warmly ‘and your two lovely daughters. I trust you enjoyed the recital’

‘Good afternoon, Captain Lykel. We did indeed, did we not, girls?’ she replied ‘and as the pianist is a regular visitor to our house, we have been invited to tea with Madame Burlét in but half an hour’s time’ Elizabeth and her sister dropped little curtseys to the Captain and he bowed gravely. The rest of the audience made their way around the group, so he stepped back a little to make more room for them to converse.

‘A pleasure to see you Captain’ Elizabeth said politely ‘I did not know your taste in music was so refined’

‘Thankyou Miss Elizabeth. This was an opportunity not to be missed, and I confess the performance was a delight. I was more used to hearing sea shanties or military music in my working life, so this was most refreshing’

‘Oh we know a sea shanty’ Amelia blurted enthusiastically ‘Don’t we Lizzy? It’s such fun to play and sing’ The Captain turned to her with amusement as Elizabeth blushed. She surmised that many sea shanties would not be heard in a polite parlour room, and what they sang was a pretty one suitable for the ears of young ladies.

‘Perhaps you can play it for me if I am fortunate to visit you in the future’ he smiled. He turned to Lady Charlotte ‘May I ask where you are to take tea with Madame Burlét?’

‘We shall go to an ante room here, there will only be a very few people. The pianist, Monsieur le Blanc, teaches the girls, you know, so he secured an invitation for us’

‘That is a great honour. May I keep you company until the appointed time? Otherwise I shall only be returning to my batchelor’s rooms with no-one to talk to but my manservant’

‘You may, sir. We can wait in the vestibule until we are called.’ She regarded him leaning on his cane ‘Will it fatigue you to stand for such a time?’ He looked surprised for a moment and Elizabeth felt her face grow hot again.

‘Not at all, my leg grows stronger by the day. I may be able to dance again soon, although I must tell you I was never very nimble on dry land. At sea I was fleet of foot and only slipped on deck but once or twice’ He addressed this to Elizabeth, who thought suddenly of moving across the dancefloor in his arms, and managed a smile as her heart fluttered. His eyes were dark but his smile was soft and inviting.

‘Perhaps you would dance better to a sea shanty or a hornpipe then, Captain’ she joked. He laughed

‘Perhaps I might. Shall we go out to the vestibule, ladies?’ He offered his arm to her mother and the four of them walked out into the wide hall just inside the grand doors of the Assembly rooms. People came and went, or stood around in small groups. It was less crowded than the main room where the faint strains of music could be heard.

‘That is a very fine cane, Sir’ Elizabeth remarked, looking at the carved white stick, straight but with a spiral that ran from the tip to the handle.

‘It is often admired, and for good reason’ he replied ‘It was given to me by the Admiral himself, and is made from the horn of a narwhal’

‘A narwhal?’ squeaked Amelia ‘Is that not a sea creature? Did you catch it?’ He smiled indulgently at her innocent question

‘It is indeed a sea creature Miss Amelia, but no, I did not catch it. The cane was carved some years ago and the Admiral had been handed it by his superior when he was a Captain himself. The narwhal is a curious creature and has been called the unicorn of the sea, although I have never seen one myself.’

The conversation flowed, with the Captain entertaining the ladies with tales of his travels until it was time to go in to take tea with Madame Burlét. Elizabeth wished that the Captain was invited too, but sadly he had to take his leave.

‘Thankyou for keeping us company, Captain Lykel’ her mother said ‘Perhaps you would like to visit some time next week. I am planning on inviting some friends over for afternoon tea, and the girls may be prevailed upon to entertain everyone. Elizabeth is an accomplished piano player and Amelia’s voice is very sweet. Tell me sir, do you sing?’ The Captain looked embarrassed for a moment.

‘Well Madam, every sailor sings after a fashion, but the songs are not suitable for polite society. But my mother did make me take singing lessons when I was younger. I confess I am a little rusty’ He admitted ruefully.

‘I will let you know when the gathering is to be held, and we may yet persuade you to air your vocal chords. Good day, Sir’ Her mother said, and he gave a low bow to the three of them. As she curtseyed Elizabeth feared that her legs might give way at the thought of playing the pianoforte in their front parlour with the Captain standing beside her and singing with her. It was quite beyond her to imagine what his voice might be like, as she  felt hot and cold in quick succession. Somehow she kept her senses about her, even when his dark eyes locked once more with hers. Then she turned away to enter the ante room to sip tea and make polite conversation.

-------

Back home, Elizabeth lay awake. She was restless after having seen the Captain in a manner she never had done when Duncan courted her. She could think of little else besides when she might see him again, when she might be permitted to acknowledge him socially, under what circumstances they might meet. She had been somewhat soothed by her mother’s declaration of an afternoon tea party, and had scarce been able to stop herself from bombarding her with questions.

Who else might attend? How formal might it be? What might she play on the pianoforte to entertain the guests? With a shiver she could not resist imagining playing with the Captain standing  by her, or looking up to see him regarding her with admiration. Butterflies danced in her stomach and she feared she might fumble a note or make a series of mistakes.

She vividly remembered him – his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his dark wavy hair, the dark shadows on his face where he might sport a moustache or beard. His eyes – oh his eyes, dark and piercing, that turned her knees to jelly when they locked eyes. The tingle she felt when they touched, the slight masculine odour that hung about him but with the overlying scent of soap, and oddly, pine.

For now there was nothing to be done but think of him and try to sleep – and tomorrow throw herself into her lessons and wish away the time until their next meeting.

------

All at once time both flew and crawled up to the allotted day. The front parlour was dusted and polished, the best china selected, and Cook and the scullery maid worked hard to produce the very best pastries and cakes.

The Beaumonts arrived first, and Amelia and her friend Anabelle secreted themselves in the window seat to whisper and giggle together. Elizabeth’s acid tongued friend Rosanna attended with her parents, Lord and Lady Mc Dougal and her brother Scott, who was a little older than Amelia. They had not seen each other for some months, as the Mc Dougals had made a visit to relatives in London, and the two young women had much to catch up on, so they found a quiet corner to sit and talk. Rosanna was aghast at the news that Duncan was no longer courting her, and was hard put to it as to whether to talk about that or tell her friend of the wonders of the English capital and the latest fashions, but in the end the former won.

‘Whatever happened, Lizzy?’ she asked ‘Did he act improperly?

‘No, but he revealed his true nature and I discovered it would have been unbearable spending the rest of my life with him’ she said quietly ‘Father discovered he was rather too fond of gambling too, so he told his father and he has been reprimanded and put on a tight leash. Thankfully I was released from our engagement’

‘Father is still looking for a suitable match for me’ Rosanna replied ‘I wish he’d hurry up and find a dashing sea captain like yours – has he any friends looking for a young wife?’ Elizabeth laughed at her friend’s forthright manner.

‘Really Rosanna, I have no idea’ she replied ‘I have not spent much time in his company as yet’

‘When is he coming? He seems to be more than fashionably late’

‘Soon, I hope. I’m so nervous about playing in front of everyone, I wish it was all over and done with.’ Her friend smiled and squeezed her hand

‘You play beautifully, you will charm everyone. Your suitor is sure to drop to his knees and beg to marry you as soon as he hears you’

‘Rosanna, shush’ Elizabeth blushed. At that moment the doorbell rang, and she looked to the door ready to see her beau enter. It seemed an eternity before it opened and Walker announced him. Lady Charlotte went to welcome him in, and Elizabeth curtseyed. The Captain still wore his hat, and swept it off his head and bowed to the assembled guests.

‘My apologies for my lateness, Lady Charlotte. I had a small domestic matter to attend to’ he announced ‘I am deeply grieved to be so tardy’

‘Some things cannot be avoided, Captain and I trust all is well now.’ She inclined her head graciously at his explanation. ‘As everyone is here, perhaps Elizabeth might like to play for us’ she smiled. Elizabeth saw her friend narrow her eyes in envy at the Captains’ appearance.

‘Perhaps I might be permitted a few moments with the lady in question’ the Captain asked ‘I have a small gift for her that may be of use’

‘Very well Captain, but we are eager to hear my dear Lizzy play’ she replied. She stepped back a little to let him move toward her daughter. He produced a flat rectangular package, again wrapped neatly in brown paper and secured with string.

‘Miss Elizabeth, I hope you don’t think me presumptuous’ he smiled ‘Please accept this – again I have been looking through my father’s effects and thought you might appreciate this.’

She took the parcel and went to a nearby chair to sit and open it. He followed her and sat close as she fumbled with the string.

‘I’m sorry, I must have tied it too tight. Let me help’ he said as her hands trembled. He took the parcel and their fingers brushed as he did so. She looked up, startled at the electric jolt, and found herself gazing into his dark brown eyes again. His smile was enigmatic as he produced a small folding pocket knife and cut the string. ‘There – you can open it now’ he said softly. She took it back and carefully pulled back the paper to find a book of music manuscript. She leafed through it to find carefully handwritten music and song.

‘My father had an interest in music and collected various folk songs and sea shanties’ he said in explanation ‘Perhaps you and your sister might try them some time’

‘Thankyou so much Captain’ she said ‘They look very interesting’ He turned to her mother

‘They are all quite appropriate for performing in polite society, Lady Charlotte’ he assured her with a smile ‘I remember my mother playing them when I was a boy’

‘That is very kind of you, Captain’ she said ‘Now Lizzy, we are waiting for you, but you may have a few more minutes if you wish’ She stepped away, and the Captain let out a sigh.

‘Elizabeth’ he said, and the sound of her name falling from his lips was like music to her ‘I hope you find it as pleasurable as I do to be allowed a few moments alone’ he stopped and rubbed his forehead ‘Forgive me, that was presumptuous of me’ She felt her throat tighten but managed to reply

‘Not at all, Captain’ she said ‘I have been counting the days’ His smile now lit up his face and he leaned a little closer.

‘I’m glad to hear that. You are fortunate to have family around you – I fear I barely speak to another soul beside my manservant unless I go to my club.’

‘But you may go where you wish, when you wish’ she sighed ‘I am so envious of the places you have visited when I am barely allowed out at all’ He reached out as if to take her hand, but stopped before their fingertips touched, capturing her gaze again.

‘Then I vow I will do what I can to take you out next time I visit’ he said. He took his hand back and looked at the floor ‘I am aware that would declare my intentions toward you – is that acceptable?’ She felt dizzy, but determined to be bold. She had never felt like she did about anyone else.

‘For my part, yes’ she replied ‘As to whether Mama will think it proper…’

‘I think enough time has elapsed since you broke off your engagement’ he smiled assuringly. ‘I will find it most refreshing to have a little female company, be it for five minutes – or longer’ That last aside made her shiver again, and a shy smile crept across her face as she made her way to the piano.

[ephrampettaline]

chatzy au log with @cassiegermaine, @ephrampettaline, and @joeyvoeman

Cassie heard the gunshots as she was thrown into a nearby car and she and the Skull Boys Leader were sped away from the scene. Cassie sat almost unmoving the entire trip. She didn’t know what to expect from Petal, but a dress shop wasn’t it. Retrospectively? It was a great cover, and Cassie was grateful she wasn’t dragged into some mucky underground instead. 

She was placed in a chair in the corner of the store floor, one of the burly Skull Boys tying her hands with rope. It wasn’t extra tight or elaborate, and felt more like show than anything. But Cassie was really surprised when they returned with a small plate dived with saltines and rationed out peanut butter. 

“Thanks…for the hospitality?” She squinted, taking the plate and balancing it on her lap.

Petal came over – changed into a different outfit, this time a pastel pink Chanel skirt suit and matching hat – and sat across from Cassie again, hands folded on the skull head of her cane. “We’re not savages, after all,” she said, and the Skull Boy placed a second plate of peanut butter crackers on the small table next to his boss. As well as a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne, which Petal poured for them both. “Cincin,” she said with a merry laugh, drinking and then selecting a cracker.

Ephram holstered his gun, panting, and hung his hands against his hips as he paced in thought. “There’s only a few dress shops south of the river,” he said, “and most of them let the seamstress girls sleep there. Unwieldy places for holding a captive.” He looked at Joey from below angry, tightly-drawn brows, a spur of searing satisfaction – not enough, not nearly enough – in his belly at the sight of the blood on Voeman’s face. The blow Ephram had dealt him with his gun butt hadn’t been an intense one, but it’d been hard enough to vent frustration.

Joey had taken the hit gladly, honestly feeling as if he deserved it for letting both Ephram and Cassie down. His nose was gushing blood as it sat at an odd angle, but he ignored the tear-bringing pain as he tried his best to formulate a plan with Ephram. “Should we grab backup or try stealth?” he asked. Ephram had been his superior in the war, and he always looked to him for guidance. Joey was very much a follower, and he knew his place. “And the shipment. It’s compromised.”

Ephram turned his head and spat, following it with a string of curses. “Good thing we didn’t pay for those guns, then,” he said, biting off the words. “I’m not about to have tonight be a sweep on Kingfisher losses.” He turned and started back towards Clair de Lune, telling Joey, “Get us a car. I need to make a call.”

Joey nodded, feeling like a little boy in trouble with his Pa. He rushed out of the alley and drove the car with the shipment back to the compound for safe keeping, spending a little time in the bathroom to reset his own nose and apologizing to the maid for getting blood all over the towels before heading back to Clair de Lune with another car, waiting out front for Ephram. God, he’d really fucked up this time. 

He bashed his fist into the steering wheel, the release of rage feeling good for the moment. He imagined it was one of the Skull Boys. Whichever one took Cassie. He punched it more, seeing a face slowly turn to mush under his knuckles in his imagination. Then Cassie being so impressed with him she took him back. He got divorced from his bitch wife and….it was all an illusion. He knew this wouldn’t end well for him, in pretty much any capacity.

Cassie carefully balanced her glass of champagne as well, returning the toast and only taking a sip because Petal had done so before her. “If you wanted in with the Kingfisher’s – you didn’t have to orchestrate something this elaborate.” Cassie commented coolly, leaving her crackers untouched. She still hadn’t gotten a straight answer with Skull Boys, but the obvious was this, Petal wanted to lure them away from safe ground. Which could be more disastrous than Cassie initially gave them credit for. 

“Where are my children Petal?” She asked, trying to remain placid and calm, but her knuckles tightened around the glass. “That’s something I’m going to have to take personal.” There were guidelines, at the very least, and the Skull Boys seemingly trampled over that one.

Ephram swung himself into the car without greeting, merely barking out, “Larkspur and Camden. There’s a Russian dress shop there." 

He’d been damn lucky to get Freddie on the line at all, this random time at night; not lucky enough to avoid having to talk to Wawelski, but that was beside the point. And Freddie’d ponied up a possible location with a minimum of hornpipe dancing required, for which Ephram had the nagging feeling he’d owe his … fuck, his friend and business partner something later. "Do I need to tell you to drive up on it from the back roads, or can you figure that one out yourself?” It was an unkind and cutting comment, since Ephram well knew Joey’s capacity in a tense situation, but he didn’t feel like being kind.

Joey had thankfully gotten all his anger and frustration out before Ephram got into the car, because the last thing he need was the man thinking he’d not only lost his sister, but his own marbles. He didn’t respond to Ephram’s biting comments, simply grunting in understanding as he shifted into gear and headed off. It wasn’t too far a drive from where they were, but long enough for the tense silence to weigh down heavy on Joey’s mind and body, his shoulders hunching with every moment of Ephram’s seething sitting next to him. Finally, they made it to the dress shop, approaching inconspicuously from the back. He parked and turned to Ephram for orders.

Petal leaned forward, flashing a brilliant, pearly smile. “Oh, Cassie! I don’t have your children. I imagine they’re safe as plums in a cake, tucked away in their little cradles.” She sipped her champagne, still smiling. “That was only to get your attention and let you know we mean business. That’s what we’re all here for, right? Business.” She reached out and patted Cassie’s knee, a marquise-cut pink diamond ring sparkling on one elegant, waxen finger. “Yours, mine … ours.”

Cassie knew it could have been a ploy, but she wanted to take it more seriously than not, play on the safe side just in case The Skull Boys had reached out for her kids. They were watching them though. Close enough to be lurking around Addie’s birthday. Cassie tucked the information away for later, ego only slightly bruised that Petal could toy so easily with her. It was the cost of family. “My brother, or any of the Slap Jacks won’t take this as a business venture when they show up.” Cassie warned her. “If you have anything of real importance, you better clear it up fast.”

Petal kept on smiling at Cassie, although it curled a little more at the corners of her mouth. She toyed with the stem of her champagne glass, but then Bosco appeared looming up from the wooden stairs at the back of the room they were in, and Petal nodded. “It seems they’ve arrived,” she said, smoothing her skirt over her knees. “I think given your brother’s proclivities, I might just be able to … wriggle my way out of any sour mood he might be in, hmmmm?” Petal winked at Cassie and put her glass down so she could snug her hands under her Chanel-covered breasts and give them a primping heft.

Ephram had spent the drive sorting out the possible angles of approach, the possible outcomes, the possible pitfalls. But when the engine turned off and Joey looked at him expectantly, he found himself defaulting to what he’d always gone with when he was pressed down to the wire: what felt right in the moment. “Keep your jacket open,” Ephram said, his voice calm despite the low grate of its register. “Let them see what you’re carryin’. We’ll walk up to the back door. I’m sure they’re expecting us, anyhow." 

He got out of the car, unbuttoning his own suit jacket so the leather of his shoulder holster was obvious, and waited for Joey so they could walk abreast of each other instead of Ephram in front.

Joey did as he was cold, opening his bomber jacket to show the revolver tucked in his waistband. The same revolver that had killed one of the other Skull Boys only an hour or so before. "What’s the plan if it goes sideways. Gun’s blazin’?” he asked. Usually they weren’t keen on making so much noise if it was uncalled for, but this was Cassie they were talking about. He was sure the two of them would do just about anything to make sure she came back safe.

Ephram muttered, “We don’t have a whole lot of options here, Voeman. We’ll just have to make sure it don’t go sideways." 

Two block-shouldered Skull Boys eyefucked them as they approached, but once the Jacks were in hailing distance, one of them said, "Boss lady says you’re to go on up and meet her. Your sister too.” He pointed at Joey. “This hump better not go trigger-happy like he did back at Clair.”

Joey held his gaze with the Skull Boys that greeted them with a stern brow, trying his best not to clench his fists. “Don’t give me a reason and I won’t,” he said, like it was a generous offer.

Ephram let Joey go through the door first, following behind with their boots thumping thread dust from the wooden stairs as they mounted them. “Steady on, Sergeant,” Ephram said sotto voce to Joey’s broad back, once they got a glimpse of Cassie tied up to a chair and the extravagant Petal Popovitch sitting across from her for all the world like the two women had been discussing corsetry and ribbons.

Petal raked an avaricious, somewhat hungry gaze over the two men as they filled up the staircase, giving a pleased hum and folding her be-ringed hands over her knee as she crossed her legs. “Verrrrry nice,” she said. “I’ve seen you before, of course, my dear Kingfisher, but you–” Petal made a little claw gesture at Joey. “Rrrwowr.”

Joey simply glared at Petal as she lewdly ogled him. If it hadn’t been for Ephram’s quiet reminder, Joey would have been liable to pop off at any moment, seeing Cassie tied up like that. At least she didn’t look hurt in any way. “Keep your claws to yourself,” he muttered quietly.

“Ephram.” Cassie greeted the familiar face of her brother in a calm tone, her gaze falling to Joey next. The dimple in her cheek appeared as she smothered the tiniest grin. Mostly because she was laughing at herself, at the whole situation. “Joey.” She tilted her head back at Petal’s more enthusiastic greeting and added sarcastically, “Sorry about my friend. I guess not even all the meatheads on her payroll can keep her satisfied.”

Ephram scanned Cassie quickly before nodding at her, then greeting the Skull Boys boss. “Miss Popovitch,” he said. “This ain’t much of a friendly parlay, now, is it? At this hour of the night and with only crackers and champagne and ropes and abduction to smooth the way.” Very deliberately, Ephram told Joey, “Untie my sister, please, Joey.”

Joey nodded curtly, happy to stride over and do just that. He knelt down in front of Cassie, easily undoing the knot that kept her hands together. It wasn’t a very good knot at that. Joey had tied plenty of people up in his day, and this wasn’t how you did it. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” he asked in a hushed voice, not able to help himself.

“Don’t worry about me.” Cassie shook her head, brushing off the rope and standing stiffly by her chair still. “Keep wise Joey.” She muttered even softer than before, her head only slightly tilting towards Ephram and the Skull Boy leader. “We’re not out of here yet.”

The cold shoulder from Joey and subsequent scold from Cassie brought a pout to Petal’s face, and she sniffed, rubbing some imaginary smudge from her pink diamond and holding it up to admire as it sparkled even in the low light. “Yes, fine, untie her,” Petal said, “we weren’t intending to keep her, heavens to betsy. This was only a shot across the bow, Mr. Kingfisher. After all, the Skull Boys are capable of also flying governmental colours, if we get the chance.” She kept Joey and Cassie in the periphery of her vision, but Petal’s attention was chiefly on Ephram and the look of sudden understanding that crossed his face at her comment.

Petal leaned back in her chair, settling her shoulders from side to side and causing her bosom to move in all sorts of ways. “So about that parlay, Mr. Kingfisher,” she said. “If you’ve got a moment to spare….”

Ephram met her eyes for a long beat, then turned to Joey. “Take Cassie,” he said, putting one hand on Joey’s shoulder, “and wait in the car for me. They won’t try to stop you. I’ll be along directly. Don’t come back inside, just wait till I come out.” Ephram gave Joey a searching look, willing the man to listen to him and follow his instructions, no matter what other impulses Joey might have. “You hear me? Take Cassie with you and keep her safe in the car. I’ll be along.”

Joey didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all. Leaving Ephram here by himself rubbed him the wrong way, but at least he was still trusting Joey with his sister, so that was a good sign. He just nodded at the order, guiding Cassie back to the car with no resistance from the Skull Boys, just as he’d said. “What does she want?” he asked once they were out of earshot. “What happened?”

Cassie eyes widened, “What? No!” It was the first time she’d raised her voice throughout the entire ordeal. She didn’t trust Petal, a part of her didn’t trust Ephram’s judgement which spelled nothing but a recipe for disaster. “Don’t touch me. Damn it Ephram, don’t be stupid.” She was glaring daggers at him, they were supposed to handle things jointly. 

But Joey guided her out of the room. Cassie smacked him when they were back at the car, and hit his broad chest again for good measure. “Hell if I know.” She grumbled. “She seemed interested in Freddie Watts. My role with Slap Jacks. But she just did a lot of fancy blathering too.”

Joey took his licks from the other Kingfisher this time, his cheek stinging as he listened to her. “I didn’t like leaving him in there either, but what was I suppose to do, Cassie? I already killed two of their goons to find out where they took you.” He’d thought for a moment he’d lost her and his life in well fell swoop. At least he was sure one of those things was safe now. “She’s either dumb as a sack of bricks or she’s got an ace up her sleeve. Either way, I don’t trust her far as I can throw her.” He ran a hand through his short, crop of hair. “Your kids are safe, by the way. I checked on ‘em before we came over…”

Since Joey had posed it as a question, Cassie answered him unflinching, “You do as I say, no matter what.” Being taken off the streets had shaken her just a little deep down, and she was taking her frustration out on Joey, because she could. “Ephram makes the decisions but someone’s gotta be there for checks and balances. That’s me.” 

She kicked the tire of the car lightly, glancing back over her shoulder to squint at the upper story window of the dress shop. “They’ve been watching the kids. Who knows how long the Skull Boys have been skulking around for a chance.”

Joey crossed his arms. “And what is it you’d have me do then?” He sighed in frustration. He knew how their partnership worked, but Ephram wasn’t really one to respect it, and it always put Joey in a hard position. He was horrified when she informed him they’d been watching the kids. “I’ll fucking kill 'em if I see them around your kids.”

Cassie huffed, knowing at this point her complaints and demands didn’t mean much of anything. They were outside on the sidewalk and Ephram was indoors with Petal doing god knows what. “I don’t know. But at least I’d get to tell Ephram he was being a fucking idiot to his face.” She grumbled again. Cassie waved Joey off, “Yeah, don’t get me wrong I appreciate the offer-“ She looked back to Joey and his busted up face again, “But let’s keep the bloodshed to a minimum for now. My brother can’t be losing a loyal Jack and starting a war all at the same time.”

“Right. I’ll keep it professional,” he said curtly, slightly mirroring their earlier conversation. He was a bit tired of being kicked around in the moment, even by Cassie, and so he just leaned against the car, striking up a cigarette as he waited for Ephram to return. He looked at his watch, ready to give it about ten more minutes before he charged in there. He tapped Cassie on the shoulder and offered her a cigarette between his fingers.

Cassie rolled her eyes slightly at him, hearing the irritation in his voice. “Take it easy.” Cassie sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.” She started to tap her heel in an anxious manner as they stood there continuing to wait, and took the cigarette when it was offered. “If Skull Boys really wanna patch it up, Ephram’s clearly listening.” She motioned to the window, before turning so that Joey could light the cigarette for her. After a drag she added, “If it didn’t touch business? I’d let you kill Petal. And if your nose wasn’t all broken and crooked-“ Cassie smirked slightly, “I’d even give you a thank you kiss.”

“Do I?” Joey asked. Cassie, like her brother, was notoriously hard to read. But he let himself relax a bit, the tenseness in his shoulders slouching as Cassie spoke. At the mention of a kiss, he felt himself perk up on instinct, but then he smirked a smirk that didn’t quite make it up to his eyes. Sadness filled his eyes. Longing. Loss. “Don’t tease me, Cassie.”

Cassie shook her head at Joey’s puppy dog like look. Then that plea. The sad thing was, she did like Joey quite a bit. But it would never work. She could steel herself to that fact, but he just couldn’t. “I would kiss you, you lug.” Cassie insisted, taking another puff from her cigarette, “If you didn’t get lost in your fantasies. I wonder how you ever made it to work with the Slap Jacks at all aside from being war buddies with my brother.” She squinted up at him, waving some of the access smoke away, “Kingfisher’s can’t let business and love intertwine. It’s a dangerous disaster.”

“You didn’t have a problem with my fantasies when they involved you laid out under me,” Joey whispered, approaching her from behind and laying his hands on her shoulders, letting them trail down her arms slowly. But just as quickly, he pulled away, knowing what he was doing to himself. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He took another drag from his cigarette. “You’re always right…”

Cassie scowled at the whisper. It was an overly cocky comment coming from him, but before Cassie even got the chance to retort or deflect Joey backed down again. It was only slightly pathetic. If he hadn’t gotten wrapped up with the Slap Jacks, he probably could have made something more out of himself than a trailing heavy hitter. “Well, at least someone has that figured out.”

The back door to the dress shop opened and shut with a bang that could be heard all the way to the two waiting by the car, the noise heralding the appearance of Ephram’s tall frame long-legging it towards them at a rushed clip that showed the slight limp the war had left him with. “Let’s go,” he said tightly when he reached them, his face drawn and pale, beads of sweat standing out across his brow and down the line of his nose. He huddled in his seat, arms folded tight and tucked in around himself, and when one of the Skull Boys appeared unexpectedly out of the darkness Ephram looked like he might be violently sick. 

“Boss said you forgot something,” the Skull Boy said, handing Cassie a lace-edged handkerchief and sauntering off back to his post. The fine, soft cloth fell delicately open when she took it; nestled there in the pretty folds of fabric was Ephram’s neatly excised, bloodstained left ring finger.

[celtfather]

St. Patrick's Day Irish Music & Dance #251

Happy St Patrick’s Day with an extra long episode. Jon Pilatzke shares some stories about the late Paddy Maloney of The Chieftains. The Muckers wrote a song on a Flogging Molly cruise. Guilty pleasures come in many shapes. What’s mine? I’ll give you a hint. It comes in plaid. The Lost Druid Brewery will tell you why they have so many beers to choose from. Climate change is real. But is it too late? Atlanta Irish Dance by Burke & Connolly will tell you about the different types of Irish dance.

It’s on Pub Songs & Stories #251.

WHO'S PLAYING IN THE PUB TODAY

Welcome to Pub Songs & Stories. This is the Virtual Public House to share stories and inspiration behind music with your host Marc Gunn. Subscribe to the podcast and download free music at PubSong.com.

0:47 - WHAT’S NEW?

If you're new to the pub songs podcast, subscribe.

Donations to Celtic Non-profits over $45,000

Today’s show is brought to you by my Gunn Runners on Patreon. Special thanks to Not Higgins, C.J. Taylor, Sarah Crockett, Bill Mandeville, William McKissack, Brian Morin, Carol Baril, Kurt Goodyear, Miranda Nelson, Jan Czenkusch, Luke Miller, Josh Brown, LauraMay Sorkin, James ODell, Eric Ray, Tim M. O'Brien

What new patreon content was added?

What are you doing while listening to Pub Songs & Stories? I’d love your thoughts and feedback. So take a picture of yourself or where you are or what one of these stories reminds you of. Post it on social media. Use the hashtag #pubstories so I can find it and share your story.

If you need a guest on your podcast…

What song would you like to hear more about?

4:12 - The Carroll Sisters “Reels for Three Brothers” from Daybreak

8:49 - NEW TO IRISH & CELTIC MUSIC: BEST OF 2022 PLAYLIST

There’s a lot of great new music added to our Best of 2022 playlist on Spotify and Amazon Music.

The Carroll Sisters

Poitin Band

Kilmaine Saints

The Rogues

Listen to the playlists on Spotify or Amazon Music.

9:16 - UPCOMING SHOWS

MAR 25-27: MidSouthCon, Memphis, TN

APR 2-3: Sherwood Forest Faire, Paige, TX

APR 9-10: Sherwood Forest Faire, Paige, TX

9:38 - “Whiskey Is Calling” by Kilmaine Saints from Drunken Redemption

12:43 - STORY OF PLAYING MUSIC WITH PADDY MALONEY FOR 20 YEARS

Paddy Maloney was the co-founder of The Chieftains. They were called Ireland’s Musical Ambassadors. The Irish music world mourned last October in 2021 when Paddy passed away.

I posted my own sorrows for his passing on the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast Facebook page. Jon Pilatzke responded. Jon is a fiddler and an Irish dancer. He played music with The Chieftains for 20 years. I asked him to submit music to the podcast.

I asked Jon if he might be able to share a story or two about playing music with Paddy. He humbly shared this inspiring story of a Celtic music legend.

21:59 - Jon Pilatzke “The Canadian Set: Fisher's Hornpipe / Cotillon d'Avila LeBlanc / Reel du Forgeron (The Blacksmith's Reel)” from Amongst Friends

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25:59 - STORY OF QUEEN OF THE PIT

I was performing at Tucker Brewing Company at the beginning of last year, when who did I see in the audience, drinking a pint, Jeff Shaw of The Muckers.

I first connected with Jeff a number of years back when he too was living in New Orleans. We both had an early introduction to Celtic music through an album of Irish drinking songs. But it wasn’t until Atlanta that I finally met him. And I was really surprised to see him in my audience.

At that time, I was trying to find artists to collaborate with on my album Selcouth. One song stood out. That was “Kilty Pleasure”. I’ll talk more about it in a moment. But I emailed him the next day and asked if The Muckers might be interested in collaborating. And I’m so happy they agreed.

There aren’t many Celtic bands in Atlanta that are making a splash. But The Muckers, they are definitely the go to band. They sound amazing. But I’m sure it also helps that they are a Celtic Punk band. That’s probably why they were on a cruise with the Celtic Punk icons, Flogging Molly, as Jeff will explain.

29:49 - “Queen of the Pit” by The Muckers from Irish Goodbye

33:41 - SUPPORT WHAT YOU LOVE

The musicians on this podcast are happy to share their music freely with you. You can find their music on streaming music sites. But streaming is a way to sample the music. If you hear something you love, these artists need your support.

Please visit their website, sign up to their mailing list and buy something. You could buy digital downloads, a shirt, a sticker, a pin, a songbook, jewelry, or even the classic physical CD. Your purchase allows them to keep making music. And if you’re not into the physical stuff, many artists accept tips or are on Patreon. So please support the arts.

If this show made you happy, then you can also join the Gunn Runners Club on Patreon. Your support pays for the production and promotion of my music and this podcast. If you have questions or comments, drop me an email.  Save 15% with an annual membership.

34:27 - FINDING BEERS WE CAN ALL CAN ENJOY

Have you ever been to the Cheesecake Factory? I like the place okay. But I’ll be honest. I get a bit overwhelmed. They have a 10 page menu with SO MANY items. I can see why it’s so popular. There’s something for everyone there. I can find something fun and so can my picky kids.

In some ways, The Lost Druid Brewery in Avondale Estates, GA outside of Atlanta reminds of the Cheesecake Factory. They have SO many beers to choose from. There’s something for everyone.

In fact, the head brewmaster, Rob, will tell you a story about why they have so many beers to choose from.

36:40 - GIVING BACK

Next Stacia will tell you how the brewery gives back to their community.

Speaking of giving back…

39:30 - WHAT IS THE CARBON ALMANAC?

I was listening to Seth Godin’s Akimbo podcast a few weeks back when he announced a new project–The Carbon Almanac.

It piqued my interest. I am extremely concerned about the impact we are making on our environment. Not as much for my sake, but for kids and their kids. What kind of world do I want to leave behind?

We are causing major damage to our planet and atmosphere. It will affect everyone some day. But the good news is that we can make a difference. We can make positive change. Not just as individuals but as a community.

The Carbon Almanac at its base is a book. It’s a book about how we can affect change on our planet. But it’s also a book designed to start discussing how we can make change together.

If you too are concerned about Climate Change, I want to invite you to check out the Carbon Almanac website to get involved. Or at the very least, you can pre-order the book like I did for when it comes out in June.

Order the Carbon Almanac now or check out the webpage at thecarbonalmanac.org .

40:59 - “Heart of Fangorn” by Brobdingnagian Bards from Memories of Middle Earth

44:20 - WHAT IS IRISH DANCE?

I’ve played Celtic music for over twenty years. I remember how Riverdance was all the rage when I started playing Celtic music, I never quite understood it. I am a singer. I’ve fallen in love with the traditional tunes. But I’ll be honest, I don’t know much about Irish dance.

My daughter Inara loves to dance. We started her on ballet a year before the pandemic started. She quickly found it slow and boring. She has a lot of energy. So a year ago, we signed her up with Atlanta Irish Dance by Burke Connolly. She connected with it instantly.

I wanted to find out more about Irish dance. So I contacted Emma Burke, one of the co-founders of the school. Emma is a certified Irish dance teacher and internationally certified Irish dance adjudicator, which allows her to judge Irish dance competitions world wide. During her Irish dancing career, Emma competed all over the world, winning titles throughout.

Atlanta Irish Dance is the Premiere Irish Dance Academy in Georgia and one of the top Irish Dance Companies in the United States. They have an exciting performance based program run through their 501c3, in which they produce lively crowd-pleasing performances for crowds across Atlanta.  Their dancers and teams are ranked 1st in the Region, 2nd in North America, and among the top 10 in the World.

So what is Irish dance? I’ll let Emma Burke tell you more about it.

You can find out more about Atlanta Irish dance at http://www.burkeconnolly.com

They welcome dancers as young as 3 up to Adults into their program.  They train every dancer with innovative and engaging teaching techniques that inspire each student to become their best. I attended a Father & Me Valentine’s Day class with Inara. It was fantastic. Exhausting, but fantastic.

52:21 - STORY OF KILTY PLEASURE

I love my kilt. I don’t wear it as much as I used to when I wrote my song “Kilted For Her Pleasure”. It’s become a bit of a guilty pleasure. It’s largely something I wear when I’m going to a show or an event.

I love it for many different reasons. Obviously, I love it becomes of Scottish heritage. Gunn is one of the clans of Scotland. That old Scotland map shows the Gunn land just Northwest of Inverness. But when I wrote the song, I realized there are other reasons.

You see, the album is called Selcouth. That means, “when everything is strange and different yet you find it marvelous anyway.”

That word sort of encapsulates my life. Yes, there was a time in high school when I just wanted to fit in. But when I got to college, I realized that I would never fit. I was just different. It wasn’t good or bad. It was just different. And we are all a little different. We are all unique. That is a great thing.

America is a cultural melting pot. It’s not just white Americans. People from around the globe have immigrated to our country, just like my family did 150 years ago.

I love traditional Irish music. But 15 years ago, a trad musician sat me down to tell me I wasn’t playing Celtic music. I didn’t fit the mold. He was right. But that didn’t make my music any less Celtic. I believe in inclusion. Not exclusion.

I’ll be honest. The racism that our last president ignited and promoted was a big reason for this song. I was afraid that my people, the Scots and Irish of the South, were a part of that bigotry.

So I wanted a song that waived a banner of what it truly is to be Scots-Irish in America.

Our groups were once oppressed by the majority. Now we are a big part of America. And I believe it is time to realize we don’t have to oppress other minority groups to stand out. We can all be strong and proud of our unique heritages and embrace all of our differences.

That’s what the kilt says to me. It’s a sign that I am a true American, and I am Celtic forever. And I love and respect you and your heritage, whatever it is.

55:26 - “Kilty Pleasure” by Marc Gunn & The Muckers from Selcouth

If you enjoyed that song, I really would greatly appreciate it if you would buy the album.

59:28 - NEXT TIME

We have some comedic Celtic music and stories, just in time for April Fool’s Day with Dublin Abbey.

Pub Songs & Stories was produced by Marc Gunn. The show is edited by Mitchell Petersen with graphics by Miranda Nelson Designs. You can subscribe and listen wherever you find podcasts. You can also subscribe to my mailing list. You will get regular updates of new music, podcasts, special offers, and you’ll get 21 songs for free. Welcome to the pub at www.pubsong.com!

#pubstories #thechieftains #floggingmolly

Check out this episode!

[babe-regent]

CHARACTER INTERVIEW

Repost. Don’t reblog.

NAME: George Augustus Frederick of the House of Hanover, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Chester, Baron Renfrew, etc

NICKNAME(S): Prinny

AGE: born in 1762, he is played on this blog as in his forties, and is not yet Prince Regent (although that may soon change)  

SPECIES: All too human!

personal.

MORALITY: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true 

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: George was raised very strictly in the Protestant faith with the expectation that he will one day become the Supreme Governor of the Church of England. Despite (or perhaps because of) this, he is an indifferent church-goer and detests most sermons, though he enjoys drinking with bishops. His current excuse for not attending the nearby Church of St. Nicolas in Brighton is that it is at the top of a very steep hill. He is rather distressed that the faithful of Brighton are planning to build a new chapel at the bottom of the hill especially for his convenience. 

SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath (he often persuades other people to share in his vices, insisting friends overeat or drink too much, and has a passion for encouraging adulterous affairs)

VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice (he has few virtues, but his kind heart redeems many of his vices)

PRIMARY GOALS IN LIFE: A lover of beauty in all things, he wishes to gratify his own exquisite taste and share it with the world. The seduction of beautiful women, wearing of beautiful clothes, the purchase of beautiful objects, the development of beautiful and original architecture, and to serve his country by expanding English style. Most of all, he yearns to be loved and admired which has made him easy prey for those who chose to flatter him. It pains him that he is not more popular with his father’s subjects.  

LANGUAGES KNOWN: English, French, German, Latin, and Greek (with a little Spanish and Italian).

SECRETS: His secret marriage to Maria-Anne Fitzherbert renders his marriage to Princess Caroline of Brunswick bigamous (in the eyes of God if not English law). He wears high cravats partly to obscure his double-chin and partly to hide the scrofula scars on his neck. Often he will come to believe any lie he might tell and thus his powers of self-deception often succeed in fooling others. He loves being ill because it is an excuse to stay in bed and be fussed over, and so makes much of every cough and sniffle. His growing corpulence is a great blow to his vanity although he pretends not mind it. He devours every caricature and article written about him, even though they depress and frustrate him, and then pretends to be above reading “such tripe”. He prefers to break up with women by letter or give no notice at all, not because it is more convenient, but because he knows he will cry and relent if he were to attempt such a thing in person. Although he is a spectacular spendthrift, he hates to spend physical money and often hides coins and notes in desk drawers and the pockets of his coats. He collects locks of women’s pubic hair, has kept every romantic souvenir ever presented to him, and likes to lie in bed and go through them when he is feeling particularly lonely or depressed.      

SAVVIES: Although he has not an ounce of common sense, his sensibilities are extremely acute. He is highly intuitive (when not in a nervous state), thinks outside the box, and usually knows what to say in order to get what he wants.

BUILD: scrawny / bony / slender / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / pudgy / average — to use his words: “rather too great a penchant to grow fat”.

HEIGHT: a little over six feet tall.

WEIGHT: This fluctuates quite a lot, but is currently somewhere between 16 and 18 stone. 

SCARS/BIRTHMARKS: The aforementioned scars on his neck as well as the scars on his backside from being whipped as a boy. It annoys him that the scar he gained from wounding himself to prove his love for Maria Fitzherbert has mostly faded away and it takes him a little while to discern it from his stretchmarks. 

ABILITIES/POWERS: He is extremely well-mannered, clever, and articulate (even while drunk), a fine judge of art, plays the piano, the cello, and the flute, sings well, knows how to talk and how to listen, and can make himself agreeable to just about anyone should he set his mind to it. He is no snob and can be very kind-hearted. He supports many charities, is against slavery (although he cannot bring himself to quit sugar), patronises a society against animal cruelty, hates executions, gave up watching boxing when he saw a man die in the ring, and is exceedingly generous (albeit usually with other people’s money). He is charming, elegant, very witty, a good rider, can drive any vehicle on wheels, and does devastatingly accurate impressions of all his acquaintances.

RESTRICTIONS: He extremely emotional, perpetually in a dazzle, can’t shoot for beans, has no real idea of how much anything should cost, and often requires the support of his lovers and friends (who may not have his best interests at heart). He cries often, lies often, overeats, is incapable of fidelity, catastrophises situations, and can behave with astonishing immaturity. He is an alcoholic, increasingly addicted to opium, perpetually in debt, and prefers to run away from his problems. He is terrified of ridicule and has an exceedingly thin skin, although he does his very best to hide it. He chooses people over principles and often does not understand why a friend will suddenly become an enemy because of something he has done. He can be made to feel helpless very easily and often indulges in grand talk to hide his insecurities. He wants to do the right thing, but is too fond of escapism, so people dismiss him a stupid or silly.

favourites.

FOOD: His favourite foods are legion but particular mention goes to chicken, truffles, vol-au-vents, ice cream, marzipan, beefsteak, lobster, goose pie, puff pastry, turtle, oysters, roast capon, stuffed pike, syllabub, cheese, strawberries, peaches, pineapple, trifle, jellies, and custard pudding.  

DRINK: Hot chocolate, cherry brandy, sherry, gin, whisky, port, hock, Madeira, champagne punch, and hot ale with toast.

PIZZA TOPPING: Pineapple ;)

COLOUR: He loves all colours, but his favourites are blue, pink, green, and gold. He is a magpie, attracted to anything that glitters, although he understands what suits his large figure and lately has chosen darker, more somber styles under the influence of Mr Brummell. His choices in interior design, however, grow brighter and more eclectic by the day.

MUSIC GENRE: He loves all sorts of music, employs a German band, delights in opera — particularly Rossini — enjoys cello pieces, will sing old catches and glees with anyone who cares to join in, taps his foot to keep time, invites soloists to perform for him, and will even dance a hornpipe or a fling if he’s in the mood (although lately he has begun to refrain due to his weight).

BOOK GENRE: He mostly enjoys light reading: poetry, romances, and comedies — although this is not a rule. He adores Jane Austen’s sharp wit and Walter Scott’s lavish narratives. He will inevitably end up putting himself inside the novel and agonising over the characters’ feelings as though they were his own. When he is alone, or as alone as a prince can ever be, he reads aloud to himself and “does the voices”.

MOVIE PLAY GENRE: The same. He has a particular affection for Shakespeare’s comedies and Sheridan’s farces. He will watch tragedies, if they have actors he admires, or has been told he ought to go, but they make him cry.

SEASON: Spring. He loves to see the world renew itself.

CURSE WORD: Damme, damn’d, God damn, and all varieties thereof. 

SCENT(S): Almond cream, lavender water, rose water, elder flower water, jasmine pomatum and orange pomatum, eau de cologne, eau romaine, Arquebusade, essence of bergamot, vanilla, eau de miel d’Angleterre, milk of roses, huile antique, oil of jasmine, brandy, ripe fruit, civet, warm butter, roast meat, and the sea air.  

fun stuff.

BOTTOM OR TOP: It varies between lovers and circumstances. He desires to be admired and treated with deference but longs for the security of a guiding hand. Without someone he can trust by his side, he will often go into an emotional tailspin. So, physically, it can go either way but emotionally he prefers a stronger partner.  

SINGS IN THE SHOWER BATH: Loudly and frequently.

LIKES BAD PUNS: Don’t get him started!

[cannedpoo]

In the sea, once upon a time, O my Best Beloved, there was a Whale, and he ate fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the skate and his mate, and the mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel. All the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth—so! Till at last there was only one small fish left in all the sea, and he was a small ‘Stute Fish, and he swam a little behind the Whale’s right ear, so as to be out of harm’s way. Then the Whale stood up on his tail and said, ‘I’m hungry.’ And the small ‘Stute Fish said in a small ‘stute voice, ‘Noble and generous Cetacean, have you ever tasted Man?’

‘No,’ said the Whale. ‘What is it like?’

‘Nice,’ said the small ‘Stute Fish. ‘Nice but nubbly.’

‘Then fetch me some,’ said the Whale, and he made the sea froth up with his tail.

‘One at a time is enough,’ said the ‘Stute Fish. ‘If you swim to latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West (that is magic), you will find, sitting on a raft, in the middle of the sea, with nothing on but a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders (you must not forget the suspenders, Best Beloved), and a jack- knife, one ship-wrecked Mariner, who, it is only fair to tell you, is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’

So the Whale swam and swam to latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West, as fast as he could swim, and on a raft, in the middle of the sea, with nothing to wear except a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders (you must particularly remember the suspenders, Best Beloved), and a jack-knife, he found one single, solitary shipwrecked Mariner, trailing his toes in the water. (He had his mummy’s leave to paddle, or else he would never have done it, because he was a man of infinite- resource-and-sagacity.)

Then the Whale opened his mouth back and back and back till it nearly touched his tail, and he swallowed the shipwrecked Mariner, and the raft he was sitting on, and his blue canvas breeches, and the suspenders (which you must not forget), and the jack-knife—He swallowed them all down into his warm, dark, inside cup-boards, and then he smacked his lips—so, and turned round three times on his tail.

But as soon as the Mariner, who was a man of infinite-resource- and-sagacity, found himself truly inside the Whale’s warm, dark, inside cup-boards, he stumped and he jumped and he thumped and he bumped, and he pranced and he danced, and he banged and he clanged, and he hit and he bit, and he leaped and he creeped, and he prowled and he howled, and he hopped and he dropped, and he cried and he sighed, and he crawled and he bawled, and he stepped and he lepped, and he danced hornpipes where he shouldn’t, and the Whale felt most unhappy indeed. (Have you forgotten the suspenders?)

So he said to the ‘Stute Fish, ‘This man is very nubbly, and besides he is making me hiccough. What shall I do?’

‘Tell him to come out,’ said the ‘Stute Fish.

So the Whale called down his own throat to the shipwrecked Mariner, ‘Come out and behave yourself. I’ve got the hiccoughs.’

‘Nay, nay!’ said the Mariner. ‘Not so, but far otherwise. Take me to my natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion, and I’ll think about it.’ And he began to dance more than ever.

‘You had better take him home,’ said the ‘Stute Fish to the Whale. ‘I ought to have warned you that he is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’

So the Whale swam and swam and swam, with both flippers and his tail, as hard as he could for the hiccoughs; and at last he saw the Mariner’s natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion, and he rushed half-way up the beach, and opened his mouth wide and wide and wide, and said, ‘Change here for Winchester, Ashuelot, Nashua, Keene, and stations on the Fitchburg Road;’ and just as he said ‘Fitch’ the Mariner walked out of his mouth. But while the Whale had been swimming, the Mariner, who was indeed a person of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, had taken his jack-knife and cut up the raft into a little square grating all running criss- cross, and he had tied it firm with his suspenders (now , you know why you were not to forget the suspenders!), and he dragged that grating good and tight into the Whale’s throat, and there it stuck! Then he recited the following Sloka , which, as you have not heard it, I will now proceed to relate—

By means of a grating I have stopped your ating. For the Mariner he was also an Hi-ber-ni-an. And he stepped out on the shingle, and went home to his mother, who had given him leave to trail his toes in the water; and he married and lived happily ever afterward. So did the Whale. But from that day on, the grating in his throat, which he could neither cough up nor swallow down, prevented him eating anything except very, very small fish; and that is the reason why whales nowadays never eat men or boys or little girls.

The small ‘Stute Fish went and hid himself in the mud under the Door-sills of the Equator. He was afraid that the Whale might be angry with him.

The Sailor took the jack-knife home. He was wearing the blue canvas breeches when he walked out on the shingle. The suspenders were left behind, you see, to tie the grating with; and that is the end of that tale.

https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/audio/mp3/just-so-stories-007-how-the-whale-got-his-throat.1300.mp3

[ib2se]

B:sides ~ weLLsh  

The B:sides-Playlist 2017-10-30 @ Radio Vättervåg 98,5 Mhz

This week: weLLsh

1. 'B:zväng' TextMix & reading af MrZ Komposition & Produktion af SkåneJokke Lütz [0:41]

THE ULTIMATE GUIDE TO WELSH FOLK compiled by Cerys Matthews ~ albumrelease 27th October 2017 [ EUCD2744 ] ~ 2. Nansi Richards: Pwt ar y Bys (A Little Something for the Fingers) (trad., arr. Nansi Richards) From ‘Brenhines y Delyn/Queen of the Welsh Harp’ - Nansi Richards We kick off with a recording of the original Queen of the Harp, Nansi Richards, playing a traditional tune recorded in the twilight of her life. Nansi must have been some character. Like Jimi Hendrix, she played tricks with her instruments, playing harp with her back turned, or 2 at a time. Born in Oswestry in 1888, she went on to study at the Guildhall School of Music, London, and toured America. A huge figure in Welsh folk, she taught triple harp to Llio Rhydderch, as well as Dafydd and Gwyndaf from Ar Log, all of whom feature in this collection. ℗ 1959, Sain (Recordiau) Cyf licensed [2:15] 3. Robin Huw Bowen: Gypsy Waltzes (trad., arr. Robin Huw Bowen) From ‘Y Ffordd i Aberystwyth/The Road to Aberystwyth’ - Robin Huw Bowen Robin Huw Bowen is the world’s leading exponent of our national instrument, the triple harp. Interestingly, the tradition of playing this harp with three rows of strings and no pedals is alive and well today, only thanks to a family of Roma travellers led by Abram Wood, whose descendants would play harp for Queen Victoria. Enjoy the strength and muscularity of Robin on this track. He says, “Two wonderful Victorian swingers from the inimitable playing of Eldra Jarman. I had snatches of the first tune from Eldra while she was still alive, and then the second tune from a recording made of her by Professor Peter Crossley- Holland. Then I had the complete version of the first tune from an old BBC programme about Eldra… in St Ffagan’s Museum.” Robin is the only full-time professional Welsh harpist specializing solely in the Welsh triple harp, and his influence on the world of Welsh folk music and harping has been far-reaching. ℗ 2007, Sain (Recordiau) Cyf licensed [3:36] 4. Crasdant: Pibddawns Trefynwy (Monmouth Hornpipe) (trad., arr. Robin Huw Bowen/Andy McLauchlin/Stephen P. Rees/Huw Williams) From ‘Dwndwr/The Great Noise’ - Crasdant The harp reigns supreme in Welsh folk music, so here’s another, and again with Robin but joined this time by Stephen Rees, Andy McLauchlin, and the whistles and the stepping sound of clog dancer Huw Williams as Crasdant. For me this is the Welsh folk tune where one might regress to being a child, dressed head to toe in scratchy Welsh flannel learning folk dance steps. ℗ 2005, Sain (Recordiau) Cyf licensed to ARC Music Productions International Ltd. Published by Cyhoeddiadau Sain [3:53] 5. Phil Tanner: The Gower Reel (trad.) From ‘The Gower Nightingale’ – Phil Tanner Phil Tanner is one South Glamorgan’s greatest traditional folk singers. He was originally from Llangenith in the Gower Peninsula, South Wales, where he had sung all his life, however he wasn’t recorded until he was in his seventies. He became renowned locally as “the Gower Nightingale” and recorded for the likes of Columbia and the BBC. He passed away in February 1950 and was remembered in a BBC Radio 4 tribute by Wynford Vaughan-Thomas who referred to him as, “the voice of the sanest, happiest, kindest eccentric I ever knew”. ℗ 2003, Veteran Tapes licensed to ARC Music Productions International Ltd. Published by Veteran Tapes www.veteran.co.uk [3:35] 6. Calan: Rhif Wyth (Rhif 8 - No. 8) (trad., arr. Calan) From ‘Bling’ – Calan Calan bring together the remarkable talents of 5 young musicians giving a fresh and vibrant sound to traditional Welsh music. With a contemporary and lively approach, they breathe new life into the old traditions through their sparkling melodies, foot tapping tunes and spirited and energetic performances of Welsh step dancing. ℗ 2008, Sain (Recordiau) Cyf licens [2:44] 7. Cayo Evans: Men of Harlech (trad., arr. Cayo Evans) From ‘Marching Songs of The Free Wales Army’ – Cayo Evans Cayo was conscripted into the British Army aged 18, and served actively in Malaya. This experience, coupled with his fascination with politics, inspired by a Polish man who taught him at Millfield, embittered him towards the British Government and their manhandling of Wales. He was said to be radicalised after the drowning of a Welsh village to build Tryweryn reservoir (see Meic Stevens’ bio – CD1, track 2) and formed the Free Wales Army, whose dalliances with explosives and other public order offenses ended up with him serving a 13-month prison sentence. This track of the very famous marching song Men of Harlech has Cayo introducing then playing the accordion, and was released in 2008 on Anhrefn Records, Anhrefn being one of the pioneering bands singing Welsh language music across Europe in the punk era. ℗ 2008, Anhrefn Records licensed to [1:36] 8. Cowbois Rhos Botwnnog: Didl-Dei (Aled Wyn Hughes/Iwan Glyn Hughes/Dafydd Rhys Hughes, arr. Cowbois Rhos Botwnnog) ‘Didl-Dei’ appears on Cowbois Rhos Botwnnog’s album ‘Dawn y Trychfilod’ on the Sbrigyn Ymborth label. www.sbrigynymborth.com Cowbois Rhos Botwnnog are a folk band consisting of three brothers, Aled, Dafydd, and Iwan Hughes from Rhos Botwnnog, the Llyn Peninsula, and accompanying musicians and singers. They experiment with country, folk and rock music. Most of their lyrics are in Welsh. This example is a tiny but wonderfully whimsical interlude from this band worth checking out live and on record. ℗ 2007, Cyhoeddiadau Sbrigyn Ymborth licensed to ARC Music Productions International Ltd. Published by Cyhoeddiadau Sbrigyn Ymborth [0:26] 9. Cass Meurig and Nial Cain: Tair Meillionen (trad., arr. Cass Meurig/Nial Cain) From ‘Deuawd’ – Cass Meurig and Nial Cain Cass plays the fiddle and crwth, that medieval bowed lyre with gut strings and droney sound. She grew up in the north of England playing tunes and singing with her parents and sisters. Over the last few years she has played internationally and recorded with Welsh bands Pigyn Clust and Fernhill. Here she plays alongside Nial Cain, on guitar, who grew up in Deiniolen, in the slate quarrying heartland of North Wales. With a rich history of playing with folk and ceilidh bands, he played in many of Tyneside’s barn dance bands including the Borderers where he was taught fiddle by leader Forster Charlton, a living link to the pre-folk revival tradition. Ten years ago he moved back to North Wales and found his interest in the Welsh folk music tradition rekindled. ℗ 2008, Fflach Cyfyngedig licensed to ARC Music Productions International Ltd. Published by Cyhoeddiadau Mwldan Publications [2:43] 10. Llio Rhydderch: Dafydd y Garreg Wen (David of the White Rock) (trad., arr. Llio Rhydderch) From ‘Melangell’ – Llio Rhydderch Another intuitive musician who can make me burst into tears, such is the poignancy of her playing. Here Llio plays Dafyd y Garreg Wen, first published in 1784 by Edward Jones, the king’s harpist. Edward was the first to claim that the Dafydd in the title was a Caernarvonshire harpist who wrote the tune on his death bed (although there are some whispers that allude to a Scottish or even Russian origin. We’ll never know!). Llio Rhydderch is a traditional Welsh harper, a creative artist who is recognised as a most innovative and influential exponent of the Welsh triple garp. Llio is descended from the ancient Welsh harpers in an unbroken direct line which extends back many centuries. Through her, this unique line lives on and she is pivotal in its preservation as she passes on this ancient art to the next generation, teaching them to play traditional airs by ear, to be able to write variations before returning to the original melody. ℗ 2001, Fflach Cyfyngedig licensed to ARC Music Productions International Ltd. Published by Cyhoeddiadau Mwldan Publications [2:20] 11. Catrin Finch and Seckou Keita: Ceffylau (Horses) (Catrin Finch/Seckou Keita) From ‘Clychau Dibon’ – Catrin Finch and Seckou Keita (A Theatr Mwldan/Astar Artes co-production) Catrin is a fearless and natural performer and rare in that she is totally at home across genres: classical, jazz, folk and world music. Catrin has won accolades the world over for her virtuosic performances with some of the world’s finest orchestras. She has also worked with Malian kora player Toumani Diabaté, and Colombian band Cimarrón, and switches from Bach’s Goldberg Variations to traditional folk or Colombian joropo music with ease and aplomb. Seckou Keita, from the Casamance area of Senegal, was born into the world-famous royal Keita and griot Cissokho families, and has played with his uncle Solo Cissokho and Guinean master djembe player Mamady Keita, in addition to appearing with both Salif Keita and Youssou N’Dour, and more recently alongside Paul Weller, Damon Albarn and Julia Holter on the Africa Express presents The Orchestra of Syrian Musicians tour. I love how these two great players share with us their joy in bringing their far-off traditions together in such a beautiful collision. ℗ 2013, Catrin Finch/Seckou Keita/Theatr Mwldan/Astar Artes licensed to ARC Music Productions International Ltd. Published by Catrin Finch & Seckou Keita [5:17] 12. Elinor Bennett: Pant Corlan yr Ŵyn (trad., arr. Elinor Bennett) From ‘Y Delyn Gymreig/The Welsh Harp’ – Elinor Bennett Elinor Bennett is one of Wales’ most distinguished musicians, and has travelled extensively giving concerts, recitals and masterclasses. She is regarded as one of Britain’s most influential harp teachers, who, by the by, also taught Catrin the harp. Eagle eared listeners might also recognise her playing, as she was the harpist who played with us on Bulimic Beats on Catatonia’s Equally Cursed and Blessed. This is another firm favourite on the Welsh folk dance floor, a useful tune to wave those handkerchiefs to thank your adoring audience as you make the final circle and leave the stage. ℗ 1985, Sain (Recordiau) Cyf licensed to ARC Music Productions International Ltd. Published by Cyhoeddiadau Sain [2:33] 13. DnA (Delyth and Angharad Jenkins): Glyn Tawe (trad., arr. Delyth and Angharad Jenkins) From ‘Adnabod’ – DnA - Delyth and Angharad Jenkins Traditional and new Welsh music on the harp and fiddle. DnA by name, DnA by nature: music is in the very DNA of this hugely talented mother-and-daughter duo from Wales, both of whom enjoy international reputations not only as soloists but as members of such bands as Calan, Adran D, Aberjaber and Cromlech. Whether they’re vamping up a traditional oldie or minting something entirely new, there’s a timeless beauty to these intimate and irresistible conversations between harp and fiddle. ℗ 2013, Fflach Cyfyngedig licensed to ARC Music Productions International Ltd. Published by Cyhoeddiadau Mwldan Publications [4:22] 14. Jamie Smith’s MABON: Croeso Ioan (Jamie Smith, arr. Jamie Smith’s MABON) From ‘The Space Between’ – Jamie Smith’s MABON Jamie Smith’s MABON is an InterCeltic band; composer-accordionist Jamie was taken every year by his folk-dancing parents to the mighty Festival Interceltique in Brittany, surrounding him from an early age with music from the Celtic regions and beyond. He accompanied Welsh dancers at just five years old. Joining him here are Oli, a Welsh fiddler with Balkan flair; Paul, a guitarist from Wales who’s more Manx than plenty of people born on the Isle of Man; Matt, a bluegrassloving bass player from Carmarthen; and Iolo, a drummer from the Welsh woods with a passion for world music and jazz. They’ve played WOMAD, WOMEX, Shetland, Rainforest World Music Festival (Borneo), Fairport’s Cropredy Convention, Hebcelt, Celtic Connections, and the massive Festival Interceltique de Lorient. ℗ 2015, Easy on the Records licensed to ARC Music Productions International Ltd. Published by James Joughin AKA Jamie Smith [3:14]

15. 'Rome' from In The Midst Of Chaos There Is Stillness-CDn af Fleur de Lis [5:08] 16. 'In The Well' from Conquer Me-CDn af Namur [2:46] 17. 'In The Street' from Night Drops af Indian Wells [3:36] 18. 'All Was Well' from Live at Victoriateatern af Wintergatan [4:27] 1 jingle incl tune from Kmag #107 af Loopmasters Samples & 2 jingles from B:sides on Spotify DAGENS SYNAXARIUM This weeks BibleVers: "For your ways are in full view of the Lord, and he examines all your paths. The evil deeds of the wicked ensnare them; the cords of their sins hold them fast. For lack of discipline they will die, led astray by their own great folly." ~ Proverbs 5:21-23 Drink Espresso - God bless U! /MrZ :)

www.ib2.se Soli Deo Gloria

  All Pix: MrZ ~ Wättern.se

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Z

[ladyswillmart]

Arlen Facts: Week 1

These were taken from an Alphabet meme that was making the rounds a while back, where one has to come up with some character backstory related to each word, starting with a different letter of the alphabet. I actually did finish all 26 entries on a Discord server by posting one roughly every day, and for brevity’s sake, I’ve decided to post them in more conveniently-sized chunks here.

I can’t find a link to the original meme, but if I find it again, I’ll post it in one of the upcoming entries!

So without further ado, here’s Week 1: A (Alignment) through G (Grudge).

Today's Meme (8/1) Alignment :: What would be their D&D alignment? How might it come into play?

Arlen's alignment is Neutral Good, which is a bit vanilla of him, but I suppose there are worse things to be. Actually, he's very chill about this (and most things in his life, when you think about it). It has already come into play throughout his wanderings as a "Gentleman’s Cousin of Light", but it would seem that we're dealing with a world that does not always have clear distinctions between good and evil; as such, the consequences of Arlen's choices have yet to be fully fleshed.

Having said that, Arlen is not so bound to One True Path that he is unwilling to take responsibility for said choices, or question the forces guiding his hands. He is, to his credit, aware that he is involved in something he does not understand very well. However, he always strives to act with fairness and compassion.

Today's Meme (8/2) Beverage :: What do they most like to drink, and why?

Arlen--not being terribly particular anyway--has become accustomed to a life on the move. Therefore, his taste in beverages veers towards the simple, easy to prepare and perhaps most importantly, whatever he can dredge out of the icebox. A canteen of Thanalan black tea or coffee is simple enough to prepare before embarking on a day trip, to which he may add a pinch of sugar or a squeeze of lemon or orange juice (again, depending on whatever he can dredge out of the icebox that isn't chunky or furry or gaining sentience). Despite this, a close source (Tataru) informs us that Arlen's most favorite beverage is fresh-pressed mirror apple juice, served ice cold with a slice of lemon and a cocktail umbrella.

Signature Drink: Incidentally, Arlen's birth flower (for May 27th) is the lemon blossom. However, his signature drink, Coronal Spring Hat (non-alcoholic)  is something more akin to a toffed-up lemon spider: A healthy sphere of vanilla ice cream (served in a cosmopolitan glass) is covered about 3/4ths to the top in lemon squash. The remaining ice cream surface is decorated with a swirl of strawberry syrup, colorful agar-agar candy shavings and edible flowers.

Today's Meme (8/3) Co-Habitate :: Do they live with anyone? What’s “need to know” before moving in?

Arlen lives by himself (save for his 50 snails, 10 toads and 1 chocobo) at:

The Sultana's Breath Apartments Room #44 The Goblet, Ward 2 Western Thanalan

His suite is small and moggled, but could nevertheless support one more resident (even a non-mollusc one). Still, any discussion regarding the matter of cohabitation yet remains firmly in the arena of wholesome dreaming.

As for the Need-to-Know, Arlen likes to keep things tidy and smell-free. He's only willing to clean up after you if he likes you (granted, you really have to work hard to get Arlen to dislike you), and his pet peeves are toast crumbs in the butter, mildew, windowsill scum and little slivers of soap getting stuck to the dish (though the latter three aren't really anyone's fault). Despite being somewhat of a space cadet, Arlen sticks to a regular schedule of chores. He visits the Goblet Launderette once a week, dusts every other day (if possible) and cleans out the snail tank on weekends.

Today's Meme (8/4) Decor :: What kind of home do they keep? Are there any defining details?

As written earlier, Arlen maintains a tidy, but rather modest apartment dwelling in suburban Ul'dah. Though the space is small--and at times, slightly trying (and dusty)--Arlen has surrounded himself with decor done in a style evocative of the charming Moghome of the Churning Mists, featuring whimsical moggle-themed furniture, wallpaper and meadow green accents. His choice of furniture is practical and need-based; as Arlen is fortunate enough to have his own workshop space in Vesper Bay, he keeps Home at home and Work at work. That means his space is welcoming and warm, and not at all cluttered with boxes of metal bits, clock parts, assorted cogs, geegaws, gadgets, half-eaten candy bars from the Garlond Ironworks vending machine, coffee cups, oil rags or sat-upon Garlond goggles in need of recalibration and repair.

Except, of course, when it is.

Lately, Arlen's home appears to be filling with greenery, as he continues to receive flowers from well-wishers, benefactors (mysterious or just the regular kind) and gentleman callers with wholesome intentions.

Today's Meme (8/5) Escape :: What do they do to destress? How successful is it?

Though one may not expect such a thing from Arlen--with regards to his generally mild-mannered demeanor--but when he begins feeling grungy and stressed from the day-to-day, the exceptional days and the just-plum-terrible days (which seem to be numbering somewhat higher than usual), his favorite way to unwind is to dance.

Allegedly, the lad learned the very basics of the Terpsichorean arts from one magical teenage summer spent as a pit pianist at The Mermaid's Garter, Limsa Lominsa's oldest and raunchiest dinner show/burlesque. Little pitchers have big... eyes, in this case, and Arlen saw it all and absorbed it like a cheap beer mat: The box step, the grapevine, the kick-ball change, the bee's knees, the kitten's ankles, the Lominsan hornpipe, the Gridanian jig, the Garlean slipped disc, the shim-sham, the boogaloo, the mashed popoto, the nitty-gritty, the bump, the hustle, the magitek slide... And rumor has it he won a boobie bouncing contest at the tender age of 15 (the boobies being purely hypothetical--it's all in the shoulders, you understand).

Happily, he has found an enthusiastic and talented partner with Tataru Taru; when things are getting especially grinchy at the Rising Stones (or wherever else things get grinchy), the two will clear a space, fire up the Orchestrion and cut a rug or two. The endorphin rush is a perk that can't be denied, but at the very least, they always manage to lighten the mood.

Today's Meme (8/6) Fluff :: What hits their soft spot? Does anything melt them into emotional goo?

What? You mean besides the moggles?

Arlen is generally a sentimental person, and he isn't afraid to show it. Despite the reputation he seems to have accumulated for himself over the past several weeks, Arlen doesn't so much have a soft spot as he is a soft spot on the planet--a fact that actually stokes a surprising amount of rage from (at least) one extremely specific subset of the population. In particular, he is moved by tales of selflessness and good deeds, especially when performed by unexpected parties, as well as any display of the Power of Friendship.

Also, he has been known to shed a tear or two at family-centered melodrama--tales of parents, siblings, long-lost children, even when he has no relation whatsoever to any parties involved. Several witnesses also watched the lad weep joyously as he harvested a single Dzemael tomato from a pot at the Rising Stones: "That little tomato gave its all," he said, trembling while fat tears rolled down his cheeks. "Even while all its brothers and sisters shriveled on the vine 'cos the soil type was all wrong and there's not enough light in here and nutkins kept nibblin' on it like it was going out of style. Aye. But I never stopped believing. Oh, I'll make it into a worthy mixed green salad, I will."

And he did, one which also drew much emotion from the first bite to the last scritch of the fork against the dish. Then again, enjoying the fruit of one's labor--even literally--tends to tenderize even the hardest of hearts.

Lastly, as a passing word of advice: Do not even mention the tale of "The Little Lost Sabotender" in earshot of Arlen Askew, unless one has a tissue or handkerchief or square of toilet roll to spare.

Today's Meme (8/7) Grudge :: How bad does an insult go over? Do they hold a grudge long?

Arlen Askew is one Mellow Fellow, which means that even if you sling your grodiest glob of mud in his general direction, it'll either roll off his back or go whizzing clean over his head. He is the type to forgive and forget, though, and he may be, at times, forgiving to a fault. He can be too soft on those who would benefit from tough love, and because people know this, Arlen may occasionally moonlight as a doormat, particularly when the plaintiff is someone he's a bit afraid of (e.g. Rowena, Jessie... Uh... That's about it, actually).

Our Arlen is not one to hold a grudge, even when the list of transgressions and trespasses against him recalls crimes beyond compare: Attempted murder, betrayal, theft, assault, imprisonment, copying off his engineering exams, trampling his flower beds, calling him a “smellf”, etc. Instead, he favors the rather optimistic belief that justice will prevail in some way, even if he ends up being the one delivering it.

"No hard feelings, of course," he adds, shrugging.