#so formal! I can’t believe I’ve earned your respect enough to be called Mr and not asshole or some variation of that !!

[cwilbbber]

of course wilbur

I had a fever dream during school that you kicked me in the face so things are going absolutely amazing (That is a lie my health is at an all time low and im on the verge of tears)

and yes i’m well aware of that mr soot., i’m so honored to have a simp

- quackity 𓅯

jumps in joy!

fever dreams suck ass (it’s funny to me that I kicked you in the face /hj /lh) , I had one about getting sent to a hospital last night (this is also very true , my health is shit and I’m on the verge of tears 99% of the time as well Q)

I’m not a simp !!

an admirer if you will , an.. ah..obsesser maybe. Not simp , no no

maybe just a little<3

[askcarlyle]

[A spontaneous thread (in conjunction with @askbarnum​ and @askbennett​) originally written live on server last month.] 

Barnum 

Sun only having recently risen, he sits at his desk scratching behind the ears of the round black and white cat sat in his lap, Mr Globe having stumbled in alongside BT and woken him from where he had dozed off in the office around three in the morning. He had sat up most of the rest of the night filling in paperwork, jarred from further sleep by the sound of mice skittering around the office floor. Though was pleasantly surprised to have observed Bennett's overweight cat skillfully stalking and catching the small critters, even under the influence of catnip overdosing, while BT curled up lazily and slept by the fireplace.

Such a clever cat, aren't you. You are welcome to stay here as long as you wish, yes you are. An excellent little worker, and so friendly.

Smooths back the cat's ears as he purrs lovingly and snuggles against his stomach. Sighing in content and smiling as he lets the feline snooze from a busy night of hunting

Bennett

Barges into the office brandishing a sprig of catnip, pausing and straightening himself up on seeing Barnum sat at the desk

Mr. Barnum. Have you seen a black and white, very rude and very spherical cat? I’ve been up all night following a trail of catnip all the way here from my garden. Globe has, once again, taken it upon himself to wreak havoc in not only my household, but it seems your circus too.

Carlyle

stumbles out of office quarters in the back, hair ruffled and pillow creases still on cheek

Who fed BT catnip? You know he always has hallucinations about chasing treats with legs afterwards. Stomped all over me last night.

Barnum 

Rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair

Do neither of you have any concept of knocking? Or is it a decency of my generation died out with the youth of today.

Takes a long sip of his coffee

How do you know he is dreaming of treats with legs? He can't speak. You probably left his toy cupboard open and he got into the stash again.

Lifts the chunky cat from his lap onto the desk, scratching behind his ears as he wakes up groggily

He woke me at around three in the morning, but other than that he has been as good as gold. And also I am keeping him, so you can take your leave now.

Bennett 

Stares at Carlyle in bewilderment

Did he try to dig those walking treats from within your hair? It must have taken quite some effort to disarray.

Watches as Barnum presents Mr Globe with an expression of pure relief that quickly dissolves into anger at Barnum’s erroneous declaration

Excuse me. Keeping him?! You most certainly are not! Mr Globe might be uncouth and troublesome, but he is a valued member of our household. You don’t even appreciate the true value of feline companions! You absolutely shall not be keeping him.

Goes to the desk and scratches Globe’s ears fondly, leaning in to speak to him

He won’t be keeping you. No he won’t. Because he’s a silly fraudman and you’re so fluffy.

Carlyle 

runs hand through hair crankily but does not dignify Bennett with a response

shuffles over to the cart and pours a large cup of coffee before addressing nobody in particular

Since when did one have to knock on the flimsy curtain of striped fabric separating their spare quarters from their own office?

gulps coffee too quickly and winces, then grabs BT and gives him a reassuring squeeze

You are good and fluffy, yes you are.

Barnum 

You two are unbearable.

Finishes his coffee in a single gulp and puts don his cup, taking a small piece of chicken from his pocket and waving it above his desk, grinning smugly as Globe leaps down from Bennett's arms to grab it, nuzzling up against his sleeve.

Our office, it's shared. You were sleeping in the spare quarters, what if I was getting changed in here or using the chamber pot or writing secret poetry for you, the surprise of it would be utterly ruined. A little respect for ones privacy goes a long way.

Scratches Mr Globe's rear and presses a kiss to the top of his head

Actually I believe he tires of your coddling and has come to the circus in hopes of an escape. I think he has chosen me actually. Besides, I have hired him, he signed a contract while you weren't around.

Beams a mocking smile as he pushes over a very formal looking contract with a smudgy paw print at the bottom.

Seems he is much more efficient at keeping the office clear of mice than old hairballs over there.

Bennett 

Coddling? Exactly how much knowledge do you have when it comes to caring for cats, Barnum? I do not ‘coddle’ any of the cats in my household, I’ll have you know.

Picks up the contract and examines it closely

That is Mr Globe’s paw print...but it means nothing if he was under the influence of cat nip. This contract is void. I am not having him work for you. Deal with your mouse problem some other way.

Carlyle

snorts and sinks onto couch with BT in lap

Heaven forfend should I catch a glimpse of your delicately turned ankle.

leans over and looks at contract

That actually does look in order. Especially since it happened this morning after all effects would have ostensibly worn off.

Barnum 

Puts a hand on his chest in mock offense

Whether it would affect you or not is irrelevant, perhaps I have no desire for you to stumble upon my bare ankle. Oh the humiliation of such indecency. *Snorts softly and stands to wander over and press a kiss against the top of Phillip's messy hair before moving back to the happy cat on his desk, scratching softly under his chin. I know enough about cats to care for one. Besides, he is a very calming presence. I have grown rather fond of him, and he seems perfectly happy here. Ellie cannot handle the rodent issue by herself, and she is better at catching the larger rats than the smaller and faster mice. Mr Globe here seems to be quite the natural. He spent near all night on the hunt, I'd go as far as to call him my hero.

Bennett

The contract can not possibly be in order. How am I to know that you didn’t trick him into walking through some ink and onto the paper? Were there any witnesses?

Bats Barnum’s hand away and continues scratching under Globe’s chin in his place

There’s no question that Mr Globe is an adept hunter. Indeed, he is, but it is utterly irrelevant. The point of the matter is that he is not, under any circumstances, joining your circus. 

Carlyle

shakes head and picks up BT, heading back to the spare quarters

Working builds character, they say. It might help keep him too occupied to engage in less reputable activities. But it is barely dawn and I am getting a headache from the raised voices. With your kind pardon, I will now go back to sleep until a more proper waking hour.

gives Globe a chin scritch, Bennett a curt nod , and Barnum a head butt in the shoulder before returning to bed

Barnum

Phil, Phil get back here. You can't sleep while we have company it is most improper.

Sits back down at his desk and starts to gently stroke Globe's back in soft repetitive motions

Unfortunately it is too late, he has already joined my circus. Unless you are planning on going against dear Mr Globe's free rights as an American citizen. In which case you will have to apply in a court of law to have my contract overruled. And I would very much like to see a day where the court will do anything but laugh at you for proposing such a case. I've already gotten him a uniform.

Rummages in his desk drawer, pulling out a small waistcoat and a flat cap, popping the little cap onto the cat's head.

Actually it is from one of the reject stuffed animals we were going to sell out front but it fits him rather nicely. He is even earning wages now. A whole dime a day, perhaps you can purchase some fish for him on his behalf.

Teasingly puts a coin inside a small pouch and ties it to Globe's collar, grinning smugly as the cat nuzzles lovingly into his hand

Bennett

Tries desperately to maintain an expression of distaste as Globe is adorned in his working attire, but the frown fragments into a soppy grin

As much as I highly disapprove of you dresses dear Mr Globe in clothes intended for a toy, I am not above admitting that he does look rather smart. I do not, however, think that is sufficient pay. At least a nickel and a dime per day. One must account for the danger of working in close vicinity with such dangerous creatures as lions and ostriches and flying knives.

Carlyle 

stands at doorway, still hesitating and looking longingly back to bed

He does have three ladies to share his wages with at home. It seems only proper.

Barnum

Glances back and forth between the two men before rolling his eyes

You're going to send me to the poor house with this kind of bartering. I'll go to one dime and three cents, no more.

Fishes in his pocket for an extra few pennies and pokes them into the little pouch.

Really, he is only a cat and he-

Suddenly scrambles up on his chair as another mouse darts by his feet, glancing at the cat with an expectant, impatient stare.

Well? What are you waiting for?

Watches Mr Globe lay down lazily. Then groans and pulls out an extra two cents, tucking them into the little pouch grouchily. The cat finally standing up and pouncing off the desk to chase the animal

Young people these days, they want something for nothing.

Bennett 

Watches Barnum’s display of fear with amusement, and Mr Globe’s bartering skills with pride.

Mr Globe is well aware of the value of his service. I do hope you will offer bonuses for exceptional work. You’d be amazed what additional incentive can do for his hunting instincts.

Watches Globe give chase to a second mouse as it runs past Carlyle into the adjoining room.

If he keeps this attitude up, consideration might need be given to returning to him his proper title...

Carlyle

Are they actually granted land with that title or is it mostly for courtesy? I've always wondered. 

Barnum

Slowly moves to hesitantly step down, seeing another one scuttle by and deciding to stay up there while regarding the two men.

One would hope they own some land. I suspect they own the house and Bennett just bums around there.

Bennett

Watches in confusion as the mouse seems to chase after Mr Globe into the other room.

One could make an interesting narrative out of the predator-prey behaviour of rodents and cats. And, yes, of course they own some land. My inheritance included a small area of land and our house, that is divided between myself and the ladies. Mr Globe, before his fall from grace, did indeed have legal ownership of the house itself.

Carlyle

sits back down on the couch to avoid the frantic scurrying

That would seem to indicate there was foul play afoot, if demoting him led to your gaining more property. It reads like an Austen novel.

Barnum 

Nearly stumbles from his chair and perches against the desk to steady himself

Wait you are serious? Your cat owned your house? He legally owned your house? ...Did you remove his lordship because he urinated in his own fireplace? Can a regular man even demote a lord? Goodness me, Bennett. And they call me peculiar.

Watches a mouse scuttle out from under his pile of paperwork on the desk and falls off his chair with a small yelp.

Bennett

Straightens his cravat in a dignified manner

I don’t appreciate what you are implying. There were very complicated legalities involved, but I assure you there was no foul play aside from Mr Globe’s actions that day. Admittedly the intricacies of the matter really would not have been out of place in one of Miss Austen’s novels, but that does not mean anything untoward was afoot.

Raises am eyebrow at Barnum sprawled on the floor.

Yes they do. With excellent reason.

Carlyle 

I don't blame Mr. Globe for preferring the life of a working man, free to live by his own devices, over that of administering an estate for the rest of his days.

leans over and offers Barnum an arm up

I like your peculiar.

Barnum

Hums grouchily at Bennett, then graciously accepts Phillip's hand up, tugging him over to kiss his forehead as he stands

I like your peculiar too.

Headbutts him accidentally as a mouse scuttles by their feet and he jumps. Groaning and rubbing his head, offering him an apologetic look

Perhaps coffee? Downstairs. In the kitchen next to the lion pen where there's rarely any pests. Bennett can look over the contracts at hand and you can- I'll get you a band aid and make you breakfast.

Bennett

Watches the pair of them with mild amusement

Really, you two are like something straight out of one of Miss Austen’s novels yourselves.

Shakes another mouse off his shoe

A change of location may not be unwise. And I should like to look more closely at that contract.

Carlyle

rubs jaw with a wince

I'm fine. But a second coffee sounds most appealing. I wonder what in the office could be attracting all these mice?

head back towards the bedroom

Give me a few moments to change and I shall be down to join you.

Barnum

I have no idea, it's like they gather in here just to spite me.

Picks up a peanut from the scattering of half eaten food covering his desk, tossing it skillfully into his mouth

Nasty little creatures. Come along, I'll see if we have anything suitable to your refined picky taste buds.

Nods to Phillip and leads Bennett downstairs

How do you take your coffee? Please don't say with cat milk.

Bennett

Deadpans.

It’s a mystery.

Follows Barnum downstairs.

Of course not. Have you ever tasted cat milk?! Black with no sugar, please.

Barnum

[FTB]

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Downton Court Hotel pt. 8

And now the part that I’ve we’ve all been waiting for!

No, seriously, I’ve had this drafted for over a month, maybe two.

This piece is dedicated to every art student who’s ever had to BS their way through a presentation on the colour field piece they did for the final in their painting class’s abstract section. Cheers!

Note: When I do get all of today’s spam up on Ao3, I will probably just post the link for pt. 6. Because spam.

Fandom: Downton Abbey

Characters: Thomas Barrow, Jimmy Kent, Peter Pelham

Relationship: Baxter/Molesley, canon pairings

Warnings: Resurrecting more characters! Play “spot the Maggie Smith” reference! Peter is a fluffy marshmallow!

https://bitletsanddrabbles.tumblr.com/post/184471088834/downton-court-hotel-pt-7

Thomas wasn't certain who it was who'd said "I may not know much about art, but I know what I like."  It was probably George Bernard Shaw or Oscar Wild or someone like that. Maybe Winston Churchill. All he could really say, standing in the hotel's dining room-cum-art gallery, was that he truly appreciated the sentiment. Mr. Carson had been rattling on at length about the virtues of the Marquess of Hexham's work to anyone within ear shot for a week solid, his words laden with solemn respect. If the listening party was Mr. Molelsey, only three days back from his honeymoon, one was certain to hear lively, pedantic replies on depth of colour and experimental art forms. Admittedly, it made a bit of a break from hearing about Paris, but there was still only so much of Mr. Molesley being pedantic one could take.

(Mrs. Molesley was better. Ask her how things went and she would shyly tell you about how Mr. Molesley had surprised her with tickets to the opera and she hadn't understood a word of it. Then she'd change the subject to the linens or some such.)

As far as Thomas was concerned, it looked like a paint store had thrown up on the room. With the exception of one or two pieces in black and white, each canvas was a riot of colour, some more harmonious than others. None of them contained what he would consider a 'picture' or even the semblance of one. Even definite 'shapes' were frequently lacking. There were, he thought, five year olds in the country who could do just as well. Then again, he supposed he'd seen calendars of five year old art here and there, along side art by cats and dogs, so someone with the money and title to attract attention shouldn't have too much trouble getting noticed.

He walked over to stand behind Jimmy who was finishing hanging a plaque next to one canvas (the staff had not been trusted to hang the art, only the descriptions) and asked. "So do you have any idea what any of this is supposed to be then?"

"I haven't been reading these things," was the reply. "Just hanging them."

Thomas cocked an eyebrow at the bellboy's disgruntled tone, but didn't reprimand him. It was, after all, rather late and well past when Jimmy would normally be off  having a drink and chatting up some girl or other. There was, however, a healthy dose of playful sarcasm in his voice as he replied, "Well then, what does that one say?"

Jimmy stepped back, looked at him, then at the picture. As with many of the others, there was no discernible picture, as such, just huge swatches of colour blending into each other. Leaning in to better see the rather small print, Jimmy read. "An exploration of the effect of colour and harmony as a reflection of the human psyche and a path to tranquility."

Thomas blinked, not quite certain to believe he'd heard properly.  He shook his head with a lopsided grin and asked, "Cor, what do you think all that means in English?"

An amused and unfamiliar voice answered him. "It means I painted pretty colours on the canvas while listening to smooth jazz, and it was very relaxing."

Turning abruptly, Thomas found himself facing a man just a bit shorter than himself, although about the same age. He had brown hair that needed a trim, blue eyes, an open face, and was wearing what struck Thomas as a very soft, comfortable looking jumper. There was just enough family resemblance with Lady Edith's fiance that, combined with the commentary, there was no doubt that this was Peter Pelham, sixth Marquess of Hexham.

"Why didn't you just say that, then?" Jimmy asked.

It earned him a laugh. "My dear boy, art critics are going to read that! You can't just give an art critic plain language, the poor things would shrivel up and die!"

Thomas and Jimmy both looked back and forth between the man and the painting, each exuding an air of utter confusion. Jimmy was the first to get up the guts to say something. "So, you're saying that all of the high toned language you read about with art is all pointless gibberish to make things sound posh?"

"Not all of it," Lord Hexham replied, walking over to stand next to them, his eyes on the painting. "There are definitely artists in all fields who paint to send messages and make statements on the world. Something that claims to be a commentary on the treatment of the working class by the Conservative Party, for instance, or the roll of women in Socialist society is likely exactly as billed. Similarly the photorealists who wind up in galleries rather than sketching people's portraits in malls have every right to talk about the years and difficulty of perfecting their craft and attention to detail. But process artists have a bit more difficulty getting taken seriously.

“Take my Study in the Style of Jackson Pollock, for example." He turned and gestured to another painting which looked very much to Thomas as if he'd simply thrown random colours of paint at a canvas. "As far as technique is concerned, all I did was splash paint at the canvas and see where it hit. Not much to talk about, really. A child could do it. But that type of abstract isn't really about technique so much as it is a study in chaos theory. What sorts of patterns will emerge? What sorts of emotions can you evoke? If you cover a ball in paint and throw it at the center of the canvas, will it hit there or someplace you hadn't intended and what sort of effect will that have?" He paused, then added with another of those wryly amused smiles, "Not to mention if you've just had a bad day it can be very cathartic."

Thomas looked around him with a bit more respect than he had earlier. "So basically, these were all experiments that came out the way you wanted them to?"

"More or less. I normally don't have any sort of end goal in mind for what I want things to look like, but I stop when I get something I like." Turning, the aristocrat held out his hand. "But we've not been properly introduced. I am Peter Pelham, Marquess of Hexham. And you are?"

"Thomas Barrow, night manager."

"A pleasure," Peter smiled at him, shook his hand, then turned his attention to Jimmy.

"James Kent," Jimmy replied in the formal manner Mr. Carson insisted on. "Bell boy."

"Does everything meet with your approval, Your Lordship?" Thomas asked in the same, prim tone, stepping into his professional role.

"Oof, please, call me Peter when I'm not 'on duty'," Peter winced, looking around the room. "One does get tired of being 'sired' and 'Your Lordshipped' on every little occasion. Save the formality for when the show opens and the press is here." He concluded his turn of the room, then walked over to one painting that was hanging perfectly straight on  the wall and pulled it off center so it hung slightly skee-jawed. "I prefer the way that one looks at a bit of an angle," he explained. "I expect people will forever be trying to straighten it, so if you could convince them not to I would appreciate it. Beyond that," he looked around again and nodded, "It's very nice. I approve." He gave them a smile from his seemingly endless supply. "Does this mean you can take a break now?"

"Well, it means James can clock off," Thomas allowed. Mr. Carson probably wouldn't have approved, but there was nothing left to be done here and the other man needed to sleep sometime. "I need to get back to my office. It's normally quiet this time of night, though, unless someone decides they want a midnight snack."

"Will you be here for the actual event?" The question was directed at both of them, but Thomas thought Peter looked a touch more in his direction. "I'd told Edith there needn't be a lot of fuss, but she made it sound like there would be anyway."

"If you have a title, Mr. Carson will make a fuss," Thomas assured him. "It will be all hands on deck, although you'll see James more than you will me. I'll stop past, but I'll be busy running things elsewhere."

Peter nodded. "In which case, I will see you two tomorrow. I hope you have a good night." Turning he walked to the door and picked up a large, rectangular package that Thomas immediately recognized as a painting.

His heart rate jumped. "Ah, Your Lor – er – Peter?" he called, causing the other man to pause and turn. He pointed to the package. "We've not forgotten one, have we?"

It took a moment for understanding to register with the other man, then he laughed. "Oh, no! This is just something Edith asked me to do as a present for her grandmother. It's considerably different than the works here." He gestured to the rest of the room "Would you like to see?"

The offer caught Thomas a bit off guard and he hesitated. Carson would probably not approve of their fraternizing with their betters, but as he couldn't imagine the Dowager Countess Grantham appreciating the Marquess's work, from what he'd seen of it, it was tempting to say yes. He glanced at Jimmy, who was obviously thinking something similar, and then yielded to temptation. "If it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all," Peter assured, setting the canvas down and carefully working at the tape with his fingers. "I wouldn't want you both to go through life thinking my entire skill set was throwing buckets of paint around. Here, could one of you hold this up for me while I get the tape at the bottom?"

Jimmy stepped forward and between the two of them they worked the brown wrapping paper off the work. The painting, as promised, was nothing like the surrounding experimental abstracts. This canvas had a very definite, if stylized, image and reminded Thomas of art you might see on a post card. In the center stood a young woman with red hair who looked familiar although he couldn't quite place her. She was dressed in a plain white dress, like something out of a Greek play, and a gold band wrapped around her head. A wave was breaking behind her and a series of moons in different phases went along the top.

Jimmy whistled. "I may not know art, but I know what I like," he said, eying the painting with obvious appreciation. Thomas bit back the playful urge to ask if he meant the painting or the woman.

"Thank you. Now," Peter grinned, watching them out of the tops of his eyes. "Do you recognize who it is?"

The easy answer was 'no', but Thomas hated admitting when he was wrong. He particularly hated it when someone more educated and titled than he was rubbing his face in it so they could look superior, so, despite the fact that Peter seemed a lot nicer than most of the aristocrats he knew – right up there with Sybil, really – he had a crack at it. "She reminds me of that picture of the naked woman on the sea shell. Goddess of Love, wasn't it?"

"Ah, the Birth of Venus, yes," Peter nodded, clearly pleased with the answer. "Not a direct influence on this work, but I can see where you'd draw the comparison. She's actually Thetis, a relatively minor sea goddess. I wouldn't expect anyone who hasn't done some heavy study of mythology to recognize her. But I was meaning more the woman herself, the model. Edith says you've all met her." He paused and, receiving absolutely baffled expressions for his pains, explained, "It's Lady Violet Crawley, in her younger days. I believe most of my references were from her forties, if you could believe it."

Thomas had a bit of trouble believing it, but there again the image was stylized. That might have made her look a bit younger, not to mention the Crawleys, from what he'd seen, were graceful agers.

Jimmy was caught up on a different detail. "The Dowager Countess was a red-head?"

Peter nodded, "Indeed! She wore it well, don't you think?" He started packaging up the painting again, pulling the paper over it and pressing down on the tape. This time both Thomas and Jimmy went to help him. "Edith wanted a painting of her Grandmother as a younger woman, done in the style of the Art Nouveau movement of the 1920s. Alphonse Mucha is the best known and most often mimicked artist of the movement, so I thought of mimicking someone less overdone, but then again from what I know of the Dowager, she's the sort to appreciate the iconic."

"You've described her quite well," Thomas agreed. He did not add that he found it second to 'bloody old bat'. "And it's an impressive painting."

"Aren't artists supposed to find their own style, though?" Jimmy asked. "Be original, do their own thing, all of that?"

"To an extent, but really, people have been painting for millennia. There's not really anything 'new' left and unless you live in a bubble someone, someplace is going to influence your way of doing things." Peter pressed down the last of the tape, then stood, picking the painting up again. "Not to mention in order to learn a technique, you have to study the technique and the fastest way to impress upon people that you've got it down is to mimic someone who already did it. Art critics love this – you listen tomorrow, particularly when they get to the Pollock inspired piece." He nodded to the canvas he threw paint at. "They will dither on forever about capturing the intent and tone of the original artist."

"Well, looks like I certainly have something to look forward to." Jimmy gave a forced smile that threw his enthusiasm into question.

"It's entertaining if you look at it as sort of a social comedy," Peter assured him, blue eyes twinkling.  He definitely had the sort of eyes that twinkled. "Mocking the pomp and circumstance and all of that. But here, I am keeping you from a no doubt well deserved rest and Mr. Barrow from his office. I will bid you both a good night and let you get on with it." He smiled and nodded, accepted their respectful bows, then turned and left.

Once it was quite certain he was out of ear shot, Jimmy turned and looked around the room, muttering under his breath. "Well he's an odd duck, but I'll tell you, suddenly tomorrow looks a lot less boring."

[therunawayscamp]

Mr Casethar has an Interview with Captain R’khan Concerning the Author, Mr Vilayn.

That sort of thing was the sum of my conversations with Casethar for the next few months. Whenever I heard him speak to anyone it got worse – he was professional, and intelligent, and efficient, and honest, and everything else which makes me feel the need for a swim in the coldest ocean I can find as soon as possible – so I avoided talking with him at all. In fact I wasn't brave enough to open my mouth around him except to give him orders, or to upbraid him for a fault, or to insult him on an imagined pretext, hoping to convince the captain – and maybe myself – that there could not possibly be any interest between us whatsoever. It was a sort of pre-emptive defence. I think I knew really that I would make a mistake eventually, but if Captain R'khan believed I found Casethar particularly irksome, he might not attach any meaning to it should I accidentally drop in a compliment, or smile at him, or get drunk as Sanguine during shore leave and deliver an embarrassingly long and rambling speech detailing all the intricacies of my feelings for him while he was carrying me back to bed. One of those three things happened and I'll give you a hint: it wasn't the first two.

Casethar has told me since that on the same day, before we left the brig, he went to visit the captain in his quarters. Obviously the ship's cook visiting the captain in his own cabin is not the done thing, by which I mean it goes against all naval etiquette and a lesser mer would have been strung up on the mainmast for his impertinence, but Casethar had earned himself a reputation. Unlike whoever our current cook is (the name escapes me),

who can take some old biscuits and seaweed and somehow make them worse, Casethar can take some old biscuits and seaweed and turn them into something you would be happy to serve the King of Morrowind. Samphire and crouton salad, with a Breton dressing distilled from Shein and seasalt – that sort of thing. It makes my mouth water thinking about it so I should probably remember what my point was and get back to it.

Casethar, the captain, yes. Right. So given Casethar's talents, the captain was prepared to entertain his request for a private conversation. It also helped that Casethar was one of the most formal and well-behaved sailors on board. He saluted when he walked into the captain's quarters, a salute so sharp you could win a sword fight with it.

'Captain.'

'Mr Casethar. Sit down.'

You will note that the captain remembered Casethar's name. I have nothing but praise for our captain, praise and admiration and respect. I merely mention this detail because normally, trivialities as unimportant as a cook's name would be beneath him, so this mark of recognition was high praise indeed, as was the invitation to sit in his presence. Casethar lowered himself into the chair which sits forrard of the captain's great desk and sat bolt upright.

'I wanted to apologise, captain.'

The captain, who had been expecting a request for a larger share of the voyage's profits and was almost prepared to grant it, didn't do anything so common as to look surprised, but he did stroke his moustache.

'What for?'

'My work is not up to the standard it should be.'

'What makes you think that? Meets all of my standards, and if anyone aboard has standards more important than mine I'd like to meet 'em so I can throw 'em to the slaughterfish. Can't think who that'd be, though. Not only is the crew fed, which is all I asks, but they're happy, which is a bonus.'

I'm going to assume Casethar had a conflicted pause here while he decided whether or not to mention my name. If he didn't we will need to have Words when I get home.

'It's... Mr Vilayn, captain.'

'What about him?'

'Not him personally, captain. But I'm afraid he isn't happy with my work.'

'Really? Said to me just yesterday he'd never eaten better.'

As it turns out, I may have been less subtle in my adoration of Casethar than I believed at the time, but at least I restricted it to his food rather than the mer himself. This announcement was not what Casethar expected, I can confirm that much. He ran a hand over the tattoos on his head.

'He did? Captain? He told me if I kept using our supplies so quickly he'd have me paying for them out of my share.'

'That's for Mr Azareth to decide, and Mr Azareth informs me he has never known somebody make so much out of so little.'

'It’s not just that, captain. I apologise for saying so, but I can't do anything right for Mr Vilayn. Perhaps it would be better if I left your service.'

Now that I think about it I believe I may have felt the ship rock from all the way up on the weather deck when the captain slammed his hand against his desk.

'I don't bloody well think so. I'll tell Mr Vilayn to correct his behaviour first, and if he's insulted you that much I'll have him--'

'Permission to speak freely, captain?'

Interrupting the captain mid-tirade is another bit of risky business, the sort of thing usually only attempted by Mr Drasonval when we are actually in the process of capsizing. Once again, R'khan didn't notice something that would usually trigger one of his twisted, impatient smiles, and nodded.

'Go ahead.'

'I've nothing against the first mate. I'm sure if he criticises me it must be justified. I would like time to speak with him openly before any punishment is inflicted on him.'

Have I mentioned that in addition to being intelligent and efficient and all those other things, Casethar is patient and understanding and forgiving? The captain pinched his moustache and sighed through his nostrils.

'I'll send the two of you ashore early to pick up supplies. We'll meet at the cornerclub, or tavern or whatever they call it in whichever blasted province we're in, and if you haven't been able to make him see reason by the time I arrive, I will deal with the situation as I see fit.'

'Aye aye, captain.'

I took some convincing to leave the brig in the second mate's hands for the process of dropping anchor, I admit, but when the only reason the captain gives for asking you to leave your post at such a critical point is because I bloody said so you must admit a person has a right to be curious. Even so, I couldn't disobey a direct order, so I took Casethar ashore in the boat and that is how we came to have our first real time alone.

[tentoriwrites]

Strong

At long last! @dear-mrs-otome‘s sonfic! I’m so not worthy and this by no means lives up to your quality content. I hope you do like it at least a little bit!

After both Toshiie and Hideoyshi confess their love, MC must find the strength to decide on her own terms who she really loves. Then, and only then, can she pull herself out of the middle.

Requested Song: London Grammar - Strong

I just can’t believe someone who can take her brother’s place as a poison taster could ever think she was weak… No, that is someone who is far stronger than I could ever hope to be… If she would simply give me the chance, I would prove it to her.

 “I love you.” Toshiie’s words rang in her ears overlapping with Hideyoshi’s voice. Both confessing in the depths of the night while the sky was enthralled by the moon’s dance. She looked up at that same bright moon hoping it would give her the answers she sought.

“Come with me to Noto…” Toshiie had asked of her after hearing his assignment. “It’s not safe for a woman alone in the castle.”

With every fiber of her being she wanted to go with him so she could be sure he stayed safe. But, her fear and loathing of war gave her pause. “But what about Lord Hideyoshi?” She had asked naively. “He’s my friend too; couldn’t he look after me while you’re gone?” Toshiie’s disapproval of this idea was clear on his face the moment she started to speak. Although he didn’t agree with it, he knew that Hideyoshi would look after her just as well as he would… And he knew precisely why. That meant Toshiie didn’t want to give the monkey any unnecessary advantages. But, in the end he left without her.

“I’m going to be late!” She berated herself as she barreled down the road to Kiyosu as fast as her legs would take her. She came to an abrupt stop when she saw Toshiie atop his horse at the front of the troops. “Inuchiyo! Please wait!” She yelled as loud as her breathless lungs would afford her. It was enough; he stopped his horse, getting down and meeting her part way.

“I don’t really have time for dramatics right now.” He grumbled as he looked down at her. She leaned heavily on one knee as she reached a tiny silk pouch out with the other. It was pink to match his kimono with a crudely embroidered dog’s face on it.

“Please come back to me.” She begged as she looked up at him desperately. His brows furrowed together as he ran his fingers over the pouch. “You were getting this blessed at the temple, weren’t you?” She nodded slowly, a bashful blush on her cheeks. A small gasp escaped his lips when he felt a bump in the pouch that shouldn’t be there.

“Is that part of the one that broke?” His voice cracked when he asked.

“That way we’ll both be there to protect you.” She answered with a smile fighting back her tears. He pulled her into a quick embrace, a blush painting his cheeks a faint pink.

“Stupid… It’ll be a cold day in Hell when death takes me…” He replied pushing her away. “Have some ohagi waiting for me when I get back.” He went on with a confident grin. She smiled brightly and nodded. Several pairs of eyes watched the exchange from the castle gates. “What’re you grinning at, Monkey?”Toshiie growled as he tucked the omamori into his armor above his heart.

“Nothing… nothing…” Hideyoshi replied with his typical smile. “Be safe, Puppy. She’ll be sad otherwise.” Toshiie clicked his tongue as he got on his horse again. He glanced back to where she was standing, smiling like a fool and waving. He gave her one last, soft smile before spurring his horse onward.

 Now, as she basked in the gentle glow of the moon, tears prickling the corners of her eyes, she was faced with another impossible decision. Earlier that day, it was announced Hideyoshi and all his men would be leaving for the middle territories.

“Come with me and be the head chef in my new castle!” His invitation was offered light-heartedly enough but it held so much more weight for her. “You’ll be safe there. You’ll be in charge of the whole kitchen!” He tried to entice her but it did little to alleviate the storm of conflicting emotions raging within her.

“But what if something happens to Inuchiyo and I’m not here when he returns?” He just smiled in the face of her distress.

“Give it a day to think it over. We’ll be leaving as quickly as possible so any longer and you might not have time to get packed.” Then he was gone, his Cheshire smile, transposed upon the moon as she gazed up at it.

“Excuse me for a while…” She had said as she took her leave from dinner that night. An action that did not go wholly unnoticed. “I'm wide-eyed and I'm so down caught in the middle….” She sighed as her gaze drifted down to the garden. “I've excused you for a while, while I'm wide-eyed and I'm so down caught in the middle…” She searched the garden for answers but the only conclusion she had was it didn’t seem to matter what she thought, neither of them would listen. “When a lion, roars would you not listen? If a child, a child cries would you not forgive them?”

The tears started flowing from her eyes as she felt so weak and helpless. Unable to reconcile her desire not to be alone with her desire not to pick sides. “I might seem so strong… I might speak so long… but… I've never been so wrong…” She sighed through her tears. “There’s no way I can make a decision like this on such short notice.”

Unbeknownst to her, the conversation she was now having with the night air had not gone unnoticed. Castle walls had ears and more than one had heard her pained conversation. “Is something bothering you?” Lord Mitsuhide’s voice rang out, startling her from her thoughts abruptly. “The move perhaps?”

“The move?” Her confusion to his knowing exactly what was wrong displayed itself clearly on her face.

“Yes, if you have reservations, you should voice them to Lord Hideyoshi now. He may be able to make accommodations for your concerns before you leave.” He explained warmly, smiling lightly.

“You make it sound like I’ve already made up my mind to go.” She sighed looking back up at the moon.

“You mean… you have not?” Mitsuhide was the one to sound confused now. Her gaze drifted back to him. “Lord Hideyoshi made it seem as though it was your idea you go with him. Lord Nobunaga already gave permission for you to go.” He paused for a moment. “I suppose he did not say so directly…” He added hastily.

“If I told you I am afraid of being alone here at the castle would you think me weak and childish?” She asked with a downcast gaze. “I want to be here for both of my friends. To support them as best I can. Yet, I can do nothing to support either of them.”

“Friends?” Mitsuhide mulled over the word a few moments. “Then you do not share the same feelings for them that they have for you?” She slowly shook her head no.

“Then stay here and continue to serve Lord Nobunaga. If they really care about you as much as it seems, it will give them a reason to return here. To you.” Her eyes opened wide in time with her head rising. His advice had been so simple and yet so perfect. “Further, by staying here you’ll get news of how either of them are faring faster.” He added, a smile finding its way to his face as her tears abated. “Besides, they say absence makes the heart grow fonder. If you find yourself missing one of them more than the other, perhaps that will speak to your true feelings.”

“That is a wonderful idea!” She chimed after a sniffle. She wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeves and put on a smile. “Thank you, Lord Mitsuhide.” She bowed deeply but Mitsuhide brushed it off as a trifle.

She took her leave from Mitsuhide and went to her room. With a blue pouch adorned with a poorly embroidered monkey head on it, she went off to Hideyoshi’s room. He invited her in readily when she announced herself. He looked at her expectantly when she sat down across from, rigid and formal. She took a deep breath before reaching out to take his hand in one of hers. She placed the pouch in his palm, an uncharacteristic resoluteness on her face.

“What is this?” He asked looking at the pouch curiously, very quickly eying the monkey and smiling. “You made this just for me?” There was a lightness in his voice as he ran his fingers over the embroidery. Just like Toshiie, he felt the out of place lump. His eyes drifted up to hers once more.

“My Father gave me a hairpin before he died. It was my favorite.” She explained quietly. “But it broke right before I came here. I kept the pieces so I could feel like he was still with me, protecting me. I want him to protect you too.” He was clearly surprised by this explanation but, before he could get the wrong idea, she pressed on.

“Please come back to me safe, Lord Hideyoshi.” With that she got to her feet and left the room. It was quite the feat to leave Hideyoshi with naught to say.

“Just when I think I have you all figured out…” He finally sighed with a smile as he clutched the omamori tightly.

A few weeks later, she saw him off with a smile and a wave. He waved back, palming the omamori, and smiling. “A promise is a promise!” He called before spurring his horse on. Her smile faded as quickly as his image on the horizon. The worry in her heart marked her features as she breathed out slowly. With a heavy heart and heavy steps, she went back into the castle. All this still not going unnoticed by the castle’s eyes.

 She threw herself into her work around the castle to distract from her loneliness. It quickly earned her the respect of those around her and didn’t go unnoticed by Lord Nobunaga or Mitsuhide.

“You have been working very hard lately. Please, try not to overdo it.” Mitsuhide chided gently with a look of exasperation as she rushed to and from around the castle. She stopped, looking at him oddly a moment before she burst out laughing.

“Forgive me for saying so, Lord Mitsuhide…” She gasped trying to catch her breath. “I believe you are the last person who can fault someone for working too hard.” He looked back at her with the same odd look she had just given him. Suddenly, that look faded into a smile.

“I suppose you’re right…” He chuckled, shaking his head. “If you keep this up, I may need to leave the castle in your capable hands while I’m gone. Which, is why I’m here. Hideyoshi’s campaign in the middle territories is not going well and I am to reinforce him for a while.” His expression grew grave, the whole air around him tense. The news made her grip on the papers in her hand weak. He took them from her slowly before she could drop them. “If there is a message you would like delivered, please give it to me when we leave tomorrow.” He started to smile gently again. “Everything will be all right. They are fighting to get back to someone they hold dear. There is no greater source of strength for a man than that.” She smiled despite the painful tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Having three dear someone’s did not give my Father the strength to return to us, Milord. Please forgive me if I find your words hard to believe.” She replied with a quick bow before hurrying away. Mitsuhide grimaced and smacked himself on the forehead with the papers in his hands.

 It all came tumbling down the day Toshiie returned from Noto. They had lost, terribly, caught between a flooded river and the armies of Uesugi Kenshin. Toshiie was much worse for the wear, rendered unconscious for days after his return. If anyone had asked her, she couldn’t count the hours she spent crying even as she worked through her normal routine, praying silently with each passing moment for him to wake up.

He did wake up, in time, but, he was not the same when he did. Try as she might, she could offer him no comfort. She could not undo the past. She could not take away the guilt he felt for his failure.

She found herself in the garden once more, having a one-sided dialogue with the moon. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes again. Just as before, Mitsuhide happened upon her as she stared up at the waxing moon overhead. “Excuse me for a while. Just turn a blind eye.” She replied when he stopped.

“Your stare is still caught right in the middle.” Mitsuhide sighed with a sad smile.  “I have wondered for a while… I have a feeling deep down, you're caught in the middle…”

“Yeah… I might seem so strong. I might speak so long. But, I've never been so wrong…” Her gaze cast itself downward again.

“I believe, there are different kinds of strength in this world.” Mitushide began as he sat next to her. “Each of those strengths has a place and a purpose. You just need to figure out what your strengths are and then capitalize on them to the fullest.” There was a long silence between them before he went on again. “You may not be able to carry all their woes and worries but, you can give them the strength to carry them on their own.”

The words sank into her, settling deep inside her heart. “Yes. I think you’re right.” She started laughing again. “You always have the answer though. That’s why Lord Nobunaga depends on you so much, isn’t it?”

“Well I would say that exactly…” He brushed it off with a bashful laugh.

 “Please, eat something. You’ve been out for so long…” She murmured pleadingly to the sullen face of her friend. When the pleading didn’t work, her face screwed up into frustration. “FINE!” She yelled, garnering the attention of everyone in the room. “Have it your way!” Boldly she reached out and grabbed the flesh on his arm between her fingers and pinched hard.

“OWE!” He yelped and before he could say anything else she shoved the spoon in his mouth. He looked at her with utmost irritation as he chewed on the porridge she so unceremoniously forced on him.

“You can sit here and wallow all you want.” She went on as he swallowed, her voice quiet but firm. “But wallowing won’t change the past or bring back the dead. If you’re going to sit here and waste away do it on your own time.” She shoved the bowl into his hands and moved to leave. Weakly, weaker than she had ever felt from him, Toshiie grabbed her sleeve.

“I told you it would be a cold day in Hell before death took me…” He muttered before taking a bite of food. “Sorry I made you worry…” She sighed, finally finding a reason to smile as she watched him scarf the food down at alarming speed. “Can I get some more of this?” He asked sheepishly, avoiding her gaze.

“Sure…” She took the bowl from him and filled it back up. “In a few days time you’ll be ready for those ohagi I promised you.”

“Pfft… I can eat all the ohagi you can make right now!” He beamed nudging her with his elbow.

 Toshiie was just starting to come around when Hideyoshi returned from the middle territories. Although his campaign there had been a success, it was clear there was sadness lurking in the depths of his brown eyes. It wasn’t until several days later she found out what the cost of his success had been. She knew all too well the hurt of losing someone you care about; however, she was failing to express that to him in a meaningful way. She was about to despair when she remembered something.

“Lord Hideyoshi. I made some of your favorites! Bekko-ame!” The cheer in her voice was swallowed by the oppressive silence that followed. After a moment, she heard fabric shuffling against the floor and Hideyoshi opened the door. Though he smiled all the same, it was clear he was faking.

“Thanks…” He replied reaching out and taking one of the candies. “Hanbei really liked your bekko-ame too. I don’t know if he ever told you.” The thin veneer of happiness in his voice failed to fully hide his sadness.

“No… but I suspect since he kept bringing back empty jars that I must have been doing something right.” She replied handing Hideyoshi the jar. “This was the jar I always put them in. I think he would like you to have it.” Hideyoshi gripped the jar just a little tighter. “I suspect that was his favorite recipe too.” She added with a smile.

“I can see why.” He replied, a smile more genuine than the last working its way to his face. “They’re very good.”

“Thank you for keeping your promise, Lord Hideyoshi. I’m sorry that it cost you so much.”

“Thank you for giving me something to come back to.”

 Things gradually settled down around Kiyosu in the weeks that followed. There was only one thing left to do. In the midst of all this, she had made her decision. She knew who resided in her heart now. She also knew she had to use this opportunity to tell him.

“I might seem so strong.” The voice on the other side of the door sighed as she stopped outside it. “I might speak so long but, I've never been so wrong.” She never expected to hear those words coming from him of all people. But, she supposed, everyone has moments when they feel weak. Though she didn’t know what might be causing him to feel this way, she had just what he needed to feel better.

“Come in.” A quizzical voice answered when she announced herself. She slid the door open bringing a tray piled high with food in with her.

“I heard you were working very hard lately. So, I brought your favorite food, milord. Onigiri with bonito flakes.” She slid the tray towards him slowly, a bashful blush on her face. “You need to keep your strength up, Milord.” Mitsuhide slowly reached out and took one of the onigiri from the tray. When he did, he noticed a small silk pouch there, a crudely embroidered cat on it. He had seen her give one to Toshiie, he knew exactly what it was. And yet, something told him this was different.

“Am I to understand, you would like to offer your strength to me?” He wondered replacing the onigiri in his hand with the omamori.

“If you have need of it.”

“I will gladly accept any strength you are willing to give me. Now and always.”