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Family Matters
© 2022 by M. Mitch Marmel
Thumbnail art by
RockBaker
Part Seventeen.
Missy:
Grr . . .
As soon as I was outside, I threw my head back and gave voice to my anger.
“Just you wait, pissy roebuck, just you wait
You'll be sorry, but ‘I’m sorry’s’ just too late!
You'll be off to Alkali Tor
And I won’t see you anymore
Just you wait, pissy roebuck, just you wait!
Just you wait, pissy roebuck, you're so thick
That a mason could easily use you for a brick!
I'll be laughing and you’ll be cryin’
And you know Elves don’t be lyin’
Oh oh oh, pissy roebuck, just you wait!”
No, the Master didn’t tell me that he’d placed a ward on the door, but thank Fuma it was mostly sound and fury than any real damage or injury. Still, it took several cantrips to get all of the soot out of my fur and if it had been raining I’m sure I would have been steaming.
[Note appended to manuscript: "Superfluous. You're already a steamer."]
[Note appended to manuscript: "Sharrap."]
One way or the other, I’d get him back for that, the pissy little –
“Beloved?”
I turn and Ooo-er’s walking up to me. I meet her halfway and spend a little while kissing before she says, “I couldn’t touch your mind, my heart. What’s wrong?”
“Just a roebuck,” I say, and she frowns. I nuzzle her. “Please don’t do that, Ooo-er, I hate it when you frown.” She hugged me and kissed for a while until both of us were smiling again. “How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine,” she assured me. “It’s very early yet. You?”
I felt my anger melting away. “It’s nothing, I’m fine. I was going to ask Anastasia what it was like to be a mother – I mean, actually having a child.” Aedith is as dear to me as my life, but she’s adopted.
Ooo-er hugged me, her smile matching mine. “We’ll find out together.”
“Yes, together. Always.”
[Note appended to manuscript: “Sappier than a Persoc Tor music hall act.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Shaddap.”]
My ears went up as we heard a voice ask, “There room in there for anyone else?” Ooo-er and I turned around and we cheerfully gathered Tali into our embrace.
“Where were you?” I asked when we all came up for air.
“Oh, here and there,” the feline said. “I have a little bit of bad news, and a lot of good news.”
“What’s the bad news?” Ooo-er asked.
“The bad news,” Tali said, “is that I’m on medical leave until our daughter is born. It means no missions or anything like that until then.”
“Oh.” My ears swiveled. “And the good news?”
Tali grinned. “I get to stay in Glenallid until then.”
We all cheered.
***
Winterbough:
So came the Holy Day, which was cloudy, with intermittent rain, but otherwise devoid of the kind of crazy weather we could get. The Temple was packed, with just about every roe-deer in the Vale present, along with a sizable number of non-Mephitists in the upper balconies of the Temple, there to watch the fun.
There had been pretty brisk betting (as usual) as to who the lucky (?) doe would be, and the heavy favorite was one Belladona Sumac. Perforce, she was an immigrant to the Vale, part of the largish intake we'd had from Licksburg. And like nearly all of the immigrant doe-fawns, she'd taken to speaking Elfhamian nearly exclusively, only speaking Standard on rare occasions. The newly-minted Elfhamian does were very quick to adopt the ways of the Vale, especially since those ways largely ran in their favor.
Belladona was somewhat on the tall side for a roe-doe, being about five-six and a half, and was rather thin as well. She had long, dark, straight and lank head-fur, and somewhat unusually, she wore spectacles, a set of silver pince-nez clipped high on her muzzle. Her mother, while not a member of the [Eldest], was very active in Greytor-village matters, and seemed to be fairly popular among the [Eldest].
As for the fawn herself, she was proving to be something of a prodigy, in terms of magick. I had it on no less of an authority than my own mate that she (la Sumac) was a keen one for fireballs, and was also very good at scrying, both Talents not terribly common in the Vale. In fact, she might well have led the pack in terms of magicks, and there was that to be said in her favor.
Against that was the fact that apparently she was stone-faced, and had next to nothing in the sense of humor department, even by roe-doe standards. A very good manager of budgets, and of keeping hearths spotless, but not exactly one for longish chats on cold winter nights. Of which we have many in the Vale.
But, it was thought, she was the prohibitive favorite among the does, and certainly the betting was running very strongly in her favor (not that I think that would have influenced the [Eldest] a jot). So, it was widely expected that Things Were Going to Be Arranged.
I was somewhat surprised at the absence of Estvan Silverbrush; these sort of holy affairs were even more of an attraction to him than, say, an unattended ham in a larder, and I wondered why he wasn't present.
The [Eldest], everyone dressed severely in their best black outfits with starched white collars, cuffs and aprons, were seated in the front row at the left of the Temple, with Belladona Sumac at the very end. It was hard to read her emotions, given the set of her jaw and the glint of her spectacles, but one could guess that it was her day, and she was going to be proud of it.
The Acolytes (inclusive of Trixie Ashearth) had been banished to the back of the Temple, and it was Sixth and I who helped out with the Holy Recreation. We got a fine old explosion out of the rocks, which got the usual round of applause from the ex-Prisoners up above.
Cellini began his sermon, but he didn't have his full effort on. This was largely because he kept glancing over at the [Eldest], who were making the universal circular motion with the paws; in other words, telling him to shut up and pack it in, already. Which he did, meekly.
At this, Mrs. Fletcher got up, shakily, but then strode firmly to the lectern, and glared out at all of us. She got a round of applause from the roebucks, and for their pains were rewarded with an icy glare that would have made Mount Humbert look to its laurels. They, too, packed it in.
Mrs. Fletcher indicated (in Elfhamian) that there was one significant announcement to be made, and that it regarded the future of the Young Master, i.e., Westersloe Winterbough, the Sixth of His Name. It had been Decided by the [Eldest], acting on behalf of the [Doe-Moot] as a whole, that it was high time that he got formally married in the Traditional fashion.
This said with a sideways glance at Tessie Ring, who was seated among the does, but in the midst of the pack. Tessie, by now, knew enough Elfhamian to know what was going on. She wasn't terribly thrilled by the goings-on, but being hemmed in as she was, she couldn't make a fuss about it, Regalia or not.
Mrs. Fletcher went on to note what the Requirements were for a Candidate. Usual budget of stuff, if you were a roebuck. Keeping the house straight. Keeping the roebuck even straighter, etc., etc., etc.
Most of the roebucks, especially the oldest of them, shuffled their hooves and coughed a bit. They cast sympathetic glances over at Sixth, seated in the Winterbough pew up front at the right; I could see them, as I was turned around to watch their reactions.
Sixth, for his part, listened serenely, with his paws on his lap and a slightly crooked smile of awful familiarity on his muzzle. It did remind me of his great grand-sire, and I wondered what that lunatic would have made of the situation. Likely something along the lines of "put your faith in the Lady, and keep your bowstring under your hat."
Mrs. Fletcher wound things up by introducing Belladona Sumac, after a fashion, going into her virtues (more hoof-shuffling from the roebucks, and one brave soul even ventured a razzberry), and finally winding up with a statement that if there was no Opposition, the match would, under Elfhamian law, be viewed as made, to be formalized first in the Imperial manner (glance at Cellini) and then by Other Means, likely a reference to the Seven Stars.
This time, I swiveled around fully in my pew. Partly to avoid the gaze of Fletcher, but partly to see what the commons made of it. The roe-does seemed to be grimly satisfied. The roebucks glanced at each other, ears swiveling, and one or two sighing.
Fletcher then squared her jaw, and said that in the absence of any dissent . . .
"[It is so, that the absence of the dissent is not present, for with the tongue of myself a Challenge is proclaimed!]"
The first reaction of the does was to glare at Tessie, who could only spread her paws in bafflement. Nope, not her.
The glaring was then transferred to the roebucks (inclusive of myself), but we all spread our paws. Not us, not even the few among us who knew ventriloquism.
"[Use the eyes of yourselves back here, O ye of Elfhame, for it is surely so that the challenge comes from the mouth of myself speaking at the tailfur of this Temple!]"
Well in the back of the Temple, in fact a pew or two behind the mass of the roe-does, a rather smallish roe-doe was standing, though some comedians in Persoc Tor might have disputed it. Before giving vent to a whistle or two of approbation.
The roe-doe in question was not dressed in black, but in green and white. To be sure, chastely in a well-made (and well-embroidered) bodice over everything else, but that may not have been what caught the eye.
Very, very unusually for a roe-doe, she had long, lush, fiery auburn head-fur.
It took a moment or two for me to figure out (with the aid of a whisper from Dennis Horne) who this was. It was another immigrant, one named Una Sawyer. I hadn't run across her many times before, since she lived in one of the outlying villages, and for the most part, was charged with looking after her invalid sire, a full-time job. I'd maybe seen her some years before, as a younger doe-fawn, wheeling him about.
She'd changed. Quite a bit.
Immediately, the roe-does swiveled around and looked at me. Even more ominously, I could see heat-shimmers around Anastasia's paws. I could only (rapidly) shake my head and spread my paws in denial.
Wee Una stood on tip-hoof, and raised her voice.
"[And is it so that the lot of you, O Elfhame, do not think I have the tongue and brain-box and heart of myself to do this upon the initiative of myself? It is not so that I require the assistance of any deer living to do what it is that my own small self wishes to do, and approbation of any other in this building matters not!]"
She got some, though. There was a whoop of "Hudalaleigh!" from the balcony, and the does shifted their glances, and ire, up there.
I closed my eyes and cringed. I knew Estvan was deeply fond of Sixth, but I didn't think the mad bastard would take his heart THIS far.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
© 2022 by M. Mitch Marmel
Thumbnail art by
RockBakerPart Seventeen.
Missy:
Grr . . .
As soon as I was outside, I threw my head back and gave voice to my anger.
“Just you wait, pissy roebuck, just you wait
You'll be sorry, but ‘I’m sorry’s’ just too late!
You'll be off to Alkali Tor
And I won’t see you anymore
Just you wait, pissy roebuck, just you wait!
Just you wait, pissy roebuck, you're so thick
That a mason could easily use you for a brick!
I'll be laughing and you’ll be cryin’
And you know Elves don’t be lyin’
Oh oh oh, pissy roebuck, just you wait!”
No, the Master didn’t tell me that he’d placed a ward on the door, but thank Fuma it was mostly sound and fury than any real damage or injury. Still, it took several cantrips to get all of the soot out of my fur and if it had been raining I’m sure I would have been steaming.
[Note appended to manuscript: "Superfluous. You're already a steamer."]
[Note appended to manuscript: "Sharrap."]
One way or the other, I’d get him back for that, the pissy little –
“Beloved?”
I turn and Ooo-er’s walking up to me. I meet her halfway and spend a little while kissing before she says, “I couldn’t touch your mind, my heart. What’s wrong?”
“Just a roebuck,” I say, and she frowns. I nuzzle her. “Please don’t do that, Ooo-er, I hate it when you frown.” She hugged me and kissed for a while until both of us were smiling again. “How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine,” she assured me. “It’s very early yet. You?”
I felt my anger melting away. “It’s nothing, I’m fine. I was going to ask Anastasia what it was like to be a mother – I mean, actually having a child.” Aedith is as dear to me as my life, but she’s adopted.
Ooo-er hugged me, her smile matching mine. “We’ll find out together.”
“Yes, together. Always.”
[Note appended to manuscript: “Sappier than a Persoc Tor music hall act.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Shaddap.”]
My ears went up as we heard a voice ask, “There room in there for anyone else?” Ooo-er and I turned around and we cheerfully gathered Tali into our embrace.
“Where were you?” I asked when we all came up for air.
“Oh, here and there,” the feline said. “I have a little bit of bad news, and a lot of good news.”
“What’s the bad news?” Ooo-er asked.
“The bad news,” Tali said, “is that I’m on medical leave until our daughter is born. It means no missions or anything like that until then.”
“Oh.” My ears swiveled. “And the good news?”
Tali grinned. “I get to stay in Glenallid until then.”
We all cheered.
***
Winterbough:
So came the Holy Day, which was cloudy, with intermittent rain, but otherwise devoid of the kind of crazy weather we could get. The Temple was packed, with just about every roe-deer in the Vale present, along with a sizable number of non-Mephitists in the upper balconies of the Temple, there to watch the fun.
There had been pretty brisk betting (as usual) as to who the lucky (?) doe would be, and the heavy favorite was one Belladona Sumac. Perforce, she was an immigrant to the Vale, part of the largish intake we'd had from Licksburg. And like nearly all of the immigrant doe-fawns, she'd taken to speaking Elfhamian nearly exclusively, only speaking Standard on rare occasions. The newly-minted Elfhamian does were very quick to adopt the ways of the Vale, especially since those ways largely ran in their favor.
Belladona was somewhat on the tall side for a roe-doe, being about five-six and a half, and was rather thin as well. She had long, dark, straight and lank head-fur, and somewhat unusually, she wore spectacles, a set of silver pince-nez clipped high on her muzzle. Her mother, while not a member of the [Eldest], was very active in Greytor-village matters, and seemed to be fairly popular among the [Eldest].
As for the fawn herself, she was proving to be something of a prodigy, in terms of magick. I had it on no less of an authority than my own mate that she (la Sumac) was a keen one for fireballs, and was also very good at scrying, both Talents not terribly common in the Vale. In fact, she might well have led the pack in terms of magicks, and there was that to be said in her favor.
Against that was the fact that apparently she was stone-faced, and had next to nothing in the sense of humor department, even by roe-doe standards. A very good manager of budgets, and of keeping hearths spotless, but not exactly one for longish chats on cold winter nights. Of which we have many in the Vale.
But, it was thought, she was the prohibitive favorite among the does, and certainly the betting was running very strongly in her favor (not that I think that would have influenced the [Eldest] a jot). So, it was widely expected that Things Were Going to Be Arranged.
I was somewhat surprised at the absence of Estvan Silverbrush; these sort of holy affairs were even more of an attraction to him than, say, an unattended ham in a larder, and I wondered why he wasn't present.
The [Eldest], everyone dressed severely in their best black outfits with starched white collars, cuffs and aprons, were seated in the front row at the left of the Temple, with Belladona Sumac at the very end. It was hard to read her emotions, given the set of her jaw and the glint of her spectacles, but one could guess that it was her day, and she was going to be proud of it.
The Acolytes (inclusive of Trixie Ashearth) had been banished to the back of the Temple, and it was Sixth and I who helped out with the Holy Recreation. We got a fine old explosion out of the rocks, which got the usual round of applause from the ex-Prisoners up above.
Cellini began his sermon, but he didn't have his full effort on. This was largely because he kept glancing over at the [Eldest], who were making the universal circular motion with the paws; in other words, telling him to shut up and pack it in, already. Which he did, meekly.
At this, Mrs. Fletcher got up, shakily, but then strode firmly to the lectern, and glared out at all of us. She got a round of applause from the roebucks, and for their pains were rewarded with an icy glare that would have made Mount Humbert look to its laurels. They, too, packed it in.
Mrs. Fletcher indicated (in Elfhamian) that there was one significant announcement to be made, and that it regarded the future of the Young Master, i.e., Westersloe Winterbough, the Sixth of His Name. It had been Decided by the [Eldest], acting on behalf of the [Doe-Moot] as a whole, that it was high time that he got formally married in the Traditional fashion.
This said with a sideways glance at Tessie Ring, who was seated among the does, but in the midst of the pack. Tessie, by now, knew enough Elfhamian to know what was going on. She wasn't terribly thrilled by the goings-on, but being hemmed in as she was, she couldn't make a fuss about it, Regalia or not.
Mrs. Fletcher went on to note what the Requirements were for a Candidate. Usual budget of stuff, if you were a roebuck. Keeping the house straight. Keeping the roebuck even straighter, etc., etc., etc.
Most of the roebucks, especially the oldest of them, shuffled their hooves and coughed a bit. They cast sympathetic glances over at Sixth, seated in the Winterbough pew up front at the right; I could see them, as I was turned around to watch their reactions.
Sixth, for his part, listened serenely, with his paws on his lap and a slightly crooked smile of awful familiarity on his muzzle. It did remind me of his great grand-sire, and I wondered what that lunatic would have made of the situation. Likely something along the lines of "put your faith in the Lady, and keep your bowstring under your hat."
Mrs. Fletcher wound things up by introducing Belladona Sumac, after a fashion, going into her virtues (more hoof-shuffling from the roebucks, and one brave soul even ventured a razzberry), and finally winding up with a statement that if there was no Opposition, the match would, under Elfhamian law, be viewed as made, to be formalized first in the Imperial manner (glance at Cellini) and then by Other Means, likely a reference to the Seven Stars.
This time, I swiveled around fully in my pew. Partly to avoid the gaze of Fletcher, but partly to see what the commons made of it. The roe-does seemed to be grimly satisfied. The roebucks glanced at each other, ears swiveling, and one or two sighing.
Fletcher then squared her jaw, and said that in the absence of any dissent . . .
"[It is so, that the absence of the dissent is not present, for with the tongue of myself a Challenge is proclaimed!]"
The first reaction of the does was to glare at Tessie, who could only spread her paws in bafflement. Nope, not her.
The glaring was then transferred to the roebucks (inclusive of myself), but we all spread our paws. Not us, not even the few among us who knew ventriloquism.
"[Use the eyes of yourselves back here, O ye of Elfhame, for it is surely so that the challenge comes from the mouth of myself speaking at the tailfur of this Temple!]"
Well in the back of the Temple, in fact a pew or two behind the mass of the roe-does, a rather smallish roe-doe was standing, though some comedians in Persoc Tor might have disputed it. Before giving vent to a whistle or two of approbation.
The roe-doe in question was not dressed in black, but in green and white. To be sure, chastely in a well-made (and well-embroidered) bodice over everything else, but that may not have been what caught the eye.
Very, very unusually for a roe-doe, she had long, lush, fiery auburn head-fur.
It took a moment or two for me to figure out (with the aid of a whisper from Dennis Horne) who this was. It was another immigrant, one named Una Sawyer. I hadn't run across her many times before, since she lived in one of the outlying villages, and for the most part, was charged with looking after her invalid sire, a full-time job. I'd maybe seen her some years before, as a younger doe-fawn, wheeling him about.
She'd changed. Quite a bit.
Immediately, the roe-does swiveled around and looked at me. Even more ominously, I could see heat-shimmers around Anastasia's paws. I could only (rapidly) shake my head and spread my paws in denial.
Wee Una stood on tip-hoof, and raised her voice.
"[And is it so that the lot of you, O Elfhame, do not think I have the tongue and brain-box and heart of myself to do this upon the initiative of myself? It is not so that I require the assistance of any deer living to do what it is that my own small self wishes to do, and approbation of any other in this building matters not!]"
She got some, though. There was a whoop of "Hudalaleigh!" from the balcony, and the does shifted their glances, and ire, up there.
I closed my eyes and cringed. I knew Estvan was deeply fond of Sixth, but I didn't think the mad bastard would take his heart THIS far.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
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