Busy 24 hours.

[essayel]

Worked yesterday, which is always disruptive because it means the grocery shopping with Mum becomes an issue but means an extra few hours pay.

Then in the evening we went back to 'work' to see Gwent Yong People's Theatre's performance of The Golden Masque of Agamemnon, which was fantastic, as usual, and also rather sad. Sad because the Welsh Arts Council have withdrawn their funding and Gwent Theatre, which runs GYPT, will have to close in March. For anyone who's thinking "Shrug, why should I care about a little Welsh theatre group for kids?" I'll just say that without GYPT Captain Jack Harkness wouldn't have had his Ianto, okay? Because Gareth David-Lloyd learned his craft with GYPT as have lots of other young actors and directors and - well, even if they haven't gone into the profession they have learned self confidence, team spirit, how to give their best under trying circumstances and just generally had a whale of a time learning it. The theatre can be saved if they raise £225.000 by March 11th, 2011. Some hopes huh?

But the show was grand and we didn't realise anything was wrong with Agamemnon until he collapsed after the performance. We took him and his non-driving family to ER [we call it Ac & Em, here, but I'm using ER so not to be confusing] at about 9.20. At 11.20 I went down to see how they were doing and they were still waiting for a doctor. Friday night - it was bedlam down there. I went down again at about 1.30 am and they were STILL waiting, but he was feeling a bit better, and there were fleets of ambulances arriving and a blood soaked bloke in handcuffs being escorted by ARMED policemen [okay, routine in the US but I don't SEE people with guns EVER!]. About 2.00 Agamemnon decided he'd feel better at home in less stressful surroundings. He, at least, was upright and lucid and all his limbs were the right shape and he wasn't dripping blood everywhere, so he figured he'd be moving down the triage list all the time. So I took them home and finally got to bed about 2.30.

Today I'm wiped. Had to take Jen to GYPT at 10 and picked up Agamemnon on the way. He looks horrible still. No idea if he'll be performing today. Hadn't long got back from that and had a cri de coeur from Mum that her cats had caught, and mangled, a pigeon and released it in the house and could I come and catch it. Oh God it was horrible - I hate having to kill things especially with Mum hopping about exorting me to kill it in one breath and 'don't hurt it' in the next. In the end I told her to go away, very firmly, and took it down the garden and whacked it with a lump of sandstone. Had to sit down then until my head stopped swimming. Ruthless, chilly-eyed, international assassin material - I think not.

Now I have a headache and feel miserable so the best thing to do is do a meme, isn't it?

This was on ceitfianna's journal:

The first TEN people to comment in this post get to request ~something~ of any pairing/character* of their choosing from me. In return, they have to post this in their journal. If you absolutely can't write, you can offer drawings or icons or something instead (meta? picspams? reasons why that character/pairing rocks/doesn't rock?).

I don't actually HAVE 10 people who comment to my journal but I can't be arsed to adjust the wording.

Comments

[yakalskovich]

Ruthless, chilly-eyed, international assassin material - I think not.

**hugs**

It's really a good thing most people aren't! The world needs museums much more urgently than it needs assassinations. Most people die naturally at some stage anyway, but educating people about the past so they don't repeat mistakes, treasure what they have and spot bullshit more easily (as nothing is new under the sun, not even what politicians say) takes a lot of work and is important on a large scale!

Nope, but why I really comment is that I'd like you to write a little something for me, as you're offering! Write something about what Gil and 'Suti are doing in the Wizarding World these days?

[celticangel76.livejournal.com]

*big hugs* I think most people would have a hard time doing that but remember you did the poor bird a mercy.

As for the meme... hmm. Well you know the pairing I'll choose. D/Chas of course. As for what they should be doing.... I think I'd like some silly schmoop. Maybe at the lakehouse.

[wulfila.livejournal.com]

I'm very sorry to hear about the pigeon (especially as a very nice, trusting pigeon visits our garden on a regular basis). Finding a dead, mangled animal is already bad, but a not-quite-dead one is much, much worse. Poor you. :(

[cweb.livejournal.com]

Mercy killing is hard, but well done for managing it.

Have you mentioned the theatre to the "Save Ianto Jones" people? They might be able to help raise money.

[gaycrow.livejournal.com]

Aww, I'm so sorry to hear about you having to dispose of the pigeon. On top of the worry about Agamemnon, as well.

Let's hope you have a better week after today.

[essayel.livejournal.com]

There were times of the year when Asar-Suti's skills came into their own. His had always been a fiery nature and his magic reflected that. During the winter months, when the damp got into the bones and far too many hours would be wasted on feeding the charms that fed the fires, his ability to warm the house and dry their clothes and even ensure a continual input of heat to the greenhouses was invaluable.

But in high summer he was restricted in how he could help. Even Gil's wand remained in the tall ceramic jar on the window sill where it maintained the charm that denied access to pests - not even the most persistent blue bottle, nor the hungriest mosquito, nor yet the most aggravating wasp could penetrate that barrier. Instead they bounced, buzzing, up and down the open window as though drumming their heads on the glass and Quentin, Gil's pet jarvey, sat on the sill and jeered. Outside Gil was working with the skill of his hands and the strength of his back. Magic had its limitations and pricking out seedlings, picking soft fruit, the other delicate and meticulous and variable jobs of a market gardener were best done by skin.

For part of the day, cool in the insect free house, Asar-Suti read and researched and made his notes for a book on comparative magic. Periodically he made drinks and food and carried them out to where his faun, brown as the earth he tended, stooped over the beds of herbs.

Gil looked up as he heard the clink of ice and the rustle of feet on grass, and he sat back on his heels. His chest was a shade or two lighter than his back or face and there were lighter lines at the corners of his smiling eyes and a narrow patch across his belly that was still paler where his short had slipped down a bit.

"Pumpkin juice," Gil said, but his smile of welcome was for the little purple god. Purpleish now, because Asar-Suti had been spending time in the sun as well.

"Puce," Gil had said. "A very fashionable colour in the eighteenth century, which bearing in mind how slow we wizards are to adapt, makes you bang up to date, Sooty. How's it feel then to be a fashion icon?"

Asar-Suti had taken that with the necessary pinch of salt and had given Gil a playful shove. But now he set the tray down and seated himself beside his faun and Gil leaned across the tray to give him a swift kiss of thanks.

"Bikkies!" Quentin arrived with a whoop and flung himself into Gil's lap. "G'wan, giz a bikky."

"Say please," Gil said.

"No, giz a bikky!" The jarvey stood on his hind legs and nuzzled Gil's cheek, which was as close as he would get to being polite. Gil gave him a biscuit and the jarvey flopped on his back to nibble it, tail tip twitching with pleasure.

"Have you thought any more about getting a cat?" Gil asked. "Mum's kneazle ihas had her litter and you'd be very welcome to one. Quentin assures me he wouldn't eat it."

"Bones stick in teef," Quentin announced spraying crumbs. Gil wiped them off his stomach and smiled at his pet. Quentin was very definitely a one man jarvey and territorial to boot. But a cat - a cat about the place would be nice.

"A kneazle," Asar-Suti said as he picked up his glass. "Can we see the litter on Sunday?"

"After lunch," Gil said. "Dad wants us to charm the boundaries for him again in the morning. The farmer next door spotted nogtail spoor and we don't want those little buggers in his wheat."

"Then Sunday, after the charms and lunch, we can pick out a kneazle - or two. To keep each other company," Asar-Suti said with a nod of the head.

Gil smiled and took a biscuit to munch and Asar-Suti watched him and his pet, feeling again that odd sense of amazement.

Once he had been a boiling vat of pure magic shot through with the colours of royalty. Once he had been called God, all powerful, capricious and cruel. Once his worshippers had willingly died at his slightest whim. He had been adored.

But in retrospect, none of that was as satisfying as sitting in a garden on a warm summer day, watching the least remarkable of his lovers petting a talking ferret as they made plans to add a kitten - or two - to the family.

Strange how things turned out.

[essayel.livejournal.com]

I try very hard to be matter of fact about it and do it as efficiently as possible. But afterwards I feel all swimmy and light headed and nauseous.

I guess I'm a wuss, but I'd be far more worried if it was easy or, God forbid, fun.

[essayel.livejournal.com]

We're contacting Gareth's agent to see if we can get his support. But almost a quarter million GBP PER YEAR is a lot to raise. The youth part of it is just about self funding, but without the venue, props and wardrobe and the expertise of the Gwent Theatre part of it they'd be hard pressed to carry on. Still we'll do our best.

[essayel.livejournal.com]

Thanks for commenting. I hope you're having a nice winter.

Agamemnon seems to be a bit better, thank goodness.

Sadly being a cat owner means you have to take responsibility for their botched jobs. And since mum is 85 it only seems right to do it for her cats' mistakes as well. I just wish they'd bite down a bit harder.

[yakalskovich]

**curls up in this and smiles happily**