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May. 4th, 2003 06:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essayelFeeling just a little the worse for wear. I really shouldn't drink at lunchtime but today was a special day - the dedication of Saskia Jasmine Anne Jones, the little mite Howard and Kathy have adopted - so we had bit of a party to celebrate. We had to extract Mike from his bed, detach him from his MP3 player and Cradle of Filth t-shirt and make him look merely eccentric rather than a danger to society. Jenny was no problem, she enjoyed dressing up. Paul and I also pulled out all the stops, though I noticed he was wearing beige walking boot socks, and I was told, far too late, you could see my bra (strident scarlet) through my blouse. Still, we went to church and none of us were struck down. Saskia looked very pretty indeed in a bright pink frock and entertained the congregation during the quieter bits of the service by hooting loudly to try to raise an echo - the acoustics in the church are awful.
Then we went back to Howard and Kaths for lunch and far, far too much wine.
Now, I should be writing but can't quite get my thoughts into order. A pity since there are three fics just sitting there awaiting some useful attention. I think I'll write bit to the Lavender/Bill bit of Watering the Professor's Plants - it might be easier with some alcoholic lubrication - I'm certainly going nowhere fast with it sober! Taster follows:
Lavender gazed up at him, her heart fluttering in her breast. When she had first seen him, two years before at the Triwizard Tournament, she had scarcely been able to take her eyes off him and, since then, hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. Then, as now, he had been wearing dark robes of an exotic cut over a shirt and pyjamy trousers of gauzy white Egyptian cotton. The trousers were tucked loosely into his scuffed dragonhide boots and a black and white checked shawl was swathed around his shoulders ready to protect his head from the heat of a stronger sun than that normally found in Scotland. The white fang of his earring bobbed amid the strands of dark auburn hair that had escaped from his pony-tail as he tilted his head and extended a hand. Upon his wrist was a heavy silver bracelet, set with rough cut turquoises and incised with an exhortation to the Almighty to ‘protect this thy servant’. The magic fairly crackled off it and Lavender knew that it had been given to him by a woman – a woman who had cared for him as a man. For that was what he was, strong and mature, not a silly boy like Neville or Dean. And he was here - now – and had asked where she might be found!
Rather breathlessly she took the hand he offered her, feeling for the first time its warmth and strength, the slight unevenness of callouses gained from the long use of wand and broomstick and others that, she guessed, might have something to do with camels.
“Why did you ask?” she demanded, looking up into his warm hazel eyes and glowing in response to what she saw there.
“Because,” he sighed, “since I first saw you, two years ago at the Triwizard Tournament, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. I’ve tried, God knows. I threw myself into my work and into pleasure, I rode far into the heat and silence of the desert, but – always - your sweet face was there in my thoughts.” He raised his other hand and drew the backs of his fingers gently across her cheek then slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. “Please, Lavender,” he whispered huskily, “don’t tell me that my journey has been wasted. Don’t send me away unrequited.”
Lavender caught her breath as she wondered what unrequited meant.
“I don’t understand,” she faltered. “What do you want with me?”
“Oh, Lavender,” he sighed, “are you not woman enough to know?”
Complete rip off, of course, of every bad romance novel I've ever read - as the man said "the part that is good is not original and the part that is original is not good".
Then we went back to Howard and Kaths for lunch and far, far too much wine.
Now, I should be writing but can't quite get my thoughts into order. A pity since there are three fics just sitting there awaiting some useful attention. I think I'll write bit to the Lavender/Bill bit of Watering the Professor's Plants - it might be easier with some alcoholic lubrication - I'm certainly going nowhere fast with it sober! Taster follows:
Lavender gazed up at him, her heart fluttering in her breast. When she had first seen him, two years before at the Triwizard Tournament, she had scarcely been able to take her eyes off him and, since then, hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. Then, as now, he had been wearing dark robes of an exotic cut over a shirt and pyjamy trousers of gauzy white Egyptian cotton. The trousers were tucked loosely into his scuffed dragonhide boots and a black and white checked shawl was swathed around his shoulders ready to protect his head from the heat of a stronger sun than that normally found in Scotland. The white fang of his earring bobbed amid the strands of dark auburn hair that had escaped from his pony-tail as he tilted his head and extended a hand. Upon his wrist was a heavy silver bracelet, set with rough cut turquoises and incised with an exhortation to the Almighty to ‘protect this thy servant’. The magic fairly crackled off it and Lavender knew that it had been given to him by a woman – a woman who had cared for him as a man. For that was what he was, strong and mature, not a silly boy like Neville or Dean. And he was here - now – and had asked where she might be found!
Rather breathlessly she took the hand he offered her, feeling for the first time its warmth and strength, the slight unevenness of callouses gained from the long use of wand and broomstick and others that, she guessed, might have something to do with camels.
“Why did you ask?” she demanded, looking up into his warm hazel eyes and glowing in response to what she saw there.
“Because,” he sighed, “since I first saw you, two years ago at the Triwizard Tournament, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. I’ve tried, God knows. I threw myself into my work and into pleasure, I rode far into the heat and silence of the desert, but – always - your sweet face was there in my thoughts.” He raised his other hand and drew the backs of his fingers gently across her cheek then slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. “Please, Lavender,” he whispered huskily, “don’t tell me that my journey has been wasted. Don’t send me away unrequited.”
Lavender caught her breath as she wondered what unrequited meant.
“I don’t understand,” she faltered. “What do you want with me?”
“Oh, Lavender,” he sighed, “are you not woman enough to know?”
Complete rip off, of course, of every bad romance novel I've ever read - as the man said "the part that is good is not original and the part that is original is not good".