"THIS IS NONSENSE!"
"IT BLOODY WELL IS!"
"Shall we carry on then?"
"Oh I suppose, one must, mustn't they?"
"Surely must."
"Cream biscuit?"
"Good lord yes."
"Half off."
"You're joking."
"Never joke about the price of Allonzees."
"No you wouldn't, would you."
"Mighty fine taste though..."
"Bloody brilliant."
"Like the inside of a bouncy castle."
"Yes. I was thinking exactly the same."
"You'll never guess who had a tragic fall on one of those bouncy castles the other day..."
"Probably wouldn't. Wasn't Seamus, was it? Right fool."
"Mary-Anne."
"No!"
"Ever such a scandal. She never did wear proper fitting shoes..."
"Load of rubbish those bouncy castles, aren't they eh?"
"Such rubbish."
"Still, what a sight..."
"Oh brilliant sight, heard she did a somersault and all."
"Well I say, what utter nonsense."
"Entire nonsense, nothing worth noting in it at all..."
"Oh yes, quite right..."
....
4__^
Monday 1 May 2017
Witch way out of here?
"Oh! How daring..." came a voice from the hallway, and the next moment in strode a tall, well-dressed chap with short orange hair and a prolonged nose that ended with a slight point. "I daresay, not twice as extravagant as Mary-Anne's wallpaper, but thrice! Think of the scandal!"
"Excuse me!" Vincent called out at this point, bewildered and curious but mostly put out because he was in the middle of reading his favourite section of the newspaper: 'The Strodes', a fictional family featured every week who got up to blatant mischief that Vincent would never dream of. He normally read it without his trousers on, sitting comfortably on his favourite pillow, propped up in his biggest, most polished but least cleaned, armchair while the fire warmed his leg and navel hairs and the fan above whipped a cool breeze through his comb-over. However, being that it was below seven outside Vincent had elected to keep his neatly ironed trousers on and was suddenly overly grateful.
"I beg your pardon," he went on, shaking the paper for good measure. It was a famous move on television movies and he was adamant to obey the new trends. "Who are you? And why are you in my house?"
The orange-haired man said: "Oh dear, didn't Elena tell you?" and Vincent felt his face set into a hard line. He'd have a talk with that woman once she got home.
"No," he said gruffly, "daresay not."
"Well then! There's no delay!" the stranger swept his arm across his body in a flourish and leaned forward. "My name is Tarot-"
"Now there'll be none of that," Vincent said sternly.
The man named Tarot stopped mid-sweep and looked up. "Of what, sorry?"
"Of your feminine movements of woo. I am not a man with which to partake in your verbal dance! My clothes are staying on! Now... much to the dismay of my poor butler here, you're showing your clavicle in a room full of men."
Tarot swept back up and arranged his tunic collar, frowning at Vincent in a way that Tarot had never frowned before and that Vincent had never been frowned at before. It was a frown of great dislike and minor suspicion. As if Vincent had used some magic spell to move Tarot's collar and allow embarrassment to settle upon him like light rain on a spring day.
"I wish to inform you that you are being summoned." Tarot said coolly.
"Summoned?" Vincent repeated stupidly. "What for?"
"Do I look like I know?" Tarot said, still as cool as ever. "I am merely a man who runs errands and sometimes, when the feeling is mutual and the weather permitting, allowed to buy a bundle of string.
"String, ey," Vincent said conversationally because he was practiced at these conversational situations.
"Yes," Tarot said as he raised his shoulders in a proud way and tilted his head back. This gave Vincent the grand viewing point of up Tarot's nose. He was a funnily-dressed man, Vincent noted, in his orange and red tunic, brown tights and gold wrist bands. Perhaps he entertained. Perhaps he was one of them. Excitement bubbled up from his stomach and fluttered about into his chest.
"Alright," Vincent agreed gruffly to hide this childish emotion and stood up. He gave a great horse-like cough, with his double chin wobbling so hard it sent vibrations down throughout his chest to his humongous gut that started to slowly swing. "Where am I being taken then?"
Tarot stood, transfixed.
"Yoohoo, young man! Are you proper in the head? Hello!"
"I-" Tarot couldn't pull his gaze away from the swaying tummy that jiggled like a mound of pudding. He hadn't realised, of course, what with the newspaper being in the way. And unfortunately for Tarot, overly large men were something of a rarity where he came from. When one became only half the size of this man, they were sent away to a facility for either corrective procedures that could take months to perform, or used as research material and were hardly ever heard from again.
"I had an Aunt Betty," Tarot said suddenly, pulling himself out of his trance and into a memory. He raised himself a little taller so his eyes had further to travel, were they tempted to look down.
Vincent was frowning at this dimwitted jester."Did you now..." He must be having a turn, he thought, fearfully.
"She went away-was taken, they took her away-"
Vincent snorted. "Funny turns run in the-"
"She just ate and ate..." Tarot continued sadly, showing signs of things about him slowing down. A darkened shadow seemed to settle in the room.
Vincent glanced about wildly, "Now listen here-"
"She used to have cakes piled as high as this ceiling, piles and piles of cakes sitting on her table and kitchen floor and around her bed, like a cake museum-"
"I will have none of-"
"I had one fall on me, did I ever tell you?" Tarot asked in a drooping sad way, as if they were lifelong friends and he was recounting a story they both knew.
"Did you-tell me?" Vincent spluttered
"I was only nine at the time and I walked right by one of the stacks, a pure innocent babe as I was then, minding my own business-"
Vincent raised his paper, "Now listen he-'
"And right at that very moment!" Tarot burst out, almost leaping forth and flinging his arms out as if letting doves go free at a wedding, "The topmost croquembouche fell straight down upon my head! I had caramel in my hair for days!"
"Goodness man!" Vincent turned to the butler, who had remained stationary throughout their entire interaction. "Are you seeing this display of madness? Cockery it is! Foul play! Now you tell me this instant where I am going and you tell me without your fancy do-hows!"
Tarot gazed sadly at Vincent and said: 'It is most certainly cockery, fine sir, you see how we live and the dangers with which we take threat daily. I am honoured to have your sympathy." he bowed. Vincent stared.
Then Tarot whipped up with a smile on his face and cried, "Alas we go now to the sisters and the brothers of the Way! We must help them untangle their own webs! Silly ones they are. You are Vincent the Nineth yes?"
Vincent said, "I rightly well am!"
Tarot beamed. "Well do! Let us make journey where you can use your magic once again. Reawaken those stale spells and wilting wonders!" he threw an arm around Vincent and steered the bewildered man out of the sitting room. "And you can explain to me the whereabouts of this extraordinary wallpaper! Oh do! Mary-Anne will be absolutely distraught with envy!..."
_______*_______
~Up next week! Does Vincent secretly know Avalon? Will he be able to tell Portle and Tarot apart? Can he really concoct the most spelliest breakfast to ever contain one hundred ingredients and charms that no magical being has ever been brave enough to try?
Stay tuned as Tarot hurls Vincent into the world of magic and we see if he sinks in the rising tide or flies on a strategically altered and heavily accommodating broom into the night.
!^__^! v
"Excuse me!" Vincent called out at this point, bewildered and curious but mostly put out because he was in the middle of reading his favourite section of the newspaper: 'The Strodes', a fictional family featured every week who got up to blatant mischief that Vincent would never dream of. He normally read it without his trousers on, sitting comfortably on his favourite pillow, propped up in his biggest, most polished but least cleaned, armchair while the fire warmed his leg and navel hairs and the fan above whipped a cool breeze through his comb-over. However, being that it was below seven outside Vincent had elected to keep his neatly ironed trousers on and was suddenly overly grateful.
"I beg your pardon," he went on, shaking the paper for good measure. It was a famous move on television movies and he was adamant to obey the new trends. "Who are you? And why are you in my house?"
The orange-haired man said: "Oh dear, didn't Elena tell you?" and Vincent felt his face set into a hard line. He'd have a talk with that woman once she got home.
"No," he said gruffly, "daresay not."
"Well then! There's no delay!" the stranger swept his arm across his body in a flourish and leaned forward. "My name is Tarot-"
"Now there'll be none of that," Vincent said sternly.
The man named Tarot stopped mid-sweep and looked up. "Of what, sorry?"
"Of your feminine movements of woo. I am not a man with which to partake in your verbal dance! My clothes are staying on! Now... much to the dismay of my poor butler here, you're showing your clavicle in a room full of men."
Tarot swept back up and arranged his tunic collar, frowning at Vincent in a way that Tarot had never frowned before and that Vincent had never been frowned at before. It was a frown of great dislike and minor suspicion. As if Vincent had used some magic spell to move Tarot's collar and allow embarrassment to settle upon him like light rain on a spring day.
"I wish to inform you that you are being summoned." Tarot said coolly.
"Summoned?" Vincent repeated stupidly. "What for?"
"Do I look like I know?" Tarot said, still as cool as ever. "I am merely a man who runs errands and sometimes, when the feeling is mutual and the weather permitting, allowed to buy a bundle of string.
"String, ey," Vincent said conversationally because he was practiced at these conversational situations.
"Yes," Tarot said as he raised his shoulders in a proud way and tilted his head back. This gave Vincent the grand viewing point of up Tarot's nose. He was a funnily-dressed man, Vincent noted, in his orange and red tunic, brown tights and gold wrist bands. Perhaps he entertained. Perhaps he was one of them. Excitement bubbled up from his stomach and fluttered about into his chest.
"Alright," Vincent agreed gruffly to hide this childish emotion and stood up. He gave a great horse-like cough, with his double chin wobbling so hard it sent vibrations down throughout his chest to his humongous gut that started to slowly swing. "Where am I being taken then?"
Tarot stood, transfixed.
"Yoohoo, young man! Are you proper in the head? Hello!"
"I-" Tarot couldn't pull his gaze away from the swaying tummy that jiggled like a mound of pudding. He hadn't realised, of course, what with the newspaper being in the way. And unfortunately for Tarot, overly large men were something of a rarity where he came from. When one became only half the size of this man, they were sent away to a facility for either corrective procedures that could take months to perform, or used as research material and were hardly ever heard from again.
"I had an Aunt Betty," Tarot said suddenly, pulling himself out of his trance and into a memory. He raised himself a little taller so his eyes had further to travel, were they tempted to look down.
Vincent was frowning at this dimwitted jester."Did you now..." He must be having a turn, he thought, fearfully.
"She went away-was taken, they took her away-"
Vincent snorted. "Funny turns run in the-"
"She just ate and ate..." Tarot continued sadly, showing signs of things about him slowing down. A darkened shadow seemed to settle in the room.
Vincent glanced about wildly, "Now listen here-"
"She used to have cakes piled as high as this ceiling, piles and piles of cakes sitting on her table and kitchen floor and around her bed, like a cake museum-"
"I will have none of-"
"I had one fall on me, did I ever tell you?" Tarot asked in a drooping sad way, as if they were lifelong friends and he was recounting a story they both knew.
"Did you-tell me?" Vincent spluttered
"I was only nine at the time and I walked right by one of the stacks, a pure innocent babe as I was then, minding my own business-"
Vincent raised his paper, "Now listen he-'
"And right at that very moment!" Tarot burst out, almost leaping forth and flinging his arms out as if letting doves go free at a wedding, "The topmost croquembouche fell straight down upon my head! I had caramel in my hair for days!"
"Goodness man!" Vincent turned to the butler, who had remained stationary throughout their entire interaction. "Are you seeing this display of madness? Cockery it is! Foul play! Now you tell me this instant where I am going and you tell me without your fancy do-hows!"
Tarot gazed sadly at Vincent and said: 'It is most certainly cockery, fine sir, you see how we live and the dangers with which we take threat daily. I am honoured to have your sympathy." he bowed. Vincent stared.
Then Tarot whipped up with a smile on his face and cried, "Alas we go now to the sisters and the brothers of the Way! We must help them untangle their own webs! Silly ones they are. You are Vincent the Nineth yes?"
Vincent said, "I rightly well am!"
Tarot beamed. "Well do! Let us make journey where you can use your magic once again. Reawaken those stale spells and wilting wonders!" he threw an arm around Vincent and steered the bewildered man out of the sitting room. "And you can explain to me the whereabouts of this extraordinary wallpaper! Oh do! Mary-Anne will be absolutely distraught with envy!..."
_______*_______
~Up next week! Does Vincent secretly know Avalon? Will he be able to tell Portle and Tarot apart? Can he really concoct the most spelliest breakfast to ever contain one hundred ingredients and charms that no magical being has ever been brave enough to try?
Stay tuned as Tarot hurls Vincent into the world of magic and we see if he sinks in the rising tide or flies on a strategically altered and heavily accommodating broom into the night.
!^__^! v
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