"It's Quentin-" he puffed, lifting his leg over a stack of old books, but she cut across him by calling back over her shoulder: "Cupid is not called Quentin. Goodness."
"He told me h-"
"Armund," she turned abruptly in one sweeping motion and smiled down at the little dwarf trailing her every move. How atrociously adorable. "Armund," she repeated, and he looked up at her with a frown, as if suspicious. "I have met the budding archer- if he can be called that! His failed attempts far outweigh all his successes, which could be why he drinks chocolate all day-"
"He doesn't!" Armund cried in horror.
"He does! And he pays for it! With coins from right out of his purse!"
"Scandal!"
"Outrage!"
"Sacrilege!"
"Outstandingly contemptuous!"
"Startling!"
"Ok, I'm out of woulds beginning with 'o'..."
"Yes, I was faltering also..."
She straightened her shoulders. "My point is, dear Armund and all you stand for, is that I have met this charming Cupid and he has never been a Quentin, ever, in all his lives."
"Oh..." Armund dropped his gaze to the polished floorboards, wishing he knew how to ask for her interior designer while simultaneously wondering where she kept her silverware. It certainly wasn't in any of the kitchen drawers, or bathroom drawers, or bedroom drawers, nor had any been found under the stairs or in the linen basket. He was tired and poor. It only seemed fair that he exchange some of her expensive household items so he could buy that silky undergarment he'd had his eyes on for the past two and a half weeks, did it not?
He smiled at nothing, lost in his admiration.
"Hello, Armund? Are you among the living?"
"Pardon!"
She was eyeing him suspiciously and he had a sudden terrible feeling that she could read his mind.
"Begging your pardon to my earnest slip of reality, the one and only Candace, I must have had an overload of cream cake this morning." Armund gave a small bow, rather a little tip of the head that would have been deeper had he been wearing a hat or shoes with bells on. He did like to admire those bells.
"I feel you are unwell."
He nodded sagely.
"Yes..." Candace stood and stared at him without seeing. "Cream cake and the power within. Excuse me Armund! I have business to attend to!" and she swept off through another door.
What bother! How was he ever supposed to keep an eye on her if she flew through the house like a bewitched hen?
"Your ladyship! I mean..." Armund hastily made his way through the door and spied her dress whipping around the corner at the end of the corridor.
"I must insist you leave, dear dwarf!" she called from far away. "I fear anyone ever setting their lovely eyes upon my baking skills... unsightly! Ghastly! Like wearing a see-through slip on the top floor balcony!"
"You cannot bake a cake!" Armund called, somewhat agitated. "Quentin is coming to see you, five thirty sharp!" His agitation stemmed from his bare feet that were not accustomed to running, and they rightly shouldn't be seeing as how he spent most of his time in caves, digging, or reading Elvish Elerberry Stews and Other Recipes Elves Don't Want Dwarves Knowing.
"I can and I will!"
Silly female! Armund skidded and tripped past sunny rooms with large windows and white furniture, past clocks and what looked like a dream catcher made out of bones. He slid under wooden arched doorways and through a bathroom when he realised what was making him sweat more than this very un-fun game of chase. "You have no doors!"
"I pardon you?"
"The doors!" Armund slowed to a stop, breathing hard, bending over once again to steady himself and also admire the shiny, if dangerously slippery, flooring.
"What about them?" Candace called over a muffled bang.
"You have none!" he yelled, unsure why he was so angry, but sure that he could make out his reflection and this did not sit well with him.
Candace laughed. There were more loud noises that could probably be a spoon scraping a metal bowl or an electric mixer starting up or sifted flour flying up to puff in a face, but would most likely be Candace falling over her abnormally long daytime attire and knocking over a vase.
Silly woman!
"I've just run through the bathroom and you have not one hinge in place, not one doorknob waiting on the sink, not one 'do not disturb sign', and where is that sign Candace the great one, where is that sign?"
"Your poor little brain!" she exclaimed with some kind of glee or delight, "To be so addled over something so trivial!"
"I protest you!" he said angrily and then stopped short, awash with fear.
"You would!" was her gay reply.
He breathed a sigh of relief that sounded like a thousand wind-chimes caught in a rainstorm. Since when had that been his exhaling noise of choice?
He heard it again.
"Candace! Quentin has arrived!"
"Oh, Gerald!" Candace came rushing into where Armund stood, with a swish of her dress, elegant, at ease, and glowing down to her very essence. "Yes, it is about time," she said.
"It's Quentin," Armund shot at her. His expression softened when he noticed cake batter smeared on her neck and flour sprinkled like dust all down one side of her dress, and he ran after her.
"I was making a cake," he heard her laugh as he turned into her high entrance hall to find Candace chatting animatedly with a little boy.
"Armund!" the boy called happily, looking past Candace.
"Greetings, Quentin, master of the bow and stealer of hearts just the same..." he bowed again, a proper bow this time where he pretended to have shoes with bells. The proper bows always gave him an ache in the neck when he straightened.
The boy laughed heartily, "I don't steal hearts, silly dwarf, I rip them out and feast!"
"Of course." Armund nodded easily as he knew this.
"Now, I feel," started Candace in a high-pitched way, "that we delightfully passed the important business of introducing ourselves, and while Armund and you have clearly met, I wonder if you and I may have the honor?"
Quentin looked up at her, his straight caramel hair shining in the sun, his pale face open and his light grey eyes intensely curious. He beamed. "Absolutely. Hello there," he stuck out a small hand, "My name is Quentin."
Candace gasped. "You just can't be!"
Quentin smiled, "I probably could."
"You lie!"
"Only when hungry."
"I'm afraid I do not, and will ever not, believe you, entirely, until the day I die," she said firmly.
The boy swung his basket, smiling and sparkling and positively unaffected by this ambiguous insult. "Whatever seems right in your world," he replied. "But you have a job for me, yes?"
"Oh, Candace," Armund said sadly.
"Times are busy, they are," Quentin said matter-of-factly.
"Are they?" Armund asked without a real need for the answer.
"People always want to be in love, always. I've had to see a physiotherapist four times this year."
"How dramatic," Candace supplied without feeling but with an oozing of sarcasm so thick it was like liquid. "If you highly enterprising gentle creatures of the world will excuse me, I must be off to immerse myself in things which actually matter." and she turned on a heeled-foot and strode haughtily back where she had glided from moments ago.
Quentin smiled at Armund and Armund felt his core center itself. He felt goodwill and cheer. He felt like the colour pink.
"Oi!..." he took a step back.
"Candace is upset that I'm named differently, as if I changed my entire person."
Armund chuckled. Then thought, why do I find this amusing?
"Yes," Quentin chuckled too. "It is."
Oh well! Armund gave another chuckle, feeling at one with the world and almost as if he could rise into the air like a giant, dwarf-shaped balloon and explode with the blooming contentment of it all.
"Do you have a job for me?" Quentin asked. His silver arrows glinted and sang. His bright eyes danced.
"I wanted to call myself Barry," said Armund proudly. "But it was taken already by a troll and a gnome."
Quentin laughed and it was music. Armund sighed.
"What a coincidence!" Quentin remarked. Armund nodded eagerly. How small and delicate the little boy's wings were; his tunic must be cut to allow for them. And that smell! Armund inhaled with all his breath as if he were about to snorkel without an air tank or otherwise be shot dead, and it was pure magic all at once. He wondered if could breathe in like this until his dying day, lest he die of grave dissatisfaction and discomfort, when there was suddenly a loud bang from the kitchen area and he blinked.
Quentin was watching him in a mild, patient yet expectant way.
Armund said hurriedly, "I feel the need to continue my antisocial ways as we dwarves have always, certain that I will meet a fellow, possibly wearing mining gear and carrying a large axe and hoarding stories of gold and diamonds and manuals about how to ride a tractor and where to buy sheep, which can be expensive hence the need for fine silverware and even finer undergarments, so I say good day to you, stealth warrior who gives abundant pleasure but takes even more, may you find eternal happiness and that pair of shoes which actually fit."
He slammed the door in Quentin's face just in time. His eyes had turned a violent shade of pink and his wings had flared out, six times their original size and a superior metallic grey. Thin, claw-like fingers with red nails had been reaching back to seize an arrow.
"YOU DON'T SLAM THE DOOR AT CUPID!" Candace came screeching in and almost bowled Armund over. She grabbed Armund and shook him.
"Lovely Candace!" he exclaimed up into her face, "have no fear!-"
"There is everyth-"
"-he was trying to enchant me! A dwarf! I tell you-"
"You scum of the lowest pond in the furth-"
"-but I bade him a well wish-"
"That won't sto-"
"-and your house is ant-"
"It is certainly not!"
There was another bang, but louder and insanely heart-stopping as the living room window burst open. Candace yanked Armund away from the glass and they ran.
"You undid the charm!" Armund yelled accusingly.
"I felt it was time!" Candace yelled defensively.
"I gave him a well wish! I wished him well! That is not something we dwarves do! I will now face ridicule and open sneering!"
"Oh go wipe your face with that ridiculous sneering nonsense and bring yourself to the attention of our ever-present predicament: we will very shortly be shot with an arrow of love and I am not ok with that!"
~
Armund chuckled. Then thought, why do I find this amusing?
"Yes," Quentin chuckled too. "It is."
Oh well! Armund gave another chuckle, feeling at one with the world and almost as if he could rise into the air like a giant, dwarf-shaped balloon and explode with the blooming contentment of it all.
"Do you have a job for me?" Quentin asked. His silver arrows glinted and sang. His bright eyes danced.
"I wanted to call myself Barry," said Armund proudly. "But it was taken already by a troll and a gnome."
Quentin laughed and it was music. Armund sighed.
"What a coincidence!" Quentin remarked. Armund nodded eagerly. How small and delicate the little boy's wings were; his tunic must be cut to allow for them. And that smell! Armund inhaled with all his breath as if he were about to snorkel without an air tank or otherwise be shot dead, and it was pure magic all at once. He wondered if could breathe in like this until his dying day, lest he die of grave dissatisfaction and discomfort, when there was suddenly a loud bang from the kitchen area and he blinked.
Quentin was watching him in a mild, patient yet expectant way.
Armund said hurriedly, "I feel the need to continue my antisocial ways as we dwarves have always, certain that I will meet a fellow, possibly wearing mining gear and carrying a large axe and hoarding stories of gold and diamonds and manuals about how to ride a tractor and where to buy sheep, which can be expensive hence the need for fine silverware and even finer undergarments, so I say good day to you, stealth warrior who gives abundant pleasure but takes even more, may you find eternal happiness and that pair of shoes which actually fit."
He slammed the door in Quentin's face just in time. His eyes had turned a violent shade of pink and his wings had flared out, six times their original size and a superior metallic grey. Thin, claw-like fingers with red nails had been reaching back to seize an arrow.
"YOU DON'T SLAM THE DOOR AT CUPID!" Candace came screeching in and almost bowled Armund over. She grabbed Armund and shook him.
"Lovely Candace!" he exclaimed up into her face, "have no fear!-"
"There is everyth-"
"-he was trying to enchant me! A dwarf! I tell you-"
"You scum of the lowest pond in the furth-"
"-but I bade him a well wish-"
"That won't sto-"
"-and your house is ant-"
"It is certainly not!"
There was another bang, but louder and insanely heart-stopping as the living room window burst open. Candace yanked Armund away from the glass and they ran.
"You undid the charm!" Armund yelled accusingly.
"I felt it was time!" Candace yelled defensively.
"I gave him a well wish! I wished him well! That is not something we dwarves do! I will now face ridicule and open sneering!"
"Oh go wipe your face with that ridiculous sneering nonsense and bring yourself to the attention of our ever-present predicament: we will very shortly be shot with an arrow of love and I am not ok with that!"
~
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