12-04-2021, 06:07 PM
Beckett the Hamadryad and Peggy Powler spoke of many things during their night-chat and considering the Witch's
guarded ambiguity about some of the things the wood-nymph said, she felt that she'd acquired the correct information
that would serve her current needs.
It was always difficult when interacting with this type of Fae, literal up-front truth is easily sacrificed for a more buried,
high-moralistic axiom that some Elfin and Dryad-like races deem more paramount. It's like the old adage of if the sun
is out during a fall of snow, then the Devil beating his wife.
The saying isn't accurate, but lends an impression of an odd weather phenomena. The sun is shining -which is the Devil
spitting on the flames of Hell and the snow are the freezing tears of his wife. A heated arguement in an everyday loving
relationship, something unusual.
But Peggy was canny enough to draw the necessary knowledge from Beckett's phrasing and so after the ritualistic act
for farewell -something the Last Witch of Underhill believed she rushed a little, she wearily tramped her way back along
the shadowed hedgerow until she found Bartholomew Drigg sitting near their respective bags and looking dejected and
bemused.
"I think your otherworldly friend -not only knows we're here, but has known for some time" Bart said when he caught sight
of the diminutive shape hustling along the bush-line towards him. The shards of the barn owl lay between his legs on the
damp-grass before him and seeing the remains of the bogus bird, drew the word 'Bugger' from his companion's lips.
She'd made a mistake, just like she had when she assumed Callendous Vole was an aloof oaf when she'd first met him
and taken him as an incompetent magician when she'd witnessed a later incident involving the shifty spellbinder. Now
looking at the despondent man in the dark-red coat, Peggy felt quiet rage for wasteful act of dragooning Bartholomew
into this situation.
"There's nay excuse, Bart..." she said as she kneeled down beside him "... me-brashness got the better of me and Ah'
thought Vole was so 'up-his-own-arse' that we..." Peggy corrected herself "...Ah'd be still unseen". With a genuine exhale
of resignation, she added "Ah' failed yer' lad, there's no need fur' yer' te' stay here wiv' me" and went to retreive his hat
and carry-all.
Bart Drigg watched the little woman fetch his things and then wait for his acceptance of the situation, this would normally
be the ideal time his salesman-side would appear and condone her resolution with words of shallow rationality. He had
begrudgingly tried to help and due to unseen external reasons, his reluctant assistance had not succeeded in helping a
person who dealt in serious matters unconnected to his own life and career.
At least, that analysis would be standard from an onlooker to this strange situation.
Bart morosely excepted his hat and said "three bottles, Peggy... three bottles it took me to hit the bloody thing!" and drew
a gaze of surprise from the little woman in the grubby poncho. She didn't stagger backwards, but there was a slight act of
stupefaction as Mr Drigg continued. "I would suggest we iron out our dilemma with a sprinkle of grit in order to have a fair
account to relate to Sarson & Sarson Remedies regarding the loss of these products".
Now with renewed vigour, Peggy Powler turned to face towards the direction where the guileful Callendous Vole had
created his 'Witch-Trap' and took the salesman's hand in fellowship. "Aye, he's a greasy-bastard -this one, but he hadn't
counted on you bein' wiv' me" she said through clenched-teeth.
guarded ambiguity about some of the things the wood-nymph said, she felt that she'd acquired the correct information
that would serve her current needs.
It was always difficult when interacting with this type of Fae, literal up-front truth is easily sacrificed for a more buried,
high-moralistic axiom that some Elfin and Dryad-like races deem more paramount. It's like the old adage of if the sun
is out during a fall of snow, then the Devil beating his wife.
The saying isn't accurate, but lends an impression of an odd weather phenomena. The sun is shining -which is the Devil
spitting on the flames of Hell and the snow are the freezing tears of his wife. A heated arguement in an everyday loving
relationship, something unusual.
But Peggy was canny enough to draw the necessary knowledge from Beckett's phrasing and so after the ritualistic act
for farewell -something the Last Witch of Underhill believed she rushed a little, she wearily tramped her way back along
the shadowed hedgerow until she found Bartholomew Drigg sitting near their respective bags and looking dejected and
bemused.
"I think your otherworldly friend -not only knows we're here, but has known for some time" Bart said when he caught sight
of the diminutive shape hustling along the bush-line towards him. The shards of the barn owl lay between his legs on the
damp-grass before him and seeing the remains of the bogus bird, drew the word 'Bugger' from his companion's lips.
She'd made a mistake, just like she had when she assumed Callendous Vole was an aloof oaf when she'd first met him
and taken him as an incompetent magician when she'd witnessed a later incident involving the shifty spellbinder. Now
looking at the despondent man in the dark-red coat, Peggy felt quiet rage for wasteful act of dragooning Bartholomew
into this situation.
"There's nay excuse, Bart..." she said as she kneeled down beside him "... me-brashness got the better of me and Ah'
thought Vole was so 'up-his-own-arse' that we..." Peggy corrected herself "...Ah'd be still unseen". With a genuine exhale
of resignation, she added "Ah' failed yer' lad, there's no need fur' yer' te' stay here wiv' me" and went to retreive his hat
and carry-all.
Bart Drigg watched the little woman fetch his things and then wait for his acceptance of the situation, this would normally
be the ideal time his salesman-side would appear and condone her resolution with words of shallow rationality. He had
begrudgingly tried to help and due to unseen external reasons, his reluctant assistance had not succeeded in helping a
person who dealt in serious matters unconnected to his own life and career.
At least, that analysis would be standard from an onlooker to this strange situation.
Bart morosely excepted his hat and said "three bottles, Peggy... three bottles it took me to hit the bloody thing!" and drew
a gaze of surprise from the little woman in the grubby poncho. She didn't stagger backwards, but there was a slight act of
stupefaction as Mr Drigg continued. "I would suggest we iron out our dilemma with a sprinkle of grit in order to have a fair
account to relate to Sarson & Sarson Remedies regarding the loss of these products".
Now with renewed vigour, Peggy Powler turned to face towards the direction where the guileful Callendous Vole had
created his 'Witch-Trap' and took the salesman's hand in fellowship. "Aye, he's a greasy-bastard -this one, but he hadn't
counted on you bein' wiv' me" she said through clenched-teeth.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.