D: A, I think you spelled “Bede” wrong.
A: What? No, I didn’t.
D: You mean you weren’t giving thanks to the Venerable Bede even though he has nothing to do with this particular book?
A: That is really random, D. You’re giving me more credit than I deserve.
D: Oh, wait, I know what this is – bad pun in reference to your sparkle-tastic (see what I did there? Very nice, D.) work extravaganza.
D: It’s over?
D: Thank the Bede.
A: Well done, D.
D: Wait, don’t go yet!
D: If I’m man enough to wear a kilt when the occasion/century calls for it, I’m man enough to admit that maybe it was a little boring around here without our . . . banter.
A: . . .
D: And I was just wondering if you were going to get back at it, you know, with the story.
A: Get back . . . D, I didn’t stop writing, I just did it locked up in a room for nearly 24 hours so no one could disturb me. Part 2 is drafted and awaiting some in-fill – I think I have at least two pages worth of “GET DESCRIPTION” “FILL IN HERE” “FIND OUT WHAT THE HECK YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT” tags.
D: Wait, but I – but you! A! How could you!?
A: Sometimes, silence is golden, D.
D:. . . .
A: There’s still a lot of work to do. You can help. You’ll like it, I promise.
D: Promises, promises. Bead there, done that.
A: I’ve created a monster.
Telling the tale
Aside from Green Embers’ epic song dedication for TC (the child)’s last day of school on Friday, we have no tale to tell today – mostly because there are 200+ emails waiting to be read. We don’t know which tale to tell! Locking oneself up in a room for a day and then working all day the next is great for writing and overtime pay, but not so much for communication with wider world!
There is, however, a guest post pickling in my brain, and something for the RCC running around my head, and they’ll be done this week – along with another entry into the life of Claude. In the meantime, there’s this (one of the few bits that doesn’t have a “I have no clue what I’m doing” tag… yet).
“. . . Gerry mentioned in his note to me that you might have more information than you were letting on, that I might find you useful. Prove it, be useful.”
Sean glared at Mrs. Mallory. He didn’t let go of Maureen’s arm and when she made to speak, he squeezed. “I told you–”
“And I told you that I could find many to do for me. Remember Master Sean, I know quality when I see it. You two are, I don’t deny it, but I need more than that right now. Those are the conditions for staying with me. Help me, help the cause and I’ll clothe and feed you. You may even be able to earn a bob or two of your own – pay your way out of my service, if you will, since it is so distasteful to you.”
Maureen shook off Sean’s grip. “Would you mind leaving us to discuss it, Mrs. Mallory?” Maureen’s voice echoed Mrs. Mallory’s mouth – hard and cool.
Jenny Mallory nodded silently and left the drawing room, closing the door behind her.
Sean turned on Maureen. “Maureen, you promised . . .”