Crabbit Faery Tales and Folk Tales of Forumshire

AWH ! little Forest !

Well I haven't written it yet, so you never know. Technically its not a story with a lot of characters- 4 to be precise and I sort of had them in mind first.
However having said that I have no idea what might happen at this point, look at my version of Three Little Pigs, that's technically only got 4 characters in it too, same goes for the billy goats gruff, so you shall just have to read on, and we will both no doubt be surprised at who might find a way to pop by!

Pettytyrant101 wrote:Coming soon(ish- and I mean that this time!)-

Gingerlocks and the Three Crabbit Scotshobbits!

starring a young Mrs Figg! (its set long ago!)

Oi you!

That took longer than I was expecting for you to notice!

And I may have written that when drunk which is only problematic in that I will definitely be very drunk when I actually write the thing, so um, you know, now might be a good time to focus on how great it is to be a good sport!

Mrs Figg wrote:

Pettytyrant101 wrote:Coming soon(ish- and I mean that this time!)-

Gingerlocks and the Three Crabbit Scotshobbits!

starring a young Mrs Figg! (its set long ago!)

Oi you!

When it comes to Mrs Figg, a gentlehobbit never brings up the distant past, Petty!

he thinks he is safe because its Christmas.

A long, long time ago, when the world was new and bustles were even newer, there was a young girl named Figg.

Figg had a head of wild and beautiful ginger hair and the temper to match its fieriness.

For whilst the world was young and fair it was also quite hard and very smelly, especially in the industrial North of Forumshire in those days, where the chimneys of the dwarf miners clouded the skies, and where horses clipped through murky streets on steep dwarf made cobble roads.

Now one morning as the sun rose pale and wan through the smog Figg sat with her bare elbows resting on the windowsill of her dorm room in Our Little Sisters Of No Mercy Northern School for Wayward Girls, and smoked a pipe.

She didn't enjoy smoking a pipe particularly, it had a foul smell and taste, it made her cough occasionally and the smoke sometimes got up her nose and she would sneeze in a violent uncontrollable fashion several times in a row. Which always frightened her as she felt that one time she would not be able to ever stop.

However smoking was one of the things the Little Sisters of Eru, her teachers and guardians in school term, forbade. It was indeed one of a very long and detailed list of things which the Little Sisters forbade.

Figg had attempted to make her own copy, carefully working out by trial and error, and the depth and heights of the outrage caused where in severity on the list items fell.

She wrote out on school parchment, in neat careful handwriting, each and every one of the forbidden acts. And she did so with a determination that before her time here was done she would have ticked off every last one of them.

She was that sort of  young lady.

She was also already more than halfway down the list; she had half the Little Sisters in despair and/or nervous breakdowns, and the other half believing she was possessed by the spirit of Morgoth. And she had a year and a half yet to go.

Besides she had seen Sister Not Very Helpful* and Sister Overly Welcoming But Creepy smoking fly roll ups behind the hockey field when they thought Old Master Banks was having a one on one tutorial with a sixth former.

She frowned at that thought. She had Old Master Banks for first class that morning: Deportment and Avoiding Embarrassment when Embarking and Dis-embarking from Carts in Short Bustles was the rather lengthy but accurate class description.

Figg had considered the need for deportment, and to avoid embarrassment when entering and exiting vehicles and come to the immediate conclusion the manner in which she would do so would be in whatever manner she damn well pleased. So the thought of a morning stretching and clambering in and out of pretend carriages and carts made of cardboard and badly nailed together plywood whilst Master Banks barked “Not like that girl! I can still see your knickers if I lie on the floor!” and the other girls giggled dutifully at her squirming embarrassment held very little appeal for her. What she wanted was no classes, no responsibility, adventure and if possible to tick off something else on the Little Sisters list of forbidden fruits.

She stared wistfully out between the crowded chimney stacks of Northern Forumshire and looked beyond it. For whilst this was indeed Northern Forumshire, it just wasn't the most northern of Forumshire. Forumshire having a complicated topography and filled with more nooks and crannies than a Scotshobbits behind.

For just a short way away, a mere mile from the walls of Her Little Sisters of No Mercy was the border with Scotshobbitland.

There were no chimneys there. And of all the things on the Sisters forbidden list none was more severe, nothing more deserving of more horrible tales and dark rumour than what lay, drunkenly, beyond that border. Even Queens were said to have disappeared there.

It looked mainly like trees to Figg.

A thick wood of pine hugged the border and disappeared into the distant north over the quickly rising land.

She stared into the distant haze, considered her days options, studiously tapped out her pipe and stored it away and was out of the window and deftly clambering down the wall moments later just as the mornings first bell rang for classes.

'Bugger deportment' she thought as she clambered over the outer school wall flashing her knickers carelessly at tutting passers-by in a way Master Banks would certainly never approve of, and then she was out onto the cobbled hazy streets beyond the confining school walls.

With a quick glance about she darted across the street and took the road with the red warning sign which lead to the border with a sense of excitement and some trepidation. Only one of which she was guaranteed to have experienced in Old Master Banks class had she remained behind.

With that thought in her head and her jaw determinately jutting she made for Scotshobbitland.



* The Little Sisters of Eru believe in self flagellation and complete honesty- the two coming together in the names choosing for them when they become Sisters.

"She wrote out on school parchment, in neat careful handwriting, each and every one of the forbidden acts. And she did so with a determination that before her time here was done she would have ticked off every last one of them. 

She was that sort of  young lady. "


Brilliant! 

Enjoying this one so far, Petty! I'm glad that you're taking your time with the stories and giving them a little more length. And I love the name "Gingerlocks".

I think I will share the last few with my sister. She has a long-lasting (and unfortunately well-deserved) low opinion of our dear Petty's Doctor Who opinions thanks to my sharing the more amusing anecdotes of his and Figgs combats. However just like the Hobbit parodies I'm sure the enjoyment of the writing will overcome her prejudices.

I just bloody love it !!!

The road to Scotshobbitland was not barren, or blocked off. But there were signs at regular intervals which said things like “Warning! Bagpipes in ½ mile” or “Caution Haggis Crossing in ¼ mile” as she progressed.

And there were some shops and some inns and pubs which bordered the road, the latter seemed to Figg to get more and more frequent the further she went along it. Until by the time the border crossing was in sight there was nothing but pubs on either side of the road.

Save for one used cart lot which was at the roads very end where it passed through an arch emblazoned with the simple legend “Scotshobbitland Beyond. You Have Been Warned. Whatever Happens Next Is Your Own Fault! This country is sponsored by Buckie.”

There was a young man fretting in the lot of carts.
He was going up and down a line of four carts with horses attached whilst a tall man with an even taller head extolled the vehicles and animals many seeming virtues.

The tall man was familiar to Figg, not that she had ever seen him before but there was no mistaking that long profile- he was most certainly a Banks, like Master Banks at the school.

Everyone knew the Banks family had business interests all over Forumshire. And everyone knew the rumours that they were secretly descendants of the Scottish McBanks Clan, and that for some dark reason they had been forced to flee Scotshobbitland into the North, and one day it was said they would get so far away from the Scotshobbits to hide their secret that they would end up upside down on the other side of  Forumshire! Though most level headed people thought that last bit was just a superstitious joke.

Figg sauntered up towards the cart lot where the salesman was indicating one of the horses tethered to a red cart, “only 865 million paces on her,” he was enthusing.

“Yes, but will it handle rough terrain as well as roads?” the potential customer continued to fret.

“Of course she will!” the salesman enthused, “this cart if fully equipped with four leg control,” and he brandished a stick, “you just hit her with this a few times to change modes.”

“Can I have some time to think about it?” the customer asked, pacing up and down the line of carts again.

“Of course, of course, I will just be in my hut with my jelly then”.

Figg approached the fretting man from behind, and coughed politely, “Oi Mister,” she added and the man spun round to face her, looking down when his eyes initially met nothing but empty air, “Whatcha doing?”

“Oh hello young lady,” the man said, “I am attempting to buy a new cart. But I just can't decide which one to get.”

“Maybe I can help,” Figg offered, “I know a bit about carts.”

“Really? You don't seem the type.”

“”Well I am” Figg pouted, her hands on her as of yet near none existent hips in outrage, “from when we used to joy ride 'em on the estate when I was little.”

“You are little now,” the man pointed out.,

“Littler!” Figg snorted, “Look Mister do you want my help or not?”

“Its not Mister, it's Forest,” the man called Forest said, “Forest Shepherd.”

“Oooh,” Figg said her eyes glinting, “you are a Shepherd of the Trees?”

“No, I just move about a lot, which is why I need a new cart and horse. What is your name?”

“Figg,” Figg said, “but most folks call me Gingerlocks unless I hit them hard enough that they stop. I am running away from my school to have adventures.”

Forest nodded sagely at this, it being a perfectly reasonable excuse in Forumshire for a young person to do something.

“Where do you move about to?” Figg enquired eyeing up the carts and almost bursting out laughing at what she saw.

“Nowhere,I just move, I travel the length and breadth of Forumshire in my cart.”

Figg considered this, “Why?” she asked eventually.

“Because if I didn't I would be stuck one place.”

Figg considered this too. It was a bit of a revelation to her. She had always thought of travelling as a means to get from A to B or vice versa. It had never before occurred to her that it could be a means to avoid ever getting to either A or B! She found that notion rather appealing.

“Can I come with you?” she asked.

“You don't know where I am going, besides right now, until I can make my mind up between these four horses and carts, I am not going anywhere.”

“Well I'm going to Scotshobbitland, on my own,” Figg said proudly.

“So am I,” Forest replied, “well I was, at least I was going just over the border, to Greetin' Blue. But not if I can't pick a cart.”

“If you take me across the border,” Figg said, “I will help you pick a cart.”

Just then the salesmen re-emerged from his hut, wiping jelly from the corners of his downturned mouth whilst Figg wandered about the carts and horses, peering underneath and lifting horses hooves.

“Have you come to a decision yet?” the salesman asked.

“Well,” Forest said hesitantly, “I...”

“Yes, he has,” Figg said emerging from under a cart and startling the proprietor, “all and none of them.”

“What?” Forest said bemused and his “What?” was echoed by the salesman only louder and with more supsicion.

“Well,” Figg began enjoying holding their attention and being the centre of it and walking importantly down the line of carts to the end one, her bustle strutting, “This one has no axle- the wheels are just nailed on the sides. This horse is ready for the knackers yard,” she added moving to the second cart.

“But its coats glossy and dark,” Forest protested.

“And boot polish,” Figg remarked moving to the third cart, “and this one is the back of one old cart with woodworm stuck to the front of a newer, probably stolen cart, with string,” she moved to the final cart, “and this is the rest of it, same thing but in reverse.”

She rounded on the impressed Forest and the annoyed owner who was spluttering in indignation but  was struggling to think of a defence on the spot.

“So,” Figg finished with a flourish, “we will have the horse from the second cart, the cart from the first, with the wheels and axle from the fourth, please.”

She smiled sweetly, “and a whopping great discount on account of us not reporting you to the Forumshire Admin.”

Shortly afterwards Forest and Gingerlocks were sitting in their new cart and jogging through the archway. They emerged among the pine trees.

Figg was in Scotshobbitland.

“Well,” Figg began enjoying holding their attention and being the centre of it and walking importantly down the line of carts to the end one, her bustle strutting, “This one has no axle- the wheels are just nailed on the sides.

Clearly the work of one of the Banks clan!

They do have a reputation (at least in Scotshobbit tales they do!).

Still anxiously awaiting Figg reading it.....You are doing this deliberately Figg aren't you? Just to prolong my agony, or to see how far in I dig myself first!!

“So,” Figg finished with a flourish, “we will have the horse from the second cart, the cart from the first, with the wheels and axle from the fourth, please.”

hurrah huzzah!

I know my way round an oily eel cart.

 
Thanks Petty!  

I love your style; it fits perfectly with the "world" of Forumshire in the tales.

I like the flow, it all meanders so well

I like the way I am always stroppy

zif its true

A strop is what you use to put the final polish on a blade as you sharpen it. What does "stroppy" mean when it comes to personal attributes?

It sounds like "strapping", but that's when someone is strong and fit.

I suppose it means crabbit for sassenachs

I find several things troubling in these fictional tales, Mr Tyrant, but one especially disturbs me. When you create characters, please refrain from using my name in future! People could easily think you refer to the real one: ME in fact! The problem is you implicitly portray this Banks fellow as a dishonest trader, a hypocritical Tory and a pervert. Now, I am a trader, as you know, but hardly dishonest, however pragmatic; I am conservative by very nature, but hardly a fellow who is anything but publicly respectable; and as to 'pervert', I much prefer the term 'laissez fair'. So, if you wouldn't mind, please use another surname for your fictional characters in future, because your tale, which I would normally find excellently crafted and hilarious, is made peurile and farcial somehow when you use (abuse?) the Banks name!

(NB Your young heroine (Figg) sounds a tasty sort, platonically speaking, and very much like a girl I once taught in an earlier time when I was teacing Decorum Class at Our Lady's - though, to be honest, she taught me a thing or two too. Fact mimicking art, perhaps?).