A Midsummer Nights Dream (in Forumshire)

 

 

mrs figg was perhaps my greatest character

 Well bring her back then so I can tell her not to be silly and she can get angry at me for saying so and things will be back to normal!

"Forumshire Normal"?  

"L.A. Confidential"? Mmmm...  

About the only spoof we haven't done yet, methinks.  

 

 Hello   

 


(((( ))))

You apear to have taken off your Ring, Mrs Figg! Either that, or you've been sold a faulty Ring.. I mean... I can see you but not your Ring.

Mrs Figg wrote:(((())))

Peppermint was it?  Oh well, at least that smells normal enough.... for Forumshire

Welcome back, Mrs Figg.

{{{Frankly took long enough, Eldo,  but alls well that ends better, I s'pose.}}}

 

hi. I got as far as Farmer Maggots turnips and then turned back, cos I got hungry, and it was getting a wee bit nippy. I forgot my jumper. and I didnt like the look of those neeps, I think they have teeth.
 I am crap at adventures. I wanted to get to Rivendell, but it aint gonna happen.  

Well your in luck Figgs!  You will never again have to travel further than the pub or off licence, or occasionally to get me out the drunk tank at the Lockholes.  (the wedding is still on isnt it? Because Ive got 42,000 folded napkins here. And I ringed ever one. I havent been able to sit down since. I must say you English have some mighty odd wedding customs, but anything to please you   )

{{{Note to self: I wonder if they're already married? It would explain a lot of things. }}}

3.

And so another day passes by in Forumshire, with its usual comings and goings.
There is Figgs who did a brisk business in the morning  but had a quieter afternoon, so instead of wrangling for a dollar she instead prepared a new bustle, with a reinforced undercarriage, for her Hen Night camping trip locking up her shop.

Chris, out hunting for new sparkly bunting and some silver paper for an idea he had for decorating the Forumshire village Hall in preparation for the wedding. There he goes down the main street,  hurrying before all the shops close for the evening in search of things that shine and delight.
And yonder, beyond the bordering woods of ash, elm and oak lush with summer canopies of thickest green, goes Farmer Dave among his suspiciously shaped vegetables plots, looking pleased today  to  find his carrots this year are particularly suspicious, straight and firm, with a good girth and suggestively shaped bulbous ending.

And passed the fields beneath an ancient oak who, at its age really should not have to put up with this sort of thing, sits Petty's barrel, still and quiet save for the sound of snoring. A snoring so loud it causes the barrel to vibrate and so irritatingly obnoxious that not a single bird nor beast of the field can be found within half a mile of where he sleeps until after pub opening hours.

And as the summer afternoon wears on, well Summer by agreement, as this being Forumshire, weather, like all else, can be complicated. What with the Ozhobbits being in winter when the rest are in summer. Although as the Ozhobbits winter tended to be notably warmer than everyone else's summer it had less effect than one might imagine.

So on this, by general consent, summer afternoon as the day wears away and the shadows lengthen across the fields, lights, yellow and steady begin to go in holes and houses and the first, and brightest of Forumshire's stars come out to shine over the town, trees and dell- where in that hidden hollow they are greeted by the gentle singing of the elves in praise of Jack Nickolebreth, the God of Golf.

And high up a strong steady light glows out over Needlehole from the loftiest window in the Tower of Lore perched on its rocky outcrop, where Eldo is preparing for the evenings rehearsals.


Eldo sat at his expansive shiny oak desk in the top room of the Tower of Lore and fretted.
But this was all right as Eldo was good at fretting and had lots of practise at it.

He had several things to fret over.

One of them was tonight’s rehearsals. He had his script in front of him on the desk and he was not sure at all that the space-octopus suit was going to work, and he had no idea how they were going to stage the sword fight on the spacecraft as it plummeted towards the gas giant, especially not on the town hall stage whose special effects normally stretched to someone flickering the lights to represent a storm whilst Petty stood off stage making what he described as 'the sound of thunder', it might sound like thunder in the small hall but it certainly did not smell like thunder.

The other thing Eldo was fretting about, and more than he would have liked to admit to himself, was a personal thing.

And the thing about it, over which he was in particular fretting, was the fact it was personal when it was supposed not to be.

The individual source of his fretting was this; his courting of the Fjordian Norc.

It was not that it had not gone well so far, it had gone better than he had hoped or expected.
It was the fact it was, on both sides, a political union between Forumshire and Fjordialand, on Eldo's part for the double opportunities of cheap herring to import and a healthy mark up on taxation for himself, 'Forumshire', he mentally corrected himself.

And on Norc's part it was a chance to finally perhaps find a way to become a Moderator in Forumshire.  A position she had long coveted.

So a perfectly sensible and sound plan on both sides, with benefits and advancement for both parties.

So he had thought when he had  embarked on this plan of action.

And it was not that Norc was a bit, sweary, or coarse at times, or that her Fjordian ways of clubbing small defenceless animals to death then wearing their fur upset him (even though it did), or that she once rounded up all the dogs in Forumshire and attached them to a sleigh and terrified half of Needlehole charging through it crying “Raskere! Raskere! You bastards!|” that was the problem as such.
As difficult as Eldo had found these aspects to adapt to it was not those which were causing him to fret.

What was causing him to fret was the very fact she did do all these things which should have ensured he could not fall in love with her, yet he rather suspected that was exactly what had happened to him. There had been an incident. A moment of realisation.

He had been going through is library all day, since the incident, checking the symptoms, and he was now convinced it was love, or malaria.

He shuddered at the thought of introducing her to the other Lore Masters at their annual dinner and her opening with the words “Hello, how the fuck are you all?”

If only she could be made to be less forceful and forthright.

And she was so disorganised. She did things at the last minute, on the spur of the moment, and worst of all to Eldo's mind without the proper planning and charts.
That thought brought out a cold sweat on his forehead.

And yet, here he was with a million pressing things demanding his attention, the play not least of all. And yet he was fretting over her instead.

He had fallen in love. There had been the incident, when he had realised. It come when he was hoisting a new flag over the Tower bearing the likeness of Benedict Cumberbum. And he had realised why he was doing it. To please her. There wasn't even a tax loop to exploit in doing it (although he had checked afterwards just in case).

He shuffled the pages of the script on the table restlessly and tried to focus on the coming evenings play instead.

He reread his schedule for the evening, double checked the times he had written down for how long everything should take, checked the list of names of those attending and what parts they were playing, then checked all the costumes and that they too were noted down and properly assigned.
And then he did it all again twice before leaving.


More stars now shine down on Needlehole, thought the light of day is yet to fully drain away. What little remains, yellow tinted, shines on figures leaving homes. In one direction go the men folk, heading for the Muck 'n' Duck where Petty awaits them, before heading up the hill behind to what they think is their secret dell.

And there goes Norc in heavy boots, on her way to Ambassadors Amarie's where Figgs and Azriel already await her to lead them to what they too think is a secret dell.
And up the slope, beyond the heather which in the last beams of day blazes purple and white, and over the grassy lip of the dell is a sight to behold.

For there is the elven train of Queen Tinuviel, immortal spirits who shimmer in a moonlight of their own creation, in robes of gossamer and silks, whose whims are beyond the ken of mortal thought. And whose rituals beyond mortal understanding.

“Send him further “ Queen Tinuviel shouted over the dells edge, and waved her hand. She squinted, shielding her sensitive green eyes from the starlight and wrinkling her nose in a perfectly cute fashion, “Further you idiots!” she shouted at the two indistinct figures half way down the slope of the hill waving a flag on a pole.

Tinuviel shook her head in annoyance, “That'll have to do” she said and strode back to where a small white ball sat.

The Queens court stood nervously behind the ball and one of them came forward carrying a long bag from which the Queen took out a club and after giving a brief elvish blessing hoisted her skirts and strode up to the ball, squared her shoulders and wiggled her hips, then swung the club downward and struck the ball. It shot up and away over the edge of the dell and into the night.
A few seconds later there was a very distant thunk sound and a yelp.

Tinuviel looked over the dells edge towards the flag, where there was now one figure standing and one flat on their back, “Sorry,” she shouted, “Fore!” she added.

She whacked several more balls out of the dell, expending energy she had built up being cross at Beren for thinking he could tell her, the Queen what to do with her own time. And she was just considering what would be a suitable punishment for him when one of her followers came sprinting into the dell, “Mortals my most beautiful Queen,” he said, “coming this way.”

“Bugger!” Tinuviel swore, “why do mortals always come along and ruin my game?” she looked down the slope where in the distance the Forumshire amateur dramatics group were struggling upwards under the weight of Eldo's costume department.

“I have no desire to listen to the inane babble of mortals. We will retire into the woods beyond and sleep there the night away in the safety of the bowers of its trees”

“As you wish my lady.”

“Oh, and someone fetch the flag will they,” Tinuviel added as she turned away.

Now,with the dell in temporary peace visited only by a the warm evening breeze an acorn shell stirs among the long grasses and out Cc emerges.

Watch her as she makes towards the woods, but no, suddenly she turns and to the dells edge returns and looking down espies figures now more than halfway up the slope, and beyond them so distant still only a spirits eye is keen enough to see them in the fading light, the Hen party, with a reluctant Figg's trailing at its rear, emerging from the Ambassadors residence.

Cc holds up the phial of sparkling liquid Beren has given her and bursts out laughing and spins with mischievous delight upon the spot.
And off she goes, to find the Queen at Berens request.
But for the others, Cc will be at her mischievous best.

Well, Petty laddie boy... bout time to start again... hmmm?

Edit: My Gawd! You did it even as I said it... Magic?  

I do love an innocent Romantic Whimsical Tale (especially if golf's involved) but as to "And on Norc's part it was a chance to finally perhaps find a way to become a Moderator in Forumshire. A position she had long coveted." Yeah... over my dead body!

I give no guarantee it will remain either innocent or whimsical Orwell, but you never know, one story on here eventually has to be.

The important thing (apparently) is that we don't norc your thread, what.  

Yeah, like thats ever going happen!  

Actually, I'm planning to put a stop to it... I mean, Respectable Forums just don't allow it, you know. And the lack of Family Friendliness here is plain atrocious.   Anyways, I might plan how to purify Forumshire while I'm out digging chook straw into my vegetable garden. Bye for now...


{{Petty, did you know, if you drop one letter and change a couple, "forums" becomes "farts"? It's quite obvious once you know! -- bye... }}}

Yay ! Great so far Petty !   I dont think I like the idea of respectability here in Forumshire  
Its fun when its good but, better when its bad !

Oh well, Azriel, if that's the way they're hanging, I s'pose I'll just have to lower my standards to fit in. 

{{{Note to self: Actually, that might be quite a challenge for me! }}} 

''And on Norc's part it was a chance to finally perhaps find a way to become a Moderator in Forumshire. A position she had long coveted.''

  yeah like thats gonna happen.