bei mir bist du shon (means you're grand!)
I had a sudden realization last night that Nathaniel and Tim would be awesome in a random alternate version of themselves set in an Old West like the one in Destry Rides Again. And they may or may not still be werewolves, I haven't decided. But the best thing is that in the universe with Beings living with people, this is actually somewhat possible. Tim would be Marlene Dietrich's Frenchie character and Nathaniel would be Destry. (Oh, right, no one knows who they are. Well Nathaniel and Tim are frustrated werewolves in love. Only they don't know they are in love yet. Well, Tim doesn't. Nathaniel gets it, poor baby. They do not live in the Old West, but sometimes these things pop up in my brain...)
On to other things, expect me to nag all of you for the next month or so, about giving to your local food bank or finding your local food bank to give to them, be it with money or actual gifts of food. But I will try to make the nagging easier to bear with little gifts of my own.
Such as this snippet from my upcoming "A Boy and His Dragon":
Arthur had been sent to the bathroom to wash up, which was a small half-bath just down from the kitchen by the laundry room and a side door that probably led outside to the detached garage. The bathroom had a dwindling supply of toilet paper but plenty of issues of National Geographic with address labels still stuck to them. The room was also as dusty as the rest of the house, although it consistently smelled of the lemon verbena in the hand soap.
He made a note to use the change that Bertie had never asked for to buy more toilet paper, since that seemed safer than poking around the rest of the house looking for a supply closet. He had to admit that he didn’t know enough about dragons to know how complete their physical changes were when they shifted to human. It was possible Bertie didn’t use his own bathrooms and so wouldn’t know he was low on toilet paper. It wasn’t something Arthur wanted to ask about, exactly, but he did want to know. Maybe not about that so much as how human Bertie’s body was, not that he had a way to ask that wouldn’t give away the reason for his interest.
He ought to stop thinking that way in any case. It wasn’t going to happen. Arthur had admittedly attracted a fairy once, but it wasn’t like anyone had been beating down his door since then. The few looks of interest thrown his way hadn’t lasted once they’d realized he’d have no time for them.
He had time now, he realized suddenly while looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and drying his face. But he instantly pushed the thought aside because it wasn’t going to happen. He sighed as he headed back out to the kitchen.
The kitchen was empty. Arthur took a moment anyway before making sure he looked composed before he went searching for his employer. Bertie was in the main room, leaning against the couch with a large bowl of fruit resting on the table behind it. He had a bunch of red grapes in his hand. Of course he did. And of course he was eating them one at a time and licking his lips after each one.
Arthur approached carefully, stifling his second sigh because he should have been comforted to see a dragon eating fruit and not people. Comforted, not turned on.
There was a pomegranate in the bowl, surprising him, but he left it where it was, not wanting to make a mess over a rug he couldn’t afford to replace. He avoided the bananas too, no way could he take Bertie’s response to those right now. He chose more grapes and tried not to push too many in his mouth at once when he realized they were seedless.
“God.” It slipped out with the first bite, breathless and edgy. It had been a long time since he’d had fresh fruit. He really shouldn’t be making noises over some grapes but they were so good. He popped a few more into his mouth before he forced himself to slow down and eat properly, then he looked over.
“Poor hungry Arthur.” Bertie breathed the words without looking at him. He was glaring at the fireplace as though annoyed to find no fire burning inside. “If you won’t feed yourself you’ll force me to do it.” When Arthur stopped chewing, Bertie glanced over at him. His eyes, though still full and black, lacked their usual glitter. “Humans are so….” He gestured as if starting to understand something that he didn’t feel like explaining. “Fragile.”
Arthur’s eyebrows drew together. He wasn’t fragile. He knew how the world worked better than Bertie did, he was willing to bet on it. The world with money and magic was a lot different than the world without it.
“While we’re on the subject,” Bertie spoke as though he’d read Arthur’s protest before he could voice it. “There are guest rooms here, Arthur, as well as this couch which is very comfortable. You are welcome to stay if you find yourself here late. I’ve seen what you call transportation.” He turned up his nose at the very thought of Arthur’s bicycle. “Riding a bicycle isn’t very safe at night even with those reflective lights.”
Arthur bit his tongue before he could point out that he delivered food all over town on that bike, at night, in the rain, on busy streets. He had a feeling that the less Bertie knew about his other remaining job, the better.
“My bike keeps me in shape.” It was an invitation for Bertie to look him up and down, and Bertie did not waste the opportunity. Arthur fought not to shiver as those eyes took their time traveling from his shoes to his face as if Bertie was imagining what was hidden by Arthur’s clothing. Arthur didn’t think of himself as that strong, he was too little for that, but he could ride up hills other delivery boys couldn’t manage and could carry most heavy loads without losing his breath.
He closed his hands under Bertie’s stare and saw Bertie’s eyes go back to his forearms. Bertie exhaled and then his lips curved up. Arthur went on quickly before Bertie could say anything about what he thought of Arthur’s shape.
“I’ll be fine, really. There’s no need to….” The word worry stuck in Arthur’s throat. His eyes burned for a moment. “You barely know me,” he whispered then tossed his head and looked at his feet when Bertie turned back around to say something. This wasn’t a normal job, but Arthur didn’t deserve that, not with part of his intent in coming here so… dishonest. “I’ve looked after myself for a long time.”
“Not bloody well enough.” It was the most British Bertie had ever seemed. He sounded like an old colonel. “Now eat.”
Arthur put another grape in his mouth before putting the remains of the bunch down. There were tiny oranges too. He put two aside to take home later and then discovered almonds under the fruit. He should have asked whether or not Bertie was a vegetarian dragon or why he got so much fruit, but he didn’t. He crunched almonds and then ate a few more grapes. He wouldn’t say he felt better when he was done, but his stomach didn’t feel nearly so tight, and the heat of the room didn’t seem as overwhelming.
Bertie watched him, though whenever Arthur glanced back at him the dragon would slide his attention back to his cold fireplace. After a couple of missed glances, he coughed and put his arm up along the back of the couch.
“It pains me to say it, but maybe you ought to go home for the day, Arthur.”
Bits of almond stuck in Arthur’s throat. He swallowed them all, not without pain.
“You’re sending me away? I can work harder.” He came around the table to stand in front of the couch only to freeze when he received Bertie’s full attention. He immediately turned to all the books, all his piles, his plans. He hadn’t done nearly enough.
“Arthur.” Bertie’s lips were parted, just a little. “You can always stay.”
“Then why?” Arthur changed his mind after his asked. First he was told to stay and eat and now he was being sent home. He didn’t want to go, Bertie hadn’t even seen a fraction of what he was capable of yet.
His own desperation to impress wasn’t nearly as confusing as his sudden need to stay. His paycheck hadn’t even been his first thought.
“Do you want me to go?” He didn’t like how quiet his voice got or the puzzled look Bertie shot him, as if he honestly didn’t know how to answer Arthur’s question.
“Of course not,” he rumbled, sounding more like himself as a lizard than as a man. “I simply thought… perhaps… you were overwrought.”
“Overwrought?” Arthur repeated the Victorian-sounding word in disbelief.
“Exhausted?” Bertie changed it quickly. “Weak with hunger?”
“Oh.” Arthur’s breath rushed out of him. Bertie had been worried. His earlier thought returned and hit him, hard. “You were worried about me?” He stopped himself from asking more. “Oh,” he said instead. “I just… I just need a break. I don’t need to go home.”
“That’s a relief.” Bertie drummed his fingers along the back of the couch and Arthur caught a whiff of acrid smoke. “You have no idea how irritating it is going against your instincts, even for a little while.”
“I have an idea,” Arthur defended himself without thinking, remembering the fantasies he’d had about Bertie talking to him in that fire-and-smoke voice while he pressed Arthur facedown to the couch cushions and fucked him the way Arthur was begging him to. Then he blinked, because that last comment hadn’t made any sense. “Wait, what?”
Bertie turned away, his nose up in the air as if Arthur wasn’t worth an explanation, or as if he thought Arthur wouldn’t understand one. The warmth in Arthur’s stomach vanished.
“We really are speaking a different language. Beings,” he muttered under his breath. He wanted to flop down onto the couch, but he couldn’t with Bertie there and wouldn’t have anyway because that couch was made from a velvet so fine that just touching it once had made him sigh.
Bertie turned back to stare at him and raised one eyebrow, which meant he’d heard that remark. Arthur hurried forward only to stop once he was a foot from the couch. Bertie’s gaze stayed on him and though his pose was relaxed, like some kind of emperor, a few grapes still in his lap as he lounged, the very air around him seemed hot and still.
Whenever the air had been that hot and still, Arthur’s mother had used to call it earthquake weather, which Arthur had never understood. Not as a child anyway, though he was getting it now. At this exact moment, he suddenly understood how the potential for a disaster could be felt in the air. It was almost as if the house itself was watching him.
“I’m sorry. I don’t… I haven’t read your books yet.” Actually, the two he’d gotten from the library didn’t seem to be about dragons at all and what he’d looked at on the library computers hadn’t said much. The information on trolls and werewolves and demons was far more complete. He supposed they were a bigger threat and had had to be studied more. Dragons… no one knew for sure how to classify them, lucky protectors or fearsome beasts. Maybe both. “I don’t know about dragons. Are you… typical?”
“Are you typical for a human?” Bertie idly picked up the grapes and dropped them onto the table behind him without looking to see where they fell. Arthur couldn’t read his expression and tell if he was angry or disappointed or teasing him again.
“That…. I know there’s no such thing as typical.” He’d never tripped over his words so much but he’d never meant to hurt anyone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like a jerk, it’s just that I’ve never meant anyone like you.”
There was no change in Bertie’s face, but something in his posture seemed to ease. He melted back into the velvety cushions. The air around them no longer seemed to portend disaster, but Arthur wasn’t breathing any easier yet.
“Do you mean someone who doesn’t like watching a person suffer needlessly?” Bertie sat up just for a moment to twist around and flick open the silver chest and so he could take a cigarette. “That is sad, Arthur.”
Donate nag nag nag
On to other things, expect me to nag all of you for the next month or so, about giving to your local food bank or finding your local food bank to give to them, be it with money or actual gifts of food. But I will try to make the nagging easier to bear with little gifts of my own.
Such as this snippet from my upcoming "A Boy and His Dragon":
Arthur had been sent to the bathroom to wash up, which was a small half-bath just down from the kitchen by the laundry room and a side door that probably led outside to the detached garage. The bathroom had a dwindling supply of toilet paper but plenty of issues of National Geographic with address labels still stuck to them. The room was also as dusty as the rest of the house, although it consistently smelled of the lemon verbena in the hand soap.
He made a note to use the change that Bertie had never asked for to buy more toilet paper, since that seemed safer than poking around the rest of the house looking for a supply closet. He had to admit that he didn’t know enough about dragons to know how complete their physical changes were when they shifted to human. It was possible Bertie didn’t use his own bathrooms and so wouldn’t know he was low on toilet paper. It wasn’t something Arthur wanted to ask about, exactly, but he did want to know. Maybe not about that so much as how human Bertie’s body was, not that he had a way to ask that wouldn’t give away the reason for his interest.
He ought to stop thinking that way in any case. It wasn’t going to happen. Arthur had admittedly attracted a fairy once, but it wasn’t like anyone had been beating down his door since then. The few looks of interest thrown his way hadn’t lasted once they’d realized he’d have no time for them.
He had time now, he realized suddenly while looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and drying his face. But he instantly pushed the thought aside because it wasn’t going to happen. He sighed as he headed back out to the kitchen.
The kitchen was empty. Arthur took a moment anyway before making sure he looked composed before he went searching for his employer. Bertie was in the main room, leaning against the couch with a large bowl of fruit resting on the table behind it. He had a bunch of red grapes in his hand. Of course he did. And of course he was eating them one at a time and licking his lips after each one.
Arthur approached carefully, stifling his second sigh because he should have been comforted to see a dragon eating fruit and not people. Comforted, not turned on.
There was a pomegranate in the bowl, surprising him, but he left it where it was, not wanting to make a mess over a rug he couldn’t afford to replace. He avoided the bananas too, no way could he take Bertie’s response to those right now. He chose more grapes and tried not to push too many in his mouth at once when he realized they were seedless.
“God.” It slipped out with the first bite, breathless and edgy. It had been a long time since he’d had fresh fruit. He really shouldn’t be making noises over some grapes but they were so good. He popped a few more into his mouth before he forced himself to slow down and eat properly, then he looked over.
“Poor hungry Arthur.” Bertie breathed the words without looking at him. He was glaring at the fireplace as though annoyed to find no fire burning inside. “If you won’t feed yourself you’ll force me to do it.” When Arthur stopped chewing, Bertie glanced over at him. His eyes, though still full and black, lacked their usual glitter. “Humans are so….” He gestured as if starting to understand something that he didn’t feel like explaining. “Fragile.”
Arthur’s eyebrows drew together. He wasn’t fragile. He knew how the world worked better than Bertie did, he was willing to bet on it. The world with money and magic was a lot different than the world without it.
“While we’re on the subject,” Bertie spoke as though he’d read Arthur’s protest before he could voice it. “There are guest rooms here, Arthur, as well as this couch which is very comfortable. You are welcome to stay if you find yourself here late. I’ve seen what you call transportation.” He turned up his nose at the very thought of Arthur’s bicycle. “Riding a bicycle isn’t very safe at night even with those reflective lights.”
Arthur bit his tongue before he could point out that he delivered food all over town on that bike, at night, in the rain, on busy streets. He had a feeling that the less Bertie knew about his other remaining job, the better.
“My bike keeps me in shape.” It was an invitation for Bertie to look him up and down, and Bertie did not waste the opportunity. Arthur fought not to shiver as those eyes took their time traveling from his shoes to his face as if Bertie was imagining what was hidden by Arthur’s clothing. Arthur didn’t think of himself as that strong, he was too little for that, but he could ride up hills other delivery boys couldn’t manage and could carry most heavy loads without losing his breath.
He closed his hands under Bertie’s stare and saw Bertie’s eyes go back to his forearms. Bertie exhaled and then his lips curved up. Arthur went on quickly before Bertie could say anything about what he thought of Arthur’s shape.
“I’ll be fine, really. There’s no need to….” The word worry stuck in Arthur’s throat. His eyes burned for a moment. “You barely know me,” he whispered then tossed his head and looked at his feet when Bertie turned back around to say something. This wasn’t a normal job, but Arthur didn’t deserve that, not with part of his intent in coming here so… dishonest. “I’ve looked after myself for a long time.”
“Not bloody well enough.” It was the most British Bertie had ever seemed. He sounded like an old colonel. “Now eat.”
Arthur put another grape in his mouth before putting the remains of the bunch down. There were tiny oranges too. He put two aside to take home later and then discovered almonds under the fruit. He should have asked whether or not Bertie was a vegetarian dragon or why he got so much fruit, but he didn’t. He crunched almonds and then ate a few more grapes. He wouldn’t say he felt better when he was done, but his stomach didn’t feel nearly so tight, and the heat of the room didn’t seem as overwhelming.
Bertie watched him, though whenever Arthur glanced back at him the dragon would slide his attention back to his cold fireplace. After a couple of missed glances, he coughed and put his arm up along the back of the couch.
“It pains me to say it, but maybe you ought to go home for the day, Arthur.”
Bits of almond stuck in Arthur’s throat. He swallowed them all, not without pain.
“You’re sending me away? I can work harder.” He came around the table to stand in front of the couch only to freeze when he received Bertie’s full attention. He immediately turned to all the books, all his piles, his plans. He hadn’t done nearly enough.
“Arthur.” Bertie’s lips were parted, just a little. “You can always stay.”
“Then why?” Arthur changed his mind after his asked. First he was told to stay and eat and now he was being sent home. He didn’t want to go, Bertie hadn’t even seen a fraction of what he was capable of yet.
His own desperation to impress wasn’t nearly as confusing as his sudden need to stay. His paycheck hadn’t even been his first thought.
“Do you want me to go?” He didn’t like how quiet his voice got or the puzzled look Bertie shot him, as if he honestly didn’t know how to answer Arthur’s question.
“Of course not,” he rumbled, sounding more like himself as a lizard than as a man. “I simply thought… perhaps… you were overwrought.”
“Overwrought?” Arthur repeated the Victorian-sounding word in disbelief.
“Exhausted?” Bertie changed it quickly. “Weak with hunger?”
“Oh.” Arthur’s breath rushed out of him. Bertie had been worried. His earlier thought returned and hit him, hard. “You were worried about me?” He stopped himself from asking more. “Oh,” he said instead. “I just… I just need a break. I don’t need to go home.”
“That’s a relief.” Bertie drummed his fingers along the back of the couch and Arthur caught a whiff of acrid smoke. “You have no idea how irritating it is going against your instincts, even for a little while.”
“I have an idea,” Arthur defended himself without thinking, remembering the fantasies he’d had about Bertie talking to him in that fire-and-smoke voice while he pressed Arthur facedown to the couch cushions and fucked him the way Arthur was begging him to. Then he blinked, because that last comment hadn’t made any sense. “Wait, what?”
Bertie turned away, his nose up in the air as if Arthur wasn’t worth an explanation, or as if he thought Arthur wouldn’t understand one. The warmth in Arthur’s stomach vanished.
“We really are speaking a different language. Beings,” he muttered under his breath. He wanted to flop down onto the couch, but he couldn’t with Bertie there and wouldn’t have anyway because that couch was made from a velvet so fine that just touching it once had made him sigh.
Bertie turned back to stare at him and raised one eyebrow, which meant he’d heard that remark. Arthur hurried forward only to stop once he was a foot from the couch. Bertie’s gaze stayed on him and though his pose was relaxed, like some kind of emperor, a few grapes still in his lap as he lounged, the very air around him seemed hot and still.
Whenever the air had been that hot and still, Arthur’s mother had used to call it earthquake weather, which Arthur had never understood. Not as a child anyway, though he was getting it now. At this exact moment, he suddenly understood how the potential for a disaster could be felt in the air. It was almost as if the house itself was watching him.
“I’m sorry. I don’t… I haven’t read your books yet.” Actually, the two he’d gotten from the library didn’t seem to be about dragons at all and what he’d looked at on the library computers hadn’t said much. The information on trolls and werewolves and demons was far more complete. He supposed they were a bigger threat and had had to be studied more. Dragons… no one knew for sure how to classify them, lucky protectors or fearsome beasts. Maybe both. “I don’t know about dragons. Are you… typical?”
“Are you typical for a human?” Bertie idly picked up the grapes and dropped them onto the table behind him without looking to see where they fell. Arthur couldn’t read his expression and tell if he was angry or disappointed or teasing him again.
“That…. I know there’s no such thing as typical.” He’d never tripped over his words so much but he’d never meant to hurt anyone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like a jerk, it’s just that I’ve never meant anyone like you.”
There was no change in Bertie’s face, but something in his posture seemed to ease. He melted back into the velvety cushions. The air around them no longer seemed to portend disaster, but Arthur wasn’t breathing any easier yet.
“Do you mean someone who doesn’t like watching a person suffer needlessly?” Bertie sat up just for a moment to twist around and flick open the silver chest and so he could take a cigarette. “That is sad, Arthur.”
Donate nag nag nag
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