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what_we_dreamRandom Drabbles: Escaflowne/Pirates, Star Trek TOS, Sherlock Holmes
Pairings: None
Ratings: G
Pendant (Esca/Pirates)
Tia Dalma was a simple witch. Nothing as flashy and pretentious as a sorceress, nothing so near to the wide heavens as a priestess. She filled the creaking hut on the river with the tools of her trade mostly for the atmosphere and to sell to any fool who was too eager to cross her palm with silver, but here and there the useless clutter served to hide the true magic, the real charms and spells and curses that glistened in the candlelight if you knew where and how to look.
Most eyes were drawn to the serpents lying in death’s heavy sleep in jars of spirits and their own venom, to the dried dragon lizard with bells and bright ribbons sewn through its scales and silver caps slid over its talons, to the rows of crescent blades in copper sheathes with gold runes beaten along their lengths. To the bunches of dried herbs and the dream nets and the dyed pelts and the shelves of dusty bottles filled with shadowy shapes that dissuaded close examination.
Almost no one looked past the bright shiny unimportant clutter to what hid behind it. To the small wooden boxes with one simple rune on the lid and thin chains of silver and iron fastening them shut, to the crooked bracelets made of dull beads strung together on catgut with one rust-coloured feather hanging at the bottom tip flanked by a pair of teeth, to the beaten metal rattles with faded stripes painted up the handles that whispered like flames licking at paper when the wind blew in through the windows. To the small pink oblong stone on a thin chain held on by silver at the narrow tips.
“And there’s really nothing here that can help us find Jack?” Will made a wide circle with his arms, indicating the quietly mouldering items. “I mean, surely you have enough here to …” he trailed off, his understanding of magic at best extending to the fact that it existed, and could turn men to skeletons and sea creatures. Somehow.
“Sink an armada,” muttered Gibbs, who was more knowledgeable, under his breath.
“Does nae work that way, young Turner. I can guide ye, but I cannae offer ye help.”
“They’re the same thing!”
“One is done, t’other is gived,” said the sea witch, waving a vague hand.
“But surely to get Jack back from the Locker we’ll need some magic? Charms? Something? What about that,” he pointed to an elaborate fan of feathers and pressed lizard tails.
“Wonnerful for keepin’ off the ash of fire mountains,” said the witch, calmly.
“Or that,” the man indicated a small leather bag tied shut with a gold rope with tear-shaped bells on the end.
“Nothin’ better for trappin’ the winds.”
“Well, how about that?” said Will, indicating the dragon lizard, somewhere between desperation and frustration.
“Oh, Herbert there be nothing more than me company.” The witch reached up to run long, yellow nails across his scales with a scrabbling sound that made the entire room flinch.
“What about this?” asked Elizabeth quietly, and held up the rose-coloured pendant. The witch swivelled immediately, eyes narrowed.
“Well now, ye’ll no be wanting that one, that’s for certain.”
“What does it do?”
“It grants wishes, missy.”
The room quieted suddenly as ears perked up. Elizabeth held the stone up in the flat of her palm to look at it more closely, and then turned back to Tia Dalma.
“But that sounds like exactly what we need! We can just wish Jack back!”
The old witch smiled, teeth like a set of ivory dominos glinting in the yellow light. “Aye, missy, that you could. But then ye’d have to be payin’ the price for weavin’ the strings of fate to your command. Tis no a price ye’d wish to pay. Better to be getting Jack back the easy way.” She reached out and plucked the stone from Elizabeth. Holding it by the chain from the tips of her fingers, she let it swing back and forth. It held the beat she set for it perfectly, keeping better time than a heartbeat.
“The easy way?!”
“Aye, missy, the easy way. You jus’ let ol’ Tia Dalma keep this here stone and go on wit’ your planning. Don’t ye fret yoursel’, we’ll have Jack back afore ye knows it.” She turned with a shuffle of skirts to put the stone back on the small hook Elizabeth had taken it from, hidden away between a rabbit fur with the bleached skull attached and a golden crook tied with bright blue ribbons. “This here’s for another poor girly yet to come, from no seas kin to this one.”
TRIBBLES (Star Trek TOS)
“You can’t tell me it’s illogical to keep pets; your mother said you had one.”
“I said nothing about keeping pets in general, Doctor. Many serve quite necessary and important functions; guard animals, guide animals, companionship for those races which require high levels of emotional interaction to function.”
“You said that they had good taste! You were pretty damn admiring when the things liked you.”
“To praise is not to condone.”
“You just don’t want to admit you might like something that has no practical purpose!”
“Why would I approve of taking the trouble to maintain something with no practical purpose? That is the height of illogic.”
“Not even you are all logic, Spock! You’re allowed to like little fuzzy things that do nothing other than make a pleasant noise and purr! Admit it; you liked them!”
“I did not.”
“I saw you holding them; you liked ‘em.”
“You are mistaken.”
“You were reading the regulations regarding keeping animals on Starships; I saw the datapad.”
“I am surprised you have come this far in life without being taught that prying is impolite, Doctor. However, since you ask, the question was raised by Ensign Copes in Linguistics. I was merely confirming my response.”
“If they hadn’t turned out to be breeding fiends, you would have kept one.”
“I would not have. As I said, that would be entirely –”
“Want to bet?”
“That is entirely pointless, as to wager on the outcome of a situation would require it to reoccur and in this case the chance of such a reoccurrence is approximately 3,205 to one. Besides which, gambling is illegal on Federation vessels.”
“I’ll bet you 20 credits.”
“No.”
“You’re going to owe me.”
“I refuse to accept your wager.”
“I’m telling Jim; he’ll vouch for me when it comes up.”
“Doctor –”
“And don’t think I’ll forget.”
Sometimes, it is all I can do not to take up my own pen to write to the lady. But he would not thank me for it, and it would achieve nothing but more letters to no one. The best I can do is to notice nothing. After all, I have a reputation for inobservance.
Pairings: None
Ratings: G
Pendant (Esca/Pirates)
Tia Dalma was a simple witch. Nothing as flashy and pretentious as a sorceress, nothing so near to the wide heavens as a priestess. She filled the creaking hut on the river with the tools of her trade mostly for the atmosphere and to sell to any fool who was too eager to cross her palm with silver, but here and there the useless clutter served to hide the true magic, the real charms and spells and curses that glistened in the candlelight if you knew where and how to look.
Most eyes were drawn to the serpents lying in death’s heavy sleep in jars of spirits and their own venom, to the dried dragon lizard with bells and bright ribbons sewn through its scales and silver caps slid over its talons, to the rows of crescent blades in copper sheathes with gold runes beaten along their lengths. To the bunches of dried herbs and the dream nets and the dyed pelts and the shelves of dusty bottles filled with shadowy shapes that dissuaded close examination.
Almost no one looked past the bright shiny unimportant clutter to what hid behind it. To the small wooden boxes with one simple rune on the lid and thin chains of silver and iron fastening them shut, to the crooked bracelets made of dull beads strung together on catgut with one rust-coloured feather hanging at the bottom tip flanked by a pair of teeth, to the beaten metal rattles with faded stripes painted up the handles that whispered like flames licking at paper when the wind blew in through the windows. To the small pink oblong stone on a thin chain held on by silver at the narrow tips.
“And there’s really nothing here that can help us find Jack?” Will made a wide circle with his arms, indicating the quietly mouldering items. “I mean, surely you have enough here to …” he trailed off, his understanding of magic at best extending to the fact that it existed, and could turn men to skeletons and sea creatures. Somehow.
“Sink an armada,” muttered Gibbs, who was more knowledgeable, under his breath.
“Does nae work that way, young Turner. I can guide ye, but I cannae offer ye help.”
“They’re the same thing!”
“One is done, t’other is gived,” said the sea witch, waving a vague hand.
“But surely to get Jack back from the Locker we’ll need some magic? Charms? Something? What about that,” he pointed to an elaborate fan of feathers and pressed lizard tails.
“Wonnerful for keepin’ off the ash of fire mountains,” said the witch, calmly.
“Or that,” the man indicated a small leather bag tied shut with a gold rope with tear-shaped bells on the end.
“Nothin’ better for trappin’ the winds.”
“Well, how about that?” said Will, indicating the dragon lizard, somewhere between desperation and frustration.
“Oh, Herbert there be nothing more than me company.” The witch reached up to run long, yellow nails across his scales with a scrabbling sound that made the entire room flinch.
“What about this?” asked Elizabeth quietly, and held up the rose-coloured pendant. The witch swivelled immediately, eyes narrowed.
“Well now, ye’ll no be wanting that one, that’s for certain.”
“What does it do?”
“It grants wishes, missy.”
The room quieted suddenly as ears perked up. Elizabeth held the stone up in the flat of her palm to look at it more closely, and then turned back to Tia Dalma.
“But that sounds like exactly what we need! We can just wish Jack back!”
The old witch smiled, teeth like a set of ivory dominos glinting in the yellow light. “Aye, missy, that you could. But then ye’d have to be payin’ the price for weavin’ the strings of fate to your command. Tis no a price ye’d wish to pay. Better to be getting Jack back the easy way.” She reached out and plucked the stone from Elizabeth. Holding it by the chain from the tips of her fingers, she let it swing back and forth. It held the beat she set for it perfectly, keeping better time than a heartbeat.
“The easy way?!”
“Aye, missy, the easy way. You jus’ let ol’ Tia Dalma keep this here stone and go on wit’ your planning. Don’t ye fret yoursel’, we’ll have Jack back afore ye knows it.” She turned with a shuffle of skirts to put the stone back on the small hook Elizabeth had taken it from, hidden away between a rabbit fur with the bleached skull attached and a golden crook tied with bright blue ribbons. “This here’s for another poor girly yet to come, from no seas kin to this one.”
TRIBBLES (Star Trek TOS)
“You can’t tell me it’s illogical to keep pets; your mother said you had one.”
“I said nothing about keeping pets in general, Doctor. Many serve quite necessary and important functions; guard animals, guide animals, companionship for those races which require high levels of emotional interaction to function.”
“You said that they had good taste! You were pretty damn admiring when the things liked you.”
“To praise is not to condone.”
“You just don’t want to admit you might like something that has no practical purpose!”
“Why would I approve of taking the trouble to maintain something with no practical purpose? That is the height of illogic.”
“Not even you are all logic, Spock! You’re allowed to like little fuzzy things that do nothing other than make a pleasant noise and purr! Admit it; you liked them!”
“I did not.”
“I saw you holding them; you liked ‘em.”
“You are mistaken.”
“You were reading the regulations regarding keeping animals on Starships; I saw the datapad.”
“I am surprised you have come this far in life without being taught that prying is impolite, Doctor. However, since you ask, the question was raised by Ensign Copes in Linguistics. I was merely confirming my response.”
“If they hadn’t turned out to be breeding fiends, you would have kept one.”
“I would not have. As I said, that would be entirely –”
“Want to bet?”
“That is entirely pointless, as to wager on the outcome of a situation would require it to reoccur and in this case the chance of such a reoccurrence is approximately 3,205 to one. Besides which, gambling is illegal on Federation vessels.”
“I’ll bet you 20 credits.”
“No.”
“You’re going to owe me.”
“I refuse to accept your wager.”
“I’m telling Jim; he’ll vouch for me when it comes up.”
“Doctor –”
“And don’t think I’ll forget.”
Unrequited and Agonizing Unrequited (Sherlock Holmes)
Sherlock Holmes credits me with few powers of observation and deduction. Measured against his own overwhelming prowess in this area, I freely admit that I am a mere beginner. However, Holmes plies his trade in deducing the habits and nature of strangers, and it is there that he draws comparisons with himself. Had he considered it, even he would be likely to tell you that there is no one like a doctor for knowing and noticing the moods and habits of his patients. I cannot read the trade of the pedestrians who pass by the street below our Baker Street flat, but I hope I do not sound overly proud when I state that I know Holmes and his habits better than any literary work whose contents I have had to memorize.
I also hope it will not be construed as boasting when I note that as long as I have known him, the great heart which beats below that awesome intellect has only held two fellow beings in true affection, and that one of those is myself. The other is the lady who Holmes only ever refers to as “the woman.” Irene Norton, née Adler.
Any reader of our not inconsiderable adventures will be aware of Holmes’ character. He is not a man to pine for that which he does not possess, nor is he a man to waste thought or feeling on emotional ties. I do not mean to suggest for one instant that I have misrepresented him, for that is not the case. However, if I have been just slightly remiss in my chronicling, my motivations have been solely those of friendship and loyalty.
When Miss Adler, as she then was, came into our acquaintance, Holmes and I were still in the early stages of our friendship. I admit that I feared what his actions might be when he requested her photograph from the King of Bohemia. More acutely, I feared he might attempt to pursue a relationship with the newly-married lady. I cannot but smile, albeit with pain as well as chagrin, when I reflect on that concern. Holmes, of course, had no such intentions, despite his rather obvious attraction to the woman – I say obvious, although of course it was so only in comparison to his treatment of the rest of her sex.
Her cabinet photograph took up a place for a while on his writing desk, and I will admit that I could not help but noticing his spending rather more time than usual at his correspondence. However I am now certain that any letters he may have written to the lady were never posted, and indeed quite probably never finished.
I fear to consider what the fact that I now regret his lack of resolve in this matter says about my own morals.
Mrs. Norton, I believe, would mock that concern. She has to date been widowed once – the unfortunate Mr. Godfrey Norton having been killed in a street accident in America – and twice been through the divorce courts.
On each occasion I have observed her photograph, now in a place of lesser prominence in our rooms, to move its position slightly during my absences. Equally, when I have requested my cheque-book of Holmes, I have noted the tidy stack of letters in his locked drawer.
Holmes has never been anything but clear on the matter of marriage: he has no interest in forming such ties. And yet, he still draws that comparison; Should I ever marry, I should hope to inspire my wife with some feeling which would prevent her from being walked off by a housekeeper when my corpse was lying within a few yards of her. And I return to the rooms to find her photograph moved, and more sheets in his drawer.
