Current mood:	tired
Current music:	Jamie Christopherson - Joan of Arc (Bladestorm OST)
Entry tags:	hiahc, nanowrimo, writing

Aaand they're off! Twice!
Interesting start to the month this time round. Naturally, ever exuberant, I settled down at midnight with a glass of water and a lump of chocolate, prepared to hammer away at that seriousish fantasy story I've had in mind for a while. The civil war one.

Hoo boy, that was a painful experience.

Maybe it was just a quirk of that evening or maybe the idea itself, but I managed almost nothing of any value. I'd written out a draft of the first scene ages ago, intending to make it a normal project, and last night I sort of shuffled bits of that around and added a few lines here and there and generally achieved nothing. The overarching impression was that attempting to write a serious character-driven story at the speed demanded by NaNoWriMo was going to give me nothing but grief.

So this lunch time I started again on a different story with far less merit but one that suits my style rather more and one that gives me opportunities to ramble aimlessly from time to time. I think I might do better with that.

Therefore I present the first couple of scenes of some random story that doesn't have a name yet.

---

PROLOGUE

It was a pleasant night, Turmeric thought. In fact, it was possibly the most pleasant night of a December the first he could remember, which pitted it against the fairly stiff competition of December the first, 1897, on which the telegram network stopped working, and December the first, 1881, on which at the age of five he had (according to the tales his parents never ceased telling to anyone who happened to ask) eaten his father's monocle.

The air was clean and fresh, and there was a distinct chill to the night that he felt merely served to highlight its... purity, one might say. Tonight was not a night tainted by the chatter of passers-by, nor the rumbling of automobiles ever present during the daylight hours - there was a thin layer of ice on the roads, and not even the most foolhardy of youths would risk marring their vehicles' pristine splendour by driving them into walls. Tonight was a night on which one could pretend one was at one with nature, if that was one's wont. It wasn't the wont of Turmeric Mustering-Westerly, but he was a fair sort of chap and he believed in allowing people their wonts whenever the opportunity presented itself. If they so wonted, naturally.

Hyde Park was one of his favourite retreats at times like these, and indeed during most evenings these days. One could take a leisurely stroll along the paths, pausing wherever one wished to take in the greenery or suchlike, and there were more than enough benches and chairs for one to rest one's clogs (and matching stands for one to rest one's coat or hat) whenever the urge took one. Moreover, despite this tranquillity and apparent suitability for moonlit walks, Turmeric found that it was more often than not almost totally deserted. Oh, one might find a young couple or two professing vows of amour, or perhaps an old military gentleman asleep on a bench having partaken in excess of Her Majesty's finest whiskey and forgotten where he lived, but such people proved to be pleasant highlights of a walk and often provided quite engaging conversation, at least until they threw things at Turmeric Mustering-Westerly and told him to mind his own business.

Turmeric paused in his amblings, rested his weight on his cane, and withdrew his watch from his jacket pocket. It had been a present from a pair of fellow students at Oxford, and the front was engraved with a stylised pair of trousers. Turmeric flipped it open and inspected it. It turned out that it was... well, it turned out that he had forgotten to wind it this morning. Either that or it was actually half past six, in which case he was actually still at home and it was some other fellow standing out here in Hyde Park on a pleasant December the first staring at his watch, which they had presumably stolen from him at some point during the day.

One of the most interesting things about being out and about at this time of the night, Turmeric felt - whatever time of the night it might actually have been - was the way his internal monologues tended to gradually spiral into incoherence quite rapidly. He had once taken to carrying about a small notepad in the hope of transcribing some of them and by doing so gaining a new insight into the workings of his mind, but it turned out that constant streams of utter nonsense were not easily produced on demand.

He resumed his stroll, rounded a corner, and found himself facing - or, rather, looking down upon - a pair of young ladies. They were lying across the path as if, while asleep, someone had come and removed them from their beds and just left them here - that is, while they were asleep, not while their mystery displacer was asleep; one had to apply a modicum of common sense to these things - with one of them directly on top of the other, facing one another, and as best he could tell they were totally unclothed.

Well, now.

"Excuse me? Madams?" he hazarded. This was one of those situations common decorum didn't cover, he suspected, though he made a mental note to look it up in the Manuals of Style the next time he visited a library. "You do appear to be prostrate. Is this intentional?"

Neither of them responded to him, or indeed gave any indication of being anything other than asleep, unconscious, or dearly departed.

Turmeric prodded the top one with the end of his cane. "Madams?"

Still no response.

There was a small bench nearby, perhaps large enough to seat two thin people or one military gentleman. Thankfully the hypothetical military gentleman was not occupying it at the time and so Turmeric brushed it off, took a seat, and stared thoughtfully at the two ladies.

He had heard that there were ladies like these in the world. That is, he had heard rumours that there were ladies who had a tendency to remove their clothes and lie around with other ladies. It was one of those idle curiosities that he had occasionally ruminated on when bored; what was it supposed to achieve, for a start? He had raised the question at the dinner table once with Elric and Fiona, and the two of them had looked surprised and slightly embarrassed and told him that they didn't know either, so he assumed that there was some reason for it that he just hadn't been told yet... In any case, the rumours had not implied that such ladies were often to be found lying around in Hyde Park on the night of December the first.

They seemed like quite fetching young ladies, from what he could make out in the dim light. They both had pleasing figures, with curves in the places he supposed ladies were supposed to have curves and none in the places he supposed they shouldn't. Both had long hair, currently unbound; the one on the top fair and the one below dark. He leaned forwards and peered closer, taking mental notes. There was some movement going on there, at least; they were both still breathing.

A faint wetness on the back of his hand drew his gaze, and he glanced down at it and then up at the sky. It was just beginning to snow, by the look of things. Well, that didn't bother him unduly; his jacket and trousers were tailored from only the finest thrice-stitched tweed, and pretty much impervious to anything up to and including a stampeding wildebeest (according to the claims of his Great-Uncle Albert Ruthering-Hydemill III, who was something of a renowned explorer and bought his adventuring suits from the same tailor as Turmeric). But, on the other hand, were he unclothed and female, he reckoned he would not be too keen on staying out in the open much longer now.

Well, he was a gentleman. There were things gentlemen did and did not do, and he supposed that this was as good a time as any to do one of the things they did not do in the name of doing something they did. He got to his feet, took a few steps over to the ladies, and poked the top one firmly between the shoulderblades with a finger. Her skin was cold to the touch. "Madam! I strongly suggest you return home before the weather turns much... oh, I see it already has."

What had a few moments before been a gentle flurry seemed to be veritably on the cusp of turning into a full-blown blizzard. Well, again.

Only one thing for it then. Turmeric straightened up and stretched. Sometimes a chap just had to do what a chap had to do.

---

CHAPTER ONE

Elric Barrithew Winston Mumblers, of number 27, Long Hampton Street, was woken by the strains of Rule Britannia. Under other circumstances this might have been a veritably soothing experience, but unfortunately this night a number of factors conspired against this. For one, it was the night. He knew this because there was a window over his bed and he could see absolutely nothing through it. For another, this particular rendition of Rule Britannia was performed by tin whistle and undersized gong. It was an unusual choice of instruments, that could not be denied; in one of his more idle afternoons Turmeric had seen fit to 'improve' upon their doorbell, and a length of narrow iron pipe and a flat brass plate had been the only instruments he'd had to hand at the time. There was no denying that, viewed objectively, the new doorbell was truly an engineering marvel; unfortunately there was also no denying that, viewed subjectively, the device systematically mangled one of the country's greatest tunes over the course of several long minutes every time anyone came to their house, and apparently could not be silenced until it decided of its own accord that it had had enough. Even Turmeric himself had conceded that just perhaps the old bell might have been better, and he'd promised to put it back again just as soon as he worked out what he'd done with it.

Elric groaned and put his head under his pillow. The strains of Rule Britannia, however, would have none of this, and penetrated the fine goosedown stuffing with utter disdain. Every time that blasted gong sounded he could hear as well as feel his bedsprings shudder in sympathy.

"Bastenhounder!" he bellowed, then removed the pillow and tried again, just about making himself heard over the cacophony. "Bas..." The realisation struck him with the force of a three iron in the pit of his stomach. Bastenhounder had taken a couple of days off to visit relatives, hadn't he? Typical.

Muttering darkly to himself, Elric hauled himself wearily out of bed and stomped towards the front door, pulling on his dressing gown en route. The grandfather clock in the main hall told him that it was currently half past six, but given that Turmeric was prone to tampering with that as well he was tempted to trust that clock about as far as he could throw it, which wasn't far as Turmeric had bolted it to the floor after the last time.

To one side of the front door was an umbrella stand that contained a golf club, a poker, and an unidentifiable long bent thing with a sort of lump on the end. Elric took up the poker in one hand, tested its weight, and then lifted the latch and pulled the door open.

"Evening again, old chap!" said Turmeric Mustering-Westerly brightly, standing there covered in a thick layer of snow in the porch with his arms around a couple of girls. "Give me a hand with these, would you?"

Elric stared at him. Then he stared at the girls, which was altogether a much more pleasant experience. They both seemed young, probably not much older than him, though inexplicably based on the clothes they were wearing one of them was a Colonel in Her Majesty's army and the other a Wing Commander. One - the Colonel - was fair, with light skin and blonde hair; the other heavily tanned and black-haired, lending her a distinctly exotic air. They were both rather strikingly attractive, and all in all neither was the sort of girl - if any girl was that sort of girl - that Elric would have expected to spend any time with Turmeric. Though, having said that - he peered closer, eyes narrowing - they seemed to be out on their feet.

"Turmeric," he said supiciously, hefting the poker ostentatiously, "you haven't -"

"Of course I haven't," said Turmeric tetchily. Now Elric paid a little more attention to him, he noticed that his arms were only around the girls' torsos, supporting them under the shoulders. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, already turning to ice in the night air. "Whatever it is, I haven't. Now hurry up and take one of these fine ladies from me, will you?"

Obediently, Elric put down the poker and did so, taking the fair girl with both hands around her body and lifting her bodily over the threshold into the hall. Her body was limp and her clothes damp and cold. Turmeric gave a slight sigh of relief and followed him with the other, resting her gently against one wall for just long enough to close the door with one hand.

"Might I ask -" Elric began petulantly.

"Not yet. Whatever it is, I still haven't, by the way." Turmeric looked around him, mildly agitated. "Ah, the drawing room, of course. After me." He pushed past Elric and made for the far end of the hall, staggering slightly. "We've got to get these two heated up."

"What?" Elric freed a hand and brushed it against the cheek of the girl as he trailed bemusedly after his housemate. "Good Lord, Turmeric, she's freezing!"

"Of course she is!" Turmeric called back, already in the drawing room. "Snowing like blazes out there! Girls like these could catch their deaths in this weather!" By the time Elric entered the room Turmeric had already laid his girl down on one of the reclining couches. He pushed past again in the other direction, heading for the stairs. "Light the fire, will you!"

Elric sighed as Turmeric vanished into his chambers on the first floor. "Certainly, Sir Mustering-Westerly..." he muttered to the room, depositing the fair girl in the nearest armchair. The fireplace was set into the far wall, and he hurried over to it, trying to remember how Bastenhounder went about lighting it. How did this go again...?

He'd just about got something smouldering gently when Turmeric reappeared, this time with a dressing gown over one shoulder and a casual brown suit over the other. For the first time Elric realised that the other man was wearing nothing over his undershirt; it seemed odd that he would have gone on one of his midnight walks without a jacket, especially at this time of year, and practically inconceivable - insofar as anything was truly inconceivable when it came to Turmeric - that he would have done so without a shirt.

Turmeric strode straight over to the darker girl, crouched down beside her, and promptly set about unfastening her heavy campaigner's jacket. Elric started, taken aback. "Now, steady on..."

"Time for modesty later, old chap!" Turmeric replied without looking. Absently he took hold of the dressing gown with a free hand and tossed it over to Elric, who just about caught it and then looked away hurriedly as Turmeric got the girl's jacket off. "Need to get these clothes back to the fellows they belong to. They're stout and stout-hearted but even they might find complaint if I leave them lying around too long out there, what? Besides, no doubt these fine ladies will do much better in dry vestments. See to the other one, will you? Time waits for no man, don't you know."

Elric decided that this was as good a point as any to make a stand.

"Now, see here, Turmeric," he said firmly, turning back to the other man and then looking away immediately afterwards as he saw that Turmeric had now removed the girl's trousers... or at least, removed from the girl the trousers she was wearing, whomever they might actually have belonged to. He suddenly found himself fixating on the fact that neither girl was wearing shoes or boots. "I think I understand that you're just trying to help, or that you think you're just trying to help, but this really isn't on. We can't just -"

"Fine, I'll do it, then," Turmeric said evenly, hurrying past him and relieving him of the dressing gown once more. "Oh, sorry, old bean, do go on. I'm listening."

"What? Oh, well..." Elric found his train of thought had been well and truly derailed. Turmeric had a habit of doing that. "Just... well, I know you know this already, and all that, but you can't just go around picking up girls you find out and about in London. That's kidnapping, you know."

"Nonsense," replied Turmeric, tossing a pair of trousers to one side. "They were out in the park, on a night like this, and they had no clothes on. I could either do this, or I could just leave them there and let them get snowed under. Gentlemen have to make choices like that, Mumblers. Take a look at the Manual; I'm sure you'll find it in there."

"Maybe, but... What do you mean they had no clothes on? Why not?"

"Dashed if I know." Turmeric straightened up and fastened the sash of his gown firmly around the girl's waist. "They didn't want to tell me." He gathered up the fallen garments into a small bundle, then tucked that under one arm. "Keep an eye on them, will you, old bean? I'll be back in just a moment."

Elric made the mistake at that point of taking a breath, and by the time he'd finished and opened his mouth to say something, the front door was already banging shut.

And that, Elric supposed resignedly, was that.

---