Pearls of wisdom from an octogenarian who’s seen it all…

My grandson’s family got given a gym membership for Christmas two years ago. He proudly tells me they used it twice. He thinks pumping iron a dead bore. His wife said the pool was so chlorinated she came out pale green. And his teenage daughters insisted that the place stank.

This is an extreme case, but research (a straw poll taken at the Cat and Scrotum just before last orders on a Saturday night) suggests that only one gym member in twenty even knows precisely where the place is.

Advice then. Only buy gym membership if you are serious about getting fit.

Bet you aren’t…

A darkling drabble offers a shiver of horror in a hundred words…

Jack was a soulless parasite who specialised in marrying lonely middle-aged women. His latest fiancée was a satisfactorily wealthy soul whose adoration he enjoyed almost as much as her money.

When she wasn’t at the front door to greet him, he called her name. There was no reply, only a single drip, drip. 

Thinking of plumbing he looked upwards only to be hit in the face by a splatter of blood from the partially decapitated body hanging over the banister.

He screamed and ran.

Into the arms of his last but one wife. 

Who had found him.

At last…

Jane Jago

In an effort to educate the nominally literate and inform those with sufficient humility to understand their own lack of comprehension, Esme offers the correct definition of misunderstood words…

Categorize

1. (verb – pronunciation note: cat-ego-rise) Making a fuss of your pet to boost its self-esteem. Example: Tibbles had hidden from the vacuum cleaner, so her owner quickly categorised her..
2. (proper noun – pronunciation note: Cate-go-rise) An alarm clock made by a brand associated with a famous actress. Example: The new Categorise will get you out of bed looking as gorgeous as Ms Blanchett!.

If you have any words whose meaning escapes you, Esme Crockford is always happy to share her lexicographical knowledge and penetrating insight into the English language.

In a modern-day Britain where the Roman Empire never left, Dai and Julia solve murder mysteries, whilst still having to manage family, friendship and domestic crises…

The working office of the Magistratus had changed considerably since Sextus Catus Bestia had taken over the role in Demetae and Cornovii six months previously. Dai Llewellyn, Submagistratus for the same area, still fondly recalled the simple and yet tasteful decor the previous incumbent had preferred. Bestia, by contrast, favoured opulence over simplicity and substituted extravagance for good taste. But then, unlike his predecessor who had risen through the administrative ranks, Bestia had transferred into the state sector after enjoying a successful career as a commercial lawyer. Dai assumed that impressing business clients required such an ostentatious display of wealth, but the same sat ill with the kind of civic dignity expected of Bestia’s present role.
Not that the man couldn’t easily afford the expensive artwork lining the walls, the rarewood furniture, the bejewelled and gilded bust of the Divine Diocletian and the elaborate full-length golden-framed painting of himself and his wife of a few weeks. That marriage had surely made him one of the wealthiest men in all of Viriconium.
Which was why this present meeting was beginning to make Dai move from frustration into anger. Bestia was sitting in his throne-like desk chair, hands resting on the carved lions that adorned the arms. The late afternoon sun had painted the window behind him with glowing light, adding to the regal impression. He also looked regally bored, as if he found the whole business of overseeing the administration tedious in the extreme.
“I see no reason to bend the rules just because your Senior Investigator has a gut-instinct about something. Cartivel must be close to retirement age and is probably just dyspeptic.” He smiled as if inviting Dai to share the joke.
“I’m not asking you to bend any rules. I’m asking you to sign-off further resources to investigate properly. I would if I could, but have already authorised this case to the limit of my authority.”
Bestia glanced down at the file on his desk. “Indeed. I see you granted SI Cartivel and his team an entire day in man hours. Time they have used to ascertain little more than that this woman was known to be a lupa and known to be willing to take money from clients who wanted more extreme practices than the usual. But there are no grounds that I can see here for me to extend the investigation any further. It would be a waste of public money.”
“If Malina Tesni was a Roman Citizen…”
For the first time, Bestia sounded annoyed.
“If the woman was a Roman Citizen, she would not have been a common British puta who was paid well by an over-vigorous client.”
“Over-vigorous?” For a moment Dai saw the start of a red haze clouding on the edges of his vision and with a supreme effort of will he fought it down, drawing a deep breath and counting silently.
“Distasteful as it is, there was nothing to suggest she had been abused against her will. She was also found with what I am assured would be a substantial payment for a street woman. No doubt an incentive to allow her client more leeway in his behaviour.”
“She was beaten half to death. The autopsy said she died of those injuries having caused severe internal bruising and swelling.”
“It was not murder. There was clearly no intent to kill or why pay the woman and let her go home? At very best it was an accidental death. No one has denied that she was a prostitute and that is a profession that we all know carries certain occupational hazards.” His expression softened suddenly and his voice shifted to something more like friendly cajoling. “You are a good man, a good Citizen and a good administrator, Llewellyn. I do understand why you feel so strongly about this, but you must let it go. It’s for the best.”
Dai had been sitting but now he shot to his feet.
“Let it go? Dominus, the man who did this is somewhere in Viriconium and he could do the same to another woman.”
Bestia lifted one hand from its lion’s head resting place.
“Stop right there. Firstly, I already said that I completely understand where you are coming from with this. Who could not be appalled at by it? But where is the crime? There is no law against prostitution.” He leaned back and shook his head, looking saddened. “If anything the dead woman is the criminal here. The only prosecutable offense I can see is failure on her part to have purchased a license to practice her trade. And, of course, the subsequent charges of tax evasion that would lead to, especially seeing how well she was being paid.”
Dai struggled to find some way to frame things in terms that could penetrate Bestia’s lawyer logic.
“If she was a Citizen there would be unlimited resources made available to uncover the man who did this whether it was deemed consensual or not. What if the man is local and his next victim is a Citizen?”
Bestia was frowning now.
“You should know better than that, Submagistratus. We can’t run the Vigiles on ‘what ifs’. There is no reason to think the man was local, indeed it is more likely someone passing through, staying the night and wanting some entertainment. And even if he was local, you have already spent public money on investigating something that is not a crime. Instead of asking me for more perhaps you should apologise and be grateful that I’m not going to mention that you did so on any official report.”
The red haze rose and this time Dai could do nothing to stop it. His last conscious act was to turn and start walking towards the door. Better to be rude to his superior than get arrested for attacking him.

From Dying on the Streets by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago

Advice on growing old disgracefully from an elderly delinquent with many years of expertise in the art – plus free optional snark…

I am old, that’s no bone of contention
And I got here without intervention
So why would I think twice
On your so-called advice?
Hush your mouth, I’m not paying attention

© jane jago

The streets are a-dancing in autumn’s lost gown
A scatter of leaves that sprinkled the town
Blown with the crisp packets to catch on a hedge
Swept with the dogends under each ledge.
Played with by the children, in drifts in the park
Lifted by blustery winds for a lark
Packed by the tramp of feet, wet from the rain
Swirled down the gutters and blocking the drain.
Golden and orange and yellow and brown
Streets filled with the beauty of autumn’s lost gown.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

A tale of angels, demons and dragons…

“Put your hand on the wings,” Gabriel spoke firmly and Aeva did as she was told.
There was briefly burning pain, but the snake stilled and it seemed that she wore a chain of priceless black links with a pair of diamond wings resting in the notch of her collarbone. However, the palm of Aeva’s hand now bore a blackly outlined tattoo of feathered wings. She stared at her marked palm.
“What and why?” she said flatly.
“The dark lord thus marks his own,” the Fighters chanted.
“It is,” Lucifer said drily a sign of my protection. “I appear to have been particularly lax in my duty where you were concerned.”
Aeva looked into his handsome lying eyes and snorted. “The truth would be appreciated, Dark Lord.”
When Lucifer said nothing she walked to within two handspans of his golden-skinned magnificence.
“Well. I’ll just tell you what I think then. This has little or nothing to do with protecting me. Indeed I am given to believe that you think my existence almost as inconvenient as does the creature who fathered me. No. I think this has to do with making examples. Judging by those of your creatures it has been my fortune to meet, they aren’t exactly dependable and it will only be fear that keeps them in line. And it is my thought that my father and his leman tried your patience too far so they have been made examples of to remind all of your children that you are not a gentle, tolerant father.”
The silence was so profound that the susurration of breath seemed almost indecently loud.
Gabriel’s voice was dry. “We seem to be making a habit of underestimating Aeva Darkstar’s intellect.”
Lucifer grunted, but there was a spark of something that might almost have been respect lurking in the depths of his pitiless eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but Aeva had no wish to hear any more half-truths from anyone so she held up her hand – tattooed palm outwards.
“Just tell me where the missing Messenger was last heard from and I will be about my business.”
Thor cleared his throat in an apologetic manner. “He was last seen flying into the sunset.”
“From?”
“Olympus.”
“Are you seriously telling me anybody was stupid enough to try and fly anywhere from the Greek Gods’ place?”
The goddess of wisdom raised a white, muscular arm. “Yes. We are.”
“You lot are beyond price. You let some fool of a boy leave your mountain in the way most nearly guaranteed to get him killed. And when his family reports him missing you send for me to investigate. What a very good way to abnegate responsibility.”
Athena stood up and stared down at Aeva from her superior height. “Have a care, mortal.”
“Grow up, Athena.” Poseidon sounded hugely irritated. “Have you not been paying attention? If you meddle with the Invigilator, you will also be tangling with Lucifer and his minions. I, for one, will not support you if you fall into a quarrel with that lot.”
The goddess subsided into offended silence and Aeva switched her attention to the sea god. “Is there the remotest chance somebody can be persuaded to talk to me?”
“Oh, I think so. I see no profit in withholding information.”
He waved a negligent hand and an imposing figure with a plaited beard marched stiffly into the chamber. He was followed by a young man in the garb of a priest, a nervous-looking female acolyte, and a veiled seeress. The bearded one opened his mouth then his brain made a connection with his eyes and he pressed his lips together.
Poseidon laughed. “Precisely. Now, of your goodness, tell us what you know about the missing Messenger.”
Beardy bowed. “I know little. Those with me saw more. But I shall begin. The Messenger brought me a package and once I accepted it he was shown from my presence by a newly anointed priest of the temple.”
The priest took up the tale. “The Messenger seemed to me to be excited. He was bright of eye and his movements were quick and jerky. As is my duty, I offered him sustenance. He refused. Smiled as if he had a secret. I handed him over to one of the door keepers and that was the last I saw of him.”
He prodded the acolyte with one bony finger and Aeva knew the impulse to slap him. Hard. But the girl gulped and spoke shyly.
“The draca could not enter the temple, as shifters are anathema. She assumed her mortal form and I thought her beautiful. We spoke together and she told me of the bond between her and her partner. When he came to the gate he was swaggering, but his draca greeted him with a smile. He said some strange words to her and she Changed. They flew off into the sunset and I was afraid for them.”
Aeva smiled. “Can you remember what the Messenger said to his draca?”
“I didn’t understand it. But it sounded a bit like manzy haby.”
“Thank you.”
The veiled seeress spoke in a voice that sounded like the wind in the trees. “For all the sound and fury those two have not passed beyond.”
“No. I don’t suppose they have.”
At the flat pragmatism of Aeva’s voice, the sybil put back her veil and showed the black holes that had been her eyes.
“Art thou she who they call demon’s daughter?”
“I am.”
“Then I am permitted to tell thee this for thy own self. There is a fork in the road close to thy feet, and thou needst one who loves thee in order to pass through.”
Aeva inclined her head. “Thank you.”
The seeress put her veil back over her face and she and her companions stepped backwards through the portal that appeared at their feet.
Aeva turned her attention to Thor as he sat on his bone throne.
“May I have the holding of the names of the missing ones?”
He frowned at her. “Is that needful?”
Aeva just looked at him.
“The mortal is Ove Gunnarssen and the draca goes by the name of Water.”
Now Aeva was truly angry. “I should,” she said icily, “refuse this task and return immediately to my books. You and yours disgust me. You would have sent me and my guards to hunt for the only male born to the most powerful band of berserkers in the whole of Northland in a thousand years without the knowledge that was our geas.”
She ran out of things to say, instead raking the banked seating with hot, angry eyes. It was Lucifer who broke the heavy silence.
“You were not the only one in ignorance, little half-mortal.” He stood up and his dark height suddenly dominated the place. “Who,” he asked in an awful voice, “thought it right to send out an Invigilator without a vital piece of the puzzle she must decipher?”

Aeva’s Challenge by Jane Jago will continue next week

Pearls of wisdom from an octogenarian who’s seen it all…

Why do I have a drawerful of odd socks? I don’t buy odd socks. I don’t make a habit of taking off one sock and leaving it somewhere random. I don’t make a hole in one sock of every pair.

So where do the single socks come from?

Some of them aren’t even from pairs I have ever owned.

Does the washing machine eat socks?

Is there a sock fairy stealing them?

I have no bloody idea. 

But what I do know is that there’s only one way to deal.

Just wear pairs of odd socks and insist it’s the height of fashion…

A darkling drabble offers a shiver of horror in a hundred words…

She picked up the little ghost in the hospital mortuary. It was barely more than a toddler and had been so severely brutalised in life that it couldn’t find any way forward.

When she beckoned, it came, with loneliness furrowing its insubstantial brow.

“There’s room for a small one,” she smiled and it hopped on board quickly as if afraid she might change her mind.

When they touched, the little creature’s loneliness brought her as close to tears as she was able to be.

“Can we find him?”

“I think we can, and you shall watch me drink his blood.”

Jane Jago

In an effort to educate the nominally literate and inform those with sufficient humility to understand their own lack of comprehension, Esme offers the correct definition of misunderstood words…

Egocentric 

1. (adjective – pronunciation note: ego centre ic) Describes a person who seeks to place themselves at the centre of any situation. Example: Being egocentric, Chloe Chatterton managed to get herself indicted for a murder that happened when she was in a completely different country.
2. (noun – pronunciation note: eggy centre ice) Ice cream with a runny yellow centre. Example: The egocentric yolk made Hugo vomit.

If you have any words whose meaning escapes you, Esme Crockford is always happy to share her lexicographical knowledge and penetrating insight into the English language.