Chaucer hath a twitter

[erastes]

Great giggle to start the morning.

http://houseoffame.blogspot.com/2009/09/chaucer-sparkleth-in-sonne.html

“@trentreznor I love yow. leave the woman with the weirde name and be my industrial galveston”

I don’t think he meant the city, but rather the lover of Edward II but then he’s probably not used to the format yet!!! *chokes*

The other day there was a chat over at Literary Nymphs and one of the features was to write a ficlet based on a set of words, which I had a go at. 

Here’s the list:

1. Hummingbird
2. Shenanigans
3. Don't wake the dog, unless you plan to walk it
4. Lemon Krispy Cremes
5. Bad Hair Day
6. Up and beyond
7. Bare knuckled
8. Tightened the wet leather
9. Give it a tug
10. Rose tattoo
11. You know, that spot on top of chicken shit
12. Magic ring
13. Midnight Haunt

How could I write a Regency based on these?  See below the cut!!

 

Eliot Rosart rolled over and groaned. His head was throbbing a purple and rose tattoo inside his head. It was so violent so as to seem that the drummers behind his temple must burst their way out at any moment.

It can't have been the port, damn it, he thought, trying to open his eyes. I drank only half of what Williams took, I'm sure—but he could not be sure, all he really remember was the brilliant glimmer of William's delicious green eyes, as he pushed the port to him again and again after dinner. Perhaps it was the hare. Yes, that's it, he thought, sitting up and trying not to be violently ill. Jugged hare never agreed with me. It won't be said I am a man who can't take his drink. It was the hare. Bad hare.

Day seemed to be encroaching through his window with alarming speed. Damme, it must be past midday already, he thought. Williams is meeting me at one at the Pump Rooms. His valet, Shenanigans (Eliot had long suspected it wasn't the man's real name, but he was the best valet Eliot had ever had) entered the room and pulled the curtains fully aside. With the minimum of fuss, Shenanigans helped him wash and dress. Over his sumptuous hummingbird-embroidered waistcoat he wore his favourite jacket of dark blue. Williams had once remarked on how it had suited his eyes, and although it was a little small for him, Eliot liked to wear it whenever Williams was in town.

There was some little trouble getting his jacket to button perfectly and Eliot found himself breathing in like a debutante getting into her first corset. "Give it a tug, man," he ordered. "The cloths expensive enough, it will take it."

Walking gingerly downstairs, his mothers abominable spaniel was lolling on the last step, drooling. As tempted as he was to kick the vicious little brute, he heard his mother's plaintive echo in his ears last time he'd done so, and had suffered a bite for his pains.

His phaeton was brought around as he waited in the porch and his mother appeared, holding the vile spaniel in her arms. "Eliot dear, it's pouring with rain. Don't take the phaeton, it's too dangerous."

He kissed her cheek without a word and left, springing into the driver's seat. Grasping the slippery reins, he tightened the wet leather, felt the horse's mouth and set off at a speed that caused his mother palpitations.

He spent the entire day with Williams, walking arm in arm around the Pump Rooms, and ending it, rather drunkenly watching the bare-knuckled fighting in the pit at the back of the Rose and Crown. Crispin (Crispy) Cruncher was taking on a challenger who looked huge, menacing, and promising. They had a pony each on the new man, but he turned out to be yet another lemon. "Crispy Creams him at every punch," said Williams in disgust. Lets get out of here." He turned to smile at Eliot, his teeth shining so white in the gloom that it seemed to give him a magic ring of confidence.

"Let's go that old spot we went to last year," Williams said, quietly. "You know, up and beyond the town, you know, that spot on top of Chicken Shit Hill."

Eliot did remember, all too well. It had been the last—and only time—that Williams had let him investigate the warm hardness inside his breeches, and as they walked through the dark night, staying out of sight of any curious late-night walkers, Williams fulfilled Eliot's hopes by sliding his hand under the slit of his greatcoat and firmly stroking Eliot's arse.

"Williams…John…" Eliot said, allowing himself to be pushed against the rough warmness of a tree, "don't tease. Don't wake the dog unless you plan to walk it."

Williams' cat-like eyes flashed oddly gleamed green in the dark. "Oh, I intend to walk it, dear Eliot." When he brushed Eliot's cheek with a tongue, it seemed oddly rough, rougher than the stubble already forming. "And please, don't mention dogs in my presence again."

Down in the town, men heard an unholy wailing from the top of Chicken Shit Hill. Eliot Rosart was never seen in Bath again, but a pair of mangy cats, one grey, one black as midnight, haunted the streets of Bath thereafter, never seen but without the other.

Comments

[lexin.livejournal.com]

Oh, neat! I particularly liked how you disposed of the Crispy Cremes.

[erastes.livejournal.com]

*g*

Thanks! That was my biggest worry!

[crawling-angel.livejournal.com]

LOL@trent

[erastes.livejournal.com]

did my card arrive? probably not on time due to the bloody post problems,...

[crawling-angel.livejournal.com]

Yes, I just posted. Fannooo! *hugth*

[gehayi.livejournal.com]

Your Regency is beautifully mad. And of course you got cats in there somehow! That could be a whole new sub-genre--Gay Historicals With Cats. (Well, there are already Mysteries With Cats, so why not?)

[erastes.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[emeraldsedai.livejournal.com]

Your Krispy Kreme solution made me laugh out loud. This was marvelous! I can't say exactly why, but the hummingbird-embroidered waistcoat and the fact that it's a big snug just really blew my hair back.

[erastes.livejournal.com]

Thank you, dear! Too many gay guys are the perfect figure in fiction!!

[iulia_linnea.livejournal.com]

Win! Thanks for the giggle.

[erastes.livejournal.com]

Thank you! Glad I could give you a smile.