Well, there was never any question there'd be one of these from us. It just took us a while to feel up to it, as neither of us have much experience with eulogies. The man deserves our best effort, though, and we hope you enjoy it.
Miss Minty's writer was able to actually attend the memorial service in Liverpool in real life. I won't go into much detail in order to protect the family's privacy, but it was a beautiful service and a worthy tribute. She was going to do a separate tribute on her other account ("Laburnum Steelfang") but thought that might be too much. Besides, this was hard enough to write, emotion-wise. I hope it's worth the effort.
Obviously set after the end of the 2007-08 OFUR year; Suzi is nineteen (and decidedly smarter than her sixteen-year-old self) and Thom is twenty-three. Doesn't make a lot of difference and it shouldn't spoil the story, but just FYI.
"Are you ready?"
Suzi Smith, otherwise known as Suzianna Goldenfur, nodded and, with her left paw, clutched the hood over her head to prevent the cold February wind blowing it off. Her right paw was at her mouth, where she gnawed on the index claw to prevent herself sobbing. Thom crouched and wrapped a paw around her shoulders.
"Damn, it's been, what, three years? It's good to see everyone again. Shame it had to be for this," he said.
Suzi noticed a hitch in his voice. "Are you crying?"
"N-no!" the weasel protested. "I ... I have a cold."
"Hey, guys," came a voice. They turned to see Agent Foxglove, her usual perkiness dulled. Her pink ear-ribbons had been replaced with black, and she was wearing her eyepatch. "Good to see your ugly faces again," she said, smiling sadly. "Sheesh, look at the crowd. I think everyone from every OFUR year since it started has shown up."
"Lucky us, the PPC have a front-row view," said Laburnum, pushing through the crowd and grabbing the paws of the weasel and mouse. Marile slithered behind her, butting gently at her owner's back and whimpering softly. "You too. Miss Minty said to bring you along, sort of a reward for your efforts during the ... well, we all remember that." She opened a portal, grinning weakly. "Perk of the job. C'mon."
The portal led to the bottom of the great quarry, at the edge of a roped-off stage, upon which Mister Kit and Miss Minty stood beside a microphone, clad in their usual green, but with the addition of black armbands. Suzi looked up; rows had been dug out of the quarry sides, leaving wide ledges on which to stand. The place was filled to the brim with hundreds of creatures, from shrews to rats to badgers to foxes to humans to dragons; the preferred fursonae of students, ex-students, and PPC agents, brought together in grief. No canon staff members were present; they'd had their own ceremony earlier, and were currently setting up the wake at the OFUR building, to which the students and graduates were also invited. If Suzi was any judge, that could go on for weeks.
A glance to the left showed the PPC agents and a few civilian HQ-dwellers taking their places. Laburnum was chewing her lip and allowing Marile to coil around her. Foxglove's remaining eye was glinting wetly. Molly Rath and the little black fox Kieran, another PPC Nursery dweller, were jointly cuddling the sobbing Moses, Stormsong and Skyfire were ruffling the childrens' fur gently, and Snowspine was standing beside them, looking at the ground. Kestrel the ferret was hugging her adoptive son, the infant half-demon Artemis Crowley, and trying to conceal the fact that she was weeping into his fur. The child in question had taken the form of a tiny winged polecat, and was squirming uncomfortably; either his infernal nature made him uncomfortable with the reverence displayed, or he was just fussy. Adder and Deuce, a beech marten and a fox, wrapped their paws around Kestrel's shoulders and patted Artemis to calm him. Drake the fox was hugging Naomi, who was in her ratel form, and for once she seemed grateful for it.
Minty cleared her throat and spoke into the microphone. They must have had some magical help from the staff of a different OFU, probably the Harry Potter one, as her voice was loud enough to be heard clearly at the top of the quarry, yet comfortable to listen to up close.
"We come here today to honour James Brian Jacques, better known as Brian. Author, poet, and friend. Yes, even to those here who never met him face to face, he was a friend to all of us."
Foxglove choked and hugged Agent Tarian, a piebald mouse, who looked slightly embarrassed, but hugged her back. Agents Kitty and Alec bowed their heads solemnly.
Kit, head bowed, took the microphone. "Now, when we at the Official Fanfiction Universities say our writers' memories linger on, we mean it a little more literally than most Real World people do. Well," he chuckled humourlessly, "we just got back from emailing Headmaster Tolkien about the news, and the Professor in question died before the OFUM was built. But trust me when I say it isn't the same as the real thing. The real authors don't run the OFUs themselves, those are simply fictionalised versions of them who can interact directly with the fictional characters. I shan't get into too much detail, but I will say that they're not allowed to have any direct contact with the Real World. Sorry, that's unavoidable. I don't want to build up false hope."
Suzi gnawed on her finger again, trying to prevent her eyes watering. Agent Kyran, the badger PPCer, kept his expression carefully blank and held his salute. His work partner, Terry Collins, who was in the form of a hare, patted Kyran's back, and the dark-furred squirrel who was the preferred animalian form of Agent Freya huddled up to Terry in turn.
"But, on the other hand, the real one isn't completely gone," Kit continued. "I know it sounds trite, but as long as you remember him, he is still there in a way, and he wasn't the type of person who'd ever be easily forgotten. I like to think he is keeping an eye on us, too; I don't think he would have wanted to abandon us."
Agent Cassie, a hare, smiled weakly at these words and nodded. Her workmate Nat, a squirrel, offered her a tissue. Agent Danny nodded in agreement with Kit.
"I don't feel there's much more I can say, so I'll just say to everyone here; it's okay to be sad. Mr Jacques was part of all our lives, and many of our childhoods, and the loss of a beloved writer is going to hurt. Don't let anyone tell you it shouldn't. Maybe very few of us knew him face to face, but to many of us, he was an important part of our childhoods." Kit cleared his throat, keeping his composure with difficulty, and backed away from the microphone. Several of the listeners wiped away tears from their faces, or tried to stifle sobs.
Minty took over, also clearing her throat, and looking at the boards of the stage to compose herself. "Now, there is another author by the name of Chuck Palahniuk, who once said that the dead are only a tragedy if you waste their gifts. While his work is ... very different from that of Mr Jacques, to say the least, I feel they would have agreed on that."
Agents Melpomene and Skirfir, a cat and a raven respectively, nodded in agreement. Another agent, in the form of a mongoose, appeared to be conversing very quietly with herself; in fact the host body Maeryn was talking to her Tok'ra symbiote Kaliel.
"Learn from the gifts Mr Jacques has given you, and use them well. Spread the joy and inspiration he gave you to others, in whatever way you choose, and do your best to make him proud to have called you his readers and his friends. All his fans loved him in our own ways, and I think that in a way he loved us all too. Even if he didn't know all our names and faces, we shared something important with him through his works, and in that way we were all his friends."
Agent Chalk, a squirrel, produced a bottle labelled "Generic Alcohol", raised it solemnly, and poured some out into the beakers proffered by Fritz and Silas. Dana and Kayla, now an otter and a wildcat, huddled up to Agent Jenka's wolverine form, not caring in the least that he was still a zombie.
"As Kit said, the loss will hurt, but Mr Jacques wouldn't want us to wallow in grief. Be glad for the joy he gave you, and remember the loss of the writer can never take that joy away. To paraphrase his own words, tears are only water, and life cannot exist without water, but there must be sunlight also."
Renee Garrett and Phoebe Claypool saluted. Agent Amber hugged the long tail of her mouse form for comfort. Agents Ian, a squirrel, and Orion, a mouse, glanced up at the sky and smiled.
"And so, we shall say our final farewells, and keep Mr Jacques' memory within our hearts." Minty turned to the sunset and waved a paw. "Goodbye, sir. May the wind be in your sails and your home be waiting."
Kit also nodded towards the sunset, and murmured "Goodbye."
Some of the audience mumbled "Amen," or finally allowed themselves to break down into sobs. Most looked down in reverent silence, letting the spell hold them just a little longer. Someone clapped. Then another joined in, and another, until the quarry rang with mingled weeping and cheering.
"Y'know, I don't think I ever did manage to apologise to him for those godawful fanfics I used to write," Thom said to himself as the group started the walk back to the portal. Some hurried, wanting to get back to the school and either out of the cold or into the feasting, but most preferred to take a leisurely stroll, appreciating the beauty of Mr Jacques' created world. "Or the ones I write now, I still don't think he'd approve of 'em. But at least now I write while I'm sober."
"I'm sure he knows, Thom," Suzi said, taking hold of his paw. "I don't think he was ever the kind to hold a grudge. Didn't strike me as the type."
"Heh, thanks."
"I do wish I'd got to know him properly face to face, though."
"In a way we all did get to know him. Kit and Minty are right, we all knew him through his work, and in a way, that's not so far from friendship. And besides, if not for him, we'd never have met, yeah?"
Suzi smiled – a real smile – clung closer to him, and murmured "Yeah. And Kit's right, he wouldn't have wanted us to mope. Feeling better?"
"Yeah, a bit. You have that effect on me, darlin'." Thom smiled back. "I know what'll cheer us up. Race you back to the portal?"
"You're twenty-three, aren't you a bit old to be playing racing games?"
"Never too old as long as you can run!" Thom broke away from her and charged off, laughing and shoving past Laburnum and Foxglove, who looked at each other and dashed after him, whooping and joining in the laughter. Other walkers stopped to watch, cheering on one or another of the runners, drawn back out of their grief for a while by the reminder of the joys of living.
Suzi chuckled and pursued them, yelling "No fair, I'm wearing heels here!" She kicked the offending shoes off, took them in one paw, and raced to catch up. Behind her, the sun slowly set into the quarry, with one last white-hot glint against the rose-red sky, and the bitter-cold wind died down to a gentle breeze.
JAMES BRIAN JACQUES: 15th June 1939 – 5th February 2011
Sunny slopes and quiet streams, old friend.Bottom of FormBottom of Form