PEANUT ACTUALLY
PART 3
The shootings could begin as soon as the next weekend came. The saucy photographs were to be taken in order of the zodiac signs, that was to say, beginning with aries and ending with pisces. Sirius only wound up doing it that way because he had gotten some lists mixed up.
The chap who was first in line for a saucy photo session was a grade 6 Ravenclaw by the name of Mark.
The entire calendar team plus the models as well as curious spectors magi-transported themselves to East Mead (those below grade 6 and Peter took the bus), where Mark was to have his photo taken lying in Old Man Neeson's sheep's pen wearing papier mache ram horns and very little else.
It took no time to set everything up and get the picture taken. Sirius snapped about ten, said thank you Mark and then they could all move their stuff to Old Man Neeson's cow patch near by.
The cows were out, all hanging out at one side of the patch. Sirius stopped his walking tripod on the other side of it. Here was a lovely oak to function as background.
"Ok then Fletch," he said, adjusting his beret and scarf. "I think you knew what you were getting yourself into when you so desperately wanted to be in this calendar."
"I did. It's why I brought this bucket of brown sauce," said Fletch.
"Actually we're not doing the sauce bit after all. I don't know why but the zodiac idea was just more popular with the models."
"I think it's because people are a bit self-centered."
"I think so too. Ok I'm going to set up my camera and do some stuff with it. Why don't you-"
Woosh. Fletcher was out of his clothes before Sirius even finished that sentence. He looked over his sunnies.
"I think I might have to zoom out."
"Thank you."
James handed Fletcher a red towel.
"Take this. It's to make yourself decent."
"Guys! I did have a bath before!"
"Did you really?"
"But I got rid of it."
"You're supposed to use the towel to cover up those darling buds of yours."
"Oh I see. Aren't we doing saucy after all?"
"Not that saucy."
Fletcher took the towel and went to pose by the oak, holding the towel before his darling buds.
"Ok Fletch that looks great," said Sirius. "Now remember, you are one saucy bull! You have horns! You have big horns! Your horns are massive! Look over there, a spaniard, olé! Your horns are so big! Excellent stuff!"
While Sirius kept not actually taking any pictures, James and Remus went inside the cowshed. All the booths were empty in there, except one. Here was Old Man Neeson's bull.
"Or, is it an oxe?" James asked.
"I think he said get the bull."
"Does it even make a difference?"
"I think it makes a huge difference."
They looked over the booth door, at the bull. The bull stared back at them.
"It's a lot bigger than I thought it would be," said James. "Being killed by a bull has to be pretty rare, right?"
"I think so, too. I think that to be killed by a bull, you would at least have to seek one out and try to handle it without any previous experience or knowledge."
"If you have something to say don't say it. I bet that you are more likely to be killed by a shark than by a bull. And then you are more likely to be killed by pigs than by sharks. You are statistically more likely to be killed getting into a car than than getting into a tank full of hungry and threatened sharks, I read that somewhere. It was a scientific study."
"Are you sure that's what you read?"
"Just look at it. I don't think it looks aggressive, do you?"
"I don't see puffs of smoke coming out of the nostrils."
"I know! It's cool as a cucumber! Let's do this."
James unhinged the door, opened it slightly, then closed it very fast.
"Aaahh I can't do it I'm such a wuss!"
"Do we absolutely need it for the photoshoot?"
"Of course we do. I told Padfoot we'd get it. When he asks where the bull is we can't just tell him we got scared!"
"Well then maybe he can get the bull himself!"
"Think! I mean we're grade 6 wizards! We should at least be able to transport a bull!"
They thought long and hard, trying to recall a class that had covered bull transporting. They just couldn't remember one.
"I know!" said James. "What if you were to use those balls of yours!"
"Look, there is nothing wussy about respecting a bull!"
"No, I mean those balls where you keep your fairies. The balls that you throw on fairies to trap them, so you can carry them around in your bag."
"Oh do you mean my catchys?"
"Yes! Just throw one of those at the bull!"
"I suppose I could do that. I'll just see if I have a spare. I think they might all be full. One sec."
He opened his bag and rummaged through all his catchy-balls.
"I might have to release one. Not that one. Not that one. Especially not that one. I forgot I once got my hands on a pair of knockers."
"Good for you what about this one?"
James took a catchy-ball and threw it on the floor. All that appeared out of it was puffs of smoke. James picked up the empty catchy-ball halves.
"What was in this one?"
"A knocker."
"Cool. What do they do?"
They could hear something within the walls knocking. Shortly after the entire shed collapsed.
Fletcher pouted. He turned around and bent over. He yanked the towel away from his bum.
"How do you like these rough winds?"
Sirius had to look away.
"Whoever said parting is such sweet sorrow..."
"Are you still taking pictures?"
"Oh yeah lots! Keep those saucy poses coming! Groovy baby!"
Sirius wasn't going to waste any negative on Fletcher's hot eye of heaven. He was wondering what was keeping that bull. when the cowshed broke down behind him. Turning around, he could see James and Remus emerging from a hill of debris. A bit bruised and scratched, they went around the back of the fence and threw a catchy-ball at the oak. And lo, a bull appeared. After that they found themselves another tree by which they could sit down and patch themselves together.
It looked like a standard night out basically.
"You must have taken hundred pictures now!" said Fletcher. "What pose do you want me to do next?"
The bull was just nosing around the oak, taking no real notice of Fletcher and his red towel. Sirius hadn't had any plan in mind, but he was inventing one now.
"Ok here's what I want Fletcher. Lean against the tree. Try to be sexy about it. That's no sexy that's cheesy. Give me nonchalant. Eh it will have to do. Ok hold that pose and face."
The bull was coming around the tree, still sniffing legumes in the grass. When both Fletcher and the bull could be seen through the camera lens he began to take some pictures, but what his artistic vision really craved was some sort of interaction between the two. He wanted a kind of "man versus animal" thing going on, or "Fletcher versus animal". He wanted Fletcher to become the bull whisperer.
"Or the bull, to become the man whisperer..," he whispered.
"WHAT?"
"NOTHING! Maybe the real animal...is man..."
"WHAT?"
"NOTHING!"
Sirius pretended to take some more pictures, while he pondered this.
"Hey how's it going?" James asked, his sores and bruises already healed by the looks of it.
"It's alright. But I would really like it if Fletcher would touch it on the nozzle. Should be fine, right?"
"I don't see puffs of smoke coming out of it."
"Exactly!"
"I might be able to arrange that! FLETCHER CLOSE YOUR EYES!"
James ran around the fence, hopped over it at the back and snuck closer to the tree. He knew he had to befriend the bull, gain its trust. It looked at him.
"Hey there, big guy!"
"You're making me blush!" said Fletcher, still posing with eyes closed.
"Hey Fletch listen! We went and borrowed Old Man Neeson's giant dog and put a viking helmet on its head, for horns."
"But viking helmets didn't actually-"
"Everybody's grandma and dog knows that viking helmets didn't actually have horns! Oh, sorry big fella, didn't mean to raise my voice there."
"That's ok, handsome."
"It's a helmet with horns in any case. Without opening your eyes, could you just touch Foofie on the nose? I will help you find it. Come here, come here you magnificent beast...""
"Sure thing you splendid creature! Where is this dog? What breed is it?"
"Oh it's a giant bull...dog."
"A giant bulldog?"
"Giants have bulldogs. And they are giant."
"French or English?"
"Uhm French then."
"Good because I here English bulldogs are so fat they can't even mate."
"Well this guy definitely doesn't have that problem."
"No because it's French and they are excellent lovers I hear."
"It's a dog. And the French aren't better lovers that is just a rumour spread by the French."
The bull had already been heading around the tree on its own. Now it was so very near Fletcher, that James could take his hand and guide its to its pierced nozzle. Then he let go, slowly, awaiting reaction.
"Oh wow that is a big sloppy nozzle!" said Fletcher.
"Yeah well it's a giant bulldog, innit? Not you, baby! You're not a bulldog! You're a real bull! Yes you are! Yes you are!"
"Yes I am!"
"Oooh can I touch your ring?"
"Ok now you're making me uncomfortable."
Sirius gestured for James to get out of the shot, so he hid behind the tree.
"That is looking absolutely perfect Fletch!" he yelled. "I'm taking lots of pictures now! Groovy baby! You're a lemur! Stroke it on the nozzle! Excellent! Hold its face between your hands and face it! Marvellous! Perfect! Go in for a suggestive almost-snog- It's like you are reading my mind! You are serious about this shoot, I like it!"
"You know," Fletcher yelled back, as well as right in the bull's face, "I've never really interacted with dogs before! I am actually a little scared that they will bite me. That is something I'd really like to change. People who have dogs, they seem to have such a special bond with them."
"Well you know what they say: you are statistically more likely to get killed getting into a plane full of napping werewolves than you are being runover by a steamroller."
"What? What's that got to do with anything?"
"Or was it trying to sit on a shark rather than be hit by a seahorse?"
"How's your mum by the way?"
"Who? What mum? Oh, my mum."
"Is she better?"
"She doesn't want to change. My mum is a total werewolf. Although not an actual one, mind. That would be me. I mean I'm not either. Hi Moo what's up? I'm getting sort of hungry."
"It's going to be one of those days is it?" Remus asked, looking at his watch.
"One where we look into each others eyes a lot?"
"It's twelve. "
Sirius took some more pictures until the film ran out. Then he decided to have a quick fag. Fletcher was still whispering sweet nothings to the bull.
"Why are you asking me about my mum Fletch?" Sirius yelled. "Is it because you think I am acting weird? Because that is offensive!"
Then he put the lens cap on the objective.
"How's your mum doing, Moo?"
"Before you shout any further," said Remus. "I just wanted to let you know that Old Man Neeson is coming over. Even though I should have let him prod his pitch fork up your-"
"Old Man Neeson is coming over!" said James, sticking his face between theirs. "We need to leave!"
"Arse is not such an offensive word," said Sirius. "You didn't need to interrupt that."
"Sorry I thought he was going to say uranus."
"Hm."
"Well I was going to say bellend," said Remus.
"Oh. So you are using the Rude Word of the Day Calendar?"
"As sure as %¤# $. Hey nice telegraph!"
"Thanks!" said James. "Can we leave now, or do you guys need to look into eachothers eyes some more?"
"I can look into his eyes all day," said Sirius.
"Well can you do it a lunch? I'm getting hungry."
So was everybody else. The crew and supporters hurried away from the Old Man Neeson's cow patch. Nobody told Fletcher.