Part 23 ^_^
"Okay," said Amanda. "Lavender?"
"Check."
"Beeswax?"
"Check."
"Heart's Ease?"
"Check."
"Hair sample, *check*..." she tapped the clippings Scott and she had
donated, intercombed in lamb's wool and spun into a wick that was now
soaking gently in paraffin wax. "Turtledove feathers?"
"Uuuuuuuhhhhhh..." said Scott.
Amanda sighed. "Did you forget, or what?"
"I didn't forget," he said. "I tried, I did. You said all I had to do
was go out there with the seed and whistle and they'd come. They
practically pecked me to death! *And* they wouldn't sit still for more
than five seconds... I was running around out there for an *hour*!"
"*Running*?" echoed Evan. "You never run at *birds*, Cyke. Everyone
knows *that*."
"*How* did you whistle?" asked Amanda.
"Like this," Scott gave her an atypical here-doggy whistle.
"Tch! *Completely* wrong." She got the birdseed off of him and marched
outside. "Watch and learn." Amanda filled the palm of one hand with some
seed, then put her fingers between her teeth for the sort of shrill
whistle that could be used to shatter glass. Or at least eardrums.
She was covered in birds in the space of a few seconds. All of them
were acting completely tame, and treating her as if she were a beloved
member of their family.
Amanda petted a turtledove with her free hand, and carefully captured
it. "Hello, pretty," she cooed. "You a boy or a girl, hm?"
"Ew... Does it matter?"
"Depends on how potent you want the spell," she said, scrutinising the
bird's tail end. "There's a good girl," Amanda sang, petting the bird.
"Have you got a loose feather for me? I hope you do..." Her hand came
away with a downy feather. "*Good* girl."
Evan picked the feather off her hand and put it in a plastic baggie.
"Got it," he said. "One turtledove feather."
Amanda was carefully combing her bird with her fingernails. "No more?
Okay. Off you go." She launched the bird into the air, only to watch it
circle and land on Scott's head. She smiled. "That's a good omen."
The bird relieved itself.
"Um..." said Amanda. "The books didn't say anything about *that*..."
"Can you get this critter *off* of me?" pleaded Scott. The turtledove
was pecking his head.
"Quit standing so straight," suggested Evan. "Maybe she'll get the
idea that you aren't a statue."
Scott glared at him. "Maybe *you'd* like some bird--"
"*Guys*..." Amanda scolded. "Just walk back in, will you? The dove
aught to go home as soon as you move."
The dove did, eventually, go home; but not before it left Scott with a
little 'parting gift'.
"...stoopid bird..." he muttered.
Amanda cleared her throat. "Turtledove feathers. *Check*. White rose
petals?"
"Check," said Scott, who was blushing.
"Heart-shaped mould?"
"Check."
"Double-boiler?"
"You're lucky Aunty O has one of everything in this kitchen."
"Evan..."
"Okay. Check."
"Right," said Amanda, clapping her hands. "Let's get started. Melt
beezwax in double-boiler..."
"My dove. My dearest. My heart's delight."
"I think I might be ill," murmured Jimaine.
"I told you sherbert bombs, fro-ghurt and bubblegum slushees didn't
mix," whispered Kurt. "Just try and enjoy the movie."
"I was *talking* about the movie."
The screen couple frenched yet again, and the music swelled. Jimaine's
personal involvement in the emotional sector dropped to negative
figures. *Double* negative figures.
She sneaked a look at Kurt. He wasn't really involved in the movie
either. He'd just asked for 'something romantic' which was,
unfortunately for them, also the title of the film. A film that was
possibly the saddest piece of excrement that ever rated in the top ten
of forgettable films.
Her stomach churned. Kurt had been right. Her choice of expensive
treats *didn't* mix well. "I mean it," she whispered. "I think I *am*
going to be ill..."
The concern was genuine, at least. "Want to go home?"
"Ja." Jimaine nodded. "I don't think this movie is helping."
Kurt gathered their things and they crept out into the night.
"Now, we've all seen Farscape on TV," said Sara, who had the floor
and, Kitty uncharitably added, almost the ceiling. "So you're all
wondering what's so special about these episodes that we have tonight."
Half the audience chorused, "What's so special about these episodes?"
"Thankyou." Sara grinned. "What's special is that they're *uncut*.
Completely unedited. That means that all the sexy bits and all the
graphic violence is still in."
What the--? *Farscape*? Sex and violence? Kitty had seen season one
playing - usually with Kurt as the sole member of the audience - on one
of the geek channels. Over and over again. The other seasons, Kurt
claimed, weren't being shown because the local channels didn't know what
to do about them.
It was just a dumb puppet show anyway.
"So to prepare you, I have a music video, here from a friend of a
friend of a friend of mine... Roll it!"
The screen lit up with the legend, "Cassanova Crichton"
"Aw*right*..." whispered Hubert. "I've heard about this."
Tom Jones' _Kiss_ blared out, overlain with images of John Crichton
flirting with just about every female (and a few males) that were ever
about.
_Oh. My. *God*..._ thought Kitty. _Nobody was ever naked when *I* was
watching..._
Immediately afterwards, they played the premier episode; this time
with the nude scene.
Kitty was personally shocked that they'd let things like that happen
in a puppet show.
Then she saw the puppet character Pilot.
"Whoah..." she whispered.
Hubert was grinning. "You're looking at the pinnacle of Henson
Creature Workshop art. Isn't he gorgeous?"
Kitty had to nod. He was the coolest alien she'd ever seen. Part of
her was screaming that she was turning into a geek, but it was being
quickly overwhelmed by the part of her that was awed by the coolness of
what she saw.
*And* the hillarious things Hubert's friends were saying at the
screen.
By the time Pizza rolled around, Kitty didn't at all mind turning into
a geek. It was kinda fun.
The finished product looked like the sort of thing found in novelty
shops. A heart-shaped candle with flowers and things in it. Even with
the wick sewn in, it wasn't anything special.
"Now what?" said Scott, who'd had time to wash his hair.
"*Now* we leave it burning in you room. On a plate, of course. Don't
want the wax getting everywhere or a fire starting." Amanda set the wax
heart on a plate and gave it to Scott. "You'd better try to catch some
shut-eye after you light it. There's no telling how much energy the two
imploding spells will give - or take."
"Right," said Scott, taking the thing. Was he sure about this? _Think
of the alternatives..._ Right. He was sure.
He marched up to his room like a man facing an execution and lit the
stupid candle.
Scott watched it burning for a little while. Stupid thing. It wasn't
going to work. But it *was* odd that a wick made partially from human
hair didn't reek. It smelled - here, he sniffed to make sure - sweet.
Really, really sweet. Kinda made him sleepy.
Amanda had told him to get some rest. Maybe it was a good idea. She
did kind of have his best interests at heart. Sweet girl. But not as
sweet as Jimaine. Now *there* was a woman who knew what she wanted...
Thinking two thoughts at once, Scott stumbled into bed and slept. For
a little while, anyway.
The air was clean and crisp, and seemed to have done a lot to calm
Jimaine's stomach. Either that, or she'd used her sorcery to mimic or
borrow his cast-iron stomach.
They walked together in the night.
Jimaine was upset with the way things had turned out. She had this
muscle on her jaw that flexed a lot when she was upset. Margali had
nearly trained her out of grinding her teeth, but every now and again,
she'd start up again.
"I'm sorry about tonight," he said. "I know what you wanted, but - I
really can't give you that. Not yet, anyway. I don't like being in debt.
I hope you can understand that."
Jimaine's jaw twitched. "Yes. I remember making do. Everyone in
Heirelgart does. We were all too poor and too proud."
"Ja, but we were also honest. Well. Maybe except for Uncle Wolf."
Jimaine snorted. "Even Uncle Wolf is honest in his own way. He has a
Code. Not even he would stoop to *some* things."
Kurt laughed at a memory. "Remember when some Arschloch tried to sell
him a truckload of 'pharmaceuticals'? The minute he found out what they
*really* were, he had all the Centaurs coming down on top of the poor
man. Not that he didn't deserve *some* of it, but-- heheheh... You're
right. We're all honest."
"Some are more honest than others," said Jimaine, being cryptic. But
that was a Sorceress' way, so Kurt shrugged it off. "My residence is
down the next road," she said. "Care to walk me up?"
More veiled instructions. Kurt bowed, playing the formal courtier to
the hilt. "Your wish is my command, meine Dame."
It would, in any other situation, have made the perfect romantic
stroll. Intermittent light from the street lamps, the chirping of
crickets, the little fairy lights in the shrubbery. There was even a
picture-perfect moment where a cloud of fireflies cavorted around them,
perfect for musicless dancing and stolen kisses.
And all he could think of was Amanda, and sharing that moment with
her, impossible though that was.
Jimaine lived in a student residence, a blocky, ugly structure that
lurked amongst picturesque gardens like a squat, grey toad in fairyland.
Inside, Kurt could hear a couple having a row, another couple -ahem-
making up, as it were; and several different choices in music,
accompanied by ameteur singers at varying degrees of off-key.
It reminded him that Amanda sang wonderfully, but was shy about it
when caught singing.
Jimaine was on the fourth floor, sequestered in a little bed-sit with
a mouse-sized kitchen and an even smaller bathroom. She'd decorated it
as much as she could, and even then, her apartment said, _A sorceress
lives here._
Impromptu student shelving, always constructed of planks and bricks
gleaned from construction sites, were full of jars that held the more
presentable ingredients for sorcerous spells. Outsiders would assume she
made potpurri, but Kurt knew differently. The other, more unnerving
ingredients would be safely hidden from casual sight.
Her doors and windows were guarded against evil by bunches of herbs,
woven to look decorative. It almost felt - homey. He remembered making
luck tokens like those wreaths, one Christmas, and everyone in
Heirelgart laughing at the irony. Including him.
Her furniture, such as it was, indicated that she was intensely proud
enough to attempt to buy new furniture, instead of doing what every
other student did in such situations - scrounge it for free off of
roadsides and dumps.
She had a table, a couch, two wooden chairs and a bed.
"I'd offer you a nightcap," she said, "but I wouldn't want to break
the law. That, and nobody in America seems to want to sell me alcohol.
Tch! Auslanders..."
It didn't do to correct a sorceress. He'd keep the fact that *they*
were the foreigners to himself.
"Make yourself comfortable," she said. "I'll make us some schokolade."
Ah, chocolate. His lifelong hobby. Kurt grinned and tested out the
couch. Not bad for a student buy. Good cushions. Nice arm-rests. Perfect
for snuggling on with -- Nein.
He couldn't let himself get caught thinking about her. Not here.
Sorceresses had ears for hidden thoughts once in their own realm.
Someone, somewhere, was playing the guitar and losing.
"_Alas my lo-ove/You doooo me wro-ong..._"
"What on *Earth*?" said Jimaine.
"_To caaaaast me off so discouuurrteouslyyyy..._"
There was only one person in the world who could not sing like that.
Kurt knew personally from long periods waiting for him to finish with
the verdammt shower. He opened the window and found that *he* was the
one playing the guitar.
"Scott?" he said. "What are you *doing*?"
Scott wasn't listening to him. "_For IIIIII have lo-oved you oh so
looonnnnng/De-li-ighting iinnnn your company..._"
Jimaine's dress was green. And he *was* underneath her window...
"What the devil are you playing at, dude?" Kurt asked.
"_GREEEENslee-eeves is my deli-ight..._" Scott sang. "_Gree-ee-
eenslee-eeves my heart of gold/GREEENsleeves was my heart of jo-oy/And
who but my la-ady Jimaine..."
"Clappe!" Kurt yelled down at him. "You're not funny."
"I've got to confess my love," Scott returned. "Get lost, Fuzzy. Let
me sing to *her*." He strummed the guitar and cleared his throat. "_I
have been re-eady at your ha-and..._"
It was the way he repeatedly tried to hit the high notes and missed,
Kurt decided, that made Scott's alleged singing style so unique. He
sighed and turned back to his companion for the evening. "Geliebter? I
think you may have an admirer or something. You may want to pop out the
window and get it over with in a hurry, ja?"
Jimaine raised an eyebrow and looked. Scott Summers, one of Kurt's
mutant buddies, was rending _Greensleeves_ into tiny little pieces.
"_To grant whate-ever thou woulds't crave/I have wage-ed both liiife
and la-and/Your lo-ove and goo-oodwill for to haaaavvve..._"
Oh *Goddess!* He was going to slaughter the chorus again...
"_GREEEEEENsleeeeeves was my deli-ight..._"
At that point, the Bayville Student Residence Music Appreciation
Society sprang into action.
"Shuddup!"
"Pipe down out there!"
"Boooooo!"
"Put a sock in it!"
Someone threw a shoe. It missed. Someone else threw a squishy tomato.
It didn't.
Scott kept singing, unperturbed. "_Gree-ee-eenslee-eeves was my heart
of gold..._"
"Booooooooooo!"
"Gerroff!"
"Piss off and shut the fuck up," someone on the floor above hollered.
"I've gotta fucking cram for a bloody English midterm!"
Kurt, drawn by an open line, yelled up, "You have the vocabulary
down!"
"Wiseass," said the English Major.
"_GREEEEEEEENsleeeeves was my heart of go-old..._"
"Boooooooooooooooooo!"
Someone threw a potplant. A *pot* potplant.
"My hash!"
"Sorry dude. Thought it was the dead one."
The dead one followed its live partner. Neither hit Scott.
Various other knicknacks were thrown out of windows in an effort to
stop the hideous singing. Most were traffic cones, though there were
some stolen road signs, odd shoes, and rotting vegetation in the mix.
Most missed.
"_And who but my la-ady Greeeeeeeeeensleeeeeves..._"
"Geleibter?" Jimaine said, leaning on the windowsill. "Under the sink,
you should find a mulch bucket. Could you fetch it here?"
Kurt's presence left her side, and swiftly returned with the bucket
that caught all the drips from the piping and every spare piece of
biodegradable rubbish she had to throw.
"Ready," she said, hefting the thing. "Aiiimmmm..."
"_Thy pettico-oat of sendle whi-ite..._
"Fire." She emptied the bucket.
{Splorp!} "_With gold embroi-oidered gorgeously..._"
"Doesn't give up, easily, does he?" said Kurt, watching the mulch-
covered mutant continue malicious singing. "Bet you can get him with the
bucket."
She threw it with perfect aim, and giggled as she watched it ricochet
off his head.
"_Thy pettico-oat of silk and whi-ite..._"
Not that it did anything to *stop* him...
"_And the-ese I bo-ought thee glaaaaadlyyyyy..._"
Maybe she had a spell somewhere to bind his mouth shut. One that did
*not* involve physical contact.
"_GREEEEEEEEEEENsleeeeeves was myyyy deli-ight/Gree-ee-eenslee-eeves
was my heart of gold..._"
Someone on the first floor frisbeed a cooking pot at his head.
"_GREEEEEEEENsleeeeeeves--_" {Whang!}
Scott fell down.
"Gottim! Yes! I am spartacus! HAHAHAHAHAAA!"
The person doing the victory dance wore her hair in an impossibly long
plait, and covered her head in a polyester scarf. Her manner of dress
was almost always jeans and a shirt that advertised something science-
fictiony. Tonight's selection was _Deep Space Nine_. She bowed to her
applauding audience from her balcony.
"Thankyou. Thankyou. No autographs, please."
While she was soaking up the appreciation of the block, Jimaine and
Kurt journeyed down to survey the damage. Kurt picked up a long stick
from the gardens to poke Scott with.
"What was *that* about?" Jimaine asked.
"I have no idea," Kurt confessed. He poked Scott, who twitched. "It's
a little late for him to try this sort of joke, and he usually gets a
clue at the first pillow." Kurt poked him again, a little more
viciously. "Ach... I'm going to have to drag him home." He dug in his
pockets for change. "Is there a payphone near here?"
Jimaine sighed. Damn. And she'd been about to feed him a potion to
make him as randy as an old goat. "*I'll* call the taxi," she said.
"Anything to be rid of *him*."
"Sorry, Geleibter," said Kurt.
"Nein. Don't be. For once, it has nothing to do with you." She stormed
back to her flat, leaving Kurt out in the cold, poking his compatriot
with a stick.
"Okay," said Amanda. "Lavender?"
"Check."
"Beeswax?"
"Check."
"Heart's Ease?"
"Check."
"Hair sample, *check*..." she tapped the clippings Scott and she had
donated, intercombed in lamb's wool and spun into a wick that was now
soaking gently in paraffin wax. "Turtledove feathers?"
"Uuuuuuuhhhhhh..." said Scott.
Amanda sighed. "Did you forget, or what?"
"I didn't forget," he said. "I tried, I did. You said all I had to do
was go out there with the seed and whistle and they'd come. They
practically pecked me to death! *And* they wouldn't sit still for more
than five seconds... I was running around out there for an *hour*!"
"*Running*?" echoed Evan. "You never run at *birds*, Cyke. Everyone
knows *that*."
"*How* did you whistle?" asked Amanda.
"Like this," Scott gave her an atypical here-doggy whistle.
"Tch! *Completely* wrong." She got the birdseed off of him and marched
outside. "Watch and learn." Amanda filled the palm of one hand with some
seed, then put her fingers between her teeth for the sort of shrill
whistle that could be used to shatter glass. Or at least eardrums.
She was covered in birds in the space of a few seconds. All of them
were acting completely tame, and treating her as if she were a beloved
member of their family.
Amanda petted a turtledove with her free hand, and carefully captured
it. "Hello, pretty," she cooed. "You a boy or a girl, hm?"
"Ew... Does it matter?"
"Depends on how potent you want the spell," she said, scrutinising the
bird's tail end. "There's a good girl," Amanda sang, petting the bird.
"Have you got a loose feather for me? I hope you do..." Her hand came
away with a downy feather. "*Good* girl."
Evan picked the feather off her hand and put it in a plastic baggie.
"Got it," he said. "One turtledove feather."
Amanda was carefully combing her bird with her fingernails. "No more?
Okay. Off you go." She launched the bird into the air, only to watch it
circle and land on Scott's head. She smiled. "That's a good omen."
The bird relieved itself.
"Um..." said Amanda. "The books didn't say anything about *that*..."
"Can you get this critter *off* of me?" pleaded Scott. The turtledove
was pecking his head.
"Quit standing so straight," suggested Evan. "Maybe she'll get the
idea that you aren't a statue."
Scott glared at him. "Maybe *you'd* like some bird--"
"*Guys*..." Amanda scolded. "Just walk back in, will you? The dove
aught to go home as soon as you move."
The dove did, eventually, go home; but not before it left Scott with a
little 'parting gift'.
"...stoopid bird..." he muttered.
Amanda cleared her throat. "Turtledove feathers. *Check*. White rose
petals?"
"Check," said Scott, who was blushing.
"Heart-shaped mould?"
"Check."
"Double-boiler?"
"You're lucky Aunty O has one of everything in this kitchen."
"Evan..."
"Okay. Check."
"Right," said Amanda, clapping her hands. "Let's get started. Melt
beezwax in double-boiler..."
"My dove. My dearest. My heart's delight."
"I think I might be ill," murmured Jimaine.
"I told you sherbert bombs, fro-ghurt and bubblegum slushees didn't
mix," whispered Kurt. "Just try and enjoy the movie."
"I was *talking* about the movie."
The screen couple frenched yet again, and the music swelled. Jimaine's
personal involvement in the emotional sector dropped to negative
figures. *Double* negative figures.
She sneaked a look at Kurt. He wasn't really involved in the movie
either. He'd just asked for 'something romantic' which was,
unfortunately for them, also the title of the film. A film that was
possibly the saddest piece of excrement that ever rated in the top ten
of forgettable films.
Her stomach churned. Kurt had been right. Her choice of expensive
treats *didn't* mix well. "I mean it," she whispered. "I think I *am*
going to be ill..."
The concern was genuine, at least. "Want to go home?"
"Ja." Jimaine nodded. "I don't think this movie is helping."
Kurt gathered their things and they crept out into the night.
"Now, we've all seen Farscape on TV," said Sara, who had the floor
and, Kitty uncharitably added, almost the ceiling. "So you're all
wondering what's so special about these episodes that we have tonight."
Half the audience chorused, "What's so special about these episodes?"
"Thankyou." Sara grinned. "What's special is that they're *uncut*.
Completely unedited. That means that all the sexy bits and all the
graphic violence is still in."
What the--? *Farscape*? Sex and violence? Kitty had seen season one
playing - usually with Kurt as the sole member of the audience - on one
of the geek channels. Over and over again. The other seasons, Kurt
claimed, weren't being shown because the local channels didn't know what
to do about them.
It was just a dumb puppet show anyway.
"So to prepare you, I have a music video, here from a friend of a
friend of a friend of mine... Roll it!"
The screen lit up with the legend, "Cassanova Crichton"
"Aw*right*..." whispered Hubert. "I've heard about this."
Tom Jones' _Kiss_ blared out, overlain with images of John Crichton
flirting with just about every female (and a few males) that were ever
about.
_Oh. My. *God*..._ thought Kitty. _Nobody was ever naked when *I* was
watching..._
Immediately afterwards, they played the premier episode; this time
with the nude scene.
Kitty was personally shocked that they'd let things like that happen
in a puppet show.
Then she saw the puppet character Pilot.
"Whoah..." she whispered.
Hubert was grinning. "You're looking at the pinnacle of Henson
Creature Workshop art. Isn't he gorgeous?"
Kitty had to nod. He was the coolest alien she'd ever seen. Part of
her was screaming that she was turning into a geek, but it was being
quickly overwhelmed by the part of her that was awed by the coolness of
what she saw.
*And* the hillarious things Hubert's friends were saying at the
screen.
By the time Pizza rolled around, Kitty didn't at all mind turning into
a geek. It was kinda fun.
The finished product looked like the sort of thing found in novelty
shops. A heart-shaped candle with flowers and things in it. Even with
the wick sewn in, it wasn't anything special.
"Now what?" said Scott, who'd had time to wash his hair.
"*Now* we leave it burning in you room. On a plate, of course. Don't
want the wax getting everywhere or a fire starting." Amanda set the wax
heart on a plate and gave it to Scott. "You'd better try to catch some
shut-eye after you light it. There's no telling how much energy the two
imploding spells will give - or take."
"Right," said Scott, taking the thing. Was he sure about this? _Think
of the alternatives..._ Right. He was sure.
He marched up to his room like a man facing an execution and lit the
stupid candle.
Scott watched it burning for a little while. Stupid thing. It wasn't
going to work. But it *was* odd that a wick made partially from human
hair didn't reek. It smelled - here, he sniffed to make sure - sweet.
Really, really sweet. Kinda made him sleepy.
Amanda had told him to get some rest. Maybe it was a good idea. She
did kind of have his best interests at heart. Sweet girl. But not as
sweet as Jimaine. Now *there* was a woman who knew what she wanted...
Thinking two thoughts at once, Scott stumbled into bed and slept. For
a little while, anyway.
The air was clean and crisp, and seemed to have done a lot to calm
Jimaine's stomach. Either that, or she'd used her sorcery to mimic or
borrow his cast-iron stomach.
They walked together in the night.
Jimaine was upset with the way things had turned out. She had this
muscle on her jaw that flexed a lot when she was upset. Margali had
nearly trained her out of grinding her teeth, but every now and again,
she'd start up again.
"I'm sorry about tonight," he said. "I know what you wanted, but - I
really can't give you that. Not yet, anyway. I don't like being in debt.
I hope you can understand that."
Jimaine's jaw twitched. "Yes. I remember making do. Everyone in
Heirelgart does. We were all too poor and too proud."
"Ja, but we were also honest. Well. Maybe except for Uncle Wolf."
Jimaine snorted. "Even Uncle Wolf is honest in his own way. He has a
Code. Not even he would stoop to *some* things."
Kurt laughed at a memory. "Remember when some Arschloch tried to sell
him a truckload of 'pharmaceuticals'? The minute he found out what they
*really* were, he had all the Centaurs coming down on top of the poor
man. Not that he didn't deserve *some* of it, but-- heheheh... You're
right. We're all honest."
"Some are more honest than others," said Jimaine, being cryptic. But
that was a Sorceress' way, so Kurt shrugged it off. "My residence is
down the next road," she said. "Care to walk me up?"
More veiled instructions. Kurt bowed, playing the formal courtier to
the hilt. "Your wish is my command, meine Dame."
It would, in any other situation, have made the perfect romantic
stroll. Intermittent light from the street lamps, the chirping of
crickets, the little fairy lights in the shrubbery. There was even a
picture-perfect moment where a cloud of fireflies cavorted around them,
perfect for musicless dancing and stolen kisses.
And all he could think of was Amanda, and sharing that moment with
her, impossible though that was.
Jimaine lived in a student residence, a blocky, ugly structure that
lurked amongst picturesque gardens like a squat, grey toad in fairyland.
Inside, Kurt could hear a couple having a row, another couple -ahem-
making up, as it were; and several different choices in music,
accompanied by ameteur singers at varying degrees of off-key.
It reminded him that Amanda sang wonderfully, but was shy about it
when caught singing.
Jimaine was on the fourth floor, sequestered in a little bed-sit with
a mouse-sized kitchen and an even smaller bathroom. She'd decorated it
as much as she could, and even then, her apartment said, _A sorceress
lives here._
Impromptu student shelving, always constructed of planks and bricks
gleaned from construction sites, were full of jars that held the more
presentable ingredients for sorcerous spells. Outsiders would assume she
made potpurri, but Kurt knew differently. The other, more unnerving
ingredients would be safely hidden from casual sight.
Her doors and windows were guarded against evil by bunches of herbs,
woven to look decorative. It almost felt - homey. He remembered making
luck tokens like those wreaths, one Christmas, and everyone in
Heirelgart laughing at the irony. Including him.
Her furniture, such as it was, indicated that she was intensely proud
enough to attempt to buy new furniture, instead of doing what every
other student did in such situations - scrounge it for free off of
roadsides and dumps.
She had a table, a couch, two wooden chairs and a bed.
"I'd offer you a nightcap," she said, "but I wouldn't want to break
the law. That, and nobody in America seems to want to sell me alcohol.
Tch! Auslanders..."
It didn't do to correct a sorceress. He'd keep the fact that *they*
were the foreigners to himself.
"Make yourself comfortable," she said. "I'll make us some schokolade."
Ah, chocolate. His lifelong hobby. Kurt grinned and tested out the
couch. Not bad for a student buy. Good cushions. Nice arm-rests. Perfect
for snuggling on with -- Nein.
He couldn't let himself get caught thinking about her. Not here.
Sorceresses had ears for hidden thoughts once in their own realm.
Someone, somewhere, was playing the guitar and losing.
"_Alas my lo-ove/You doooo me wro-ong..._"
"What on *Earth*?" said Jimaine.
"_To caaaaast me off so discouuurrteouslyyyy..._"
There was only one person in the world who could not sing like that.
Kurt knew personally from long periods waiting for him to finish with
the verdammt shower. He opened the window and found that *he* was the
one playing the guitar.
"Scott?" he said. "What are you *doing*?"
Scott wasn't listening to him. "_For IIIIII have lo-oved you oh so
looonnnnng/De-li-ighting iinnnn your company..._"
Jimaine's dress was green. And he *was* underneath her window...
"What the devil are you playing at, dude?" Kurt asked.
"_GREEEENslee-eeves is my deli-ight..._" Scott sang. "_Gree-ee-
eenslee-eeves my heart of gold/GREEENsleeves was my heart of jo-oy/And
who but my la-ady Jimaine..."
"Clappe!" Kurt yelled down at him. "You're not funny."
"I've got to confess my love," Scott returned. "Get lost, Fuzzy. Let
me sing to *her*." He strummed the guitar and cleared his throat. "_I
have been re-eady at your ha-and..._"
It was the way he repeatedly tried to hit the high notes and missed,
Kurt decided, that made Scott's alleged singing style so unique. He
sighed and turned back to his companion for the evening. "Geliebter? I
think you may have an admirer or something. You may want to pop out the
window and get it over with in a hurry, ja?"
Jimaine raised an eyebrow and looked. Scott Summers, one of Kurt's
mutant buddies, was rending _Greensleeves_ into tiny little pieces.
"_To grant whate-ever thou woulds't crave/I have wage-ed both liiife
and la-and/Your lo-ove and goo-oodwill for to haaaavvve..._"
Oh *Goddess!* He was going to slaughter the chorus again...
"_GREEEEEENsleeeeeves was my deli-ight..._"
At that point, the Bayville Student Residence Music Appreciation
Society sprang into action.
"Shuddup!"
"Pipe down out there!"
"Boooooo!"
"Put a sock in it!"
Someone threw a shoe. It missed. Someone else threw a squishy tomato.
It didn't.
Scott kept singing, unperturbed. "_Gree-ee-eenslee-eeves was my heart
of gold..._"
"Booooooooooo!"
"Gerroff!"
"Piss off and shut the fuck up," someone on the floor above hollered.
"I've gotta fucking cram for a bloody English midterm!"
Kurt, drawn by an open line, yelled up, "You have the vocabulary
down!"
"Wiseass," said the English Major.
"_GREEEEEEEENsleeeeves was my heart of go-old..._"
"Boooooooooooooooooo!"
Someone threw a potplant. A *pot* potplant.
"My hash!"
"Sorry dude. Thought it was the dead one."
The dead one followed its live partner. Neither hit Scott.
Various other knicknacks were thrown out of windows in an effort to
stop the hideous singing. Most were traffic cones, though there were
some stolen road signs, odd shoes, and rotting vegetation in the mix.
Most missed.
"_And who but my la-ady Greeeeeeeeeensleeeeeves..._"
"Geleibter?" Jimaine said, leaning on the windowsill. "Under the sink,
you should find a mulch bucket. Could you fetch it here?"
Kurt's presence left her side, and swiftly returned with the bucket
that caught all the drips from the piping and every spare piece of
biodegradable rubbish she had to throw.
"Ready," she said, hefting the thing. "Aiiimmmm..."
"_Thy pettico-oat of sendle whi-ite..._
"Fire." She emptied the bucket.
{Splorp!} "_With gold embroi-oidered gorgeously..._"
"Doesn't give up, easily, does he?" said Kurt, watching the mulch-
covered mutant continue malicious singing. "Bet you can get him with the
bucket."
She threw it with perfect aim, and giggled as she watched it ricochet
off his head.
"_Thy pettico-oat of silk and whi-ite..._"
Not that it did anything to *stop* him...
"_And the-ese I bo-ought thee glaaaaadlyyyyy..._"
Maybe she had a spell somewhere to bind his mouth shut. One that did
*not* involve physical contact.
"_GREEEEEEEEEEENsleeeeeves was myyyy deli-ight/Gree-ee-eenslee-eeves
was my heart of gold..._"
Someone on the first floor frisbeed a cooking pot at his head.
"_GREEEEEEEENsleeeeeeves--_" {Whang!}
Scott fell down.
"Gottim! Yes! I am spartacus! HAHAHAHAHAAA!"
The person doing the victory dance wore her hair in an impossibly long
plait, and covered her head in a polyester scarf. Her manner of dress
was almost always jeans and a shirt that advertised something science-
fictiony. Tonight's selection was _Deep Space Nine_. She bowed to her
applauding audience from her balcony.
"Thankyou. Thankyou. No autographs, please."
While she was soaking up the appreciation of the block, Jimaine and
Kurt journeyed down to survey the damage. Kurt picked up a long stick
from the gardens to poke Scott with.
"What was *that* about?" Jimaine asked.
"I have no idea," Kurt confessed. He poked Scott, who twitched. "It's
a little late for him to try this sort of joke, and he usually gets a
clue at the first pillow." Kurt poked him again, a little more
viciously. "Ach... I'm going to have to drag him home." He dug in his
pockets for change. "Is there a payphone near here?"
Jimaine sighed. Damn. And she'd been about to feed him a potion to
make him as randy as an old goat. "*I'll* call the taxi," she said.
"Anything to be rid of *him*."
"Sorry, Geleibter," said Kurt.
"Nein. Don't be. For once, it has nothing to do with you." She stormed
back to her flat, leaving Kurt out in the cold, poking his compatriot
with a stick.