Prompt #328. Poetic License. A character writes poetry (doesn't have to be good poetry).

Takes place in the first year (probably within the first few months) of Watson's marriage


Noise? No, too general. Copious noise? Wordy and too general. Cacophony? No, that implied more than one source. Racket?

That still did not quite fit, and I reread the sentence before sending a pointed glance at the small rabbit tied up on my desk.

"Are you going to tell me the word you want?"

Clamor. Row. Din.

Din. One letter off "den," naturally. A snort acknowledged my silent thanks as it continued relaying the narrative. This story would be done shortly.

And hopefully before Mary returned. While I doubted she would send me to the asylum as Holmes would, I did not know how she would react when faced with the magical. Better to avoid the potential problem completely.

Holmes caught McClain at The Hopper as he planned, I wrote, ignoring the rabbit's chortle at the pub's name, and Lestrade set the trial for a few days later. The last I heard indicated enough smuggling and burglary charges to make a minimum sentence span the rest of his natural life.

Done. I breathed a sigh as the bonds fell from a much calmer rabbit. This one had been difficult to catch and had escaped more than once when Mary inadvertently interrupted. A finished first draft provided not a little relief.

Though I would have to wait a while to edit it. The creature willingly curled up in my desk as the front door opened, then shut. Mary's light footsteps sounded in the hall.

"John?"

"In here, Mary." One hand closed the drawer as I stood. "Did you enjoy your time with Mrs. Forrester?"

"Always." Her bright smile colored the word, evident even before I met her at the door. "The littles are demanding they are big, and the older children say they miss me and wish I would come be their governess again, but Miss Woodsworth does an excellent job. The three of us were able to share tea while the youngest took their nap. I am glad our friendship has continued though I no longer work there."

"As am I." I never tired of her blush when I stole a kiss. "What do you say we go out tonight? We have not tried that new restaurant north of Regent's yet."

Rather, she had not. I had been there several times, though never in the humans-only section. They served excellent food, and our choice of tables would prevent anyone from the magical side approaching to talk.

She made no answer as I followed her to our room, probably mentally checking our finances. Despite not gambling in years, I did not trust myself with our household budget, and Mary had proven herself so adept that I simply never worried about it. I earned most of our money, but she managed it.

Added to it, too, I suspected, but we had not yet found a reason to discuss that.

"I think that's a wonderful idea," was her eventual reply. "Now or later?"

"Whenever." I had missed luncheon, but she had just finished tea. I could wait. "I know you want to change clothes, and you mentioned something about a project this evening. We do not have to go now."

She hummed an agreement but made no true answer, and I wandered through the kitchen on my way back to my office. A slice of bread would keep my stomach from announcing how little it wanted to postpone supper.

And reveal the tiny rabbit hiding in the back of the cupboard. I slowly set the bread back in its place, checking the hall as I did so.

Clear. Mary must have decided to use the washroom. With any luck, I would only need a minute to coax the infant into joining the nest hidden in my office.

"Hello, Little One. I did not expect to see you here."

Faint squeaks answered me as it curled further into the corner. Strange. The infants did not normally hide from me. I moved to lean against the counter, one ear listening for Mary though I softly addressed the young one.

"Easy. I'll not hurt you."

Beady eyes glistened in the ambient sunlight, almost fearful in a way that I did not understand, but the initial instinct to hide gradually dissipated at my quiet tone. Its small, pink nose quivered at the carrot I pulled from a pocket.

"I know where you can find a warm nest with plenty of food," I continued, setting the offering on the shelf when it refused to take it from my hand. "Company, too, where you can play as much as you like."

Another few seconds let it study me, then two hops carried it out of its corner to where I had left the treat. I struggled to hide my confusion. I had never seen one vary the length of its "steps."

"Are you injured?"

Not hurt.

Good. I would have expected a simple "no" from one so young, but both the communication and the nibbles disappearing from the carrot proved I was making progress.

Except I had not yet felt the connection associated with being the object of its search. Could the creature be lost?

"For whom do you search?"

Doctor. Lady.

Said in the same almost singsong tone as its other reply, I finally recognized the pattern. I had never heard of rabbits communicating in trochees, but the words themselves distracted me from the rhythm—for the moment, anyway. It sought a lady?

"You are looking for Mary?"

Lady. The word gained an air of agreement, though the creature's focus remained on the shrinking carrot. Poet. Kitchen.

The treat rolled slightly, and two hops—one long, one short—followed to connect clues to memory. Just as "plot bunnies," as Harry had called them, brought prose, Nicolas had mentioned that another kind of rabbit brought poems. I had never thought to encounter one in my own home.

Nor had I expected Mary to hide the magical from me when she knew I wrote. Such a combination required another question.

"Can she see you?"

Sees us. Lady.

Happy squeaks announced its gratitude as it finished off the last of the carrot, but I simply watched its two-part hops take a lurching path through the cupboard. Mary could see them and therefore knew what they were. Why had she never told me?

Any number of reasons, none of which were necessarily correct. I would ask her later.

Or now, if the animal let me.

"Do you want me to call her in here?"

Lady. A particularly high jump nearly knocked its head against the next shelf. Lady. Lady.

Alright. That was undeniably a "yes," and I chuckled but stepped far enough away to avoid scaring the creature with my volume.

"Mary?" Rustling carried from the bedroom to prove she could hear me. "Since when do you write poetry?"

The faint noises silenced, then rapid footsteps announced she hurried towards my voice.

"Why are you—" The question cut off when she found me in the kitchen, an open cupboard behind me. A glance checked counter and table before a familiar guardedness entered her tone. Every writer knew to be wary of discovery. "What makes you think that?"

"This evening's 'project' was waiting behind the bread."

The creature poked its head out to blow a raspberry at her before hiding again, and I let out a laugh. It must have already found the warren to have learned that.

Mary's caution fled at the sight. "I wondered where it would hide today. That creature has been tailing me for almost a week." Curiosity entered her gaze as she glanced between me and the creature. "How can you see it, though? You do not write poems."

"I do not need to." That explained why she had never told me. She thought the rabbits exclusive to poetry, and a silent request brought a thump from the other room. "Most rabbits only show themselves to their intended human, but creatures of creativity are not the only magical beings. Can you see anything in the hall behind you?"

I did not have a way to ask a nisse, dwarf, or any other creature to pay us a short visit, but I could show her that rabbits were not limited to poetry. A glance toward my office produced a double-take, then a full stare.

For good reason. Teaching a proven novice a lesson on the magical realm provided one of the very few things that would temporarily empty a warren, and several dozen rabbits of all ages crowded my door, each vying to see and be seen. From the near infants nosing the doorframe to the older juveniles bouncing for attention, all had answered my call.

Only for a moment, though. Once assured she had seen them and would not doubt the experience, they vanished as one back to their nest. She stared for several seconds.

"John, I…"

The words trailed away in disbelief. One hand on her shoulder acknowledged the murmured words. "You know I write narratives." A pause waited for her nod. "Rabbits bring stories, whether poetry or prose. The ones that follow me built their warren in my office. Did you never meet anyone that could teach you of the magical realm?"

"Magical realm?" she repeated. Beautiful blue eyes tore themselves from the empty doorway to stare at me. "What do you mean 'realm'?"

"The folklore is true." Her eyes widened, as did my smile. I had not received the privilege of teaching a novice before. "Lutins, elves, faeries, nisse, dwarves, they are all real. Holmes' compositions come via canary, and many painters describe a color-changing lizard that matures with the painting." Another raspberry sounded behind me. "And you already know how writing works."

Half-hearted growls announced how little the creature appreciated being omitted, but I kept my eyes on Mary despite a silent acknowledgement. I did not need to describe the animals she already knew. She looked slightly overwhelmed as it was.

"You have always—?"

I nodded. "I saw my first at age six. Harry knew what they were, and the town librarian was able to tell me more. I have met many of the other species since then."

Mostly on my trips north. I frequently timed a week's holiday to visit Martha near the summer solstice so I could spend a day or two at the Pole, but she did not need to know that yet. Aside from not unloading too much information at once, I rather hoped to make Nicolas' yearly visit a Christmas surprise.

Her eyes flicked again between me, the cupboard, and my office doorway, but shock faded before my own worry could bloom. She would accept this with the same ease that had accepted a certain eccentric detective.

"What other species?"

"Far too many to list while standing in our kitchen." A smile tempered the deflection. "Do you want to catch your rabbit first?"

She thought for a long moment, then stared past me until grumbled agreement drifted to my hearing. Digging signified a temporary nest, which meant we would have to clean rabbit food from the bread cupboard later, but the bits of grass would not do any harm. She frowned when I bypassed the sitting room on my way towards the front door.

"Where are we going?"

"I can answer over supper," I replied easily. "My rabbit talked straight through luncheon. I have no wish to wait until midnight to eat."

"But—"

The protest cut off, concern announcing the learned fear of discussing this in front of the wrong person. I would eventually have to warn her that Holmes fell into that category, but that could wait until she knew more about our world.

"The restaurant's tables have adequate space to provide privacy," I promised. "If you truly wish to stay here, we can, but we will be in no danger."

A grimace said she trusted me enough to know that. "It's just—"

The words cut off again, and when she could not find a way to restart, I finished for her. "Just that you have spent years hiding it?"

A faint smile bypassed her continued uncertainty. "Yes, I suppose that's it. You are sure?"

"Very." Especially considering this restaurant's magical section, but that was better left for our arrival. "We will be alright, and it will let me teach you some of the more indirect phrases common in mixed company."

"What if someone asks?"

"You want to write a book, of course." I made no effort to hide the mischief infusing my tone, "and you asked me for help. Everyone knows I am a writer, dear."

Worry fled behind a light laugh. "You have done this before, haven't you? Met someone away from home to discuss what you had to hide?"

"Many times, but never with such a lovely lady." She blushed again, to my delight. I held her jacket before donning my own. "You've mentioned reading many of the myths as a child. Did you ever read the more traditional stories?"

No, so I started at the beginning, describing the origins of the tales as Nicolas had relayed to me and how they fit into the existence of the magical. Even limiting mention of the many friendships I had acquired over the years still left plenty of information, and the evening passed in mutual enjoyment. I would forever remember her constant smile and endless questions. No wonder my old librarian had welcomed my every visit. I enjoyed teaching just as much as she did learning.

"No, the Pole is not a winter wonderland focused solely on Christmas. I thought you said you had not read the traditional stories?"

We would need more than one evening to cover everything.


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