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Blunt Objects
© 2014 by Walter Reimer
Art by
tegerio
Part 14.
It is common courtesy among all Elves, whether they live in the Kingdom of Faerie or elsewhere, to measure their heights the same way.
That is, from the ground or floor and up to the top of the head. Ears, horns, antlers and so on are not measured. Ayyub, as an example, stood nearly six feet tall, but actually measured five feet seven.
Isabeau was an inch taller, but she never seemed to notice it.
He turned around and found himself looking at a fennec glaring at him. Ayyub tipped his head back slightly to find that the tod facing him stood about six feet tall.
Minus his ears.
He was also muscled about well as Eadward, without the benefit of being a bull. But not so heavily built as to put any undue strain on his shirt or trousers.
Ayyub blinked at the fennec’s appearance, and his tail wagged only slightly as the taller man leaned over him slightly.
Or, rather, ‘loomed.’
“What are you laughing at, Shorty?” the big tod growled.
“I’m not sure,” Ayyub replied evenly, “but I’m certain they can’t stack it that high.”
The tod’s fennec ears semaphored a bit as he thought it over, and he crested at the shorter tod. “Why, you – “
“Cheshire!” Isabeau snapped, and the fennec let go of the ham he was holding.
On a second look, Ayyub decided that it wasn’t a ham the fellow was holding. He’d just unclenched his fist.
His eyes widened as what his beloved said sank in, and he raised a brow. “Cheshire?”
“Yeah, that’s my name,” the big tod said. “Isabeau, this the little kit you’re throwing me over for, then?”
“I’m not throwing you over, Cheshire – I couldn’t even lift you. Ayyub, this is Cheshire Blunt, the, um, fellow I was telling you about. Cheshire, this is my, er, betrothed, Ayyub Sharpears.” She gave Ayyub an encouraging smile, and the fennec offered his right paw.
Only to have Cheshire snort at it contemptuously. “What the Netherhells do you call that? Can’t be a paw; there aren’t enough fingers.”
Ayyub felt himself cresting, and did nothing to stop it. “I had them hacked off, with a sword. What’s your excuse for being so ugly?”
“Right now, you’re the reason,” Blunt said, well, bluntly. “She’s promised herself to me, Runt. So why don’t you scamper back to wherever it is you came from?” He straightened, drawing himself to his full height. “Isabeau deserves better than you.”
“She signed a betrothal with me,” Ayyub growled, “so be a good little kit and – “ He stopped as a meaty finger jabbed him in the chest.
He batted the paw away.
The finger jabbed him again.
He batted it away again, and this time he noticed that his hackles were rising – no, not just his hackles.
All the fur on his paws and bare arms was rising.
Cheshire suddenly took a step back and stared at his paws. “Fuma’s claws,” he snarled, “are you trying to cheat in a fight?”
“No, but I am,” and the two turned to look at Isabeau’s Aunt Verity. The older vixen had a smirk on her muzzle. “I wouldn’t start anything if I were you, Cheshire.”
“Who says so?” he sneered, and poked Ayyub again.
This time a bright blue-white spark jumped across the gap as his fingertip approached the tod’s chest, and both fennecs jumped back a half step, Cheshire grasping his paw and wincing, Ayyub rubbing his chest and trying to suppress a grimace.
“Another one of your Fuma-damned tricks?” Cheshire finally said to Verity.
She smirked again. “Hardly, boy. That was just a way of getting your attention – both of you. Isabeau, put a leash on Ayyub and take him back to Katerina’s place. Cheshire?”
“What?”
“Don’t you start sulking at me, boy. I’m told that you and Ayyub here have a dispute between you – “
“There’s no dispute,” Cheshire said, crossing his arms across his chest defensively. “Isabeau promised to marry me before she took up with this sawed-off – “
“Shut your muzzle or I’ll fry your tailfur – and DON’T interrupt me again, or by Fuma’s Righteous Stink there won’t be enough of you left to sweep up. I’ve arranged a hearing in front of the magistrate here in town – “
“You did?” Isabeau asked.
Verity sighed, and gave her a sweet smile. “Isabeau, my favorite niece, do you want good weather on your wedding day?”
“Yes – “
The smile vanished. “Interrupt me again and you’ll see snow in Midsummer, see if there isn’t.” The younger vixen promptly shut her muzzle. “Better. I expect to see you – all three of you – at the town hall tomorrow morning at the third hour. Magistrate Mendi-Eder will be expecting you to be on time.” She raised an admonitory finger. “So no fighting or anything like that. This isn’t the Long Ago – we Elves are civilized now.”
The three younger fennecs looked dubiously at her, and Verity’s ears went flat. She pointed a finger at Cheshire, who frowned at her. He winked at Isabeau before walking away.
Verity gave Cheshire an obscene gesture as the surly tod stamped off. She turned around and saw Isabeau staring openmouthed at her, with Ayyub standing a pace behind his intended. “What are you two waiting for, engraved invitations? ABOUT – WAIT FOR IT! – TURN! MARCH!”
Her niece and Ayyub turned around and obediently marched off to the Shaded Repose, much to the amusement of the rest of the crowd. The other members of the families laughed and headed back home as well. From what they could hear, they were a better act than the buskers, and both of them were happy that the night hid the blush in their ears and nosepads.
Isabeau’s aunt halted them at the front porch of the inn and adopted a parade-rest stance that Ayyub guessed would have passed inspection in any Army unit. “Now,” she said in a severe tone, “you two have an appointment in court tomorrow morning, so you two kiss and say your goodnights.”
The pair obeyed, stopping only after the older vixen growled. “Isabeau?”
“Ma’am?”
“Go home. Make certain that you have your copy of the betrothal contract before you go to sleep.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Ayyub?”
The tod’s ears flicked. “Ma’am.”
“Go upstairs, say your prayers to The Lady, and go to bed. Dismiss!”
As Ayyub complied, he heard his mother laugh and say, “Verity, I have just one question.”
“What, Hannah?”
“Why aren’t you teaching young mothers how to handle their kits?”
He shut his ears against the laughter from the older family members, and went upstairs to get ready for bed.
© 2014 by Walter Reimer
Art by
tegerioPart 14.
It is common courtesy among all Elves, whether they live in the Kingdom of Faerie or elsewhere, to measure their heights the same way.
That is, from the ground or floor and up to the top of the head. Ears, horns, antlers and so on are not measured. Ayyub, as an example, stood nearly six feet tall, but actually measured five feet seven.
Isabeau was an inch taller, but she never seemed to notice it.
He turned around and found himself looking at a fennec glaring at him. Ayyub tipped his head back slightly to find that the tod facing him stood about six feet tall.
Minus his ears.
He was also muscled about well as Eadward, without the benefit of being a bull. But not so heavily built as to put any undue strain on his shirt or trousers.
Ayyub blinked at the fennec’s appearance, and his tail wagged only slightly as the taller man leaned over him slightly.
Or, rather, ‘loomed.’
“What are you laughing at, Shorty?” the big tod growled.
“I’m not sure,” Ayyub replied evenly, “but I’m certain they can’t stack it that high.”
The tod’s fennec ears semaphored a bit as he thought it over, and he crested at the shorter tod. “Why, you – “
“Cheshire!” Isabeau snapped, and the fennec let go of the ham he was holding.
On a second look, Ayyub decided that it wasn’t a ham the fellow was holding. He’d just unclenched his fist.
His eyes widened as what his beloved said sank in, and he raised a brow. “Cheshire?”
“Yeah, that’s my name,” the big tod said. “Isabeau, this the little kit you’re throwing me over for, then?”
“I’m not throwing you over, Cheshire – I couldn’t even lift you. Ayyub, this is Cheshire Blunt, the, um, fellow I was telling you about. Cheshire, this is my, er, betrothed, Ayyub Sharpears.” She gave Ayyub an encouraging smile, and the fennec offered his right paw.
Only to have Cheshire snort at it contemptuously. “What the Netherhells do you call that? Can’t be a paw; there aren’t enough fingers.”
Ayyub felt himself cresting, and did nothing to stop it. “I had them hacked off, with a sword. What’s your excuse for being so ugly?”
“Right now, you’re the reason,” Blunt said, well, bluntly. “She’s promised herself to me, Runt. So why don’t you scamper back to wherever it is you came from?” He straightened, drawing himself to his full height. “Isabeau deserves better than you.”
“She signed a betrothal with me,” Ayyub growled, “so be a good little kit and – “ He stopped as a meaty finger jabbed him in the chest.
He batted the paw away.
The finger jabbed him again.
He batted it away again, and this time he noticed that his hackles were rising – no, not just his hackles.
All the fur on his paws and bare arms was rising.
Cheshire suddenly took a step back and stared at his paws. “Fuma’s claws,” he snarled, “are you trying to cheat in a fight?”
“No, but I am,” and the two turned to look at Isabeau’s Aunt Verity. The older vixen had a smirk on her muzzle. “I wouldn’t start anything if I were you, Cheshire.”
“Who says so?” he sneered, and poked Ayyub again.
This time a bright blue-white spark jumped across the gap as his fingertip approached the tod’s chest, and both fennecs jumped back a half step, Cheshire grasping his paw and wincing, Ayyub rubbing his chest and trying to suppress a grimace.
“Another one of your Fuma-damned tricks?” Cheshire finally said to Verity.
She smirked again. “Hardly, boy. That was just a way of getting your attention – both of you. Isabeau, put a leash on Ayyub and take him back to Katerina’s place. Cheshire?”
“What?”
“Don’t you start sulking at me, boy. I’m told that you and Ayyub here have a dispute between you – “
“There’s no dispute,” Cheshire said, crossing his arms across his chest defensively. “Isabeau promised to marry me before she took up with this sawed-off – “
“Shut your muzzle or I’ll fry your tailfur – and DON’T interrupt me again, or by Fuma’s Righteous Stink there won’t be enough of you left to sweep up. I’ve arranged a hearing in front of the magistrate here in town – “
“You did?” Isabeau asked.
Verity sighed, and gave her a sweet smile. “Isabeau, my favorite niece, do you want good weather on your wedding day?”
“Yes – “
The smile vanished. “Interrupt me again and you’ll see snow in Midsummer, see if there isn’t.” The younger vixen promptly shut her muzzle. “Better. I expect to see you – all three of you – at the town hall tomorrow morning at the third hour. Magistrate Mendi-Eder will be expecting you to be on time.” She raised an admonitory finger. “So no fighting or anything like that. This isn’t the Long Ago – we Elves are civilized now.”
The three younger fennecs looked dubiously at her, and Verity’s ears went flat. She pointed a finger at Cheshire, who frowned at her. He winked at Isabeau before walking away.
Verity gave Cheshire an obscene gesture as the surly tod stamped off. She turned around and saw Isabeau staring openmouthed at her, with Ayyub standing a pace behind his intended. “What are you two waiting for, engraved invitations? ABOUT – WAIT FOR IT! – TURN! MARCH!”
Her niece and Ayyub turned around and obediently marched off to the Shaded Repose, much to the amusement of the rest of the crowd. The other members of the families laughed and headed back home as well. From what they could hear, they were a better act than the buskers, and both of them were happy that the night hid the blush in their ears and nosepads.
Isabeau’s aunt halted them at the front porch of the inn and adopted a parade-rest stance that Ayyub guessed would have passed inspection in any Army unit. “Now,” she said in a severe tone, “you two have an appointment in court tomorrow morning, so you two kiss and say your goodnights.”
The pair obeyed, stopping only after the older vixen growled. “Isabeau?”
“Ma’am?”
“Go home. Make certain that you have your copy of the betrothal contract before you go to sleep.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Ayyub?”
The tod’s ears flicked. “Ma’am.”
“Go upstairs, say your prayers to The Lady, and go to bed. Dismiss!”
As Ayyub complied, he heard his mother laugh and say, “Verity, I have just one question.”
“What, Hannah?”
“Why aren’t you teaching young mothers how to handle their kits?”
He shut his ears against the laughter from the older family members, and went upstairs to get ready for bed.
Category Prose / Fantasy
Species Vulpine (Other)
Size 175 x 154px
File Size 7.6 kB
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