Duplicity: Memory for Magnus
Dec. 20th, 2018 01:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
curlytopGeorge is about ten, maybe eleven, dressed in short pants and a school tie that's loosened, his jacket hanging out of his rucksack, all gangly limbs and pointed knees and elbows. He runs all the way back from school. He could take the bus, but the sun is out and Morna meets him at the corner with her tail wagging, so he hikes his rucksack up on his shoulders and just runs. For the joy of it, for the feel of the wind on his face and the sound of Morna yipping in front of him.
He runs straight up the stairs and throws his bag into the coat closet before careening into the kitchen. Morna stops at the doorway between the kitchen and the mud room, her tail thumping on the floor. "Gran! Did you know, there was a bloke called Magellan, and he sailed right round the whole earth?"
"George Finlay Lovelace, your shoes are filthy," Gran says, wiping her hands on her apron. She's dusted in flour, rolling out her ginger biscuits. "Take them off and come in again." She shoes him out, sending a spray of white dust into the air.
George leaps back out of the kitchen to leave his trainers by the door, Gran's voice ringing behind him. "Might as well let the dog in and banish you to the mud room. Have you run all the way home?"
George's socks skid across the kitchen floor when he zips back in. "Nobody'd ever sailed that far before," he says, pulling up a stool to the sink to wash his hands. He doesn't need the stool anymore--in fact, using it means he has to stoop--but it's habit, and he hasn't been tall enough for all that long. "And folks thought he was well mad, but he did it anyway. Sailed right round the whole bloody earth!"
"Language!"
George dries his hands and pulls up a chair at the table, picking up a biscuit round to help cut them out. "People were always having grand adventures in history and in books and things," he says with a sigh, tossing a piece of dough to Morna when Gran isn't looking. "All I ever do is school and sheep. Nobody ever had a grand adventure with sheep."
"Oh no," Gran says, and George turns to her with a frown. She sounds...disappointed. "No, that won't do at all. Lovelaces may be many things, but we are certainly not whingers."
"I'm not whinging!" George protests, and Gran taps his cheek lightly, leaving a spice-scented trail on his face.
"'Nobody ever had a grand adventure with sheep,'" she quotes back to him, and she's right. It does sound like whinging.
"Well, nobody ever did." He puts down the cutter and slumps in his chair.
"Imagine if they did, though," Gran says, nudging him off his chair to find a baking sheet.
George is skeptical, and he peers at her over the cupboard door. "What do you mean?"
"Well, instead of whinging about there being no shepherd adventurers, why don't you think about what a shepherd adventurer would do. Where would he go? Who would he fight? Who would he save?"
"He can't go anywhere! He's got to look after the sheep! And they never do anything." The baking sheet clatters when he drops it onto the table.
For a long while, Gran doesn't say anything. She hums to herself as she rubs butter onto the sheet, and George thinks she's given up. One by one, she drops the cut biscuits onto the sheet, arranging them in neat rows.
"I know your father likes to say that Lovelaces are well-known quitters, but sometimes your father doesn't have the sense the Angel gave a slug." She carries the tray of biscuits to the oven and slides them in. Then she pulls up a chair next to George and looks at him seriously. "If you want an adventure, Georgie, you're going to have to make it up for yourself." She stands and ruffles his hair. "Now go on with you. Take Morna to the barn and see to your chores."
George gets up and leaps back into the mud room, sitting to pull his trainers back on and leaning against Morna as he ties them. Gran calls from the kitchen, "When you come back, I expect to hear a story about George the adventuring shepherd. No biscuits without stories."
Popping to his feet, he grins at Gran and holds the door for Morna to run out. "It'll just be about chickens and sheep," he warns.
"Someone's got to look out for the chickens," Gran says, and George laughs as he runs to the barn.
He runs straight up the stairs and throws his bag into the coat closet before careening into the kitchen. Morna stops at the doorway between the kitchen and the mud room, her tail thumping on the floor. "Gran! Did you know, there was a bloke called Magellan, and he sailed right round the whole earth?"
"George Finlay Lovelace, your shoes are filthy," Gran says, wiping her hands on her apron. She's dusted in flour, rolling out her ginger biscuits. "Take them off and come in again." She shoes him out, sending a spray of white dust into the air.
George leaps back out of the kitchen to leave his trainers by the door, Gran's voice ringing behind him. "Might as well let the dog in and banish you to the mud room. Have you run all the way home?"
George's socks skid across the kitchen floor when he zips back in. "Nobody'd ever sailed that far before," he says, pulling up a stool to the sink to wash his hands. He doesn't need the stool anymore--in fact, using it means he has to stoop--but it's habit, and he hasn't been tall enough for all that long. "And folks thought he was well mad, but he did it anyway. Sailed right round the whole bloody earth!"
"Language!"
George dries his hands and pulls up a chair at the table, picking up a biscuit round to help cut them out. "People were always having grand adventures in history and in books and things," he says with a sigh, tossing a piece of dough to Morna when Gran isn't looking. "All I ever do is school and sheep. Nobody ever had a grand adventure with sheep."
"Oh no," Gran says, and George turns to her with a frown. She sounds...disappointed. "No, that won't do at all. Lovelaces may be many things, but we are certainly not whingers."
"I'm not whinging!" George protests, and Gran taps his cheek lightly, leaving a spice-scented trail on his face.
"'Nobody ever had a grand adventure with sheep,'" she quotes back to him, and she's right. It does sound like whinging.
"Well, nobody ever did." He puts down the cutter and slumps in his chair.
"Imagine if they did, though," Gran says, nudging him off his chair to find a baking sheet.
George is skeptical, and he peers at her over the cupboard door. "What do you mean?"
"Well, instead of whinging about there being no shepherd adventurers, why don't you think about what a shepherd adventurer would do. Where would he go? Who would he fight? Who would he save?"
"He can't go anywhere! He's got to look after the sheep! And they never do anything." The baking sheet clatters when he drops it onto the table.
For a long while, Gran doesn't say anything. She hums to herself as she rubs butter onto the sheet, and George thinks she's given up. One by one, she drops the cut biscuits onto the sheet, arranging them in neat rows.
"I know your father likes to say that Lovelaces are well-known quitters, but sometimes your father doesn't have the sense the Angel gave a slug." She carries the tray of biscuits to the oven and slides them in. Then she pulls up a chair next to George and looks at him seriously. "If you want an adventure, Georgie, you're going to have to make it up for yourself." She stands and ruffles his hair. "Now go on with you. Take Morna to the barn and see to your chores."
George gets up and leaps back into the mud room, sitting to pull his trainers back on and leaning against Morna as he ties them. Gran calls from the kitchen, "When you come back, I expect to hear a story about George the adventuring shepherd. No biscuits without stories."
Popping to his feet, he grins at Gran and holds the door for Morna to run out. "It'll just be about chickens and sheep," he warns.
"Someone's got to look out for the chickens," Gran says, and George laughs as he runs to the barn.
