O.K. I just finished reading Mei's "12 Days of Christmas" (of which I somehow have only parts 1-7... arrgghh!!) [sigh] I wouldn't mind havin' someone do that for me sometime... especially if it managed not to involve all 23 live birds! ;-) Anyway, since I'm too late for Christmas (or even Epiphany!), and the romance angle's been done, I thought I'd do "The Twelve Days After Christmas." After all, you've got to know Nick didn't get this so right the *first* time he tried it... ;-) Warnings ahead for general silliness, which I will try to blame on Mei, but will probably not succeed at. The song is one we used to sing in high school choir Christmas performances, and my memory of it is quite iffy at some parts-- so I improvised some words to fill gaps. Someone on here undoubtedly sang this as well and will probably correct me... as well as offer to introduce me to the composer-- that's the sort of thing that happens on these lists ;-) [Oh come on... have you guys _ever_ known me to be able to resist a story challenge??? [g]]
Christmas Challenge: The Twelve Days After Christmas
by Dianne DeSha (a.k.a. "la Mercenaire")
Cat.Goddess@pobox.com
[Somewhen in the 17th or 18th centuries, I'd imagine...]
Janette stood staring at the cloud-darkened evening sky as the
lingering scent of smoke assaulted her nostrils. She could scent the
long-fallen pears in the burning wood... the lingering traces of what
was gone....
It had been so amusing to see Nichola struggle into the house with it
in his arms. A young tree, matching him in height, stripped bare by
the season, and torn out by the roots-- looking nothing so much as an
enormous bundle of dead twigs.
It hadn't been until he'd managed to get it propped up in a corner, a
trail of loose dirt pointing the way back out the door, that she'd
been able to determine the source of the noise and the frenetic,
desperate motion above his head. It was indeed a partridge, lashed to
a branch by its feet and looking much the worse for wear.
The look on LaCroix's face had been simply priceless.
But twelve days later the pile of sticks had become just one more
nuisance.
By the time she threw Nichola out, LaCroix had already disappeared on
one of the mysterious errands he always refused to discuss later. He
might be gone for a day or a year, she knew better than to care.
They'd fought over the same petty grievances they always did, but the
constant barrage of annoying and meaningless gifts had finally brought
it to a head. Nichola simply did not know when to stop.
She had insisted he be the one to leave, as she'd been the one to
secure this house-- within sight of the town, yet nestled at the very
edge of the forest-- for them. Finally he had agreed with a snarl of
anger and a rush of wind. And she'd been blessedly alone.
Well, as alone as one can be with nearly two dozen live birds and
twice that number of troublesome humans on the premises.
She lifted the ax daintily in one hand.
Of course, she hadn't been the one to chop the wood. She had merely
posed artfully-- the picture of frail, lone, feminine distress-- as a
local woodsman had passed, and gratefully accepted his offer of
assistance.
He'd kindly disposed of the bird for her as well, taking it down with
one shot, cleaning it, cooking it over the fire, then consuming it
with the relish of one whose meals were few, uncertain, and coarse.
And then she'd disposed of him.
She absently wiped the last trace from her lips with the tip of her
tongue as she turned to go inside.
*********
The first day after Christmas my true love and I had a fight,
And so I chopped the pear tree down, and burned it just for spite. And
with a single cartridge, I shot that blasted partridge, That my true
love, that my true, that my true love gave to me...
Janette watched with a mild detached interest as the maids efficiently gutted the doves. They certainly wouldn't go far-- not with the crowd she now had. Leave it to Nicholas to purchase for her a seemingly endless supply of creatures she had no ready means of feeding. The two girls watched her warily as they worked, no doubt confused by being brought to a household apparently without stores for the winter-- a place where they were forced to live off milk and goose eggs. It was no wonder, really-- they whispered to each other in the night-- that Marcella had become so ill. She looked weak, drained, barely able to lift her head from where it rested on a pile of blankets over straw in the stables they were expected to use as a dormitory. That handsome fair-haired piper, Jack-- he was ill as well. No doubt they would all soon be ailing in this accursed place.... ********* The second day after Christmas I put on the old rubber gloves, And then I happ'ly wrung the necks of both the turtle doves... That my true love, that my true, that my true love gave to me.
"Here, ma petite, drink this." Janette smiled as the woman struggled to lift her head, sipping eagerly at the broth. Marcella was hardly a "lady"... even Nicholas surely must have realized that... but as a dancer she had been the talk of her town. A pale, slender hand brushed the sweat-dampened hair from her brow. Raven black curls that would have fallen to her waist when she stood, swaying as she moved. Her eyes deep like mirrors, promising her audience endless secrets within. Janette could remember so little of the woman she had once called mother, but something in this woman's face struck a chord in her. The vampire sighed softly and adjusted the wrap around the woman's neck as the mortal drifted back into unconsciousness. ********* The third day after Christmas my mother-in-law got the croup, And so I took the three French hens and made some chicken soup.... That my true love, that my true, that my true love gave to me.
"*OUT!*" Several grown men standing nearby jumped like guilty children at the sound of her voice. Janette struggled to get herself under control. "I will *not* have those foul-mouthed _creatures_ in my house! Get them out! At once!" The glare in her eyes was not to be argued with. The cage was removed immediately-- probably to the kitchen to follow the doves and the hens. She didn't care. It had taken nearly two weeks, but she had finally happened close enough to realize that the mockingbirds Nicholas had gotten her had been trained to speak... in a fashion. She didn't want to know how long it had taken to teach them the few select phrases she had caught-- and in the old French she'd learned to speak as a mortal, no less! Apparently her "amour vrai" had hoped she would be inspired by the birds' suggestions on his behalf. Frankly, she'd heard drunken sailors with more class. ********* The four calling birds [sorry Mei! ;-] were a big mistake-- Their message was obscene...
Taken in by common peddlers, no doubt. Janette shook her head. "Mon dieu!" she muttered as she ground the tarnished metal into the ground with the heel of one shoe. You'd think that after a few centuries away from sweaty, reeking barracks Nichola would have learned _something_ about the finer things in life.... ********* The five golden rings were completely fake, And they turned my fingers green...
"M'lady?" Janette turned to see one of the musicians approaching cautiously. She still hadn't decided what she was going to do with all the humans. She'd eased several to their deaths, but she would have to have the appetite of a pig to finish them all. And the remaining ones were beginning to vex her intolerably. Returning her thoughts to the one who stood anxiously before her, she allowed him a curt, "Yes?" "It's the geese, m'lady. They've stopped laying." She watched him for a moment. He obviously expected her to respond to this inane bit of trivia in some way. After another moment of fidgeting on his part, he tried again. "Sara, well now she says it's on account of them being all cooped up in that stable, you know. And, well, Sara used to tend geese before she was put to milking the cows, and...." The man's chatter was grating against her ears. "_And_?" His eyes went wide and his mouth gaped open in a very goose-like expression at her tone. She closed her eyes for a moment as she gathered her patience and considered never forgiving Nicholas for this nightmare. Opening her eyes again, she spoke clearly and distinctly. "If they need more space, then turn them out into the forest. It is of _no_ consequence to me." Turning to leave she was stopped by a mumbled plea. Turning, she raised one elegant eyebrow. He was completely unable to meet her gaze and his words poured out in an almost incoherent rush. "It's that there's nothing to eat, m'lady-- not that you haven't tried your best to provide for us, I'm sure!... but the sad fact is... what with no more eggs... well we were wondering... I mean, if you'd permit...." "Do with them whatever you wish." She was gone from the room before the man could even mutter his thanks. One more "gift" out of the way was certainly no source of grief to her. In any case, it was probably a kindness to slaughter them now rather than let them loose to starve in the snow and be food for the local predators. ********* The sixth day after Christmas the six laying geese wouldn't lay, And so I shipped them all off to the ASPCA... That my true love, that my true, that my true love gave to me.
"Don't tell me," she snapped at the girl who stood before her. "Now it's the swans." "We found them floating in the pond this morning, dead of the cold, ma'am." The child looked like she expected to be struck for bringing such news, but Janette only sighed resignedly. "Very well. Eat them if you like." Turning on her heel she left the child gaping after her. ********* On the seventh morning guess what I found-- All seven of the swimming swans had drowned... That my true love, that my true, that my true love gave to me.
He had been quite easy to find. Nicholas never did stray very far,
preferring to sulk openly and in full view. This time he'd opted for
an old abandoned church-- little more than a cell, really-- a few
miles back into the mountains.
Thinking of him there alone, wallowing in his solitude, Janette was
able to offer a genuine smile to the tightly bundled mortals in the
back of the ox-cart. Handing a few coins to the driver she bade him
depart and tried not to wince at the benedictions called to her as it
rolled slowly out of sight.
No doubt they saw her as the proud lady of the manor, preferring to
stay and starve rather than leave the land of her ancestors-- nobly
sending the servants off to safety while she kept her lonely vigil.
She, on the other hand, was pondering a quick overnight trip to some
deserted tropic isle where the men were lean and tanned and held the
faintest scent of papayas and coconut in their veins.
With a secretive smile she wondered what the "old hermit" would think
when they arrived on his doorstep, fully expecting the warm welcome
she'd offered in his name.
*********
On the eighth day after Christmas, before they could suspect,
I bundled up the...
twelve drummers drumming,
eleven pipers piping
ten lords a-leaping
nine ladies dancing
eight maids a-milking...
...and sent them back-- collect!
That my true love-- We are through, love!--
And I told him in so many words:
Your Christmas gifts are for the... birds!
(Four calling birds,
three French hens,
two turtle-doves,
and a partridge in a pear tree!)
***************************
[finis! [g]
Dianne
Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- [cat.goddess@pobox.com]
"I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.
The sinners are much more fun...." -Billy Joel, Only the Good Die Young
Comments, complaints, flames, blessings, revelations from the heavens, stakes, dead otters, chocolate, and the like may be sent to Cat.Goddess@pobox.com.