Drabble meme

Stolen from draugdur

The first TEN people to comment in this post get to request a drabble of ANY pairing/character of their choosing from me (with a prompt, if it pleases you to give me one). In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level (I won't hold you to this, but it would be awesome if you did).

Choose any of my usual fandoms or any of Charlie's characters, if you'd prefer.

PS Feeling decadent - am eating grapes picked ten minutes ago from my own vine.

First drabble offering

lokei wanted Jonty, Orlando and a new recipe.

'Fanfic Disclaimer': The Cambridge Fellows belong to me and they do what I tell them to. *g*


“Midges, midges and more bloody midges. If anyone asks me my opinion of Scotland that’s what I’ll tell them. The place is infested.” Orlando Coppersmith sat down on a rock, immediately jumping up as if stung by one of the little wretches and looked exceedingly put out.

“My old nanny used to say that if you smeared yourself with…”

“Your old nanny can go and boil her head.”

“Language, Orlando!” Richard Stewart came stomping up the small hill to join his son and what-might-be-termed-his-son-in-law among the bee-loud heather.

“I think I’ve been stung by something – feels worse than a midge this time.” Orlando’s backside felt very sore and he had the horrible feeling he’d sat on one of the bees.

“Better take you down to the lodge and get Mama to have a look at it.” Jonty had made the remark to provoke a reaction. He got it.

“I am not letting your mother, that sainted woman, take a look at my nether regions. If you’re so concerned you can sort it out yourself.”

“That’s the spirit,” Richard beamed. “Our boys were always getting stung – not Lavinia, mind you, she was too clever – and we’re all geared up for it in the medicine cabinet. A pair of tweezers to take out the sting if needed and some boracic solution to ease the pain.”

“There’s no other cure?” Orlando winced.

“There’s a new recipe I heard of, one of Dr. Panesar’s patent solutions.” The repressed smile on Jonty’s face should have warned them all. It didn’t.

“It can’t be worse than tweezers. Can you elaborate?” Orlando winced again.

“It’s like the hair of the dog that bit you. It’s the honey of the bee which stung. You smear it on - the best heather honey, mind you, nothing else works - and cover it with a poultice made of Irish linen. The linen has to be moistened with water from a silver bowl, drawn from a well at midnight. By the light of the full moon.” Jonty could barely keep a straight face.

"Does Dr. Panesar have a recipe for idiocy as well?" Orlando swiped at his lover. "I'll take a bloody bucketful."