A good deal sillier than I'd planned to write, but I could do with a bit of amusement today. Set at some unspecified point between The Dark Is Rising and Greenwitch -- closer to the latter.

*uses appropriate, semi-related icon*

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Title: Strategic Sheep Purposes
Author: Gramarye
Word Count: 100

As the Black Rider slowly regained consciousness, he became aware of two things.

First, one side of his face was throbbing.

Second, someone or something was pulling on his hair.

He could do nothing about the first, not yet. But when he made the effort to roll from his back onto his side, he discovered the reason for the second -- a scrawny black sheep that looked rather indignant at being interrupted in mid-chew.

Cursing in several long-dead languages, the Rider staggered to his feet. Merlion and the Sign-Seeker brat would pay dearly for dropping him in the godforsaken Falklands.

The idea that spawned this week's drabble challenge...because I'm just that self-indulgent sometimes.

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Title: Time and Relative Dimensions in Space
Author: Gramarye
Word Count: 100

'Are you the Doctor?'

Caught off-guard, Merriman looked down. A small girl with untidy plaits was gazing right back up at him, her expression pensive.

'Emily, 'f course he's not the Doctor.' A slightly older boy wearing National Health spectacles had appeared next to the girl, and now was also staring at Merriman. 'The Doctor hasn't got a nose that big.'

Emily tossed her head, plaits flying. 'I was only asking,' she said, the last word an exasperated whine. 'He might've been.'

Merriman muttered something vaguely apologetic, and slipped away to find a bus-stop that wasn't near a police call box.


Note: I have to admit that I've seen only a very few episodes of Doctor Who, in whichever incarnation he happens to be. But this drabble would definitely be set in the mid-1960s during the run of the first series, where William Hartnell played the Doctor.

Another PlaidCymru!Bran drabble, set in the same timeline as the Eirias Triad, Walkabout, and related stories.

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Title: Current Events
Author: Gramarye
Word Count: 98 or thereabouts

'So I saw that your comments on the Ynys Môn by-election made it into the Guardian yesterday.' Will switched the phone to his other hand and picked up his mug of tea. 'I'll have to get another scrapbook, at the rate you're going.'

'You're not still keeping that?' On the other end, Bran's sigh was very loud. 'When I said that you needed a hobby, boyo....'

Will allowed himself a quiet chuckle. 'Just consider me your personal press cuttings service,' he said. 'You'll thank me for saving you the time and effort when you start writing your memoirs.'

I can't find my copy of Over Sea, Under Stone. This is clearly an indication that I either need to find my brain or buy another back-up set of the Sequence.

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Title: Time and Tide
Author: Gramarye
Word Count: 101 or so

The motorboat needs some coaxing to get it to start. Only a small delay, but both the driver and his passenger know that every moment is critical.

'Veer east-northeast and come about once we are clear of the cross-currents.' Merriman's cold, fierce gaze is fixed on the horizon. 'And trust that the Lady Mary will also need to compensate for the tide.'

'Aye,' Penhallow says simply, guiding the boat out to sea.

Once they have the grail, he can always remind Merriman Lyon that it looks a little odd for the landsman to be giving navigational orders to the native Cornish fisherman.

I may eventually flesh this out into a longer scene -- I like the mental image it brings to my mind -- but the drabble's enough to start with.

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Title: Orientation
Author: Gramarye
Word Count: just over 100

Even after thirty years, there was at least one familiar Trewissick landmark that Jane could use to get her bearings.

She slowed down as she walked past the Grey House. A man was standing outside it, pruning a rather unruly bush. He took a step back and pushed his hair out of his face –- and it was that simple gesture that made Jane stop, and stare.

'...Will?' Her voice shook a little. 'Will Stanton?'

The man looked up, startled –- and then gave her an easy, natural smile.

'Hello, Jane Drew,' he said, as if he’d been waiting for her all this time.

I wish I could do this. Alas.

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Title: Resetting the Clock
Author: Gramarye
Word Count: 100

'More coffee, then?'

The two red-eyed men in the rumpled suits gazed blearily at the server, and held out their cups.

'Stanton certainly sounded disgustingly chipper during his panel, didn't he?' one said to the other. 'You'd think he wasn't even on our flight from Hell.'

His companion grunted something uncomplimentary and downed half his cup in a single gulp.

On the other side of the conference's refreshment room, Will hid a smile in his own coffee. One day he'd thank Merriman -- one academic to another -- for pointing out the usefulness of stepping outside Time to beat jet-lag.

Thought I'd turn the idea of the drabble challenge on its side for a moment, with a bit of politician spotting. This drabble's something of a side piece to a fic I'm currently working on, set in the same timeline as my Eirias Triad.

Translation note: Aelod y Cynulliad is the Welsh term for an Assembly Member, one of 60 elected members of the Welsh National Assembly.

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Title: Walkabout
Author: Gramarye
Word Count: 100

Will tried not to smile as the teenaged girl with the spiky blonde hair hurried off, triumphantly clutching a scrap of notebook paper with a scrawled signature on it.

'Does this sort of thing happen a lot?' he asked, glancing over at Bran.

'On occasion.' Bran seemed completely at ease as he put his pen away, apparently unaware that a small crowd was starting to gather. 'Then again, most people wouldn't know their Aelod y Cynulliad if they fell over him in the street. It helps to stand out, in my line of work.'

'Understandable,' Will murmured, half-lost in thought.

Just trying to catch up on a few drabbles before the end of the weekend.

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Title: Home on Leave
Author: Gramarye
Word Count: 100

She'd wanted to look nice for Roger when he came home on leave, but the war made that more than a bit difficult. All her dresses showed signs of mending, the cheapest of nylons were impossible to find -- and Utility underwear certainly did nothing to make her feel remotely attractive.

When he kissed her that afternoon and told her she looked beautiful, she almost wanted to laugh at him.

It wasn't until later that evening -- when her old dress and worn-out shoes and awful knickers were on the floor of their bedroom -- that she finally believed him.

(I was going to go to bed, but I thought I'd post this before I forgot and let it languish on my hard-drive for even longer.)

This drabble draws on three sources: this chapter of the fic that agonistes and I wrote a while back, this poem by Carol Ann Duffy...and this. ^_^

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Title: The Radio's Prayer
Author: Gramarye
Word count: 100

The voyage from Bombay had seen one foul wind after another. A rough Indian Ocean, chop in the Cape, a sail-tearing storm round the equator, and a set of truly nasty squalls near Trafalgar that had tossed three men overboard. Even Commodore Lyon looked relieved at the fair breeze that brought the Pridewin within sight of Scilly.

Anyone who saw the commodore's mouth moving then would have taken his words for a barely audible prayer of thanksgiving.

In a way, it was.

'Wight, Portland, Plymouth,' Merriman murmured. 'Variable 2 or 3, becoming 4 later. Mainly fair. Moderate or good.'

Almost forgot to post this now, before I go to bed. This drabble popped into my mind just too late to post it on the first go-round, so I'm glad it's getting a second chance now. (And though it's more of a carol than a hymn, it's in my hymnal nonetheless.)

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Title: Tidings of Comfort and Joy
Author: Gramarye
Word Count: 100

Every year, it happens. More than once, usually.

This year it's a visiting fellow who makes the mistake. Bright, cheerful, determined to embrace the spirit of the season. It's almost a pity, really, when he says the five fatal words -- and gets the standard response.

First, the glacial stare.

Second, the booming proclamation, pitched for everyone's ears: 'One thousand eighty.'

Third, the abrupt departure.

'We should've warned you,' the Vice-Chancellor's wife murmurs apologetically, once the shell-shocked young man manages to recover. 'Professor Lyon...well, he's heard "God rest ye, gentle Merriman" rather a lot over the years, I'm afraid.'

I'm in a bit of a frazzled funk this evening. Clearly, I needed to write something amazingly soppy to cheer myself up.

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Title: Je t'aime
Author: Gramarye

Jane finally realised that her stupid, silly crush had got massively out of hand during a revising session for a French quiz. Her French notebook -- all her notebooks, really -- were a collection of doodles, spilling out of the margins in dreamy loops.

Jane Stanton.

Mrs Will Stanton.

I (a very elaborate heart) W.S.

The initials W.S. inside another very elaborate heart -- this one decorated with flowers and lace.

She all but cringed when she looked at them. Such a stupid, silly crush.

But when she passed the quiz, she imagined him grinning at her.

Maybe it wasn’t so silly.

I had to keep a tight rein on this drabble to keep it from getting away from me, but I think I've managed to hit the word count. *crosses fingers*

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Title: Memento
Author: Gramarye

The tin bank was painted to look like a pillar box, with an open letter slot for depositing coins. Not very big, but easy to open if he needed bus fare or the odd chocolate bar. Most of the time, though, the money that went into the bank stayed in the bank.

One day, on a whim, he takes the tin and dumps the contents onto his bed. A quick count gives him nineteen pounds seventy-three -- and sixpence.

The sixpence isn't legal tender, hasn't been for several years.

But to Will, it's far more precious now than it ever was then.

The idea for this drabble came from a jumble of odd lines in several of the books, which led to a quick backward calculation of ages and some historical guesswork. Of a number of possible scenarios in my mind, this one worked out the best. I have a feeling that I've gone over the word limit here, though....

Title: Gone But Not Forgotten
Author: Gramarye

- 11 November 1944 -

Another November in Aden.

True, he wasn't slogging through freezing muck in France (David never made it off the beach) or being shot to pieces over Germany (Alex went down over the Channel), but the never-ending heat was its own sort of purgatory, in a way.

His mind wasn't on the chaplain's service. Not with an unopened letter in his hands, the first letter from Alice since the telegram about their son....

Remembrance Day wasn't only about fallen soldiers. Some casualties had nothing to do with bullets or bombs.

Lieutenant Roger Stanton bowed his head, silently asking his brothers to look after their baby nephew -- the boy he'd never had a chance to see.

I almost hate to post this after the lovely drabbles that have been posted thus far, but the idea wouldn't let me go. *wry look* And many thanks for the birthday wishes!

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Title: Living in Troubled Times
Word Count: 100 or so


- 17 June 1974 -

'I looked through Westminster Hall and the whole hall was filled with dust. A few minutes later it was possible to see flames shooting up -- '

Mrs Stanton frowned, and switched off the radio.

'Go on outside, Will,' she said firmly, and went back to peeling potatoes for dinner. 'It's too nice a day to spend indoors.'

Will knew better than to protest. He merely shrugged, and waited until he was out the kitchen door before letting his carefully neutral, incurious expression fade.

Strange that his mother should want to protect him, even now. At thirteen...well, he'd thought he was beyond all that.

Title: Taking Leave
Word Count: 100

RN officers do their initial training at Britannia Royal Naval College in Dartmouth.

--

'You're going away.'

Stephen stifled a sigh. He knew that look -- privately, he'd termed it Will's 'weight of the world' look. It usually meant that something had upset his littlest brother so much that he knew it wouldn't do any good to cry.

So he reached out to ruffle Will's hair. 'Just to Dartmouth, though. Not like I'm going to the moon.'

Will didn't move. 'It's not going to be the same. Not ever again.'

This time, Stephen actually did sigh.

'C'mere, Will.' He opened his arms, and Will fairly flew into them. 'It'll be all right. I promise.'

For Challenge 88: Anachronism

Title: An Evening of Fun
Word count: 100

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'Will! Not so hard!'

Will sighed, adjusting his grip on the corset-strings. 'You want this thing laced properly, don't you? If I have to deal with collar-studs and cravats, then you have to deal with the whalebone straight-jacket. You were the one who wanted us to go as Victorians, don't forget.'

Jane scowled, and took the last deep breath she'd be able to have for several hours. 'Shut up and pull, or you'll be the one wearing the frilly petticoats this evening.'

'It's a fancy dress party, not a cross-dressing party.'

'Don't tempt me,' Jane muttered. 'Don't even tempt me.'

The postcard below is connected to a story I wrote some time ago. The postcard itself doesn't have any real spoilers for the story...but it won't really make sense unless you've read the story first.

(I don't think I'll be sleeping very well tonight.)

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Title: Last Post
Word Count: 99 or thereabouts

( Click here. )

*posts drabble, then goes to sit in a corner and quietly be Evil*

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Title: Finding Nemo Nimue
Word Count: 100

Glistening eyes shone at Merriman. Tears flowed down alabaster cheeks. Blonde hair cascaded like...cascading blonde hair.

'O Merlion, why dost thou scorn me?'

Sighing, Merriman checked his watch. 'Go away.'

'But it is I, your Nimue!'

'You mean Vivien?'

'Whatever. O, declare thy love for me, whilst the planets and stars are aligned -- '

'Not for long.'

'What? Oh, sh -- ' And the aethereal creature vanished in a puff of sparkly smoke.

'If the next alignment's scheduled for 1982,' Merriman muttered, putting his watch away and stalking off to his lecture, 'I hope to hell I'm outside Time by then.'

Oddly enough, this year is the first year that the title of this fic doesn't apply to me. *quiet sigh*

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Title: Back to School
Rating: U
Word Count: 101

Before their holiday in Wales, Simon had talked of nothing but boarding school until Jane and Barney were thoroughly sick of it.

But now, all three of them were sitting on Simon’s bed, trying to pretend he wasn’t leaving tomorrow.

'Look at it this way,' Jane said at last. 'If Barney's English marks improve, he could join you there in another year or so.'

Barney huffed. 'And if Jane's maths marks improve, she could join you there for lower sixth – they take girls in their last two years, right?'

Simon forced a smile. 'Maybe.'

But the thought cheered him, a little.

Writing a full-length crossover between these two series would consume my life. Thank goodness this is only a drabble.

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Title: In the Shadowlands
Word Count: 100 or so, perhaps a little over.
Rating: U

The service was simple, subdued.

No wife, no siblings, no children. Only those who had known him professionally, perhaps a distant cousin or two. The readings given by three former colleagues. The Master of his old College said a few words, and even as he spoke his gaze kept flickering nervously to the casket.

(How had they managed to find enough of him to bury?)

At the end of the service, Merriman did not linger outside the church - the train station was a mile away. A well-thumbed copy of Plato's Republic was in his coat pocket, his reading for the train.

Kirke had lent it to him, after all.