Abecedarian Game Drabble, 6/9: PQR
The folx in my profic writers' group and I play the Abecedarian Game: any three consecutive letters can serve as prompt inspiration, and "running the letters" means answering nine prompt sets in abecedarian order (the final set is either a YZ or YZA one, depending upon preference). My group tends to select a specific dictionary from which we all pull prompts. Below, you'll find the sixth of nine little stories using words that I took from Phrontistery's Dictionary of Unusual Words.
My sixth three prompts, philomath, quoniam, and rach, inspired the ficlet, Scenting Prey
Scenting Prey (G; original past groundskeeper, original past professor, original canine character; 150 words): Hogwarts' young groundskeeper is naught but a dog.
Alice was a good rach and had run to ground more game than Alard could count.
But none better than this, thought he, as his dog buried her face into, essentially, the Charms mistress' quoniam. "Alice! You'll ruin Professor Brewster's, er, dress. Come!"
The lady flushed and demurred. "Oh, she's fine-so clean and . . . and friendly-and I am called Lettice, Mister Tait, as well you know."
"Ah, but she's knocked your sewing out of your lap," Alard told her, flicking his fingers to retrieve it. "And it's so lovely."
"It's nothing, just a simple pattern of the school."
"And how," said Alard, settlling with Alice into the grass by Lettice, "does one accomplish such work?" He peered more closely at the stitches, the obviously manual stitches. "I must know."
Almost red, Lettice asked squeakily, "Are you, sir, a philomath that you'd take such an interest?"
"I am but your humble servant, my lady, a dog at your . . . feet."
My sixth three prompts, philomath, quoniam, and rach, inspired the ficlet, Scenting Prey
Scenting Prey (G; original past groundskeeper, original past professor, original canine character; 150 words): Hogwarts' young groundskeeper is naught but a dog.
Alice was a good rach and had run to ground more game than Alard could count.
But none better than this, thought he, as his dog buried her face into, essentially, the Charms mistress' quoniam. "Alice! You'll ruin Professor Brewster's, er, dress. Come!"
The lady flushed and demurred. "Oh, she's fine-so clean and . . . and friendly-and I am called Lettice, Mister Tait, as well you know."
"Ah, but she's knocked your sewing out of your lap," Alard told her, flicking his fingers to retrieve it. "And it's so lovely."
"It's nothing, just a simple pattern of the school."
"And how," said Alard, settlling with Alice into the grass by Lettice, "does one accomplish such work?" He peered more closely at the stitches, the obviously manual stitches. "I must know."
Almost red, Lettice asked squeakily, "Are you, sir, a philomath that you'd take such an interest?"
"I am but your humble servant, my lady, a dog at your . . . feet."