Prequel to the Prequel to Mary's Birthday Bash
The Prequel can be found here, in Megan's post:
http://megan29.livejournal.com/14276.html
This is the story of what came before.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was Saturday, late morning. The beach house was clean, stew was in the crock pot slow cooking for dinner, and Moonette had just finished going through the stack of mail and paying her bills. Unbelievably, she was all caught up with things! Time for a little break. Will was out on the beach jogging. She could see him through the wall of windows facing the surf. His back had been feeling pretty good these days, probably not a little due to the fact that Moonette had been too busy to get into any mischief. Unfortunately that also meant she hadn’t yet gone shopping for stmargarets birthday, and it was just around the corner!
She glanced down at the pile of catalogs bound for the recycle bin when a little sparkle caught her eye. What was that? Yup, she hadn’t imagined it at all - sort of a soft and subtle glow of sparklies surrounding the second catalogue in the pile. She pulled that one out of the pile. Ah! That was the one girlyswot had sent her from that little magic shop she’d found in a neighboring village in Scotland soon after she’d moved there. Apparently girlyswot felt that Moonette needed a bit more fluff and a good deal less angst in her life, because this catalog was filled with the most romantic of things - weekend getaways to lovers’ B&Bs, portkeys to the most beautiful sunsets, powder to stop arguments in mid expletive, and of course candles, flowers and chocolates.
But it was the special pull-out section in the middle that caught her eye. Unadorned, and in a classic, simple, masculine font, it almost appeared from a different company all together. Wait - it was! Moonette turned it over and saw that both the name and address were different from the larger catalogue’s. The business was called “Ye Olde Romance Writer’s Shoppe”. She turned to the first page and began to peruse. Oh, it was lovely - fountain pens in all sorts of beautiful designs and colors of ink, leather bound writing journals, magical cover art that could be molded into the perfect book cover, stocks of basic romance plot lines.
And then Moonette sighed. The next section was entirely of sigh-worthy characteristics for a romantic hero. The section was separated into fluffy, flangsty, angsty, and mainstream pages. She barely heard the door creak open and shut as she turned the pages directly to the flangsty section and sighed again. First off - a collection of scars, both emotional and physical - but small to moderate in size. The larger ones would be in the angsty section, she was sure.
She sighed again.
“Everything all right, lass?” Will had stopped at the office door and peered in. “I heard you sighing.”
Moonette ripped her eyes from the perfectly placed “Above the Brow Scar” and shoved the catalog into the larger one before Will could see. She tried to collect her thoughts.
“Um…yes…I’m fine. Just reading.”
Will stepped in closer, examining her with that perceptive gaze. “Your eyes look sort of glazed over. What is it you’re reading?”
She tried to hide the catalog under a Filson Outerwear catalog (there was a pair of boots in that one that would look great on Will in a kilt.), but he was too quick for her and snatched it out of her hand.
“Romantic Times, eh?” He raised a brow.
Moonette felt her cheeks warm. “It’s just a throw away advertisement. Came with the junk mail.”
“Am I not romantic enough for you?”
Moonette glanced at him, shirtless from his run on the beach, that luscious dark hair with the bit of graying at his temples, and the deep hazel of his eyes. Who cares about romantic - the man was gorgeous! And he’d gone to the market for her this morning, hence her ability to start their stew in the slow-cooker. That was plenty romantic for her.
She stood up and gave him a kiss. “You’re perfectly romantic. I’m just having a little look, that’s all. And anyway, don’t you have a birthday coming up?” She frantically tried to remember. When was Will’s birthday? Did Will have a birthday?
He smiled. “It’s not for a while yet. You’re already thinking on it?”
Moonette nodded. “Of course.”
“All right - I’m going to have a shower. Lunch after?”
“Lunch after.”
As Will left the room, she opened the catalog and sighed as she saw item G - a slight limp from a war injury where the hero had put his own life on the line to save a fellow soldier. She sighed again.
Then the bathroom door closed and the shower water started. Moonette grabbed her telephone and rang girlyswot. “It’s Moonette. I have just the thing for stmargaret’s birthday. How soon can you get me a Portkey to Scotland? We’re going shopping.”
#
After a nice lunch of roast beef sandwiches, Moonette left Will listening to his precious Quidditch on the wireless and before long was standing on a quaint cobblestone street corner in Scotland looking for Girlyswot. She took in a deep breath of the crisp air. Green hills surrounded the town, and the sky was a brilliant blue. She really should visit here longer someday.
Just then Girlyswot rushed up. “Sorry I’m late. How long do you have before Will gets suspicious?”
“Well, he knows I’m shopping for Mary; he just thinks it’s at the local mall. I’d say about three hours.”
“Plenty of time if our luck holds out.” Girlyswot pulled out her own copy of the catalog. “Now let’s see. What was that address again? Right. Should be a few blocks over this way.”
“A few blocks?” Moonette wriggled her toes in her snug stilettos, dismay tingeing her voice.
Girlyswot put her hands on her hips. “Well, why’d you wear those to go shopping? Be sensible!”
“I always wear these. And what does looking good have to do with being sensible anyway?”
Girlyswot started walking and Moonette stumbled after her. Damn those cobblestones! But soon the Romantic Times signpost caught her eye.
“Should be right around here,” Girlyswot mused. The address is the same as this shop, but with a ½ added. Perhaps in the back?”
They peered around the corner of the building and sure enough, a tiny stone cottage stood, set back in the lot behind the store out front. The sign out front said “Ye Olde Romance Writers Shoppe”, just like in the catalog. Girlyswot giggled and pronounced all of the words with a long E sound at the end.
Moonette pushed open the door to a soft chime announcing their arrival. At first the shop appeared empty of any owner or proprietor. Moonette sighed, heady with the masculine scents of leather and shaving cream wafting over her.
Girlyswot cleared her throat. “Um…is anyone here? Helloooo?”
Firm steps sounded on the stone floor and a man stepped through an “Employees Only” door and stood behind the counter wiping his hands with a towel. Moonette almost lost her footing simply from the sight of him, and Girlyswot’s eyes grew big for a moment before she regained her composure.
Moonette wasn’t so skillful. Her own gasp of surprise was clearly audible and the man quirked his head towards her.
“Are you all right, miss?”
Good Lord, did he have no idea how striking he was? Of course women would gasp and stare. He must be used to it by now, yet he seemed puzzled. She controlled her breathing and took in the sight before her.
He was tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair. It was as if nature had delved into a woman’s deepest fantasies and fashioned this man.
This was real like a fairytale was real. Underneath the trappings of this proprietor/customer ritual something hot and primal and dangerous lurked.
She couldn't smile at him. She couldn't even think straight. His face - the Roman nose, the strong brow, and the one lock of dark hair that threatened to spill on to his forehead - mesmerized her. Now that she looked more closely, she saw that his eyes were dark blue.
He didn't smile either. His mouth was tightly compressed, a muscle twitched in his jaw and his eyes flashed with some sort of emotion.
Moonette’s gaze fell to his forearms which rippled with every wipe of the towel. Yet there was something about him, in his bearing and manner, that told her he was more at home in a business suit than the short sleeved shirt and khakis he currently wore.
This time he turned to Girlyswot, apparently giving Moonette time to compose herself. “May I help you?”
“Yes.” Girlyswot was a model of calm, appropriate customer behavior.
Damn her.
“We’re interested in your sigh-worthy traits for romantic heroes.”
He gave a quick nod and bent to a lower shelf for a set of keys. That luscious dark hair fell over his forehead as he grabbed the keys and stood up.
Moonette sighed. “You must be getting into those items yourself now and then, eh?”
And she gave a nervous giggle when he stared at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
Girlyswot kicked her in the shin with a sharp backwards thrust of her trainer.
When she didn’t elaborate, he turned and began walking to the opposite end of the shop with confident steps. “Over here, please.”
He stopped in front of a large glass case lined with velvet covered shelves and various objects. It was hard not to stare at how his shoulders tapered to a narrow waist above trousers that fit just perfectly.
He opened the case and turned back to them. “Which particular trait are you interested in?”
Moonette piped up. “Do you have a special value pack where we could buy, say, ten or fifteen together for a lower price?”
A muscle worked in his cheek as he watched Moonette. She felt her legs turning to rubber.
“If you don’t mind my asking, what is it you’re planning to do with, say, ten or fifteen of these? These are meant to be used sparingly, when a writer is having particular trouble rounding out her hero. They aren’t meant to be combined together in the hopes that a perfect man would spring out. I’m afraid that just wouldn’t work.”
Moonette stepped towards him. “Oh come now, let’s drop the pretense. You’ve taken advantage of at least several of them yourself, haven’t you?”
“Moonette!” Girlyswot hissed.
Why were her friends always hissing at her? “Well, look at him!” she shot back. “Six foot, four inches, piercing blue eyes against black hair, a physique the statue of David would envy, that deep rich voice with just a trace of an unidentifiable accent.” She turned to him again. “Oh please, you couldn’t come by all of that naturally, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t be working in this shop. You’d be out filming movies or…or…modeling Calvin Klein underwear on billboards!”
His mouth tightened into a grim line and his eyes darkened. “No. If I weren’t here I would be running my company and managing my investments and living my life like I was doing before she…stopped.” His voice softened at the end, and the muscle worked in his cheek again.
This time it was Girlyswot who spoke, her voice soft with concern. “Before who stopped?”
“stmargarets. She simply stopped writing. I have no idea why. And so I’m here, in some sort of limbo, dealing with people like….” His voice trailed off, but he sent Moonette a hard stare. Then he looked down at the floor, his voice softer. “I’m not sure if I failed her in some way-”
“Oh, you didn’t fail her.” Moonette shook her head emphatically.
“Then what is it?” He looked back up and suddenly grasped Moonette’s arm. “How do you know? Do you know her? Did something happen to her? Is she all right?”
Moonette tried to keep her bearings with those troubled eyes in such close range. “She’s all right. She’s just been going through a lot of change, recently. It’s been…hard on her.”
“I knew something bad had happened! I’ve been worried for her.” He threw the keys onto the floor where they clattered and skidded several feet. “Damn this place for keeping me trapped.”
“You can’t leave here?” Girlyswot asked.
“No. Only for official shop business. I can’t try to find her. I can’t help her. I can’t do anything until she starts writing again and releases me.”
Girlyswot and Moonette turned and stared at each other, and for once both were speechless at the same time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: I'm not sure if you all are aware that Mary was writing a wonderful original romance when her move and all of the trappings took her away from writing. Ros and I are hoping that this little gesture will help give her a spark to return to it. The proprietor of the shop is the hero in her novel, and I've described him in that first passage of description taking words from Mary's own draft. (Sorry for taking that liberty, Mary - I'll change it if you want.) I'm not sure how much I'll be able to write at this party, so I wanted to give Mary a little something before. Happy Birthday, Mary!
http://megan29.livejournal.com/14276.html
This is the story of what came before.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was Saturday, late morning. The beach house was clean, stew was in the crock pot slow cooking for dinner, and Moonette had just finished going through the stack of mail and paying her bills. Unbelievably, she was all caught up with things! Time for a little break. Will was out on the beach jogging. She could see him through the wall of windows facing the surf. His back had been feeling pretty good these days, probably not a little due to the fact that Moonette had been too busy to get into any mischief. Unfortunately that also meant she hadn’t yet gone shopping for stmargarets birthday, and it was just around the corner!
She glanced down at the pile of catalogs bound for the recycle bin when a little sparkle caught her eye. What was that? Yup, she hadn’t imagined it at all - sort of a soft and subtle glow of sparklies surrounding the second catalogue in the pile. She pulled that one out of the pile. Ah! That was the one girlyswot had sent her from that little magic shop she’d found in a neighboring village in Scotland soon after she’d moved there. Apparently girlyswot felt that Moonette needed a bit more fluff and a good deal less angst in her life, because this catalog was filled with the most romantic of things - weekend getaways to lovers’ B&Bs, portkeys to the most beautiful sunsets, powder to stop arguments in mid expletive, and of course candles, flowers and chocolates.
But it was the special pull-out section in the middle that caught her eye. Unadorned, and in a classic, simple, masculine font, it almost appeared from a different company all together. Wait - it was! Moonette turned it over and saw that both the name and address were different from the larger catalogue’s. The business was called “Ye Olde Romance Writer’s Shoppe”. She turned to the first page and began to peruse. Oh, it was lovely - fountain pens in all sorts of beautiful designs and colors of ink, leather bound writing journals, magical cover art that could be molded into the perfect book cover, stocks of basic romance plot lines.
And then Moonette sighed. The next section was entirely of sigh-worthy characteristics for a romantic hero. The section was separated into fluffy, flangsty, angsty, and mainstream pages. She barely heard the door creak open and shut as she turned the pages directly to the flangsty section and sighed again. First off - a collection of scars, both emotional and physical - but small to moderate in size. The larger ones would be in the angsty section, she was sure.
She sighed again.
“Everything all right, lass?” Will had stopped at the office door and peered in. “I heard you sighing.”
Moonette ripped her eyes from the perfectly placed “Above the Brow Scar” and shoved the catalog into the larger one before Will could see. She tried to collect her thoughts.
“Um…yes…I’m fine. Just reading.”
Will stepped in closer, examining her with that perceptive gaze. “Your eyes look sort of glazed over. What is it you’re reading?”
She tried to hide the catalog under a Filson Outerwear catalog (there was a pair of boots in that one that would look great on Will in a kilt.), but he was too quick for her and snatched it out of her hand.
“Romantic Times, eh?” He raised a brow.
Moonette felt her cheeks warm. “It’s just a throw away advertisement. Came with the junk mail.”
“Am I not romantic enough for you?”
Moonette glanced at him, shirtless from his run on the beach, that luscious dark hair with the bit of graying at his temples, and the deep hazel of his eyes. Who cares about romantic - the man was gorgeous! And he’d gone to the market for her this morning, hence her ability to start their stew in the slow-cooker. That was plenty romantic for her.
She stood up and gave him a kiss. “You’re perfectly romantic. I’m just having a little look, that’s all. And anyway, don’t you have a birthday coming up?” She frantically tried to remember. When was Will’s birthday? Did Will have a birthday?
He smiled. “It’s not for a while yet. You’re already thinking on it?”
Moonette nodded. “Of course.”
“All right - I’m going to have a shower. Lunch after?”
“Lunch after.”
As Will left the room, she opened the catalog and sighed as she saw item G - a slight limp from a war injury where the hero had put his own life on the line to save a fellow soldier. She sighed again.
Then the bathroom door closed and the shower water started. Moonette grabbed her telephone and rang girlyswot. “It’s Moonette. I have just the thing for stmargaret’s birthday. How soon can you get me a Portkey to Scotland? We’re going shopping.”
#
After a nice lunch of roast beef sandwiches, Moonette left Will listening to his precious Quidditch on the wireless and before long was standing on a quaint cobblestone street corner in Scotland looking for Girlyswot. She took in a deep breath of the crisp air. Green hills surrounded the town, and the sky was a brilliant blue. She really should visit here longer someday.
Just then Girlyswot rushed up. “Sorry I’m late. How long do you have before Will gets suspicious?”
“Well, he knows I’m shopping for Mary; he just thinks it’s at the local mall. I’d say about three hours.”
“Plenty of time if our luck holds out.” Girlyswot pulled out her own copy of the catalog. “Now let’s see. What was that address again? Right. Should be a few blocks over this way.”
“A few blocks?” Moonette wriggled her toes in her snug stilettos, dismay tingeing her voice.
Girlyswot put her hands on her hips. “Well, why’d you wear those to go shopping? Be sensible!”
“I always wear these. And what does looking good have to do with being sensible anyway?”
Girlyswot started walking and Moonette stumbled after her. Damn those cobblestones! But soon the Romantic Times signpost caught her eye.
“Should be right around here,” Girlyswot mused. The address is the same as this shop, but with a ½ added. Perhaps in the back?”
They peered around the corner of the building and sure enough, a tiny stone cottage stood, set back in the lot behind the store out front. The sign out front said “Ye Olde Romance Writers Shoppe”, just like in the catalog. Girlyswot giggled and pronounced all of the words with a long E sound at the end.
Moonette pushed open the door to a soft chime announcing their arrival. At first the shop appeared empty of any owner or proprietor. Moonette sighed, heady with the masculine scents of leather and shaving cream wafting over her.
Girlyswot cleared her throat. “Um…is anyone here? Helloooo?”
Firm steps sounded on the stone floor and a man stepped through an “Employees Only” door and stood behind the counter wiping his hands with a towel. Moonette almost lost her footing simply from the sight of him, and Girlyswot’s eyes grew big for a moment before she regained her composure.
Moonette wasn’t so skillful. Her own gasp of surprise was clearly audible and the man quirked his head towards her.
“Are you all right, miss?”
Good Lord, did he have no idea how striking he was? Of course women would gasp and stare. He must be used to it by now, yet he seemed puzzled. She controlled her breathing and took in the sight before her.
He was tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair. It was as if nature had delved into a woman’s deepest fantasies and fashioned this man.
This was real like a fairytale was real. Underneath the trappings of this proprietor/customer ritual something hot and primal and dangerous lurked.
She couldn't smile at him. She couldn't even think straight. His face - the Roman nose, the strong brow, and the one lock of dark hair that threatened to spill on to his forehead - mesmerized her. Now that she looked more closely, she saw that his eyes were dark blue.
He didn't smile either. His mouth was tightly compressed, a muscle twitched in his jaw and his eyes flashed with some sort of emotion.
Moonette’s gaze fell to his forearms which rippled with every wipe of the towel. Yet there was something about him, in his bearing and manner, that told her he was more at home in a business suit than the short sleeved shirt and khakis he currently wore.
This time he turned to Girlyswot, apparently giving Moonette time to compose herself. “May I help you?”
“Yes.” Girlyswot was a model of calm, appropriate customer behavior.
Damn her.
“We’re interested in your sigh-worthy traits for romantic heroes.”
He gave a quick nod and bent to a lower shelf for a set of keys. That luscious dark hair fell over his forehead as he grabbed the keys and stood up.
Moonette sighed. “You must be getting into those items yourself now and then, eh?”
And she gave a nervous giggle when he stared at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
Girlyswot kicked her in the shin with a sharp backwards thrust of her trainer.
When she didn’t elaborate, he turned and began walking to the opposite end of the shop with confident steps. “Over here, please.”
He stopped in front of a large glass case lined with velvet covered shelves and various objects. It was hard not to stare at how his shoulders tapered to a narrow waist above trousers that fit just perfectly.
He opened the case and turned back to them. “Which particular trait are you interested in?”
Moonette piped up. “Do you have a special value pack where we could buy, say, ten or fifteen together for a lower price?”
A muscle worked in his cheek as he watched Moonette. She felt her legs turning to rubber.
“If you don’t mind my asking, what is it you’re planning to do with, say, ten or fifteen of these? These are meant to be used sparingly, when a writer is having particular trouble rounding out her hero. They aren’t meant to be combined together in the hopes that a perfect man would spring out. I’m afraid that just wouldn’t work.”
Moonette stepped towards him. “Oh come now, let’s drop the pretense. You’ve taken advantage of at least several of them yourself, haven’t you?”
“Moonette!” Girlyswot hissed.
Why were her friends always hissing at her? “Well, look at him!” she shot back. “Six foot, four inches, piercing blue eyes against black hair, a physique the statue of David would envy, that deep rich voice with just a trace of an unidentifiable accent.” She turned to him again. “Oh please, you couldn’t come by all of that naturally, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t be working in this shop. You’d be out filming movies or…or…modeling Calvin Klein underwear on billboards!”
His mouth tightened into a grim line and his eyes darkened. “No. If I weren’t here I would be running my company and managing my investments and living my life like I was doing before she…stopped.” His voice softened at the end, and the muscle worked in his cheek again.
This time it was Girlyswot who spoke, her voice soft with concern. “Before who stopped?”
“stmargarets. She simply stopped writing. I have no idea why. And so I’m here, in some sort of limbo, dealing with people like….” His voice trailed off, but he sent Moonette a hard stare. Then he looked down at the floor, his voice softer. “I’m not sure if I failed her in some way-”
“Oh, you didn’t fail her.” Moonette shook her head emphatically.
“Then what is it?” He looked back up and suddenly grasped Moonette’s arm. “How do you know? Do you know her? Did something happen to her? Is she all right?”
Moonette tried to keep her bearings with those troubled eyes in such close range. “She’s all right. She’s just been going through a lot of change, recently. It’s been…hard on her.”
“I knew something bad had happened! I’ve been worried for her.” He threw the keys onto the floor where they clattered and skidded several feet. “Damn this place for keeping me trapped.”
“You can’t leave here?” Girlyswot asked.
“No. Only for official shop business. I can’t try to find her. I can’t help her. I can’t do anything until she starts writing again and releases me.”
Girlyswot and Moonette turned and stared at each other, and for once both were speechless at the same time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: I'm not sure if you all are aware that Mary was writing a wonderful original romance when her move and all of the trappings took her away from writing. Ros and I are hoping that this little gesture will help give her a spark to return to it. The proprietor of the shop is the hero in her novel, and I've described him in that first passage of description taking words from Mary's own draft. (Sorry for taking that liberty, Mary - I'll change it if you want.) I'm not sure how much I'll be able to write at this party, so I wanted to give Mary a little something before. Happy Birthday, Mary!