Fic: When the Jeweled Cock Crows for Nerakrose
Title: When The Jeweled Cock Crows
Author/Artist: Brighty_18
Recipient: nerakrose
Rating: High PG or Very soft R
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *Sexual references, poor use of semi-precious stones*
Word count: About 1,500
Summary: Money-making ventures can take many forms, as does art.
Notes: Happy Holidays!! I used your Remus-takes-a-jewelry-making-class wish combined with your wild card poem. I hope you like it!
Remus shook the dead leaves off his boots and stomped up the stairs to the flat, head spinning with fabulous new ideas for pendants. He’d spent the last two hours perfecting his wire-wrapping techniques, not to mention garnering loads of positive attention from Mrs. Marbrer, the portly, sweet-voiced woman who taught his advanced jewelry making class. Sure James gave him merciless shite about having “the poofiest hobby this side of Queer Street,” but as a nearly-unemployable werewolf in London, having one’s own artisan business would not be a bad gig. Besides, unlike Potions, jewelry-making was something he was actually good at. Lily had adored the silver bracelet he’d made for her birthday, and he already had his company name all picked out and engraved on the business cards which existed only in his head: “Silver Bullet Creations.” How’s that for a lupine play on words? Now, if only Sirius would agree (which, of course he would, since Sirius would agree to nearly anything Remus asked of him, reasonable or not) to advance him a loan to buy some semi-precious stones and other materials, he’d be able to have at least three dozen pieces made before the Christmas craft fair season began in November. “Amber!” huffed Remus under his breath, “malachite.” He hit the top step and reached for the doorknob, still thinking about future pieces, “And amethyst, tourmaline… maybe turquoise? Rose quartz, of course, and… WHAT THE FUCK?”
“What the fuck, yourself!” Sirius called back cheerily. “How was class?” he added.
“It… we used platinum… erm… copper… I... erm… What-the-hell-are-you-doing?” Remus stammered. He blinked twice and took a deep breath, futilely attempting to gather his thoughts before he continued. When he’d left for class that morning, Sirius had been magically cleaning the kitchen: humming a strange, Medieval-sounding tune whilst scrubbing down the counters and buffing the copper pots till they shone. But now? Well, at the moment, his boyfriend was sitting at kitchen table, chain-nosed pliers in hand, surrounded by what appeared to be a veritable sea of glass beads, scraps of stone, and metal trimmings.
“Look!” cried Sirius, waving about a small length of crudely-linked silver chain, “I’ve come up with a perfectly smashing idea for your craft fairs!”
Remus approached the table, peering dubiously at his lover’s so-called art. Clearly, Sirius had tried to make the links a uniform size, but, despite his best efforts, had failed at it entirely. Some links were large enough to accommodate the tip of a small wand (or perhaps a pinkie finger), while others were so tiny they barely encircled the wire of the neighboring link. The most puzzling thing of all, however, was what appeared to be some sort of silver bird with colorful inlay - a chicken, perhaps? - dangling from the center of the chain. “Impressive,” began Remus as politely as possible, “What exactly is it?”
“It’s a Charmed Bracelet!” Sirius answered proudly.
“Erm, don’t you mean ‘charm’ bracelet?’ That’s what they’re called, I believe.”
“Well, that’s what Muggles might call them,” said Sirius, “but these are charmed! I charmed them help bring people what they want, see?” Rising to feet, he enthusiastically waved the chicken charm in Remus’ face.
“People want chickens?” asked Remus. “I mean, most people find it tasty and all, but I’m not so sure people would purchase an entire bracelet just to attract poultry.”
Sirius broke into peals of laughter. “No, not poultry, Moony. Cock! People want cock!”
Remus considered this. “Well, not all people, I suppose,” he said after a moment.
“Right, clearly not McGonagall. We all know which team she plays for.”
“The Bathgate Biddies?”
“Precisely! As if a bunch of middle-aged witches in a community Quidditch league isn’t just a club for women who prefer twa..”
“T’well, then!” interrupted Remus, “It seems you’ve made a bracelet specifically designed to attract, what exactly?”
“Cock! You know willy… a good shag… rumpy pumpy with a…”
“Yes, Pads, as you should be well-aware, I am quite familiar with how sex works, but I’m not so sure my future jewelry-making business wants to delve into the prostitution trade.”
Sirius gave a hyperbolic sigh and patted his boyfriend gently on the shoulder. “No so much prostitution, as attraction,” he corrected. “More like guaranteeing you’ll pull when you go out to the pub.”
“Is that even legal?” asked Remus. “It seems pretty dodgy. And what gave you the sudden idea for this, anyway?”
“Likely not legal and the song,” answered Sirius.
Ignoring the obvious fact that his unregistered-Animagus boyfriend was attempting to lure him further down the rabbit hole, Remus opted to concentrate on the latter half of Sirius’ answer. “Which song?” he asked, knowing full well he’d likely regret the question.
“That tune I was humming this morning,” said Sirius, handing the bracelet to Remus for closer inspection. “The one Uncle Alphard taught me - much to the dismay of Mum, mind you.”
Remus grimaced, for, indeed, he remembered that horrid song. But before he could open his mouth to stop any singing, Sirius launched into it.
“I have a gentle cock,
Croweth me day:
He doth me risen erly
My matins for to say.
Remus inspected the chicken-charm more closely. “Bugger it all,” he said under his breath. It really was a rooster.
I have a gentle cock,
Comen he is of gret:
His comb is of red coral,
His tail is of jet.”
I have a gentle cock,
Comen he is of kinde:
His comb is of red coral,
His tail is of inde.
And, yes, just as the song suggested, the comb was inlaid with red coral and the tail of pure jet. Even more strangely the inlay wasn’t bad. In fact, in the right light it was almost expert. Sirius had used magic, of course - and his technique could use a little polishing - but it was quite impressive for a first attempt.
His legges ben of asor,
So gentle and so smale:
His spores arn of silver whit
Into the wortewale.
Despite all attempts to stop him, Sirius continued singing.
His eynen arn of cristal,
Loken all in aumber:
And every night he percheth him
In mine ladye's chaumber.”
“Bravo!” said Remus, not quite as sarcastically as he’d first intended. (Sirius could be utterly charming even at his most obscene.) “Now we have a theme song for our table at the craft fair.”
“Really?” asked Sirius excitedly.
“Of course not,” Remus replied.
“But can we make these, Moony? Pleeeeeeeeeeeease?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“You know perfectly well why,” answered Remus. He began ticking reasons off with his fingers. “Legality… obscenity laws… social mores… appropriateness of the holiday season...”
“Oh. That’s so disappointing!” Sirius pouted playfully, employing that hang-dog expression only a canine could master. “You’ll just have to make it up to me, then,” he added.
Remus rolled his eyes, but failed entirely at suppressing a laugh. “Make it up to you? I suppose we could try to…”
But Sirius’ mouth was already on his and the rest of his words dissolved into a mass of passionate kisses and groping hands. Needless to say, Remus spent the remainder of the evening not thinking about pendants.
Three months later...
“I have a gentle co-o-ock, Cro-o-weth me-e-e day:“ sang Sirius to the tune of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.”
“Shush,” laughed Remus, elbowing his boyfriend in the ribs.
“Why? It scans perfectly, and it’s loads better than the original lyrics.”
“That well may be, but it’s hardly good for trade. Look around. Do you see anyone else corrupting carols?”
Sirius looked around. Indeed, Remus was correct. All the vendors were just sitting at their tables with false-bright smiles plastered on their shining faces, hawking their wares to over-dressed shoppers clutching mugs of tea and eating biscuits. “Pish posh,” huffed Sirius. “But speaking of posh, who have we here?”
A tall, middle-aged witch in fur-trimmed robes was approaching the table. She inspected a heavy, silver cuff inlaid with jet and lapis, one of Remus’ most proud creations. “Gorgeous! So elegant and understated!” she said, “My mother would simply adore it, and it fits her personality perfectly!”
“Thank you,” said Remus. “That’s one of my favorites, too.”
The woman sighed as she continued to peruse their selection. “Now I’m looking for something for my sister,” she said, not bothering to conceal her scorn. “Do you have anything that a lonely, single girl would like? She’s twenty-two and can never seem to find a decent man.”
“Oh, I have just the thing, love,” said Sirius. He held one of his own pieces out for her inspection. “How does she feel about roosters?”
Author/Artist: Brighty_18
Recipient: nerakrose
Rating: High PG or Very soft R
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *Sexual references, poor use of semi-precious stones*
Word count: About 1,500
Summary: Money-making ventures can take many forms, as does art.
Notes: Happy Holidays!! I used your Remus-takes-a-jewelry-making-class wish combined with your wild card poem. I hope you like it!
Remus shook the dead leaves off his boots and stomped up the stairs to the flat, head spinning with fabulous new ideas for pendants. He’d spent the last two hours perfecting his wire-wrapping techniques, not to mention garnering loads of positive attention from Mrs. Marbrer, the portly, sweet-voiced woman who taught his advanced jewelry making class. Sure James gave him merciless shite about having “the poofiest hobby this side of Queer Street,” but as a nearly-unemployable werewolf in London, having one’s own artisan business would not be a bad gig. Besides, unlike Potions, jewelry-making was something he was actually good at. Lily had adored the silver bracelet he’d made for her birthday, and he already had his company name all picked out and engraved on the business cards which existed only in his head: “Silver Bullet Creations.” How’s that for a lupine play on words? Now, if only Sirius would agree (which, of course he would, since Sirius would agree to nearly anything Remus asked of him, reasonable or not) to advance him a loan to buy some semi-precious stones and other materials, he’d be able to have at least three dozen pieces made before the Christmas craft fair season began in November. “Amber!” huffed Remus under his breath, “malachite.” He hit the top step and reached for the doorknob, still thinking about future pieces, “And amethyst, tourmaline… maybe turquoise? Rose quartz, of course, and… WHAT THE FUCK?”
“What the fuck, yourself!” Sirius called back cheerily. “How was class?” he added.
“It… we used platinum… erm… copper… I... erm… What-the-hell-are-you-doing?” Remus stammered. He blinked twice and took a deep breath, futilely attempting to gather his thoughts before he continued. When he’d left for class that morning, Sirius had been magically cleaning the kitchen: humming a strange, Medieval-sounding tune whilst scrubbing down the counters and buffing the copper pots till they shone. But now? Well, at the moment, his boyfriend was sitting at kitchen table, chain-nosed pliers in hand, surrounded by what appeared to be a veritable sea of glass beads, scraps of stone, and metal trimmings.
“Look!” cried Sirius, waving about a small length of crudely-linked silver chain, “I’ve come up with a perfectly smashing idea for your craft fairs!”
Remus approached the table, peering dubiously at his lover’s so-called art. Clearly, Sirius had tried to make the links a uniform size, but, despite his best efforts, had failed at it entirely. Some links were large enough to accommodate the tip of a small wand (or perhaps a pinkie finger), while others were so tiny they barely encircled the wire of the neighboring link. The most puzzling thing of all, however, was what appeared to be some sort of silver bird with colorful inlay - a chicken, perhaps? - dangling from the center of the chain. “Impressive,” began Remus as politely as possible, “What exactly is it?”
“It’s a Charmed Bracelet!” Sirius answered proudly.
“Erm, don’t you mean ‘charm’ bracelet?’ That’s what they’re called, I believe.”
“Well, that’s what Muggles might call them,” said Sirius, “but these are charmed! I charmed them help bring people what they want, see?” Rising to feet, he enthusiastically waved the chicken charm in Remus’ face.
“People want chickens?” asked Remus. “I mean, most people find it tasty and all, but I’m not so sure people would purchase an entire bracelet just to attract poultry.”
Sirius broke into peals of laughter. “No, not poultry, Moony. Cock! People want cock!”
Remus considered this. “Well, not all people, I suppose,” he said after a moment.
“Right, clearly not McGonagall. We all know which team she plays for.”
“The Bathgate Biddies?”
“Precisely! As if a bunch of middle-aged witches in a community Quidditch league isn’t just a club for women who prefer twa..”
“T’well, then!” interrupted Remus, “It seems you’ve made a bracelet specifically designed to attract, what exactly?”
“Cock! You know willy… a good shag… rumpy pumpy with a…”
“Yes, Pads, as you should be well-aware, I am quite familiar with how sex works, but I’m not so sure my future jewelry-making business wants to delve into the prostitution trade.”
Sirius gave a hyperbolic sigh and patted his boyfriend gently on the shoulder. “No so much prostitution, as attraction,” he corrected. “More like guaranteeing you’ll pull when you go out to the pub.”
“Is that even legal?” asked Remus. “It seems pretty dodgy. And what gave you the sudden idea for this, anyway?”
“Likely not legal and the song,” answered Sirius.
Ignoring the obvious fact that his unregistered-Animagus boyfriend was attempting to lure him further down the rabbit hole, Remus opted to concentrate on the latter half of Sirius’ answer. “Which song?” he asked, knowing full well he’d likely regret the question.
“That tune I was humming this morning,” said Sirius, handing the bracelet to Remus for closer inspection. “The one Uncle Alphard taught me - much to the dismay of Mum, mind you.”
Remus grimaced, for, indeed, he remembered that horrid song. But before he could open his mouth to stop any singing, Sirius launched into it.
“I have a gentle cock,
Croweth me day:
He doth me risen erly
My matins for to say.
Remus inspected the chicken-charm more closely. “Bugger it all,” he said under his breath. It really was a rooster.
I have a gentle cock,
Comen he is of gret:
His comb is of red coral,
His tail is of jet.”
I have a gentle cock,
Comen he is of kinde:
His comb is of red coral,
His tail is of inde.
And, yes, just as the song suggested, the comb was inlaid with red coral and the tail of pure jet. Even more strangely the inlay wasn’t bad. In fact, in the right light it was almost expert. Sirius had used magic, of course - and his technique could use a little polishing - but it was quite impressive for a first attempt.
His legges ben of asor,
So gentle and so smale:
His spores arn of silver whit
Into the wortewale.
Despite all attempts to stop him, Sirius continued singing.
His eynen arn of cristal,
Loken all in aumber:
And every night he percheth him
In mine ladye's chaumber.”
“Bravo!” said Remus, not quite as sarcastically as he’d first intended. (Sirius could be utterly charming even at his most obscene.) “Now we have a theme song for our table at the craft fair.”
“Really?” asked Sirius excitedly.
“Of course not,” Remus replied.
“But can we make these, Moony? Pleeeeeeeeeeeease?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“You know perfectly well why,” answered Remus. He began ticking reasons off with his fingers. “Legality… obscenity laws… social mores… appropriateness of the holiday season...”
“Oh. That’s so disappointing!” Sirius pouted playfully, employing that hang-dog expression only a canine could master. “You’ll just have to make it up to me, then,” he added.
Remus rolled his eyes, but failed entirely at suppressing a laugh. “Make it up to you? I suppose we could try to…”
But Sirius’ mouth was already on his and the rest of his words dissolved into a mass of passionate kisses and groping hands. Needless to say, Remus spent the remainder of the evening not thinking about pendants.
Three months later...
“I have a gentle co-o-ock, Cro-o-weth me-e-e day:“ sang Sirius to the tune of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.”
“Shush,” laughed Remus, elbowing his boyfriend in the ribs.
“Why? It scans perfectly, and it’s loads better than the original lyrics.”
“That well may be, but it’s hardly good for trade. Look around. Do you see anyone else corrupting carols?”
Sirius looked around. Indeed, Remus was correct. All the vendors were just sitting at their tables with false-bright smiles plastered on their shining faces, hawking their wares to over-dressed shoppers clutching mugs of tea and eating biscuits. “Pish posh,” huffed Sirius. “But speaking of posh, who have we here?”
A tall, middle-aged witch in fur-trimmed robes was approaching the table. She inspected a heavy, silver cuff inlaid with jet and lapis, one of Remus’ most proud creations. “Gorgeous! So elegant and understated!” she said, “My mother would simply adore it, and it fits her personality perfectly!”
“Thank you,” said Remus. “That’s one of my favorites, too.”
The woman sighed as she continued to peruse their selection. “Now I’m looking for something for my sister,” she said, not bothering to conceal her scorn. “Do you have anything that a lonely, single girl would like? She’s twenty-two and can never seem to find a decent man.”
“Oh, I have just the thing, love,” said Sirius. He held one of his own pieces out for her inspection. “How does she feel about roosters?”