Enigma Variations, 38/38: come with us now on a journey through time and space
Title: Enigma Variations, 38/38: come with us now on a journey through time and space
Summary: Naboo is having a nice relaxing time on the beach
Rating: R
Warnings: character death, unlikely plot device, no punctuation
Spoilers: This really is the end of the story this time
Length: about 1300 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, I just borrow them to play with now and again (and again and again and again). For twisted love, not for profit
Notes: since this is really his story, I had to let Naboolio have the last word; in fact this is one of the first chapters I wrote and one of the scenes I could visualise most clearly. I have enjoyed the journey and I’m so pleased that others have too…
Enigma Variations: 38 come with us now on a journey through time and space
it’s warm on xooberon, warm with the sort of warmth that goes all the way through you
and so beautiful
the sea silky lavender; purple-and-white sand gritty on your bare skin and between your toes
nobody here to yell at you for not wearing shoes
you roll over, basking in the afternoon suns, waiting for the head shaman to honour you with his presence
you don’t mind waiting
there are worse places to wait
the seagulls ride the warm, fragrant breeze, yelping and chattering; the sea-beasts snort and puff as they sun themselves on the purple rocks down by the cliff
a big wave breaks with a crash, and you can’t help feeling a little anxious
you’re still not a big fan of immersion since the tank, you could just about manage a bath after a hundred years or so, as long as there was a certain someone in there with you, but swimming in the sea? no way
it’s just too much water all at once
you look around for something more secure, more solid
the rabbit-nibbled turf of the dunes is vibrant green in the sunlight, and if you crane your neck you can see the weathered wooden roof of the rambling building you now call home
cluttered and comfortable and full of light and mirrors, smelling of incense and fire-smoke
you spent a fortune on the place, and a second fortune on the island on which it stands (vintage fashion and second-hand jazz records were hot property at the time)
on the kitchen table stands a vase of roses in full flower, so dark red they are almost black
that thought makes you smile
- thinking of me, little one?
you look up, and oh, this is a sight of which you will never tire
your life-mate standing proud and tall, the suns behind him outlining his lean shape with brightness
his sleek skin pearled with water-drops and dappled with sand
stark bollock naked, a thousand years old and head shaman, and looking good on it
he was elected unanimously when dennis retired and went to live in switzerland
but he doesn’t take the traditional privilege, he’s delegated the first-crunch-times to tony harrison, who is known for his tact, delicacy and mindblowing technique
(the h-man suggests a threeway occasionally when he comes to visit, but you’ve never really fancied it)
saboo stretches out beside you, pulls you on top of him, still sea-chilled but with a warmth growing between you
- you want to…?
- bit sandy - you wriggle against him
he murmurs a word of power - not any more
- oi, you’re only supposed to use magic for a noble cause
- and what nobler cause is there than making you happy, little one?
you laugh with pure joy, and slide onto him, silk-smooth
his big cool hands on your back are strong and gentle, holding you, as your cries mingle with those of the gulls
but afterwards there are tears
he strokes your hair, the pulse beating in his shoulder under your cheek
you never told him about the tender place behind your ear, somehow you can’t bear to
you even kept it out of the mind-link because that was howard’s discovery and it’s only his big hand you want to touch you there
you sigh
- you still miss them, don’t you?
- ’m sorry
- no, little one, never be sorry, you need never apologise to me for thinking about them, we owe all this to them… I miss them too
then he lifts your chin in his strong fingers and looks at you - it’s starting again, isn’t it?
the coil of anticipation inside you twists a little tighter as you nod
you see his eyes light up with eagerness
but still there is an ache inside you for vince and howard
it’s always hardest to bear at crunch time
their double wedding with yours is still in all the fashion textbooks, vince did an amazing job
dennis magicked the room bigger to hold 300 people, and yet it was still your own familiar living room
you invited everyone, even bob fossil, although bollo did make him put on a jacket over his sparkly nipple-tassels, there are some things that nobody needs to see
tony and bollo were a dynamite dj combination
the h-man offered howard and vince cryogenic preservation as a wedding gift but they refused
perhaps they learned from you not to be scared of dying
the tealeaves warned you
it wasn’t their fault you didn’t get the message
although they’ve never spoken to you since
DON’T LET THEM SHUT THE DOOR… well, that could’ve meant anything…
it was the day vince discovered his first grey pube
you remember him going ballistic, yelling - i can’t put hair dye THERE - and howard telling him that grey hairs were sexy, and trying to calm him down with that stupid calmallamadown crimp that you hated so much but would give both of your fortunes and more to hear him sing again
it was clearly going to be a long discussion, so you went upstairs for a cup of tea and left them to it
you didn’t remember about the nightmare until much later
too late
kirk, little bastard, it was all his fault
he built a time machine, at least he says he did, brought it to the shop to show it you but when you came downstairs it wasn’t there and vince and howard had disappeared
gone on a journey through time and space
you went frantic, and with saboo’s help (you’d have gone insane without him) you searched every archive and every website but there was no trace of them in earth or any other planet’s history
they must have gone into the future
eventually you gave up and had them declared deceased, inherited vince’s wardrobe and howard’s record collection and sold them both at a tidy profit
along with the shop, you hadn’t the heart to stay there after bollo died
he’s buried in the jungle he came from, you go there every year to remember him, and you’ve never had another familiar
you bought the island and the house from dennis and for every single perfect day you spend here you are grateful to vince and howard
you never got to give them their retirement present, the crunch-night recording on the cube, but you’ve still got it, and when you and saboo go on your annual holiday to tony’s mansion on earth you always pack it
along with the mirrorball suit and that awful ‘blue train’ album
just in case
you hope that one day you might catch up with them again… and that wherever (or whenever) they are, it still has topshop and nutella
and jazz
maybe you’re getting closer to them…
saboo’s heartbeat is steady and comforting, measuring itself to yours as the mind-link joins your thoughts together
… maybe, maybe…
crunch time coming, the boundaries of time and space are more fluid
you open your mind, strain your shaman-senses to the limit
and just for a fraction of a second there is a tiny flash of peacock blue
Summary: Naboo is having a nice relaxing time on the beach
Rating: R
Warnings: character death, unlikely plot device, no punctuation
Spoilers: This really is the end of the story this time
Length: about 1300 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, I just borrow them to play with now and again (and again and again and again). For twisted love, not for profit
Notes: since this is really his story, I had to let Naboolio have the last word; in fact this is one of the first chapters I wrote and one of the scenes I could visualise most clearly. I have enjoyed the journey and I’m so pleased that others have too…
Enigma Variations: 38 come with us now on a journey through time and space
it’s warm on xooberon, warm with the sort of warmth that goes all the way through you
and so beautiful
the sea silky lavender; purple-and-white sand gritty on your bare skin and between your toes
nobody here to yell at you for not wearing shoes
you roll over, basking in the afternoon suns, waiting for the head shaman to honour you with his presence
you don’t mind waiting
there are worse places to wait
the seagulls ride the warm, fragrant breeze, yelping and chattering; the sea-beasts snort and puff as they sun themselves on the purple rocks down by the cliff
a big wave breaks with a crash, and you can’t help feeling a little anxious
you’re still not a big fan of immersion since the tank, you could just about manage a bath after a hundred years or so, as long as there was a certain someone in there with you, but swimming in the sea? no way
it’s just too much water all at once
you look around for something more secure, more solid
the rabbit-nibbled turf of the dunes is vibrant green in the sunlight, and if you crane your neck you can see the weathered wooden roof of the rambling building you now call home
cluttered and comfortable and full of light and mirrors, smelling of incense and fire-smoke
you spent a fortune on the place, and a second fortune on the island on which it stands (vintage fashion and second-hand jazz records were hot property at the time)
on the kitchen table stands a vase of roses in full flower, so dark red they are almost black
that thought makes you smile
- thinking of me, little one?
you look up, and oh, this is a sight of which you will never tire
your life-mate standing proud and tall, the suns behind him outlining his lean shape with brightness
his sleek skin pearled with water-drops and dappled with sand
stark bollock naked, a thousand years old and head shaman, and looking good on it
he was elected unanimously when dennis retired and went to live in switzerland
but he doesn’t take the traditional privilege, he’s delegated the first-crunch-times to tony harrison, who is known for his tact, delicacy and mindblowing technique
(the h-man suggests a threeway occasionally when he comes to visit, but you’ve never really fancied it)
saboo stretches out beside you, pulls you on top of him, still sea-chilled but with a warmth growing between you
- you want to…?
- bit sandy - you wriggle against him
he murmurs a word of power - not any more
- oi, you’re only supposed to use magic for a noble cause
- and what nobler cause is there than making you happy, little one?
you laugh with pure joy, and slide onto him, silk-smooth
his big cool hands on your back are strong and gentle, holding you, as your cries mingle with those of the gulls
but afterwards there are tears
he strokes your hair, the pulse beating in his shoulder under your cheek
you never told him about the tender place behind your ear, somehow you can’t bear to
you even kept it out of the mind-link because that was howard’s discovery and it’s only his big hand you want to touch you there
you sigh
- you still miss them, don’t you?
- ’m sorry
- no, little one, never be sorry, you need never apologise to me for thinking about them, we owe all this to them… I miss them too
then he lifts your chin in his strong fingers and looks at you - it’s starting again, isn’t it?
the coil of anticipation inside you twists a little tighter as you nod
you see his eyes light up with eagerness
but still there is an ache inside you for vince and howard
it’s always hardest to bear at crunch time
their double wedding with yours is still in all the fashion textbooks, vince did an amazing job
dennis magicked the room bigger to hold 300 people, and yet it was still your own familiar living room
you invited everyone, even bob fossil, although bollo did make him put on a jacket over his sparkly nipple-tassels, there are some things that nobody needs to see
tony and bollo were a dynamite dj combination
the h-man offered howard and vince cryogenic preservation as a wedding gift but they refused
perhaps they learned from you not to be scared of dying
the tealeaves warned you
it wasn’t their fault you didn’t get the message
although they’ve never spoken to you since
DON’T LET THEM SHUT THE DOOR… well, that could’ve meant anything…
it was the day vince discovered his first grey pube
you remember him going ballistic, yelling - i can’t put hair dye THERE - and howard telling him that grey hairs were sexy, and trying to calm him down with that stupid calmallamadown crimp that you hated so much but would give both of your fortunes and more to hear him sing again
it was clearly going to be a long discussion, so you went upstairs for a cup of tea and left them to it
you didn’t remember about the nightmare until much later
too late
kirk, little bastard, it was all his fault
he built a time machine, at least he says he did, brought it to the shop to show it you but when you came downstairs it wasn’t there and vince and howard had disappeared
gone on a journey through time and space
you went frantic, and with saboo’s help (you’d have gone insane without him) you searched every archive and every website but there was no trace of them in earth or any other planet’s history
they must have gone into the future
eventually you gave up and had them declared deceased, inherited vince’s wardrobe and howard’s record collection and sold them both at a tidy profit
along with the shop, you hadn’t the heart to stay there after bollo died
he’s buried in the jungle he came from, you go there every year to remember him, and you’ve never had another familiar
you bought the island and the house from dennis and for every single perfect day you spend here you are grateful to vince and howard
you never got to give them their retirement present, the crunch-night recording on the cube, but you’ve still got it, and when you and saboo go on your annual holiday to tony’s mansion on earth you always pack it
along with the mirrorball suit and that awful ‘blue train’ album
just in case
you hope that one day you might catch up with them again… and that wherever (or whenever) they are, it still has topshop and nutella
and jazz
maybe you’re getting closer to them…
saboo’s heartbeat is steady and comforting, measuring itself to yours as the mind-link joins your thoughts together
… maybe, maybe…
crunch time coming, the boundaries of time and space are more fluid
you open your mind, strain your shaman-senses to the limit
and just for a fraction of a second there is a tiny flash of peacock blue