ljs
in
gilesanya_fic
In A Bath Tea Shop, by LJS
This small ficlet is to fulfill an unofficial Help Pakistan ficlet request. callmesandy asked for Giles/Anya, with the additional prompt of 'scones.' This is the result -- with all apologies to John Betjeman.
TITLE: In a Bath Tea Shop
AUTHOR: LJS (Lori)
PAIRING: Giles/Anya
RATING: General
LENGTH: approximately 1100 words
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Joss Whedon et al; John Betjeman for the title.
SUMMARY: Established relationship, post-"Grave." What happened one very wet, very cold Friday afternoon-into-evening in a teashop in Bath.
Miss Jordan Jones, a romantic and perhaps old-fashioned woman of thirty-one, ran a very nice tea shop not two steps from the Abbey and the Roman Baths. She had taken over from her aged aunt a month ago, and although she didn't know the names of all the regulars yet, she recognised them by their habitual orders.
On this particular very wet, very cold Friday afternoon-into-evening, she looked up at the soft chime of the door opening. It was two of her favourite customers: Lapsang Souchong black, and a scone; Strawberry black tea with extra milk, a scone, extra jam. (Strawberry always shared the extra jam with her companion, and it amused Jordan how Lapsang would inevitably protest in a perfunctory way and then scoop a greedy portion onto his own scone.)
Lapsang smiled at Jordan- he was a very handsome albeit middle-aged man, with an edge underneath his polish which Jordan found appropriate for the smoke-rich tea he favoured - and then sent a deeper smile after Strawberry, who was making her determined way to the window table in back where they always sat. He was madly in love with her, Jordan thought as she always did with a sigh. (Her own Barry, she sometimes thought, was more attached to his motorcycle than to her.)
When Strawberry turned around and smiled at Lapsang in return, a beam bright enough to pierce Friday gloom, Jordan noted as always that the love went both ways here - despite Strawberry's apparent youth. Yes, Strawberry took very good care of Lapsang.
“Here, Rupert!” Strawberry announced. “Isn't it handy that from our usual table we can watch the Abbey, in case any stray z--”
“Er, darling, shall we not discuss that? In public?” he said hastily, and slid between the tables to her. She made a slight moue at that, but fell silent when he touched her hand.
Jordan's attention was diverted by another chime, another customer entering. This one was a burly, shaggy, somewhat shambling stranger, with the most peculiar lividity in his countenance; the poor man would likely need extra fortifying... When she looked back at Lapsang and Strawberry, he was holding Strawberry's chair for her as she sat. The light kiss he bestowed on the nape of her neck was sweet enough to make Jordan sigh more deeply.
But then both Lapsang and Strawberry turned their heads to the new customer, and there was the most unpleasant growl from the strange livid man, and then all hell broke loose.
Jordan later could never quite piece together what had happened in the ensuing three minutes. It was all a blur of falling tables, and Strawberry's plaintive “Why won't these faux-zombies ever stay in their crypts?”, and the flash of what looked suspiciously like a dagger drawn from the interior of Lapsang's rain-spotted suede jacket, and more falling tables and the loss of two milk jugs thereby, and then the inexorable rush of two grappling figures (stranger and Lapsang) hurtling toward the counter behind which Jordan stood.
The crash was horrific. The dripping green... whatever... from the outflung hand of the livid man was worse.
Worst of all was that the dripping green stuff spotted an artistic array of scones on the countertop. What a horrible thing - but at least they were the last of yesterday's baking, not today's.
Lapsang slammed the stranger's head against the stone floor, and the oddest miasma rose from the stranger's open mouth.
“Oh don't breathe it!” Strawberry said - in the melee, she'd somehow got right up next to the counter - and shoved a linen napkin at Jordan even as she put her other hand over Lapsang's mouth.
Mumbling came from Lapsang, which Jordan dizzily suspected was something like “I wasn't going to” -- men, you know, so argumentative. But Strawberry didn't heed this. Instead, she drew a vial of clear liquid out of her own jacket pocket, thumbed it open, and then poured the liquid on the stranger's face, chanting something that did not sound at all like English.
The miasma faded. The stranger seemed to shrink, in the manner of a proper Doctor Who special effect of the newer period, although he did not vanish altogether.
“Well,” Jordan said, for lack of anything better to say.
Lapsang put his hand out -- “The second potion, Anya?”
“I'm looking, I'm looking,” Strawberry answered, whilst digging in her enormous handbag. “Okay, currency table, chequebook, receipts... here it is!” With this, she flourished a vial of green liquid and then gave it to Lapsang, who followed the same procedure as before, with the same chanting.
This had the pleasing effect of vanishing the stranger altogether, although one miasmic swirl remained to mark where he'd been.
Of course, the disorder and broken china of the tea shop also marked the struggle. “Well,” Jordan said again, in a dejected voice, as she surveyed the carnage.
“We are so sorry, Miss Jones, even though it was hardly our fault that the faux-zombie came here,” Strawberry said in a very empathetic way. “I know just how it is when crazed powerful beings burst into a person's shop and wreck all your careful customer arrangements.”
“Yes,” Lapsang said, with a groan he tried to muffle as he got to his feet. “So sorry.”
Strawberry was already there to prop herself under his arm, help him steady himself. “Honey, are you okay?”
“Will be,” he said tersely. (Men, thought Jordan.) “But perhaps we should call--”
“Miss Harkness,” Strawberry said, and pulled a mobile out of her handbag. “She's just in the bookshop, she can pop right over and set this to rights.”
“Yes,” Lapsang said. He aimed a slightly embarrassed smile at Jordan. “Really, we are sorry... oh no. The scones!”
At that, Jordan remembered her newfound calling. “Let me assure you, sir,” she said as she whisked the green-spotted scones away, “that we have more.”
“Crisis narrowly averted,” he said, smiling in an attractive, twinkly way as she revealed the new scones.
Strawberry snapped shut her mobile. “Miss Harkness will be right here to cleanse and everything, Miss Jones, and...” She dug around in the handbag once more, and came out with a twenty. “To replace the milk jugs.”
“Darling, how generous,” Lapsang said, in a loving voice which Jordan frankly thought excessive for a mere twenty pounds' gesture. Still...
“Lapsang Souchong and strawberry tea for you both?” Jordan said. “Scones on the house.”
The two customers' smiles were compensation enough, she thought.
And as she brought them their tea and scones (with extra jam), she snapped a mental picture of the two of them there at the window table: grey streaked glass behind them, a glow within, and the two of them kissing as if they had nothing better to do on this very wet, very cold Friday afternoon-into-evening.
..........
TITLE: In a Bath Tea Shop
AUTHOR: LJS (Lori)
PAIRING: Giles/Anya
RATING: General
LENGTH: approximately 1100 words
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Joss Whedon et al; John Betjeman for the title.
SUMMARY: Established relationship, post-"Grave." What happened one very wet, very cold Friday afternoon-into-evening in a teashop in Bath.
Miss Jordan Jones, a romantic and perhaps old-fashioned woman of thirty-one, ran a very nice tea shop not two steps from the Abbey and the Roman Baths. She had taken over from her aged aunt a month ago, and although she didn't know the names of all the regulars yet, she recognised them by their habitual orders.
On this particular very wet, very cold Friday afternoon-into-evening, she looked up at the soft chime of the door opening. It was two of her favourite customers: Lapsang Souchong black, and a scone; Strawberry black tea with extra milk, a scone, extra jam. (Strawberry always shared the extra jam with her companion, and it amused Jordan how Lapsang would inevitably protest in a perfunctory way and then scoop a greedy portion onto his own scone.)
Lapsang smiled at Jordan- he was a very handsome albeit middle-aged man, with an edge underneath his polish which Jordan found appropriate for the smoke-rich tea he favoured - and then sent a deeper smile after Strawberry, who was making her determined way to the window table in back where they always sat. He was madly in love with her, Jordan thought as she always did with a sigh. (Her own Barry, she sometimes thought, was more attached to his motorcycle than to her.)
When Strawberry turned around and smiled at Lapsang in return, a beam bright enough to pierce Friday gloom, Jordan noted as always that the love went both ways here - despite Strawberry's apparent youth. Yes, Strawberry took very good care of Lapsang.
“Here, Rupert!” Strawberry announced. “Isn't it handy that from our usual table we can watch the Abbey, in case any stray z--”
“Er, darling, shall we not discuss that? In public?” he said hastily, and slid between the tables to her. She made a slight moue at that, but fell silent when he touched her hand.
Jordan's attention was diverted by another chime, another customer entering. This one was a burly, shaggy, somewhat shambling stranger, with the most peculiar lividity in his countenance; the poor man would likely need extra fortifying... When she looked back at Lapsang and Strawberry, he was holding Strawberry's chair for her as she sat. The light kiss he bestowed on the nape of her neck was sweet enough to make Jordan sigh more deeply.
But then both Lapsang and Strawberry turned their heads to the new customer, and there was the most unpleasant growl from the strange livid man, and then all hell broke loose.
Jordan later could never quite piece together what had happened in the ensuing three minutes. It was all a blur of falling tables, and Strawberry's plaintive “Why won't these faux-zombies ever stay in their crypts?”, and the flash of what looked suspiciously like a dagger drawn from the interior of Lapsang's rain-spotted suede jacket, and more falling tables and the loss of two milk jugs thereby, and then the inexorable rush of two grappling figures (stranger and Lapsang) hurtling toward the counter behind which Jordan stood.
The crash was horrific. The dripping green... whatever... from the outflung hand of the livid man was worse.
Worst of all was that the dripping green stuff spotted an artistic array of scones on the countertop. What a horrible thing - but at least they were the last of yesterday's baking, not today's.
Lapsang slammed the stranger's head against the stone floor, and the oddest miasma rose from the stranger's open mouth.
“Oh don't breathe it!” Strawberry said - in the melee, she'd somehow got right up next to the counter - and shoved a linen napkin at Jordan even as she put her other hand over Lapsang's mouth.
Mumbling came from Lapsang, which Jordan dizzily suspected was something like “I wasn't going to” -- men, you know, so argumentative. But Strawberry didn't heed this. Instead, she drew a vial of clear liquid out of her own jacket pocket, thumbed it open, and then poured the liquid on the stranger's face, chanting something that did not sound at all like English.
The miasma faded. The stranger seemed to shrink, in the manner of a proper Doctor Who special effect of the newer period, although he did not vanish altogether.
“Well,” Jordan said, for lack of anything better to say.
Lapsang put his hand out -- “The second potion, Anya?”
“I'm looking, I'm looking,” Strawberry answered, whilst digging in her enormous handbag. “Okay, currency table, chequebook, receipts... here it is!” With this, she flourished a vial of green liquid and then gave it to Lapsang, who followed the same procedure as before, with the same chanting.
This had the pleasing effect of vanishing the stranger altogether, although one miasmic swirl remained to mark where he'd been.
Of course, the disorder and broken china of the tea shop also marked the struggle. “Well,” Jordan said again, in a dejected voice, as she surveyed the carnage.
“We are so sorry, Miss Jones, even though it was hardly our fault that the faux-zombie came here,” Strawberry said in a very empathetic way. “I know just how it is when crazed powerful beings burst into a person's shop and wreck all your careful customer arrangements.”
“Yes,” Lapsang said, with a groan he tried to muffle as he got to his feet. “So sorry.”
Strawberry was already there to prop herself under his arm, help him steady himself. “Honey, are you okay?”
“Will be,” he said tersely. (Men, thought Jordan.) “But perhaps we should call--”
“Miss Harkness,” Strawberry said, and pulled a mobile out of her handbag. “She's just in the bookshop, she can pop right over and set this to rights.”
“Yes,” Lapsang said. He aimed a slightly embarrassed smile at Jordan. “Really, we are sorry... oh no. The scones!”
At that, Jordan remembered her newfound calling. “Let me assure you, sir,” she said as she whisked the green-spotted scones away, “that we have more.”
“Crisis narrowly averted,” he said, smiling in an attractive, twinkly way as she revealed the new scones.
Strawberry snapped shut her mobile. “Miss Harkness will be right here to cleanse and everything, Miss Jones, and...” She dug around in the handbag once more, and came out with a twenty. “To replace the milk jugs.”
“Darling, how generous,” Lapsang said, in a loving voice which Jordan frankly thought excessive for a mere twenty pounds' gesture. Still...
“Lapsang Souchong and strawberry tea for you both?” Jordan said. “Scones on the house.”
The two customers' smiles were compensation enough, she thought.
And as she brought them their tea and scones (with extra jam), she snapped a mental picture of the two of them there at the window table: grey streaked glass behind them, a glow within, and the two of them kissing as if they had nothing better to do on this very wet, very cold Friday afternoon-into-evening.
..........