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sidewaysTitle: Sobriquet
AO3: Link
Rating: G
Series: Widdershins (Ben Thackery, Nyree, Jack O'Malley)
Wordcount: 1,102
Summary: Two witches, a wizard, and some light cultural exchange.
Remarks: Shook a crusty WIP by the neck until something approximating the final lines fell out. Hooray! One fic for the year. Would that I was smart enough to really fill in all the worldbuilding gaps myself, but we'll just have to settle for alluding.
◘◘◘
AO3: Link
Rating: G
Series: Widdershins (Ben Thackery, Nyree, Jack O'Malley)
Wordcount: 1,102
Summary: Two witches, a wizard, and some light cultural exchange.
Remarks: Shook a crusty WIP by the neck until something approximating the final lines fell out. Hooray! One fic for the year. Would that I was smart enough to really fill in all the worldbuilding gaps myself, but we'll just have to settle for alluding.
◘◘◘
"'Buggerup'?" Nyree didn't seem able to decide whether to laugh at the joke, or laugh at them. "That can't be the best you've got."
From on top of his stool, Ben said, "Technically the term is malform," since it wasn't as though anyone else in the room was likely to provide a correction.
When he looked over his shoulder, O'Malley wasn't even proving likely to finish the job he was meant to be doing. The box of artefacts sat no less cleaned or sorted next to him, as grimy and questionably useful as they'd been when evicted from the cabinet. Instead, city witch watched island witch from under bent eyebrows, one leg swinging slowly over the edge of the table he'd substituted for more appropriate seating, expression unreadable beneath the hand and cigarette he held close.
Nyree's expression, on the other hand, was loud and clear. "Yeah, that sounds about right for, eh, people." She clucked her tongue sympathetically at her armful, one finger curling to tickle under an unseen chin. "They mess up their part of the deal but you're the one who's the mistake, hey? Tough luck."
He had a sense of the malform's shape from the way Nyree held her arms like branches, twisting them slowly and gently from time to time as if to accommodate the undulating movements of some long and sinuous creature. They'd found it under a chair on the second floor, visible to Ben only as the fringes of a dusty sheet rustling energetically in the still, stuffy air.
"It's not a condemnation." Aware that an English wizard stood twice the likelihood of qualifying for whoever Nyree had meant by 'people', Ben said, a little defensively, "It's just - academic."
"Meaning out of those big schools, yeah?" Nyree said.
"Meaning out of centuries of collective study-"
"From the big schools."
"And a number of independent scholars - but, well, yes, most research is sponsored by the universities, and for good reason." He paused his scrubbing of the rusty hinges, glancing over his shoulder again, uncertain. "Surely you're not solely responsible for classifying spirits."
As little information existed on the Pacific anchor, it was an alarming possibility. Life on the other side of the world was a place where water ran uphill and the sun set in the east, as far as anyone knew; a place where witches had never been shunned, and magic might well be the sole domain of an impenetrable elite.
But Nyree only laughed. "Nice to know you think I'm clever enough to get away with that." She raised a good-natured eyebrow from her lean against the wall. "No good in one person hoarding everything. Got our whare wānanga too, right? Whole lot of knowing that’s been around a lot longer than little old me."
“There was a wider range of terminology once,” Ben ventured. “‘Poltergeist’ still sees some use, I believe, mostly in Germany, of course…”
"Ben's writin' a book,” O'Malley said, and Ben turned quickly - almost too quickly, the stool wobbling dangerously beneath his feet before he caught himself with a hand against the cabinet door.
"I beg your pardon," he said, his cheeks heating - too frequent a feeling in the company of someone who could smell embarrassment on you. "I’d like to know when you imagine I'd even have the time, busy as I am cleaning your house.”
O'Malley’s hearing was as selective as ever; he sat taller on the table, stubbing his cigarette out into the glass dish they'd sacrificed to the indignity, and said to Nyree, "S’all about the buggerups. Wolfe did the pictures."
"Yeah?" Nyree's smile was wide and indulgent. "Great! English love books."
Ben grimaced. Of course O’Malley would think that particular evening exercise counted. It was as deep an interest as Ben had ever seen him take in any sort of learning, the time Mr Knott had explained the concept of a restraining order notwithstanding. And yes, it had been educational, at times even entertaining, but-
"That wasn't a book," Ben said heavily. "It was barely a file. There just weren't any other records that covered what we'd been experiencing so I started writing a few notes down…" The loss was still fresh enough to sting. He exhaled through his nose, disembarking carefully from the stool with rag in gloved hand. "And it was all lost in the fire anyway. Whatever it was. Certainly nothing that qualified as a piece of literature."
“Coulda been,” O’Malley said, comfortable in his ignorance of pedagogies and peer review and Ben's most wistful dreams. “They were good pictures.” He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, squinting at the maze of empty air woven between Nyree’s arms. Tentative, willing curiosity was still a new look on the man’s face, and Ben couldn’t entirely quash the curl of resentment to see it so easily summoned. “What’s it, then? The buggerup. What’s it ‘sposed to be called?”
"Sweet little thing like this?" Nyree smiled, wrinkles deepening in the corners of her eyes. "I'd call it ready to go home. On your toes, City!"
Ben ducked instinctively as Nyree threw her arms out - and perhaps he needed to add wings to his mental image of the rogue spirit, because O'Malley's protesting, "Oi!" was followed almost instantly by a woof of air as he doubled over around a weight that visibly scrabbled its way up his body, yanking deep creases into his clothing and twisting his collar askew.
“You're not getting out of it that easy,” Nyree said, maliciously cheerful in the face of his sputtering. “Island words are island words - it's up to you all to find the city ones."
It was Ben she raised her eyebrows at with this last, though, as if he had any say in the matter. He folded his arms, a little sourly, keeping his rag carefully angled away from his sleeves. "Just like that, hmm?"
"However you like." She winked. "Don't worry, horopito. Couple tohunga helping out the in between, and you writing books? We'll get the two worlds talking to each other in no time. Easy!"
On the table, O'Malley's awkward spirit-wrangling seemed to consist mostly of shoves and hitched elbows, and the look Nyree turned on her fumbling pupil carried an open fondness Ben couldn't imagine seeing on a proper professor. Of course, as Ben could attest, no proper professor would ever be found shoeless and dirty-palmed in their pupil's home after helping move furniture and bags of rubbish, either.
Ben sighed, stance reluctantly easing. "I'm not sure 'easy' means the same thing for you as it means here," he said, and Nyree just laughed.
From on top of his stool, Ben said, "Technically the term is malform," since it wasn't as though anyone else in the room was likely to provide a correction.
When he looked over his shoulder, O'Malley wasn't even proving likely to finish the job he was meant to be doing. The box of artefacts sat no less cleaned or sorted next to him, as grimy and questionably useful as they'd been when evicted from the cabinet. Instead, city witch watched island witch from under bent eyebrows, one leg swinging slowly over the edge of the table he'd substituted for more appropriate seating, expression unreadable beneath the hand and cigarette he held close.
Nyree's expression, on the other hand, was loud and clear. "Yeah, that sounds about right for, eh, people." She clucked her tongue sympathetically at her armful, one finger curling to tickle under an unseen chin. "They mess up their part of the deal but you're the one who's the mistake, hey? Tough luck."
He had a sense of the malform's shape from the way Nyree held her arms like branches, twisting them slowly and gently from time to time as if to accommodate the undulating movements of some long and sinuous creature. They'd found it under a chair on the second floor, visible to Ben only as the fringes of a dusty sheet rustling energetically in the still, stuffy air.
"It's not a condemnation." Aware that an English wizard stood twice the likelihood of qualifying for whoever Nyree had meant by 'people', Ben said, a little defensively, "It's just - academic."
"Meaning out of those big schools, yeah?" Nyree said.
"Meaning out of centuries of collective study-"
"From the big schools."
"And a number of independent scholars - but, well, yes, most research is sponsored by the universities, and for good reason." He paused his scrubbing of the rusty hinges, glancing over his shoulder again, uncertain. "Surely you're not solely responsible for classifying spirits."
As little information existed on the Pacific anchor, it was an alarming possibility. Life on the other side of the world was a place where water ran uphill and the sun set in the east, as far as anyone knew; a place where witches had never been shunned, and magic might well be the sole domain of an impenetrable elite.
But Nyree only laughed. "Nice to know you think I'm clever enough to get away with that." She raised a good-natured eyebrow from her lean against the wall. "No good in one person hoarding everything. Got our whare wānanga too, right? Whole lot of knowing that’s been around a lot longer than little old me."
“There was a wider range of terminology once,” Ben ventured. “‘Poltergeist’ still sees some use, I believe, mostly in Germany, of course…”
"Ben's writin' a book,” O'Malley said, and Ben turned quickly - almost too quickly, the stool wobbling dangerously beneath his feet before he caught himself with a hand against the cabinet door.
"I beg your pardon," he said, his cheeks heating - too frequent a feeling in the company of someone who could smell embarrassment on you. "I’d like to know when you imagine I'd even have the time, busy as I am cleaning your house.”
O'Malley’s hearing was as selective as ever; he sat taller on the table, stubbing his cigarette out into the glass dish they'd sacrificed to the indignity, and said to Nyree, "S’all about the buggerups. Wolfe did the pictures."
"Yeah?" Nyree's smile was wide and indulgent. "Great! English love books."
Ben grimaced. Of course O’Malley would think that particular evening exercise counted. It was as deep an interest as Ben had ever seen him take in any sort of learning, the time Mr Knott had explained the concept of a restraining order notwithstanding. And yes, it had been educational, at times even entertaining, but-
"That wasn't a book," Ben said heavily. "It was barely a file. There just weren't any other records that covered what we'd been experiencing so I started writing a few notes down…" The loss was still fresh enough to sting. He exhaled through his nose, disembarking carefully from the stool with rag in gloved hand. "And it was all lost in the fire anyway. Whatever it was. Certainly nothing that qualified as a piece of literature."
“Coulda been,” O’Malley said, comfortable in his ignorance of pedagogies and peer review and Ben's most wistful dreams. “They were good pictures.” He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, squinting at the maze of empty air woven between Nyree’s arms. Tentative, willing curiosity was still a new look on the man’s face, and Ben couldn’t entirely quash the curl of resentment to see it so easily summoned. “What’s it, then? The buggerup. What’s it ‘sposed to be called?”
"Sweet little thing like this?" Nyree smiled, wrinkles deepening in the corners of her eyes. "I'd call it ready to go home. On your toes, City!"
Ben ducked instinctively as Nyree threw her arms out - and perhaps he needed to add wings to his mental image of the rogue spirit, because O'Malley's protesting, "Oi!" was followed almost instantly by a woof of air as he doubled over around a weight that visibly scrabbled its way up his body, yanking deep creases into his clothing and twisting his collar askew.
“You're not getting out of it that easy,” Nyree said, maliciously cheerful in the face of his sputtering. “Island words are island words - it's up to you all to find the city ones."
It was Ben she raised her eyebrows at with this last, though, as if he had any say in the matter. He folded his arms, a little sourly, keeping his rag carefully angled away from his sleeves. "Just like that, hmm?"
"However you like." She winked. "Don't worry, horopito. Couple tohunga helping out the in between, and you writing books? We'll get the two worlds talking to each other in no time. Easy!"
On the table, O'Malley's awkward spirit-wrangling seemed to consist mostly of shoves and hitched elbows, and the look Nyree turned on her fumbling pupil carried an open fondness Ben couldn't imagine seeing on a proper professor. Of course, as Ben could attest, no proper professor would ever be found shoeless and dirty-palmed in their pupil's home after helping move furniture and bags of rubbish, either.
Ben sighed, stance reluctantly easing. "I'm not sure 'easy' means the same thing for you as it means here," he said, and Nyree just laughed.
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Date: 2024-12-14 05:14 pm (UTC)Congratulations! Yay for finishing things!
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Date: 2024-12-16 08:53 am (UTC)