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Tick tock,
Tick tock,
Tick tock,
Tick tock,
Tick tock,
Tick tock,
Tick tock,
Tick tock,
Tick tock,
Tick tock,
Rinnnnnngggggggg-rinnnnnngggggggg

Xmas Shame. Author Lame. Writing Pain.

Merry merry to all from Edward, Beaver, Gareth Rowan and the drunk guy in the tower!

12:19

Edward looked at his pocket watch and then shoved it back into his waistcoat with a grunt. “Damn. I’m late!”

12:16

The farmer decided in favour of patience. He favoured the room with a bleak glare and settled his gaze on the beaver. A small nod seemed to indicate he was waiting for the beaver to get on with it and contained the suggestion that if he didn’t like what he heard he wouldn’t be here long.

As this little tableau settled into a mutual smirking contest, Gareth had finally processed the last few moments. “Him? My father? What the hell is going on? First the envelope and now you are trying to…”

“I’m not trying to tell anyone anything. I am telling you how it is. So if you could contain your youthful rage for a few minutes more I think I can satisfy your curiosity.” The beaver hadn’t taken his eyes off the tall farmer in the wicker chair, but nonetheless Gareth had a feeling he was being glared at by the heretofore friendly creature.

“Fine. I’ll shut up. This is going to be a hoot.” Gareth grabbed Rowan’s hand and slid back into the couch. “A real hoot,” he mumbled to himself.

12:15

Mr. Moskevitch was most definitely not a city man. He had that weathered face most often associated with a life spent outdoors and unprotected form the elements. His hands were large and calloused and despite a visible effort on his part to look presentable still were marked with the traces of grease and grime that were the hallmark of his trade.

Even his clothes seemed to betray his rural roots. While he wore jeans and shirt that were not in any way significantly different from the ones that Gareth wore, the boot cut Wranglers seemed to scream country boy while the plaid pattern of his button down had not a pretensions thread in their count.

All of this was crowned by a demeanour that was shaped by years of physical labor and and a sense of responsibility that few who were mere citizens in the vast enterprise of city life would ever cultivate.

And right now, that stolid face and its hard gaze were directed at the beaver, apparently wavering between calmly waiting for what was to come and a desire to hold on firmly to the reins come what may.

12:14

“Get it? Get it? Star Wars, Luke, Darth Vader: ‘Luke, I am your Father!” The looks on everyone’s faces threatened to send the beaver into spasms and as he visible tried to control himself Edward murmured “Hmmmmmm, I think I see a bit of the puzzle previously obscured. Yes, I believe I do.”

“Beaver. You’ve had you little joke. Now please inform me why this gentleman is here. And you, sir, come in, come in. No use hulking in the shadows like some sort of phantom. Its all about shining a light now and it will be easier on everyone if you stepped in and let you daughter fetch you a beverage.”

“Caroline? Why don’t you step into the kitchen and collect yourself and get our new guest something to quench his thirst.”

Edward shifted to the center of the small room as the tall weatherbeaten man stepped in and sat in the wicker chair with a creak. “May I ask you name sir? Perhaps introductions all around.”

The man grimaced and his eyes darted around the room. Eventually he let out a sigh and grunted, “Moskevitch, Jason Moskevitch. And I don’t know none of you all except that beaver and Carrie. Not sure if I really do want to know. Things are fine as is, no use cocking them up I says.”

The beaver looked sadly at the tall man in the ratty chair and shook his head. “Sorry dude, no can do. It’s almost time for the big reveal and we’ve run out of sand for us to stick our head in. Buck up, it won’t hurt ‘but a might’.”

12:13

“No, no. no…” squeaked Caroline, ” I won’t! He can’t make me…”

“Edward. You are mistaken. It was I who had been making introductions before the… disturbances, shall we call them.” The beaver had started to reagin the smugness around the eyes and the expression looked to conquer his whole face if he wasn’t careful. “Shall I continue or would you prefer…?”

“My mistake. But then I generally am mistaken about anything concerning you young kit are I not? Pray continue.”

“Yes, you don’t know a lot… about me, do you. But let’s not dwell, My final guest is someone we all know, well with the exception of you young miss.” Rowan responded to the beaver’s unctuous tone with a moue of disdain. “Yes, even if we thought otherwise, we all have an intimate acquaintance with him.”

The beaver turned to Caroline. “Please relax, I have no intention of letting your father take you home again. Time and trouble have made that a certainty.”

“And as for you Gareth, to paraphrase a most famous sire, ‘He is your father!'” The beaver’s silky tone finally cracked and he started giggling gleefully to himself at the sight of Gareth’s stunned expression.

12:12

It was all getting a bit confusing. The timeshifts, the cross-universe warping, the breaking of the 4th wall, the 5th dimension and the 6th senses: all of it was borderline unbearable for an organized bunny.

The bloody beaver seemed to be enjoying himself though. smirking in the corner and fuelling the fire whenever he could, it was almost as if he didn’t want it to end. But all things come to an end you ludicrous lagomorph and I believe it is time to establish a more… linear… order to this pseudo modernist stream-of-consciousness crappola I have been forced to endure.

“Ahem!” Edward cleared his throat loudly. “Can everyone please sit down and resume their previously silent attitudes!”

“You, my dear Caroline, please stand up and stop blubbering… Yes, I do know who is at the door; we will deal with that in a moment. Beaver, please stop that ridiculous snorting and do try to be a bit more civilized. Gareth, Rowan on the couch if you please; time’s a’wasting.”

Edward scanned the room as the various occupants shuffled around. He spared a hard glare for the beaver under his pile of quilts when it looked like he might object to the usurpation of his fun, but the beaver most intelligently took the hint and settled back to watch quietly.

“Now, Caroline. Blow your nose dear. Good, shall we continue? I believe you were about to tell the room who our mysterious visitor was…”