heeeeey soul sister ain't that mister mister

[thirtycoins]

[ In the far-lying future, Edmund will look upon his childhood with a self-indulgent smile: he'll remember the rolling green hills, the wheatgrass in the wind, Lucy laughing in a tangle of coltish limbs. He'll remember summers spent penning letters to faraway statesmen, sitting in the nook upon his high courtyard, drinking glasses of cool lemon-lime, and finally feeling that he'd found his place in the world.

Now, however, the future is a bright spot far out of his reach. In fact, even the incumbent promise of supper is a bright spot far out of reach, as this lesson has dragged on far too long for Edmund's liking.

It's not that he doesn't find the vast majority of his Narnian studies interesting — he does, he truly does — but for every ten days spent devouring the library's tomes, there is one like today, slumped over his desk, the murmuring of their faun instructor just a bit of white noise on the edge of his consciousness.

(Why in Aslan's name do they need to know about the mating rituals of all furred, feathered, and hooved creatures in Narnia, anyway? Surely kingship won't involve mating with all of them!)

Peter and Lucy, as High King and the resident baby of the court respectively, managed to beg off with the excuse of having a late-summer harvest at Anvard to attend. Of course, someone needed to stay behind to mind Cair, and someone else had to stay behind so that their misery could be shared. Lucky Edmund. Lucky Susan.

Edmund, rucking a glance up at Mister Softfallow (the poor fellow is half-blind, anyway), tears a bit of paper from the edge of his (very blank) notes, and scribbles down a half-legible message. He then balls it up and tosses it Susan's way.

(Ten points if he hits her square in the forehead!)

Unfortunately (or fortunately, rather, as Susan's wrath can be a terrible thing), it falls to the wayside, and lands instead into her lap. ]

Do you reckon the injuries I'd suffer from tossing myself from the window would count as excuse enough to escape this lesson?

Comments

[practicality]

[ mister softfallow is a dear, dear faun and one of the most respected and admired instructors in all the kingdom of narnia, and they are indeed privileged to be under his guidance and tutelage.

...at least, this is what susan tells herself emphatically, trying to keep nodding when his gaze falls on her and keeping herself from nodding off to sleep when it is not. discreetly, she pokes her palm with the tip of her quill, just so she can stay awake. their subject is a fascinating thing, really, if one encounters it on a page in a book or some such - but as a series of four-hour lectures per day for a whole week?

not more than once does she envy peter and lucy their absence from this.

then a piece of paper flies out of nowhere and lands on her lap, surprising her enough to make her gasp. sharply, she looks at edmund, and shakes her head, silently admonishing him for his audacity. she lets a couple of moments to pass - then, when she's certain their professor is busy scribbling notes she opens the note her brother tossed at her.

susan sighs.

Don't be silly, Edmund - the lesson is hardly that boring. Besides, you ought to listen carefully. Don't we have a test later on?

she then folds it to a small square and quickly places it on edmund's table.

[thirtycoins]

[ Edmund, deciding that the trouble of pretending to take notes isn't worth his while, scribbles a reply as soon as Susan returns his note.

(It's not like dear old Softfallow will actually check, anyway — only the crabby old centaurs tend to enforce the whole take-notes-or-die policy. Well, it's more like take-notes-or-get-whacked-around-on-the-training-field-more-than-usual, but it basically amounts to the same thing.) ]

A test? A test on the mating habits of half-goats? (Goats is underlined thrice.) Fare thee well, my dearest sister. I am now certainly going to toss myself from the window.

[practicality]

No you will NOT. I won't allow you to!

[ susan debates on whether or not to end it there - but, knowing her brother, appealing to her own status as his older sister is definitely not the way to convince him. ]

It isn't gentlemanly at all to leave your poor, dear sister alone in this room with another gentleman that is NOT her sibling. Even if it is for something as innocuous as a lesson!

Besides, what will the people of Narnia say of their Just King when they find out that he isn't at all strong enough to bear a lesson that is very, er, dear to their hearts?

[thirtycoins]

Susan, my sweet sister, the heart is not the part of the anatomy that would find this lesson dear.

[ The ink is blotted at the end of the scribbled dear. Edmund himself had paused and stared at what he'd written with something akin to horror. ]

...you could always leap with me, you know. Hand-in-hand. The middle king and queen of Narnia, together in all things. They shall write songs and legends about us.

[practicality]

[ susan will just. stare at the note for a few horrible seconds. really, edmund doesn't have to tell her these things! ]

Yes, well, that's beside the point. I suppose they still expect us to understand how they manage to

[ nope, nope, can't continue that. ]

well, you know.

[ the instructor then turns to face them and goes to deliver a rather spirited talk on how minotaurs procreate, and by the end of it even susan feels rather... pained. ]

You don't suppose Peter will kill us if he finds our corpses littering the gardens, do you? He is rather fond of the space just beneath that window.

[thirtycoins]

[ Spirited? Old Mr. Softfallow is never spirited; he's got one dapper hoof in the grave! (Edmund immediately feels ashamed for that particular thought — oh, how Susan has tempered him.)

Nevertheless, the thought of the old faun's excitement over the mating rituals of half-bulls is quite a terrible one, and Edmund is a peculiar shade of green by the time the scrap of parchment returns to him. ]

Sod Peter! He can find another spot of the garden to grace with his magnificent attentions. [ Wherein magnificent attentions is enlarged and underlined rather viciously. ] Sod Lucy, too, though I'm already feeling a bit guilty for saying so. We ought to cook them up a nice surprise upon their turn to pay them back for this. It's only just.

[practicality]

EDMUND!

[ yes, susan has just scolded her brother through parchment. what is he going to do about it?

...even if she does agree with him, somewhat, though it isn't at all proper to say so. ]

That is not a nice thought and you know it. It isn't as though they planned to attend the harvest at Anvard as an excuse to miss our lessons! Why, that is preposterous and rather absurd, if you ask me.

[ after writing it, though, susan then goes to study her note, even nibbling at the tip of her quill when doing so. surely peter and lucy didn't intentionally leave them behind, did they? ]

[thirtycoins]

[ Edmund, predictably, glosses over the reprimand. He doodles idly at the edge of the scrap of parchment for a few minutes, scheming. ]

We could tell Mr. Softfallow that Lu and Peter were very very disappointed at realizing how much valuable information they missed. The poor old fellow would be overjoyed to have another two willing pupils. Shall we?

[practicality]

[ susan's face lights up upon reading the words written by her brother. sometimes, edmund can be so delightfully devious! ]

It is simply their misfortune to have been absent during the days of his very detailed and informative lessons. I daresay it will only be for their benefit if they also learn what we have learned! Narnia will certainly love them more for knowing what we do now.

[thirtycoins]

[ Delightfully devious, indeed. Edmund catches the rather unladylike grin that crosses Susan's face, and it serves well to deepen his own. ]

Yours is an eloquence unparalleled, as always. I'll leave the discussion with Mr. Softfallow to you, then.

[practicality]

[ really, edmund, leaving her to do the dirty work is not at all very nice. susan lets several moments pass, even allowing herself to take notes every now and then as she starts feeling guilty about not listening to the lecture she's supposed to be taking into heart. but after softfallow goes into a tangent completely unrelated to the mating habit of griffins (and their penchant for cross-breeding), susan scribbles down quite firmly: ]

Surely you're not leaving me alone in this task, are you? This is YOUR idea, after all.

[thirtycoins]

[ The pause is long enough that Edmund takes to amusing himself by sketching unflattering portraits of poor Mister Softfallow in the margins of his notes.

Griffins? Honestly?

Edmund adds a jaunty little griffin-beak to his sketch of a pouting Softfallow. ]

Please, Susan. Mister Softfallow likes you much better. Tragic, really, but what can I do? The sight of a woman's lovely face will always be much preferable to that of a man's rugged visage.

[practicality]

[ susan scoffs, and it is her misfortune that she isn't as subtle about it as she would have liked - so when mister softfallow turns, she feigns coughing, even hitting her chest and muttering apologies for interrupting the class. ]

Rugged visage? [ see how she has underlined it in her disbelief, edmund? ] Pray whose rugged visage are you talking about?

[thirtycoins]

[ Edmund grins at her across the table, not bothering with subtlety. His reply is a quick scribble that he tosses back to her before Mister Softfallow finishes the sentence he'd started when Susan passed the note over. ]

Careful! Pound on your poor chest any harder and you're likely to knock your eyes from their sockets. Then you'll be left bereft of the sight of my rugged visage forever. By Jove! T'would be unbearable. ]

[practicality]

I don't ever recall anyone ever calling your visage 'rugged', dear brother - except for that poor delegate from Terebinthia whose poor existence you kept on ignoring, if I recall.

[ susan smiles at the memory. ]

Really, you ought to be more cordial to our guests, especially to those very, very few who recognize your, er, ruggedness.

[thirtycoins]

[ That's enough to draw a scowl to his face. ]

Must we travel down this dusty road again? Your ledger of terrible suitors is much heavier than mine, might I remind you. That dandified rooster from Galma? The ages-old drunkard from Lune's court? The Talking Rabbit?

Men clearly have a fondness for you, sister. Thus I name you delegate to the talks of import with our fine faunly instructor. I will hear no more of it!

[practicality]

[ you know she'll keep harping on about this until you get married, edmund. the memories of her less-than-pleasant suitors, however, are definitely effective to make her purse her lips. ]

They are perfectly lovely individuals and I'll trust that you at least think of them with some form of courtesy.

[thirtycoins]

[ He's not going to get married! He's a strong, independent woman who don't need no man!

There was that one green-eyed lady from Galma who'd sent Edmund into a tizzy. (Though 'tizzy' is hardly how he'd phrase it, of course. A contemplative fugue. A good king maintains his dignity at all times.)

Thankfully, he's relatively certain that Lucy hadn't told anyone about her. Else Susan would have already been tying the noose about his neck. ]

Lovely, is it?

If the flourish of your pen could be given a tone, I would say that was fondness speaking. You ought to have told me if men of the rabbity persuasion were your preference! I am your closest confidant, am I not?

[practicality]

[ wow edmund wow why aren't you sharing these juicy bits with your understanding and benevolent older sister gosh

also what makes you think you're her closest confidante really ]

I wouldn't say fondness, really. Perhaps kindness, more like. Besides, Sir Lioncourt seems to take more of a liking to Peter than I. If you were more attentive instead of trying to hide at every turn, you might have noticed it too.

[thirtycoins]

[ ...which understanding and benevolent older sister, again?

What she's written is enough to pull Edmund up short. His eyes widen to a comical extent, his mouth a slack drape of surprise.

And then, of course, the mischief settles in. ]

I do wonder how Peter feels on the matter — if dalliances with rabbitkind are of interest to him, perhaps he'll enjoy Mister Softfallow's lessons a great deal more than we had reason to believe.

[practicality]

[ dude how many older sisters do you have

and peter does not count ok

also there's a horrified expression on susan's face as she reads and imagines what edmund is alluding to ]

I meant a liking to Peter because they share the same thoughts about the giants occupying our northern borders, Edmund. Has anyone ever told you your mind is a dark, terrifying thing?

[thirtycoins]

Please. Do you not think it would make an endearing sight? A fat little rosy-cheeked bunny, wearing the crown of Narnia's queen-consort. It would certainly tighten up Son-of-Adam and Talking-Beast relations, if you catch my meaning.

[ And, really, it's just another way to soothe their consciences about tricking Peter into this. He's grinning, unabashed, by the time he flicks the note back.

Don't ruin it, Su. ]

[practicality]

Sir Lioncourt is hardly what I'd call fat. [ because this is really the heart of what they're talking about. ]

And I don't know about you, but honestly I'd prefer someone else to be Narnia's queen-consort.

[ probably someone with features akin to theirs - more, well, human than anything else. ]

Someone who could... well, bear children, I mean. You do realize that bearing children who would inherit the throne is Peter's burden, more so than any of us.

[ ..................thankfully. ]