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A Name By Any Other
There were five of them curled around the fire, Kip, Ira, Tor, Löwen, and the egg. Kip was very careful not to let Tor anywhere near his precious daughter, lest he accidentally bond with her.
"Like I need another bother around," Tor teased as he sipped tea in the study, slouched in a high-backed chair. "I's enough to make my head spin already."
*She's going to be so pretty,* Kip purred.
"Did you name her yet?" Tor asked.
*I've been trying to get him to settle on one,* Ira interjected. *He doesn't like any of my suggestions.*
*Sorry, but Ella is not something you name your daughter.*
"It is if her last name's going to be Fitzgerald," Tor said.
*You and your music,* Kip sighed and shook his head.
"It's just a hobby."
*If it were anything more, or you tried a little, you could be a bard,* Ira said, a critical tone creeping in.
"Pff. I have a sweet deal going on here already."
Ira rolled his eyes. *One day, Xylon will kick you out of the library. You've been living here for three years now.*
"Yep."
*That's all you have to say for yourself? That's all he has to say for himself.* Ira sighed. He looked over at Kip in hopes of getting some sympathy. Instead, Kip was doting on their daughter. He seemed happier now that they'd moved to the Library, but sometimes, with Kip, it was harder to read signs.
*Maybe you can give us suggestions for names, Tor?* Ira suggested, trying to keep the conversation going.
Tor made a nervous noise when Kip turned to him. "Er. That is. I'm sure Kip will come up with a great name."
Kip shrugged a little and turned so he could watch the man. *It couldn't hurt. Not really, anyway.*
"Well... that is... umm..."
*Come on, Tor,* Ira goaded him. *I know you know plenty of womens' names.*
"That's just it, see..." Tor meeped.
*What's just it?* Kip asked dryly.
"Uh... None of them... could uh... could possibly be good enough for your daughter."
*I'll be the judge of that.*
"Uh..." Tor said, combing his failing memory for earth women names. "Maralyn?" he suggested, thinking of, naturally, Monroe.
Kip made an uncertain face.
*Keep trying, Tor.*
"Catherine?" The Great, second wife of Peter.
Kip shook his head.
"Anne?" Heiser Bush Corporation.
*No.*
"Er... Jackie?" Kennedy Onasis.
*No.*
"Eleanor?" Roosevelt. His voice was cracking a little with nerves.
Ira cut in. *Why don't you try some of the women in your songs, Tor?*
"Er... okay. Let me go get Cecelia."
*There's a name!* Kip said, turning to look at Tor.
*That's his guitar, you doof,* Ira sighed.
*Oh. We can name our daughter after his guitar can't we?*
Ira crossed his tail in front of his folded wings and shook his head.
*Oh. Okay. No Cecelia.*
Tor left the room quietly and Kip and Ira stared at the fire with Löwen and the egg. *We'll find the right name eventually, Kip,* Ira told him, tickling a spot in his neck that he knew made the black squirm.
Kip wriggled away a little and then fell over onto his side to playfully bat the encroaching tail away with his feet, gently, careful not to hurt his mate.
Before a full-scale draconic tickle war could escalate, however, Tor returned with his accoustic guitar. She was in pretty bad shape, but Tor loved her and refused to get rid of her. Sandy gave him that guitar, he often said. Getting rid of it would be like getting rid of his heart. He'd have to do it eventually, but not anytime soon he hoped.
Tor sat on the ground next to the other four occupants of the room. He strummed a few chords nimbly picking his way over the strings. Then, softly and slowly: "Guinivere... had green eyes... Like yours, m'lady like yours..."
Kipfel listened to Tor and his daughter for the length of the song. When it was finished, he considered it. *No,* he said after a length. *Bishels do not have green eyes.*
*A technicality,* Ira argued. *It's a beautiful name!*
"I'll try a different one..."
*Yes,* Kipfel agreed.
Tor hummed a little and found his place on the strings. Then it was: "She will never say where she came from/ Yesterday don't matter til it's gone/ While the sun is bright/ Or in the darkest night/ No one knows/She comes and goes..."
It was a fairly up-and-down song about some girl, free-spirited. At the end of it, Kip shook his head. *I'm not naming my daughter after a day of the week.*
Tor took a deep breath. "Alright," he said. This song started faster: "The mama pajama rolled out of bed, and she ran to the police station/ When the papa found out, he began to shout, and he started the investigation/ It's against the law, it was against the law/ What the mama saw, it was against the law..."
At the end of it, Tor paused for his breath. Such fast-paced songs were wearing him out.
*What's Corona?* Kip asked.
"What?"
*The line was 'Goodbye to Rosie, the Queen of Corona.'*
"Corona's beer. From my world."
*Eww. No.*
"Okay... This one sounds a bit better with more members of a band, but whatever." He flipped Cecilia over so that the strings were flat against his stomach. Then, he started beating out a rhythm on the back of the guitar. It was followed shortly by: "Ooh my little pretty one, pretty one./ When you gonna give me some time, Sharona?/ Ooh you make my motor run, my motor run./ Gun it comin' off the line Sharona/ Never gonna stop, give it up./ Such a dirty mind. Always get it up for the touch/ of the younger kind. My my my i yi woo. M M M My Sharona..."
Two more verses of that lead to: *YES!*
Ira stared at Kip. *Did you even listen to the words?*
Kip glanced around suspiciously. *Um... it's a pretty name!*
Ira glared at him levelly. *You're naming your favourite daughter after a common whore.*
*Um... it's a pretty name!*
"Mmm. Sharona," Tor said happily, no doubt dropping into some fantasy that has been censored out of this narration.
Kip let out a soft growl. *That had better be some other Sharona you're thinking about.*
Ira sighed. *I swear. If it had been a name suggested by any other...*
*It'd still be pretty!*
*I was thinking more along the lines of 'you wouldn't be distracted by the music long enough to block out the words'.*
*Oh. Yeah, there's that too.*
Ira sighed as Kip nuzzled the egg of their daughter.
*How's that for a name? Eh? Sharona.* He purred it over and over and over again. Ira smacked him with his tail upside the head to stop it eventually.
*I think she likes it,* Kip announced cheerfully to the room. Löwen cut a caper. Tor sighed and put his guitar on a chair.
"So, now what?" he asked them all.
Tor tells good stories, doesn't he? the little voice that was often Löwen's imprint on Kip's mind asked.
*Why don't you tell us a story, you half-penny bard?* Kip suggested.
"I'll have you know I'm a quarter penny bard and a half-penny Seer," Tor said indignantly. And then, he shrugged. "Very well. This one's called Peter and the Wolf. It's better with an orchestra, but you make do with what you have. Once upon a time..."
***
Once upon a time there was Russia, which was a large and cold place, full of trees and snow and wild animals. It was a hard place to live, what with the long winters and the poor farm land. But people did as best as they could.
In this land of Russia was a young boy named Peter. He lived in the countryside with his Grandfather. They had a farm with many animals on it, encircled by a fence. They were reasonably well off, not in danger of starving, but they weren't filthy rich, either.
One morning, Peter decided to go for a walk. Outside the gate in the fence around his farm was a wide, green meadow. It was early summer, and the meadow was full of life. It was green and vibrant, full of birds, butterflies, and insects. Peter liked the meadow. Young boys usually do. There're many things to do in meadows. One of Peter's favourite things to do was to talk to his animal friends.
The first animal friend he came upon was his friend Bird. Bird was a small songbird, black and tawny brown with a beautiful singing voice. Bird was on the branches of a tall tree. "All is quiet! All is quiet!" chirpped Bird before taking off in flight around his friend Peter.
As Peter walked, Bird swept through the air, singing joyous songs of spring and summer for his friend to hear. It was a lovely string of melodies. Eventually, Bird lighted on Peter's head, and the two of them walked through the meadow, Bird making quiet conversation with his friend. Peter marched with a purposeful gait, and Bird warbled happily that his friend had come to play.
Just then, a duck snuck out of Peter's farm. Peter had forgotten to close the gate behind him, you see, and Duck decided to take a swim in the pond in the meadow. Peter and Bird sat by the pond to watch her swim. Peter tossed pebbles into the pond, and Duck came swimming over. She let out a few quick short "wack wack wack"s before waddling out of the water.
Bird flew off of Peter's head, then, and shrugged his shoulders at Duck as he landed near her. "What kind of bird are you if you can't fly?" Bird wanted to know.
Duck replied "What kind of bird are you if you can't swim?" and promptly dove into the pond. She came up with some pondweeds on her bill which she ate.
"That's not right!" Bird said indignantly. "Birds were meant to fly, not to swim! There're more of us fliers, there're more of us singers!"
"Ducks were made first!" Duck replied, and continued swimming as Bird got more and more worked up. Duck eventually rose to his bait, and they started arguing.
Peter listened to them go at it, grinning widely. He enjoyed his friends' company, even though he knew eventually he'd have to get the duck back inside the gate and close it tightly. That wasn't something to worry about now, though. He had the sun, he had the grass, he had the pond, and he had his friends, Bird and Duck.
And Bird and Duck were arguing hotly over who was the better feathered friend. Duck would start quacking at Bird, who would warble insistantly back.
Suddenly, a cat caught Peter's attention. It was skulking through the grass towards them, no doubt interested in the bird. Noiselessly, she crept towards Bird on velvet paws. The Bird is arguing she thought to herself, licking her chops. He'll never see me!
"LOOK OUT!" Peter shouted, and Bird took flight, fluttering into the tree in surprise at the noise.
Duck took her turn to quack angrily at Cat... from the middle of the pond.
Cat walked around the tree wondering if the climb was worth it. By the time I get up there, the Bird will fly away.
Suddenly, Grandfather came out. He was angry that Peter was in the meadow. "Peter! Come back home! The meadow's no place for boys, you know! If a wolf came out of the forest, what would you do?" he wanted to know, clutching his cane as he shuffled towards the pond.
But Peter paid no attention to his Grandfather's words. Boys like Peter are not afraid of wolves. Besides, he had his friends and the sunshine and the grasses and the pond.
But Grandfather took Peter by the hand, dragged him back to the gate, locked it, and led him home. Complete with a stern talking-to.
As soon as Peter was gone, a big...grey... wolf! came out of the forest. He stalked around the edge of the treeline, looking hungrily for someone or something to sate his appetite.
Cat saw him and scurried up into the tree, claw after claw, staring down at the wolf below her.
Duck quacked in excitement and jumped out of the pond and started running around mindlessly.
But no matter how hard Duck ran, the Wolf was faster. He was getting nearer, nearer. Every step he took, he gained on her. And then, he was upon her, and with one gulp, he swallowed her whole!
Bird looked out of his tree sadly. But they were no match for a Wolf. Not Bird nor Cat said anything, and they watched as he made his rounds of the meadow.
Cat was on one branch of the tree. Bird was on another, not too close to Cat. And the Wolf walked round and round the tree upon finding them, eying them greedily. Bird stayed absolutely silent aside from a slight titter every now and again. Cat watched the Wolf, also.
Peter, fearless as usual, stood behind the locked gate, watching everything that was going on. He ran home, grabbed a strong rope, and climbed over the stone wall. One of the tree branches with Cat and Bird in it stretched over the wall. Peter grabbed hold of the branch and tied one end of the rope to it.
"Bird," he called. "Fly down and circle round his head, but don't get caught!"
Bird found his courage and nodded and swept down out of the tree, warbling loudly and flying around and around the Wolf's head. He felt his wings barely touch the Wolf's head, and he darted out of the way as the Wolf snapped furiously in the air, swinging his head this way and that!
Meanwhile, Peter made a lasso out of the rope and he carefully lowered it down and caught up the Wolf's tail! Peter pulled up on the rope and wrapped it around the branch a few more times.
The Wolf was furious! He jumped around angrily, but with every jump, the rope drew tighter around his tail.
Suddenly, hunters came into the meadow, their guns blazing. They loped towards Peter and the tree and the Wolf.
Peter cried, "Stop! Don't shoot! Bird and I have already caught the Wolf! Help me take him to the zoo!"
The hunters considered this and shrugged. It would get them their fame and fortune either way.
So, they muzzled the Wolf and tied him to a stick and between them, they carried him to town, where the zoo was. Peter joined them, starting a parade. Bird joined in, warbling heroically, telling all who would listen and understand how he and Peter had caught the Wolf! The Cat, not being one to be left out of the attention, crept down the tree and joined the line of them.
Now, just imagine. Just imagine the triumphant procession! Peter at the head, leading the way to town! Then, the hunters carrying the Wolf between them. Grandfather, a bit annoyed at the way things had turned out, or might have turned out, rounded out the procession. And as they marched to town, people all over stopped to watch and cheer. And Bird warbled out a marching tune, and quietly, inside the Wolf's stomach, there was a faint quacking to be heard, because the Wolf in his hurry, had swallowed her alive.
***
"The end."
*Well... thanks, Tor. That was certainly...*
*Odd,* Ira finished for Kip.
"Anytime, fellows. And now, this little quarter-penny bard has to go to bed. Good night, you lot."
The dragons and sufan waved goodnight to him, and then, they all piled on top of each other and fell asleep in front of the fireplace, which was still insistant on staying lit throughout the night.
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