Carpet Talk

Carpet Talk
by Eldraug

Story Notes

Title: Carpet Talk

Author: Eldraug (mirkwoodwolf@hotmail.com)

Rating: PG-13-ish

Pairings: Oh, the usual ones.

Beta: ME! So all the errors are mine! Mine, mine, mine! Pre-read for quality, however, by the amazing Tolliel, the wonderful Taelin, and the always-enchanting Marchwarden23. Sloppy Wolfie snogs to you all.

Summary: The carpet in front of Terzian’s fireplace in his office speaks of its life at Forever.

Author’s notes: I read a piece called Porcelain Memories over at Forever and it had me in stitches for hours. Then, I thought, ‘Well, if the toilet can write its memoirs, so can the rug in Terzian’s office.’

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to Storm Constantine. I don’t even own my brain that keeps coming up with this idiocy. That still belongs to Great Lakes Higher Education Corporation. Please don’t sue me. It’s truly not worth it.

Carpet Talk

If the walls of Forever could speak, they would have hundreds of tales to tell. But me – I have thousands. I have been walked on, sat on, slept on, eaten on, thrown up on, peed on, and rooned on. I have been moved to various locations in the house, finally coming to land here. In front of the fire. In Terzian’s office. I am a rug.

I began my life as an assortment of yarns woven together by skillful hands then shipped, rather unpleasantly, to a stall in the Galhea marketplace. I was selected by the consort of Terzian because he likes the color green and I do have to say that I am probably the most lovely deep green patterned rug that Galhea has ever seen. I spent my first few years at Forever in pleasant repose in the formal living room. Few ever walked on me and I lived in relative quiet. My only diversion was the weekly beating delivered by a rather sour har who simply hated carpets.

But, my quiet life of formality was not to last. Tiahaar Cobweb decided that “his” rug should be in his room and Terzian, never one to say no to his Webby, agreed. I was unceremoniously yanked out from under the furniture and drug upstairs. I spent the next two months being stomped on by “my” tiahaar as he paced back and forth, back and forth. “Pick another spot,” I wanted to shout at him. “You’ll wear me through!” As the weeks passed, his steps grew heavier and slower until one day he just lay down. I was pleased, as now I wouldn’t be threadbare in one long stripe from his pacing.

I never could have guessed what would happen next. My tiahaar bolted up, screaming and grabbing a handful of my tassels. Suddenly, there were more hara crawling all over me, one shouting at him to push. Push? Push what? I realized too late that I didn’t want to know. In the middle of my intricate floral design, I suddenly felt a sticky wetness. What was happening? Tiahaar Cobweb was screaming and cursing and rather colorfully telling anyone who would listen what he was going to do with Terzian’s ouana-lim when he severed it from his body. With his teeth. With one ear-splitting scream and a painful yank at my tassels, I felt more sticky wetness from my tiahaar. Then the room was silent.

For several weeks a smooth lump lay wrapped in blankets on my edge closest to the fire. After Carpet-Hating Househar cleaned up my center flower, I, once again, became host to my tiahaar. He sat with the lump all the time, singing to it and cooing in a most irritating manner. Amid much stickiness and water one afternoon, Cobweb cried out happily as the lump hatched. Again, my center flower bore the brunt of this event too. It seems a harling was born. Cobweb named him Swift – a rather fitting name in some aspects, as I would soon find out.

Swift spent his first few days on me. He rolled around, learning quickly to crawl so he could chew on my tassels. I spent Swift’s first few days covered in harling spit and once-digested vegetables. He grew, as harlings do, and soon I would be covered in many more interesting substances thanks to my young tiahaar.

Sitting in the middle of me one day, Swift suddenly stood up and announced “Me wee” and then did so right on the left side of my center flower. He was so proud of himself that he went to get Cobweb and Terzian to show them how he “make wee for flowers”. Here I lay, covered in harling wee, and all they can do is say how wonderful he is! While Carpet-Hating Househar cleaned up Swift’s pride and joy, Cobweb and Terzian told him that he was a “big harling” now and needed to “wee in the potty.” Good, I thought, he can be the toilet’s problem now.

Oh, if a little harling wee had been my only problem from that one! But no! Swift had many surprises in store for me. Where did he bring the cat to have kittens? On me, of course! Where did he eat his lunch every day, getting everything from mayonnaise to wine all over? On me, of course! Where did he want to be when he was sick, particularly when he was throwing up or exceptionally snotty? On me, of course! Where did he do his first experimenting with sheh? On me, again. Where did he perform his post-sheh experimentation throwing up? Me again! Swift and I had quite the relationship. One that I wished one of us would sever at any cost.

My salvation, or so I thought, came in the way of an errant cigarette butt that set fire to the old rug in Terzian’s office. Careless har! But, being the shrewd carpet I am, I knew I was the best one to fill the now vacant spot in front of the fire. I was still beautiful, my pile was still thick and soft, and Tiahaar Cobweb wanted to be sure that everyone coming into Terzian’s office knew he was the Lord’s consort. I was the perfect object to state Cobweb’s claim to all of Terzian – office included. I was almost glad to see Carpet-Hating Househar the day he came to “freshen” me with a good beating before moving me into Terzian’s office.

For several months, I lived in quiet luxury. Tiahaar Terzian was hardly ever in his office and when he was he was always at his desk. I grew quite accustomed to being a show carpet again. If I had known then what I know now, I would have stayed with Swift where the only thing that would be spilled on me was sheh and the contents of Swift’s stomach after a night of drinking.

I soon came to find out that, when he no longer went out to battle with his troops, Terzian’s office was twenty-percent office, twenty-percent drinking hall, twenty-percent hotel, and forty- percent brothel. When he wasn’t rooning Tiahaar Cobweb into a screaming, clawing, howling har, he was sleeping on me because Tiahaar Cobweb found out he was rooning somehar else into a screaming, clawing, howling har. I have never heard a har snore like Tiahaar Terzian! I could feel my weaving coming loose after a night with him snoring on me!

Oh, and he thinks he’s so smooth when he’s chatting up some har. He’ll start with sheh on the couch and massages then moves to me and the fireplace. He’ll say something oh-so-clever such as ‘I’m going to roon you into the carpet, my little one.’ How very original, Tiahaar! It was relatively amusing the first hundred times, but now it’s just annoying. Yes. Roon into the carpet. You are truly a charmer, my Lord Terzian. I can’t even begin to remember exactly what was on me when from whom. I’m sure that I had remnants from all of the Twelve Tribes on me at sometime or another. I don’t know how he keeps track of all of them. I’m sure he has a register somewhere in that office entitled “Hara I’ve Rooned on the Lovely Green Carpet in my Office.”

And then, Calanthe came. What a disaster! That har is not only the clumsiest creature ever, but he also “forgets” about where he leaves burning cigarettes and is eternally dirty. Within a month, he had set my fringe on fire twice, spilled wine on me countless times, and trailed horse leavings across me more times than I care to recall. I don’t know what Terzian sees in him! Tiahaar Cobweb is so tidy and proper and Calanthe har Filthy Boots is like the anti-Cobweb. Even aruna is messy with him! I don’t even want to know how Carpet-Hating Househar got that mess off of me.

A pearl soon came along and I was once again subjected to harling wee, throw up, slobber, and an endless stream of spilled substances. Only this time it was worse! Tyson took after his hostling far too much. Oh, how I longed for my days with Swift. He at least tried. Tyson simply traipsed mud and filth from one end of me to the other, not even noticing what he was doing. That went on for decades. And when Tyson and Calanthe were in the house . . . I don’t even want to think about that.

My life has grown quiet again. Terzian is gone to battle and has been gone for a very long time. Tiahaar Cobweb comes in and sits on me sometimes, lovingly fondling the faint stains that still cling to my nap with a sad smile on his face. Sometimes he sleeps on me. I feel him crying softly until he falls into gentle rhythmic breathing. I have seen much for just a rug, just a collection of fibers woven together. I suppose the lives of the hara here at Forever are much like that too – bits of fibers woven inextricably together.

The End

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