Rating: R-ish. I guess. I think. Maybe PG-13. Um. Okay, if you’re under 18, don’t clika.
Author’s notes: Yet another in the Furniture series. This time it’s Thiede’s mirror. Completely AU as always.
Beta: TNT – my ever present and always loved beta.
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. Nada. Nyet. Zippo. It’s all Storm’s. I’m just playing with it. Please don’t sue me. Obviously a brain that keeps coming up with this stuff isn’t worth owning. And it’s really all that I have. Sort of. Once GLHEC gets their hooks out of it . . .
Seriously. If that idiot looks into me one more time and remarks how beautiful he is, by all that is good and shiny in this world, I will arrange to have someone pop a cap in his ass. I mean, honestly! How often can one har toss his red hair over his shoulder and pout before it gets boring? How vain can one har be?! Ah, but when one is a mirror, that’s about all one can expect. That and hara doing stupid, messed-up shite and looking at themselves while doing it. Gods, sometimes I wish I had been made into a coach bumper or a window or something. He’s not the only annoying one, though.
I completely want to throw myself off the wall when the dark-haired one named Pellaz comes to visit. That har’s gonna be bald from brushing his hair so much. And he sings when he does it which sound pretty much like a cat caught in a washing machine. Then he asks his reflection who the prettiest har in all of Immanion is. If I could barf, I would. I so want to say “Not you, soon-to-be baldie! And, by the way, I saw your chesnari rooning Thiede seven ways from Sunday last month.” But, I am destined to be a silent observer of the hara who come to this place.
And while I’m on the topic of Pellaz’s chesnari, being in the same room with that har is about as much fun as having your silver scraped. Not only is he vain, as most hara are, but he’s loud, drinks too much, and likes to watch himself when he roons. If they only knew how stupid they look! Cal looks somewhere between getting ready to throw up, which I have also witnessed from Mr. Calanthe Drunkypants, and thinking too hard about something that confuses him. Like first-year harling math. I honestly don’t know why ANYhar would roon somehar that looks that funny when doing it. When he’s not rooning and making faces at himself, he’s either drunk or hung over. Skinny, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, but no one has clued Cal in on that yet. I don’t even want to talk about the time he got drunk and popped into the Otherlanes. I’m sure some poor realm is living with perpetual rain in the form of har barf courtesy of Immanion’s Favorite Drunk.
Even the supposedly smart ones do stupid shite. On one occasion, Terzian and his pretty consort, Cobweb, came from Galhea to meet with Ponclast. Of course, I got blessed with the three of them as roommates. Well, actually Terzian and Cobweb were my roommates; Ponclast was just visiting – sort of. Anyway, as everyone knows, Varrs are incessantly roony and Terzian was feeling playful so he handcuffed one of Ponclast’s wrists to the headboard. Ponclast, not to be outdone, used the other cuff on Terzian after wrapping the chain that connected them around one of the brass headboard poles. It was at that point that they discovered that neither of them had the key. Across the room, Cobweb stood smiling and jingling a set of keys. No amount of cajoling or begging could move the pretty Sulh to loose his consort and the other har. Wordlessly, Cobweb tucked the keys in his bag, took a hundred spinners from Ponclast’s pants and Terzian’s Galhea Express card, and disappeared into Immanion for an afternoon of retail therapy. When he arrived back at the rooms, laden with packages, Terzian and Ponclast were no longer on speaking terms, as each was convinced it was the other’s fault that neither one of them had thought about needing the keys close by. And those two, according to Thiede, are supposed to be the smart ones.
Thiede. Gods. There’s piece of work! For somehar who “never wants to intrude,” he spends a lot of time with his pretty, little nose in everyhar’s business. I swear he’s like a little old lady with too much time on her hands. When he’s not matchmaking or stirring up shite, he’s gossiping. Thiede loves good gossip – the juicier, the better. I have witnessed too many nights of him, Caeru, and Ashmael gossiping and giggling like schoolgirls, complete with wine and chocolate chip cookies. And the more wine that flowed, the gigglier they got until they passed out, flopped together like puppies in the middle of Thiede’s huge bed. For better or worse, I suppose some things never change.
Speaking of puppies, I have also witnessed my share of harlings being born in this room. For some reason, expectant hostlings seem to go into labor during Thiede’s dinner parties. I don’t know what he gives them, but he really needs to change the menu. Aleeme had his last harling right here and I was stuck watching it. Actually, it was rather amusing as I wasn’t directly involved. Unlike the duvet cover. Aleeme sure can scream. He cursed at Azriel throughout his entire labor and threatened to rip Ashmael’s ouana-lim off if he didn’t shut up and get that harling out of him. When the harling was finally born, Aleeme-zilla was gone and the sweet har that was Azriel’s mate had returned. Returned covered in blood and a stinking mess, but it was better than the demon that had occupied the bed a few minutes earlier.
Aside from drinking, rooning and harling birthing, I have had the dubious honor of being privy to many a har’s supposedly private moments. Post-inception and pre-freybrahia har spend hours lying on the bed and inspecting their bodies, gazing into me, their eyes full of expectation and fear. Seeing their youth and innocence makes it almost worth going through all the shite just to witness such a memorable event in a har’s life.
Almost. Then one of them does something stupid and, again, I go back to wishing I was a dog bowl or a cooking pot. Like when Vaysh sat on the fence outside to ogle Ashmael while he did his morning exercises and got a splinter in his butt for his trouble. So, an hour later, there I was with a har butt almost right on top of me and Vaysh trying to see around himself to remove the splinter. Once he realized his arms weren’t long enough, he went to get help. Amazingly enough it was Ashmael. How romantic! Vaysh has a lot to learn about courting and flirting. Crouching on all fours on the bed with one’s rump in the air while one’s intended removes a splinter from said rump probably isn’t all that sexy or doesn’t make one seem like roonable material. I mean, all dear Vaysh ended up with was a bandage on his butt and a pat on his bare, uninjured cheek from Ashmael. That, and several weeks of jokes at the Hegemony. Not even a hope-your-butt-feels-better roon from General Aldebaron. Some hara. Seriously.
Thiede is currently tarting himself up for dinner. Yes. Brush your hair one more time. Because one got out of place in the last seven seconds. But, for all their idiocy, strangeness, and vanity, these hara do keep life interesting for me. I mean, where else could I see so much untapped comedy in one place? It’s a damn good thing I have a sense of humor.
The rooms are silent and I am basking in the moon’s reflection. Thiede will stagger back upstairs soon and collapse on the bed. And begin snoring. As usual. His snores, however, are sometimes comforting as I reflect the moon’s reflection back at her and wait to see what tomorrow brings.