PETTY McTYRANT: A PORTRAIT

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Post by The Archet Bugle Wed Oct 03, 2012 6:05 am

PORTRAIT: continued

In a garret on the West Bank - within walking distance of the Champs Elysses (which I've probably spelled wrong) - Petty's edification continued; strange though it seem that a Scotshobbit should train to become an English Gentlehobbit in Bohemian Frenchieland.

(I might add as a digresion that Petty had by now learned some French words too, like messindigoo (friend), porti-in (enter) and merijig (please), and other words which I can't be bothered making up as I clearly don't speak Frenchie).

Anyway, Petty become quite the proper Gentlehobbit in time. And though he spoke with a Scotshobbit accent always, on the printed page his conversation came to look proper Aristocratic English (and soon you will see what I mean!)

I might quickly add, Vicky and Petty's shared one room garret had one bed and a bath, but Petty slept on the floor and never watched Vicky changing her clothes or bathing; he put his hands over his eyes and never peeked. For he was an honorable Scotshobbit of the old school.

Vicky had offered to sleep night about on the floor to be fair, as the Germano-Royals of the English are tougher and fairer indeed than Lefty Ideologues give credit (or know), but, as I said, Petty was old school - a sexist in fact - and he would not allow it. In the end, Vicky agreed to his flash of Positive Practical Chauvinism, her doubts allayed by the sheer comfortableness of the bed.

One fine morning, with the sky a pristine blue above the river, and clouds that looked very much like wooly lost lambs wandering over the spot where the Awful Tower would be built some time in the future , Vicky, from bed, said, "I sometimes wonder about we Royals."

"And what is it you wonder, Vicky, apple of my heart?" Petty asked from the floor.

"Well, I wonder at the affection, fakery and unexpected fairness of we who were born to rule the masses."

"It is a matter worthy of being wondered at, that is true, Vicky, dumpling of my bubbliest stew."

"Is it genetic or learned, do you think, Petty my pet?"

Petty blushed. He did like it when she called him her pet. "Of that I cannot say, as I am no expert on the subject... But I verily imagine it would be a worthy and fruitful Course to take up at the University."

"I can't possibly go to University..." Vicky giggled coquetishly. "I mean, Petty my pet, what if the English Peers got word of their missing Queen associating with brainy people? They should go into paroxisms... Do you know how to spell paroxisms by the way, Petty my pet?"

"Should I look it up in Webster?"

"No... somehow it would spoil the moment, I feel. Would you like to saunter along the river with me after brunch? Would that not be perfect?"

"It is perfect even now," said Petty earnestly. "There is a sweet latticed light through the filagree curtains, and beyond the balcony a blue sky and below it the as yet unpolluted flow of clearest waters - and there you lie, Vicky, with a joyous somnolence upon your brow and a dreamy distant gleam in your eyes, and your chestnutty curls a'curl upon the silky pillow coverlet; you do set my knees a'tremblin'...."

As you see, Petty was not quite the same Petty as we met at the beginning of this tale.



to be continued...
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Post by Lancebloke Wed Oct 03, 2012 10:35 am

Well, its clearly not the same Petty the frequents Forumshire in the current presentness of now. Unless, of course, there is some dramatic and utterly shocking twist to the tale... like someone taking his One Ring from him!!

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Post by Pettytyrant101 Wed Oct 03, 2012 3:40 pm

I think I must have been ill at the time Lance.

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Post by The Archet Bugle Wed Oct 03, 2012 9:43 pm

PORTRAIT: continued

It is a little known fact that Queen Vicoria in her younger days looked exactly like Amy Pond (or the actor who played her) and Petty was well aware of it though he didn't know who Amy Pond was. Oh yes, and his Vicky had chestnut curls, not truly red ones. Or, perhaps it might br truer to say, Amy Pond looked exactly like Queen Victoria.

Petty was musing on these peculiar thoughts as he lay on the floor, and a poem came to him as if verily he had channelled it.

"My Vicky is just like Amy Pond,
Though I have never known her -
Amy Pond I haven't known, that is,
Perhaps she is an actor
who doth play her,
And aren't we all
just actors?

Who could ever really know
for an inaneness is upon this?
All I know is I love this
young girl not yet eighteen,
Lying in her many petticoated nightgown
upon the bed
in this romatioc garret -
and not a rat in sight
as my Vicky would not allow it.

Oh look!
Her hair of chestnut hue
not gentler red,
Looking out upon the river
not far from the
future
Awful Tower,
Oh my love
Oh my Vicky."


"My goodness," Vicky said alighting from the bed. "I must change into my sauntering clothes, sweet Petty my pet, my pet, my darling. Your poetry will send me into a state of saucy readiness for which I do not feel ready -- not with a commoner that is... Though with lovely words like that, things might change quite readily. For shame! Petty my doll, my little man, my Scotshobbit pretty boy! You have won my heart but not yet the luscious embrace of the shimmering white skinned body that lies hidden beneath my corset and petticoats!"

As you see, poetry can be a dangerous thing, especially when put in the mouth of a Scotsthobbit.

Paris, Frenchieland, in those days was quite the place to be. The two almost-lovers spent the day at art galleries, outdoor cafes and bookshops selling only the most intellectual, political or romantic tomes --- but mostly they spent their time reading poetry, because they were in love.

Just after lunch, Petty said, "Sweet Vicky my pumpkin dish of soup, I dream of having a Ring that makes my inhibitions invisible."

"But Petty my pet, my darling, what if you should then lose that Ring?"

"Well, I then should regress to a more primal state and ravish you in this very laneway. So goes my dream."

"You would then have returned to your primeval form!"

"Yes -- though it is but a dream I have."

"And a lovely if brutal dream it is! ... Which is interesting..." Vicky blushed.

"What do you mean?

"Well, in this dream of yours you have a Ring."

"Yes?"

"But in reality it does not exist."

"That's true."

"So - well --- does this mean you would wish to ravish me in some as yet to be gleaned Freudian psychological state?"

"I'm a little lost now."

"That is the spontaneity of existence, I fear, but I apologise for being a being with a poetic sensibility."

"I fear that poetry and pure inaneness walk hand in hand inside your febrile (though not at all Scandanavian) mind, my lovely haunch of tenderest lamb."

"Walk hand in hand, though mentally? A metaphorical walk then - even as we walk in the flesh by the river."

"Metaphorical? Is that the right word?"

"I am trying to reach for the superlative."

"I don't think you are, even if you think you are," Petty said scratching his head now in real confusion.

Which all goes to show you that these young hobbits were completely in love, talking about nothing - nothing sensible anyhow - and knowing but not knowing it, for these things are a matter for the heart not the head, and truly! their hearts were melded together like the tastiest corn and French onion in a romantic bowl of chowder, but - of course! - without too much salt and just the right amount of pepper.



to be continued....






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Post by halfwise Wed Oct 03, 2012 9:54 pm

*Sigh*

After this one wonders what could possibly have happened to turn him into the crabbit-meister of today. Maybe she ran off with some damn American?

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Post by Orwell Wed Oct 03, 2012 9:58 pm

However bitter and vile the potential ending of this tale, I suspect a little bit of this poetic gentlehobbit Petty must remain -- even if only in a corner of the blackened embittered contemporary heart currently pulsating bleakly within his scrawny Scotshobbit breast, Halfy. I only hope, mind! [sigh]

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Post by Pettytyrant101 Thu Oct 04, 2012 12:27 pm

I thik this tale may be what made me crabbit!! Mad (In a timey-wimey fashion seeing as I'm only reading it now)

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Post by The Archet Bugle Thu Oct 04, 2012 9:06 pm

PORTRAIT: continued


Spring arrived in Paris and the populace became frisky. Vicky was caught up in the elemental air of excitement and she exhibited some behavioural changes. I'll elucidate a few examples. When they sauntered among the cul de sacs in the brisk morning sunshine, she now held Petty's hand. And, when on their midday traipse in the heady warmth conducted by cobblestone and asphalt and she saw lovers in the parks kissing and cuddling with hands fondling under petticoat and bodice or betwixt trouser fronts unzipped in the green lawned parks, Vicky would often say, "Ooh! I should ever like to be involved in that sort of thing". And when bedsprings squeaked in the later evenings down in the Landlord's bedroom under their garret, Vicky would sit on his lap on the French Provinicial chair of their lttle balcony and whisper in his ear, "Quiet now, sweet pumpkin; listen instead to the sounds of the night!" That kind of thing. But Petty - being a Scotshobbit - had no idea of what was happening.

One day as they took cinnamon toast at a street cafe at the Rue de Larudey on the West Bank, Vicky frowned suddenly and hissed, "Are you stupid or something?"

"Pardon?" Petty spluttered in his coffee, as the question seemed to have come out of nowhere (though it must have, as questions like that aren't created in a vacuum).

"Do you love me or do you not?" and Vicky turned her head away, as if she wished to watch the gaily clad Frenchie passerbys, but even Petty knew it was just a rather obvious pretense.

Petty's heart misgave him. Indeed, his heart felt of sudden lead - or some other heavy metal. "You sound both angry and sad," he opined in his quiet Scottish brogue. "Is it me who makes you struggle with these two apparent emotions, my love?

"It is but you're too stupid to know why! Aren't you? Too stupid!" She turned hotly upon him, her eyes welled with tears, her red-rouged cheeks scrunched up like scrunched-up red-rouged cheeks, and her chestnut curls were all a'fluster with one curl flung loose fom it's bindings as she tossed her head in fierce remorseful annoyance. "I say again, are you stupid?"

"I don't... understand...." Petty said uncertainly because he didn't.

"Have you once tried - even once tried! - to kiss me, Petty?

"No, certainly not!"

"Have you in the evening of the night - any night! - tried to run your hand down my back?

"I should never do such a forward act!"

"When did you ever look upon my frock or shoes and smile pleasuredly?"

"Oh Sweet Eru! I think I know what you are getting at now, my love - you think I'm a pervert!"

"Yes! A pervert! What other hobbit (or Scotshobbit) would have a lady make clear and obvious behavioural changes and he be clearly unmoved! Unmoved, Petty. It is a harsh and unladylike word, I know, but ! am pent up with several girly emotions and will not continue to restrain myself anymore! Unmoved! Oh my dear - I've said it!"

"I... er... pardon me, my love?"

"You do not love me, do you?"

'But I do, my love!" Petty protested. "With all my heart and all my my head and all my digits, both by foot and by hand, they tingle at the very thought of you!"

"If only I could believe it!" Vicky said and wept into her hands.

The other diners turned their angular continental heads and looked askance at Petty with that particuliar Parisian look that says, "Oh you cad, what evil comment have you laid upon the ears of that lovely young hobbit lass of regal bearing?"

Petty, who was totally disarmed, and in his eforts to regain some dignity, reached across the cute little French Provinicial table, and with a serviette tried to wipe some cinnamon flavoured crumbs from Vicky's sodden cheeks. It was very tentative and, therefore, tender.

"Oh Petty!" Vicky wept even more weepily, though a light was suddenly turned on beneath her tears, like sunshine reflected impressionistically just below the surface of the river nearby. "You do want me!"

"Want you?" Petty said in surprise. This was becoming a most awkward breakfast. "Want you for what?

This did nothing to save the moment. Vicky stormed off in a paroxism of sheer emotion, indeed several emotions of conflicting sorts. Petty quickly paid the waiter and scurried after her.

"I feel this may be a watershed moment in our relationship, " he said to himself as he puffed along the Rue de Larudey. "I fear my Vicky hates me and that only makes the lead or other heavy metal that is my heart seem even more heavier!"


to be continued...











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Post by Lancebloke Thu Oct 04, 2012 9:12 pm

Oh Petty - If only they had babestation in Frenchieland. Costs less than a private education and teaches far more!
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Post by Orwell Thu Oct 04, 2012 9:25 pm

I don't know, Lance, but does Petty seem a little thick to you? I don't mean necessarily just in this Portrait - I mean quite generally? Very Happy

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Post by The Archet Bugle Thu Oct 04, 2012 11:35 pm

PORTRAIT: continued

Vicky was in quite a state by the time Petty caught up to her at their garret, though Frenchieland was actually a republic by that time in history. That beautiful young woman's eyes were puffed and red, and her peticoats were dishevelled after flinging herself on the bed, and her hair was dispersed all over the coverlets in what might easily have seemed gay abandon but I assure you was not the least bit gay.

Petty stood in the doorway, speechless. Oh what a vision of loveliness Vicky was! And Oh! how he loved her! And his heart knew then as she espied him surreptitiously through lashy wet eyes that she loved him too. But his head told him that she was an illogical combination of queer moods and mad 'Yes-but- I-mean-No-or-maybe-it-is-Yes' conundrums, and no male has a mental faculty to understand that, even when his very heart is being transfigured by the very selfsame illogical combination.

"Why don't you say something?" Vicky demanded to know amid her broken sobs.

"I don't know what to say."

"You knew what to say when we discussed Karl Marx yesterday... and you were not short of words on Thackeray's 'Vanity Fair' the day before... Why cant you articulate a syllable now -- when I most need you too?"

"We could talk about 'Existentialism' if you like, as we haven't discussed that yet."

"That is so typical of a Scostshobbit. Yes 'Let's discuss Existentialism, but no, don't bend a Princess who wants it bad over the back of a French Provincial chair with her lacy petticoats athwart!' No, it's never like that with you, is it!"

"Do you want to have sex with me?" Petty askled as a certain penny dropped.

"How dare you even suggest it!" Vicky cried in utmost disgusted anger, and tossed and turned and rolled and somersaulted in pure spleen on the bed - as women tend to do when annoyed I've found, especially when you suggest they might be feeling sexy, which is never any man's business to articulate, as it ruins the moment, apparently.

"Umm.. err... by what you said, I just thought..."

"That's the trouble with you Petty - you think too much, how about action being your motto for once?"

"I'm prepared to act, Vicky,.. I really am."

"Then ... go on..." Vicky said quietly.

Now Petty was thrown into a dilemna, for clearly Vicky wanted him to do something - to act! - but she had got angry when he had thought she might want to get frisky with him, and so he - yet again - had no idea at all what she wanted him to do.

Now, dear reader, I'm sure you are sitting there alone in your Reading Rooms and Studies thinking it all quite obvious what Vicky wanted Petty to do, but that's easy to see when you're not in the middle of it and can go out to a library to find out what a woman wants whenever you're not sure and need to do some research. Indeed, it was what Petty should very much like to have done, but somehow him piping up and saying, "Look Vicky, I'm off to do a bit of research about Male-Female relationships down at the library, I'll be back later!" just did not seem an option - however enticing.

Vicky grew angrier - if that was possible: "Will you stop being speechless and confused-looking and act!"

"But I don't know what you want me to do," Petty blurted out in desperation. "Please tell me what you want."

"A Lady must never do that," Vicky said, but her tone had changed. It was almost as if she had thought, 'Oh the idiot hasn't a clue, oh bless him', though she could not in all politeness utter it aloud. Instead, she lay back all soft and feminie on her pillow, wiped the tears from her eyes, and allowed one of her peticoats to protude ever so slightly beyond the hemline of her frock. Without a word, she put her hand out in his direction and even such a dim-wit as Petty knew he must obey the primeval summons.

Then something wonderful happened between them, in some ways naive and clumsy - which only made it more wonderful really - but I shall say no more, for the describing of such things would only make it seem tawdry and untidy and a little messy, and by no means could words ever - however elegantly one put them - capture the sublime beauty of it all. I will only say that afterward Petty fell asleep in her arms, and most glad of heart he was I assure you.


to be continued...








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Post by Ally Thu Oct 04, 2012 11:41 pm


I felt this was relevent

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Post by Orwell Thu Oct 04, 2012 11:42 pm

You certainly know how to ruin a moment, don't you! Mad

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Post by Ally Thu Oct 04, 2012 11:47 pm

Orwell walks in wearing a Henry VIII mask

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Post by Orwell Thu Oct 04, 2012 11:50 pm

Rolling Eyes


{{{.... Hey, Everyone! I just realised something... Ally's blushing.... She's a Modern thinker but still a girl at heart - touched by romance, you know, but can't ever admit it -... Explains all the esoterica... How lovely! The little sweetie-pie! I love you }}}

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Post by Ally Thu Oct 04, 2012 11:59 pm

What's a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?

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Post by Orwell Fri Oct 05, 2012 12:01 am

{{{ Laughing knew it Cool }}}

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Post by halfwise Fri Oct 05, 2012 12:06 am

Ally dammit, I'm still laughing at your mood music. I rather think it captured the moment perfectly.

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Post by Orwell Fri Oct 05, 2012 12:11 am

Actually - I just listened again and I think I know what you mean! Shocked Bloody Ally! Laughing

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Post by halfwise Fri Oct 05, 2012 12:34 am

It's all in the timing, and the image of our scottish hero in the first thros of love.

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Post by The Archet Bugle Fri Oct 05, 2012 12:38 am

PORTRAIT: continued

Was it some uneasy wobbling in the ether of his dreams, or was something wrong - or both?

Petty woke with a start. He reached around, but he was alone.

It was sunset - the last of the sunshine shone blood red on the river.

"Vicky!" he whispered and leaned over the bed to see if she was hiding under it.

Something was wrong!

He checked the pantry and the kitchen drawers. No, she wasn't there - not that you would expect her to be hiding in the drawers, but in the madness of his loss Petty had... um... gone mad.

He ran out on the balcony. "Vicky!" he yelled across the roof tops of gay Paris - that suddenly seemed less gay, though still very gaudy in the sunset.

Then Petty realized Vicky's chest and suitcases were missing. Yes, she was gone!

What could have happened?

"I must go seek her," Petty cried and dressed quickly.

He bounded downstairs and out into the street.

"Vicky!" he cried. "Vicky where fore art thou?" It was a very Shakespearan moment, though he hardly cared. His heart felt hollow. His soul was empty. The sense of loss in his once tingling toes and fingers was excrutiating.

"Is that you, Petty Kracken-McTyrant?" said a soft sinister voice.

Petty looked across the cul de sac. In the shadows cast by a just-lit gaslamp sat a familiar person.

Petty hurried across to to him as that gilt edged figure sat on a low brick fence outside a tobaccanist.

""Orwell Jackaboots McOdo!"

"That's 'Captain' Orwell Jackaboots McOdo to you, Scottie-lad me laddie!" said he, and contemptuously.

"What have you done with her?"

"Why do you say that? Me? Do you think I would have come here with six gendarmes and stole your true love with a view of taking her back to England and her Inheritance?"

"It's exactly the kind of thing a fellow like you would do!" Petty grated.

Orwell became angry. "You Scotshobbits think you know everything don't you! Bloody upstart!"

"It's true though!"

"Of course it is --- but you're still an upstart."

"But how did you do it?"Petty asked aghast and furious. "She was in my very arms!"

"Chloroform!" Orwell laughed out loud. "Cunning, hey!"

"Where is she? I plan to rescue her!"

"And that is exactly the reason why I'm not going to tell you where she is. Ha!"

"You bastard!"

"No I'm not!"

"Not literally! -- or are you? never mind -- look you Ozhobbitstanian prick, tell me where she is. "

"What - just now? This very minute? No, you'll not get it out of me. I'm sworn to secrecy!"

"Then what if I bite your throat out with my teeth"?"

"I reckon you would too. You do seem miffed enough just now, I have to say. Alright then! She's on the "Good Ship Lollipop" that even now chugs out of Calais-caloo Harbour!"

"I shall go post haste to her rescue then - even if I must swim the English Channnel."

"The French Channel, you mean."

"What?"

"There's no point anyway. She's married to Prince Albert. I saw to that."

"But..."

"The choloroform again.... And once you're wed you're wed. Vicky was quite upset when the choloform wore off properly.. But she is a Royal and therefore quite the Stoic."

"So my true love is married," Petty sighed.

"And what with the current Divorce Laws being what they are, there is no way she can ever be yours!"

And then the world shattering realization fell upon Petty like a ton of the heaviest metal, and Petty sat down on the pavement and cried - and cried - and cried --- and with every tear it seemed a little bit of bitter crusty crabbit entered his strangled little heart....


THE END
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PETTY McTYRANT: A PORTRAIT - Page 2 Empty Re: PETTY McTYRANT: A PORTRAIT

Post by halfwise Fri Oct 05, 2012 12:49 am

I knew it! And guess what, the same thing happened to James Bond too. Scottish, you see.

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Post by Pettytyrant101 Fri Oct 05, 2012 3:38 pm

I have something in common with Bond?! cheers (Even if it is crabbitness brought on by heartache).

Anyone else notice how all the really bad things that happen to me in life always seem to have either a McOdo or a Banks behind them? Suspect

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Post by Orwell Fri Oct 05, 2012 8:49 pm

A mere catalogue of coincidences I'm sure and nought to be paranoid about, Petty. Very Happy Oh yes, and I hope you liked your Birthday Pesent (Portrait)? Shrugging

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Post by Pettytyrant101 Sat Oct 06, 2012 12:02 am

It was the usual Bugle scurilous slurs and disrespect! Mad {{{And therefore I loved it- thanks Bugle}}

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