Post by Eurydice on Aug 22, 2007 0:12:29 GMT -5
((Christmas of 1866, old-school M.E.S.S. This was perhaps one of the happiest points in Jo's life, and I really wanted to try to capture the scene that I had just as a mental image for several years. I'm really happy with the ironies and double entendres in every toast, but then again, I'm easily amused.))
Frau Pavel has just started clearing away the dishes littered with bones and dressing from that enormous turkey that Barker spent the entire morning seeing to and preparing and all. The silver platters and polished china catch the light in the room in shards, pieces, throwing some of their reflected beams onto the faces of the six seated, already radiant with laughter and good spirits. Some of the platters still contain remainders of potatoes, roasted and boiled, two kinds of stuffing, heaps of vegetables; and the bowls are still caked with spilled gravy and bread sauce. Dessert will be coming out of the kitchen any minute, but they're content to let the food settle for now. Barker has produced, seemingly from nowhere, a tall bottle of dessert wine, a dark, honey-coloured Tokaji, and completes his circuit of the table, pouring for everyone before resuming his place and tapping his now-full glass for silence.
"Before Elsie comes back with the pudding," he says, eyes bright and merry in his gently lined face, "I've a bit of a family tradition, if you'll indulge. Always had a bit of large family, meself, and at Christmas dinners, you want to drink everyone's health. There was always a lot of us sitting around the table, and all of us inclined to talk, have our own say, so we always wind up toasting each other, one by one, each to the person sitting beside them, around the table. Now, you folks are as good as family, far as I'm concerned. And besides, I made dinner, and as such, we're bloody well going with my traditions.
"So, I drink to George Parks. May his scathing tongue, rapier wit, and charming smile never be far from us, except when they're being turned on our enemies."
"To George," the others echo; they raise their glasses and drink. George smiles, charming and boyish, stands, and speaks.
"I drink to Alex Lansalius. May he always have eyes to see that which no one else in the group can until it's smacking us in the back of the head, and may something, some time, somewhere succeed in surprising him, one of these days.
"To Alex," the others echo; they raise their glasses and drink. Alex smiles plainly, even if only with his eyes, stands, and speaks.
"I drink to Jo Parry. May she never cease teaching things to and learning things from everyone she meets, and may she one day learn the extent of her reach."
"To Jo," the others echo; they raise their glasses and drink. Jo smiles drolly, tongue in cheek, stands, and speaks.
"I drink to Jamie Belacqua. May he take a lesson from tonight and learn that the world won't end if he relaxes and has a good time, and may his future hold many such good times."
"To Jamie," the others echo; they raise their glasses and drink. Jamie, blushing a bit, smiles bashfully, stands, and speaks.
"I drink to Ben DeRoiter. May he have the strength to lead and the awareness to know that we are following, and may he continue to foster this family wisely and well."
"To Ben," the others echo; they raise their glasses and drink. Ben sits forward with a gentlemanly, genial smile, stands, and speaks.
"I drink to Hugh Barker. May his generosity of spirit be always matched by fine friends worthy of sharing it and plenty of good food and good drink to enjoy in their company."
"To Hugh," the others echo; they raise their glasses and drink. Hugh grins and raises his glass once again, smiles, and speaks.
"And one final toast for the night, to our great and good benefactress; even though she be far away, ever is she in our hearts and minds. Let's drink to good Queen Vicky-- may she live long, rule well, and keep footing the bill for our expensive Christmas dinners."
"To Queen Vicky!" the others shout, raising their glasses high and throwing back the remainder of the amber-coloured liquid.
"And I," barks the heavily accented voice from the kitchen, "drink to sit your asses down and eat your damned pudding, or I throw it at your head."
Elsie Pavel emerges from the kitchen, carrying a tray laden with a bowl of clotted cream and a thick, round Christmas pudding ablaze with brandy. The sight of the flaming confection elicits a burst of applause from the six around the table, basking in the glow of golden wine and camaraderie. Barker fills another glass and proffers it to her as she navigates between Parry and Belacqua to set down her load in the center of the table, and although she ignores the offer until she's finished setting out the dessert settings, when she does take it, she gives an exasperated cry of "Trinksprüche" and downs the whole thing in one go, earning her another round of applause before they go about divying up the pudding and cheering when Parks finds the silver ring in his slice.
Frau Pavel has just started clearing away the dishes littered with bones and dressing from that enormous turkey that Barker spent the entire morning seeing to and preparing and all. The silver platters and polished china catch the light in the room in shards, pieces, throwing some of their reflected beams onto the faces of the six seated, already radiant with laughter and good spirits. Some of the platters still contain remainders of potatoes, roasted and boiled, two kinds of stuffing, heaps of vegetables; and the bowls are still caked with spilled gravy and bread sauce. Dessert will be coming out of the kitchen any minute, but they're content to let the food settle for now. Barker has produced, seemingly from nowhere, a tall bottle of dessert wine, a dark, honey-coloured Tokaji, and completes his circuit of the table, pouring for everyone before resuming his place and tapping his now-full glass for silence.
"Before Elsie comes back with the pudding," he says, eyes bright and merry in his gently lined face, "I've a bit of a family tradition, if you'll indulge. Always had a bit of large family, meself, and at Christmas dinners, you want to drink everyone's health. There was always a lot of us sitting around the table, and all of us inclined to talk, have our own say, so we always wind up toasting each other, one by one, each to the person sitting beside them, around the table. Now, you folks are as good as family, far as I'm concerned. And besides, I made dinner, and as such, we're bloody well going with my traditions.
"So, I drink to George Parks. May his scathing tongue, rapier wit, and charming smile never be far from us, except when they're being turned on our enemies."
"To George," the others echo; they raise their glasses and drink. George smiles, charming and boyish, stands, and speaks.
"I drink to Alex Lansalius. May he always have eyes to see that which no one else in the group can until it's smacking us in the back of the head, and may something, some time, somewhere succeed in surprising him, one of these days.
"To Alex," the others echo; they raise their glasses and drink. Alex smiles plainly, even if only with his eyes, stands, and speaks.
"I drink to Jo Parry. May she never cease teaching things to and learning things from everyone she meets, and may she one day learn the extent of her reach."
"To Jo," the others echo; they raise their glasses and drink. Jo smiles drolly, tongue in cheek, stands, and speaks.
"I drink to Jamie Belacqua. May he take a lesson from tonight and learn that the world won't end if he relaxes and has a good time, and may his future hold many such good times."
"To Jamie," the others echo; they raise their glasses and drink. Jamie, blushing a bit, smiles bashfully, stands, and speaks.
"I drink to Ben DeRoiter. May he have the strength to lead and the awareness to know that we are following, and may he continue to foster this family wisely and well."
"To Ben," the others echo; they raise their glasses and drink. Ben sits forward with a gentlemanly, genial smile, stands, and speaks.
"I drink to Hugh Barker. May his generosity of spirit be always matched by fine friends worthy of sharing it and plenty of good food and good drink to enjoy in their company."
"To Hugh," the others echo; they raise their glasses and drink. Hugh grins and raises his glass once again, smiles, and speaks.
"And one final toast for the night, to our great and good benefactress; even though she be far away, ever is she in our hearts and minds. Let's drink to good Queen Vicky-- may she live long, rule well, and keep footing the bill for our expensive Christmas dinners."
"To Queen Vicky!" the others shout, raising their glasses high and throwing back the remainder of the amber-coloured liquid.
"And I," barks the heavily accented voice from the kitchen, "drink to sit your asses down and eat your damned pudding, or I throw it at your head."
Elsie Pavel emerges from the kitchen, carrying a tray laden with a bowl of clotted cream and a thick, round Christmas pudding ablaze with brandy. The sight of the flaming confection elicits a burst of applause from the six around the table, basking in the glow of golden wine and camaraderie. Barker fills another glass and proffers it to her as she navigates between Parry and Belacqua to set down her load in the center of the table, and although she ignores the offer until she's finished setting out the dessert settings, when she does take it, she gives an exasperated cry of "Trinksprüche" and downs the whole thing in one go, earning her another round of applause before they go about divying up the pudding and cheering when Parks finds the silver ring in his slice.