Day 15

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

This fic started out as a short story. It snowballed until it turned into the Abominable Snowman Who Ate London. Here's the end. Meanwhile I shall finish morning coffee, shifting to afternoon tea, before dinner time catches me still in my nightshirt.



Holly Golly and the Strange Case of the Purloined Idol

Part 3

"It is not proper forensic procedure, reclining upon the decedent."

Reviewed, this reprimand sounded very like his own voice. Doyle concluded he was talking to himself. With a guts-deep groan, he rolled off the dead man, groped forward and seized his still-lit torch from the sticky floor.

"Doyle?"

"Yeah."

"Thank God!"

"Which one?"

"What?"

"Never mind." Head spinning, he pondered the other's voice a minute. "6.9?" he asked the obscure shadows.

"I do have a name, you know," the agent retorted resentfully.

"Haven't heard it yet."

"Oh."

"Likely I was still in hospital when you came onboard."

"Oh. Uh, sorry. Pleased to meet you. I'd shake hands, but they're tied behind me at the moment. I've only just now worked the gag out of my mouth. My name," followed by a significant pause, "my name is Makepeace Loving."

"Makepeace Loving, Not War?" Doyle chortled gleefully. "Sounds like a Sixties slogan. You must be joking."

"Oh, don't start that again. If I weren't tied up, I'd make you eat your damned crutch."

"Tough luck sport, didn't bring it with me." After a full minute's hearty belly laugh, sore due to prior vomiting, but still jolly, he calmed. "Sorry," Ray offered. It didn't sound quite contrite enough. "What do you prefer to be called?" he asked politely, with only slightly chuckle-ish overtones.

Cautious at the invisibly proffered olive branch, "Well, my friends call me by my initials, M-L."

"Pell Mell? Perfect," Doyle began laughing all over again.

"I swear, I'm going to kill you."

"At least wait until I untie you." With a cold muddy hand, Doyle fumbled in his jeans pocket until he found his Swiss Army knife.

"Yeah, Pell Mell, okay. I guess it's better than 6.9, at least. Bloody Cow."

"That's bloody Mister Cow to you, son. And I doubt it even occurred to the Old Man. Not his style at all." With bruised fingers, by uncertain torchlight, Ray cut the rope bonds.

"Argh!"

Doyle had to give the kid credit for screaming sotto voce, as agonizing sensation returned with restored circulation to his extremities. Meanwhile, Doyle lay calmly in the gory grime, surveying the room with considerable interest. "Printing press, innit, complete with nefarious engraved plates and supplies? Bleedin' Counterfeiters' Central. Struck paydirt, you 'ave me lad. Cracked the case wide open. Who's the stiff?"

"Oh, uh, our informant from Berwick-upon-Tweed. He and I visited his digs up there, for some papers to implicate the head of the mob. The villains were waiting in ambush at his flat, we ran afoul of them and wound up here. His mates executed him for being a turncoat. Think they were saving me for later. We'd better get out of here before they return."

"You okay?" Doyle thought to ask.

"Rather bruised, but much better off than him." Likely this went with an eloquent gesture toward the dearly departed.

"Yeah." Doyle thumbed his R/T to life and listened with resignation to a static snowstorm of blizzard proportions. "Interference, no great surprise. Here, take these," he handed ML the radio and torch. "Hump your bum through that hole in the wall," he indicated upwards, the gaping ragged masonry edges left by his destructively abrupt transit.

"Okay."

"By the bye. Any member of this counterfeiter mob of yours named Mestairs?"

"No."

"Thought not. So, once you get into our friendly neighbor's basement there, straight up the stairs you go. When you emerge into the cold but clear wintry night, call HQ and ask for a patch through to Bodie, agent 3.7, see?"

"Bodie? Oh no. He'll murder me first and ask questions later."

"Eh? Why?"

"For leaving you here, of course."

In the dark, Doyle blushed at ML's conviction. "Tell him I sent you."

"I doubt that will help."

"Just do it. There's no way I'm climbing that wall, is there?"

"Oh, yeah. Forgot about your Tiny Tim Cratchit reenactment."

Doyle growled. "Leave before there are two dead bodies lying about in here instead of one."

With this incentive, ML scanned the wall, flung himself agilely upward, hung by his fingers, scrambled up and ducked through the hole into Hades Posh. "I'll be right back," he grinned down from on high before disappearing.
Doyle was left in inky Stygian darkness, alongside his new chum the corpse.

****^^^^****

"Ray?"

Doyle awoke with a start, staring into the lethal eyes of the centurion.

The menacing scowl melted rapidly. Bodie's face gentled into an angelic smile. "Sleeping on the job, sunshine?"

"Ah, the face that launched a thousand ships."

"Nutter. Can you stand, do you think?"

"Course I can. Erm, in a minute." Sitting up, Doyle found his surroundings had a tendency to spin.

"He alright?" Murphy's voice sounded from the vaguely upward direction of Hades Posh.

"Seems to be, yeah."

Ray cleared his throat. "ML, you brought Murphy too?"

The kid replied, a voice from on high. "6.2 plus 3.7. The CI5 Special Seasonal Packaged Gift Assortment rescue team."

"Hilarious," Doyle murmured to Bodie.

"Regret coming to his aid, do you?" Bodie's strong arm was around Ray's waist, helping him up. "Easy now, do yourself further mischief."

"Slight hitch in me get-along, yeah?"

"Donated your stick to the Sally Army?"

"Naw, it's around here somewhere."

"A very useful place for it, too. Reach up, and Murph'll latch on. Just relax, don't try to help too much, there's a good lad now. Got 'is 'ands, Murph?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I've got him firmly by both arse cheeks, so haul away me hearty, and I'll push."

"Light as a feather, old son. Bodie, we need to feed him more."

"Mince pies, macaroons, mash potatoes, marzipan, all manner of things that
begin with an 'M'. Got him?"

"Yeah," Murphy did an admirable imitation of radio static. "4.5 is secured. I repeat, 4.5 is secured. You can come up now, 3.7."

"Thank you, 6.2, don't mind if I do." With one powerful spring, two scraping boot toes, and a muscle-rippling pull up, Bodie joined them on the ledge in Hades Posh. His mischievous-lad look was even more rapscallion by lamplight. "That's better. Now then, who get's to tell the Old Man all about it?"

With one accord, they said, "He does."

Doyle didn't need the light of Murphy's camp lantern to see their fingers pointing his way. "I shall want my R/T returned, 6.9."

Murphy muttered aside to Bodie, "Poor sod. Better him than me."

"Suffering the Wrath of Ray, do yer mean?"

"No, suffering that horrendous call sign: 6.9. How often do I tell myself, 'Murphy, my dear 6.2, old chap, there but for the grace of God, Cowley, and a few decimal points, go you'."

"Eh, I do take your meaning," Bodie agreed, his teeth glittering in a feral grin.

"Oh, that's it, laugh it up," ML grumbled rather cheerfully. After all, he had just been saved from an inglorious death he'd feared imminent, leaving him now in a comparatively joyful situation.

The four commenced their weary ascent toward civilization. "Don't look back," Murphy warned, "or 4.5 will disappear forever into the Underworld."

Doyle had his arm draped over Bodie's broad shoulders, which had a significant warming effect. "Oi, do I look like someone who might be called Eurydice?"

"Yes," they all agreed.

"Ganging up on me?"

"Poor old thing," Bodie sympathized.

The stairs were too narrow for anything other than single file. Regretfully, Doyle leaned on the banister in lieu of his partner's steady arm.

Although Bodie, directly behind him, did pat his bum by way of encouragement.

****^^^^****

Ray got deposited across the back seat of Cowley's motor, lying atop the Old Man's spare macintosh to protect the upholstery from blood, gore, coal dust, slime and assorted muck.

Sleeping through the arrival of a diverse lot of CI5 crime scene specialists, the ambulance to fetch away the corpse, the local constabulary, and CID's Counterfeit Currency Investigation team, seemed an ideal way to avoid having to explain what he was doing here in the first place.

"What did you imagine you were doing here, then?" Bodie, kneeling, loomed over him from the driver's seat.

Doyle groaned.

"Looking for the tauroctony?" Murphy, from the front passenger seat, chimed in.

"Naw, found that ages ago."

"You what?"

"You never did!"

"Did too." Doyle's eyelashes fluttered down onto his cheeks.

"So, where is it?"

Ray peered through slitted eyelids. "Called her on the phone, just to confirm my conclusion. Aellwyn's got it, of course."

Murphy exploded. "Are you saying Aellwyn stole it? You lousy scrub. She wouldn't!"

Bodie intervened, restraining Murphy. "Easy, now. Hear him out, before you lose your rag, eh?"

Doyle murmured drowsily, oblivious to Murphy's towering rage. "Never said she stole it. She just borrowed it long enough to study and document for the great annals of archaeology. Weight, measurements, dated to which century, yeah? It's her field, see? Didn't imagine the Colonel would care, locking it away like he had. Out of sight out of mind, she reckoned. And she knew Willby wouldn't object, he being a good natured sort an' all. It's his, not the Colonel's, by the way."

"How do you know that?" Murphy looked relieved and apologetic.

"Told me in a dream, dint 'e?" Doyle again sank vaguely toward sleep.

Grinning at his golly's detective brilliance, Bodie nudged Murphy. "Clever little blighter, our Ray."

The next disturbance Doyle noticed was Cowley settling into the driver's seat. This seemed to indicate that Murphy and Bodie had left, since their boss wouldn't under most circumstances consider sitting on either one's lap. "4.5, as I distinctly recall, you were under doctor's strict orders, light duties only," the Old Man noted dryly.

Doyle sat up, stifling an urge to moan. "Yes sir, sorry. I just thought I'd take a look here."

"I've heard it said, 'The cure for boredom is curiosity, but there's no cure for curiosity.' However, breaking your neck might aye do the trick."

"Yes sir, sorry."

"Och, just look at yoursel'. The ragman wouldnae have ye as bugler, laddie."

"No sir."

"Well, since you're there, you may as well bide, and I'll see you safely home."

Doyle said, "Thank you." At least he thought he said it, peering blearily at Cowley in the first rosy hint of dawn, before he fell soundly asleep on the back seat of the Old Man's car.

****^^^^****

Doyle was surprised to find himself attending a celebration with Bodie.

They took a cab because Doyle wasn't yet driving, and Bodie intended to indulge in the fine hors d'oeuvres and beverages certain to be offered. At the entrance to the elegant establishment, Bodie turned to give his partner a once over. "I've got something for you," he said, reaching into his pocket and handing Ray a nice shiny blue tube of Lypsyl chapstick.

Self consciously, Doyle thrust out his lower lip, which he'd been chewing again.

Bodie reached over and gently touched a raw spot on Doyle's mouth. "Ruin your beauty if you keep gnawing there, mate."

"Yeah, right," Doyle chuckled, accepting the comment, the pressie, and especially the gesture in the spirit intended.

But Bodie's look had gone somber. "Be patient, Ray. Soon be back again on both pegs, giving Londinium's villains their hardest time ever."

Doyle nodded. "Will do," he promised, lingering on a sudden deep impression of his better half. Strong, brave, thoroughly dashing Bodie, competent and handsome, surprisingly poetic, clever and good natured, loyal to a fault. Ray reflected how very lovable his partner was, wondered if Bodie realized that he thought so, and then doubted that he did.

Together, they entered.

It was a festive seasonal reception at a private art gallery. Willby had arranged invitations for them, eager to have Doyle view himself as Mithras, depicted in the Darstene painting, "Astral Chaos."

Bodie, clad in his finest togs, appeared delighted with the promise of eating and drinking to his heart's content, while his R/T was emphatically off and locked in the cupboard at his flat.

Earlier, Agent 4.5 had been the recipient of a severe lecture from Cowley on the topic of following procedure, with pointed references against the mounting of unsanctioned solo ops. In that setting Doyle felt fairly floored, when the Old Man easily agreed to time off for the frivolous purpose of partying. Ray was left to conclude, in Cowley's Laws of the Universe, the ends justified the means. The just ends in this case being the rescue of agent 6.9, and the utter rout of a dangerous cutthroat mob of counterfeiters.

He found it inexplicably gracious of his Controller not to consider, that Doyle had accomplished these ends by blundering through a wall, falling an awkward distance onto a murder victim, and crushing the evidence flat with a resounding kersplat.

Doyle had reluctantly accepted the current invitation, dressed suitably, and joined his partner for the outing. He had some serious reservations about the art to be viewed, however.

Their entry quietly made, they searched the gala crowd unsuccessfully for a glimpse of Willby. Ray hoped his new friend was enjoying himself.

Also unseen were Aellwyn and Murphy, who were supposed to be attending together, an interesting development in itself. Doyle had only heard Aellwyn's voice over the phone, but his eager imagination already had sketched her portrait. He thought she and Murphy, unexpectedly reunited, would make a handsome couple.

Bodie gleefully guided Doyle toward the generous spread of edible delights. The partners had themselves a jolly good feed, gathered a couple of goblets, one of champagne and the other of unadulterated tonic water, and weaving through the politely jostling crowd, toddled off to see the artwork.

Doyle wanted to view it all, but of course Bodie, having heard the story of Willby's recognition, was intent on one painting first.

"Astral Chaos" was quite a large canvas, nearly floor to ceiling in size, masterfully rendered in acrylics, old Darstene's medium of choice. The artist always managed to succeed where others failed, in achieving a richness and depth of colour similar to oils, but with the intricacy of texture and transparency of layers most achievable in the modern polymers.

Ray was still immersed in studying the shear brilliance of his master's strokes, gradually stepping away to take in the layout of the subject, when Bodie proclaimed delightedly, "It's you, old son, and no mistaking."

"Yeah." There Ray was on canvas, larger than life, his youthful visage that odd mix of ancient Celtic with something exotic and seldom seen. He was looking particularly fierce because of the, at the time, recently mangled maxillary prominence and chipped tooth. Green eyes glittered like he'd just emerged triumphant from battle. His sinewy figure was clad in the tunic, leggings and storm-tossed cloak of the classic Mithras, complete with red woolen cap failing to subdue his riotous dark amber curls.

"I like it!" Bodie exclaimed. "It's the grandest thing. Mysterious, but you can see what he meant too. Just like the tauroctony, only different."

"Very like it, very much indeed. Only different," Doyle agreed in strained tones.

Bodie glanced up, sensing his partner's unease. "Say something stupid, did I?"

"Naw."

"Embarrassed that you posed for it?"

"Which is exactly what I never did."

"Huh? But surely it's you, Ray?"

"Wasn't meant to be. Artists just naturally throw a bit of self portraiture into every likeness. Seems it cant be helped, the face you see in the mirror being the one most familiar, so it sort of defines other faces you draw."

"Self portrait? But, I mean, huh?"

"Bodie, mate, I've let you keep your secrets without a complaint from me, haven't I? And now I'm asking you to keep one of mine as well."

"I remember, you said you trust me. Haven't forgotten that, not by a long shot."

"And I meant it too. Well, you said you'd like to see my drawings." Doyle reached into his coat and brought out a worn leatherbound sketchbook. "You can look at them all if you like, later. But right now, I only want to show you one. This one here."

Bodie accepted the offering. There were side by side pages in the open book. Under a scrawled heading with a date and the phrase, "At the British Museum", the left hand drawing, nicely shadowed and highlighted, quite realistic, was of a freestanding tauroctony. On the right hand page were the subjects from the sculpture, rearranged. Wandering free as if by divine manumission, the bull was no longer under the cruel blade, the barley was carefully gathered in a bronze urn, the serpent was coiled peacefully sleeping in a sunbeam, the scorpion rested on the leaf of a plant. The dog was gleefully licking the hand of Mithras, who bore a striking resemblance to Raymond Doyle.

Surrounding the grouped subjects was a night skyscape exploding in turmoil. And above it all was the caption, "Astral Chaos".

Doyle watched his mate's expression transition from interest to recognition, through gradual realization to ultimate resentment.

"Stolen. The damned thing's stolen. He bloody well stole your picture, Ray! Your teacher stole your work."

"Shh. Keep your voice down, can't you? What will people think?"

Doyle hurriedly hobbled to a distant work of art in another room, hoping Bodie would follow.

He did, muttering angrily the whole way.

After several other works of art were viewed, Ray reassessed Bodie. He looked like thunder and lightning personified, rather incongruously staring at a statue of nude lovers formed out of welded bits of scrap metal leftover from car wrecks.

"Hey," Doyle nudged him. "I'm supposed to be the idealistic copper seeking justice done. You're supposed to be the soldier, laughingly resigned to the cruel realities of existence."

"It's just not fair," Bodie said, pouting, now looking endearingly more like a school kid than anything else.

The sudden change made Ray smile.

Bodie pivoted sharply, and stormed back to "Astral Chaos", where he stood glaring at the painting.

Doyle limped to his side, placed a hand comfortably comfortingly on his mate's shoulder. "Look at it this way. Mine's a forgotten student's drawing in a dusty old sketchbook. His is a brilliant painting which may someday become famous. If you had a clever idea, which would you prefer for its fate?"

"Theft being the sincerest form of flattery? What about giving credit where credit's due?" Bodie turned to the placard on the wall next to the painting. "Says 'ere, there's hidden words woven throughout the background. And they run: 'Discovered inspiration entrapped within recycled art; I had encumbered hands, and you a looseleaf heart'."

Doyle snorted inelegantly. "Not exactly Shakespeare, is it?"

"Think it was meant as an apology? If so, it bloody well stops short of satisfaction. You should complain to The Management."

"Naw. Would sound too much like sour grapes. I'd rather have a sweet." And shifting on that point, Doyle inched gingerly through the crowd toward the fruit, cheese and fancy pastries table. He knew Bodie couldn't long resist the lure of chocolate and cream.

To begin, they each chose a tiny mince pie, and facing each other, munched away with great pleasure. It was a sort of good luck toast to the coming new year.

Bodie had a notion. "Just thought of something. The Colonel's tauroctony, which I was certain was stolen, wasn't after all. And your Mithras, which we never knew was stolen, was after all."

"It's a funny old world, innit?" Doyle licked his fingers and nodded his head in agreement.

Later they walked toward a cab stand, over a frosty pavement, under a glorious ancient moon that looked like it was searching for a Christmas card to occupy.

Bodie pursued his previous thought as if several delectable dessert items and a lovely stroll hadn't intervened. "So this has been less of a 'Who Dunnit?' and more of a 'Whose Was It?' "

Doyle pondered that silently, enjoying his partner's close company.

"You don't seem to mind you've been robbed," Bodie declared, indignantly puzzled.

"Not much," Doyle shrugged.

"Sometimes, Ray, you're hard to figure. Other times, you're impossible."

Doyle chuckled.

The wintry air stirred. The warmth of their breathing combined to generate little merry clouds of glittering frost, which formed transient evidence of their lives together, and then sifted gently to the ground like memories of antiquity, briefly told and never quite forgotten.

Doyle laughed in delight when Bodie concluded, saying, "I reckon, mate, that makes you my favorite mystery of all."

****^^^^****

[So ends this offering to Day 15 of the Advent Calendar. If you can picture Asy attempting an Alistair Cooke impersonation before a roaring fireplace, with her feet soaking in a bucket of coffee, you may do so at this time. Thanks for your company, truly. I shall wend my way back to reply to kind commments, as soon as I unstick my feet from the bucket.]

Author: asymphototropic
Title: Holly Golly and the Strange Case of the Purloined Idol
slash or gen: slash [although rather mildly so]
disclaimer: if the phrase "bah, humbug" isn't mine, it ought to be
huggishness: abundantly applied, a merry festive season to y'all

Comments

[heliophile-oxon.livejournal.com]

Aha, all turned around in the most unexpected ways! I particularly like it that Doyle isn't hankering after the life as an artist he never had or will have, that he's happy with his work and skills, as evidenced by his attitude to his teacher's purloining of his sketch. It confirms that he's in the right job and in the right place (with the right person, of course! *g*), being his real self.

Bet he made a pretty Mithras, too ...

[siskiou.livejournal.com]

Snow outside, a nice cup of tea, winter break has started, and a new story from asymphototropic! What could be better?

I've loved every word, the mystery is engrossing and the end a total surprise.
Intriguing early relationship dynamics, with Bodie and Murphy knowing each other well and Doyle feeling somewhat excluded. And smart Doyle is lovely! So are tough, but caring Bodie and Murphy, and even Cowley is looking out for Doyle, who is still recovering from the gun shot.
Then there is the "Astral Chaos", and Bodie so outraged on Doyle's behalf.
Your writing is unique, like poetry and I always come away with more knowledge than I started with!

Thank you!

[rosie55.livejournal.com]

Having just arrived home after a very long day at work, it was a great pleasure to find no less than three helpings of this waiting for my delectation and delight!
I thoroughly enjoyed this, great mystery plot, lovely twist to the resolution and your usual most enjoyable and erudite writing!
Thank you so much - and much festive happiness to you, along with mince pies to your heart's content!

[snailbones.livejournal.com]

Thank you! That was a delight from start to finish, with a bit of education thrown in.

So nice to have an intelligent Doyle quietly squirrelling away on his own and solving the crime, and Bodie being all proud and protective... yep, you're hitting my buttons here!

I was about to go to bed, but started reading instead, and now I'm too tired to do anything but gush. Please consider yourself gushed upon. *g*

[hagsrus.livejournal.com]

Is it ok to take for Proslib? I didn't spot any archive header.

Frances
Proslib business: proslib at gmail dot com
http://www.livejournal.com/users/hagsrus/

[etain-antrim.livejournal.com]

Another wonderful story, Asy! I loved the intersecting tauroctonys and cases, and the fact that Doyle ended up solving them through unconventional means. I have a weakness for clever Doyle and for protective Bodie, and not only did I get those, but also protective Murphy and punning Cowley -- surely a seasonal blessing. Please do archive this so that I can keep a single-page copy. This one deserves to be reread.

[solosundance.livejournal.com]

Oh I loved this to pieces! Your lip-chewing Doyle is a delight, aww and Bodie gave him some lypsyl, that was a great touch *g* The picture of them facing each other chewing on mini mince pies is just precious. See I adore your use of language and your great dialogue, but your teeny little details are great too. Definitely a keeper this one. Here, have a chocolate log to go with your coffee (although don't let it get under your toenails, hell to get out).

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

Yes, [and thanks for asking, is pleased] but can it wait til I check it? I'd like to read it over once, and see if there are any honking great flaws I was too groggy to spot. Is there a deadline, ticking clock, or other?

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

Hurray for "unexpected". Kind of you to say so. And that would be a practical response in Doyle, the way you say, satisfied with whatever the day brings, and philosophic about the past, perhaps. That's the way I saw it as well.

A pretty Mithras, yes. I just look at the Brit Museum's tauroctony and see a hint of Doyle there. He doesn't have the Greek nose, but otherwise he's darn near perfect for it.

Thanks for stopping by. Have a macaroon or a mince pie?

[heliophile-oxon.livejournal.com]

Have a macaroon or a mince pie? Ooh, ta - don't mind if I do! ::noshes mince pie with enthusiasm:: Delicious!

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

Fun to share a wintry scene, and a pleasant break. Very snug, innit? [I've now got a nice scenario with us chatting, sort of a virtual snow globe.]

I didn't emphasize that this was "early days" for Bodie and Doyle. Clever you, to have noticed.

Poetry, what a nice compliment.

Thanks for the scenario and for your generous reply.

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

I've heard mince pies called "Wayfarer Pies" in both the Appalachians and over the Ozark way. There's a tradition that you're to make extras, in case mysterious travellers arrive, with fun stories about possible magical identities of your visitors.

Our mince has cranberries for starters, and the pies come out very pretty with little cookie cutter evergreen trees on the top, sprinkled with powdered sugar for snow.

We have them every year, quite a tradition, with one for each of twelve yule days.

[hagsrus.livejournal.com]

Sure, no rush -- if you would send me the final version as a txt or doc file that would be great!

Frances
Proslib business: proslib at gmail dot com
http://www.livejournal.com/users/hagsrus/

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

Rosie! Hey, hi, hugs. Love your icon. I can eat a lot of mince pies, and guess it's not too soon to start.

Must drop by to see your latest photography, always a treat.

I'm so glad you liked the plot and especially the twist. There are so many agile minds at this site, it was difficult to come up with something that might surprise them.

Have fun. Thanks for the season's greetings and kind reply.

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

Hurray for buttons and the hitting thereof.

Ho for your imagery. I've now got squirrel Doyle hunkering down in a stack of pecans [preferably already shelled, if you please]. There's the first ingredient for our mince pies, yay. I'll let you both know when the first batch is baked.

I'm gushed upon, this may be a first. It's a festive sort of gush, with snow flake lace and a bit of spruce glitter. [admires self in virtual mirror. hmm not a bad look for me, maybe?]

Ha. Thanks so much for the pause here which turned into lingering, and for very kind comments.

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

Ech, already found a few typos. Tsk and tut.

Grabs up virtual R/T. HQ, patch me thru to hagsrus. Right oh willco. Text document as soon as edited. Can do. Cheerio, ho ho ho.

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

Bless you too, for many kind words, and not just seasonally either. Delighted you found many things to enjoy here.

Shall indeed archive, since hagsrus is so kind as to offer.

Most tickled that you may read this again. Have a wonderful holiday season.

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

Oh chocolate log! Yum. [let's see, it is maybe formed of dark chocolate, with white frosting, and a crunched up peppermint stick sprinkled all over the top?] To be thorough, I should put it in the bucket as you suggest, but if you'll permit, I shall savor it slowly and thoroughly by means of the more traditional route, heh.

Three wise replies from jojo, what a great pleasure.

Oh "a keeper", most kind indeed.

Take care, and have plenty of seasonal good times. Thanks just oodles for stopping at each resting place, and leaving your thoughtful replies.

[byslantedlight.livejournal.com]

You always have such a waggish view of CI5 and our lads - one can't help but be fascinated to see what you'll come up with next! *g* Mithras with our mince pies, apparently... *g* I do like your last couple of lines particularly - very christmas-y, and glittering and gorgeous! Thank you!

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

Mithras and mince pies and all manner of things that begin with M.

Thanks very much for organizing the Advent Calendar [I'm totally enjoying it], and particularly for reading and your kind reply. Hope your season is festively full of delights.

[angel-ci5.livejournal.com]

This was wonderful, an absolute joy to read!
There's too many things I could mention... so I'll just pick the scene with the hounds at the Colonel's, which is still making me chuckle just thinking about it!
Thank you!

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

Oh, so pleased you liked it. I was trying to give the impression of the old style-manor crowd, members of the Hunt for generations, that sort of thing, without belaboring the point too much. And I wanted Mabel to be likeable in her own style, because it's only fair when giving clues, for the writer to indicate the true nature of the suspects.

I was trying for a generally light tone, for the sake of being seasonally festive.

Thanks so much for lingering to reply. Have a very merry season.

[callistosh65.livejournal.com]

lingering on a sudden deep impression of his better half. Strong, brave, thoroughly dashing Bodie, competent and handsome, surprisingly poetic, clever and good natured, loyaltral to a fault. Ray reflected how very lovable his partner was, wondered if Bodie realized that he thought so, and then doubted that he did. Aww.. how adorable and festively warm is this? Loved the twists and turns of this - 6.9 was a giggle from start to finish, as was Murph and all his banter. And Astral Chaos indeed..*g* Thank you, my friend, I enjoyed your take on the festivities a great deal, as ever.
Have no mince pies, alas. But I can offer you a Santa shaped cookie. and for you to go look at crack_van

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

I'm looking out the window at a very gray but seasonal day, enclouded in low lying, swirling mist. We have a squirrel who scrambles up and actually taps on the glass pane. He isn't satisfied until I look up at him. The funniest behavior for the little fellow in this deep woods area. I wonder what he makes of me.

[I know what you're thinking; the squirrel takes one look at me and thinks he's found the biggest nut in the county, heh.]

Also I wonder what you're seeing as you look out your window, a very different scene no doubt. I hope all manner of holiday goodies have materialized for you.

I'm knocked over by your rec of my fiction at CV. Thanks for saying such enthusiastic things about my story. It's warming, to have a reader who is a brilliant writer of fiction in her own right. Wonderful pressie, I'm thrilled.

Much huggishness, and may the Gray Squirrel of Holiday Happiness set your window pane all a glow.

[sc-fossil.livejournal.com]

Well, that was a treat! I took a while to read since I didn't want to do it in bits and pieces, but I've finished just now and wanted to extend a hand. Marvellous stuff! I loved your voices for Bodie and Doyle (and 6.9, an enjoyable lad). Even Murphy was wonderful. Great banter, and what a mystery you gave us.

I loved Doyle's thoughts of Bodie:
Doyle nodded. "Will do," he promised, lingering on a sudden deep impression of his better half. Strong, brave, thoroughly dashing Bodie, competent and handsome, surprisingly poetic, clever and good natured, loyal to a fault. Ray reflected how very lovable his partner was, wondered if Bodie realized that he thought so, and then doubted that he did.

I really liked the idea that the wonderful painting was Doyle's stolen concept. How cool is that? Not that it was stolen, but that Doyle has such talent.

Really a special relationship between the lads, and that bit of h/c was just about right to show their caring.

Thanks!

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

I was just wondering why I find Doyle's perspective more difficult to write than Bodie's. I've come to the conclusion that I like trying to maintain both characters' intrinsic toughness.

Since Bodie presents a tough exterior, and is "inside just a great big softie", it's easy to make his reflections as gentle as I might like, and he still appears to be the bold soldier.

Doyle is somewhat the opposite, unabashed to wear his heart on his sleeve, but with an inner spirit, tough as nails, which is meant to surprise us when we see it in action. In order to keep his character in a written story from turning to utter mush, he either has to be constantly in action, or seem almost cruel as judged by his reflections. To my way of thinking, he is a lot harder to present.

Which is a long way of saying, I had to save the gentle thoughts that you highlighted for nearly the end of the story, to keep my presentation of Doyle up to my toughness-standard.

Thanks for your kind reply. It was a lovely Solstice pressie.

[ma-donna196.livejournal.com]

Lovely! This was like Sherlock Holmes meets the Lads of CI5. I particularly enjoyed the mystery, that this is fairly early in their relationship, that both Bodie and Murphy were unobtrusively protective, and that Doyle is one very clever lad indeed. This story, and SO many of the others on DiaLJ are going into my Favourites Collection of my brand new Sony Reader. Thanks for the marvelous read.

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

Ah, glad you liked the mystery and the lads in it. I was a bit perplexed how to make the mystery mysterious enough to be unguessable in a short story. Guess it has worked out though. [So far, I haven't gotten a reply that said, "Bah, I figured it out on the second page." heh]

After you've test driven your new Sony reader, maybe you could give us a product review? I'd be interested to hear whether it meets expectations, whether it has any annoying habits [beeping at 3 a.m. feeling lonely and demanding to be read; starts out on a journey weighing ounces and in the middle of an airport, suddenly weighs a ton?] Anyway, what fun to have one. Must confess to eying them with interest from a distance.

Thanks muchly for dropping by for a chat. Have a happy holiday season.

[ma-donna196.livejournal.com]

Such is my love of this story I had to read it again. I have a fondness for poor 6.9 (Makepeace Loving indeed;)

As for the Sony it's working out brilliantly. I've already purchased some ebooks from the net and, of course, I'm rabidly downloading my favourite Pros stories, many of which are on DiaLJ. My first test of its weight (3 oz), will be my trip to New York next week. I don't think it will be a problem as I usually carry my favourite zine in my carry on purse. I still prefer paper when it comes to books/novels as well as some beloved zines, but being able to download the equivalent of 160 novels in a pint size gizmo is brilliant.

[asymphototropic.livejournal.com]

Ah, glad you liked the ficcage well enough for a second look. Tis the ultimate compliment to a writer, methinks.

I had a 'Mr Loving' as an art teacher. And of course, there's William Makepeace Thackeray. So I figured there are actually people named 'Makepeace Loving' out there somewhere. I liked 6.9 too. He just sprang from the headache and took on a life of his own, you know?

Good to hear a first report on the Sony reader. Hope you have a great trip to New York. I'm seriously contemplating getting a reader for my spring trip to the UK. Ordinarily my luggage is half filled with books. And so I never bring enough socks to last without finding a launderette en route, heh.

Happy New Year, ya'll!