Sunday January 15th, 2017

The exercise:

Write about: the nightcap.

My sister arrived at her hotel late this evening, so I went to meet her for a nightcap. And thus, a prompt was born.

Great to catch up a little bit with just the two of us there. Looking forward to hanging out with her and my family tomorrow.

Mine:

"What, exactly, do you have on your head?"

"You mean my nightcap?"

"It's a... oh, I see."

"Would you like one?"

"I think you may have gotten things a little mixed up, dear."

"Oh, not at all - it's pure whiskey!"

"Also, you're sleeping on the couch tonight - you've already spilled most of that in your hair..."

4 Comments:

morganna said...

Just a quick sip
To put the cap
On the night.
Ooh, that's got a kick
Pour me a bit more.

Greg said...

@Morganna: I love the scene your poem presents; for me it's someone about to leave a bar and then realising that they might be there for a just a little longer :) I also like the half-rhyme between kick and sip, and wonder what you think about changing kick to 'bite' to make it a full rhyme with night?

@Marc: You're getting in time with your sister without the kids around being demanding? Sounds like a good plan! I hope it's all fun tomorrow :)
Well, you've used both meanings for nightcap there and very successfully, though I'm not sure whiskey makes all that good a shampoo... still, since he's sleeping on the couch perhaps it doesn't matter!
[I had to go back to the start of November to get a list of the names of the Lords attending the King... I guess I should start keeping a character list.]

Greg said...

The nightcap
"Bit early for a nightcap isn't it, Derby?" The first to reach them was Samual's boss, a broad grin on his face. "Though I like your style, I shall have to try it myself." He waved for the bartender, nearly hitting Father Ignatz. "Oh I am sorry Father, I didn't see you there. That's the trouble with you priests, you're so unassuming and so considerate of others that it's easy to overlook you."
The look on Father Ignatz's face suggested that he wasn't in the mood for being overlooked, but Lord McAnally wasn't paying any attention now that he'd caught the bartender's attention. "Rum," he said crisply. "It's too early for anything else. Dark, add a spoonful of brown sugar if you have it. No water. Father, what can I get you?"
"Just water," said Father Ignatz, putting a smile of gratitude on his face.
"Adam's Ale? Suit yourself, I'm sure there's a good reason."
"Good afternoon gentlemen," said the third voice, having finally reached the group. "Mine would be a Chloretta, thank-you Steve."
"Lady Campion," said Lord McAnally with genuine warmth in his voice. "I've never heard of that drink before, will the staff know it?"
"Indeed," said Lady Campion. She sat down in a chair opposite Lord Derby. "They've been making it for me for years; I think it might be an exclusive! Lord Derby, I've been rather expecting to see more of you."
"Alcohol is detrimental to my gift, my Lord," said Father Ignatz.
"I am sorry, milady," said Lord Derby. His eyes cast down to his shoes. "I have been a little preoccupied -- you are aware of my job -- but that does not excuse me from the charge of rudeness, and I am guilty indeed. I truly regret not seeing you this morning. Might I enquire how you are?"
"Indeed? Is that true for all priests?"
"Well, Ernest, I am still annoyed with you, but I can see that you are sincere."
"Many but not all, milord. There is even an order; the Bacchans, who drink alcohol to excess as a way of communing with the Deity and energising their gift. They are a most entertaining bunch, but perhaps less reliable than others of us."
"And since you ask so nicely I shall tell you that I am having a much harder time than I expected without my husband. He was such a virile man, you always knew when he was about and what he was about, and now... everything seems paler and thinner somehow. My son is a comfort but now he's Lord Campion and I worry more."
"Good gods, they sound like fun! Are there any here in Edinburgh?"
Lord Derby glanced at Samual who was edging his chair about subtly, trying to get it equidistant between Lord McAnally and Lord Derby and clearly hadn't been listening. "I have met your husband," he said carefully, "and I think I understand. Well, as much as I can without experiencing such a loss myself. Milady, would it be appropriate to call on you at home tomorrow morning? Allow me, please, to make amends."
"None, milord, here in Scotland they live further north where the whiskey is made. In England they prefer the hop-gardens of Kent. I have heard tell that the French and Germans and even the Belgique have been very hospitable to them."
"Yes Derby, I think that might be just enough."
"Hah, well if they need a place to stay sometime I can be hospitable too, Father!"
Derby smiled, then glanced around. Samual had finished adjusting his chair, achieving a nicety that only a politician could appreciate, and was looking about as well.
"Samual," said Lord Derby thoughtfully, "Where on earth is David?"

Marc said...

Morganna - hah, that's my kind of nightcap :)

Greg - heh. I hear Scrivener has character sheet templates. I, um, may have recently done that part of the tutorial.

I am impressed by the way you managed to interweave two conversations here without me ever having to struggle to determine who is talking. Also: the Bacchans sound like they need some time in a prompt response or twenty :D