Horseplay

Well, that watery tart* was still loitering in my bath when I got home from the Host's parents last night. I just wanted to languish in hot, bubbly, soothing water to relieve my aching muscles. You see, they were having a giant shed delivered and needed a concrete base to put it on, so I'd been carting bags of cement about, shovelling sand & gravel into the mixer and being a general dogsbody, really. I couldn't use magic, because The Parents don't know their only son is harbouring a time-travelling witch. So, that only left brute force, hence the aching muscles.

Anyway, despite my pleading and cajoling, Fishface wouldn't remove herself to allow me my ablutions. I'd tried magic the day before but, like other deities, she remained stubbornly resistant. The only option left was physical force, and as I wasn't in the mood to wrestle some damp daughter of Zeus**, I'd have to get someone else to do it. And I couldn't think of anyone more physical than Svaathor da Vjis.

We don't normally like to talk about the origins of the da Vjis's. Suffice it to say that as a race of (mostly) centaurs, there must have been some 'unpleasantness' somewhere along the line.
Most point to Golthord, the Horse King born back in 1074. It was rumoured that he was exceptionally well endowed and that the only way he could be 'accommodated' was in the stables. The birth of Golraad, the first centaur, in 1093, leant credence to the rumours that Golthord was doing more than just seeing to the horses.
In fact, rumour also has it that Golthord had an accomplice, Iomjir, with an even more impressive asset. Well, scientifically speaking, there'd have to have been at least one other to account for the genetic diversity.

Today, because of the decrease of interspecies breeding over the centuries, the centaurs range from almost human-looking, to almost horse-looking. There are very few traditional centaurs around anymore. So much so that the only one I regularly have any contact*** with is Svaathor da Vjis, an enormous carthorse type with more muscles than Hulk in a particularly bad mood.

Anyway, I gave him a call - he loves technology and always carries the latest in mobile (cell, to you Americans) phone technology with him - and he came right round. He was in the area doing some study about the decrease of native flora & fauna in the Norfolk Broads.

After he'd squeezed his not inconsiderable bulk up my back passage and into the bathroom, I left him to it. What followed was a piercing scream, the clank of the bathroom window opening, some splashing and thrashing, a deep grunt, a surprised "Oh!" and what sounded like someone being slapped around the face with a wet haddock.

I didn't like to ask what had happened after he'd backed out of the bathroom, so I just made him a cup of Darjeeling and studiously tried to ignore the fish scales on his thick neck as we chatted about the otter population in Norfolk.

All that was left to do when Svaathor had gone was to clear up the mess.

And I'm still clearing it up now!

Bugger.



* Thank you, Monty Python's The Holy Grail.
** Mostly because of her nakedness. Ick!
*** No, not that kind of contact.