Well, that didn't last long...

 In what seems to be a new craze here on the North-Norfolk coast, bits of cliff have been flinging themselves down on to the beach with reckless abandon.  Either that or our local powered person (I'm loathe to call him a "superhero" because his powers are a bit crap), Cliff Crumbler (thank you, Mago) has been working overtime (no, I'm not trying to shift the blame - I didn't sneeze).
 Yes, as you might have guessed, that teetering tower of clifftop that featured in the last post is no more!
 But its plummet of doom did expose this rather fascinating series of folds in the cliff's strata:

Eye for an Eye

 I was just allowing the Host to think about his top twelve sexiest Star Trek characters-

He was "thinking" a little bit too enthusiastically, for my liking.

Well, yes, but Captain Pike is rather a fox!

Oh, OK, I 'll allow it.

 Anyway, as I was saying, the Host was doing some thinking-
 All will become clear in the next post.  Or possibly the one after that.

A rather inappropriate looking glass

 Yes.  Thank you.  Now, where was I?  Oh, yes, you were thinking while we were enjoying a (rather too hot) bath when I noticed this:

 I'm pretty sure Inexcuseable didn't mean it to spy on me, but rather to keep an eye on Count Podgekinson's bathtime.  Or to catch her husband weeing all over the toilet bowl rim (because it sure as hells isn't me doing it - I prefer a more leisurely sit-down affair)...
 Still, the fact remains that my own sister can see me in the altogether, should she so desire.  Which I'm sure she doesn't, but even so...

 Despite the small dimensions of Castlette DeVice's bathroom, it isn't small enough for me to reach across from my gently simmering bath and scrawl a nullifying spell* on the mirror.
 In fact, the mirror may as well have been a million miles away as, when I'm in the bath, I get out for nothing and no-one until I'm done**.  Which meant a rather chaste bath, and a lot of awkward manoeuvring with a towel when I did eventually get out.


* The only spell I know for counteracting Inexcuseable's Looking Glass spell involves (amongst other things) drawing over the eye with my own tears.  And I don't think the Host has enough nostril hairs to pluck to make our eyes water enough to cover her rather large "masterpiece".
** With the exception of Captain Pike, a life-time supply of fondant fancies, and - possibly - Knight.

Of Boiled Eggs and Slinkies

 This is just a quick one before I get back to constructing the constellations of bloggers which, I hope, will go a little way to make up for the lack of a weekend post (that can be blamed on that wonderful Royal Wedding and the build up to RHS Chelsea!).

 While at work today, I noticed a faint smell (minor stench, really) of over-boiled eggs.  It was a little stronger as I entered the kitchen area to get a cup of coffee.  As I walked in, I noticed a slip hazard*: a small puddle of spilt** coffee on the lino, and reminded myself to get a paper towel to mop it up with once I'd got my coffee.

A standard IDV eye-roll

as modelled by the lovely George Clooney

 Luckily there was no one dithering around in the kitchen, so I got my coffee and paper towel without having to roll my eyes at obliviousness and thoughtlessness.  Around the corner, I bobbed down (not this one) and wiped up the coffee puddle.  Whoever had allowed it to slop over the edge of their cup at least had the decency to do it right by the bin, so I was able to pop the now damp and brown paper towel in the bin without having to go out of my way.

 Then it hit me.  As I was reaching for the bin with my left hand, I wasn't paying attention to what my right hand was doing with my cup (filled to the brim, naturally), and the stench of eggs brought to mind Chronosfear and his time-altering abilities. 

 Oh, no!  What if the spilt coffee was mine?!?  What if I'd got caught in one of Chronosfear's time-twists, and was mopping up my own spillage before I'd even spilled*** it?  

 I dared not look back at what my right hand was doing, or had done, for fear of seeing a spillage, because the Host's OCD would insist that I instantly mop it up.  I would have wrung my hands at the possible paradox had I not been potentially pouring hot coffee all over the floor.  Somehow, with minimal wailing and gnashing of teeth, I managed to gather my wits - and the Host's -  stand up, coffee cup in hand looking pretty full actually, and walk out without looking back.

Ahem!

 What?

 Oh, yes.  Slinkies.

* Workplace Health and Safety in mind, or further evidence for my continued contempt of bloody useless, thoughtless, uncaring people?

** See ***
*** Spelled "spilt" as that's how I say it, but then I go and spell "spilled" because that's how I say it, too.  Sigh...

The 2015 Coven Awards - A Year In Review

 Welcome to the 2015 Coven Awards, and thank you for enduring yet another year at Castlette DeVice.
 Yes, although we've celebrated ten years of this blogging lark, this is only the seventh Coven Awards ceremony due to three rather slack years.

 Yeah! We're looking at you 2011, 2012, and 2013. 

 You may be pleased to know that this year's awards show will not be as drawn out as last year's tedious affair.

 That's what you think!

 Yeah! We got our second wind when creating the award headers and now there are loads of them!

 Oh, dear gods... We'd better get on with it then, I suppose. As usual, I'll recap our blogging efforts through the year.
 And I'll present the various awards.
 Right. Take a deep breath and don't look down as away we go: 

Wanton for Well-Built Warlocks (and other distractions)

 Well, it's been another of those weeks. Fortnights, actually. Sometimes, living on the Cusp gets right on my thre'pennies!

Click to be terrified!

  Sunday, 14:49 - Narrowly avoided being cocooned in silk, then sucked dry*, on a walk down Overstrand High Street.
 I forgot about the giant spider that lives at the end of the road...

* By the spider, as in: liquify my insides then drink them. Not anything untoward!

A Wednesday Wedding Washout

My wedding hat: Pom Pom
This '30s glamour wide-brimmed
chapeau is constructed from a
deep-pan margherita pizza topped
with a Turkish-shaved marmoset
and liberally sprinkled with
Angora rabbit tails

 Well, that was a bit of a disaster.

 I've just got back from that wedding (and its aftermath) I informed you I'd been forced into attending. Although it wasn't a guaranteed disaster (as I had previously hoped), its resulting disastrousness was somewhat of a surprise. I don't know why it should be a surprise, though. After all, who has a wedding on a Wednesday? 
 Oh, traditionally, Wednesday is supposed to be the best day to get married, but when one factors in all the selfish, thoughtless guests who find it so inconvenient to travel/abstain from alcohol/take days off work etc, organising a Wednesday Wedding can be a bit of a 'mare. Not to mention the unwelcome appearance of unwanted family members...

§

Not the Hats of Barbara Cartland II: The Collectors' Edition

 I swore I wouldn't go to another wedding unless it was someone very close to me who was getting married (emotionally and geographically), or it was guaranteed to be a spectacular disaster, destined to have shakey, handheld videos of which to be endlessly repeated on Harry Hill's You've Been Framed, endlessly.
 So, you can imagine my horror when I discovered that I'd soon be attending the wedding of a couple I'd barely heard of which was guaranteed to be thronged with countless people I don't know, and, to top off, wasn't even local!
 How is my attendance to this smug and indulgent social occasion pretty much guaranteed? Because I am the 'plus one' to someone I can't say no to: Thunderfly, a weather warlock I have a small crush on to whom I owed a favour that he had the audacity to call in!

 Anyway, after a lot of whining and foot stamping, I resigned myself to fly half way across the Cusp with Thunderfly to this wearisome wedding on the proviso that he does all the social stuff while I lurk in the background and indulge in copious amounts of gin.

 On the plus side, I get to wear a new hat!

Click to engorge.
Oh, and sincere apologies to the Not The Nine O'Clock News team...

 I just can't decide which one. From the above collection, Fillet de Tampon is taken - it was snapped up by Ms Scarlet, and Pork Scratching is on hold for The Very Mistress MJ. 
 Then there are these 'inspired by nature' hats which are being prepared for inclusion in the collection:

Koi Carp Ark - One of Dame Barbara's hats from her debutant days (circa five million BC), this now fossilised relic is being lovingly restored by Marjorie Courtenay-Latimer from the ancient millionaire's Ancient Millinery division.

Puffer Fish - Seen here perched jauntily atop Dame Barbara's head in this rare image from the opening of Ascot in August 1711, Puffer Fish's robust construction has ensured its survival to the present day. The internal framework of wingbones from the California Condor almost singlehandedly brought about the extinction of the species. The hat is made buoyant by being inflated with the farts of a million hummingbirds.

Bed Bugs & Broomsticks - A favourite of Dame Barbara's first husband, Alexander McCorquodale (seen here shaking the dandruff off from the last time it was worn). He is noted to have commented that when his wife wears Bed Bugs & Broomsticks, he gets rather hot under the collar! For the curious, the hat is made from a single bed bug plucked from the royal mattress of His Royal Highness, George VI, stuffed with candied peel and glazed with a mix of turpentine and Vimto.

  Decisions, decisions...

Don't you point that thing at me!

 ...Continued from An Assortment of Arcane Aerial Conveyances

 Clutching my pearls chest to make sure I hadn't just been stabbed through the heart by Concorde, I stared up to the cockpit of the gleaming white airliner, wondering who the reckless pilot was. Behind the windscreens I could discern movement, then, one of the side windows was wound down and a familiar-looking arm and head poked out.
 Even if I hadn't recognised the handsome face, the sheer magnitude of sexy arrogance plastered across it was a dead giveaway. It was Knight!

OK, so this clearly isn't Knight. It's not even Concorde's cockpit.
It's actually the Smokin' (it says so on his assignment patch) Flight Lieutenant
Russell Adams of the Royal Australian Air Force.

 "Hello, DeVice" he greeted me through a devastating smile. I was thunderstruck! I hadn't seen him in years, and now he turns up, quite literally out of the blue, in bloody Concorde! I think I actually gaped. "You're looking as lovely as ever."
 Suddenly, and with a loud whirring noise, Concorde's nose rose up and locked into its fully erect parked position as Knight gazed down at me with a salacious grin. I couldn't prevent the blush from taking over my face and, somewhat flustered, fumbled Hat's brim down a bit in the hope of obscuring it.
 While I fannied about with the press releases attempted to compose myselves, Knight disembarked and strode purposefully towards me. Much as I wanted to play it cool, the SubCs took over and fawned embarrassingly over our barely-uniformed not-really-an-ex-as-we-were-never-technically-an-item ex.

Hey! It wasn't all us.

Yeah, the Host played a big part, too.

 I think the less said about my part, big or otherwise, the better! Now, hush up.

Bah!

 Will you lot shut up! I'm recounting this tale of aerial disaster, not you!
 Now, where was I? Oh, yes:

 "Ah, that's better" Knight sighed after he'd removed his flight jacket. Naturally, he wasn't wearing anything underneath and looked absolutely stunning. The years had been good to him and now, in his mid-forties, he and his abs looked better than ever. Bastard. "It's so hot out here. Especially after being in that air-conditioned cockpit."
 After gazing at him for what felt like an eternity and thinking thoughts I hadn't entertained since World War Two, I finally managed to pull myselves together and ask the obvious question. "What on Earth are you doing here?"
 Maddeningly, he just smiled that irritating, slightly patronising, smile-that-I-can't-resist, took my hand in his and led me towards the Control Tower Cabin. I was lost for words again.
 He booked his unusual inbound flight in the Movements book at Control, then, still silent but smiling, took my hand again and wandered over to the 'Cabin Crew' Diner. He left me outside and went in alone - a mistake, as, no longer under his spell, I was able to reassert myselves. I glared through the cabin window where I could see him flirting outrageously with the poor woman standing behind the counter. Poor Val was practically the colour of a beetroot by the time he'd finished with her, and so flustered that she was attempting to butter a washing up sponge using an egg whisk.
 "Well?" I prompted him with no small amount of impatience. Unable to take my hand again due to holding three cans of ginger beer, Knight cocked his head and gave me that kicked puppy look (seventh paragraph down), but luckily I had prepared myself for it. "Why are you here?"
 He gazed past me towards the runway before making eye contact again. "I heard about your last-minute collection of mythological flying machines and thought you might appreciate another addition."
 I was momentarily stunned. "But... But Concorde isn't mythological!"
 "Isn't it? When was the last time you saw one?" he asked, handing me a ginger beer as he did so.
 "I see one right now" I said darting a look over my shoulder.
 "I meant apart from now."
 "Er... Um..." I racked my brain and luckily the Host provided. "Twenty five years ago at Duxford! I actually went aboard the pre-production prototype Concorde 101, so there." Quite how I managed to prevent the Host from sticking his tongue out I don't know.
 "Well" Knight responded, "if you want to use it for this... well, whatever it is you're doing, you can. If not" and he looked past me again, a proper smile on his lips, "we'll just be on our way."
 Hang on, I thought. We? That was a little presumptuous even for Knight. I looked over my shoulder again to where he had averted his gaze. There on the runway, manhandling the supersonic airliner so it pointed in the right direction for take-off, was a figure in the same state of undress as Knight and far more muscular. The younger man looked up at us and gave a grin and a Gay Wave before resuming his feat of extraordinary strength. It was Blacksmith. 

Again, not Blacksmith (although he does look remarkably like him),
just another excuse to gaze at the adorable Russell Adams

  Ah, so that's who the third can of ginger beer was for! "So. You and Blacksmith, eh?" I prompted, surprisingly unsurprised.
  "Yes. Me and Blacksmith." He paused and studied my face for my reaction and, seeing my surprisingly genuine happiness for them, continued. "And it's all down to you."
 "Me?" I felt like kicking myself.
 "Of course. Don't you remember our little dalliance?"
 I thought back through the years, coming to a halt back in 2006. "Oh, yes..."
 "It took some time, what with one thing and another, but we eventually got together a couple of months ago." Knight looked over at Blacksmith again, who had, by this time, manoeuvred Concorde into position and was walking towards us with a grin on his face, his enormous muscles bulging and rippling disconcertingly. "We wanted to tell you as soon as possible because of our" and he indicated the two of us "nearly-but-not-quite relationship all those years ago. This aerial insurance ad thing was just a happy coincidence."
 "Well. I... I'm happy for you. Both of you" I said as Blacksmith joined us. "But you" I continued, pointing at Knight "have got to stop flirting at people!" Knight gave a good natured downcast look then turned to greet Blacksmith. Before they got carried away in a Public Display of Affection, I made my excuse to leave. "Right. I'd better go and find out what happened to those flying saucers!" 


To be continued (kind of) in... Flying Saucery

 

An Assortment of Arcane Aerial Conveyances

 Ugh. Someone-or-thing over the Cusp has seen Top Gear's British made motors take over the Mall and the Allianz UK school run insurance ad and wants to do an horrific amalgam of the two for the Cusp's inimitable type of transportation insurance.

 I was contacted to see if I could organise a collection of unique, eldritch (to the mortal realm) personal conveyances so that they could be "auditioned" for suitability in an advertisement. I expect you can imagine my sighing and eye-rolling at such a task, but, unfortunately, the person (and I use that term in the loosest sense of the word's meaning) who did the asking knows a certain something about my past - that I'd rather stay in the past - and made it clear that this wasn't so much a request as a requirement.

 Anyway, I managed to gather a small fleet of apterygial AFOs (Arcane Flying Objects) at Northrepps Aerodrome this weekend. It was all very last minute, so I couldn't get everyone I wanted, unfortunately. 

Oh, come off it! You've known about this for weeks.

Yes, but we've been very busy with other important matters!

Yeah, like fannying about with centaurs and tin foil...

 OK, so I was given plenty of time, but my natural procrastinating abilities kicked in with a vengeance. However, it was still quite a sight as a loose formation of broomsticks, hoes & pitchforks, a magic carpet, an elderly Electrolux Model 30, two sensible umbrellas & a parasol, two flying saucers (don't ask) and a Mini-Metro took to the sky and performed low-level manoeuvres under the mostly sober guidance of their pilots.

The very elderly and difficult to manoeuvre Electrolux Model 30

 Everything was going swimmingly - or flyingly, I suppose - until a distant rumble rent the air. I was standing just off the leading edge of runway 04/22 being talked at by one of the nuns who'd arrived in the Metro, when I noticed her wimple vibrating slightly. At first I didn't pay it much heed as the nuns of the Chattering Order of Saint Beryl were capable of talking at such a rate of speed that I assumed the vibrations were a by-product of their loquaciousness. It was only when I noticed her being impressively drowned out by the ever increasing roar that I realised something else was to blame. As she obliviously blathered on, I surreptitiously glanced about trying to find the source of the noise. Soon, the roar was so loud that even she noticed it and changed subject to that of the noise so quickly that I almost suffered with whiplash!

 Suddenly, one of the few low-hanging cumulus clouds burst open to reveal an enormous white dragon, its wings spread and its claws out, heading right for us!

The mythological dragon, Concorde, about to seize its prey

 After that almost heart-stopping moment, I managed to gather my wits (no mean feat as some of them had managed to get quite a distance away) and see the "dragon" for what it really was.
 "Don't worry" I said, attempting to soothe the panicking nun. "Its only Concorde."
 And with that, my wits fled again - along with the nun - as the realisation that 150 tons and 62 metres of 20th century supersonic airliner was attempting a landing on a small village's grass runway that was only built mowed for microlights, light aircraft and the occasional helicopter.

 As I gawped in awed terror, rooted to the spot, the fleet of AFOs scattered to make way for the descending Concorde. Well, I say scattered - most of them did but a few of the slower ones were taking a terrifying amount of time to get out of the way. The brollies and the parasol were the chief culprits, but the ancient Electrolux was the worst. That thing couldn't manoeuvre for toffee and was attempting a starboard turn that made the Titanic look like a London taxi. It just about got out of the way though, its hose earning a clip from the very tip of Concorde's wing as the enormous jet dropped onto the runway.
 The airliner sloughed speed at an incredible rate, its brakes glowing red hot and screeching in protest, with great clods of runway being flung left, right and centre like a rubbish golfer creates divots. Somehow, it managed to skid to a stop before careering off the end of the runway, through a hedge and into the road.
 My heart hammered in my chest as, not two feet away, Concorde's droop nose pointed right at it.
 "Eeep" I said, breathing heavily.


 To be continued in... Don't you point that thing at me!

When the chips are doom...

"What on Earth are you wearing under that mac?" I asked Lady Gaga superfan, reformed emo and vegetarian, Translucy, after spying what appeared to be tortilla chips all down his front between the fastenings.
"What, this?" he replied, opening the mac and displaying a corset fashioned from Doritos.
"Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrghhhhhhh!" I yelled. "It's the invasion of the bodice nachos!"

Translucy didn't appear to be amused.

Gale-Force

* ring ring *

* ring ring *

* ring ring *

* ring ri- *

"Mmmph... What?"
"psssbtzt drzszpt sspszzt!" It was my sister, Inexcuseable.
"What? She did what?"
"shzzzbt zzp trssspzbzt dszcbl sbt hsssz." Apparently, something happened to our sister Indescribable.
"A House? When?"
"thpbbt zsspbbsz zzbt ffsspt fss!" Oh. Shit.
"I'll be there as soon as I can. 'Bye" and I hung up.

It appears that a dastardly Kansas girl turned witch-finder, who uses her tornado-creating ability to crush witches with houses and other large objects, has nobbled our sister. This... This creature goes by the nom de guerre Gale-Force.

Indescribable, who usually looks like Quentin Blake's version of Roald Dahl's Grand High Witch, only not so 2-dimensional, now looks almost exactly like her.
Luckily, she's pretty robust and managed to shrug off Gale-Force's attack, but she's understandably livid, so Inexcuseable and I are going to meet up with her to plan a strategic retaliation.
With that being the case, I may not be around much during the next few days, so just carry on without me. I'll pop in and out whenever there's a break in our war-games.

Concerning flight

I watched Superman Returns last night. Well, SP wanted to see it because James Marsden’s in it. I don’t think he could give two figs about the film – He just wanted to gaze upon James’ beauty and razor sharp cheek bones. I must admit, I never turn away in horror when he graces the screen, so I didn’t mind too much that SP was being more than a little blatant. One comment did give me pause, though. He was talking about preferring James as Cyclops wearing that leather costume in X-Men when he hesitated with a big grin on his face. “Cwoooarr!” he said. “I wouldn’t mind his massive cyclops coming at me.”
And this was while I was in the room. Sitting right next to him! The cheek.

Anyway, the point I was going to make is related to both last night’s televisual viewing and something Tim said recently about having flight as a super power. It was while I was piloting Broom to work this morning, wrapped up tightly, that I marvelled about the amount of scantily clad flying superheroes (and supervillains) who don’t seem to be affected by windchill. Superman I can understand due to his resistance of the cold (he lives in an Arctic ice castle, for starters). The Human Torch keeps warm because he’s on fire. Phoenix is all powerful and probably shields herself from the deleterious effects of flight. But what about the rest of them? How do they keep warm and/or stop their eyes streaming? How? Do any of you lot have superpowered alter-egos and have to adapt to the effects of your powers?

Oh, and Tim, if you’re fed up with being so attractive, you’ll just have to try and switch off your Timtational sexy pheromone secretions!


- - -

Just to be tangential: There aren’t enough people called Cynthia. I don’t know any Cynthias except for Cynthia Nixon and Cynthia from some old British comic (I believe she burnt some cakes during her gang/class’s re-enactment of historical events?). And even then, I only know of them. Does anyone else know any Cynthias?

An ill wind

Firstly, apologies for my unnotified absence. I would have posted earlier but I was rather vexingly detained on my way back from Tartarus. I'd 'misplaced' my paperwork you see, and almost became a permanent 'resident' what with being a little bit undead.

Anyway, the delay meant that I only just managed to keep ahead of the windstorm that was heading towards home. I really need to get a new, faster broom...


"This is IDV turning on final. Coming around to a seven-zero-niner. Terminal guidance locked in. Where's the damn beacon?*" Then I saw it emerge from the low cloud ceiling. From the twilight haze ahead, the distant city landing beacons became visible and the disembodied voice of the air traffic controller echoed in my head.

"That's a negative, IDV. We've got several nannies primed for dust-off."

"What?!"

"We're expecting an imminent wind change. The met. tower has checked and verified."

I swore under my breath. "Bugger." This is why I hated coming in late ahead of a prevailing wind.

"Please join the stack until the nannies are clear."

I sighed and directed Broom into a holding pattern above the other circling airspace users. Peering down, I noticed a couple of other witches near the bottom of the stack, the nightship above them, a druid atop a surprisingly manoeuverable megalith** and, directly beneath me, Dragon. She waved and grinned, baring far too many teeth for my liking. I smiled insincerely back at her. At that moment, the air traffic controller cut in again:

"Here comes the wind change now. Stand by for some chop."

From the city below, movement caught my eye. Ascending from the big houses were dozens of prim nannies hanging beneath umbrellas and parasols, looking for all the world like seeds blown from a dandelion clock. Much as I loathed waiting in a stack like any of your common or garden arial entities, the sight of that many airborne nannies was truly something to behold. However, my awe was about to be rudely interrupted.

* PHHHHHHAAAAAAAAARRRRRRPBT! *

"Good. Gods!" I exclaimed as a cloud of noxious fumes arose from below me. I covered my nose and looking down to see Dragon looking sheepish. "What ever have you been eating?"

Dragon looked even more abashed.

"Oh no, not those fat kids from the council estate? I told you fast food was bad for you. And just think of your cholesterol levels!"



* Snaps to whomever guesses the film that this line is taken from.
** Well, how do you think they transport all those stones to make henges?

Coven Origins: Part Three

"It does give them a lift, doesn't it." Snow White said. "Where did you get it from?"

"Well, this one comes from The Bodice Shop over in Varz" Rapunzel replied, "but I have a golden metal bikini from-"

"Ssshhhhhh!" Scarlet hissed, silencing further conversation about their boobs.

"What?" whispered Rapunzel.

"Someone's approaching from" Scarlet cocked her head to the left "over there" she nodded.

"I can't hear anything" Snow White whispered. Scarlet brushed back her blonde hair and exposed a slightly pointed ear to the young queen. "Ah."

After a few seconds, Rapunzel spoke in hushed tones. "I can hear something now."

"Me too" Snow White chimed in.

Scarlet sniffed the air. "It's a man." She sniffed again. "He's on his own." The three young women stood up, forming a triangle facing into the forest where the man was coming from. Scarlet was at point, with Rapunzel to her left and Snow White to her right. "Here he comes now."

The sounds of the man approaching through the undergrowth got louder: Rustling leaves, snapping twigs and a curious hissing, crackling sound. Then, through a particularly dense thicket of birch trees, the girls made out a shadowy figure, the glint of sunlight on metal and a swishing sound.
Suddenly, several loud 'cracks' rang out in quick succession followed by a grunt, then the creaking and groaning of full-grown trees collapsing into each other. A hole appeared amongst the trees edging the clearing and a half-naked man in what looked like leather chaps and the charred, tattered remnants of a once white shirt strode through, brandishing an absolutely enormous axe!
Scarlet dropped to a crouch, starting to look less like a pleasant young woman, and more... Well, more furry and pointy. Rapunzel and Snow White however, just stood there, transfixed by the vision of manliness before them as leaves from the felled trees fluttered down around him. Those that landed on his broad shoulders immediately crinkled up, the moisture in them hissing away in the heat he generated.

Then, the woodcutter saw them. He raised an eyebrow devilishly. "Rawr!" he growled, eyeing them up, following with a disarmingly sexy grin.

Both Snow White and Rapunzel's hands went to their throats, their eyes wide. Even Scarlet rose from her fighting stance looking every bit the lady again.

"My ladies" he said, bowing before them. "I am Tim, a humble woodsma-"

"Yaaarrrghh! Look out below!"

The four looked up to see a witch barrelling out of the sky towards them.

"Eeep!"
"Eeek!"
"Yikes!"
"Ooof!"
"Ow."

Amidst a heap of snow and hair, Tim the woodsman shook his head free of ice crystals and looked at the witch atop him.

"Mmmmmph! Mmmmphfff!" said the witch through the pointed hat which had been rammed down over the witch's head in the crash.

"Here. Let me help you" Tim said kindly, yanking the black hat off the witch's head.

"My hero!" gushed the witch, grinning soppily at the devastatingly handsome man beneath him.

"Aaaargh! You're a man!" Tim yelled, pushing the witch off him. The snow hissed to steam around him, and within seconds it had all melted, exposing the three girls underneath, all of whom looked less than thrilled.

"What is the meaning of this?" exclaimed a damp Snow White.

"Your Majesty" said the witch, bowing. "I apologise for dropping in like that, but I've come with a warning: We're surrounded by the evil and perverse flying monkeys of Majestrix J'zhum. One of them ripped a handful of bristles out of my broom - Thank you" the witch said as a tendril of Rapunzel's hair proffered him his broom, "- Causing me to crash."

"Did you not see the monkey approach?"

"Umm... No. I was a little..." and the witch glanced at the half-naked woodcutter, "Distracted."

Snow White also stole a glance at the woodcutter. "Yes. I completely understand" she said, just about managing to drag her gaze from the man and make eye contact with the witch again.

There was a rustling from the treetops surrounding them. "We'd better defend ourselves" the witch suggested.

The five of them stood facing out and upwards into the trees forming a pentagram. Snow White covered in ice and frost, Rapunzel's hair twisted into numerous writhing tentacles, Scarlet a vicious snarling werefox, Tim radiating intense heat and wielding his enormous red-hot axe, and me, shadowed in my hat and cloak, glowing ribbons of spells forming between my fingers.

Those flying monkeys wouldn't stand a chance!



The end.

Coven Origins: Part Two

Snow White paused on the little track. She thought she heard something. The snapping of twigs, whispered voices maybe? She glanced around but could see nothing but trees and straggly undergrowth.
"It's only birds or some other small woodland creature" she said to herself. "Nothing to worry about." But she hadn't been very convincing.
The young queen walked on in nervous apprehension, the air around her growing cooler, feathers of frost starting to appear on the hem of her long yellow skirt, reaching up to her knees, but she didn't seem to notice.

"... but you do have a fabulous rack!"

Snow White stopped dead and whirled around. She definitely heard voices that time. And they were getting closer.

"I can't get them back in."

Suddenly, the undergrowth parted and two figures burst out, too intent on themselves to notice Snow White.

"Ow! Stop prodding them!"

"Well, keep still, then."

" * gasp * Not too tight!"

A blonde girl in a hooded red cloak was attempting to push her long haired companion's impressive boobs back into her bodice and keep them there while she laced it up.

"Nearly there" the blonde said.

"You're taking your time - Are you deliberately fondling my boobs?"

"No! Well, only a little. There" she said, finally lacing up the straining bodice. "Everything's back in place."

"Ahem" Snow White coughed daintily to get their attention.

The girls whirled around to face her. The blonde dropped to a fighting stance with a snarl on her face, and the coiled tresses of The-One-With-The-Fabulous-Rack came loose and writhed in the air, as if caught in a gust of wind despite there not being a hint of a breeze.

"Eeep!" exclaimed Snow White, rooted to the spot on the increasingly frosty ground.

"Oh. Your Majesty!" the blonde declared, standing upright and grinning. Snow White flinched slightly - There was far too much canine and incisor in that grin to be polite.

"Your Majesty?" 'The Rack asked quizzically.

"Oh, I forgot how long you'd been stuck up that tower" the blonde answered. "This is our new queen" and she gestured at the recovering girl in front of them. "Your Majesty, this is my friend Rapunzel. Please forgive her rudeness - She's been out of the loop for a while. And my name's Scarlet" she said bowing slightly while Rapunzel curtsied.

"Ah" Snow White said, trying not to be disturbed by the way Rapunzel's hair recoiled itself to the sides of her head. "Pleased to meet you, I'm sure."

- - -

Above the tree tops, aboard his broom, the witch silently followed a figure making its way through the densely packed forest.




To be continued...

Coven Origins: Part One

In a book filled parlour, in the royal castle of the kingdom of Cusp, its bored young queen suddenly snapped out of her doze. She'd been having the most peculiar of dreams about a tall tower and being chased by a giant grub.
She pouted her blood red lips and twiddled a lock of her ebony black hair with a finger so fair as to be almost white as snow. She was fed up with settling petty disputes, presiding over official functions and hosting stuffy balls. She glared at the plate of bread and honey on the occasional table beside her. She was sick of that, too, and swiped it onto the floor where it landed with a sticky crash.
"I've got to get out of here" she said to herself as she stared out at the expanse of forest that enclosed the castle's exquisite gardens. It suddenly looked a lot more interesting than just a bunch of old trees.

- - -

In the middle of the forest, in her frou-frou room atop a tall stone tower, a very long haired young woman gazed out at the green vista around her. She sighed heavily, resting her chin in her hands, her elbows leaning on the window sill. She tried to remember the last time she'd had sex, but failed.
"Bugger this" she said. "I'll never nab a man up here." Which was true. The last man to climb her tower was that poofy prince who only wanted to ask where she got her hair coloured.
She gathered up her long tresses, twisting them up into two 'cinnamon buns' either side of her head and pinned them into place with several ferocious looking hair pins. Then, she kicked down the rotten wooden door and stormed down the spiral stone steps to the forest floor hundreds of feet below.

- - -

In a ramshackle old cottage deep in the forest, a blonde haired young woman was instructing her sister on all the chores that had to be done in this, their ancient grandmother's home.
"And then you have to empty her po in the cess pit out back. After that, she'll need a bed bath. Remember to use a clean cloth, not the one you wipe the po out with... Unless the old bat's been particularly cantankerous."
The sister opened her mouth to ask a question, but before she could do so, she was interrupted.
"Strewth! I'm sick to death of this. If you don't know how to take care of the crotchety old bag by now, you never will! I'm off" the young woman declared, peering out of the small window and into the dark forest. Her sister stared in open mouthed shock as she pulled her red hood up and strode out of the cottage and into the densely packed trees.

- - -

At the edge of the forest, a devastatingly handsome prince looked back at his castle for a final time before plunging into the overgrown brush beneath the trees. He had traded his princely finery for the less conspicuous garb of a woodcutter so as to pass through the forest unnoticed.
He hefted his huge, but not unwieldy or out of proportion, axe onto his shoulder and set off for the heart of the forest, determined to boldly go where no man had gone before!

- - -

Just above the forest canopy, aboard a slow flying ash broom, sat a witch.
After a particularly long day thwarting the plans of a thieving, obnoxious, conniving trespassing, pig-tailed, witch-murdering farm girl, the witch just wanted to get back to his suspiciously edible-looking home and relax in front of the fire with a gin or twelve and a good book. However, movement below, caught his eye...




To be continued...

A stitch in time can be a bloody bugger.

Gaahhh! So much to do, yet so little time!

Where in the worlds does time go?

* mmmmph *

* rrrrrgg *

* mmmmff *

* eep *

Ah. I see. There's a hole in the space/time continuum behind my kitchen sink. That's where it's all going. Seeping away into another universe.

I'll be jiggered if I have to get Chronosfear in to sort it out. Maybe Continuity Girl can help?



Bugger.

It's not because my passport's expired. Really.

I don't know these two

Now, I know it's Hallowe'en, but it's pointless being abroad* as there're so many looky-likey witches out there, that a real one such as myself will go unnoticed.
So, instead of going out terrorizing the neighbourhood, I'm going to go to Indescribable's to be terrorized by her lack of housekeeping. Honestly, there aren't so much dust-bunnies under her furniture, as dust-bears. And some of them haven't been fed in weeks!
Besides, I have a funny feeling in my water that something odd is going to happen. My precognition has been all over the shop lately. Why, only yesterday I wrote this, only to find today that I hadn't but I will do tomorrow. The fact that tomorrow seems to be funnelling into today has really upset things, and I really don't want to have to get Chronosfear around here again. It took a week and a half to get rid of the lingering smell from his last visit.
Anyway, if you're reading this and it's not Hallowe'en, then I must've been sidetracked. Sorry. Come back yesterday.





* Not actually foreign abroad. In fact, not even over the river to Trowse!

There's no accounting for taste

I've just made a most unpleasant discovery: The MetaFour have an Emo in their midst!


There I was, enjoying a civilised G&T around Karen's*, when, out of the shadows beside her welsh dresser, stepped this emo!

Well, I nearly spat out out my gin, I was so surprised. Fortunately for my host (not The Host), it was the good stuff so I wasn't going to waste it, and managed to swallow, not spit.

"Good Gods!" I exclaimed.

The emo just gave a slight shrug and sighed faintly before wandering into the kitchen - rather elegantly, I must admit - on it's high heels.

"Oh, don't mind Lucien" said Karen. "He's just practising not being seen."

He? I was curious. I was well aware that emos wore make-up. Come July, once the schools break up, Boots make-up counter would be cleared out of any shade darker than charcoal. And great drifts of over-made-up, miserable teenagers would be bringing a surly, black tarnish to the city, as they wandered around spreading misery and contempt.
What they didn't tend to do, though, especially the males of the subspecies, was wear high heels. And tights, come to think of it.

"He?" I queried, gesturing to the heels as Lucien stood at the kitchen counter contemplating a limp bit of lollo rosso.

"Oh, Lucien had an epiphany last month" Karen started to explain somewhat wearily before turning and shouting into the kitchen "Didn't you, dear?"

Lucien ignored her.

"We'd only just got over the emo-thing when he surprised us with the cross-dressing. And then, last week, he told us he was joining the MetaFour junior reserves.
"Well, at that point, we were a bit blase about his decision. We knew he was a Supernatural obviously - With Emma** as a twin sister, how could he not be?"

"Mmm" I said.

"Anyway, we don't really mind. At least it gets him out of the house and mixing with other people."

"Yes." I was more than mildly stunned. "And what does he call himself, then? Or hasn't he taken a codename, yet?"

Karen looked me in the eyes, as if daring me to comment on what she was about to reveal.

"TransLucy."

I didn't even blink.







* Wraith's mum.
** Wraith.

The MetaFour

The MetaFour is a team of four Supernaturals, whose agenda at this point is unknown.

It would seem that the membership can change due to the existence of a sub-group of junior reserves, the latest member of which is TransLucy.