memouires

[memouires]

sometimes, dunc sees something of himself in calder. a what could have been, perhaps, if his life had gone in a different direction. if he hadn't grown fond of the small town vibes of both his hometown and wicklow, the gossipy older people in their wicker chairs watching the world pass them by. at that age, he was also the type to hide in the corner — though in his case, it was generally evading the nosy women from church who wanted to ask after his mother, or coo over how much you've grown, what a nice young man as if he wasn't well into his middle age with a wife and four kids. but the desire to be alone — he's been there.

“ y'should bring him round to my place, then, ” dunc says, “ evie's a pro at the ole fake limp. ” she's got a real one, these days, one of her back legs afflicted with arthritis, but she's always happy to affect a fake one with another leg if the other dogs are playing too rough ( or she wants to scare them ). “ if you need an excuse to bail, there's some suspicious-lookin' cheese n' crackers over that way. ” not that he thinks anything anyone brought would give someone food poisoning, but — well, a bad reaction to blue cheese isn't unheard of. “ anyway, you seen a white ball of mischief 'round here anywhere ? been trying to teach russell to stay with me, but he gets distracted. ” and dunc's not as young as he once was, can't be chasing after energetic puppies all the time.

where: summer social potluck status: open to all !

calder had managed to avoid most people and their cheerful hello's, mainly by arriving late and parking himself beneath the excuse of an overgrown maple. he had a paper plate balanced on his knee, half-heartedly filled with something someone insisted was “award-winning” pasta salad, as well as a sandwich. bowie — stretched out in the grass beside him, ears flicking at the sound of every passing voice — seemed about as enthusiastic as he was. he wasn’t here to mingle. he’d brought a covered tray of something passable (store-bought brownies, it'd be easy to tell if anyone looked close enough), dropped it on a communal table, and retreated to the edges. if he kept still long enough, maybe the folding chairs and fairy lights would swallow him whole. “next year we fake a limp,” calder told his dog quietly, tearing a bit of crust from his sandwich and dropping it into the grass. “you, not me. mine’s too believable.”

[memouires]

open starter : dunc taggart & open ( ∞ ) at the wicklow summer social

feet kicked up on the chillybin, lounging in his camp chair with a glass of iced tea, dunc glances up at the sound of footsteps crunching on picnic blankets. “ afternoon, ” he says, bringing his feet down and pulling out a jug to refill his glass. “ having a good time ? ” he gestures to the box. “ got some drinks in there, think we've got some biscuits—sorry, cookies—around here somewhere. ”

[memouires]

dunc wanders the green leisurely, his own contribution to the potluck — a cool box full of fizzy drinks both kid-friendly and adult, and a lamb casserole ( recipe a taggart family heirloom from his great-grandmother, a coveted secret that none but immediate family will ever learn ) — being carefully supervised by his partner and a couple of local kids paid in promises of free milkshakes. he pauses at the familiar face, nodding in greeting. “ good to see you too, alice, ” he says, lowering himself slowly to the ground to inspect the array of bottles. “ so what have you got here ? you must have put a lot of time into these. ” he knows there's debate about the efficacy of herbal remedies, that many view them as quackery, but ultimately, no synthetic medication can beat the comfort of a hot cup of tea ( herbal or not ) in chasing away fatigue, aches and pains. and alice is a nice young lady.

for: everyone !!

where: the wicklow ridge picnic

she'd spent all night obsessing over them. they were small glass bottles of tincture, "red pine remedies" scrawled neatly in her sloping, tiny script. one-by-one she'd wrapped each in spare bits of cloth from the milk crate shoved underneath her desk and shoved them into a burlap tote bag that clinked like windchimes when she walked. now as she stared at them all laid out neatly at the edge of her picnic blanket a creeping insecurity came over her. she chewed at the edge of her thumb bare feet catching in the grass and looked upwards. "hi!" she chirped, voice a bit wobbly. "take one, it's good to see you."

[memouires]

duncan ' dunc ' taggart :

seventy-five year old owner of maple and main, resident of wicklow for thirty-four years, regular at the stag's rest. never shuts up about how he " walked uphill both ways to school, in the rain ! " which is not the complete truth but is surprisingly close. described as gregarious and talkative, but can be a little melancholic and pedantic.

tldr ; old man sitting on the porch watching the traffic and making conversation with every passer-by. dad of four, divorced amicably and re-married a few decades later. a nightmare to work with because he has strong opinions and is a bit of a perfectionist. lives on a farm with a healthy amount of chickens and sheep.

statistics.

full name duncan robert taggart nickname dunc age seventy-five date of birth twenty-third february 1950 place of birth glasgow, scotland hometown oamaru, new zealand current residence wicklow ridge, vermont gender cis man pronouns he/him orientation bisexual occupation owner of maple & main previous occupations farmhand, sheep shearer, builder

biography.

tumblr is being a bitch n said this is too long so. find it here.

connections.

ngl used all my braincells on the bio so. will add some stuff here later. but. would love some friends. husband. kids. de-facto kids ( people to be grumpy old man dad figure to )

[memouires]

MEMOUIRES — dependent multimuse for wicklowridge, written by thyme ( twenty-three + they/them + aest ). featuring :

— duncan taggart / seventy-five, he/him, owner of maple & main sam neill / intro . threads . all

— future muses tba