#;;always on call

[walkingshcdow-a]

you’re the most interesting person i’ve ever met (bookdoctor)

Henry laughs. He wants to tell her she ought to meet more people because if she had, she wouldn’t find him interesting at all, but her attention warms his cheeks. What can he do besides laugh? This intelligent, funny, beautiful woman thinks he’s interesting and he’ll take it - gladly. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, “and not an opportunity to tell you more about the perks of parrot ownership, so, thank you.”

He thinks about kissing her, here in this café, where they’d be as discreet as any other lovers, but he thinks that there are ways that demonstrate intimacy that don’t run the risk of being caught out by soon-to-be exes.

“Tell me a secret,” he whispers, tapping her knuckle with his. “Or anything you’ve wanted to share with someone, but haven’t had occasion to.”

[noblehcart]

Drabble: Piffling Lives: Ruffling Feathers

Because this is all @walkingshcdow‘s fault.

Harold had always considered himself a good bird. His mother, Cordelia, and nestmate/charge, Calliope, had always said so. He also thought of himself as a respectable bird too. Helping out whenever he could the humans he had made himself protector of and by his nestmate’s own opinions a sometimes hero after rescuing the island’s famous mouse author Madeline from a snake deciding to get dinner. 

Yes, Harold thought of himself as a bird above silly matters since he had a family to care for and friends to keep busy with. He never thought he’d be capable of anything scandalous- his mind never could quite get around the idea of scandals and impassioned affairs. At least that is until one day he noticed something that he hadn’t quite noticed before. 

Or rather he noticed her all the more. 

All his life he had seen her there in Piffling Vale, often flying beside the only doctor on the island, Dr. Edgeware. There had been once a heated discussion as to the relationship with those two and initially he saw and watched the fondness and love the macaw had for the doctor. She constantly encouraged the young man to take a break every now and again and asked when he’d have a day off. In the earlier years the answers would be more comedic like ‘when i’m finally dead’ , but now it seemed like death might have been merciful to him if it did happen. 

Now, however, he noticed how the blue and golden macaw seemed to fly slower, her feathers drooping and her energy dropping. They didn’t speak often and when they did it was to express concern for the humans in their lives. He wondered what terrible luck it was that Esther had been the companion for the late Mrs. Edgeware and now watched as the son drove himself further and further into the grave. He wondered how Esther managed to stand being left alone so often and he tasked himself to flying by the good doctor’s house to check in on her and make sure she was alright. It broke his heart sometimes to see her sitting by the window sill looking towards the front door for Henry to arrive or even still to see her sitting alone watching the television. 

It took a village fete however for him to really truly notice her. The sun had managed to peak through the clouds and brilliantly illuminated the golden hue of her feathers contrasting with the vibrant blue of her wings. Dark inquisitive and wise eyes flickered towards him then back to Henry as he was pulled in all directions from a flirting Petunia Bloom to the probing questions of Sid Marlow on the death rates in relation to the weather changes in case of omens.  She flew up into the air for a moment displaying her expansive wings and feathers dripping off of her like fine jewelry he had seen in books or glimpses of Lady Templar. 

He wondered if that was what it felt like to be in love. 

To stumble back and wonder how it had managed to lift the veil from your eyes of what had been there the entire time.  To be dumbstruck and short of breath when they came near you to ask about how your charge had been doing since recovering from her broken arm. Somehow he managed to stammer out an answer that Calliope had healed up well and Esther mused how good it was that nothing worse had happened. His claws dug into the fence post he sat on to mind his nerves before stammering out that he ought to check in on her before flying off and leaving Esther alone. 

He did the worst thing he could do and glanced back to see her sitting there alone. Perked head now drooping and staring forlornly at Henry. 

It was then that he swore he’d never leave her alone again. Not like that. Husband or not he would be there for Esther in one manner or another. Somehow, clever thing that she was, Calliope had noticed that her feathered guardian was distracted by the lovely macaw and questioned then encouraged with all the hope of a child for him to do something more about it. Neither ten year old knew what it took to woo someone, nevertheless a married bird, and took to books to solve the matter. Which was why the young girl accompanied him to Petunia Bloom’s flower shop to pick out a small bouquet and paid for it with her allowance. Grateful to his nestmate he promised he’d help her find more small animals to embalm when he got back and thus took off to the Edgeware household, rapping at the window to call the exotic beauty’s attention.

He was glad for one thing and one thing only. Dr. Henry Edgeware was never at home.

[paralleljulieverse]

LILI IN LONDON: Darling Lili Makes Her European Bow

Fifty years ago this week, Darling Lili had its official European Premiere at the Plaza Cinema in London on 1 October, 1970. It wasn’t the film’s first international release -- that honour fell to Japan, where Darling Lili opened at the Cinerama Theatre Tokyo on 4 July, barely two weeks after the film’s US opening. However, the London premiere was a significant occasion in the film’s wider global rollout. It was, after all, Julie Andrews’ hometown and there was considerable hope local audiences would give the film a warmer reception than had been the case in North America. 

Accordingly, the UK branch of Paramount Pictures afforded Darling Lili a high profile release. They exhibited the film as a full roadshow attraction, complete with widescreen 70mm print, overture and exit music, and a 24-page souvenir programme (Klar 1970). In keeping with the era’s norms of variegated international film marketing, completely new promotional artwork was commissioned for the UK release. Featuring a central image of Julie/Lili bursting into song with her arms outstretched -- a clear nod to The Sound of Music -- with a cloudburst of narrative scenes from the film fanning across the bottom of her billowing skirt, it was an arresting design that served as a ready-made marketing logo for the campaign that could be emblazoned across the full range of advertising and merchandising (Paramount 1970).

The gala premiere took place on Thursday, 1 October -- Julie’s 35th birthday, incidentally — at the Plaza Cinema in Lower Regent Street, just off Piccadilly Circus. Popularly dubbed the “Home of Paramount Pictures”, the Plaza had long been the London venue of choice for the studio’s biggest film premieres (Eyles, 26-28). Though not an official Royal Performance, the European Premiere of Darling Lili was a major society charity event with proceeds going to the Printer’s Pension Corporation, one of the oldest royally-sponsored occupational charities in the UK. Tickets were available from £1 to £5 in the stalls and £10 to £20 in the Circle with the event raising over £6000 for the charity (”Darling Lili Aids”, 12).

Official patrons of the Printer’s Pension Corporation, Lord and Lady Hartwell presided over the evening, welcoming a line of society notables and assorted local celebrities including Sue Lloyd, Judy Geeson, Clodagh Rogers and Julie Ege (“Darling Lili Has”, 32).  Neither Julie nor Blake was able to make the premiere, though Julie’s parents were in attendance as honorary guests. Representing the cast, Lance Percival, who plays the comic support role of T.C. Carstairs in the film, “arrived at the Plaza in a vintage white Rolls Royce driven by a female chauffeur” (ibid.). Press reports noted that the “premiere drew large numbers of films fans to the theatre” and “the capacity audience...repeatedly applauded during the presentation of the film” (ibid.)

Following the premiere, Darling Lili opened the next day on 2 October to the general public. In a way that paralleled the experience at New York’s Radio City Music Hall, the decision to stage the film as a special event prestige picture worked well. Lili ran in roadshow release at the Plaza for over three months till 6 January 1971. It then continued to play in general release at various venues throughout London such as the ABC Cinema-Edgeware Rd well into late-1971. 

Critical responses to Darling Lili in the London press ran the gamut. The film garnered several positive notices. Patrick Gibbs of the Daily Telegraph rated it “a very amiable and romantic comedy-thriller” (P14). The film “offers many pleasures,” declared the Daily Mail, with “Miss Andrews singing, dancing, delighting...with some very pretty songs...and amusing performances” (Cable, 9). The critic for the Evening Post opined:

“It is fashionable to sneer at Julie Andrews’ films as being sickly-sweet and 20 years out of date--but I can only say I enjoyed this one...Darling Lili  is an enjoyable, emotional, light-hearted love story with a strong comedy element” (Watson, 7).

Other reviewers were less enthusiastic. The critic for the Daily Mirror was unsure “what kind of film Darling Lili was supposed to be”:

“Taken as a spy send-up, it’s harmless enough and drags only occasionally, but the comedy doesn’t always blend with the drama. The ending...is a cloyingly sentimental cop-out and a shade nauseating” (Richards, 19).

More than a few UK commentators baulked at the film’s irreverent treatment of World War 1--perhaps unsurprisingly given the enormous significance of the “Great War” to British history and national mythology. The critic for The Tablet, for example, called the film “a monstrous betrayal of the period.” Its “trivialisation of the issues is outrageous...I have no doubt it will be popular, but it shouldn’t be.” Still, he conceded, the film’s “photography...is very pretty and Miss Andrews’s voice is as pure as ever” (Burke, 959). 

Critical concessions to “our Julie” were a notable feature of many London reviews. The all-important Times review declared:

“I wish I could like Darling Lili more. I love musicals and remain unrepentantly devoted to Julie Andrews, but this lavish new vehicle for her talents is the most upsetting sort of misfire--the sort which could so easily have been put right, with a little more thought (or a little less worry), a little more confidence in hitting the right tone and sticking to it...a disappointing waste of all the talent and money so evidently lavished on it” (Taylor, 13)

It was a sentiment echoed in The Illustrated London News:

“Miss Andrews sings well, acts decently, and even does a strip number that reveals a new side to her talent as well as a gorgeous, long-concealed, pair of legs. But, alas, not even she can save this ponderous film with its strange blend of old-and-new songs, its heavyweight prankishness, and its inordinate length” (Billington, 31).

Or again the review in The People:

“Julie has charm, grace, plus a good singing voice and Henry Mancini’s music is haunting. But the character she portrays...is hardly endearing. The story...is improbable too, even for a musical. But there are some smashing flying sequences and I like Julie’s style--so I wish it well” (Nunn, 7).

While Darling Lili opened with a splash and did decent enough business in London, it faced very different prospects elsewhere in the UK where the film became something of an inadvertent hostage in an ongoing industrial dispute. At issue was an attempt by US distributors to loosen the stranglehold and perceived old-fashioned exhibition practices of the two big regional UK chains: ABC and Odeon (“Elvin Raps”, 196; “Compromise Ends”, 24). Unable to agree on new terms, the distributors withheld several big features, including Lili, from release to these chains. As a result, Lili’s broader UK rollout was held up for months and, in some cases, years. The film didn’t get a Midlands release, for example, till April 1971 when it opened for a fixed season at the Regal Cinema in Leamington, “an independent theatre whose booking agents were able to come to terms with the distributors” (“Regal Breaks,” 2). The film then popped up intermittently at other independent theatres across the UK: Margate in September, Liverpool in October, and Belfast in January 1972. 

Many major provincial markets missed out on the film completely. In a disgruntled letter to the local newspaper in early-1972, one Birmingham fan wondered if “there is a particular antipathy to musicals in our city. We have yet to see Darling Lili (Julie Andrews) and On a Clear Day You Can See Forever (Barbra Streisand), both of which have been shown in London” (Krober, 6). In a similar vein, a Reading filmgoer complained that his local ABC cinema was screening endless reissues while many new films “have yet to play in Reading..that are certainly worth a showing” such as “Julie Andrews and Rock Hudson in Darling Lili” (Suter, 10). 

The UK distribution dispute was eventually resolved and Darling Lili managed to make its way out to a broader range of provincial centres including Birmingham, where it opened at the Odeon in April 1973. But by this stage the film was hardly new and whatever marketing impetus was there from the London campaign had well and truly evaporated. It was an unfortunate fizzling out for what could have otherwise been an effective national release for the film. Still, UK filmgoers who missed Darling Lili in theatres didn’t have to wait too long to catch it on the small screen. It made its British television debut as the ‘Film of the Week’ on BBC-1 on 2 April 1976 (“Film of the Week”, 22).

Sources:

Billington, Michael. “Cinema: An Ode to Lost Innocence.” The Illustrated London News. 3 October 1970: 31.

Burke, J.A.V. “Darling Lili.” The Tablet. 3 October 1970: 959.

Cable, Michael. “The Sweet English Rose is Among the Guns.” Daily Mail. 30 September 1970: 9.

“Compromise Ends US Majors’ Fight Vs. UK Circuits Over Sunday Rentals.” Variety, 13 October 1971: 24.

“‘Darling Lili’ Aids Printers’ Charity.” The Daily Telegraph. 2 October 1970: 12.

“‘Darling Lili’ Has Glittering London Bow.” The Calgary-Herald. 10 October 1970: 32.

“Elvin Raps ‘Oldfashioned Methods’ of UK Pic Biz, Hits Chains’ Bookings.” Variety. 29 April 1970: 196.

Eyles, Allen. London's West End Cinemas. Swindon : English Heritage, 2014.

“Film of the Week: ‘Darling Lili’.” Radio Times, 1 April 1976: 22.

Gibbs, Patrick. “Films: Spying With a Song.” Daily Telegraph. 2 October 1970: P14.

Harmsworth, Madeleine. “New Film.” Sunday Mirror. 4 October 1970: 29.

Klar, Arthur. Darling Lili [Souvenir Book], London: National Publishers, Inc, 1970.

Krober, Kenneth S. “Letters to the Editor: Antipathy To Musicals.” Birmingham Daily Post, 7 February 1972: 6.

Mallett, Richard. “Cinema.” Punch. No. 6787, 7 October 1970: 510.

Nunn, Ray. “But Will Lili Keep ‘Em Singing?” The People. 4 October 1970: 7.

Paramount Pictures (UK). Your Promotion Guide: Darling Lili [Advertising Campaign Manual], Chiswick, 1970.

“Picture.” Daily Telegraph. 2 October 1970: P17.

“Regal Breaks Stranglehold.” Birmingham Daily Post. 27 April 1971: 2.

Richards, Dick. “I Spy a Send-Up.” Daily Mirror. 1 October 1970: 19.

Suter, Les. “Letters to the Editor: Old Films.” Reading Evening Post. 15 June 1972: 10.

Taylor, John Russell. “Purple Passages in Paris.” The Times. 2 October 1970: 13.

Watson, Albert. “At the Cinema: Yes, I Enjoyed Julie Andrews!” Evening Post. 10 October 1970: 7.

Copyright © Brett Farmer 2020

[walkingshcdow-a]

“ i’ll bring you tea with honey. i know that always makes you feel better. ” bookdoctor

He wants whisky in a teacup. He wants coffee with energy drink instead of cream. He wants one of those neon-colored bottles of soda mixed with a shot of espresso. He wants to be awake for days and not necessarily to feel better, but to feel... normal. He is ragged and tired and now that there is nothing to do but relax, he itches in his own skin. He doesn’t know how to relax anymore and he certainly doesn’t know how to give into illness and sleep it off. He looks at Liesel and thinks of an earlier time, when he still practiced medicine on their first assignment together, before he lost his medical team in a firefight, before he was perpetually unwell, before Liesel had left him.

They’d been happy.

Tea with honey had been enough.

Maybe it could be still, to soothe his frayed nerves, rather than force them to further excitement. 

“Have the computer make it,” he says, “just sit with me a while. I could use the company more than anything.”

[walkingshcdow-a]

@noblehcart | planned starter | Henry & Antigone

Even on the day of the village fete, Doctor Henry Edgeware was on call. What few patients were interred at his two hospitals required his attention, but, more than that, Henry knew that the fete could and would devolve into senseless violence at any moment. Though renowned for hosting events at which people enjoyed themselves, Eric Chapman, who was laying on the fete, attracted bad luck. More accurately, Eric Chapman was plagued by a terminal case of Rudyard Funn, who, in turn, attracted bad luck. Either way, Henry expected bloodshed. Today, he almost hoped for it. 

Work at both hospitals was, of course, never ending, but in the last few weeks, that hadn’t bothered him so much. People thought Henry had finally succumbed to despair. They weren’t entirely wrong: Esther had flown the coop two weeks ago. After many serious and tearful discussions, Henry let her go. There was another man in her life and if Harold the sea eagle could provide the passion, excitement, and love she felt she could not get from Henry, Henry wouldn’t impede Esther’s happiness any longer. Agatha Doyle had lectured him about “irresponsible pet ownership” and fined him twenty quid for letting his parrot fly loose in the streets of Piffling Vale, but Henry didn’t care. He avoided going home more now than ever. Everything reminded him of Esther, from the television set she’d loved to watch to the glossy blue feathers he used as bookmarks. The more time he spent away from home, away from reminders that his life was now emptier, the better. And so, Henry hoped for bloodshed.

Failing that, a desperate plea from Antigone Funn to supplement her allergy medication would have to do. 

They stood behind her fortune teller’s tent, which billowed in the breeze. Antigone, forever gloomy and gothic, even when they were in school, looked ripped from a Victorian seance. Her wild hair was piled into a birds’ nest atop her head, making her slender neck look longer and more elegant. The sharp contrast of her heavy, black dress, dark hair, dark eyes, and ghostly pale skin only added to the allure. If Antigone Funn didn’t look this bewitching every day, Henry might have commended her on her costuming for the role of fete fortune teller. It wouldn’t have done much good to compliment her, though, as they currently argued about just what to do about her allergies. He’d already explained to her that he carried allergy shots, but was simply out of tablets until the next shipment arrived. 

“It won’t hurt,” he said. “It might sting at first, but some people enjoy it. And you’ll feel much better afterwards. You do want to feel better, don’t you? I promise to be quick about it, if you’re nervous.”

[walkingshcdow-a]

@professor-of-predators​ | Jane gets a starter because Marty’s plot idea from last week is on my mind

The first thing Doctor Henry Edgeware noticed when Doctor Jane Beckam-Frankenstein stepped into St. Spratt’s hospital was just how good she smelled: iron-rich and meaty. He could hear the blood pumping around her veins as she drew nearer and it occurred to him that even though the Beckam-Frankensteins’ arrival to the island of Piffling had alleviated some of workload, he still wasn’t eating properly. He’d nipped down to the blood bank to check his rations and found, to his disappointment, that he was running low on plasma. He would check Chapman Community, but Doctor Frankenstein was working there this week. Henry didn’t want to open that particular can of worms just to grab a light lunch. 

Being Piffling Vale’s last vampire was utterly draining. No one wanted to dine with you; fewer wanted to be dined on. Henry had to give top-notch medical care at all hours of the day and night to trick the people of Piffling Vale into parting with some blood samples every now and again. He couldn’t remember when last he’d seen his coffin. And speaking of draining, as Jane entered the waiting room, Henry couldn’t help but pretend to be fixated by a cluster of freckles at the side of her neck as he stared at her with open, exhausted hunger. 

“Can I help you, Doctor Beckam?” he asked. “If you’re looking for your husband, I’m afraid he and I agreed to switch hospitals this week. Something about the lighting, he said... I forget what exactly...”

[walkingshcdow-a]

“Last night I was at home with my husband and this morning I was home with my husband.” (bookdoctor)

“Yes, I know,” Henry said, rolling onto his side and pulling Liesel into his chest. “I was there.”

For a change. He could hear the awe in her voice. Tilting her chin upwards, he kissed her lips. If he had things his way, neither of them would get out of this bed all day. His bones were tired; they missed the weight of her bones resting against him. He missed the sweet smell of her skin - that little bight of peony peeking through the sandalwood - and the taste of her breath in his mouth. 

He’d taken the batteries out of his pager. The phone dangled from the hook. 

“I am here,” he corrected as the kiss broke. “Liesel...”

Don’t leave. Stay with me. I promise to stay with you. 

[walkingshcdow-a]

S1 Edgeware 100% had a crush on Chapman. 

By S3, he’s decided that while he likes Eric well enough, that he’s low-key as much of a menace as Rudyard Funn. Still hot, though. Wouldn’t kick out of bed. 

Would just be happy to be in a bed tbh. 

[walkingshcdow-a]

Title: Flown the Coop Summary: For @noblehcart, in response to “Taking Flight”. It takes Henry Edgeware two days to notice his wife has left him. Henry/Liesel

It takes two days for Henry Edgeware to notice his wife has left him, not because he doesn’t miss her, but because missing Liesel has become a way of life. For the last two days, when he has felt the familiar pang of longing, he has comforted himself with the certainty that there will be more time, that a second doctor surely must come to Piffling Vale, and that his wife is steadfast and true - the Penelope to his Odysseus, the north star in his sky. He returns to a quiet house and a made bed, littered with Esther’s blue and gold feathers. He thinks Liesel must be working late or else is out with friends. He comforts himself that she has such a fulfilling career and so many people who love her and falls asleep at the dinner table, face-down in his mashed potatoes. He wakes to the sound of the telephone an hour later and the feeling of Esther grooming his scalp. 

“Take the phone off the hook, Henry,” Esther demands. 

“Clever girl.” Henry scratches her head. “It could be you mum.”

It’s the hospital and he isn’t home again until the next day. That’s when it sinks in: not a thing has moved since he left. Liesel is gone and isn’t coming back.

It takes two days for Henry to notice his wife has left him, but it takes three weeks and one psychiatric self-exam to realize that it isn’t her voice he hears in the house. Esther has taken to mocking him from wherever she is perched. Take the phone off the hook. Just every now and again, Henry. She must have learned it from somewhere and Henry doesn’t have to guess. He knows and it’s then that he grieves for his wife and his marriage. He drinks more and maybe he’s been drinking more since taking the post. He just wants a bit of sleep, some calm in the storm of grief. He isn’t even sure that Liesel is still on the island. He thinks of calling Stefan and dials his number with shaking fingers to ask, but feels that if he does, Stefan will kill him. He almost wants him to. He takes comfort in Esther because for all her taunts, she is a funny, affectionate thing. He and Liesel got her together - an anniversary present for each other. The parrot will outlive them both, will outlive their marriage, too. At least wherever she is, Liesel can finally get that cat she’s always wanted. Henry is allergic, but would have taken pills or shots if it made Liesel happy. Such a silly thought - he couldn’t make Liesel happy because if he could have, she would be here now. He slips barbiturates into his scotch and wakes, groggily to the sound of the telephone. Nurse Dixon, forever tired of Henry’s antics and tired of those of his predecessor, too, tells him that he has an appointment and that he’s ten minutes late.

“What kind of doctor are you?” she asks.

“The only one on this island,” he says. 

He arrives to St. Spratt’s and he takes the patient’s chart. He doesn’t look at it as he barrels into the examination room. Liesel sits on the table and he thinks he is hallucinating. He croaks her name. It’s been three weeks - maybe longer, he’s not well and he’s not sober and he’s not sleeping - and he looks at her the way a dying nomad looks at an oasis, at a mirage. A braver man would have checked for her at the library by now, where she’s taken over for his mother as Pifling Vale’s librarian. Henry knows that it’s fear that’s kept him away as much as it has been a lack of time. And the shame and guilt and respect for her space. He won’t stoop to stalking her. But she has come to him. He could drop to his knees and weep for her. He might drop to his knees still. He doesn’t trust his balance to steady. 

“So, you haven’t entirely flown the coop,” he says. He can hear it, the bitter edge to his words, the exhaustion, the hurt, the hope. Does Liesel hear it or does he just sound tired and mean? 

She looks at him. 

“Henry…”

“I thought you’d gone back to your brother’s,” he says. “I thought about calling…”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. I haven’t had the time.” Or the courage. 

“Ah.”

“Liesel…”

“I brought you something,” she says. She reaches for her beat up messenger bag. Henry doesn’t know why he expects it to be a book, like when they were dating and trading reads with notes in the margins for the other to see. The shelves at home are lined in dog-eared, secondhand books that you can read their love story in. But it isn’t a book. It’s a manila folder. 

“I don’t want the house,” she says. “And I want you to keep Esther - you need her more than I do. Someone has to remind you to take a break, even if it can’t be me anymore.”

“Divorce papers?”

“I wanted to do this over dinner,” she says, a little apologetically. “Or after counseling but…”

“I’m the only psychologist on the island.”

“I know. I thought it would save you the trouble to just…” Her lips quiver. “And, anyways, I know better than anybody how hard it is to get an appointment with you.”

“That’s…” What? Not fair? Henry sighs. “Did you still need a physical?”

The last time Henry touches his wife, he listens to her heartbeat through a stethoscope. He wants to kiss her, to make the same empty promises he’s made since they returned to Piffling Vale, to beg forgiveness. She deserves better. She always has. He schedules her follow up - one year from now, then Henry cries himself to sleep in the exam room.

Twenty-two minutes later, the telephone rings. No one is here to remind him to take it off the hook and so the next chapter of his life begins. 

[walkingshcdow-a]

Of course you’ve been thinking about our talk because you know you I’m right. (antiware)

Henry chews his tongue in thoughtful protest. Silent, he watches as Antigone pores over - or at least pretends to read - the death certificate. He usually doesn’t wish Rudyard would pick up the corpses from the morgue, but right now, anyone would be preferable. Maybe Miss Crusoe or even Eric Chapman. Henry doesn’t care who. Anybody who is not his girlfriend with an “I told you so” on her lips is welcome. She is right, of course, and Henry was ready to surrender his pride just moments ago, but Antigone holds her head in a haughty and elegant way when she’s on the path of righteous fury and he wants to savor this and remember it: the tight bunching of her shoulders, the flare of her nostrils, the slight curl of her scowl. She is right and she knows it and she is terrifying and beautiful when she takes him to task. He loves her, he realizes, because his thoughts turn from her beauty to the stiffness in her callused hands and the ache of her neck muscles and he is very sorry, not only for what he said during last night’s argument, but for admiring her angry beauty.

“You’re right. You deserve to be wooed.” He walks to the morgue freezer and wrestles with the lock. “And I’m afraid I’ve disappointed you. I’m sorry.”

He wants to blame his schedule. He wants to promise that when they have more doctors, he will be better. He does not think more doctors will come. What good does it do to hope? It’s only that Antigone is the first person to stir hope in him in a very, very long time. Henry sighs. He looks over at Antigone. 

“I’m petitioning NHS again for a second doctor,” he says. “In my letter, I told them that circumstances have changed and that I require more time to be with…”

He sucks in his cheeks. He knows what he told NHS: his wife. He cannot propose to Antigone now, not while she is so angry and hurt. It won’t solve anything. She won’t say yes when he can’t guarantee her every happiness. Still he feels the ring pressed to his heart in the pocket of his lab coat. He thinks of the other hopes he’s disclosed to NHS - dreams of marriage and children and retirement and travel. He waxed poetic about living to see old age with Antigone at his side and he’s sure the letter will get some attention for its desperation and hope. 

“Things will change for the better, Antigone, and when they do, I will woo you so thoroughly, you won’t be able to see straight. In the meantime, can we just lay this argument to rest?”

[walkingshcdow-a]

I mean, I wouldn’t possibly drink the same coffee you drink just in case yours spilled. That would be pathetic. (liesel @ henry)

“Also: exceptionally dangerous,” said Henry, taking a sip of his Energy Drink Latte, with five shots of espresso. “This stuff could send me into cardiac arrest at any moment… but that’s wishful thinking…”

[walkingshcdow-a]

((Not really a headcanon, but I ran Rudyard and Henry through the “Which Shakespeare Character Are You” mega uquiz and I’m LIVING For the drags.

Rudyard: Edmund, King Lear Henry: Jacques, As You Like It

Fucking drama queens. It’s so right, but it’s such a massive drag that I imagine they’ll both have rug burn for weeks.

Meanwhile, Eric Chapman somehow snagged Beatrice from Much Ado About Nothing and I am... flabbergasted but enjoying that thought immensely.))

[walkingshcdow-a]

A Bloody Menace: Drabble

Summary: Doctor Henry Edgeware runs two hospitals on the island of Piffling. He used to be the only doctor. He isn’t anymore. Supernatural AU for @tinfoiltemplar and @professor-of-predators. 

September 12th: NHS telephoned this morning and announced the arrival of a second doctor to Piffling within the week. I haven’t wept so much since Aurina’s suicide. Once I stopped crying, I raced to the blood bank to celebrate with a bag of B+. Yes, I shall endeavor to “be positive” about this one. In the meantime, I am excited for the second wave of energy; I am taking Antigone out tonight. It’s two days until the next full moon, so while I’ve been treating many of the Piffling Vale werewolves for pre-lunar syndrome, that also means the night sky will be wonderfully illuminated. Maybe tonight will be the night to claim Antigone as my eternal bride. I’ve only waited several hundred years worth of lifetimes and it seems that her idiot of a brother and his idiot of a soulmate have found each other. She won’t have to worry about them and she won’t have to worry about me, either, because I will have back up. I will have time to devote to her, my dark goddess; the love of my never-ending life. I’ll at least ask tonight if she’d be interested. After all, there is a chance that this second doctor will amount to nothing more than a very hearty meal. I try not to think about the last one they sent. I will be positive. This one will work out.

September 15th: The ferry arrived and a couple moved into the lighthouse. It was raining - damn Rudyard - and it was hard to make out either of them through the fog. Strangely, the rain doubled when Eric Chapman joined us all as we watched. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to see what had you lot so excited.”

None of us could see, but I’m sure it was the new doctor. I will ring NHS to get his or her details.

September 15th Supplemental: There is no new doctor. If I had the energy, I’d fly to NHS headquarters and drain every last one of their employees dry. When I finally got through the lengthy hold they put me on, I was informed that this doctor’s name is “Doctor Frankenstein”. Do they know who they’re talking to? I remember the writing of “Dracula”; do they think I don’t remember the writing of “Frankenstein”? This is some sick joke. I don’t know who is behind it, who would give me such false hope and snatch it away. When I find them, I will feast upon their blood and turn them into my thrall - a puppet to take on the other half of my caseload so I can get some sleep. As I type this, the sun is coming up. I should get some rest before the telephone rings. 

And to think: Antigone said last night that if this second doctor lasts, she would consider being my bride. Fate is a cruel king and I, his favorite jester. 

September 16th: His name is really Victor Frankenstein. When I asked, he said it was a family name. I don’t know if he meant “Victor” or “Frankenstein”, but I can hardly bring myself to care. He is real! I feel more hope than I have felt since before the Great War parted me from my dear Antonia. This time will be different. 

September 19th: He’s a menace. Today he asked if a blood test was strictly necessary to confirm a test that could be done less expensively via urine sample. I had to concede. After all… he’s human. Human! Utterly and completely human! There’s not a drop of magic in his blood - I took a sample, told him it was for his physical. He tastes like oxtail with a hint of something artificially spicy that I find utterly detestable - and I cannot risk the exposure of myself or my community. It’s different than when Ms. Crusoe and her grandmother moved here. I had had dealings with the grandmother in her youth, when she worked towards the protection of “monstrosities” such as myself. One day, I will tell Ms. Crusoe some of what I know about her grandmother’s skill, but it’s clear that the Crusoes are our allies. It’s different, too, than when Eric Chapman moved to our island. He insists he’s human. I’ve had his blood. It tastes effervescent, like a fine, sparkling wine, perfectly aged. It indicated that he is as magical as anyone else on the island. But Doctor Frankenstein is a human who asks too many questions. He asked why the men’s bathroom had no mirrors. I told him it was not in the budget. He seemed to accept it, but he asks the right questions. I do not trust it.

Sept 23rd: He drank a coffee mug full of warm blood this morning. My breakfast. I wouldn’t have been so horrified if he had stopped to ask questions. Instead, he set the mug down, half-empty, and picked up his coffee mug.

“My mistake,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me…”

I didn’t see him for the rest of the afternoon. I suspect he will leave. Antigone will be disappointed. Another lifetime wasted.

September 25th: Today Doctor Frankenstein got in a shouting match with Reverend Wavering during Wavering's annual psychical about the existence of god. They both agreed he probably didn't exist, but neither was listening to the other one. At least Frankenstein collected blood samples from the reverend before he left. The reverend tastes like mystery meat and a boozy punch. He’ll do for now. Antigone says that I cannot feed from her until I turn her now. I suppose I have been what the youth call “sexiled”. She’s still eager to see me, just not to allow me to feed at her throat, which, I suppose is more auspicious than when my Annabel married that turncoat solider. It’s funny. Sometimes I think he looked quite like Victor Trevor, but I’m sure that’s the hunger talking. 

September 29th: This morning Doctor Frankenstein got into a physical altercation with one of our patients.. I would have cared more but firstly, I was trying to get a quick nap in and secondly, it was Rudyard Funn. I will just tell Antigone I'm not letting my personal life interfere at work. Secretly, I’m glad someone punched Rudyard Funn in the jaw. I wish it could have been me. It’s his bloody fault Antigone refuses to become a vampire: she worries about him reincarnating without her to guide him. I don’t have siblings; I can’t relate. Agatha Doyle escorted Rudyard from St. Spratt’s and gave Doctor Frankenstein a warning. She told me to mind my staff better. I told her that I would if she’d start stocking blood substitute in the Broken Tooth again. She said I didn’t deserve a reward for allowing funny business. I think Doctor Frankenstein is nothing but funny business. I don’t think I could stop him if I wanted. I could either run these hospitals or keep Frankenstein in check. I can’t do both. I can’t do both.

October 1st: Frankenstein is asking questions again. So are the patients. Come to think of it, there aren’t any fewer of them. What does he do all day? It must be nice to be Piffling Vale’s least popular doctor. I haven’t seen Antigone in about a week. The days are running together. I’m so hungry but I can’t risk Frankenstein catching me. 

October 3rd: Frankenstein’s wife interrogated me today. Is that all they do? Interrogate people? She smelled so good I almost lost my composure. I thought of Antigone, how that would look to her. I restrained myself and answered Dr. Beckam-Frankenstein’s questions. Apparently I’ve been noncommittal and agreeing to gossip about Frankenstein. I don’t remember doing this, but I must have done. I am so hungry. I am so tired. I almost told her the truth.

October 4th: Frankenstein was remarkably quiet today. He did ask me if I had any food allergies. “Just garlic,” I told him. He laughed. It wasn’t a joke.

October 5th: Frankenstein staged an intervention today. He informed me that I was a vampire and that I was very malnourished. I knew both of these things, but tried to pretend he was losing his mind. He resented being called “mad” and stormed out with the tray he’d brought. I don’t want to know what was under that cloche, yet it teases my curiosity as Pandora must have been teased by that closed jar… It was a jar, not a box. God, I am so hungry. 

October 5th, supplemental: There were cupcakes under the cloche. Jane - Frankenstein’s wife - made him come back to the hospital and give them to me. I don’t know what they expect me to do with cupcakes. Humans.

October 6th: The cupcakes use blood instead of eggs! My God, they are the best things I’ve eaten since Antigone exiled me from her mortuary. I gorged myself on three and slept peacefully, drunkenly, happily, for the first time since Frankenstein’s arrival. I am rationing the rest. After all, I will want to share with Antigone when we celebrate her turning, if she’ll have me… I have a second doctor and he’s a menace, but his wife is a bloody godsend. Sometimes, humans really can surprise you...

[walkingshcdow-a]

Supernatural Piffling Muses

Rudyard Funn: Descended from a long line of witches, Rudyard Funn’s own abilities were not impressive enough to be noticed by his parents, who pressured their children into spirit communication - which neither of them were particularly good at. Rudyard, however, has a talent for weather control and animal communication and since his parents’ death has begun to come in his own as a magical practitioner - not that anyone cares. If he can’t summon the dead, what good is he as a funeral director?

Antigone Funn: Like her twin brother, Antigone was pressured to speak to the dead. They never spoke back. However, she has an unrivaled knack for potioneering and a burgeoning talent for fortune telling, the latter of which is unreliable at best. Antigone would be content to make nothing but scented embalming fluids, but when people need tinctures and potions and they happen to remember she’s alive, she often finds herself besieged by Piffling Vale to take up a side business. Maybe she will, after all...

Eric Chapman: Piffling Vale’s newest resident seems very human, which, by Piffling standards, is rather exotic and borders on the erotic. However, Eric knows that if Piffling Vale knew his real secret, he’d be more reviled than the Funn twins he competes with. Eric is a former monster hunter; his mother was a world famous monster hunter and tried to raise him in her footsteps. It wasn’t until her deathbed confession that Eric’s father had been a witch that Eric understood that his ability to charm others was quite literal. He has rethought his career choice and come to Piffling to get in touch with his roots. And as long as he can convince the villagers he’s an innocent human, wrapped up in their world of magic, maybe they won’t question his past too much.

Georgie Crusoe: If Eric’s ability to pass as a human is charming, then Georgie’s ability to be mistaken for a supernatural is truly endearing. This capable human washed up on the shores of Piffling Vale during a horrible thunderstorm and has since made herself beloved by all in the community. Georgie has been learning as much as she can about the supernatural and the community she now calls home and Georgie is a quick study. 

Dr. Henry Edgeware: Henry’s family were Piffling’s last great vampire family. However, when human blood was in short supply, Henry ventured off island to seek his fortune and his next meal. He lived comfortably in London, earning his MD and coming up with an ethical way to harvest blood that was hardly revolutionary but that, for Piffling Vale, would have been the equivalent of the invention of the lightbulb: a blood bank in the hospital. However, Henry’s revelation came too late for the rest of his family and now, alone, he serves as Piffling Vale’s chief of medicine, slaving away to ensure his community is cared for and that he doesn’t run out of food. 

Dr. Victor Frankenstein (private): All Victor wanted was a quiet place to conduct his medical experimentation. Piffling Vale seemed to fit the bill - secluded and unpopular, with only one police officer, it seemed the perfect place for the mad scientist and his wife to set up. However, the island is filled with supernatural creatures and Victor has been pressed into serving as the island’s second doctor. Suddenly, he has less time for his great work than ever before and is quickly becoming fascinated by his neighbors...

@professor-of-predators & @tinfoiltemplar - feel free to add your muses to the list. This is just helping me pass time before my appointment.

[walkingshcdow-a]

bookdoctor 1,6,12

Shipcanons | Accepting!

1.  did your muse fall in love with mine quickly, or was it a long process?

It was a slow process, stemming from friendship and mutual interests and values. By which I mean he probably knew Liesel for a year or two before asking her out and then they dated for another couple years before getting married. Everything about their love story has been rooted in choice and I think that’s really important.

6.  what’s a topic they’re scared of talking about with my muse?

He’s scared of letting Liesel know how dark it got for him during their separation. He was unwell and coping poorly - no sleep, a surplus of alcohol and stimulants, an untenable work schedule, passive suicidal ideation - and he missed her the whole time but worried that if she hadn’t have left, he would have hurt her worse. He tells her he’s sorry; he shows her the work he’s willing to do when she takes him back; but I don’t think he ever tells her the depths of his unwellness for fear that it would hurt her or worry her or make her leave him (again). 

Everything else is fair game. 

12.  who washes the other’s hair in the shower?

They wash each other’s. Henry likes to wash Liesel’s hair. The circular motions are soothing and the hot water feels good on his hands. He also is so weak for her washing his hair, but she doesn’t do it as often because of height differences; it’s harder for her to reach. 

[walkingshcdow-a]

If the patient stops breathing, attempt CPR once. That usually gives Rudyard and Eric long enough to fight over the corpse.

Dr. Edgeware, briefing his new staff