man_of_all_work | (no subject)

Perry grins at her.

"I suppose that was rather a useless thing to ask," he admits.

"And it would be against Peter Aurelious' sense of dignity to misbehave."

"He really is ever so terribly dignified, you know," she says.

"But I'm quite sure that we'll be able to handle the squirrels. Unless they get hopelessly underfoot. In which case, well, I guess we'll trip."

"It's a good thing that there is plenty of snow to break our likely falls, then," Perry says, sensibly.

"Yes," says Amy. "And that we'll be there to help each other back up, because it can be hard to get up out of snow."

"Too true," Perry replies.

"Especially when there are terrorizing squirrels bent on getting you covered with snow."

"They really are quite incorrigible," says Amy, with a sigh.

Not that she's ever made much of an effort to, er, corrige, them.

"They tend to knock over teacups, too, I'm afraid."

Horrors!

"Now that," Perry says, after making sure no squirrels are around his teacup, "is a definite problem. We can't have that, can we?"

"They don't mean to," she says. "At least, I don't think they do. It just seems to happen."

She brightens.

"When I had tea with Ingress, Tom had put a charm on the teacups to keep them from spilling. Even Mr. Pemberthy didn't manage it."

And if ever tea were going to get spilled, it was at that one.

"I suppose if it become too much of a problem, I can ask him about it."

"he sounds a terribly useful fellow," Perry says, laughing.

"Well, there's one of the problems solved, there."

"Very useful," says Amy, quite serious for a moment, "and a good man."

She's not talking about teacups.

And then laughs, because Perry is laughing.

"Indeed. And are there other problems you think we should solve, Your Majesty? I'm sure between the two of us we could come up with some terribly creative solultions."

Reasonable, practical, or remotely feasible? Maybe, maybe not. But creative? Oh, yes.

"So my council tells me daily," Perry says, blithely.

"At least, I assume they're right about the problems, although for the life of me I don't see why it should possibly matter that there would be a forecast for rain on the day there's supposed to be a tennis tournament, do you?"

"Well, I can certainly see why it would matter," says Amy, "since most people don't enjoy playing tennis in the rain, or so I assume. I don't know that I've ever actually asked anyone. I just can't quite see what they expect you to do about it, really."

"I have no idea," Perry says.

"I offered to have the tournament moved, but they didn't seem to think that would work."

He shakes his head.

Amy is trying (though really not succeeding) not to smile.

"And did it actually rain? When you had the tournament?"

"Buckets," he says, cheerfully.

"And the Councillors only looked at me rather mournfully, as if to say it was all my fault."

"Oh, of course," says Amy, laughing.

"Still, it could be worse. After all, they've never tried to lock you in a tower so that a princess can rescue you from a dragon. I mean, before you knew it, someone like Persephone or my sister Crystal could have bored the poor creature to death, and then where would you be?"

"I don't think they'd have sent a princess to rescue me, anyway," Perry says, after a moment of consideration.

'I mean, it's always the knights doing the rescuing, isn't it? That jsut wouldn't make sense, otherwise."

"Generally," agrees Amy. "But if they get desperate enough, you never know. Or they might try to find a way to make you inadvertantly rescue someone."

Perry looks unconvinced.

"They aren't that good at getting me to do things," he says. "I think if they sent me off somewhere in armor on a warhorse and I ended up at a tower guarded by a dragon, I might have an inkling of what is going on."

Amy laughs.

"Well, yes, if they tried something like that. But suppose they managed to get you to . . . well, no, I think kissing frog is just for princesses, really. But if any mysterious women show up at your next ball, I think you should check their feet very carefully for glass slippers before you agree to dance with any of them. I've a great-grandfather who wound up married like that."

"Really?"

He looks at her with a small, lopsided sort of smile.

"How in the world that that come about?"

"Fairy godmother," she says, simply. "Downtrodden but kindhearted and very beautiful serving girl. So her fairy godmother, who I am quite certain was not Godmama Crustacea, who has rather more sense, dressed her up and sent her off to a ball in some sort of squash or something, supposedly. And when she left she forgot one of her shoes, probably on purpose, I suspect.

"Anyway, my great-grandfather was apparently too gallant for his own good and decided to return it to her. And, well, one thing led to another, and it seems that returning glass footware is another of those things you can't do and then not marry the girl. So check your dance partners' feet very carefully."

"That story sounds familiar," Perry muses, when she's finished.

"But that is excellent advice. I shall certainly pay attention to the lady's shoes."

Amy nods. "Do."

Exactly how Perry is going to be able to check the shoes of women in trailing ballgowns is not really something Amy is concerned with.

"I think you should be relatively safe, then. If you don't rescue anyone or dance with anyone in glass slippers."

"Silly things, anyway, glass slippers," he says, dismissively.

'I don't suppose you would ever wear anything so useless."

He leans down, to check Amy's footwear.