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witticasterIt is 3 in the fucking morning and I am besieged with plotless Woolfverse things that need writing down. Say it with me, kids: nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngh.
--but writing has been such a trial lately that getting something is better than nothing.
also, check out the first image that comes up if you google falconry (not really worksafe, but not explicit, uh).
Tharkay came to suspect, soon after George and Martha's arrival, that children were intimately acquainted with the workings of Murphy's Law and delighted in exploiting it in any way they could. He could not remember ever consciously doing so as a child himself, but the joy that came of causing everything that could go wrong to go wrong seemed too perversely like it would appeal to children (and the twins especially) that they couldn't be entirely unaware of it.
And it was difficult to resist speculation as to why the babies somehow knew that crying most on nights before important meetings at the Academy (for Will) and article deadlines (for Tharkay). Or how they were far more likely to spit up all over the new dress clothes Will's mother purchased for them in anticipation of Christmas pictures than they were their usual romper suits (and given that they were fairly likely to spit up all over the rompers as well, this struck him as particularly damning evidence at the time, five minutes before they were expected at the photographer's).
Tharkay made mental notes on the subject for two years before presenting his thesis to Will one night. They lay awake and exhausted and thoroughly without the satisfaction that accompanied this particular state on less trying evenings, listening silently to Martha sniffling in her sleep a room away.
"Murphy's Law?" Will asked, a yawn catching audibly in his throat.
"What can go wrong, will," Tharkay said. "Why I had to clean handprints off my trousers when I was already late to meet with my editor this morning."
"I know what Murphy's Law is," came the prompt answer. "But the children don't."
"They don't need to," and Tharkay forced down an echo of Will's earlier yawn. "It's innate. George says to himself, I ought to hug Tharkay goodbye while holding a jam sandwich, and Murphy takes care of the timing." (Really, George's thoughts would have suggested he hug Tarkay, but Will's mum and Jane had each independently indicated that he and Martha would perfect the "th" sound eventually.)
"Hm." The conversation trailed off there, and Will's breathing started to come so evenly that Tharkay thought he'd fallen asleep--but then he said, "Does that mean we used to be masters of Murphy's Law ourselves, or are the twins special cases?"
The question gave Tharkay pause; he had not considered this angle in the research stage of his theory. "Surely we would remember if we had."
"I suppose ending up hell-bent on the Navy would qualify for me." Will paused. "How old were you when you became interested in falconry?"
"...Five." Old enough to appreciate the birds' graceful dives and obvious intelligence, young enough to spend years memorizing the characteristics of different raptors in preparation for the day he was allowed to keep a bird of prey in the centre of a large city. "That lacks a certain irony, though. Perhaps this is a trait curious to the Laurence family."
Will knocked his shoulder against Tharkay's. "Perhaps you specialized in everyday examples, jam stains and the like."
--but writing has been such a trial lately that getting something is better than nothing.
also, check out the first image that comes up if you google falconry (not really worksafe, but not explicit, uh).
Tharkay came to suspect, soon after George and Martha's arrival, that children were intimately acquainted with the workings of Murphy's Law and delighted in exploiting it in any way they could. He could not remember ever consciously doing so as a child himself, but the joy that came of causing everything that could go wrong to go wrong seemed too perversely like it would appeal to children (and the twins especially) that they couldn't be entirely unaware of it.
And it was difficult to resist speculation as to why the babies somehow knew that crying most on nights before important meetings at the Academy (for Will) and article deadlines (for Tharkay). Or how they were far more likely to spit up all over the new dress clothes Will's mother purchased for them in anticipation of Christmas pictures than they were their usual romper suits (and given that they were fairly likely to spit up all over the rompers as well, this struck him as particularly damning evidence at the time, five minutes before they were expected at the photographer's).
Tharkay made mental notes on the subject for two years before presenting his thesis to Will one night. They lay awake and exhausted and thoroughly without the satisfaction that accompanied this particular state on less trying evenings, listening silently to Martha sniffling in her sleep a room away.
"Murphy's Law?" Will asked, a yawn catching audibly in his throat.
"What can go wrong, will," Tharkay said. "Why I had to clean handprints off my trousers when I was already late to meet with my editor this morning."
"I know what Murphy's Law is," came the prompt answer. "But the children don't."
"They don't need to," and Tharkay forced down an echo of Will's earlier yawn. "It's innate. George says to himself, I ought to hug Tharkay goodbye while holding a jam sandwich, and Murphy takes care of the timing." (Really, George's thoughts would have suggested he hug Tarkay, but Will's mum and Jane had each independently indicated that he and Martha would perfect the "th" sound eventually.)
"Hm." The conversation trailed off there, and Will's breathing started to come so evenly that Tharkay thought he'd fallen asleep--but then he said, "Does that mean we used to be masters of Murphy's Law ourselves, or are the twins special cases?"
The question gave Tharkay pause; he had not considered this angle in the research stage of his theory. "Surely we would remember if we had."
"I suppose ending up hell-bent on the Navy would qualify for me." Will paused. "How old were you when you became interested in falconry?"
"...Five." Old enough to appreciate the birds' graceful dives and obvious intelligence, young enough to spend years memorizing the characteristics of different raptors in preparation for the day he was allowed to keep a bird of prey in the centre of a large city. "That lacks a certain irony, though. Perhaps this is a trait curious to the Laurence family."
Will knocked his shoulder against Tharkay's. "Perhaps you specialized in everyday examples, jam stains and the like."
