Jason Isaacs Times Five - a Parody - COMPLETE

Tavington’s Complaint

Staring out the kitchen window the next morning, she absently doodled on her shopping list. Mondays were always hard after the weekend days and nights of mutual pleasures. She was currently trying to figure a way to meet all the different culinary tastes of the group. Well, at least they all liked meat. That was a start. She would have to ask Tav.

Tavington was truly an excellent Quartermaster for them all. He had a natural desire to bring order to his surroundings and he liked keeping the place in shape. The house was a large one to keep up. Not quite as large as Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, as Lucius liked to remind everyone, but easily large enough to be called an estate. Tav also liked to control the supplies and the household chore rotation – not always the best situation, but usually benign.

Left to himself, the colonel would have had daily inspections and a system of demerits. His early attempts at military discipline, however, had only earned him a series of colorful threats against his manhood. He valued his assets too much to lose to them to promises of a dull blade, so household matters soon became more informal.

“Pssst!” Tavington stood at the kitchen door trying to get her attention. He motioned her over to him, instead of walking the twenty feet to her. Commanding colonel attitude this morning, she recognized. He didn’t have the ready humor of some of his fellows, but occasionally his sense of fun peeked out. She sighed. Apparently today wasn’t going to be one of those occasions.

She got up from her stool and walked over to him. “Well, what is it? I thought you were going to spend the morning polishing the silver, and then your buttons and buckles. And that reminds me, quit ragging on Felton to polish his medallion. That’s his choice.”

The colonel suddenly looked self-conscious, but before she could ask him why, Felton came storming into the kitchen, sopping wet.

“You complete knave. You’ve ruined my medallion.” He turned to face her and raged, “This-this-housewife polished my medallion while I was in the shower. He’s rubbed most of the design off it. See? It’s ruined.”

“Is this true, Tav?” she asked.

Tav briskly countered, “If Felton would take more care with his appearance, he would look at least respectable. As it is, he looks positively uncouth and medieval.”

She hid a smile. Tavington would never understand that she rather liked that about Milord Felton. A lot.

She turned to the extremely irate and dripping male, “Felton, I know a metal smith who can repair your medallion just the way you had it. He could even add a bit of gold trim if you wish to dress up the design. Would that be acceptable?”

“That and an apology from Tavington for his officiousness,” returned Milord, “although he ought to be pilloried.”

Tav knew when he was in a tight spot. He cared more for her good opinion than Felton’s so he said quietly, “I overstepped my authority. I apologize.”

Felton snorted and went off to dry himself, but he gave his abused medallion a thoughtful look as he disappeared around the corner. That gold trim idea sounded interesting.

Tavington took a deep breath, “Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to say.”

Her eyes wandered to the deep breath that Tav had just taken. What a lovely broad chest in that spotless uniform, such wide shoulders, so manly, so…

“Ahem!” Tav cleared his throat. She was getting that glazed look that meant he certainly had her attention, just not on his words. Normally he’d be pulling her into the pantry, but this was more important.

“Sorry Tav, what did you say?” she came back from her erotic daydream.

“I said, James took all the polish for his hook collection and left nearly nothing for me. And he just did all his buckles last week, too. The man’s an uncontrolled menace.” Tavington stood there in his censorious mode.

“And yet you used some of the tiny bit left for Felton’s medallion? Never mind,” she raised her hand, stopping in mid-justification what she knew would be his succinct, rigidly thought out explanation. She sighed to herself. Clearly, diplomacy was called for. I wonder how the sultans did it with all those women in their harems? Briefly she pondered that riddle but decided her situation was different, as different as male and female egos. And Tav’s ego was unbending.

“Is this really about the polish, Will? I know you think James hasn’t a right to his hook if you aren’t allowed your sword, but I just don’t feel I should ask him to remove what amounts to his right hand. Not to mention he’s responsible for security around here.” She eyed the colonel calculatingly, “Shall I make you and Lucius and Felton and James all equal to Percy by shearing off everyone’s hair to Percy’s length?”

He took a deep breath, but noticed his chest wasn’t having its usual effect on her this time. Oh, Oh…he thought. Tavington drew himself up into his military stance and tried to hide his shudder. He could just hear the bellows if James, Felton, and Lucius discovered he’d got all their hair cut off because of his jealousy. Even worse, Percy would never stop laughing at them. Tav knew he would be a walking dead man – with a disgusting haircut.

“Madam,” Tav said carefully with a short bow, “you have definitely made your point.” He took a breath, and instantly, her eyes drifted to his chest again. Maybe his dignity was not entirely lost, he thought, relieved. “Madam, may I interest you in the pantry?”

Ah, she smiled inwardly, always so polite and bullheaded, her dragoon, but sometimes not so very proper. It was always such fun seducing Tav away from his ego. “Your command is my wish,” she purred. She smiled brilliantly up at him and started pulling him by his buttons toward the doorway.

“Please, my love, anything but the buttons!” Tavington implored.

She instantly lowered her grasp and Will’s beautiful pale blue eyes widened, then immediately glazed over. “Y-y-yes, better,” he stuttered, now completely focused on her dainty hand.

She never bothered to tell Will that she’d sooner cut off her own hair than any of theirs.