We're all fine here, and my new OTP
We’re all fine here. For the first time since 1995, we did not lose power during a major weather event. Thank you for the good wishes.
Because I could not resist and I now ship Peter and a camel.
From the delightful (and still anonymous) Flights of Fancy, written for the Narnia Fic Exchange:
Thus it was that when another shouting hullabaloo worked its way into the study Peter had commandeered - chosen for its strategic location far from both the boys and that abhorrent camel which followed him about intent on licking his hair - Peter’s only reaction was to place a hand over his face.
Which in turn, made me recall this, from Chapter 3 of the Part 1 of TSG,
With a nod to these amendatory statements, Peter continued, "I will say, however, that while horses have bitten me, kicked me, landed upon me, stomped on me, thrown me from their backs, and viciously swished me with their tails, no horse has ever spit upon me."
"And a camel has?" Asim asked, rather too pointedly for Digory's comfort.
Had there been camels in Narnia? A talking camel. What an appalling thought. Digory was sure he had not experienced any, but had Peter? Digory caught Peter's eye. Carefully.
"I did not say that a camel had ever spit on me. I only said that a horse never has done so." Peter paused for a deliberate bite of a turnip cake. "So why do camels spit? Richard, is there some evolutionary benefit to it? And come to think of it, why don't horses spit?"
To whit, I then produced this AU of TSG set some time in the somewhere:
Really, it would have been the most enjoyable trip of his entire life. Granted, Peter did not have the passion for fossils that Mary and Eustace did, but the travel was fantastic. Mary did know her way about the souks and alleys of Marrakesh and he had thoroughly enjoyed the sights and smells, the food, the people, and the vibrant, colourful culture and crush that were so very, very much a relief after the sad, post-War gray hardship of England.
Mary and Eustace had planned their working holiday trek. From Marrakech it was some 200 kilometres to Ourazazete and then 350 or so to Merzouga with both sites offering excellent prospects for Cretaceous fossils. He did not much care for the bone and teeth hunts one way or another, though success would make the trip even better. Mary was always joyously irrepressible with the discovery of things formerly lethal, enormous, and now long dead. With Mary’s assistance, Eustace would be able to document a previous find, finish his final papers, and secure a teaching position. Peter was along for the ride. He would enjoy the hot and sandy climate and desert colours, work on improving his Arabic, and take in the views of the Atlas Mountains.
Peter had left the provisioning to Mary and to Asim and he had not felt so confident since the days when he had delegated such responsibility to Edmund. They knew what to do, had done it before and he left them to acquiring and organizing the food, water, supplies, tents, and equipment, and the camel train to carry it all.
There was, however, one critical issue he had not thought to mention to Mary. It had been years. Years. Peter had never anticipated the dread problem would have followed him more than a decade later (however time was measured) and across the worlds. He had been wrong and was now utterly vexed and obviously cursed.
Camels. Ingenious products of evolution they may be as Richard had long insisted, but too much of a good thing was never a good thing. Of which camels were the definitive proof.
The camels of their caravan loved him with a deep, abiding and jealous passion. They tried to make love to him. They followed him around like lovelorn puppies, and would bite and spit at anyone who approached him. The males were bad enough. The females were completely lovestruck, batting their long eyelashes and sighing lustily in his presence. They licked his hair and any bit of exposed skin their clever lips could locate. They stuck their noses into his tent and would try to lie down next to him on the bedroll. The camels argued over who would bear him each day. Peter was not clear exactly how the camels argued, but they did and would grunt and spit and stomp at one another until their hierarchy for the day had been established and the honour of his personage bestowed.
Mary did not help the situation. Peter was certain she spoke camel and encouraged the caravan in their rivalries. She would swat them affectionately and nudge them in his direction and whisper where he might have hidden. Mary had a sixth sense, quick reflexes, and so usually was able to dodge irritated camel spit -- which invariably sailed over her head to land on Asim or Eustace. Only Mary’s own chosen mount, a grizzled female, held herself aloof from the camel competition for Peter’s affections. Of course that camel did not permit any rivalries for Mary’s affections, either.
Finally, two days out of Ourazazete, after an especially fractious morning, even Mary had to concede defeat.
Wiping camel spit from her sunglasses for the fifth time, she whispered, “Peter, for our next expedition, I believe we shall try horses.”
Peter then was struck by stinging green goo to the forehead as Mary’s mount expressed her displeasure at the prospect of being replaced by a more elegant beast who did not engage in competitive projectile spitting for distance. Camels of Morocco might not understand human speech, but they were unerringly perceptive of human intent.
“Maybe a truck?” Peter said, borrowing her handkerchief. Mary suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him down, thereby avoiding being caught in the spit crossfire.
“I am to trucks as you are to boats, Peter.”
“I’ll drive.”