| Details for Eyes Bigger Than Stomach |
| Summary: | Asmund is bet that he can't break Calig Rosier's tallest sandwich Hogwarts Record. Lissie is tasked by Asmund to tell him a story while he eats to keep his mind off things. |
| Date: | October 14th, 1941 |
| Location: | Hogwarts - Great Hall |
| Related: | — |
| Characters |
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Asmund is compiling a sandwich, some other students have gathered around to watch him as he seems to be trying to stack a record breakingly tall sandwich. With his tongue between his teeth he gingerly lays a slice of cheese on the currently nine inch high stack of cold cuts and condiments. What comes next seems to be up for a vote for those gathered.
"Haggis. Put a haggis on't" chirps Lissie. "It'd taste bloody awful, but think of the adventure or…. ah…. adventure! Haggis!" She giggles softly, shaking her head. "An a few bangers, too!"
Asmund laughs and squints at Lissie, "I just so happen to like haggis!" With that he takes a slice of haggis off of a serving platter and puts it on top. It actually both harms and adds to the whole event. While the haggis is thicker than the cold cuts, it is heavier so it squishes some of the things that came down before. But it also makes for a solid base for the three sausages he lines up on top of them. One of them starts to roll and it begins to tip the whole thing over. Thankfully the prefect catches the failure before it crashes his whole sandwich. Cue gasps, giggles and applause!
"Why…. are you?" asks Lissie, frowning slightly. "Doing all of this…." She motions to the sandwich as she steps slightly out of the range of potentially-falling cold cuts.
Asmund chuckles and celebrates again when another layer of floofy lettuce greens adds another two inches of height, "Rosier wagered that I couldn't break his record of tallest sandwich and that I couldn't eat it all afterwards. If I do… He buys me new pads. If I don't - I give him my lucky socks." Like many athletes, Asmund is a bit superstitious when it comes to such things. He wears the same socks every game since he won his first game.
"They're a bit manky by the noo, ain't they?" asks Lissie, grinning. "How much higher do y'have tae build it? It doesnae look like 'til hold much more. An' you'll be sick, either way, won't you?" She plucks a Scotch egg from a plate and nibbles at it. "Not taller'n me, I hope…"
Asmund lifts his hand only a couple inches higher than the stack. "Only yay more to go. Probably will be a bit sick. But it's only really a plate full of food if it was all spread out. So not worried too very much about getting sick. Besides, I'll just work it off on the pitch at practice." A slyer grin creeps along his lips and he winks over at his teammate, "In my new pads."
"Aye, tha'll be grand, then," answers Lissie, chuckling softly. "I jus' hope t'stay on my broom this time around. I hope….." Her voice trails off. "Jus' don't put the kippers on there."
Asmund hmms and watches Lissie a moment before he adds a good layer of mayo and uses it like cement to perch a scotch egg on the very top with the point pointing upwards. He adds his own clapping to the cheers but acks and goes to quickly put a piece of bread on top to balance the tower of food out when the rumble for the cheering makes it wobble. One of the reasons it's wobbling is because Rosier is at the table looking on with a scowl and he is purposefully 'cheering' to vibrate the table to get it to flop over. But Asmund is quick to get everyone to witness. "Thirteen inches!" Rosier Points out. "You still have to eat it all." Asmund nods and with a smile he starts to make several smaller sandwiches. Rosier's mouth opens like he's going to protest the bit of loop hole Asmund is exploiting but the gaze of the prefect shows that he's got a retort ready to slam the complaint down. Bested Rosier's mouth snaps shut and he turns to just glowering with his arms crossed.
"I can get you the measurements, Rosier," chirps Lissie, her eyes twinkling. "For the pads." She looks between him and Asmund, then says softly, "Some mint tea would be lovely, aye?" And moments later there is some, and she pushes it over to the captain. "This'll help," she murmurs, then sits back, swinging her legs back and forth. "You can do it. I believe in you."
Asmund after separating and making a few separate sandwiches he's clear to reach over and give Lissie's shoulder a grateful squeeze. Then with a deep breath he sits up straight and takes his first bite. Each sandwich is only a few bites each so after the first sandwich is down he sips the tea and then asks, "Keep me distracted? Tell me one of your tales." He smiles warmly and starts in on the next sandwich looking to the underclassman hopefully.
"Och, aye," answers Lissie. She closes her eyes a moment in thought, then nods and begins. "And were't, long ago, when the hills were young an' the mist danced with the wind tha' auld Hamish McPhee took it tae mind tae tame the great Dragon o' the Green Moors. O' course, his neighbors laughed at him. This was when muggles knew of witches an' wizards, though Hamish's muggle neighbors dinnae ken as he was wizardkind. They just thought as he was weird, ain and all. But then, so did his wizard neighbors, for he was, as they say, an odd duck. An' this wasna jus' sayin' for he was an animagus, an' he could be seen flyin' tae Tamloch, a great mere on the heather, an' theer late at night one could hear his baleful quacking…."
Asmund looks over his sandwich, eyes twinkling, as she begins one of her famous tales. It is an unfortunate coincidence that he's sipping his tea when she calls the hero of the story and 'odd duck' because it makes him snort a bit. Hand covering his mouth he makes sure not a drop is sprayed or lost. He'll not let Rosier get him on a little crumb! More composed and ready for the humor now he chuckles as he chews and listens.
"You might think, weel, why would sich a man worra aboot such a thing as a dragon, when he might become a duck an' fly away? Och, weel, maybe it might be his care an concern for his neighbors, muggle an' wizard. But see, you'd be sae wrang, for he dinnae have any fear for neither sort o' neighbor. The dragon ne'er stole sheep from th' village, nor maiden, nor killed none. So why, why then would auld Hamish want tae tame a wild, harmless dragon? Were't fame? Were't fortune? Nay." Lissie takes a sip of her pumpkin juice, timing her next words for after one of Asmund's swallows. "Were't because auld Hamish were a right bastard."
Asmund is grateful that she waits because that last bit absolutely makes him crack up. But he remembers himself as some brazier light reflects off of his prefect badge. "Language Lissie." Is reminded, he's a good prefect, but he's also no hard ass so it's just a verbal nudge. He takes up his next sandwhich and after taking a long deep breath he starts in on it.
"I think it's French," muses Lissie. Then she nods her head. "Hamish McPhee wanted that dragon for greed. He bethought himsael, what need for tae go here an' there buyin' dragon-hide gloves, or boots, or robes, or anything? He thought tae tame the dragon. Noo, others might come an' slay the dragon, an' that be bad enough. But auld Hamish would make the dragon his slave, an' treat it like livestock or crops, an' harvest it for himsael' and for the money he might get.
Asmund is slowing down a bit, but he looks as dedicated as ever. After a sip of tea he booos at the selfishness of the previously thought hero now villain of the story. "Get him Dragon." He stretches his back a bit elongating his ribs and belly below. Squirming some it's like he's trying to wiggle the food about inside of him to make room for more.
"Noo, in the village theer was a wee bonny lassie. An orphan, she was, an' th'only name she had were Sorcha. An' she ran the moors like a wild thing, most days, for none were tha' would take her in as daughter or servant. They left out food for her, an' clothes when they would, an' stables an' barns housed her in the cold. But she were all of twelve, and she were wizardkind, an' she heard what auld Hamish planned. So she laid her own plans, an' waited. An when she knew the day of his plotting, she left for the dragon's abode before dawn. For Hamish were lazy as weel, and so she ken well that she might reach the dragon before him." Lissie grins, watching Asmund.
"The dragon were sleepin', and ist a brave thing tae wake a sleepin' dragon. But Sorcha called out for the dragon to wake, wake, for danger was near. And soo the dragon rose, an' rose hungry, and rose angry. An' were all Sorcha could dae t'keep the dragon peaceable for tae speak tae't. For she had learned the speech of the moor-creatures and the wood-creatures, and some o' the tongue of the air-folk an' the water-folk. An' so she wove tae th'dragon the tale o' treachery, that auld Hamish McPhee would like weel tae make him as a cow."
Lissie takes another sip of juice. "Were nigh noon when Auld Hamish made his way tae the dragon's lair, an' the dragon seemed t'be sunnin' himsael of a rock, and caged in his claws was Sorcha. 'Ach, lassie,' said Hamish, 'I weel save ye. I weel, an' furthermore I weel give ye a bed an' food as weel. I weel make ye an apprentice o' mine, an' teach ye..' Sae he said, but Sorcha were nae fool, an' she were wrapped wi' dragon-magic as weel. An sae she knew she were tae be no apprentice, but a slave. An' so it were tha' she rose from wheer she sat, an' the dragon let her free. She looked at McPhee, an' she told him tha' he were a cruel man an' cold in heart, an she'd much rather be eaten by a dragon than e'er be under his command. An' Auld Hamish swore, because not only were't he a right bastard but a rude one, an' he raised his wand."
"Och, noo it is tha' I'd soair like tae tell you about the long duel tha' followed, about bravery an' cunning. An' would be a good tale so, but not a true one. For Hamish were many things, but brave were never ain o' them. An' yet he thought still tha' he might use her tae tame the dragon, and so he flicked his wand towards her. Her' instead o' the dragon, and that is when the dragon rose. He draped a wing in front of the girl, and the spell bounced right back. He toyed with the wizard like a cat with a mouse, for he were right ticked off. An' finally he rose up, an he took tae the air that he might hae Crunchy Wizard for supper num-nums."
"Hamish knew tha' he were soon dead, so he had one last chance. He turned his wand of Sorcha and transfigured her into a dragon. In that confusion, he turned into his duck form and flew away. But he had dragon scales about him, an' the spell stuck true-permanent. Auld Hamish McPhee spent out the rest o' his days flapping about the Tamloch as a duck, until he grew large an' fat an' was eaten for Yule-feast. But they say his ghost still quacks balefully o'er mere and moor, haunting the highlands an' mourning his lost fortune, an tryin' to lure others to doom, to keep him company in his lonely saelfish misery."
"An' what of Sorcha an' her dragon? Weel. Tha's another story for another time."
Asmund, so entranced and sucked in by the story doesn't realize he's shoving the last bite of his last sandwich into his mouth just as the story ends. It's not until Rosier is muttering darkly and giving and exasperated groan that the prefect realize he's won the challenge. His hands go up into the air victoriously before he sucks his fingers clean before wiping them clean with a napkin. "Triumph!" is called out cheerfully but not too loudly, wary of gaining Pringle's undesirable attention. "Thanks Lissie, couldn't have done it without you! That was grand. Cheers." He looks over at Rosier and points to him. "I expect my new pads this next Hogsmeade Weekend." The pointing turns into an extention of his hand and the two shake on it.
"Alright sweeties." Enid Pettigrew was the Professor on watch besides Pringle this lunch break. "Time to get back to classes. Have a good day."
Asmund rises and moves to escort Lissie at least to the doors of the Great Hall. "I really liked the story. There's some inaccuracies of course. But I recognize a good tall tale when I hear one. It was brilliant. I can't wait to hear the next part of the story soon."