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Nov. 3rd, 2004 06:22 pmWell, in an effort to gear up for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
yuletide, I'm going to copycat ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
circe_tigana and do a word of the day drabble. My word comes from A.Word.A.Day. I may not do this every day, but I'm going to try, because I'm seriously rusty and I haven't written a good word since Tigannie*con. (So I'll use my T*C icon for luck)
macedoine (mas-i-DWAN) noun
1. A mixture of diced fruits or vegetables, often served as salad, appetizer, or dessert.
2. A medley or mixture.
[From French macédoine, from Macédoine (Macedonia), apparently an allusion to the diversity of people in the region.]
Outside the window, the palm trees gust in a high wind. It is going on dusk and the whores are preparing to go in for the night. Jack can spot, on the same street corner, a Dutchman, a Swede or Norwegian, four ex-slaves, and a woman of very questionable virtue. She is taking barter from them: the blond Scandinavian waves a wad of cash in her direction and, smiling, she angles her head toward the house where they will do business. Tortuga is a macedoine.
The slow heat of the kitchens bleeds out into the inn's common room: the slow heat from outside is cooled by the wind. Jack picks at his bread and stew, eyeing his beer glass, which is half-full (or half-empty, depending). Gibbs plumps himself down in the seat across the table, sloshing a yellow concoction out of his glass and over his hand.
"Why the hell do you drink that, mate?" asks Jack idly.
"What, this?" Gibbs looks offended. "Egg nog is a good English tradition around Christmas tide."
"That's barely egg nog."
"Well ... " Gibbs smiles sheepishly. "It's more nog than egg, and mostly rum at that. But it reminds me of home."
"Gibbs, you haven't been in England since you were transported, what -- "
"Twenty years at least. Or more. But on a December evenin', can you not hear the wind blow through the house chimneys? Or smell the snow as it falls for the first time?"
Jack suppresses a twinge, thinking of a place he will not ever see again. "All I smell is how drunk you are."
"Merry Christmas, lad," Gibbs says placidly and downs the nog in one go. "I'll have another."
yuletide, I'm going to copycat circe_tigana and do a word of the day drabble. My word comes from A.Word.A.Day. I may not do this every day, but I'm going to try, because I'm seriously rusty and I haven't written a good word since Tigannie*con. (So I'll use my T*C icon for luck)macedoine (mas-i-DWAN) noun
1. A mixture of diced fruits or vegetables, often served as salad, appetizer, or dessert.
2. A medley or mixture.
[From French macédoine, from Macédoine (Macedonia), apparently an allusion to the diversity of people in the region.]
Outside the window, the palm trees gust in a high wind. It is going on dusk and the whores are preparing to go in for the night. Jack can spot, on the same street corner, a Dutchman, a Swede or Norwegian, four ex-slaves, and a woman of very questionable virtue. She is taking barter from them: the blond Scandinavian waves a wad of cash in her direction and, smiling, she angles her head toward the house where they will do business. Tortuga is a macedoine.
The slow heat of the kitchens bleeds out into the inn's common room: the slow heat from outside is cooled by the wind. Jack picks at his bread and stew, eyeing his beer glass, which is half-full (or half-empty, depending). Gibbs plumps himself down in the seat across the table, sloshing a yellow concoction out of his glass and over his hand.
"Why the hell do you drink that, mate?" asks Jack idly.
"What, this?" Gibbs looks offended. "Egg nog is a good English tradition around Christmas tide."
"That's barely egg nog."
"Well ... " Gibbs smiles sheepishly. "It's more nog than egg, and mostly rum at that. But it reminds me of home."
"Gibbs, you haven't been in England since you were transported, what -- "
"Twenty years at least. Or more. But on a December evenin', can you not hear the wind blow through the house chimneys? Or smell the snow as it falls for the first time?"
Jack suppresses a twinge, thinking of a place he will not ever see again. "All I smell is how drunk you are."
"Merry Christmas, lad," Gibbs says placidly and downs the nog in one go. "I'll have another."
