[voicetest] Canon is Philippa Gregory's 'Earthly Joys', Muse is put out.

[whoreticulturist]

I am...flattered, my lady, but this seems imprudent, particularly given the season.

[A somewhat beleaguered gardener in no uncertain terms is voicing his concerns.]

There are many perennials that still require splitting if they are to produce the same amount of buds as last year, and the summer flowering bulbs ought to be planted now to establish roots before spring. Winter waits for no man; I cannot be burdened with frivolity.

[Not this instant, at any rate.]

Comments

[airshipswank]

[ Someone speaking so finely of gardening in this drab and barren metasphere? Surely that ought to be worth a moment of Buckingham's time... ]

Frivolity, a... burden? [ He chuckles. ] They say that some men dare delight in it.

[whoreticulturist]

[This may be a John Tradescant who has seen past the demise of his master, but it is still a John Tradescant foolishly in love with the man.]

My Lord,

[Difficult not to smile when his chest is swelling.]

I mean only that there is a great deal of work to be done before the first frost.

[airshipswank]

Our Lord might freeze the earth, but I hear they freeze time itself... for their pleasure.

[ Something even Buckingham can't quite seem to manage, despite his power. Sigh. ]

Suppose she takes a keen interest in your craft?

[whoreticulturist]

Doubtful.

[John knows his mun, and knows that she possesses a more black than green thumb.]

I postulate that may be giving her too much credit. Her interests rest in other affairs.

[airshipswank]

Which affairs might that be?

[ Even in a poorly defined meta space as this it ought to be possible for Buckingham to step closer. After all... ]

I would... loathe to return to Newhall and find my dear John occupied elsewhere.

[whoreticulturist]

[My dear John. Something he has ached to hear for far too long. The duke's proximity does not go unnoticed, either.]

Occupi- Your Grace, I could never leave Newhall willingly.

[Let him assure His Lordship most fervently.]

[airshipswank]

Oh? No yearning for distant places? Not even if she were to promise you a land where seeds grow into the most elaborate shapes, all... without a gardener's touch?

[ A slight smirk takes root in the corner of his mouth. ]

Shall I have those brought home to us, do you think?

[whoreticulturist]

[Sir, you really cannot talk about visiting new places and gathering new plants without John's eyes growing wide, a familiar, hopeful smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.]

You...would not wish me to gather them for you, instead?

[And...stay by your side...and stuff?]

[airshipswank]

You've not seen this world, John. No street leads to it and none can carry you away.

[ No description without motion, so Buckingham circles his gardener while he muses. ]

You would be trapped in exile, with no familiar face but your own in the mirror... and mine. [ He shakes is head. ] No, that is not... a price I could ask you to pay.

[whoreticulturist]

[My dear man, did you miss the part where he offered to go for you? John would cross oceans - would traverse the globe - for his noble lord.]

You need only ask it of me, My Lord.

[Really.]

To see a new land would be a grand adventure.

[But more to the point...]

Could I take cuttings? Cultivate a garden there?

[airshipswank]

[ Buckingham might have caught that part, but he so does enjoy hearing it repeated. Now he looks around like one who has a conspiracy he fears exposed and beckons John towards him with one finger. ]

My dear John, I fear...

[ He leans forward to close the rest of the distance and whispers into his gardener's ear. ]

...that if you cut this particular garden it might just cut you back.

[whoreticulturist]

[It is with a shuddery breath that John remains still at his lord's side, taking in his words, leaning in as far as he is permitted. Ah, the sweet smell of his master's cologne.

He does not bother masking his abject surprise.]

Are the rose-thorns sharp?

[he inquires dumbly, not entirely understanding.]

[airshipswank]

[ Ahahaha, oh that is so very amusing. Buckingham laughs lightly. ]

Not just their thorns, but their tongues as well. They speak, they sing and sometimes they grow or... shrink a man at will.

[ It is, so the duke discovers now, infinitely more enjoyable to brag of Wonderland's wonders than to live them. ]

One asked for tea and when no tea was offered it turned the offender himself into a plant!

[whoreticulturist]

[...for a long moment, John fears that his master has lost his mind again. Plants that speak. That sing. That interact in a way plants should not.

Tradescant frowns deeply, wondering if the duke is simply playing a cruel joke on him.]

...you jest, Your Grace.

[airshipswank]

Their animals speak as well! The mice and horses and a peculiar yellow fellow I nearly mistook for game. One creature towers over us like a bear and calls himself a prince.

[ There is no jest or joke to be had, though there is perhaps a small semblance of cruelty in Buckingham's deliberation to speak so joyfully without pause and without acknowledgement of his gardener's justified doubts. ]

Ahh, I was in good spirits, even when my head fell off not too long ago...

[ Here he gifts John with a particularly broad grin. ]

[whoreticulturist]

[John does not possess altogether too great an imagination - it is, sadly, limited to his own experiences, and though they are varied, they do not extend to talking animals and plants. He has the vague inkling, however, that his master may not have lost his mind, but is in fact playing games with him.]

My Lord...

[The other statements are outweighed by Buckingham's jovial afterthought, which triggers an unhappy shudder in the gardener.]

You should not make light of losing your head.

[Not when it is the handsomest head John has ever seen.]

[airshipswank]

[ Buckingham will gladly agree with that sentiment. ]

It grew back rather handsomely, don't you think?

[ He even pushes down his collar a little for John's benefit and the miracle of an unmarred neck. ]

[whoreticulturist]

[Things John Tradescant does not need to see: Buckingham's long, pale throat, tipped back at a coquettish angle while the man smiles fetchingly.

He swallows, indulging the joke.]

There are none handsomer.

[airshipswank]

Mhh,

[ Buckingham confirms, always pleased that his gardener's excellent eye extends beyond greenery. ]

Do you believe me then? That I found such magical land?

[ There's mischief in his voice; more than anything his question sounds like an exciting dare. ]

[whoreticulturist]

[Truthfully, John is still dubious. But Buckingham's excitement is catching, and he is always willing to believe in new plant life.

...talking or not.]

Your word is law...

[he offers carefully.]

[airshipswank]

Some laws beg to be broken,

[ Buckingham challenges, knowing very well that his dear servant occasionally needs a little... prodding before he dares speak his mind. But the duke can afford a small kindness every once in a while and so he offers: ]

Shall I have you speak of our garden instead? I've not seen it in over a year.

[whoreticulturist]

[John can never really tell if he's being tested, or if the duke is flirting. Deciphering the man is more difficult than anyone could possible surmise.

He brightens at the mention of Buckingham's garden, however.]

I would be more than happy to, Your Grace.

[Not even John's sore knee could upset him from this subject.]

The fall plantings are coming along beautifully.

[airshipswank]

[ Testing, flirting, why must there be a difference? Though whatever else he may be doing at the time, the duke's interest in his garden is genuine. ]

You must tell me everything. The monkshood, does it still flower?

[ Always a special favourite, that one. ]

[whoreticulturist]

Both monkshood and foxglove thrive under your trees in the orangery,

[John begins eagerly, pleased to share his good news.]

Your tulips have had a good, long summer - with those extra bulbs you asked me to purchase in your name from the Dutch creditors, I have stained some into possessing stripes on their petals, a colour which compliments the early pink roses...

[Please, tell him when to stop.]

[airshipswank]

[ Mhhhh, John, don't stop, give him more~ ]

Go on.

[ Buckingham takes a step closer. ]

[whoreticulturist]

[Ask and ye shall receive.]

The blue columbines spread thick with the lavender over the summer - my son tells me how fragrant they were and how they added to the atmosphere of Your Grace's outer garden. The red impatiens as well, nestled into the darker corners; I had planted them near a warmer wall, and we shall try them again as an annual since they were so successful. They are just now reaching the end of their run.

[John rather likes the color and hardiness of them. Even a man enthralled with rarities can enjoy the simpler plants when they bloom.]

Was there...

[Oh. Oh, he's rather close now, isn't he. John visibly relishes the proximity, all too happy to pretend they are the only people in the world.]

...anything in particular you wished to inquire about?

[airshipswank]

Mhhhh, the lavender. Last year I asked for a handful every day, did I not?

[ No need to answer, he already knows. With his eyes closed Buckingham sees every corner as John describes it and breathes in, as if memory was enough to recreate the scent. Say what you will about the duke, but he truly does love his gardens. ]

Is young John well?

[ Perhaps the apple that fell from the tree was not the kind of fauna John thought to speak about when he asked his question, but it is the subject Buckingham fancies. ]

And your... dear wife?

[whoreticulturist]

[...Buckingham fancies a lot of subjects, doesn't he?

John falters only slightly - it isn't too often that His Grace inquires about his family, and therefore giving a report on the subject throws Tradescant for a loop.]

My wife is happy that I am home,

[he replies carefully, truthfully, knowing that simple thing is all Elizabeth ever wanted. For them to cultivate their own garden. John cannot force himself to feel guilty over past "abandonments" when in the presence of his lord.

J is well. He has taken a wife.

[The mercer girl is lovely, if a little prim and zealous for John's tastes.]

[airshipswank]

Has he now, already? You must have taught him well, far... beyond your green thumb.

[ All his father's charm, eh? Here, let Buckingham adjust your collar for a moment. ]

[whoreticulturist]

[John has a rugged sort of charm, an uncultured sort of charm, perhaps, charm in its rawest and least concentrated form, but he has it nonetheless. The idea that he might have passed it to his Puritanical son?

He chuckles quietly.]

He has a good head on his shoulders.

[When he's not being argumentative.]

[airshipswank]

[ Buckingham's charm, by contrast, is tailored for court. For the English court, on the one hand, where subtlety is key and where nothing must be said or done without walking around three corners first. ]

And another good one between his legs, now that he's found himself a bride.

[ ...For the court of King James on the other hand, where Scotland has made its crude and vulgar mark and has left many an English noble shocked and aghast. ]