Mwynwen - not a witch
By Diana the Valkyrie
Double, double toil and trouble


Mwynwen, burdened by Harry the Horse, couldn't do her usual half-roll landing,
but found something even flashier - she danced in. Good grief. Six foot three
of lanky black-hair trying to pretend to be a five-three gingerhead. Grow up,
girl.

"Cocoa's ready" I said. Mwynwen took hers from me as she entered Gingerbread
Cottage; Harry didn't even notice me as he brushed past. "Hello, Harry." No
answer. I followed him in and closed the door to keep out the chill. "Hello,
Harry" I tried again. Harry's eyes followed Mwynwen as she went into her bed
area - Gingerbread is only one big room, but with functional areas; cooking,
bedding, eating. "Earth to Harry, come in please." With Mwynwen out of sight,
I could finally get his attention. I shoved the mug of cocoa into his hands.
"Drink". "Oh, Linda, she's lovely, she's adorable, I think I'm ... "
"Cuntstruck again" I finished for him. Harry has a bit of a track record on
this. If it's got two legs and a skirt, he'll chase it. If it slows down
enough for him to catch it, he'll fall in love with it, and if it goes
horizontal, he'll shag it. "I haven't seen her face, but I just know she's
gorgeous". "Actually, Harry, she's an old hag with a face like a handbag." "A
handbag?" said Harry, "A HANDBAG?" "She's a warty old witch with wattles", I
continued, "when she entered the West Wycombe Ugly contest, they disqualified
her on grounds of unfair advantage." Harry glared at me. "Fluff, you're
exaggerating." "DON'T CALL ME FLUFF" I yelled at him, just as Mwynwen floated
back into the room. I say floated, with Mwynwen you have to be a bit careful
how you use that word, she walked in gracefully.

She'd changed out of her flying leathers into something green and graceful,
silky and sexy, and although I'd obviously unsettled Harry with my "ugly old
hag" windup, I don't think he'd ever been convinced. Harry gawped, Mwynwen
twirled, and I whistled "I'm ... putting on my top hat". Then I said to
Mwynwen "I'm hungry."

Mwynwen stopped prancing about the room, and said "Oh dear, where's my
manners? When did you guys last eat?" "Breakfast, unless you could a British
Rail cheese sandwich that we shared round about Swindon". Mwynwen snapped her
fingers at a device in the corner of the room while with the other hand she
turned a small dial. Fire sprang into life on her gesture, flared, then
settled down into a steady blue flame. Or, to put it another way, she lit the
gas cooker. She put a saucepan of soup on to heat up, and said "You'll like
this, it's got butter beans in it" "And lentils?" Mwynwen glared at me. "Shut
up, Fluff". I growled back at her. I lit a couple more Hurricane lamps, if
we're eating, I like to see exactly what I'm putting into my mouth. Especially
with Mwynwen, you never know what she might regard as food.

"Linda, why does she call you "Fluff" and why do you hate it so much?" "That
was my nickname at school, she uses it because she knows I hate it." "And you
call me "Witch"" "Well, aren't you?" asked Harry. Mwynwen turned from the
cooker. "Harry, if you call me a witch again, I'll turn you into a toad" and
she held one arm over her head, fingers outstretched, pointed towards him.
Harry looked terrified, and I tried, I really did try, but I couldn't help
exploding with laughter over the look on his face. And then Mwynwen dissolved
into giggles too, and then finally Harry got the joke, and smiled like someone
who just put his foot in a bucket of piss.

"Mwynwen, I tell you what. You stop calling me Fluff and I'll stop calling you
Witch, deal?" "Deal" she said, and turned back to the gas cooker. "So why did
they call you Fluff at school? And why Witch?", asked Harry. Really, he can be
a bit dense at times. I stared at him. "What do I do for a living, Harry?"
"You're a fluffer". "So why do you suppose they called me Fluff, Harry?" "Oh.
You mean? When you were in school? You used to? Um. Er?" "Yes, I did. And I
was one of the most sought-after dates in the class" I explained, smugly.

He turned to Mwynwen. "So why did they call you Witch?" She turned away from
the cooker, faced Harry, and pointed down at her feet. Which were A) bare and
B) two inches above the stone floor. She turned back to the lentil-and-bean
soup, took the saucepan off the gas, and ladled some into three bowls. "Grub's
up!"

Yum. Mwynwen certainly knows how to make a great soup. She brought some bread
over to the table too, and the next several minutes we sat silently, apart
from slurping noises, chomping noises and a burp from Harry. And then, when
I'd made the Inner Linda a bit happier, I waved a piece of bread in the
general direction of Harry, and said "Show her your bruise, Harry." Harry got
hold of my sweater, by which I mean the sweater that he was wearing that
belonged to me and which I would never ever be able to wear again on account
of it was stretched out of any possible shape, and made a face. "I can't". I
glanced at Mwynwen. "Don't be shy, Harry, Mwynwen won't mind and I've already
seen your naked chest." "No, it isn't that Linda. Porn stars aren't shy." "You
aren't a star" "What am I then?" "A bit player" "At least I play big bits"
"Not that big, Harry, don't get vain". "What I mean is, it hurts when I try to
pull it off." "I'm not suprised, and you should stop trying to pull it off" "I
mean the sweater" "Oh". "Clap clap clap" said Mwynwen. I grinned. So did
Harry. Mwynwen went back to the cooker and came back with a wicked sharp
kitchen knife. "I'll soon have it off" she said, waving the knife around
dangerously.

"Gulp" gulped Harry. Before he could protest, she'd sliced his sweater, my
sweater, my former sweater, maybe if I put buttons on it, it could be a
cardigan, and peeled back the two pieces, exposing a bruise that was ripening
into glorious technicolour like the sunset I'd just enjoyed. Mwynwen did the
sharp intake of breath. "Ooh, nasty. Does it hurt?" Which, of course, was
Harry's cue to go into his "It's just a scratch" routine. "Hardly at all. Only
when I laugh" "Oh, so you'd be OK for a three hour fuck-vid, then?" I asked.
He glared at me. "Well, you don't laugh on those, it's all deadly serious."
"OK, OK, it hurts a bit." "When does it hurt?" asked Mwynwen. "When I breathe,
actually." "In or out?" Harry experimented a little, wincing. "Both."

"What happened?" asked Mwynwen. And then she turned to me. "And why did you
call me, Lin?" Lin. Ugh. Well, I suppose that beats "Fluff". "He's in trouble,
Min. Big trouble. And he needs somewhere to lay low for a while. The heat's
on." "He's on the lam?" "Right, sister" She turned to Harry. "You dirty rat"
she snarled. "I ain't so tough" he says. "What happened?" she asked. "My
toothbrush slipped". I threw a piece of bread at Harry. "Stop with the Edward
G and tell her what happened." So Harry told Mwynwen about how he'd shafted
Sharon by bedding Mandy. And Norah. And Evadne. And ... "Enough, I get the
picture. Let's see your chest."

Mwynwen knelt down in front of Harry and ran her hands over his chest. Harry
moaned, and I didn't think it was with pain. "You've got a couple of cracked
ribs here." I nodded. Of course he did. If they were broken, he wouldn't have
been able to carry my bag, if they weren't cracked he wouldn't be in so much
pain. You didn't exactly need X-ray vision to diagnose cracked ribs. "Would
you like me to heal you?" she asked. It's that sort of line that was why we
called her the Witch, I could guess what was coming next. Harry nodded,
looking a bit blissful. Mwynwen went over to the gas cooker, and put another
saucepan on to heat, a small one. "How do you get gas up here, Min?" I asked.
"Calor" she replied. "In bottles, well, sort of drums really." "Yes, but how
do you get it up here?" Those pressurised gas drums are *heavy*. She grinned
at me over her shoulder. "Eggbeaters".

I should have guessed, the Gingerbread Cottage was perched on the side of the
mountain. There was a bit of grass in front as a garden, but even that was so
tilted you'd roll off if you fell asleep. Although I suppose it made landings
easier. And the only path that led to it would have made a mountain goat with
crampons think twice. Just enough of a path so people wouldn't need to wonder
how she got in and out. But not enough for a heavy delivery truck. I hadn't
thought of eggbeaters.

Mwynwen poured what she'd been preparing into a small cup, and brought it over
to Harry. He sniffed. "What's this?" "Drink it, Harry, it'll make the pain go
down." He sniffed again. "Smells like mint." "Yes, mint is one of the
ingredients." He tasted it. "Ugh" "That's the extract of willow-bark. Drink it
down, there's a good boy, and I'll give you something nice afterwards." Harry
perked up, and tossed it back. "Yuck" "That'll be the newt eyes and frog toes"
Mwynwen said. Harry looked green. "Double, double toil and trouble" I
explained. Criminy, what a performance over a couple of aspirins. I mean,
everyone knows there's no such things as witches, and anyway they burned them
all a couple of hundred years ago, just to be on the safe side.

Still, the aspirin did its job, even with all the mumbo jumbo. Harry looked to
be breathing more easily, and said "Hey, it feel better already! What was in
that?" "Bat's wool, dog's tongue, adder's fork and lizard's leg" I said. "Yeah
yeah", said Harry, "so how do you do this flying bit?"

Now that's about as gauche as asking a plumber "So how do you do soldering?" I
mean, sure I've always wondered, who wouldn't. And about how you solder lead,
come to that. I tried it once, it just wouldn't stick together. But I reckoned
that if she wanted to tell me then she would, and if she didn't, then I
wouldn't be any worse off, because it's not really likely that it's something
you can just learn how to do, like swimming. It's like standing on one leg,
either you can do it or you can't.

"Well, let me show you a couple of things, Harry. Lift your arm." He raised
his left arm. "See, now how did I do that? I'm not even near your arm, but I
got it to raise up." "Well", said Harry, "I did it, of course". "OK, so you
did, but how did you do it? How did you, just by thinking about it, raise your
arm?" "Er. Well. I just did." "Your brain generated a weak electric signal,
which propagated down your nerves until it got to the muscle, which it
stimulated to contract." "If you say so." "But before that, my brain generated
a signal to move my lungs and mouth, to make the sounds that triggered that
reaction in your brain." "OK, with you so far" "But you don't really know how
this all works, you just do it, right?" "Right" said Harry. "Same here", said
Mwynwen. "Oh, I see" said Harry.

What a cop out! Harry seemed happy, but I wasn't taking that as an answer.
"Come on, Min. At least give us the 'weak electric signal' theory of flying."
"You sure you want it, Lin?" "I'm all ears", I said. "OK", said Mwynwen.
"There's four forces. Electromagnetism, which gives us electricity, magnetism
and light. The 'Weak interaction' which is how leptons change flavour, the
'Strong Force" which hold atomic nuclei together, and gravitation." "Yes,
every novice in a nunnery knows that." "OK, so the 'Electroweak' theory ties
together Electromagnetism and the 'Weak interaction' togther just like
electromagnetism ties together electricity and magnetism." Harry nodded like
he was following this. "And Quantum chromodynamics explains how the quarks
interact" "Quarks?" "Six of them, up, down, strange, charm, truth and beauty.
Some people call the last two top and bottom, but that's so ugly. And when you
combine Electroweak and QCD, you get a Grand Unified Theory. Then you
incorporate General Relativity, and you have a theory that combines all four
of the forces. That's what Einstein was working on from the thirties onwards."

"But he didn't reach his goal" I said. Mwynwen put her head on her hand and
looked at me. "You think?" "We know he didn't, Min". "You think?" "He
certainly didn't publish anything." "Put yourself in his shoes, Linda. You did
this neat bit of theory, you write a letter to the US president, they kick off
the biggest and most secret project to build an atomic bomb on your say-so,
and a couple of years later 100,000 people get fried by your neat bit of
theory. So then, 10 years later, you come up with an even neater theory. Who
you gonna call?"

Harry looked thoughtful, and I could see him counting on his fingers. "So how
old are you, Mwynwen?" She threw a piece of bread at him. "I assume I wouldn't
be able to understand the details of this theory?" I asked. I mean, it would
be nice to be able to get from London to Birmingham without getting on the
train. "How's your tensor calculus, Linda?" "Uh, bit rusty, I'm afraid."

"So you're not some kind of superheroine?" asked Harry. "No, Harry." "A Wonder
Woman?" "No, Harry. I'm not even a witch." "Well Mwynwen, I still think you're
terrific!" "Thank you, Harry. You're not bad yourself. Are you really a porn
star?" Harry smirked. "No", I said, before he could open his mouth. "He's just
a butterstick". "I'm a star", sulked Harry. "You're a butterstick. You aren't
why the punters buy the vids. That's down to the heads and torsos, you're just
the butterstick." "Heads? Torsos?" asked Mwynwen.

"How's your sexual calculus, Mwynwen?" "Uh, bit rusty, I'm afraid." I grinned.
I can condescend as well as she can. "See, it's like this. Fuck vids are
bought by blokes, and all they're really interested in is the torso. Neck down
to panties. Plus they want a pretty face. But it's a whole lot easier to find
a great torso or a pretty face than to get both together. So you show one or
the other, you do it with camera angles, and the punter never realises there's
actually two women. You show head shots without the body, and torso shots
without the head, and the punter puts two and two together. It's a lot cheaper
that way. And these fuck vids are made on a near-zero budget."

Harry looked upset. "And you're just a fluffer, you don't even get on-camera."
"So? Why would I want to? Harry, the objective is to put bread on the table
and yoghurt in the fridge. I don't want to be famous. And for every hundred
heads, there's maybe ten decent torsos, and one, count me, one good fluffer.
Oh, and I forgot. About ten thousand buttersticks." Harry looked very down.
"And Sharon hates me and wants to kill me." "No, Harry, I don't think she
wants to actually kill you. I'd guess she wants to inflict a horrendous amount
of pain so that you feel like she does now. She just wants to beat you to a
pulp, I should think."