Mwynwen - angels three
By Diana the Valkyrie
A sorcerous witch is bad, but a magic princess is good


I looked at Mwynwen and then at my old chum Linda. She wasn't trying to be
nasty, I knew. She was just telling me how it is. You tend to think you're the
center of the universe, but everyone else thinks the same thing. And then I
looked back at Mwynwen. She was worth looking at. Big hair, long hair, fluffy
hair. Long black silky sexy hair, and that was just the start. Why is long
hair so sexy? I think it's because it's high maintenance, and that means that
the owner is going to a lot of trouble to make herself attractive, which means
she's sexy. Not to mention all the things she can use it for. And then, moving
on down, eyes the size of olympic swimming pools, eyes you could drown in,
eyes that were, realistically, just a bit out of proportion to her face, eyes
that conveyed the impression of neotony. Eyes that reminded me of Japanese
Manga comics, where the eyes are exaggerated in size to several times normal.
The eyes, set low in the face, the forehead high. In an adult, the eyes are a
third of the way down the face, in a young child, halfway down. When you look
at a face with low set eyes, you see young innocence. Neotony. Eyes like a
kitten or a bush baby, eyes reminiscent of a human infant, huge, helpless,
innocent and appealing. Once you fell into her eyes, it was difficult to move,
difficult to think. Drowning is where you can't breathe - I was drowning in
her eyes. And you had to look up to her, she was tall, majestic, moving like a
swan on the water, I'm babbling. I'm gibbering. I'm a babbling, gibbering
idiot, and I'm having trouble breathing again, but it isn't the cracked ribs
this time. I looked back at Linda desperately. "Help me here, Linda" I
thought.

"So he needs a place to hang out for a while, Min. Can he stay here?" "Sure,
Lin. No problem, as long as he doesn't mind that there's no TV, no Internet,
no VCR." "You'll think of something", Linda promised. Mwynwen smiled. "I
usually go out flying, there's always somewhere interesting to go." I nodded,
hard. Flying sounded good to me. Especially now it was on a sound scientific
basis. Or we could dance some more. Or both.

Linda yawned and stretched. "It's been a long day", she hinted. "Three in the
morning, he woke me up, then we caught the seven forty-two out of Paddington."
"OK, bed" said Mwynwen. "Linda, you take the couch, Harry, you sleep in my
bed." Oh yum. Oh yum yum. O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! "I'll sleep on the
floor" she said. Oh rats. No, wait! "Mwynwen, I won't hear of it, you'll be
horribly uncomfortable on the floor, I'll sleep on the cold hard stone floor,"
I said. "No, Harry, you've got cracked ribs, you sleep in the bed." "Well, OK,
but at least you can share it with me." Mwynwen looked at Linda. "Lin, what's
he like when he doesn't have cracked ribs?" "Ten times worse" Mwynwen laughed.
"Harry, go to bed. I'm sleeping on the floor. I promise you I won't be
uncomfortable." She lay down on the floor to show me. Well, not actually on
the floor. More like a few inches above the floor. Duh. No wonder she didn't
mind.

I lay on the bed. Linda was snoring on the couch. I mean, not snoring, more of
a light occasional "whuffle". Tomorrow I'll tell her that her snoring kept
Mwynwen and me awake all night. And I could see Mwynwen floating a few inches
off the cold stone floor. It was warm in the Gingerbread Cottage, and she
didn't bother with a blanket. Just that green silk dress, no wait, that's not
a dress, that's a nightdress, why didn't I realise that before, her hair
trailing down and spread over the stone floor. She's asleep, I can see the
rise and fall of her, of her, of her breathing. Unh. Down, boy. How does she
do that? She's asleep. How can she do that? Even while she's asleep, what
she's doing, is she's flying, just a couple of inches, but that's what she's
doing. I suppose, I guess I can breathe while I'm asleep, breathe in, breathe
out, I can smell her smell on the pillow, breathe in, mmm, what's the smell
like, it isn't a flower, it isn't like honey, it's a girl-smell, breathe in,
breathe out, the blood keeps going round, I suppose flying is just as natural
to her. But if she sleeps a few inches above the ground, why does she bother
having a bed? I mean, if I could fly, why would I want ... Oh. Oh. Don't be so
naive, mate. Beds aren't just for ... Oh. Oh. that implies that she ... Oh.
Oh. Well, she's a big girl, six three, roughly, I suppose it must be like
living in a low gravity environment, you'd grow more, but if there's a bed, it
implies she uses a bed, which implies, oh, oh. Oh. Face like an angel, body
like a, um, I suppose Linda would say "torso". Assuming she wasn't doing
another Daventry Wind-up, but come to think of it, she's right, they do heads
and torsos all the time, I never really thought about why. And when Linda was
telling me what an ugly old hag she was, I knew that wasn't true, Linda is
*such* a wind-up artist, and always with a perfectly straight face, but how
did I know? I hadn't seen her in the light. How did I fall in love with
someone so perfect before I'd even seen her, or talked with her? It was like
falling in love with a magic princess, except she wasn't either. Why is it, in
the stories, that a sorcerous witch is bad, but a magic princess is good? It's
just spin. Linda said she isn't wicked, at least no more wicked than Linda is,
although come to think of it that gives you quite a lot of slack in the wicked
direction, and she isn't a witch, either, that's just a joke they have
together, like her calling Linda "Fluff", those two must go *way* back, that
sounds like a schoolgirl kind of thing. God, what did I ever do to deserve a
friend like Linda? It was like falling in love with someone you haven't met
yet, I hadn't even seen her face, but by god she's gorgeous, those cheekbones,
that hair, long, black, silky, and those eyes, those eyes. Eyes. Eyes. Sharon
is just a distant recollection, a temporary dalliance, a fond memory. It's
like falling in love with a blind date, but they say love is blind, maybe it
doesn't matter what she looks like, I'd still be in love, although it
certainly doesn't help that she's the, the, she's. She. Her. Mwynwen. Mwynwen.
This was it, this was the real thing, this was ... was .. was . zzz zzz zzz

I was woken in the morning by a pair of ice-cold hands thrust into my groin
and grabbing hold of my genitals. "Aaaaaaaargghhh...." I screamed. My eyes
sprang open. "LINDA!!!" "It's cold in here" she explained. "My hands were
frozen, I'm warming them up. Oh. Oh. Oh. Harry! Messy." "LINDA!!! Urgghhhhh!."
The commotion woke Mwynwen, who jumped up and came over to see what all the
fuss was about. "Linda, here's a box of tissues, clean that up would you?" Oh
shit, oh shit, just what I needed, what's she going to think of me, Linda you
really are... "Linda, you really are the limit". She grinned up at me, still
cleaning up the mess I'd made. No, the mess she'd made. Hellfire, you can't
blame a guy when a fluffer like Linda gets you in her hands after you spent
the night dreaming about Mwynwen and you wake up with your morning erection
and a pair of icy hands buried in your equipment. "Breakfast", yelled Mwynwen.

I pushed Linda's hands away reluctantly, wrapped myself in the blanket with as
much dignity as I could muster, and joined Mwynwen at the table. "Bacon?" I
asked, hopefully. "I don't eat meat", said Mwynwen. "Eggs?" "Or eggs."
"Cheese?" She shook her head. "Vegetarian?" I asked. "Vegan". Oh no. The woman
I love is a nuthead. "That's stupid" I said. Linda kicked me before I followed
my foot into my mouth. "I'm stupid, I should have realised" I said, snatching
victory from the jaws of defeat. Linda tried not to grin. I love you, Linda.
Mwynwen brought bowls of meusli and milk, and I started scoffing. "Milk?"
asked Linda. "Crushed nuts, squeezed, oil emulsified with water" said Mwynwen.
"Looks like milk, tastes like milk, doesn't rob the cow". I nodded. Rob the
cow. Uh.

"So what do you guys what to do today?" asked Mwynwen. "I have to get back to
London" explained Linda, "I have a vid on that I'm fluffing for". Mwynwen
turned to me. "I'm entirely in your hands, Mwynwen". "You were in Linda's
hands a minute ago" she pointed out. Linda laughed, I blushed, oh shit, Linda
I hate you.

"OK, first I'll fly you to London" "Merthyr Tydfil will do fine, Min" "Won't
hear of it, I'm not dumping you back on the tender mercies of the British Rail
timetable, I'll take you all the way back to London." "How long will that take
you" I asked. "Um, 150 miles, hour and a half there, hour to refuel, hour and
a half back, about four hours, Harry." "So is that your top speed, 100 mph?" I
asked. "Harry, she isn't a Jumbo Jet". "No, and I'm not superwoman, either. I
can go a bit faster, but it's harder work. Inverse square, you know." "Yes, I
see that, 140 would be twice as difficult as 100. But surely you'd get a speed
boost if you weren't carrying someone?" "No, it doesn't work like that.
Carrying makes very little difference. It's all about the wind drag, not the
weight. So the important thing is cross-sectional area and streamlining." "I
suppose if you fly a lot, that sort of thing is dead important." "You bet.
Watch the birds, you'll see they do the same. Minimum effort, use the
thermals, don't flap if you can glide. Linda, you get ready, I'll get
dressed."

Mwynwen went back to the bed area, and pulled out her flight togs. I suppose I
was expecting something garish made in lycra, in red and blue, with a cape.
And a letter on her chest. Possibly an S? Or maybe an M. Surely a cape. Gotta
be a cape. But no. No cape. I was right about the lycra, but it was in
duck-egg blue, and no cape. No cape? I asked about the cape. "You're kidding.
Cape? Wind resistance, Harry. With a thing like that fluttering out behind me,
I'd be blown all over the place." The lycra was skin tight, leaving absolutely
nothing to the imagination even though she was top to toe. "See, there's
nothing to blow in the wind, so it's less wind resistance. And the sky blue
colour means people are less likely to see me. Although at a half mile up,
it's not too likely anyway." "You could fly a couple of miles up, then no-one
could see you." "Harry, you have no idea how cold it is at that altitude.
Angels three is fine for me."

Then she put on her flying helmet, tucking her hair inside. It looked like an
old World War 1 ace fighter's helmet, furry on the inside, leather on the
outside. "It stops my hair from causing drag, plus it protects my head against
collisions." Collisions? I pictured Mwynwen flying into the Post Office Tower
and knocking it down like a giant super-kitten. Mwynwen laughed. "No, silly.
Rain, mostly. Do you know what rain feels like at 100 knots? Or hail?" Having
biked a bit in my younger days, I knew what she meant. And why she put on
goggles. No boots. "No boots?" "Too much drag" She put on a pair of lycra
socks. "Ready Linda?" Linda nodded, she was wrapped in a kind of aluminised
blanket, also light blue. Mwynwen took Linda's hand, yelled "Tally ho!", they
ran out the door, onto the small lawn, picked up speed down the slope and when
they got to the cliff edge, Linda just ran over the edge, it was like watching
a formation of two airplanes flying off a carrier. I don't think I could do
that. They disappeared from view for a while, below the cliff-edge line, but
then I saw them curving up back into sight. I watched as they flew east. I
wonder how she navigates. Eventually, I couldn't even see the dot in the sky,
so I went back indoors.