Orlando Figg

Orlando Figg dozed elegantly under the elderberry tree, artfully posed with his hands behind his curly head watching the blossoms sway this way and that in the soft summer breeze. A distant bell clanged the hour. oh dear, he was late, as usual. Drat it all, A boy had better things to do than wait on a Queen, even if that Queen was Empress of the World, Old Araby and The Horn of Good Hope.
Orlando Figg charged down the hill as fast as his long legs would pound, he had very fine legs indeed, many ladies had lost their heads over those limbs, he couldnt see it himself not being a vain Young coxcomb like most Young men these days. Most Young Dandies these days strutted about town like bantam cocks in their fine linens and wistkits. But not Orlando, he was a weaver of dreams, a drinker of sunsets, a worshiper at the shrine of poeticals like Mr Shelley his hero whom he had met once in Whites coffee house in Berkley Square.
Shelley had tripped over Orlandos new perambulating bycycle, and had promptly punched his nose. Orlando had been delighted Beyond measure. and had worn the blood stained shirt until it had started to attract flies. His mama had ordered Bessy the under maid to launder it, but the blood stained shirt remained in Orlandos heart, he decided to become a poet and die Young and beautiful of a broken heart. preferably in Paris.

Oh wonderful wine tasting begining !

Queen Victoria had been two years old when news that Percy Shelleys lifeless corpse had been washed up on a shimmering Ligurian beach. So it would be quite reasonable to ask if this indeed was the same Young man who now ran pell mell towards the retinue of a dumpy grumpy widowed lady who had her stockinged foot on the neck of half the inhabitants of the Earth.
yes indeed it was. Orlando Figg just seemed to go on, never aging, never ailing or developing agues and pains.
it was a most fatiguing state of affairs.

Oh brilliant ! your little noodle is popping out lots of cracking variations Figgy old bean !  

golly gosh steady on old chap  

At last! Finest literature! Hurrah! I have fallen in love with you all over again, Mrs Figg.  

squeak  

Orlando Figg ran to his chamber, past Butler and under Butler, footman and groom, fast and fumbling he changed into his court frockcoat and pelted into the drawing room just in time for tea.
Unfortunately he had forgotten his britches, but Queen Victoria was quite easily amused when it came to Young mens legs. Why then most of the Palace table legs were covered in lace antimacassars and doilies is anyones guess.
Orlando Figg was still a Romantical, he imagined the Queen was Guinevere and his grubby socks were Knightly Garters. He was a favourite at court, his foibles were put down to English eccentricity. The servants thought he was a loon, but they were servants, and servants well before the BBC had made them fashionable, so what they thought nobody cared.
He told the Queen he would go to Paris to be an artist, seeing that Englishmen no longer got their heads cut off by cheesebreathed sans culottes.

  

 

is this a fan fiction about orlando bloom?

Read a little and find out.  

  Orlando Bloom? I suppose it could be.

The Queen extended a pudgy hand with a small silver tray of Turkish Delight on the end of it. Orlando refused, not knowing in his naivite that this was a Great honour, Queens did not usually stoop to dish displacement. However her two Ministers Disraeli and Gladstone had noticed the slight, and vowed reprisals asap.
She sighed and slurped her way through the succulent sweets. Orlando watched her dribbling and munching, visions of Guenevere gently fading like morning mist before his eyes.
He wondered sadly why there was no no Derring Do to be had in England, that Disraeli looked the part of a dashing cove like Sir Walter R, with his wild gypsy face, but he jumped if anyone opened a window too loudly, and wore woollen undergarments at picnics. Gladstone was a carved block of granite of a man, as sour as week old laundry baskets, he disliked Orlando intensely and thought him a social butterfly he would like very much to pull the wings off.
Orlando was disappointed for the first time in his life. He expected Kings and Queens to be more glamorous than this fusty polite lady before him. He remembered a time when one was summoned to court to watch one of ones relations getting beheaded, or ones house turned into the Kings Summer residence without so much as a squeak. One was summoned to court with orders to put down Buckie Smugglers. These days one was summoned to court for fairy cakes and tea. Orlando curled his beautiful lip and stalked out.

 

Orwell wrote:Read a little and find out.  

I have read a little and I'm still pretty confused.

Have you read Orlando by Virginia Woolf? If you havent that would explain the confusion. My story is based on the name and the fact Orlando seems to be immortal, everything else I made up.

I've barely even heard of that, which would probably explain my confusion.

Thumbs up for the avatar Eldo !

Being confused never comes in to it for me, I assume everything means something (like in Lewis Carrol) and I use me brains and immagination to fill out the picture. Luckilly, I've got plenty of brains, not like some... Here to help!  

Azriel: thanks!

Orwell:

Personally, I hate your new Avatar, Eldo.  

Orlando walked to the London docks, he sat on a lobster pot and watched the ships. there were tugs, trading vessels, steamers and pleasure cruisers, all jostling in a labyrynthine hustle and bustle on the oily grey sea. The sailers hallooed and spat, their stiff pigtails like insolent ratstails poking from under dirty caps. The air smelled of brine, fish, coffee and tar. Orlando loved the sailing ships like a moth to flame. He remembered 'The Firefly' one of Queen Isabella's galleons that had bourne him from Messina to Acre, a storm from Africa had torn her to pieces, they had limped into port with only scurvy and the plague to greet them. Many noble knights had perished on that voyage, and their squires too, but no sickness had furrowed Orlandos brow, he had remained as perfect as the marble staues in the ships hold. He had sailed through the Crusade like the ghost ship Firefly.

Im enjoying this steady meander thru time ! Orlando is one of my fav books/film ! & to "hear" you turn it into a Forumshire style story is SO.....so.....relaxing, comforting, enjoyable, hypnotic,  
In fact its a sensory delight, its got a perfume that when I close my eyes I can smell !

thanks Azriel.  
Orlando is one of my favourite films/books too.