Turnbull, Thatcher; Arch To The Sky
; G; 258 words.
By virtue of his administrative role, Turnbull was aware of the birthdays of the people he worked with. He kept private information private, of course; he was nothing if not trustworthy.
That didn't mean he wouldn't use it privately, however.
Openly gifting Inspector Thatcher with anything was a dubious prospect. The Inspector had an understandable wariness when it came to such things, and the one time Turnbull had sent her flowers anonymously had backfired spectacularly, given attentions from other quarters. Still; on her birthday, he would try.
His art group was useful for more than the occupation of his off-time, occasionally, and the chance to work in other artistic mediums when it came could be quite stimulating. One gentleman had experience in jewelry-making; a delicate discipline, the closest to which Turnbull had ever gotten being childhood grassweaving. He had been grateful to expand the area of experience.
The hair slide was very pretty, if he did say so himself.
It was made of delicate silver wire, wound in a conservative curve and spot-welded in more silver to the slide frame.
There was a precise kind of satisfaction to having seen it come together, and another sort to having wrapped it. Thatcher could be unforgiving of jaunts into her office while she was not present, but he left it on her desk as he cleaned. Unsigned. Anonymous.
He wasn't there for her reaction, and neither did he see her wear the gift, but several days later he found a prim thank you note upon his desk and smiled.
Due South; Arch to the SkyCharacters:
Bob Fraser, Turnbull; appearances by Benton Fraser, Thatcher, RayKRating:
In a moment of pique, Bob jumps ship to a different Mountie. Notes:
Yes, Bob has his own misogynistic moments. XD Still working on mood themes. ♥ Wanted to get this out while it was in my head.
"You know, son, you should be nicer to that boy. You can blither with the best of them, yourself."
"I deal with Constable Turnbull in an even-handed manner. And I do not blither
"Oh, yes you do. I should know, son. We can smell our own."( The Babylon project was our last, best hope for peace. ...it failed. )
Myra, Turnbull; Arch To The Sky
; G; 221 words. Immediately before Crickets
I. • II. • III. • IV. • V. • VI. • VII.
I have read over your letter several times since its arrival. I am sorry for the delay in my last response; I know you have forgiven me, but I feel the need to reiterate as I regret that my reply arrived too late to ease your mind. As a child you often bounded ahead of me to seek your own path. I am happy to see the trend continues.
Your letter had an unusual lengthy quality, Renfield. One might suspect another man of gushing. I am only teasing, of course; you have told me much about this Ray of yours, but I would like to hear still more. It was a relief. Forgive my candor, but you have been quiet these past few years. It would seem this man is good for you.
You have my heartfelt blessings, Renfield. I want to meet your Ray.
I have delayed the completion of this letter for the sake of certain tests. We have discovered today that I will be adding another set of twins to the Turnbull family. This was unexpected. I am working to accept this news. I know that you will be happy.
Should I have sons, one will indeed be named for you.
I will update you again soon.
All my love.
Turnbull, Guy, Longfellow, MarkRating:
Andrew Longfellow discovers the secret to knocking Guy off his constant mellow. Notes:
Written on a camping trip, on notebook paper, for sl_walker
while she was working. Not totally happy with it, but it might be worth some laughs. Arch to the Sky
. Sometime in the midst of Mark
"Why do you have a puppet."
Well. That tone shocked all four men at the table, including the speaker. Guy positively blanched; Turnbull had never in his life heard Guy speak in such a frankly perturbed tone, and from the look on his face, Guy might never have heard himself do so either.
A slow, almost vicious smile crept up Longfellow's face, for he was the bearer of said puppet.( For you, fifty thousand years of Human evolution was something that happened to other people, wasn't it? )
The last little while, Steff and I started trading little ficlets via text while she's away. They are random and short, and we enjoy them. Here are some of mine:
Turnbull hadn't stopped blushing like a stoplight since the call.
God only knew how a couple could carry on an argument still dressed like that, but it hadn't seemed to slow them down.
"Didn't know they made fishnets in that size," Chase said mostly to himself.
Turnbull turned redder.
"Didn't know you could do that with a--"
"No," came the rare and rushed interruption.( Under here, and the last one may just mean what you think it means )
Chase, Guy, Turnbull; Arch To The Sky
; G; 195 words
Mike Chase leaned waaaaaaay back, glancing behind Turnbull to get a good, long, disbelieving look at Guy Laurent.
It took a moment for Guy to notice, and when he did, he tipped Chase a lazy salute as though he was expecting to be watched.
Chase's eyebrows climbed, and he leaned slowly forward again to look back at Turnbull.
"I assure you, I have asked myself many times if it was merely an elaborate hallucination on my part, but he was, indeed, a short-lived RCMP recruit."
He couldn't begin to fathom how the Hell that chronic miscreant could've cleared the requirements to make it to Depot, but Chase was suddenly picturing one or two uptight instructors he didn't care for having to deal with the man. Guy Laurent, drunken destruction incarnate, stuffed in a uniform and shoved into a troop, looking for all the world like any other recruit. Sheep in wolf's clothing. Chase had to think winding up that jack in the box resulted in a fantastic punch to the face for one of those old guard types before it was all over.
The question unfinished, Chase was laughing before he knew what hit him.
Turnbull/Vecchio; G; 140 words; 27. Falsely accused
. A gift for sl_walker
; may it make you smile.
"I did no such thing."
"My answer is emphatically negative and will not change."
"You were claiming
"Now, Ray, simply because that woman complimented your choice of attire--"
"Complimented? That's what we're calling it?"
-- does not mean I feel the need to 'claim' my 'territory'--"
"Oh? So a thirty-second ruthlessly polite lecture about the stitching of my collar where it just so happens
there's a big red mark on my neck right under
where you're pointing ain't claiming, huh?"
"It is a very fine suit with a very fine collar."
"I was only making polite conversation."
"Rrgh, you dog!"
"I still fail to see how comparisons to canines help the matter, Ray."
"I may perhaps have felt a certain possessiveness in that moment."
"She might've at least made an effort to appear less obvious."
"Pot. Kettle. Mountie."
"I'm your cookware, in any case."
Turnbull, Myra; Arch To The Sky
(age 6); G; 450 words; 09. Milk and cookies
Myra's younger brother was seated primly at the table and was in the process of making a crumbly mess of a cookie in a glass of milk.
It wouldn't do any good to clean up the mess until he was done, and besides that, the phone conversation she was carrying on was becoming very distressing very quickly.
She paced the kitchen, phone to her ear and the cord stretched across the room, those big blue eyes of Renfield's following her even as he fished a large chunk from the glass.
"It's just not normal, Myra.
"Define normal, Gordon," she replied, as close to a snap as she generally ever got.
The soggy chunk of cookie was dredged from the deep only to be dropped on the floor. Myra pinched the bridge of her nose and chose to ignore it. The hiss of the pot on the stove had her scrambling to take the lid off and keep it from boiling over, tucking the phone between her face and her shoulder.
"Normal. You're twenty years old. You shouldn't be over there every day playing Mum to your little brother. I never get to see you. Half the time when I do, he's there. Where the Hell is your mother?
"You know what?" Myra slammed the pot lid down on the stovetop. Behind her, she heard Renfield jump; there was a tell-tale tinkle of glass and rush of spilled liquid. She sighed down the phone, practically hearing
Gordon's eye-roll. "My mother is none of your business. I don't know who you think you are, Gordon, but just because we go out sometimes doesn't mean you get to--"
There was a heavy exasperated sigh down the line. "Never mind. Forget I said anything.
"Fine. Hang on a second, Renfield's spilled his milk." Absently she righted the empty glass before petting the boy's blonde hair by way of apology for the scare. His lap was soaked. He looked more distressed by the loss of his cookie relics than the wardrobe issue, however.
"Yeah. Listen... I don't think this is going to work.
Myra was dipping a rag in dishwater when he said it, and she nearly dropped the phone. "...sorry?"
"I don't think it's going to work out. Maybe look me up when you have more free time, all right?
She took the phone from her ear and stared at it. She glanced over at Renfield, who was currently picking smaller soggy cookie pieces off the table and eating them.
She looked at the phone again. "Fine. Suit yourself."
After she hung it up, she pressed the dishrag to her own forehead, breathing out.
The Collected Stories - Redux
Kept by kalijean and sl_walker
With thanks to the original page created by Heuradys and Shade, for which I have been thankful over the years I have loved Turnbull. Sadly, it stopped updating; I thought we could take up the mantle, if we might. Many of the stories originally listed there will be listed here, but the resource has grown significantly since.
So! On to the stories. This is, like the original page, not an archive or rec list. No comment is made on the content or quality of the story. It's just a list of any stories we can find about or significantly involving Constable Renfield Turnbull.
Please read the warnings on the stories, they're not marked here.
(Well, rarely, when it sticks out to me, but many of these don't have them at all, so please proceed with caution.)
Please do comment if you have one you want included, we'd love to have it. And also if I've made a mistake, mislabeled anything, you would prefer your pen name changed or your story removed; we're just humble linkers, we mean no harm.
( List! )
Characters: Renfield Turnbull, Myra
Summary: One for the childhood files
Notes: An older Renfield tells a story for someone.
I was asked, very recently, to tell a story. I have mulled for some time since which story to tell. I suppose this one is, in the grand scheme of things, relatively unimportant. However, it is told with love of the memory and love for the one who asks.
To that person: know that you are cared for deeply. Know that when you open this again in the days ahead to recall what I have told you, that I am with you always. And please know that whatever comes, no matter how dark, we may always turn on a light for each other. As is the apparent mantra for those of us in here: faith manages.
When I was roughly six years old, I was gifted with a silly trifle of an object. ( Wasssaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap-- )
I hope that this story brought a smile to your face. I hope that when you need to smile, you will re-read it. And I hope that you will remember in your darkest hours that you have been a light in mine. I love you.