Yes, little one, what is it? Weren't you helping your grandmother bake cookies?

Another story? I swear, you'll be the death of me yet... what would you like to hear?

The Great Prank War of 1889?

Ah. Well... It was a long time ago, little one, in Weston College. That's just about what's certain about the whole affair. No one's really quite sure how the thing began, and my memory's not quite what it once was, but there are rumors...

It was a fine cool-ish type of day, so they say, and I think that's about right because I'd forgotten my sweater and it was chilly, and the Lions were practicing for the upcoming cricket match and making a right fine amount of noise, just like always. The P4 and their fags were relaxing in the Swan Gazebo- well, relaxing if you mean Greenhill was pumping his weights and Bluewer was reading and Redmont was posing for Violet and Violet was drawing a picture of a cottage high on a mountain. But to each his own, little one, like your father never stops saying.

Where was I? Yes, the Gazebo. Clayton was discussing something with Cole- never did like that little blond weasel- but I digress. And Cheslock was playing his violin and Midford was watching him play. And Greenhill- oh, it's all coming back to me now- was huffing every so often and glaring at Cheslock and occasionally making a smart remark about how annoying the noise was. Cheslock was ignoring him and just played his music, good music it was too, until Violet's pencil broke and he didn't have a spare with him. So he asked Cheslock to get him another one.

Well, Cheslock wasn't too thrilled about that, but he carefully put his violin back in its case and headed off to the dorms and Greenhill got this look on his face, you know, the way you do when you're about to pull some stunt on your sister. Yes, I've seen you at it- and you're giggling now, little one- but back to Greenhill. He put down his dumbbell and just reached over into the violin case and just twisted the tuning pegs this way and that, just twisted them, until the strings were too tight and too loose and that violin was so hopelessly out of tune you just couldn't stand it.

Well, Bluewer started up a lecture and Redmont frowned, but Greenhill frowned back harder, but Violet didn't look too pleased either. And just then Cheslock came trotting back into view, with some fresh pencils in his hand, and Bluewer stopped right quick and everyone went quiet and Cheslock just looked oddly around and cocked his head, then shrugged and handed Violet with pencils and leaned over to pick up his violin.

I tell you, little one, he didn't even touch bow to strings before he realized something was off. He looked at his violin, and his eyes went sharp as a knife- you got the shivers just looking- and he turned slowly, and everyone saw him searching for that one face to tell all- and then he just roared, with cursing so filthy your grandmother would've made him wash his mouth out with soap, the strong soap, and demanded to know who had messed with his violin.

And then those knife-eyes fell on Greenhill, and I guess that boy couldn't blank his face fast enough because Cheslock picked up the hand still holding the bow and he gave Greenhill the whipping of his life with it. I can still hear the whistling... it must have hurt. And the scourge-lashing with the most profane obscenities- Redmont had to reach over and cover Cole's ears. Everyone else was just shocked into silence. Standing like statues, they were.

Finally, the bow cracked, and Cheslock just picked up both halves and hurled them at Greenhill's head and grabbed his violin and case and went stomping out of the gazebo.

No one called after him, not even Violet. They just sat there, quiet, and then Greenhill muttered something and left too, and Bluewer sat down again, picking up his book but not really reading it, and Violet flipped a page and started sketching something else.

What's that, little one? Be patient, I'm getting there.

So the rest of the day and dinner were a bit subdued, you can imagine, and that night Violet Wolf dormitories had the most haunting music spilling out of one of the windows and you just knew Cheslock had fixed up his violin and found himself another bow because no one else in Weston could play quite like he could. Where was I?

Ah, yes. So the morning came dawning the next day, and maybe the Lions and the Wolves were a bit cool with each other over breakfast, but the thing seemed to have blown itself over and out. Classes went on like they always did, lunch and dinner, and then it was recreation time, relaxing, leisure. And Violet and Redmont and Bluewer and Cheslock and Cole and Clayton went to the Swan Gazebo again. Greenhill and Midford were having a special cricket practice.

I see you giggling again, little one. You can guess what's coming, can't you? You can imagine the quiet stillness suddenly broken by an outraged howl from the cricket field? You can? Yes. Well, Greenhill came charging up to the Gazebo like an angry boar, brandishing his cricket bat with half his team in hot pursuit. He would've bashed Cheslock's head in if Redmont and Violet hadn't grabbed him. And the yelling- filthy and furious as Cheslock's, only he was demanding to know how Cheslock dared to carve the snarkiest insults and jibes into the cricket bats of the entire Green Lion team.

And Cheslock just laughed, and then he turned tail and ran for it, because Greenhill was turning some interesting shades of purple.

But he laughed all the way.

Ahhh... that's mostly what I can remember of the Great Prank War of '89, little one. There was the incident with the flour in the soup of the Blue Owl dormitories, and the time Redmont woke up with his hair dyed bright orange, but that's for another time. Now now, no arguing. I think those cookies are ready.