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scott_sanfordOne night I had a random idea and the time to type; this came out.
No clue why, no reason. Enjoy a random Jenny encounter!
Jenny Everywhere and Someone Else in
Close Encounter
of the Bird Kind
by Scott Sanford; August 2022
Once upon a time a boy was playing beside a small stream in Wales when his uneventful day ended with a clap of thunder on a clear and cloudless day.
Startled he looked about and saw a woman on the grass of the bank above, where nobody had been before. She took in the trees and fields as if she had not seen them before either, then spotted him.
“Oh, hello!”, she said with a grin. “Nice to see someone here!”
Wordlessly he waved a greeting, unsure what to say. Angels were supposed to tell people not to be afraid and demons were supposed to be monsters. This woman dressed like a used clothing stall and carried a large basket – she didn’t look divine or diabolical. Maybe she was a witch?
“I’m Jenny Everywhere! Who are you? And I know it’s a strange question but what year is this?”
“I know that one!”, he said proudly. Adults called him clever, and she didn’t look like one who’d be angry about it. Only later would he wonder why she said she was Jenny everywhere and who would be different person if they went somewhere else. “It’s 1299 ab urbe condita and the century is coming up!”
“Thirteen centuries of Rome – ah! I think I’m a little early.” She adjusted her headband, two circular crystals flashing in the sunlight. “If that’s the year I should be looking for a younger person than I thought. You probably know everyone around here – wherever here is, if I’m in the right place. Do you know someone named Ambrosius?”
“Yes. Ambrosius is me,” he told the strange woman. “But I don’t know if I’m Ambrosius everywhere yet; I’ve only been to a few places.”
“Oh! That’s convenient.” She gave him a questioning look and nodded slowly. “I hadn’t seen it before, but I think you’re right. You’re the person I’ve come to see. At least, you’re going to be.”
He thought of several things to say and settled on the most important question. “Why?”
She laughed lightly.
“In the big scheme of things, lots of reasons. Today – what’s going to be today a few generations from now – I came to give you this.” She came down the bank to the water’s edge and set down the basket, from which emerged the sounds of ruffling feathers. “I owe you a chicken. I’m going to owe you a chicken. Something like that. So, um, here are three chickens.”
“Three?” He’d heard stories about visions of angels and temptations by demons and he was sure neither one was anything like this.
She sat down on a rock and gave him an intense look. “I hope you can remember this. Years from now I’m going to need a chicken really urgently and you’re going to help me. So the younger you is getting three chickens, because I wanted to pay back better than I got.”
“Okay?” He remembered people said the Gentry were strange and unpredictable, and this woman was definitely those things. He ventured, “I’ll try to have some chickens around when I grow up.”
“I think it was the king’s chicken anyway. I’d better not stay too long. It’s easy to get in trouble by playing silly games with time…” She glanced about. He did too and could see it was still morning – so maybe time wasn’t too confused yet.
“I’m going to take care of a king’s chickens?”, he asked, despite this being perhaps the least unlikely thing the woman had said.
“Oh, no! Um, but you’re going to be around kings, yeah.” She sighed. “That’s actually pretty important.”
“Could be,” he agreed. “My mother says her father was a king.”
“Oh, good. And your father?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Ah, right, you’re going to tell me that someday.” She fell silent for a few heartbeats, then gave him a thoughtful look and asked, “Can you remember things? If I tell you things nobody else knows?”
He nodded, though his blood ran cold. This was how it went when mortals met the Gentry… He wondered if he should mention he knew the method of loci – but it might be better not to reveal too much
“Remember that I said my name was Jenny?”
“Gweny?”
“Close enough, yeah.” She leaned forward and spoke intently. “Years from now you’re going to meet another Gwenhwyfar; she’s going to be important. So is a woman named Morgan but you won’t listen to me about her then either. But before them you will meet a king named Uther. Speak those names back to me so I know you heard.”
“Gwenhwyfar. Morgan. King Uther.”
“Good, yes. Queen Gwenhwyfar’s husband will be important too; you’ll know when you meet him.” She added, “I think you meet him when he’s about the age you are now.”
She paused and looked off to the sound of a nearby wagon, somewhere on the other side of the trees.
“We’d better not be seen together right now,” she said. She stood up and brushed her rear with one hand. “We’re not supposed to know each other for a generation or so.”
“Is that important?”
“It might be. It’s hard to tell with these things.” She shrugged and grinned at him. “Anyway, you should have time to think up good stories about meeting strange people and knowing things most people don’t.”
She took a few steps back, still smiling, and said, “I’ll see you later. I promise.”
Without warning she vanished into thin air with a clap of thunder and was gone.
Briefly he tried to understand this visitation, to make it into a something that made sense, but soon realized that if she was visiting his life out of order he’d only gotten one passage of the tale, and too little to understand the shape of it. He’d have to wait until he saw her again – but he knew he would, someday.
He nudged the wicker basket with his foot. It was too heavy to be empty. From within chickens clucked at him.
He thought about the woman and her words.
He had a destiny. And chickens. He wasn’t sure which would be harder to explain.
I have no idea why Jenny needed a chicken. I guess chickens are funny? I notice that the story is a little loose with history but rather less so than the original source material, so we’ll just say it’s broad strokes and move on. Is this the same Jenny that later showed up at the Battle of Camlann? Maybe. It’s at least fifty years too early to know...
Read other Jenny Everywhere stories
[8 Sept 2022] If you'd like to know why Jenny needed a chicken, Aristide Twain has written a prequel to this story titled The Interlude of Jenny Everywhere, which is both silly and worth reading. Enjoy!
The internal chronology, from this Jenny's point of view, is Time of the Toymaker -> A Shift in Relationships -> Family Business -> The Interlude of Jenny Everywhere -> Close Encounter of the Bird Kind. And that's not the order in which they were written. *whew!*
The character of Jenny Everywhere is available for use by anyone, with only one condition. This paragraph must be included in any publication involving Jenny Everywhere, in order that others may use this property as they wish. All rights reversed.
No clue why, no reason. Enjoy a random Jenny encounter!
Close Encounter
of the Bird Kind
by Scott Sanford; August 2022
Once upon a time a boy was playing beside a small stream in Wales when his uneventful day ended with a clap of thunder on a clear and cloudless day.
Startled he looked about and saw a woman on the grass of the bank above, where nobody had been before. She took in the trees and fields as if she had not seen them before either, then spotted him.
“Oh, hello!”, she said with a grin. “Nice to see someone here!”
Wordlessly he waved a greeting, unsure what to say. Angels were supposed to tell people not to be afraid and demons were supposed to be monsters. This woman dressed like a used clothing stall and carried a large basket – she didn’t look divine or diabolical. Maybe she was a witch?
“I’m Jenny Everywhere! Who are you? And I know it’s a strange question but what year is this?”
“I know that one!”, he said proudly. Adults called him clever, and she didn’t look like one who’d be angry about it. Only later would he wonder why she said she was Jenny everywhere and who would be different person if they went somewhere else. “It’s 1299 ab urbe condita and the century is coming up!”
“Thirteen centuries of Rome – ah! I think I’m a little early.” She adjusted her headband, two circular crystals flashing in the sunlight. “If that’s the year I should be looking for a younger person than I thought. You probably know everyone around here – wherever here is, if I’m in the right place. Do you know someone named Ambrosius?”
“Yes. Ambrosius is me,” he told the strange woman. “But I don’t know if I’m Ambrosius everywhere yet; I’ve only been to a few places.”
“Oh! That’s convenient.” She gave him a questioning look and nodded slowly. “I hadn’t seen it before, but I think you’re right. You’re the person I’ve come to see. At least, you’re going to be.”
He thought of several things to say and settled on the most important question. “Why?”
She laughed lightly.
“In the big scheme of things, lots of reasons. Today – what’s going to be today a few generations from now – I came to give you this.” She came down the bank to the water’s edge and set down the basket, from which emerged the sounds of ruffling feathers. “I owe you a chicken. I’m going to owe you a chicken. Something like that. So, um, here are three chickens.”
“Three?” He’d heard stories about visions of angels and temptations by demons and he was sure neither one was anything like this.
She sat down on a rock and gave him an intense look. “I hope you can remember this. Years from now I’m going to need a chicken really urgently and you’re going to help me. So the younger you is getting three chickens, because I wanted to pay back better than I got.”
“Okay?” He remembered people said the Gentry were strange and unpredictable, and this woman was definitely those things. He ventured, “I’ll try to have some chickens around when I grow up.”
“I think it was the king’s chicken anyway. I’d better not stay too long. It’s easy to get in trouble by playing silly games with time…” She glanced about. He did too and could see it was still morning – so maybe time wasn’t too confused yet.
“I’m going to take care of a king’s chickens?”, he asked, despite this being perhaps the least unlikely thing the woman had said.
“Oh, no! Um, but you’re going to be around kings, yeah.” She sighed. “That’s actually pretty important.”
“Could be,” he agreed. “My mother says her father was a king.”
“Oh, good. And your father?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Ah, right, you’re going to tell me that someday.” She fell silent for a few heartbeats, then gave him a thoughtful look and asked, “Can you remember things? If I tell you things nobody else knows?”
He nodded, though his blood ran cold. This was how it went when mortals met the Gentry… He wondered if he should mention he knew the method of loci – but it might be better not to reveal too much
“Remember that I said my name was Jenny?”
“Gweny?”
“Close enough, yeah.” She leaned forward and spoke intently. “Years from now you’re going to meet another Gwenhwyfar; she’s going to be important. So is a woman named Morgan but you won’t listen to me about her then either. But before them you will meet a king named Uther. Speak those names back to me so I know you heard.”
“Gwenhwyfar. Morgan. King Uther.”
“Good, yes. Queen Gwenhwyfar’s husband will be important too; you’ll know when you meet him.” She added, “I think you meet him when he’s about the age you are now.”
She paused and looked off to the sound of a nearby wagon, somewhere on the other side of the trees.
“We’d better not be seen together right now,” she said. She stood up and brushed her rear with one hand. “We’re not supposed to know each other for a generation or so.”
“Is that important?”
“It might be. It’s hard to tell with these things.” She shrugged and grinned at him. “Anyway, you should have time to think up good stories about meeting strange people and knowing things most people don’t.”
She took a few steps back, still smiling, and said, “I’ll see you later. I promise.”
Without warning she vanished into thin air with a clap of thunder and was gone.
Briefly he tried to understand this visitation, to make it into a something that made sense, but soon realized that if she was visiting his life out of order he’d only gotten one passage of the tale, and too little to understand the shape of it. He’d have to wait until he saw her again – but he knew he would, someday.
He nudged the wicker basket with his foot. It was too heavy to be empty. From within chickens clucked at him.
He thought about the woman and her words.
He had a destiny. And chickens. He wasn’t sure which would be harder to explain.
I have no idea why Jenny needed a chicken. I guess chickens are funny? I notice that the story is a little loose with history but rather less so than the original source material, so we’ll just say it’s broad strokes and move on. Is this the same Jenny that later showed up at the Battle of Camlann? Maybe. It’s at least fifty years too early to know...
[8 Sept 2022] If you'd like to know why Jenny needed a chicken, Aristide Twain has written a prequel to this story titled The Interlude of Jenny Everywhere, which is both silly and worth reading. Enjoy!
The internal chronology, from this Jenny's point of view, is Time of the Toymaker -> A Shift in Relationships -> Family Business -> The Interlude of Jenny Everywhere -> Close Encounter of the Bird Kind. And that's not the order in which they were written. *whew!*
no subject
Date: 2022-08-26 11:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-26 04:31 pm (UTC)I'm surprised to see any comment, as I thought I'd locked this to private until I got everything ready. I'm also happy; I didn't know anyone outside the Jenny Everywhere circle was reading these.
I hope you're enjoying them. The JE wiki has links to many more stories.