[identity profile] hermia-sophia.livejournal.com
We knew it would come.

For four years, ever since the dream of the red city and the blue, we knew it would come. For three months, ever since the dream of Nanshe telling me what we must do.

And yet we always thought we would have more time before we had to be ready.

We very nearly were ready, that night that the earth shook.

I gathered up everything that I had been crafting and collecting, and went to find my family. I hugged Marie and Luc very tightly, and told them that I loved them. And then I told Valmont, and held him for as long as I could. We were both so full of fear and hope and love that we could barely find words, but we did not need to speak to know how the other was feeling. "I love you," I said once more, and kissed all of my family.

I dared not think of what might happen if I did not come back, what might happen if I failed. I could not think of that.

And then I ran.

Down to the river I speed, between the crashes of thunder and tremors of the earth. 'It is already raining,' I think, with a giddy, hysterical gasp of laughter. Do the Adversaries know that they have done some of the work for us? Do they care?

I know that I do not need to send word to Syl or Chester or any of the others who have been working on this great spell. Our magic has been twined so closely together over the last few months that I can sense them all, if I listen hard enough, and I know that they are all coming.

One by one we arrive at the banks of the river, just as we have planned to do for so many months. A little thrill still runs through me when I see everyone gathered. There are so many! So many who have come together for this cause, who never might have even spoken to each other were it not for their love of Excolo, and desire to keep it safe. Even if we are not all friends with each other - for Syl and I still are not, even though our respect for each other has grown as we worked together - we all love Excolo, and that is enough.

I have brought silver and mistletoe for protection - the same things that Chester taught me about in my very first lessons with him! I spread them in a wide circle around us to shield us from as much harm as possible while we work.

Our magic winds together, and we start to draw Nanshe's essence out of the earth, out of the water…

The instant that my magic touches the river, I can tell that there is something different. Not just Nanshe's essence that we have been concentrating in the water - there is something else. More divinity, more power. Something new and fresh, something that feels like spring and growth and fertility. I do not know its source, but I know at once that it is good. The new power flows into our spell, filling it with new life.

I am so deep into the spell that I do not even notice the thunder anymore. I see nothing but our threads of Power; I feel nothing except the growing magic and the rising tide of Nanshe's essence, each of us adding our own strand to the spell. Water and earth and fire and air and divinity, all coming together as one.

Air is mine - as we draw Nanshe's essence into the sky, I send out more and more threads of my own Power. We bind our Power together to make a bridge between the earth and the heavens, between the water and the sky.

The bridge is Nanshe, and the rain is Nanshe, and the earth is Nanshe. And now we are Nanshe too, as her divinity washes over us in the rain. I smile as the rain touches my skin, for now I know that we will succeed.

We have helped Nanshe give the gift that she wished to give to the people of Excolo: herself.

Est deus in nobis.

[Open to anyone working to stop the apocalypse]
[identity profile] hermia-sophia.livejournal.com
Monday, June 4
Hermia's Study


This is the hour that Alice and I have claimed for ourselves, in the middle of our busy days. Our work is both over for the day, and Valmont has Luc for his father-son time before the Whitechapel becomes busy.

Just as I have carved out time, I have carved out my little space - a tiny room that we put in during the renovations three years ago, that has become my study. Tiny, but just big enough for me to work on my magic, and for me to have my lessons with Alice.

So as soon as I have walked home from the library - or, rather, waddled home - I kiss Valmont and Luc, and go to the study to put my feet up and prepare for Alice.

Piece by piece, I set out the proper supplies on the table. Lemon-scented candles to help her focus, sage and verbena in silver dishes to bring out her magical aptitude while still giving protection. Once it is done, I call out to Chester, so that he can join us, and wait in the brief moment of peace.

[Open to Alice and Chester]
[identity profile] lord-icelus.livejournal.com
Some time, in a place that was and is the abbey, that is in this world and in Dream

She is coming.

I can feel her, that nasty bitch, like a tooth ache or a splinter. She nearly killed me, and I still suffer for it. Partly it was my own fault, for not remembering that silly service gods like her love to throw themselves on their own swords to look after their people. As if we should be in service to them!

I want her to get here. I want to kill her slowly, and lick her bones clean, and then I want to dance as the new king of this little town. A nasty pisspot of a place, it is, but it's better than oblivion, yes. They may not worship me, here, but they'd fear me: and for a god of nightmare, that's really good enough.

She's bringing friends, though. I disliked that last time. And so I conjure up a labyrinth, turning the stone of this abbey into twisting pathways of dead ends and trap doors. She'll lose some along the way. And then I will tear out her heart.

[OPEN]
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Wednesday            17th       479Thursday, September 18th (day 480)]
[The Abbey]
[In a late strange time]


The air is cool, and still, and waiting to burn.

The graveyard here is different to what it was a day ago; it's the one I've dreamt of, I think, where and a year and more ago I saw Nanshe come walking from the north; graveyard north, not town north. But the ground seethes like bothered ants, and the grass does not whisper. If I left off on looking, I think it would pull itself free and crawl away.

And I leave off looking, as that is not where we are going.

You feel no especial call to goodness, do you, Glass? No. It's not in me, not rooted; but I have come to hate the other, and what it works, and may be that is a beginning.

The Abbey's stone is weeping, and there are shapes even I cannot see in the shadows. This is not the Shuck's night; this is safety twisted to fear. And we have come.

[Open]
[identity profile] hermia-sophia.livejournal.com
Morning, Wednesday September 17
Valmont and Hermia's apartment

Something is not right.

I feel it as soon as I wake up. Something…off. Like a note being played out of tune, over and over, jangling against the edges of my mind.

And then I step out of bed, and do not touch the ground.

I'm floating.

I sit swiftly back down on the bed before I fall - and, yes, I sit on the bed. That works. All right, now back out…one foot, and then the other…

…and I float again. Just a few inches above the ground, but most definitely floating.

Nothing else in the room is floating. Valmont is still there in the bed - and thank all the gods that he's all right! And Nestor is curled up in his corner, flailing away in some strange kitten-dream, but there and safe.

Chester, I think, sending out the signal as my fingers worry at the gold band on my wrist. Something is wrong.

I fall back onto the bed and reach over to shake Valmont's shoulder. "Darling," I whisper urgently. "Wake up."


[Open to Valmont first, then Glass, Chester, and anyone else in the vicinity of the Whitechapel]
[identity profile] chester-excolo.livejournal.com
[Thursday, August 21st , around noon]
[The park]


Given it's a real nice day, I ain't surprised that when I go lookin' fer Hermia, she's in the park insteadda the library.  I figure that now I'm all healed up from the fightin' last week, we oughta talk. 

Mab will have told her what happened and maybe one of the others. and she maybe have heard something bout the other thing as well. We got plenty to talk about. 

There ain't anyone close 'nough to hear us so I come outta the bushes near the bench she's sittin' on. " 'Lo, Kiddo."


[Open to Hermia] [Closed!]
[identity profile] syl-thorn.livejournal.com
[Just past midnight, Thursday, August 14, day 445]
[The woods]


(Continued from here)

I still really ain't sure where we are. We been walkin' ferrat least a couple hours now, but th'clouds've covered th'moon, an'I can't judge what time't might be. Long 'nough fer th'wound'n m'should t'clot over an' m'arm t'go stiff's old leather. Ain't much else I c'n say beyond'at.

Glass'n me ain't spoken much, partly cuz we's both burnt out, partly 'cuz we wanna stay's quiet's possible. I ain't seen neither'a th'bitches since I left'em trapped'n screamin', but I ain't gonna count us 's anywhere near safe 'til we's outta th'woods 'n safe in our beds.

Pause's we cross into a clearin'. "Any idea how much further we got t'go?" I says inna whisper.


[OPEN to those from the previous scene, and others should they choose]
[identity profile] goddessnanshe.livejournal.com
Morning of 21st June

It's still raining, though not as heavily as earlier, but I couldn't wait any longer to come out here and see what has happened. I was wakened in the early hours of Sunday by a strange feeling of pressure and brilliant light, but my cell was completely dark. I walked through the abbey, and all was still and shadowed. Anyone else would say I had just had a dream - but I know there is no just to dreams.

In the afternoon, one of the novices came back from gathering in the woods to say that there was the strangest sight: a charred circle, as if lightning had struck and destroyed a neat section of the forest. Something about this oddity set my teeth on edge, and I was resolved to see it; but I had duties at the abbey in the evening, and I would not shirk them.

Today I woke to a downpour, but I have borrowed a raincoat from Sister Dove - she is slighter than me, and so it is a little tight, but it will do - and wrapped up my hair with a scarf to help shield it from the rain, since carrying an umbrella into the woods seems foolish - and I start walking the couple of miles to where Novice Diana said she saw the circle.

[OPEN][closed]
[identity profile] goddessnanshe.livejournal.com
Morning of 21st June

It's still raining, though not as heavily as earlier, but I couldn't wait any longer to come out here and see what has happened. I was wakened in the early hours of Sunday by a strange feeling of pressure and brilliant light, but my cell was completely dark. I walked through the abbey, and all was still and shadowed. Anyone else would say I had just had a dream - but I know there is no just to dreams.

In the afternoon, one of the novices came back from gathering in the woods to say that there was the strangest sight: a charred circle, as if lightning had struck and destroyed a neat section of the forest. Something about this oddity set my teeth on edge, and I was resolved to see it; but I had duties at the abbey in the evening, and I would not shirk them.

Today I woke to a downpour, but I have borrowed a raincoat from Sister Dove - she is slighter than me, and so it is a little tight, but it will do - and wrapped up my hair with a scarf to help shield it from the rain, since carrying an umbrella into the woods seems foolish - and I start walking the couple of miles to where Novice Diana said she saw the circle.

[OPEN][closed]
[identity profile] janeveniver.livejournal.com
[Saturday, 8th May]
[Noon, Day 342]
[The Market]


I spent the last two days baking, and got up early this morning to finish the pies off before I drove everything into town on the cart. Mother helped, of course, and so did Tiffany, as much as anyone called Tiffany can help, but now it’s just me, like it always is. I like market day, even though it means more standing around talking to people to get them to buy things and less proper work. There’s the money, for one thing, which is all mine to keep, though of course I have to buy flour and meat and all my other supplies for the next week with it. And I like getting into town without having to make something up to tell Mother about why I’m going. I’ve been doing too much of that lately, and I think she’s starting to get suspicious,

I don’t even really mind the people, if they come in less than threes and they don’t bargain too hard or stare at my chest. But when they horde around or the men leer, I want to throw my apron over my head and hide, even though the stall counter is between me and them. So far it hasn’t been too bad, though it’s just now getting to be lunch time. I have examples of each type of meat pie, small and large, pork and chicken, laid out on clean clothes on the counter, with more covered in the back on trays. This week I’ve done some fruit pies as well, with new berries and the last of last winter’s apples that were starting to go very soft. Off to the side I have a few dozen eggs from our chickens, some boiled and some fresh, and a few braids of challah, because I felt like making it, and it gave me an excuse to go see Jamie for honey.

Each week I try not to hope certain people will come by and others won’t, because it never does any good. So today I’m just hoping there aren’t too many all at once, and that most of the things get sold.


[OPEN]
CLOSED
[identity profile] janeveniver.livejournal.com
[Saturday, 8th May]
[Noon, Day 342]
[The Market]


I spent the last two days baking, and got up early this morning to finish the pies off before I drove everything into town on the cart. Mother helped, of course, and so did Tiffany, as much as anyone called Tiffany can help, but now it’s just me, like it always is. I like market day, even though it means more standing around talking to people to get them to buy things and less proper work. There’s the money, for one thing, which is all mine to keep, though of course I have to buy flour and meat and all my other supplies for the next week with it. And I like getting into town without having to make something up to tell Mother about why I’m going. I’ve been doing too much of that lately, and I think she’s starting to get suspicious,

I don’t even really mind the people, if they come in less than threes and they don’t bargain too hard or stare at my chest. But when they horde around or the men leer, I want to throw my apron over my head and hide, even though the stall counter is between me and them. So far it hasn’t been too bad, though it’s just now getting to be lunch time. I have examples of each type of meat pie, small and large, pork and chicken, laid out on clean clothes on the counter, with more covered in the back on trays. This week I’ve done some fruit pies as well, with new berries and the last of last winter’s apples that were starting to go very soft. Off to the side I have a few dozen eggs from our chickens, some boiled and some fresh, and a few braids of challah, because I felt like making it, and it gave me an excuse to go see Jamie for honey.

Each week I try not to hope certain people will come by and others won’t, because it never does any good. So today I’m just hoping there aren’t too many all at once, and that most of the things get sold.


[OPEN]
CLOSED
[identity profile] hermia-sophia.livejournal.com
Sunday, April 4
The garden behind the Whitechapel Inn

We awoke in each other's arms, both terrified. Valmont, because he feared that I was being attacked; I because I felt something wrong in the world, something beyond the long sleep and painful thirst and weakness. Some ripple of Power that was twisted and wrong. But under it all I could sense Nanshe's presence helping to set the dream-world right again. And Valmont and I had each other, and we were safe, and despite everything, that makes the waking world right.

And neither of us wanted to postpone the ceremony. We wanted - no, needed to continue. Needed to make some new beginning, needed to make life go on as it was supposed to.

And so, still shaky, we went to the abbey this morning at dawn.

Valmont said that I was the one guiding this part of our wedding solemnities, for I was the one closer to the gods. So I arranged the offerings for us to burn on Nanshe's altar: two little bundles, both the same. Not hair. Not incense. Not anything that would be in an Athenian wedding offering to the gods. We are making our own way, here.

So there are herbs from the garden that I planted and he cooks from. The first lilacs that Valmont gave me, and the lilies I gave him, both now dried into fragrant shadows of themselves. Splinters of wood from an empty keg for his profession; scraps of paper from an old book for mine. (Lydia offered me a book that was falling apart anyway; I would never have taken a page from a book otherwise! She gave us a gift, too: a lovely leather-bound and gilt-edged volume of Yeats.) And cotton candy - even though it made everything terribly sticky and I feared it would melt, I had to put cotton candy in there, for the memory of that first night that we soared above Excolo on the ferris wheel and felt as if we were flying. And because it made both of us laugh when I put it in, and we should begin our life together with laughter.

We smile as we light our offerings, and as we smell the fragrance as it floats up to the heavens.

Now, back in the garden behind the inn, I smile again as I wait to take my place next to Valmont and in front of Mab. I've found more lilacs for the bouquet, white and purple both, standing out against the shimmering deep blue fabric of my gown.

I have no parents to bring me to the altar, and neither does Valmont. We just have ourselves, and are giving ourselves to each other.

There they all are. Our friends - all of the people who have grown dear to us in the last year. Our Alice, looking lovely and more grown-up than ever. Mab, tall and serious. And Valmont, who looks so magnificent that my heart leaps at the sight.

I feel a nervous thrill run through me as I step out. Dear gods, I'm getting married! For an instant, I'm terrified, as I stare down that long aisle. But then I realize, why should I be afraid? At the end of the aisle is Valmont. I have nothing to fear as long as he is there.

At the end of my long journey, he was here waiting for me.

So I take a deep breath and step forward, towards my new life.

[Open to wedding guests!]
[identity profile] hermia-sophia.livejournal.com
Sunday, April 4
The garden behind the Whitechapel Inn

We awoke in each other's arms, both terrified. Valmont, because he feared that I was being attacked; I because I felt something wrong in the world, something beyond the long sleep and painful thirst and weakness. Some ripple of Power that was twisted and wrong. But under it all I could sense Nanshe's presence helping to set the dream-world right again. And Valmont and I had each other, and we were safe, and despite everything, that makes the waking world right.

And neither of us wanted to postpone the ceremony. We wanted - no, needed to continue. Needed to make some new beginning, needed to make life go on as it was supposed to.

And so, still shaky, we went to the abbey this morning at dawn.

Valmont said that I was the one guiding this part of our wedding solemnities, for I was the one closer to the gods. So I arranged the offerings for us to burn on Nanshe's altar: two little bundles, both the same. Not hair. Not incense. Not anything that would be in an Athenian wedding offering to the gods. We are making our own way, here.

So there are herbs from the garden that I planted and he cooks from. The first lilacs that Valmont gave me, and the lilies I gave him, both now dried into fragrant shadows of themselves. Splinters of wood from an empty keg for his profession; scraps of paper from an old book for mine. (Lydia offered me a book that was falling apart anyway; I would never have taken a page from a book otherwise! She gave us a gift, too: a lovely leather-bound and gilt-edged volume of Yeats.) And cotton candy - even though it made everything terribly sticky and I feared it would melt, I had to put cotton candy in there, for the memory of that first night that we soared above Excolo on the ferris wheel and felt as if we were flying. And because it made both of us laugh when I put it in, and we should begin our life together with laughter.

We smile as we light our offerings, and as we smell the fragrance as it floats up to the heavens.

Now, back in the garden behind the inn, I smile again as I wait to take my place next to Valmont and in front of Mab. I've found more lilacs for the bouquet, white and purple both, standing out against the shimmering deep blue fabric of my gown.

I have no parents to bring me to the altar, and neither does Valmont. We just have ourselves, and are giving ourselves to each other.

There they all are. Our friends - all of the people who have grown dear to us in the last year. Our Alice, looking lovely and more grown-up than ever. Mab, tall and serious. And Valmont, who looks so magnificent that my heart leaps at the sight.

I feel a nervous thrill run through me as I step out. Dear gods, I'm getting married! For an instant, I'm terrified, as I stare down that long aisle. But then I realize, why should I be afraid? At the end of the aisle is Valmont. I have nothing to fear as long as he is there.

At the end of my long journey, he was here waiting for me.

So I take a deep breath and step forward, towards my new life.

[Open to wedding guests!]
[identity profile] goddessnanshe.livejournal.com
Wednesday, sometime, somewhere in Dream

Once upon time there was a beautiful princess. Her hair was the colour of jet and her skin was the colour of nutmeg, and each of her teeth were like pearls. Flowers grew where she walked, so that the fields around the tower that was her home was carpeted in blooms as white as snow. The princess was very happy, all save for one thing: her fear that one day the thorn of one of the flowers would prick her. Her servants combed the field for thorns every day, trimming the stems so that it would be safe for her to walk. But still the princess was afraid, and she neglected to notice that each month the forest encroached closer on her home, until one day, standing in her field of flowers, she looked up to see the trees looming around her, undergrowth thick with thorns. Frightened, she fled inside, and as she ran she began her first bleeding, and the blood that trickled down her thigh fell to the earth and stained the roses around the tower a deep and brilliant red.

Inside the tower the princess was afraid that she was dying, for her father had always insisted that royal blood was the most precious of all things and must never be spilled. Weeping, she showed the blood to her old nurse, who laughed and kissed her cheek and told her this was the secret gift of women, and now she was blessed. So the princess wiped her eyes, and was no longer afraid of bleeding. But the thorns of the forest came for her all the same.
[identity profile] goddessnanshe.livejournal.com
Wednesday, sometime, somewhere in Dream

Once upon time there was a beautiful princess. Her hair was the colour of jet and her skin was the colour of nutmeg, and each of her teeth were like pearls. Flowers grew where she walked, so that the fields around the tower that was her home was carpeted in blooms as white as snow. The princess was very happy, all save for one thing: her fear that one day the thorn of one of the flowers would prick her. Her servants combed the field for thorns every day, trimming the stems so that it would be safe for her to walk. But still the princess was afraid, and she neglected to notice that each month the forest encroached closer on her home, until one day, standing in her field of flowers, she looked up to see the trees looming around her, undergrowth thick with thorns. Frightened, she fled inside, and as she ran she began her first bleeding, and the blood that trickled down her thigh fell to the earth and stained the roses around the tower a deep and brilliant red.

Inside the tower the princess was afraid that she was dying, for her father had always insisted that royal blood was the most precious of all things and must never be spilled. Weeping, she showed the blood to her old nurse, who laughed and kissed her cheek and told her this was the secret gift of women, and now she was blessed. So the princess wiped her eyes, and was no longer afraid of bleeding. But the thorns of the forest came for her all the same.
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Time has little meaning here, though your body back home may disagree.

Dream.

A forest.


A forest of the oldest sort, thick with brambles, trees snarled with centuries of life. It stretches for miles, many of them very dark, because the trees grow so close that it is hard to see. From a high vantage point, on one of the hills of the forest, one may glimpse a tower at the heart of the forest, a great graceful column of grey stone. Here and there there are clearings, bright with sunlight, and streams running with clear water. But mostly there is dark.

In the distance, the howl of a wolf.


[OPEN TO ALL]
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Time has little meaning here, though your body back home may disagree.

Dream.

A forest.


A forest of the oldest sort, thick with brambles, trees snarled with centuries of life. It stretches for miles, many of them very dark, because the trees grow so close that it is hard to see. From a high vantage point, on one of the hills of the forest, one may glimpse a tower at the heart of the forest, a great graceful column of grey stone. Here and there there are clearings, bright with sunlight, and streams running with clear water. But mostly there is dark.

In the distance, the howl of a wolf.


[OPEN TO ALL]
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com

Friday, March 12th, late afternoon
Wanda's bedroom

The position of the day seems to be as propped up as I can be, with two pillows under my knees.  I can't say it's comfortable, but it's bearable.  Today has been almost bearble.  Having slept for several solid hours probably has a lot to do with that though.  Dropped into that dead sleep in his arms, woke in the late morning with his scent on the pillows and in the blanket.  It was comforting.  I might have slept the afternoon away as well...

but the contraction was rather startling.  There were a few more, but now they have seem to have abated.  I stroke my stomach, and she rolls.  I can actually see her leg move underneath my strained skin.  I grasp a spot of flesh, and capture the tiny foot beneath it.  I chuckle, and I think she is amused as well.   "Soon sweetling, soon I'll be able to hold you."  I murmur, and she kicks in response.  I do hope I am not lying to her about that.

I re-adjust my nightgown and debate going downstairs for something to eat, or taking another hot bath to ease the ache in my back.  But I have found a comfortable position, so I decide to stay put as long as my body will let me. 

Staring out the window at the fading grey light, I idly stroke the swell of my stomach, and begin to sing softly: 
Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?
Closed your eyes and trusted, just trusted?
Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air?
Have you ever looked fear in the face and said, "I just don't care"?

It's only half past the point of no return
The tip of the iceberg
The sun before the burn
The thunder before the lightning
The breath before the phrase
Have you ever felt this way?

(Open to Chester)
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com

Friday, March 12th, late afternoon
Wanda's bedroom

The position of the day seems to be as propped up as I can be, with two pillows under my knees.  I can't say it's comfortable, but it's bearable.  Today has been almost bearble.  Having slept for several solid hours probably has a lot to do with that though.  Dropped into that dead sleep in his arms, woke in the late morning with his scent on the pillows and in the blanket.  It was comforting.  I might have slept the afternoon away as well...

but the contraction was rather startling.  There were a few more, but now they have seem to have abated.  I stroke my stomach, and she rolls.  I can actually see her leg move underneath my strained skin.  I grasp a spot of flesh, and capture the tiny foot beneath it.  I chuckle, and I think she is amused as well.   "Soon sweetling, soon I'll be able to hold you."  I murmur, and she kicks in response.  I do hope I am not lying to her about that.

I re-adjust my nightgown and debate going downstairs for something to eat, or taking another hot bath to ease the ache in my back.  But I have found a comfortable position, so I decide to stay put as long as my body will let me. 

Staring out the window at the fading grey light, I idly stroke the swell of my stomach, and begin to sing softly: 
Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?
Closed your eyes and trusted, just trusted?
Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air?
Have you ever looked fear in the face and said, "I just don't care"?

It's only half past the point of no return
The tip of the iceberg
The sun before the burn
The thunder before the lightning
The breath before the phrase
Have you ever felt this way?

(Open to Chester)
[identity profile] chester-excolo.livejournal.com
Monday, March 8th, mid morning
Courtyard of the Tavern 


Woke up today with a bad feelin' like something nasty was seeping in somewhere just under my fur. Something bloody with pain and violence mixed in. An' an absence it took me far too long to figure that part out. Verdandi's gone. Not just skipped town without sayin' good bye. She checked out like Eris did. Suddenly,with blood an' death.

No explosion though. Just this slow seep of energy, like it was all locked up an is only just gettin' under the cracks. That kinda worries me. Makes me wonder if we've gotta very powerful an smart murderer here.  I've followed the traces to the Tavern but I bet it wasn't done anywhere public so maybe it's coming from the upstairs or maybe down. Down would make more sense. Less people to worry bout an earth is good for hiding things.

Damn, I should tell Mab bout this before I start pokin' my nose inta things. She'll wanta start a proper 'vestigation. We c'n come back together for a proper look round. Gotta tell Hermia. She'll need ta know. Valmont too. An' maybe I should go see Silence? Find out if she's felt it? If not she may well find it useful. Then maybe when all the news tellin's over I c'n  mourn her. Might want  to do that at a bar. Verdi liked her drink an I don't feel too much like more time spent just rememberin on my own. Bet Verdi'd want ta be remembered with booze an stories.

[Closed]

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