[identity profile] kent-whitman.livejournal.com
Sunday, June 17th
Past midnight, on Silk


Continued from here

Shit. It's today. I knew it was today, what? Two weeks ago? But somehow, the fact that today is Wanda's birthday escaped me. But only slightly. I already have a present, and Rose and I planned on waking up early to make her breakfast...

but had I remembered I might not have stayed out quite so late tonight, wandering about and stopping to have a drink or four with some of the guys from my crew.

So with a bottle of strawberry meade in hand, I decide it might be time to get my sorry and bruised ass back home and to my lovely wife, silently thankful she likes to sleep in on Sundays.

Open
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Wednesday, September 24th (day 486)]
[Out around the side of Sentinel House, in the darkness well before dawn]


Third time's the charm, it seems.

A wake for Lucien Constantine, and all else being equal I'd've gone, but the Tavern is far and away past all else been equal. Tell it true, 'd've dug in heels over going there even if it was to mind him, though like to think it'd only've been hesitation, in the end. The dead don't choose what's done to them nor where they're dragged.

But going there only to pass words with others on matter of him, now that his being dead finally took? No. Sit back and pull my coat collar up against the filming rain, and a light a cigarette. She's inside sleeping, and the door's open a little behind me, and call that good enough.

Never did get to that salon meeting he spoke of.

A year and a season since I met him. I've known others longer and better, I suppose; trusted others longer, and trusted a few more, though least one case that trust was poorly given. Oh, dyn gwag... Heart enough in you, at the end, and glad I was to know you.

It's been some long time since I mourned a friend. Can't say I particular care for needing to do it.

[Open]
[Closed]
[identity profile] damien-dw.livejournal.com
Saturday, 20 September
The Dreamlands




Close my eyes and find myself in a dream.  I'm standing at one end of of a vast hall, lined with mirrors.  Step forwards only to be pulled up short by something tightening about my chest and pulling me backwards. Look down and find a thorny vine wrapped about my chest, its end somewhere behind me. I decide that I don't want there to be any thorns digging into me and they all fall to the ground. That feels better. Pull the vines off as if they're a shirt I have decided not to wear and catch a glimpse of movement in the nearest mirror.

It's my reflection and yet it isn't. At least I hope it isn't. My lower face all bumpy with scars, the mouth twisted into a horrible shape. More burns all down my chest and arms, the hands become ruined skeletal claws.  No! That is not me! I will not let it be me. Not here. Here, in my dream, I do not have to put up with it. I toss the handful of vines at the mirror and watch it break into countless pieces. Each one showing me that face, those arms.

The wind comes and sweeps them into a pile which I then cover with  a blanket. Turn away and cover all the mirrors with curtains. Is this an ordinary bad dream or did that bastard get away from us after all? Start  searching the place and eventually decide that he's not here. I would feel him if he were. He's not. I can dimly feel Nanshe but it's not like she's here either. It's more like she's just walked out of the room but I can still smell her perfume.

Feel a bit ridiculous standing in a dark corner of my own dream. blushing and feeling guilty that I didn't get a chance to say a proper goodbye to her before she... did whatever it was that means she's no longer the Lady of Dreams. It felt strange to open my eyes and find the sense of her all around but invisible and oddly not specific. It was as if somehow she was everywhere. And then I woke up completely and it was gone. She was gone. I will miss her. She was the first person I met to truly walk in other people's dreams.

The shadows are getting thicker and some of them are...monstrous. I push them back with my will but it is hard, much harder than it should be. Is there a part of me that wants this? Wants them to reach out and pull me down into the  deep dark pile of them? The thought bothers me. A lot.

I check myself in the mirror and see only my own face looking out from under a thick velvet cloak. Pull the hood off, let it hang down my back. Time to go walking in dreams. I can't- not can't, I could stay here, I  just don't want to. The waking side of town is a mess. Maybe someone should check on how things are in dreams.


[Open] [Closed]
[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] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Morning of Wednesday, September 17 (day 479)]
[Leaving the graveyard behind the Dormouse]


The graves stretch on further than you'd think they ought; stones and markers fine and groomed and rich for each and all. And she's there, now, rooted and growing, creepers and thorns set close aground. Was trying to pull her out and back, which all told was a rather stupid thing to set myself to--don't even know what she is, neither rosebush nor ivy nor holly, some low tough springy coiled and spiky thing--and nothing but catscratches down wrists and hands to show for it. I'd have better luck trying to uproot a raspberry thicket barehanded, and no doubt she'd've torn deeper if I'd taken after her harder; she's bloody set.

Probably for the best.

I am near to certain that all the trouble I may or mayn't've given my mam, I never turned into a plant on her own grave. I'd've bloody well heard about that.

Main Street's its own strangeness, a moment of the asphalt shimmering like water, puddles quick and gone and a hot summer-grease smell that whips away in a thin bluster as I draw to the street's edge. Not as cold as I might take it for being of the time of month and year, but I'm glad for the cloak of feathers. It's not hiding me of the moment, but it's warmer than I'd say it had cause to be, were things not taking themselves to strange.

Rake my hand back through my hair, flick away the feather that comes out, and try and gather myself a moment.

[Open]
[Closed]
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Late morning of Friday, August 29 (day 460)]
[Coming back down Main from the Abbey]


One of those end-of-summer mornings; cold earth and warm low sky and the air between is running for the horizon. It's a kindness to my eyes; this last day or so they've been raw, summer digging at them in a way it's not normally after doing.

Gave Iago back the ring, yesterday. Haven't worn it on my hand in weeks, but never was much after doing that; it's strange to feel it gone. Leaves me tired, but there's a knot in the back of my neck that's ready to loosen, I think.

Spent a pair of hours out at the Abbey, this morning, and it's something to take a solid measure of what needs work and see it done at the end of a time. I pull back to myself a little, I'll start taking her out with me, leave off troubling Wanda and others.

It helps, to have something to look ahead to.

[Open to Hermia]
[Closed]
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Dark before dawn, Wednesday, August 27 (day 458)]
[The Abbey's graveyard]


Imagine Dorian'd count it as Wednesday (Iago did), but not seeing it so myself; day starts with the light, that's only the way of things. Take myself out, knowing what I'm after, and there's always and still that certain ease to the graveyard at night, corpses at ease whispering like grass in the low light wind.

Still we've no name of the drifter Maryk and Karina murdered; still the anger stirs at that, low as ember under ash. Sit aback to his unmarked gravestone as I did more'n a year gone, and this time I'm alone, nothing of Iago but the ring 'round my neck and that waiting to be gone.

Oh, cariad. It's not in me to heal you... would that it were. And well enough I know how much good it does to wish that. And with nothing else to be done, wait and hope the Shuck will come and we can be done with this.

[Open to Gaueko]
[Closed]
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
['Round lunchtime of Wednesday, August 20 (day 451)]
[The Sacred Whore]


Had some mind for what was coming by the smell.

As we're on speaking terms again, and that's actually speaking rather'n yelling through a closet door--think Winnie's starting to wonder--fine, yes, came over for dinner. The day's not making up a mind for rain nor shine, and I take sidestreets rather than Silk. Easier to slip on cobbles, I find, and anyways there're still those who've not yet taken it into their heads to leave off bloody cooing. And she's not even close to sleeping even half the night through yet. My temper's rather short.

Come 'round and open the door, and the air tastes of measured salt and meat and some sweet cooked fruit and thyme and... cinnamon, I think. Cinnamon or else newspice, and you don't get newspice in Excolo, 's only the way of things.

[Open to Dorian]
[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] syl-thorn.livejournal.com
[Early evening, Wednesday, August 13th, day 444]
[The woods outside town]


Woke up'is mornin' when the sky wuz th'deep blue'a th'sea bottom, m'breath stranglin'n m'throat, and a pain'n m'head't threatened t'push m'eyes from'eir sockets. I sat up, chokin' 'n clawin't m'throat, wond'rin' dully if'n m'head wuz gonna burst 'fore I strangled, an'en't wuz done. Th'air'n m'lungs pushed out hard, there wuzza flash 'fore m'eyes, an'en th'pain wuz gone. But not b'fore I heard somethin', a weird screamin' noise somewhere deep'n th'mist. Closest thin' t'it've ever heard s'when I came 'pon a mama vixen'n th'woods, she stood up from'er cubs'n fuckin' screamed at me. This sound wuz like'at...but wit'n edge, like th'bone squeal'a teeth grindin'n pain. Dunno what't wuz, but't made me feel sick'n pale'n sweaty, an' I didn't sleep no more after'at.

Seems mosta th'others'n th'Carnival felt somethin' th'same. Lotta folk woke up'n th'night, 'r member a chokin' spell...nobody else mentioned the scream, though. I don't mention it neither, but think mebbe I oughta go talk t'Nanshe soon's I can. Whatever't wuz, don't think't meant anythin' good.

Fer t'day, though, there's work t'be done. Can't b'lieve th'summer's near t'ended. We's headed fer our second winter innis town, an'I think mosta us're resigned t'it. Somma th'folks'a been lettin'eir wagons go, lettin' th'wheels sink inta th'ground, 'r settin'em on blocks. Some folks've built shacks 're rented places in town. Some've taken jobs, too, part time 'r full. Can't blame'em, really, since'ere ain't allat much money comin' in fer the rides 'r games no more. There's a feelin' on th'Lot now't we might never leave, annit makes m'skin itch.

Me, I still keep m'wagon ready t'move, an'm makin' 'nough cash sellin' potions'n charms, so'm doin' okay. Smokey's gettin' fat, though, 'e's spendin' so much time'n pasture. I ain't never learned t'ride'r nothin', so'ere really ain't nothin' for'im t'do. Guess I could rent'im out t'folks in town, but I dunno. In some ways't makes me feel like'm puttin' down roots m'self, an'at jes' makes me twitch.

At least I still got work t'do. Shoulder m'satchel 'n head out inta th'woods. Rain's gone, but'ere's a cool breeze, so I throw on m'jacket, 'n pull boots on 'gainst th'mud 'n wet grass. Th'woods 'n th'river here've been good t'me, at least in terms've finding materials. Roots 'n herbs, moss 'n bone. Miss somma th'stuff I c'n get 'n th'south (Christ, I miss olive oil), but gotta say, gathered a lotta stuff last winter't I can't normally get, annit came in right handy over th'past few months.

...Lord, guess I better start thinkin' 'bout getting th'heaters set back up inna few weeks. Jesus wept.

[OPEN to Reed and Catherine primarily, but others too]
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Saturday, July 31st
Late-afternoon, The Miskatonic


Screw cooking it's too damn hot. Most of the customer's wanted iced tea's today, and kept to scones and salads and sandwhiches. Can't say I blamed them, good idea to have someone else do the cooking, actually.

Rose sits propped up in a little booster type chair Tulz found, and is delighting in little, round, crunchy grain bits and tiny pieces of pears. Not to mention the attention being a pretty little girl in a peach dress brings.

I am not quite sure where Tulz found it, but I am in heaven over the plate of chicken pineapple skewers she brought out. Coming out to dinner was the best idea I've had all week!

Rose giggles as she picks up another grain "O" and stuffs it in her mouth. "Good stuff, huh little Miss?" A happy shriek follows, and I can't help but laugh too.

(open)
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Early afternoon of Sunday, June 25 (day 420)]
[The Sacred Whore]


Odd t'be coming here and not looking for Dorian. Mind, if I was looking for Dorian, guess I'd be having poor luck, so I'm not after complaining over strangeness rather than disappointment. Particular not as I've the chance of having open arms and free hands, today. Though if he was about, sure I'd never hear the end of that, either of being about and walking or of not being near my child--

Oh, hell with this, and to the matter at hand. Push open the door and step inside.

"Damien? You about?"

[Open to Damien and Miao]
[identity profile] iago-excolo.livejournal.com
[Tuesday, July 20 (day 415)]
[Mid-morning, Sentinel House]


Due to Fate’s shitty timing, this has been the most regrettable case of food poisoning I’ve ever had.  It’s not as if it would have been any better otherwise but did I have to fall ill so quickly after my daughter’s birth?  I had Walter personally deliver a note to my love, explaining my unfortunate predicament and promising a visit as soon as possible.

I’ve forced myself to wait a full day since I was last sick before venturing over to see my love, actually my two loves, and it’s made me impatient, like a kid looking forward to Christmas.  Just this morning alone, I had to stop at three cigarettes, instead of my usual one, with that first cup of coffee.

Showered and shaved to my usual best, I head out to run a few errands before visiting my beautiful girls.  My tasks are quickly accomplished and gleefully, I make my way to Glass’ door.  Shifting my bouquet of lavender aside, I knock gently, clutching my two bags in my other hand.   Pleased as proverbial punch, I grin wide as the door opens before saying, "Hello, my sweet love."


[Open to Glass]
[Closed]
[identity profile] iago-excolo.livejournal.com
[Tuesday, July 20 (day 415)]
[Mid-morning, Sentinel House]


Due to Fate’s shitty timing, this has been the most regrettable case of food poisoning I’ve ever had.  It’s not as if it would have been any better otherwise but did I have to fall ill so quickly after my daughter’s birth?  I had Walter personally deliver a note to my love, explaining my unfortunate predicament and promising a visit as soon as possible.

I’ve forced myself to wait a full day since I was last sick before venturing over to see my love, actually my two loves, and it’s made me impatient, like a kid looking forward to Christmas.  Just this morning alone, I had to stop at three cigarettes, instead of my usual one, with that first cup of coffee.

Showered and shaved to my usual best, I head out to run a few errands before visiting my beautiful girls.  My tasks are quickly accomplished and gleefully, I make my way to Glass’ door.  Shifting my bouquet of lavender aside, I knock gently, clutching my two bags in my other hand.   Pleased as proverbial punch, I grin wide as the door opens before saying, "Hello, my sweet love."


[Open to Glass]
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Afternoon of Thursday, July 15 (day 410)]
[Out 'round the corner of Sentinel House]


I've managed through worse sleep, though I suppose not for as long as this is like to last; can't count on the first two days t'end with the third. Yesterday's and today's rain are running loose into each other; had a moment of taking it still for Wednesday, one of the times I woke.

Not counting it as there being no work to be done, now, but glad at least to have the birthing behind me.

Open the door and set her down inside and swaddled and dry, then settle sitting in the doorway with my back against the doorjamb and listen to the rain. The air alone's warm; the fall of water takes it down to something like the cool side of a pillow on a hot night, and it aches to draw my knees towards my chest and wrap my arms 'round them, but for a change it's possible. And leastways it's quiet of the moment.

[Open]
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Afternoon of Thursday, July 15 (day 410)]
[Out 'round the corner of Sentinel House]


I've managed through worse sleep, though I suppose not for as long as this is like to last; can't count on the first two days t'end with the third. Yesterday's and today's rain are running loose into each other; had a moment of taking it still for Wednesday, one of the times I woke.

Not counting it as there being no work to be done, now, but glad at least to have the birthing behind me.

Open the door and set her down inside and swaddled and dry, then settle sitting in the doorway with my back against the doorjamb and listen to the rain. The air alone's warm; the fall of water takes it down to something like the cool side of a pillow on a hot night, and it aches to draw my knees towards my chest and wrap my arms 'round them, but for a change it's possible. And leastways it's quiet of the moment.

[Open]
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com

Thursday, the 8th of July, mid-day
Wandering down Silk


It's funny, I suppose.  I can go for days feeling fine, positive that everything will work out.  Work keeps me busy, Rose keeps me guessing, and I have been slowly becoming more social.  All in all, I really can't complain about my life.  It is better than I could have hoped for at the beginning of this year!

So when I woke up feeling overwhelmingly lonely, it probably just seemed worse because of being so good lately.  Right?  Tried to shake it off and go about my morning, but it persisted.  Just the ache to have someone there.  It didn't even have to be Kent.  I thought about going down to just see Lucien.... but that wouldn't have been fair.  He's a good friend, probably my best friend, but he's in a relationship with Lannie and I don't want his familiarity to be a crutch.  Thought of Dorian, and going to see if I could curl up with him, but again; a crutch.  Besides, he doesn't need me hanging on him, he's got a Jane for that and probably at least three other people I don't know about.  From there?  Just went downhill as memories of Lúgh came flooding back and knowing I was never going to sing with him again, and even stupid Ares and his laugh... then to Kent... both the real Kent and the "not Kent"...
 
So I indulged in a good crying jag in the shower, and managed to sob most of the melancholy away.  Romana seemed to have things under control, and Tommi whisked Rose away to show her all the pretty flowers in her garden.  Finding myself with an open afternoon, I dropped off the staff with Cain.  The order got me one hell of a look, but he took it anyway and told me to check back in over the weekend.  With a grateful smile I thanked him and left...

and now I find myself wandering about with no set course and still feeling a tad low.  Maybe funnel cake will fix this?  I start heading towards the fairgounds, but my feet are dragging and my heart's not into it. 

(open)

[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com

Thursday, the 8th of July, mid-day
Wandering down Silk


It's funny, I suppose.  I can go for days feeling fine, positive that everything will work out.  Work keeps me busy, Rose keeps me guessing, and I have been slowly becoming more social.  All in all, I really can't complain about my life.  It is better than I could have hoped for at the beginning of this year!

So when I woke up feeling overwhelmingly lonely, it probably just seemed worse because of being so good lately.  Right?  Tried to shake it off and go about my morning, but it persisted.  Just the ache to have someone there.  It didn't even have to be Kent.  I thought about going down to just see Lucien.... but that wouldn't have been fair.  He's a good friend, probably my best friend, but he's in a relationship with Lannie and I don't want his familiarity to be a crutch.  Thought of Dorian, and going to see if I could curl up with him, but again; a crutch.  Besides, he doesn't need me hanging on him, he's got a Jane for that and probably at least three other people I don't know about.  From there?  Just went downhill as memories of Lúgh came flooding back and knowing I was never going to sing with him again, and even stupid Ares and his laugh... then to Kent... both the real Kent and the "not Kent"...
 
So I indulged in a good crying jag in the shower, and managed to sob most of the melancholy away.  Romana seemed to have things under control, and Tommi whisked Rose away to show her all the pretty flowers in her garden.  Finding myself with an open afternoon, I dropped off the staff with Cain.  The order got me one hell of a look, but he took it anyway and told me to check back in over the weekend.  With a grateful smile I thanked him and left...

and now I find myself wandering about with no set course and still feeling a tad low.  Maybe funnel cake will fix this?  I start heading towards the fairgounds, but my feet are dragging and my heart's not into it. 

(open)

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