Oh, these little earthquakes, here we go again...

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

Saturday, January 16th.
As the heavens may fall

It's been building all morning; this tension, this horrible white noise within my head that I cannot shut out.  I had first thought it a side effect from not sleeping well, for staying up most the night wondering where my husband was.  Wondering why I have a basement straight from the mind of Edgar Allen Poe, why I have a bloodstains on the floor, on the bedspread, why the only evidence that there is... was a man in my life is a ruined shirt that I clung to though the night....  as I wondered if I could indeed have killed someone that I professed to love. 

I dropped off somewhere right before sunrise, but the ache behind my eyes woke me from troubled dreams.  I rose and made some tea and toast, hoping food and drink would alleviate the pressure, but it did not.  I chalked it up to stress, to anxiety.  After all, I am alone, pregnant, and missing my entire life for the most part...

but the morning passed, the rain came down, and the noise in my skull rose to a dull, insistent  roar.  Whimpering, I leave the house and wander out into the backyard, heedless of the rain coming down, soaking me.  The air is electric, the hairs on the back of my neck and my arms stand up, and the sky seems ready to split.  The noise in my head is a scream; a howl of rage and despair and pain.  Mixed in is the screech of the wind over the desert, the roar of a fire out of control, devouring everything in it's path, and the whispering of memories just within reach---

(Safe in his strong arms after so much pain) "You are the beauty, Wanda.  A dark and lovely beauty."
(A fire lit room, the hiss of pain tinged pleasure as the flesh is seared, marking him mine.) "How can you bear to be around me, if I bring such sounds of sorrow?"  "I can bear it because I love you."
(Fear, so much fear as the stars shone in his eyes, fear and anger that preceded the blood.) "I am the Morning Star."  (The the blood that covered him and I, the satisfaction I got in seeing the shock on his face, even if it was for a moment.  His resurrection.)   "This is what you are, Wanda. A creature of the dark, of violent desire.... And I want you for myself."
(My wedding night, vows that cannot be broken.)    "Do you trust me?"  "Yes, I do."  "You know you should not, do you not, wife?"   (My death.  My resurrection.)

Our Child.

The sky is crackling above.   Lightning dances from cloud to cloud.  I should go back in, for I cannot breathe, and I cannot think, and it is not safe and goddamn this noise inside my head!  I sink to my knees and cover my ears, for the sound is deafening!  I am screaming, trying to block it out as the tension builds and the world is ready to unmake itself as my screaming turns to singing at the top of my lungs as more and more of my life crowds back into my head
Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again!
Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again!
Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again!

I scream that over and over as the lightning starts to drop from the clouds to the ground, and I pull my hands away from my ears to see that there is blood and still I scream--
GIVE ME LIFE!  GIVE ME PAIN!   GIVE ME MYSELF AGA------

The sky explodes, a flash of stark white bleaching the world as a star falls back to earth, and the music/noise crescendos in my skull as the world goes

************************************************************

I open my eyes and groan as I struggle to sit up.  Everything aches, I am cold and soaked, and the my head is screaming in pain.  I try to rise, but that is an impossibility; my equilibrium is shot.  I am tempted to lie here until I am well enough to move...
but there is the baby to think of.  I take a deep breath and manage to crawl my way back to the house, up the stairs, and back into the kitchen.  I kick the door closed with my foot and lie down on the kitchen floor.  I cannot move any more right now.  The ringing in my head in making me dizzy, and if I try and move again, I may just be sick.  I close my eyes and rest there; letting myself slip into unconsciousness.  

Dark comes, and it is quiet... except for a tiny, soothing heartbeat keeping me company in the nothingness.

(Closed)

Oh, these little earthquakes, here we go again...

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

Saturday, January 16th.
As the heavens may fall

It's been building all morning; this tension, this horrible white noise within my head that I cannot shut out.  I had first thought it a side effect from not sleeping well, for staying up most the night wondering where my husband was.  Wondering why I have a basement straight from the mind of Edgar Allen Poe, why I have a bloodstains on the floor, on the bedspread, why the only evidence that there is... was a man in my life is a ruined shirt that I clung to though the night....  as I wondered if I could indeed have killed someone that I professed to love. 

I dropped off somewhere right before sunrise, but the ache behind my eyes woke me from troubled dreams.  I rose and made some tea and toast, hoping food and drink would alleviate the pressure, but it did not.  I chalked it up to stress, to anxiety.  After all, I am alone, pregnant, and missing my entire life for the most part...

but the morning passed, the rain came down, and the noise in my skull rose to a dull, insistent  roar.  Whimpering, I leave the house and wander out into the backyard, heedless of the rain coming down, soaking me.  The air is electric, the hairs on the back of my neck and my arms stand up, and the sky seems ready to split.  The noise in my head is a scream; a howl of rage and despair and pain.  Mixed in is the screech of the wind over the desert, the roar of a fire out of control, devouring everything in it's path, and the whispering of memories just within reach---

(Safe in his strong arms after so much pain) "You are the beauty, Wanda.  A dark and lovely beauty."
(A fire lit room, the hiss of pain tinged pleasure as the flesh is seared, marking him mine.) "How can you bear to be around me, if I bring such sounds of sorrow?"  "I can bear it because I love you."
(Fear, so much fear as the stars shone in his eyes, fear and anger that preceded the blood.) "I am the Morning Star."  (The the blood that covered him and I, the satisfaction I got in seeing the shock on his face, even if it was for a moment.  His resurrection.)   "This is what you are, Wanda. A creature of the dark, of violent desire.... And I want you for myself."
(My wedding night, vows that cannot be broken.)    "Do you trust me?"  "Yes, I do."  "You know you should not, do you not, wife?"   (My death.  My resurrection.)

Our Child.

The sky is crackling above.   Lightning dances from cloud to cloud.  I should go back in, for I cannot breathe, and I cannot think, and it is not safe and goddamn this noise inside my head!  I sink to my knees and cover my ears, for the sound is deafening!  I am screaming, trying to block it out as the tension builds and the world is ready to unmake itself as my screaming turns to singing at the top of my lungs as more and more of my life crowds back into my head
Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again!
Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again!
Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again!

I scream that over and over as the lightning starts to drop from the clouds to the ground, and I pull my hands away from my ears to see that there is blood and still I scream--
GIVE ME LIFE!  GIVE ME PAIN!   GIVE ME MYSELF AGA------

The sky explodes, a flash of stark white bleaching the world as a star falls back to earth, and the music/noise crescendos in my skull as the world goes

************************************************************

I open my eyes and groan as I struggle to sit up.  Everything aches, I am cold and soaked, and the my head is screaming in pain.  I try to rise, but that is an impossibility; my equilibrium is shot.  I am tempted to lie here until I am well enough to move...
but there is the baby to think of.  I take a deep breath and manage to crawl my way back to the house, up the stairs, and back into the kitchen.  I kick the door closed with my foot and lie down on the kitchen floor.  I cannot move any more right now.  The ringing in my head in making me dizzy, and if I try and move again, I may just be sick.  I close my eyes and rest there; letting myself slip into unconsciousness.  

Dark comes, and it is quiet... except for a tiny, soothing heartbeat keeping me company in the nothingness.

(Closed)

You ain't never caught a rabbit and you ain't no friend of mine...

[gaueko-erebus.livejournal.com]

[Mid-morning, Saturday, January 16th, day 230]
[Back on the streets...]


I didn't want to leave my new food-friend, but my newer friend said to come and food-friend said to go on, so I went, but new friend wasn't very much fun. We sat down and she stared at me and then pulled on my ears and then kept staring at me so I went away. And then I was sad because I had no friend and no food, but then I saw a squirrel and then I forget.

I slept under a porch. It's scary at night. I feel strange at night, like my skin's too tight and weird thoughts run through my head and my ears hum and I start shaking and drooling and so I just go to sleep until it's light again because that's easy. When it's light I don't feel strange at all anymore, and I wriggle out and roll in the snow and tear open a bag of garbage because it smells like food and once I'm full I start trotting down the street. Maybe I'll meet more new friends.


[OPEN]

You ain't never caught a rabbit and you ain't no friend of mine...

[gaueko-erebus.livejournal.com]

[Mid-morning, Saturday, January 16th, day 230]
[Back on the streets...]


I didn't want to leave my new food-friend, but my newer friend said to come and food-friend said to go on, so I went, but new friend wasn't very much fun. We sat down and she stared at me and then pulled on my ears and then kept staring at me so I went away. And then I was sad because I had no friend and no food, but then I saw a squirrel and then I forget.

I slept under a porch. It's scary at night. I feel strange at night, like my skin's too tight and weird thoughts run through my head and my ears hum and I start shaking and drooling and so I just go to sleep until it's light again because that's easy. When it's light I don't feel strange at all anymore, and I wriggle out and roll in the snow and tear open a bag of garbage because it smells like food and once I'm full I start trotting down the street. Maybe I'll meet more new friends.


[OPEN]

The pull of memory

[chester-excolo.livejournal.com]

Saturday January 16th, [Day 230]
Somewhere along Silk Road
After the Lightning

I come to myself  in a damp heap under some rosebushes a little ways down from the Whitechapel. My ears an head are still ringing from the sheer Power of whatever just happened.  First things comin' first, I put my fur to rights an try n' get a sense of the Power sig from whatever it was. Damn that was strong! Too strong t' tell me much. An explosion of Power that obliterates any sense of what the Power was used for. I can also detect the lingering traces of two other big workings.  One or both of them have touched me recently. That scares me enough to fluff my fur real good n' have me checkin;'to see what's been done. 

Crap. A memory charm. a Forgetting. A bloody powerful one too.   Echoes of it linger all over the place. I start walkin' round tryin' ta figure out its limits. Everywhere in town I go, it was here. Think it encompassed the entire town. Those other workings are related to the memory charm I think one s one them broke the Forgetting but I can't tell which one . The last one was especially powerful. 

I take shelter on someone's porch and look back through my memories. Time to take stock of what's been done to me.  I cast my mind back over the last little while  an' end up  shakin'. Nearly four days with no memory whatsoever. I lived that time purely on instinct. As an elemental. Pure and unsullied by all my long millennia. Untouched by my time in this form. It was sweet. So sweet. I long to dissolve this body of mine and join with the air. My ears flick back and forth at the tempting whispers from all about.  I can't. With memory come the chains, the bindings of my various pacts and promises. They weigh me down and wrap me in fur and flesh.

I also know that if I did that, if I let go and vanish, I will be leaving Hermia and Mab. I can't do that. There may be no bindings, no formal pacts between us, but I can't just turn my back on them. I have to check on them, to see if they're okay. And to tell them whatever I  know or can find out out about this Forgetting.

Hermia first and then Mab. By the time I talk to Mab I should have some idea as to what  or who is responsible for this whole thing. 

[Closed]

The pull of memory

[chester-excolo.livejournal.com]

Saturday January 16th, [Day 230]
Somewhere along Silk Road
After the Lightning

I come to myself  in a damp heap under some rosebushes a little ways down from the Whitechapel. My ears an head are still ringing from the sheer Power of whatever just happened.  First things comin' first, I put my fur to rights an try n' get a sense of the Power sig from whatever it was. Damn that was strong! Too strong t' tell me much. An explosion of Power that obliterates any sense of what the Power was used for. I can also detect the lingering traces of two other big workings.  One or both of them have touched me recently. That scares me enough to fluff my fur real good n' have me checkin;'to see what's been done. 

Crap. A memory charm. a Forgetting. A bloody powerful one too.   Echoes of it linger all over the place. I start walkin' round tryin' ta figure out its limits. Everywhere in town I go, it was here. Think it encompassed the entire town. Those other workings are related to the memory charm I think one s one them broke the Forgetting but I can't tell which one . The last one was especially powerful. 

I take shelter on someone's porch and look back through my memories. Time to take stock of what's been done to me.  I cast my mind back over the last little while  an' end up  shakin'. Nearly four days with no memory whatsoever. I lived that time purely on instinct. As an elemental. Pure and unsullied by all my long millennia. Untouched by my time in this form. It was sweet. So sweet. I long to dissolve this body of mine and join with the air. My ears flick back and forth at the tempting whispers from all about.  I can't. With memory come the chains, the bindings of my various pacts and promises. They weigh me down and wrap me in fur and flesh.

I also know that if I did that, if I let go and vanish, I will be leaving Hermia and Mab. I can't do that. There may be no bindings, no formal pacts between us, but I can't just turn my back on them. I have to check on them, to see if they're okay. And to tell them whatever I  know or can find out out about this Forgetting.

Hermia first and then Mab. By the time I talk to Mab I should have some idea as to what  or who is responsible for this whole thing. 

[Closed]

(no subject)

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

Just before the storm, at the café

I nurse my sore head whilst drinking my morning coffee. Well, it is afternoon coffee, but I did not wake up until eleven, and then I had to iron my shirt, having washed this one in a sink last night and hung it by the fire to dry. And that is the least of my troubles. My sore head is not a euphemism for a hangover. I only wish it were, zut! After speaking with Wanda on Wednesday, I made my way to the Whitechapel. It took a surprisingly long time, given how small this town is, but I kept being waylaid by people, some of whom did not seem to know me at all but hoped I would know them, and others who did seem to know me but who gave me such contradictory accounts of myself that I hardly knew what to think.

I found my inn, which is rather shabby outside but pleasingly turned out inside. There seemed to be no one at the desk, and although there was a maid scrubbing the floor she had no idea who I was, which was not very promising. In the bar, however, I found an Adam Stonor, a stern-faced blond who told me quite calmly that he had forgotten almost everything about his life, but that he remembered he worked here. And that I had given him a shotgun to keep behind the bar, which he would keep on hand if there should happen to be a riot due to the day's events. I thanked him for that, and urged him to carry on with his duties. I was starting to feel rather alarmed that I was not carrying my sword, though then again it would hardly go with these clothes. It feels odd not to be wearing a wig; the last time I had a bare head was in New London, and even then I normally wore a hat outdoors.

I then decided to go to my apartment, which Adam seemed to recall was at the back, and I found I had a key in my pocket which fitted the door. I went inside, and I found an apartment that I could certainly see matched my tastes, and then the bedroom door opened and out came a young woman. A little slighter and more bookish looking than my usual taste, but certainly mignonne, and I was just inwardly congratulating myself on my good fortune for having found some pleasant company for this ordeal when she called me an intruder and insisted I leave at once. When I begged her pardon and tried to explain myself, she struck me about the brow. With a poker.

I beat a hasty retreat. It is perfectly possible she is an entirely charming lady who has simply forgotten herself, but it is also plausible that I might have brought home a woman who, in the light of day rather than the more forgiving light of a candle turned out to be quite folle. In any case, I deemed it prudent to stay away, especially since she was talking about her father. I do not want an angry, protective patriarch challenging me to a duel for stealing his mad daughter's virtue. And so I have spent the past two nights in the best guest room of my inn, which thankfully seems to be empty. I shall have to work out what to do about my squatter, but that can wait until I have the rest of my life in order.

I sigh and sip my coffee, and glance out of the window as I hear a peal of thunder.

Lightning strikes

Oh.

Oh, mon Dieu, Hermia!

I run out of the cafe through the downpour, and I am halfway to the Whitechapel before I realise I did not pay. I am sure Tulzcha will forgive me.

[OPEN TO HERMIA]

(no subject)

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

Just before the storm, at the café

I nurse my sore head whilst drinking my morning coffee. Well, it is afternoon coffee, but I did not wake up until eleven, and then I had to iron my shirt, having washed this one in a sink last night and hung it by the fire to dry. And that is the least of my troubles. My sore head is not a euphemism for a hangover. I only wish it were, zut! After speaking with Wanda on Wednesday, I made my way to the Whitechapel. It took a surprisingly long time, given how small this town is, but I kept being waylaid by people, some of whom did not seem to know me at all but hoped I would know them, and others who did seem to know me but who gave me such contradictory accounts of myself that I hardly knew what to think.

I found my inn, which is rather shabby outside but pleasingly turned out inside. There seemed to be no one at the desk, and although there was a maid scrubbing the floor she had no idea who I was, which was not very promising. In the bar, however, I found an Adam Stonor, a stern-faced blond who told me quite calmly that he had forgotten almost everything about his life, but that he remembered he worked here. And that I had given him a shotgun to keep behind the bar, which he would keep on hand if there should happen to be a riot due to the day's events. I thanked him for that, and urged him to carry on with his duties. I was starting to feel rather alarmed that I was not carrying my sword, though then again it would hardly go with these clothes. It feels odd not to be wearing a wig; the last time I had a bare head was in New London, and even then I normally wore a hat outdoors.

I then decided to go to my apartment, which Adam seemed to recall was at the back, and I found I had a key in my pocket which fitted the door. I went inside, and I found an apartment that I could certainly see matched my tastes, and then the bedroom door opened and out came a young woman. A little slighter and more bookish looking than my usual taste, but certainly mignonne, and I was just inwardly congratulating myself on my good fortune for having found some pleasant company for this ordeal when she called me an intruder and insisted I leave at once. When I begged her pardon and tried to explain myself, she struck me about the brow. With a poker.

I beat a hasty retreat. It is perfectly possible she is an entirely charming lady who has simply forgotten herself, but it is also plausible that I might have brought home a woman who, in the light of day rather than the more forgiving light of a candle turned out to be quite folle. In any case, I deemed it prudent to stay away, especially since she was talking about her father. I do not want an angry, protective patriarch challenging me to a duel for stealing his mad daughter's virtue. And so I have spent the past two nights in the best guest room of my inn, which thankfully seems to be empty. I shall have to work out what to do about my squatter, but that can wait until I have the rest of my life in order.

I sigh and sip my coffee, and glance out of the window as I hear a peal of thunder.

Lightning strikes

Oh.

Oh, mon Dieu, Hermia!

I run out of the cafe through the downpour, and I am halfway to the Whitechapel before I realise I did not pay. I am sure Tulzcha will forgive me.

[OPEN TO HERMIA]