[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] estdeus_innobis
Sunday, February 14th
Valentine's Day


I sit on my bed with my legs crossed, writing real careful in my notebook. MRS CLARA GRANGER I write, all tidy, then underneath I practice my signature. Clara Granger. That nice man at the market swore it wouldn't take too long for him to propose after he drank the potion. After I practice my signature a few times I write our names together. PETER AND CLARA, and I put them inside a nice big heart.

I hear Momma shouting for me and I sigh. I know she won't approve when Peter and I get together, cos he is a bunch older than me and she says seventeen is way too young to settle down. But I know she married Pop at nineteen, so she's just a hypocrite. And Peter's a real good catch - got his own job, his own place. There's that Maya of course to worry about, I think, and I push my pencil a bit too hard into the page and the point breaks. But once Peter's had the potion he won't remember that he likes her. I just need to work out how to get it to him.

Momma shouts again.

"Coming!" I shout. I know she wants me to go to that dumb Valentine's market and help her sell quilts. Ugh. But Peter might be around town, so I check my hair is nice before I go down.

***


This punch just don't look too appetising. I sigh and shout for Clara again. What is that girl doing? Probably dreaming about that barman. She thinks I don't know she's moony about him. I'm just glad he's got a sweetheart, or else he might go for my Clara - she's real pretty and men like adoring girls. He's much too old for her. I taste the punch and it's real nice, course it is, made from our fruits, but the colour just don't pop. Feeling a bit guilty, I get out some food colourant and drop it in, and it goes a nice reddish colour. That's about right for Valentine's, ain't it? I stopper up the barrel. Clara comes down.

"Get those quilts in the cart, will you?" I say, hustling her out and then getting the punch on the wagon. Roads are clear, so we get set up easy. Just a few stalls for this - jewellery, flowers, all kinds of novelties. I put out the prettiest quilts - maybe some guy'll think one'd make a nice present for his wife, and more practical than earbobs - and set up the punch.

"Free punch, sir?" I say, holding out a cup. After a bit of prodding I get Clara dishing up punch too. Hopefully it'll be a good day.

[OPEN]
[Closed]

Date: 2010-09-18 07:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mister-foxton.livejournal.com
I suppose it is all very nice. The town does like an opportunity for celebration, and it lifts people's spirits - particularly with the winter still draggling on and some stores running low. It is hardly a festival to my taste, but I can hardly begrudge people their entertainments.

Thinking of such matters, I still have hopes of the endeavour with Miss Galliard, though I have heard nothing from her of late. I should perhaps send her a note and ask her to call upon me soon. I am sufficiently distracted by this thought that I forget to avoid Mrs Linnet's eye as I pass by her stall.

Damnation. I am, of course, compelled by politeness to stop, and she offers me a sample of some rather alarmingly-coloured fruit cup. Now I shall feel all but compelled to take purchase of something, even though I have no use for her fripperies. I suppose a quilt can always be stashed away in the back of Mrs Betton's linen closet with no one any the wiser. I take a sip of the drink - a pleasant enough fruit punch, though hardly to my taste.

Date: 2010-09-19 12:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] westin-sagert.livejournal.com
I was certainly not planning on coming out today, but when I woke I remembered it was Sunday, and while I do not attend services every week I felt it was perhaps expedient to go. People are still coming into little clusters after the riot, twitching towards normalcy or vindication the way that exposed muscle will flex away from a scalpel's point. It cannot, I think, do any harm to come out.

And of course, after service I was simply heading home and found that the market was in place. It quite surprised me to think I have been in Excolo so long... I did plan to winter here, but I had not quite realized it had already been three months. And it is a lovely day, all told.

There is little of interest to me personally, although I do find myself thinking of what she might like. A pair of necklaces, perhaps...? Necklace and earrings? I do not think there is anything here which could begin to do her justice. I stop briefly by one of the stalls and am glancing over the quilts when I notice a familiar face.

"Mr. Manqueller," I say, smiling politely and finishing my cup so that I can set it down. "How have you been?"

Date: 2010-09-19 12:15 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mister-foxton.livejournal.com
"Mr. Manqueller. How have you been?"

I turn, and - "Mr Sagert. What a pleasant surprise. I hope I find you well?" Thank heavens, the man has saved me. And his company is, indeed, pleasant.

I look around for a place to set my cup down, shift it to my other hand, and finally wedge it among the quilts where it will not spill. I clasp his hand warmly. "I hope Excolo is treating you well. You came through - recent events - without too much trouble, I hope?"

I wonder if perhaps I should invite him for tea? It is not a cold day, but perhaps he would care to sit down.

Date: 2010-09-19 09:33 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] westin-sagert.livejournal.com
"Mr Sagert. What a pleasant surprise. I hope I find you well?"

"Well indeed, I am glad to say," and that is perhaps a touch effusive, but-- well, it is a lovely day.

"I hope Excolo is treating you well. You came through - recent events - without too much trouble, I hope?"

"Ah," I say, and manage to keep my face out of a smile. It would not do to seem overly pleased with recent events, as I can hardly explain that I have been able to begin work again. "I am afraid my window was rather damaged, which may take some time to repair." Glass is not exactly lying around for the taking. "But no trouble to speak of. I do think the worst of it was the flooding," and I still have no idea what could have caused that. Perhaps a peculiar thaw pattern, some swell of groundwater... "And yourself?"

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