[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
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]
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
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]
[identity profile] verite-belrose.livejournal.com
Friday February 12
Early afternoon
The Salon, Upstairs

continued from here


Ri is having a late lunch when Jarmyn stops in to get a haircut and check out out possibilities for an addition to his tattoo. They discuss both matters and he makes her an offer. She accepts and they head up to her room.
* * *

Cut for Sex )

[Open to Jarmyn] [Closed]
[identity profile] verite-belrose.livejournal.com
Friday February 12
Early afternoon
The Salon, Upstairs

continued from here


Ri is having a late lunch when Jarmyn stops in to get a haircut and check out out possibilities for an addition to his tattoo. They discuss both matters and he makes her an offer. She accepts and they head up to her room.
* * *

Cut for Sex )

[Open to Jarmyn] [Closed]
[identity profile] verite-belrose.livejournal.com
Friday February 12
Early afternoon
The Salon



I liked meeting Mike an Romana, Kaeli too. Just wish it was under better conditions. The riot was scary even from the safety of my place.  And all because of Benedict., well because of what he did. To Lannie and that other girl. I hate him for doing it. I know some of us at the Carnival aren't very nice people, but I'd thought Benedict was one of the okay ones. Then he goes and tries to eat my best friend! I hope whatever the sheriff decides to do to him hurts a lot.

Still there's been plenty of business since Wednesday, and the weekend is almost here. And my birthday. That's in two days. I'll be 18. I still don't know what exactly I want to do besides have fun. Maybe I'll take the entire weekend for it. Must talk to Lannie an Zann bout it, see what we can pull off. Or maybe Verdi. Dorian. Liam. Oh heck if I'm counting all the people I might like to spend my birthday with i'd have ta add Conley as well. But not Johnny.

Today is nice. Warmer and brighter than it's been for awhile. so I'm wearing a shorter skirt than I did all winter.My arms are bare which which shows off the Celtic swirls of my tats nicely echoin' the design on my tank, and Ive put my hair up in little tails. S' longer than it's been for a long time. Might cut it soon. Or just leave it an see what happens. Right now there's time for a quick bite to eat and then then afternoon rush. I hit change the CD as I come into the kitchen and hit play.

 I smile as the cheerful voice of Cyndi Lauper comes out.

[OPEN TO JARMYN]
[identity profile] verite-belrose.livejournal.com
Friday February 12
Early afternoon
The Salon



I liked meeting Mike an Romana, Kaeli too. Just wish it was under better conditions. The riot was scary even from the safety of my place.  And all because of Benedict., well because of what he did. To Lannie and that other girl. I hate him for doing it. I know some of us at the Carnival aren't very nice people, but I'd thought Benedict was one of the okay ones. Then he goes and tries to eat my best friend! I hope whatever the sheriff decides to do to him hurts a lot.

Still there's been plenty of business since Wednesday, and the weekend is almost here. And my birthday. That's in two days. I'll be 18. I still don't know what exactly I want to do besides have fun. Maybe I'll take the entire weekend for it. Must talk to Lannie an Zann bout it, see what we can pull off. Or maybe Verdi. Dorian. Liam. Oh heck if I'm counting all the people I might like to spend my birthday with i'd have ta add Conley as well. But not Johnny.

Today is nice. Warmer and brighter than it's been for awhile. so I'm wearing a shorter skirt than I did all winter.My arms are bare which which shows off the Celtic swirls of my tats nicely echoin' the design on my tank, and Ive put my hair up in little tails. S' longer than it's been for a long time. Might cut it soon. Or just leave it an see what happens. Right now there's time for a quick bite to eat and then then afternoon rush. I hit change the CD as I come into the kitchen and hit play.

 I smile as the cheerful voice of Cyndi Lauper comes out.

[OPEN TO JARMYN]
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Early morning of Sunday, February 7 (day 252)]
[Out in the Abbey graveyard]


Went home and hot shower and soaking the coat, the blood out of the coat. Cold water and blot and squeeze and the slip of borax, and cold water again, and... Hot water again t'thaw my hands and a heavy dark sleep until the fire's down t'embers and I went out restless and walked until I came to the graveyard by the Abbey.

Feel the tightness low 'round my ribs ease, then, and breathe a little easier. It's a touch too cold t'lie on the ground, but I sit aback of Pelan's marker, tilt my head back and close my eyes and listen to the dead, the whisper of them all around like wind in dead grass.

Think the dawn's coming up on the other side of the clouds, something thin and grey. Think I might be able t'sleep t'day, maybe.

Kate. Ought leave word with Kate that I'm aright...? And think again of his blood spitting hot 'cross my hand, and foul in my mouth, and shudder.

[Open to Iago]
[Closed]
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Early morning of Sunday, February 7 (day 252)]
[Out in the Abbey graveyard]


Went home and hot shower and soaking the coat, the blood out of the coat. Cold water and blot and squeeze and the slip of borax, and cold water again, and... Hot water again t'thaw my hands and a heavy dark sleep until the fire's down t'embers and I went out restless and walked until I came to the graveyard by the Abbey.

Feel the tightness low 'round my ribs ease, then, and breathe a little easier. It's a touch too cold t'lie on the ground, but I sit aback of Pelan's marker, tilt my head back and close my eyes and listen to the dead, the whisper of them all around like wind in dead grass.

Think the dawn's coming up on the other side of the clouds, something thin and grey. Think I might be able t'sleep t'day, maybe.

Kate. Ought leave word with Kate that I'm aright...? And think again of his blood spitting hot 'cross my hand, and foul in my mouth, and shudder.

[Open to Iago]
[Closed]
[identity profile] jaeresteade.livejournal.com

Sunday, February 7th, day 252
Wee hours of the morning
Whitechapel inn, upstairs


 

This is why I hate weekends. I’m told that people in other lines of work actually enjoy them, use them to go out and generally have the good time they can’t other nights, when they have to get up and work in the morning. The difficulty I have with this is that the places most people decide to go to for their good times are the places I usually work. We made plenty of money tonight, I’m sure, and I wasn’t hurting for tips, either, but the crowd tonight was messy and lingering, although not particularly imaginative and rowdy.
 

The Whitechapel may not be a nice bar, but if I’m working here it will sure as hell be a clean one. Once we finally got everyone out, Adam and I scrubbed the tables and the bar down and then put the chairs up and mopped the floors. God, I hate mopping, but there’s no other way to get everything off the floor that our dear customers leave behind. So here it is nearly three, and we’ve just now finished. Everything I’m wearing is grimy, and my feet are aching for new boots. I did stop in the bar’s tiny kitchen to wash my hands and face and mix up two mugs of the hot buttered rum I’ve been wanting. Well, one mug. Mine is hot buttered molasses and water, which won’t taste nearly as good, but if I’m going to bed with a man I just met, I’m doing it with a clear head, just in case. Unless he offers me a sample of the brandy that’s the reason I’m doing this. Then I might make an exception.
 

At least the bed will be warm, thank God, and I won’t have to stand up and make conversation at the same time. If it gets better from there, that would be nice, but keeping your expectations low is a good way to not be disappointed in the morning. Before I go in, I make enough noise on the landing to announce my presence if he’s awake, but I’m not knocking on my own door. Really need to find a more permanent place if I’m going to be having people over.

 

OPEN to Arkady
CLOSED

 

[identity profile] jaeresteade.livejournal.com

Sunday, February 7th, day 252
Wee hours of the morning
Whitechapel inn, upstairs


 

This is why I hate weekends. I’m told that people in other lines of work actually enjoy them, use them to go out and generally have the good time they can’t other nights, when they have to get up and work in the morning. The difficulty I have with this is that the places most people decide to go to for their good times are the places I usually work. We made plenty of money tonight, I’m sure, and I wasn’t hurting for tips, either, but the crowd tonight was messy and lingering, although not particularly imaginative and rowdy.
 

The Whitechapel may not be a nice bar, but if I’m working here it will sure as hell be a clean one. Once we finally got everyone out, Adam and I scrubbed the tables and the bar down and then put the chairs up and mopped the floors. God, I hate mopping, but there’s no other way to get everything off the floor that our dear customers leave behind. So here it is nearly three, and we’ve just now finished. Everything I’m wearing is grimy, and my feet are aching for new boots. I did stop in the bar’s tiny kitchen to wash my hands and face and mix up two mugs of the hot buttered rum I’ve been wanting. Well, one mug. Mine is hot buttered molasses and water, which won’t taste nearly as good, but if I’m going to bed with a man I just met, I’m doing it with a clear head, just in case. Unless he offers me a sample of the brandy that’s the reason I’m doing this. Then I might make an exception.
 

At least the bed will be warm, thank God, and I won’t have to stand up and make conversation at the same time. If it gets better from there, that would be nice, but keeping your expectations low is a good way to not be disappointed in the morning. Before I go in, I make enough noise on the landing to announce my presence if he’s awake, but I’m not knocking on my own door. Really need to find a more permanent place if I’m going to be having people over.

 

OPEN to Arkady
CLOSED

 

[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
You're starting up and I'm winding down;
Ain't it big enough for us both in this town?
Say it's big enough for us both in this town.

When I was your age I thought I hated my dad
And that the feeling was a mutual one that we had;
We fought each other day and night:
I was always wrong; he was always right.


Friday, January 29th

My mood after seeing Gaueko was more sanguine. Sanguine, yes, after Gaueko's gift of flesh and blood, but most importantly of his soul. I can taste the meat of him on my tongue if I think on how I put my lips to his bloody stump, but beyond that I can feel his soul like a small star.

Our conversation has lent me enough calm that I will no longer pose a risk of immediate death to any man I meet, and so I shrug on the fleshsack that is the Kent body, frowning at the ease crease of it around me, and I go off to see my wife. I have a child to look to, after all, and a world of planning.

I stroll down Main Street, and a few people greet me as Mr Whitman. I smile and nod to them, hands in my pockets, and I agree to pass their best wishes on to Wanda. And then I push open the door to the Dormouse. A couple of ladies sit by the window sipping tea, and I smile at them and go up the counter.

"Wanda, my dear," I call out, unzipping my leather jacket as a man would after coming in from the cold. My smile, which the women do not see, is a shard of ice.

[open to Wanda]
[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
You're starting up and I'm winding down;
Ain't it big enough for us both in this town?
Say it's big enough for us both in this town.

When I was your age I thought I hated my dad
And that the feeling was a mutual one that we had;
We fought each other day and night:
I was always wrong; he was always right.


Friday, January 29th

My mood after seeing Gaueko was more sanguine. Sanguine, yes, after Gaueko's gift of flesh and blood, but most importantly of his soul. I can taste the meat of him on my tongue if I think on how I put my lips to his bloody stump, but beyond that I can feel his soul like a small star.

Our conversation has lent me enough calm that I will no longer pose a risk of immediate death to any man I meet, and so I shrug on the fleshsack that is the Kent body, frowning at the ease crease of it around me, and I go off to see my wife. I have a child to look to, after all, and a world of planning.

I stroll down Main Street, and a few people greet me as Mr Whitman. I smile and nod to them, hands in my pockets, and I agree to pass their best wishes on to Wanda. And then I push open the door to the Dormouse. A couple of ladies sit by the window sipping tea, and I smile at them and go up the counter.

"Wanda, my dear," I call out, unzipping my leather jacket as a man would after coming in from the cold. My smile, which the women do not see, is a shard of ice.

[open to Wanda]
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Sunday, January 24th before dawn.
The basement of the Dormouse.


It started with Jamie's visit.

Alright, maybe it started before that, but trying to explain submission and domination to Jamie really made the problem worse.

The problem being... If I didn't get laid, someone was going to die.

Alright, that was a exaggeration.   Maybe.

I was alone for four years, it is not as if I could not take care of... things myself.  But that just made the need worse.   So I tried to ignore it.  Figured it was a phase, really, just a damn urge and it world eventually go away.

No.  It did not.  All I could think about all Thursday, Friday and Saturday was sex.  All I dreamed about was sex.  I really wanted to see my husband.  As much as I was mad at him. I still wanted him because dammit!  I could hurt him and still get off, but after the light show the other weekend, and explosion in my head and ringing in my ears for three days, I didn't dare call for him.  Even I knew better than to bother him before he wants to be bothered.  He'll find me in his own time, and maybe my annotated Shakespeare will find the side of his temple at high speeds.  And then there might be violence, and then maybe there would be....

Extremely agitated, I threw on a black dress and hunting heels and went to the Whitechapel late Saturday.  The fact that it was hard to find something that zippered easily did not help my sour mood, but still. I looked svelte enough, and I secretly hoped that Jamie might be there, or perhaps even my husband.

Nope.  Just a bunch of tired looking men, and for some reason, the mood in the bar was off and I just did not want to be there any more, or be leered at by people that had no chance in hell, even with as desperate as I felt.  I paid my tab for my one glass of wine and left, resigned to go home alone and---

"Miss Wanda?"

Oh, little boy... )
And I am still lying here, frustrated beyond comprehension, and wondering how long this side effect of pregnancy will last.

(closed) 

 
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Sunday, January 24th before dawn.
The basement of the Dormouse.


It started with Jamie's visit.

Alright, maybe it started before that, but trying to explain submission and domination to Jamie really made the problem worse.

The problem being... If I didn't get laid, someone was going to die.

Alright, that was a exaggeration.   Maybe.

I was alone for four years, it is not as if I could not take care of... things myself.  But that just made the need worse.   So I tried to ignore it.  Figured it was a phase, really, just a damn urge and it world eventually go away.

No.  It did not.  All I could think about all Thursday, Friday and Saturday was sex.  All I dreamed about was sex.  I really wanted to see my husband.  As much as I was mad at him. I still wanted him because dammit!  I could hurt him and still get off, but after the light show the other weekend, and explosion in my head and ringing in my ears for three days, I didn't dare call for him.  Even I knew better than to bother him before he wants to be bothered.  He'll find me in his own time, and maybe my annotated Shakespeare will find the side of his temple at high speeds.  And then there might be violence, and then maybe there would be....

Extremely agitated, I threw on a black dress and hunting heels and went to the Whitechapel late Saturday.  The fact that it was hard to find something that zippered easily did not help my sour mood, but still. I looked svelte enough, and I secretly hoped that Jamie might be there, or perhaps even my husband.

Nope.  Just a bunch of tired looking men, and for some reason, the mood in the bar was off and I just did not want to be there any more, or be leered at by people that had no chance in hell, even with as desperate as I felt.  I paid my tab for my one glass of wine and left, resigned to go home alone and---

"Miss Wanda?"

Oh, little boy... )
And I am still lying here, frustrated beyond comprehension, and wondering how long this side effect of pregnancy will last.

(closed) 

 
[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
Open up your heart to me; I would be your slave.

*


Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.


Thursday, mid-afternoon, the Carnival

"How many of our Brothers have you destroyed, how many have you twisted away from Love?"

"You cannot undo what you've done, you know, or remake yourself in another shape. The flaw is in you, as he said."


I wish it were in me to sleep. I have never wanted that before, I do not think (but how much do I not know, now?). There has been nothing for which I have not wanted to be awake. There is so much joy, and I have wanted every moment of it, even though I knew it would not end.

Now -

I still cannot quite believe it, that I was - that I would - Azra'eil is certain of it, and the god showed me memories of what I am meant to have done, but it does not feel like me. It does not. Please. (Make me a stone, Love, I think, and for a brief dizzying moment I think that is how it was done, that I chose to be stone, that I chose -) No. No. I do not remember. I do not remember.

Why have You not spoken to me, counselled me? You can feel my love, I know it, I know it, I know You can feel my grief and my fear. Why do You not speak? I must have faith, now even more than before, but -

It is hard, it is so hard. And I think I understand why that godthing chose to take out his own heart, if what he felt was anything like this. But I shall not. It is cowardice, is it not? I am a prince; I must not falter. I cannot atone, perhaps, for those things I cannot even remember, but I can prove - I can prove I am worthy. I am worthy. (Say the word only.)

Thinking this calms me. I will take Azra'eil's advice (do not think of him turning away without farewell) and seek out Man.

It has become a new day as I have thought on this. My hair is disordered, and there are smudges on my boots. I smooth my hair down, clean the mud away from my shoes, and I throw away the handkerchief I used to wipe my eyes. No more tears. And I walk across the river to another part of this town, a place where people come for pleasure, a place that crackles with strange power. Perhaps I will find some comfort here.

[closed]
[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
Open up your heart to me; I would be your slave.

*


Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.


Thursday, mid-afternoon, the Carnival

"How many of our Brothers have you destroyed, how many have you twisted away from Love?"

"You cannot undo what you've done, you know, or remake yourself in another shape. The flaw is in you, as he said."


I wish it were in me to sleep. I have never wanted that before, I do not think (but how much do I not know, now?). There has been nothing for which I have not wanted to be awake. There is so much joy, and I have wanted every moment of it, even though I knew it would not end.

Now -

I still cannot quite believe it, that I was - that I would - Azra'eil is certain of it, and the god showed me memories of what I am meant to have done, but it does not feel like me. It does not. Please. (Make me a stone, Love, I think, and for a brief dizzying moment I think that is how it was done, that I chose to be stone, that I chose -) No. No. I do not remember. I do not remember.

Why have You not spoken to me, counselled me? You can feel my love, I know it, I know it, I know You can feel my grief and my fear. Why do You not speak? I must have faith, now even more than before, but -

It is hard, it is so hard. And I think I understand why that godthing chose to take out his own heart, if what he felt was anything like this. But I shall not. It is cowardice, is it not? I am a prince; I must not falter. I cannot atone, perhaps, for those things I cannot even remember, but I can prove - I can prove I am worthy. I am worthy. (Say the word only.)

Thinking this calms me. I will take Azra'eil's advice (do not think of him turning away without farewell) and seek out Man.

It has become a new day as I have thought on this. My hair is disordered, and there are smudges on my boots. I smooth my hair down, clean the mud away from my shoes, and I throw away the handkerchief I used to wipe my eyes. No more tears. And I walk across the river to another part of this town, a place where people come for pleasure, a place that crackles with strange power. Perhaps I will find some comfort here.

[closed]
[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
The 21st December, continued.
But since the devil's bride, Reason, that pretty whore, comes in and thinks she's wise, and what she says, what she thinks, is from the Holy Spirit, who can help us, then? Not judges, not doctors, no king or emperor...
Martin Luther


The guests leave in the darkness, chattering and congratulating us. At last Wanda and I are alone. I could put the lights back on, but I do not. Instead I pick up a candle in my left hand and offer her my right.

"We should go down to the basement, wife, to where this all began." I give her a smile that is full of sharp desire.

[Open to Wanda]
[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
The 21st December, continued.
But since the devil's bride, Reason, that pretty whore, comes in and thinks she's wise, and what she says, what she thinks, is from the Holy Spirit, who can help us, then? Not judges, not doctors, no king or emperor...
Martin Luther


The guests leave in the darkness, chattering and congratulating us. At last Wanda and I are alone. I could put the lights back on, but I do not. Instead I pick up a candle in my left hand and offer her my right.

"We should go down to the basement, wife, to where this all began." I give her a smile that is full of sharp desire.

[Open to Wanda]
[identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Further to this: after nearly causing a riot in the Whitechapel, Iblis, Wanda and Tez have headed back to the tower for a little light frolicking.... NSFW all the way.

Read more... )
[identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Further to this: after nearly causing a riot in the Whitechapel, Iblis, Wanda and Tez have headed back to the tower for a little light frolicking.... NSFW all the way.

Read more... )

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