[identity profile] kira-galliard.livejournal.com
{Early Evening- Tuesday, 29th June ~ Day 394}
{Crossroads DanceHall}


Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time
I feel alive
And the world turning inside out, yeah
And floating around in ecstasy, so
Don't stop me now
Don't stop me
'Cuz I'm having a good time, having a good time


It is finally time to open the doors.
The lights are on- thanks to a couple folks from the fair who came out to help me with 'em. And the musics' done warming up now- sounds of instruments tuning and and the player's psyching each other up have given over to songs playing and feet stomping along.
A few brave souls have opened the dancing and there are mostly smiles all around.

So far so good.

A lot of the younger set know me by now from hiring them for the clean-up, and I put up some signs around town, so hopefully we'll have a good turn out.
And now that the greater part of the haying is done, people are in a good mood. People like to dance and come out and see each other when they're happy. Even in a strange town like this that holds true.

Smooth my skirt as I circle the floor towards the drink stand. I'll probably take a few turns of my own tonight, but mostly my job is to meet people who don't know me yet and get them to like me enough to come back. If the night continues like this, I do think it'll turn out fine.

The band starts another song, and I find my smile is genuine.

(The DanceHall is open to all! Come on in and have fun!)
[identity profile] mister-foxton.livejournal.com
Sunday Jan 31
Morning
The Miskatonic


When I come downstairs Mrs Betton is cleaning my grandfather's Chronophage, as carefully as it deserves. I smile a little at it, and her: an eater of time. It is such a pretty conceit, swallowing the seconds that lie between us and the End.

I had thought, when I emerged from the Middle Room that day and found the town in the grip of that strange forgetting, that it was That which has come to the water tower. I am well aware of what it is. But it became clear that it was not, and that intrigues me..

The thing itself intrigues me. It wishes some kind of worship, I believe, like a god; or, if not worship, then homage. Enslavement, I might better say, in the end, and I have no time for that.

No time. Hah. It is a jest in itself, if a thin one. But yes, no time - no time for slavery or worship or gods. A god may be a useful thing, it may be used to power a greater working: may be shovelled into it as coal is shovelled into a stove. But beyond that, what purpose can they have? Principles walking around dressed up as men! And it is one of them too, after its fashion, the thing in the tower, a purpose that has put on flesh, or may do.

But ah, that one would be the greatest fuel, would it not? It is already a working in itself, a great wreaking all bent towards destruction and the end of things. It weights the Wheel, and it weighs far heavier upon it than I or all my forebears may. I cannot deny that I am fascinated by its potential.

"I will take breakfast in town, Mrs Betton," I tell her. "You might see to removing that animal from my bedroom - it has spent the whole night attempting to encroach upon my pillow. And its hair makes my eyes water."

Once I would have taken a little tea in the Dormouse, but it has been entirely too - disruptive in there of late. Miss Von Sach-- but of course I must think Mrs Whitman, now - seems to entertain all manner of disruptive guests these days. I take myself instead to the Miskatonic, which at least is likely to be without dramatic happenings at this time in the day. Really, Excolo has more disruption in a week than I found in a whole summer in Ladon, where the worst I endured was the squabbling of the Temple ladies.

The weather has lifted a little, though it is hardly pleasant. I am not about to resent it, however; winter is so much kinder a season to me that summer, with the restrictions on how I may dress.

I take a corner table, where I may see the room, and order tea and an egg. I wish to see if town has fully returned to normal, or what passes for it in recent months.

[Open]
[identity profile] mister-foxton.livejournal.com
Sunday Jan 31
Morning
The Miskatonic


When I come downstairs Mrs Betton is cleaning my grandfather's Chronophage, as carefully as it deserves. I smile a little at it, and her: an eater of time. It is such a pretty conceit, swallowing the seconds that lie between us and the End.

I had thought, when I emerged from the Middle Room that day and found the town in the grip of that strange forgetting, that it was That which has come to the water tower. I am well aware of what it is. But it became clear that it was not, and that intrigues me..

The thing itself intrigues me. It wishes some kind of worship, I believe, like a god; or, if not worship, then homage. Enslavement, I might better say, in the end, and I have no time for that.

No time. Hah. It is a jest in itself, if a thin one. But yes, no time - no time for slavery or worship or gods. A god may be a useful thing, it may be used to power a greater working: may be shovelled into it as coal is shovelled into a stove. But beyond that, what purpose can they have? Principles walking around dressed up as men! And it is one of them too, after its fashion, the thing in the tower, a purpose that has put on flesh, or may do.

But ah, that one would be the greatest fuel, would it not? It is already a working in itself, a great wreaking all bent towards destruction and the end of things. It weights the Wheel, and it weighs far heavier upon it than I or all my forebears may. I cannot deny that I am fascinated by its potential.

"I will take breakfast in town, Mrs Betton," I tell her. "You might see to removing that animal from my bedroom - it has spent the whole night attempting to encroach upon my pillow. And its hair makes my eyes water."

Once I would have taken a little tea in the Dormouse, but it has been entirely too - disruptive in there of late. Miss Von Sach-- but of course I must think Mrs Whitman, now - seems to entertain all manner of disruptive guests these days. I take myself instead to the Miskatonic, which at least is likely to be without dramatic happenings at this time in the day. Really, Excolo has more disruption in a week than I found in a whole summer in Ladon, where the worst I endured was the squabbling of the Temple ladies.

The weather has lifted a little, though it is hardly pleasant. I am not about to resent it, however; winter is so much kinder a season to me that summer, with the restrictions on how I may dress.

I take a corner table, where I may see the room, and order tea and an egg. I wish to see if town has fully returned to normal, or what passes for it in recent months.

[Open]

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