Tea is drunk to forget the din of the world. ~T'ien Yiheng

Aug. 17th, 2013 10:04 pm
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Monday, the 11th of June
The Dormouse, afternoon

I have found, quite curiously, now that I am no longer surrounded by tea I want a cup almost every day. It might be because it is no longer work; but I would bet that it has more to do with the way Hope blends them. It's like she has a sixth sense about what will taste good together.

It's raining and blah and I have no interest in being 'Mayor von SacherMosch' today. I just want to sit and have tea and sweets and not be in charge of anything. So much so I forgo all the pretty dresses in my closet and opt to wear a pair of old, comfortable jeans and a t-shirt I found at the flea market. I have no idea why anyone would want a shirt advertising hardware, but the 'Pretty Hate Machine' part amused me greatly.

With my hair up in a pony tail and a walk that clearly states "I'm off the clock!" I head over to The Dormouse for lunch. I silently pray it's not too busy as I shake raindrops from my hair and push open the door.

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Mar. 17th, 2012 12:03 am
[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!)
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I always say don't make plans, make options.

Feb. 7th, 2012 04:18 pm
[identity profile] iago-excolo.livejournal.com
[Saturday, June 19th (Day 384)]
[Noon, Miskatonic Cafe]


It's been a boring, boring day. I've been idle and that's never a good thing. It's when I feel the most mischievous and most likely to follow some long-winded multi-tiered scheme to get something I want. The issue is deciding what exactly it is I want at this moment. Other than the usual and the obvious, I'm stumped.

The waitress returns with my order, flipping her blonde hair while she laughs at my witty comment. She introduces herself and I chuckle, finding it too easy to flirt with her. It's obvious that she'd follow where ever I led but this isn't the kind of entertainment I'm looking for. Besides she looks nothing like Glass. I give the blonde, Alex she called herself, a winning smile to soften the blow of my rejection.

She takes it well, leaving me with an open offer before she sashays away. I watch her hips sway briefly before turning to my food. She's still not Glass. It always comes back to her, and I consider formulating a scheme in that vein. I may as well. My thoughts drift there often enough anyway.

Speaking of, that reminds of other people as well. I still have most of Dorian's cookware at Alessandra's house. That damn bed as well. Does this count as hiding it? And does it count as hiding if no one's looking for it? I chuckle to myself, remembering times past and hidden garlic presses. I believe I actually miss all of that, and with that in mind, I decide what I want most. I want my family back and I want to go home.

Soon enough. For now though, I just have to soldier on by being my normal charming self. Yes, isn't that always the way, and I catch the waitress' attention again to order a coffee. Black, like my sense of humor, and I grin as I watch her walk away a second time.


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I always say don't make plans, make options.

Feb. 7th, 2012 04:18 pm
[identity profile] iago-excolo.livejournal.com
[Saturday, June 19th (Day 384)]
[Noon, Miskatonic Cafe]


It's been a boring, boring day. I've been idle and that's never a good thing. It's when I feel the most mischievous and most likely to follow some long-winded multi-tiered scheme to get something I want. The issue is deciding what exactly it is I want at this moment. Other than the usual and the obvious, I'm stumped.

The waitress returns with my order, flipping her blonde hair while she laughs at my witty comment. She introduces herself and I chuckle, finding it too easy to flirt with her. It's obvious that she'd follow where ever I led but this isn't the kind of entertainment I'm looking for. Besides she looks nothing like Glass. I give the blonde, Alex she called herself, a winning smile to soften the blow of my rejection.

She takes it well, leaving me with an open offer before she sashays away. I watch her hips sway briefly before turning to my food. She's still not Glass. It always comes back to her, and I consider formulating a scheme in that vein. I may as well. My thoughts drift there often enough anyway.

Speaking of, that reminds of other people as well. I still have most of Dorian's cookware at Alessandra's house. That damn bed as well. Does this count as hiding it? And does it count as hiding if no one's looking for it? I chuckle to myself, remembering times past and hidden garlic presses. I believe I actually miss all of that, and with that in mind, I decide what I want most. I want my family back and I want to go home.

Soon enough. For now though, I just have to soldier on by being my normal charming self. Yes, isn't that always the way, and I catch the waitress' attention again to order a coffee. Black, like my sense of humor, and I grin as I watch her walk away a second time.


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[Closed - continued here]
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Somebody just back of you while you are fishing...

Sep. 13th, 2011 01:06 am
[identity profile] jaeresteade.livejournal.com
...is as bad as someone looking over your shoulder while you write a letter to your girl. --Ernest Hemingway

Thursday, May 13th
Day 347, early morning
Bank of the Pontarlier

Continued from here.

After an unsettling conversation with Iblis (another kind must exist!) in the form of Danika, Jarmyn is joined by Leah and offers to teach her how to fish.

---

She gives me the widest, brightest smile at the idea of learning to fish. She'll be knocking boys over with that smile in a couple years, but right now it just makes me wish that Verite'd smile at me like that. Like she used to.

She thanks me, though what she's doing that for already, I don't know. I reel the line in and go over to her, holding the pole out. "You want to hold this for me while I find some more worms?" Figure she might be all right with fish, but worms would be a bit much for her. "There's a hook on the end, so keep your fingers away from it."

I walk a ways downstream and find a couple earthworms under a rock. It's getting too late in the day to find them. Should have pulled a bunch before I started fishing. Walk back to her holding them. Really hope she doesn't scream or anything. I pick up the hook. "Um, you don't have to watch if you don't want to." And I get the worm on the hook as fast as I can, managing not to stick myself this time. "Now, come over to the bank and we'll throw it in the water."

Jane would be somewhere near her age right now. Never got to teach her how to fish. Not going to think about that.

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Somebody just back of you while you are fishing...

Sep. 13th, 2011 01:06 am
[identity profile] jaeresteade.livejournal.com
...is as bad as someone looking over your shoulder while you write a letter to your girl. --Ernest Hemingway

Thursday, May 13th
Day 347, early morning
Bank of the Pontarlier

Continued from here.

After an unsettling conversation with Iblis (another kind must exist!) in the form of Danika, Jarmyn is joined by Leah and offers to teach her how to fish.

---

She gives me the widest, brightest smile at the idea of learning to fish. She'll be knocking boys over with that smile in a couple years, but right now it just makes me wish that Verite'd smile at me like that. Like she used to.

She thanks me, though what she's doing that for already, I don't know. I reel the line in and go over to her, holding the pole out. "You want to hold this for me while I find some more worms?" Figure she might be all right with fish, but worms would be a bit much for her. "There's a hook on the end, so keep your fingers away from it."

I walk a ways downstream and find a couple earthworms under a rock. It's getting too late in the day to find them. Should have pulled a bunch before I started fishing. Walk back to her holding them. Really hope she doesn't scream or anything. I pick up the hook. "Um, you don't have to watch if you don't want to." And I get the worm on the hook as fast as I can, managing not to stick myself this time. "Now, come over to the bank and we'll throw it in the water."

Jane would be somewhere near her age right now. Never got to teach her how to fish. Not going to think about that.

[CLOSED]
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A dream of life comes to me like a catfish dancin' on the end of my line

Sep. 9th, 2011 11:53 pm
[identity profile] jaeresteade.livejournal.com
Thursday, May 13th
Day 347, early morning
Bank of the Pontarlier


I know better than to expect to get my pick of shifts at the Whitechapel, still being new and all, but I’d just as soon never work a Wednesday night again as long as I live. Last night was slow as pond water, leaving me not much richer and with too much time to think. Think about how much my hand hurts, for one thing, how it might be looking a little pink around the bite, and not a good healing kind of pink, either. And of course that would lead to thinking about the boy Valmont’s helping out, since he did the biting, and how much he reminds me of Tarquin in all the ways but the ones that matter.

Really don’t want to think about Tarquin.

There’s plenty of other stuff in my head to bother me, though, and so closing up and mopping and walking down to the ‘Boy I was cursing Iago Beddau every way I know how. If it weren’t for him, I’d have been headed for Verdi’s bed for some fervent prayer and supplication, and I daresay she would have found some way to make me forget all about my long-gone little brother and the pain in my hand.

But when I go to her to ask her about the story he spun me, it won’t be at two in the morning. Don’t know if that story had anything to do with the truth, but those boys did die. And Verdi could have done for them. And she could do the same to me. Don’t think she would, but she <i>could</i> in a minute if she wanted to, and that thought had me going to bed by myself.

Verite knows she’s welcome here, and she hasn’t come. Hasn’t invited me to stay at the salon again, either. I’ve seen her a few times since I moved out, but it’s never been for more that a few hours at a time. And it’s never been as comfortable as it used to be. We’re friends, I’m sure of that, but whether we’ll ever be more than that again I don’t know. Want it, enough to make my heart hurt more than my hand, but I don’t know how to get it. Do know she has to want it, too.

I didn’t sleep a lot last night.

I’ve always been good at putting things that didn’t need to be in my head out of my mind, but by dawn the only thing I’d managed to work out was that I’d lost that skill pretty thoroughly. I dragged myself out of bed and showered, thinking longingly about coffee but knowing very well how much of my paycheck I handed back Monday morning. All of the money I had to spend on coffee, surely.

Thought I might as well doing something useful as long as I was going to be awake and thinking, so I went down to the river with a fishhook and a ball of string. Thought as I was cutting the pole how strange it seemed to be fishing just to have something to do instead of because there was nothing else to eat. I don’t even know what kind of fish they have around here.

Nothing to do but settle myself on the bank to find out. The first one to bite looks like some kind of perch. Well enough. I get it off the hook and onto my stringer and go looking for another worm.


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A dream of life comes to me like a catfish dancin' on the end of my line

Sep. 9th, 2011 11:53 pm
[identity profile] jaeresteade.livejournal.com
Thursday, May 13th
Day 347, early morning
Bank of the Pontarlier


I know better than to expect to get my pick of shifts at the Whitechapel, still being new and all, but I’d just as soon never work a Wednesday night again as long as I live. Last night was slow as pond water, leaving me not much richer and with too much time to think. Think about how much my hand hurts, for one thing, how it might be looking a little pink around the bite, and not a good healing kind of pink, either. And of course that would lead to thinking about the boy Valmont’s helping out, since he did the biting, and how much he reminds me of Tarquin in all the ways but the ones that matter.

Really don’t want to think about Tarquin.

There’s plenty of other stuff in my head to bother me, though, and so closing up and mopping and walking down to the ‘Boy I was cursing Iago Beddau every way I know how. If it weren’t for him, I’d have been headed for Verdi’s bed for some fervent prayer and supplication, and I daresay she would have found some way to make me forget all about my long-gone little brother and the pain in my hand.

But when I go to her to ask her about the story he spun me, it won’t be at two in the morning. Don’t know if that story had anything to do with the truth, but those boys did die. And Verdi could have done for them. And she could do the same to me. Don’t think she would, but she <i>could</i> in a minute if she wanted to, and that thought had me going to bed by myself.

Verite knows she’s welcome here, and she hasn’t come. Hasn’t invited me to stay at the salon again, either. I’ve seen her a few times since I moved out, but it’s never been for more that a few hours at a time. And it’s never been as comfortable as it used to be. We’re friends, I’m sure of that, but whether we’ll ever be more than that again I don’t know. Want it, enough to make my heart hurt more than my hand, but I don’t know how to get it. Do know she has to want it, too.

I didn’t sleep a lot last night.

I’ve always been good at putting things that didn’t need to be in my head out of my mind, but by dawn the only thing I’d managed to work out was that I’d lost that skill pretty thoroughly. I dragged myself out of bed and showered, thinking longingly about coffee but knowing very well how much of my paycheck I handed back Monday morning. All of the money I had to spend on coffee, surely.

Thought I might as well doing something useful as long as I was going to be awake and thinking, so I went down to the river with a fishhook and a ball of string. Thought as I was cutting the pole how strange it seemed to be fishing just to have something to do instead of because there was nothing else to eat. I don’t even know what kind of fish they have around here.

Nothing to do but settle myself on the bank to find out. The first one to bite looks like some kind of perch. Well enough. I get it off the hook and onto my stringer and go looking for another worm.


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I consider it a good rule for letter-writing to leave unmentioned what the recipient already knows,

Aug. 11th, 2011 06:44 pm
[identity profile] leah-pontarlier.livejournal.com
 Wednesday, May 5th, [day 339] Late morning, at the Post Office

It isn't raining right now but I think it might later. It smells like it has rained but the clouds are still here so I hope it will rain again and for longer. I'd like that. I start humming the song that CeCe taught me, as I walk up the main street.

 I can see the rider come out of the post office and I head in that direction. I wonder if they deliver letters to the carnival? I know it's been awhile since Hope invited me to come learn how to read tarot cards and I want to let her know that I didn't forget. I know she can't see but her sister can so if I make the note to both of them then maybe that would be okay. I just need to ask someone to come with me. I know Maryk doesn't like going over there so I think I might ask Michael to come with me instead. After all he was interested in the tarot reading stuff too. 

Once I get there, I realize that I am not the only one who came here. I let the song trail off, wish I knew what language the words were in then I would know what it was about and why it had so many of the same ones over and over. The counter-person is busy with someone else so I look around for someone else to ask my question. 

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I consider it a good rule for letter-writing to leave unmentioned what the recipient already knows,

Aug. 11th, 2011 06:44 pm
[identity profile] leah-pontarlier.livejournal.com
 Wednesday, May 5th, [day 339] Late morning, at the Post Office

It isn't raining right now but I think it might later. It smells like it has rained but the clouds are still here so I hope it will rain again and for longer. I'd like that. I start humming the song that CeCe taught me, as I walk up the main street.

 I can see the rider come out of the post office and I head in that direction. I wonder if they deliver letters to the carnival? I know it's been awhile since Hope invited me to come learn how to read tarot cards and I want to let her know that I didn't forget. I know she can't see but her sister can so if I make the note to both of them then maybe that would be okay. I just need to ask someone to come with me. I know Maryk doesn't like going over there so I think I might ask Michael to come with me instead. After all he was interested in the tarot reading stuff too. 

Once I get there, I realize that I am not the only one who came here. I let the song trail off, wish I knew what language the words were in then I would know what it was about and why it had so many of the same ones over and over. The counter-person is busy with someone else so I look around for someone else to ask my question. 

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A characteristic of the normal child is he doesn't act that way very often.

Jul. 18th, 2011 08:23 pm
[identity profile] celeste-excolo.livejournal.com
Thursday, April 29th
Day 333
Afternoon

Momma is sleeping and Daddy is at work. It was a pretty day so I decided to sneak out. The garden, especially the snap dragons,(they get grumpy sometimes), tried to stop me, but I'm not a baby anymore so I kicked'em and told'em so. They knew I meant it when I gave'em that look Momma gives me and Daddy sometimes. I'll tell it sorry later, but a Tiger Lily did offer to come with me so I tucked it in my hair and we left.

It didn't take long to find town. I could smell the people and the food. It looks like so much fun! Lily whispering my ear, makes me giggle when we cross the bridge. OH! People from Town! They look much nicer and cleaner than Momma says, and they don't smell bad at all!

I start to skip (cos its fun to do, almost like flying) and we sing the new song Momma taught me as we skip down the street, waving to the people we pass.

( Alouette, gentille Alouette )

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A characteristic of the normal child is he doesn't act that way very often.

Jul. 18th, 2011 08:23 pm
[identity profile] celeste-excolo.livejournal.com
Thursday, April 29th
Day 333
Afternoon

Momma is sleeping and Daddy is at work. It was a pretty day so I decided to sneak out. The garden, especially the snap dragons,(they get grumpy sometimes), tried to stop me, but I'm not a baby anymore so I kicked'em and told'em so. They knew I meant it when I gave'em that look Momma gives me and Daddy sometimes. I'll tell it sorry later, but a Tiger Lily did offer to come with me so I tucked it in my hair and we left.

It didn't take long to find town. I could smell the people and the food. It looks like so much fun! Lily whispering my ear, makes me giggle when we cross the bridge. OH! People from Town! They look much nicer and cleaner than Momma says, and they don't smell bad at all!

I start to skip (cos its fun to do, almost like flying) and we sing the new song Momma taught me as we skip down the street, waving to the people we pass.

( Alouette, gentille Alouette )

[OPEN]
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but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you

Apr. 4th, 2011 08:11 pm
[identity profile] hermia-sophia.livejournal.com
Sunday, April 4
The garden behind the Whitechapel Inn

We awoke in each other's arms, both terrified. Valmont, because he feared that I was being attacked; I because I felt something wrong in the world, something beyond the long sleep and painful thirst and weakness. Some ripple of Power that was twisted and wrong. But under it all I could sense Nanshe's presence helping to set the dream-world right again. And Valmont and I had each other, and we were safe, and despite everything, that makes the waking world right.

And neither of us wanted to postpone the ceremony. We wanted - no, needed to continue. Needed to make some new beginning, needed to make life go on as it was supposed to.

And so, still shaky, we went to the abbey this morning at dawn.

Valmont said that I was the one guiding this part of our wedding solemnities, for I was the one closer to the gods. So I arranged the offerings for us to burn on Nanshe's altar: two little bundles, both the same. Not hair. Not incense. Not anything that would be in an Athenian wedding offering to the gods. We are making our own way, here.

So there are herbs from the garden that I planted and he cooks from. The first lilacs that Valmont gave me, and the lilies I gave him, both now dried into fragrant shadows of themselves. Splinters of wood from an empty keg for his profession; scraps of paper from an old book for mine. (Lydia offered me a book that was falling apart anyway; I would never have taken a page from a book otherwise! She gave us a gift, too: a lovely leather-bound and gilt-edged volume of Yeats.) And cotton candy - even though it made everything terribly sticky and I feared it would melt, I had to put cotton candy in there, for the memory of that first night that we soared above Excolo on the ferris wheel and felt as if we were flying. And because it made both of us laugh when I put it in, and we should begin our life together with laughter.

We smile as we light our offerings, and as we smell the fragrance as it floats up to the heavens.

Now, back in the garden behind the inn, I smile again as I wait to take my place next to Valmont and in front of Mab. I've found more lilacs for the bouquet, white and purple both, standing out against the shimmering deep blue fabric of my gown.

I have no parents to bring me to the altar, and neither does Valmont. We just have ourselves, and are giving ourselves to each other.

There they all are. Our friends - all of the people who have grown dear to us in the last year. Our Alice, looking lovely and more grown-up than ever. Mab, tall and serious. And Valmont, who looks so magnificent that my heart leaps at the sight.

I feel a nervous thrill run through me as I step out. Dear gods, I'm getting married! For an instant, I'm terrified, as I stare down that long aisle. But then I realize, why should I be afraid? At the end of the aisle is Valmont. I have nothing to fear as long as he is there.

At the end of my long journey, he was here waiting for me.

So I take a deep breath and step forward, towards my new life.

[Open to wedding guests!]
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but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you

Apr. 4th, 2011 08:11 pm
[identity profile] hermia-sophia.livejournal.com
Sunday, April 4
The garden behind the Whitechapel Inn

We awoke in each other's arms, both terrified. Valmont, because he feared that I was being attacked; I because I felt something wrong in the world, something beyond the long sleep and painful thirst and weakness. Some ripple of Power that was twisted and wrong. But under it all I could sense Nanshe's presence helping to set the dream-world right again. And Valmont and I had each other, and we were safe, and despite everything, that makes the waking world right.

And neither of us wanted to postpone the ceremony. We wanted - no, needed to continue. Needed to make some new beginning, needed to make life go on as it was supposed to.

And so, still shaky, we went to the abbey this morning at dawn.

Valmont said that I was the one guiding this part of our wedding solemnities, for I was the one closer to the gods. So I arranged the offerings for us to burn on Nanshe's altar: two little bundles, both the same. Not hair. Not incense. Not anything that would be in an Athenian wedding offering to the gods. We are making our own way, here.

So there are herbs from the garden that I planted and he cooks from. The first lilacs that Valmont gave me, and the lilies I gave him, both now dried into fragrant shadows of themselves. Splinters of wood from an empty keg for his profession; scraps of paper from an old book for mine. (Lydia offered me a book that was falling apart anyway; I would never have taken a page from a book otherwise! She gave us a gift, too: a lovely leather-bound and gilt-edged volume of Yeats.) And cotton candy - even though it made everything terribly sticky and I feared it would melt, I had to put cotton candy in there, for the memory of that first night that we soared above Excolo on the ferris wheel and felt as if we were flying. And because it made both of us laugh when I put it in, and we should begin our life together with laughter.

We smile as we light our offerings, and as we smell the fragrance as it floats up to the heavens.

Now, back in the garden behind the inn, I smile again as I wait to take my place next to Valmont and in front of Mab. I've found more lilacs for the bouquet, white and purple both, standing out against the shimmering deep blue fabric of my gown.

I have no parents to bring me to the altar, and neither does Valmont. We just have ourselves, and are giving ourselves to each other.

There they all are. Our friends - all of the people who have grown dear to us in the last year. Our Alice, looking lovely and more grown-up than ever. Mab, tall and serious. And Valmont, who looks so magnificent that my heart leaps at the sight.

I feel a nervous thrill run through me as I step out. Dear gods, I'm getting married! For an instant, I'm terrified, as I stare down that long aisle. But then I realize, why should I be afraid? At the end of the aisle is Valmont. I have nothing to fear as long as he is there.

At the end of my long journey, he was here waiting for me.

So I take a deep breath and step forward, towards my new life.

[Open to wedding guests!]
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Dreams that do come true can be as unsettling as those that don't.

Mar. 18th, 2011 12:08 pm
[identity profile] goddessnanshe.livejournal.com
Wednesday, sometime, somewhere in Dream

Once upon time there was a beautiful princess. Her hair was the colour of jet and her skin was the colour of nutmeg, and each of her teeth were like pearls. Flowers grew where she walked, so that the fields around the tower that was her home was carpeted in blooms as white as snow. The princess was very happy, all save for one thing: her fear that one day the thorn of one of the flowers would prick her. Her servants combed the field for thorns every day, trimming the stems so that it would be safe for her to walk. But still the princess was afraid, and she neglected to notice that each month the forest encroached closer on her home, until one day, standing in her field of flowers, she looked up to see the trees looming around her, undergrowth thick with thorns. Frightened, she fled inside, and as she ran she began her first bleeding, and the blood that trickled down her thigh fell to the earth and stained the roses around the tower a deep and brilliant red.

Inside the tower the princess was afraid that she was dying, for her father had always insisted that royal blood was the most precious of all things and must never be spilled. Weeping, she showed the blood to her old nurse, who laughed and kissed her cheek and told her this was the secret gift of women, and now she was blessed. So the princess wiped her eyes, and was no longer afraid of bleeding. But the thorns of the forest came for her all the same.
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Dreams that do come true can be as unsettling as those that don't.

Mar. 18th, 2011 12:08 pm
[identity profile] goddessnanshe.livejournal.com
Wednesday, sometime, somewhere in Dream

Once upon time there was a beautiful princess. Her hair was the colour of jet and her skin was the colour of nutmeg, and each of her teeth were like pearls. Flowers grew where she walked, so that the fields around the tower that was her home was carpeted in blooms as white as snow. The princess was very happy, all save for one thing: her fear that one day the thorn of one of the flowers would prick her. Her servants combed the field for thorns every day, trimming the stems so that it would be safe for her to walk. But still the princess was afraid, and she neglected to notice that each month the forest encroached closer on her home, until one day, standing in her field of flowers, she looked up to see the trees looming around her, undergrowth thick with thorns. Frightened, she fled inside, and as she ran she began her first bleeding, and the blood that trickled down her thigh fell to the earth and stained the roses around the tower a deep and brilliant red.

Inside the tower the princess was afraid that she was dying, for her father had always insisted that royal blood was the most precious of all things and must never be spilled. Weeping, she showed the blood to her old nurse, who laughed and kissed her cheek and told her this was the secret gift of women, and now she was blessed. So the princess wiped her eyes, and was no longer afraid of bleeding. But the thorns of the forest came for her all the same.
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Mar. 13th, 2011 04:03 pm
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Dream.

There is a great sea. The sky is grey, the water green, and the seafoam is the flecked white of milk on the turn. The shore is stone and shingle, and the cliffs are bone-shades. Will you wake on the little fishing boat that rides the waves, wary of great beasts that lurk beneath the surface, or on the cold and stony shore? Or perhaps as some watery thing yourself, breathing in water as cold as ice and with a salt-iron taste like blood?

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Mar. 13th, 2011 04:03 pm
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Dream.

There is a great sea. The sky is grey, the water green, and the seafoam is the flecked white of milk on the turn. The shore is stone and shingle, and the cliffs are bone-shades. Will you wake on the little fishing boat that rides the waves, wary of great beasts that lurk beneath the surface, or on the cold and stony shore? Or perhaps as some watery thing yourself, breathing in water as cold as ice and with a salt-iron taste like blood?

[OPEN TO ALL]
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Top off the tea... it lubricates the grey matter.

Dec. 28th, 2010 03:28 pm
[identity profile] mike-inkheart.livejournal.com
[Thursday, March 11th (Day 284)]
[Main Street in front of the Dormouse]
[Late afternoon, teatime]


Two more errands and I've completed most of them for the day.  Every day should be this good and I look up at the sunny sky, wondering if the nice weather has anything to do with it.  The Dormouse and the library are left on my list.  Should I drop off my note and maybe get lucky enough to meet Mrs. Whitman, or should I go to the library and check out a few books instead?

The library can wait and tucking the note into an envelope, I stop near the steps of the Dormouse.  Mrs. Wilson said that Mrs. Whitman's very pregnant so I don't think I'll see her today but it doesn't hurt to try.  Hopefully, she'll get my note anyway.  I heard that Romana worked here a few days ago so I'll just give it to her to pass along and maybe she'll get back to me.

I'm about to go up the stairs when I spot bright, blonde hair down Main Street.  She looks like Leah.  I wave and smile.  It never hurts to be friendly, especially to pretty women, and maybe she'll have some tea with me.


[Open to Leah, and Romana if she likes]
  • Current Mood: accomplished
  • Current Location: Main Street
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Top off the tea... it lubricates the grey matter.

Dec. 28th, 2010 03:28 pm
[identity profile] mike-inkheart.livejournal.com
[Thursday, March 11th (Day 284)]
[Main Street in front of the Dormouse]
[Late afternoon, teatime]


Two more errands and I've completed most of them for the day.  Every day should be this good and I look up at the sunny sky, wondering if the nice weather has anything to do with it.  The Dormouse and the library are left on my list.  Should I drop off my note and maybe get lucky enough to meet Mrs. Whitman, or should I go to the library and check out a few books instead?

The library can wait and tucking the note into an envelope, I stop near the steps of the Dormouse.  Mrs. Wilson said that Mrs. Whitman's very pregnant so I don't think I'll see her today but it doesn't hurt to try.  Hopefully, she'll get my note anyway.  I heard that Romana worked here a few days ago so I'll just give it to her to pass along and maybe she'll get back to me.

I'm about to go up the stairs when I spot bright, blonde hair down Main Street.  She looks like Leah.  I wave and smile.  It never hurts to be friendly, especially to pretty women, and maybe she'll have some tea with me.


[Open to Leah, and Romana if she likes]
  • Current Mood: accomplished
  • Current Location: Main Street
Tags:
  • Add Memory
  • Share This Entry

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