World more full of weeping

Jun. 28th, 2012 03:00 pm
[identity profile] kateohara.livejournal.com
Saturday, the General Store

It's a beautiful bright day, and the market has brought a lot of people to town and through the store, so Amanda and I have been run off our feet. It's close to closing time now, though, and as I start cashing up the register I find myself in a thoughtful mood.

Things fall apart, I said to Glass, and they have for her, like wood rotting and splitting after a long rain. I'm so sorry that it came to this, and we sat at my kitchen table, Tess finding an excuse to step out on an errand, and drank tea and touched hands, and the baby snuffled and sighed but didn't cry, not for all the time she was here. I feel so very bad for her. I don't know if she's talked to Dorian; things have been strange with them, and I'm not sure she'd have patience for his fussing at the moment. I walked her home, and persuaded her to rest her eyes while I kept my own eyes half on the baby and half on my knitting. It's too hot for wool, but in a few months that baby will need winter clothes, so let's make a start on them now.

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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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Of all the trees that are in the wood, the holly bears the crown.

Dec. 20th, 2011 05:19 pm
[identity profile] sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com
[Afternoon of Monday, June 7 (day 372)]
[Down on the Pontarlier]

...well I was certainly not expecting this, I must say.

I could wonder, or I could fuss, but it comes to me that when such weather strikes, some actions are more appropriate than others. So I dress as warmly as I need to, find something appropriate to wear (shaped and painted leather, the colours of warm oak and berries, and thin brass tags at one temple), and set out to town. The air smells of evergreen and snow, and is full of the squeaking crunch of snow under boots and slightly confused laughter. I make my way through a light peppering of snowballs in the park, and head down to the river.

I wouldn't think it was cold enough to freeze, but the ice seems quite solid. Someone is sharing out or selling mulled cider; I'm not exactly sure as I didn't actually speak to them, but a young woman handed me her cup when a friend called her over, and it's very good.

I don't have skates, but I head out onto the ice, take a few quick steps for speed, and manage not to lose my balance or bang into anyone. The tags on my mask are jingling a little, and I'm laughing as I go sliding out across the Pontarlier.

Vive le vent, vive le vent,
Vive le vemps d'hiver...

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Of all the trees that are in the wood, the holly bears the crown.

Dec. 20th, 2011 05:19 pm
[identity profile] sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com
[Afternoon of Monday, June 7 (day 372)]
[Down on the Pontarlier]

...well I was certainly not expecting this, I must say.

I could wonder, or I could fuss, but it comes to me that when such weather strikes, some actions are more appropriate than others. So I dress as warmly as I need to, find something appropriate to wear (shaped and painted leather, the colours of warm oak and berries, and thin brass tags at one temple), and set out to town. The air smells of evergreen and snow, and is full of the squeaking crunch of snow under boots and slightly confused laughter. I make my way through a light peppering of snowballs in the park, and head down to the river.

I wouldn't think it was cold enough to freeze, but the ice seems quite solid. Someone is sharing out or selling mulled cider; I'm not exactly sure as I didn't actually speak to them, but a young woman handed me her cup when a friend called her over, and it's very good.

I don't have skates, but I head out onto the ice, take a few quick steps for speed, and manage not to lose my balance or bang into anyone. The tags on my mask are jingling a little, and I'm laughing as I go sliding out across the Pontarlier.

Vive le vent, vive le vent,
Vive le vemps d'hiver...

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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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The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.

May. 8th, 2011 12:17 am
[identity profile] sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com
[Noon on Monday, April 12 (day 316)]
[Out at the Merton farmhouse]

I did not go to the market this week.

It's been strange, since I awoke. The first days, not so much, that was rather a blur of waking up and getting better. It took me a day or two to realize what exactly was wrong, and to think of what I could do about it. There wasn't much metal around, but I managed to get what there was smooth and polished, and there was a window in the root cellar still in its frame...

I'm sitting in the kitchen, slicing bread and thinking about going into town later today. It isn't a very big farmhouse, and I managed to get at least one makeshift mirror in each room I use often. But I'd feel better, knowing I had more real mirrors around. Knowing I could just look over and see my face.

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The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.

May. 8th, 2011 12:17 am
[identity profile] sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com
[Noon on Monday, April 12 (day 316)]
[Out at the Merton farmhouse]

I did not go to the market this week.

It's been strange, since I awoke. The first days, not so much, that was rather a blur of waking up and getting better. It took me a day or two to realize what exactly was wrong, and to think of what I could do about it. There wasn't much metal around, but I managed to get what there was smooth and polished, and there was a window in the root cellar still in its frame...

I'm sitting in the kitchen, slicing bread and thinking about going into town later today. It isn't a very big farmhouse, and I managed to get at least one makeshift mirror in each room I use often. But I'd feel better, knowing I had more real mirrors around. Knowing I could just look over and see my face.

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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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(no subject)

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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(no subject)

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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Without wearing any mask we are conscious of, we have a special face for each friend.

Oct. 12th, 2010 03:03 pm
[identity profile] sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com
[Late morning of Saturday, February 20 (day 265)]
[Market on Main Street]

I have not seen the woman from last week, the one who was happier when she wore and bought my blue one. At least I am fairly sure I have not seen her; I do think I could place her again, mask or not. But that doesn't mean much, a young woman hiding in drapes of cloth not returned to a street market, and maybe she will be out again and maybe she won't.

The clouds slip smoothly over the sky, dappling the streets and presenting a canvas to the eye. Here a cat; there a pear; there a bull. The snow is gone, but the grass and leaves haven't come back yet, and I think the unrelenting browns of the landscape are beginning to grate. I remember learning to mix pigments and dyes, and there are nearly infinite ways of mixing mud, he said.

Certainly I think the trinkets have caught the eye a little more than I'd expect them to have done last month. If I catch that little voyou who made off with the green hairpin...

I smile at myself, playing the part of offended merchant, and go back to whittling a shape into a piece of oak. A feather, maybe, or a leaf, or just a polished and sanded twist that's a pleasure to hold--I haven't decided yet.

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Without wearing any mask we are conscious of, we have a special face for each friend.

Oct. 12th, 2010 03:03 pm
[identity profile] sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com
[Late morning of Saturday, February 20 (day 265)]
[Market on Main Street]

I have not seen the woman from last week, the one who was happier when she wore and bought my blue one. At least I am fairly sure I have not seen her; I do think I could place her again, mask or not. But that doesn't mean much, a young woman hiding in drapes of cloth not returned to a street market, and maybe she will be out again and maybe she won't.

The clouds slip smoothly over the sky, dappling the streets and presenting a canvas to the eye. Here a cat; there a pear; there a bull. The snow is gone, but the grass and leaves haven't come back yet, and I think the unrelenting browns of the landscape are beginning to grate. I remember learning to mix pigments and dyes, and there are nearly infinite ways of mixing mud, he said.

Certainly I think the trinkets have caught the eye a little more than I'd expect them to have done last month. If I catch that little voyou who made off with the green hairpin...

I smile at myself, playing the part of offended merchant, and go back to whittling a shape into a piece of oak. A feather, maybe, or a leaf, or just a polished and sanded twist that's a pleasure to hold--I haven't decided yet.

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Although I know it's unfair, I reveal myself one mask at a time.

Sep. 14th, 2010 03:07 pm
[identity profile] sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com
[Late morning of February 13 (day 258)]
[Market on Main Street]

I may go see Klavec, again. Ask if he has anything I can look at, see if there are any shapes that want to be made into something. I can tan the leather myself, but it's never been work I like.

There's not much trade for masks, here and now; most of it these last weeks has been trinkets, pendants or hairpins, twists of skin or wood beaded and stitched and made to a brightness that promises spring, summer, the flare and splash of colour to come. People want what they can't have, want to hold the cool glaze of winter and the iced violets of its shadows when the air beats hot and wet in summer, and the burst of seeds splitting and spitting young green when the sight and ground crackles with autumn ashes. So my masks will wait for someone who wants to show themselves, even only to themselves.

I don't really mind; coming out is a way to sit and watch people go by. And customers will come, soon or late.

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Although I know it's unfair, I reveal myself one mask at a time.

Sep. 14th, 2010 03:07 pm
[identity profile] sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com
[Late morning of February 13 (day 258)]
[Market on Main Street]

I may go see Klavec, again. Ask if he has anything I can look at, see if there are any shapes that want to be made into something. I can tan the leather myself, but it's never been work I like.

There's not much trade for masks, here and now; most of it these last weeks has been trinkets, pendants or hairpins, twists of skin or wood beaded and stitched and made to a brightness that promises spring, summer, the flare and splash of colour to come. People want what they can't have, want to hold the cool glaze of winter and the iced violets of its shadows when the air beats hot and wet in summer, and the burst of seeds splitting and spitting young green when the sight and ground crackles with autumn ashes. So my masks will wait for someone who wants to show themselves, even only to themselves.

I don't really mind; coming out is a way to sit and watch people go by. And customers will come, soon or late.

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Well, we're all in the mood for a melody...

Aug. 20th, 2010 12:30 am
[identity profile] sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com
[The Tavern of Hell]
[It's nine o'clock on a Saturday, February 6 (day 251)]

...and the regular crowd rushes in. And I know the faces you see at the bar, making love to their tonic and gin.

Humming along with the jukebox, and the room's not too crowded, but it's full enough that I can step back and around the people crossing to their table or the bar and if it isn't what they would call dancing it's a movement that makes me smile. The Market was good to me today, and I am wearing my brown mask, but I have pinned a quartet of small bronze ribbons to one side, and brushed them back. They are a little darker than my hair, and it pleases me to have them there, reminds me of places and parties where people took delight in the subtleties of a mask.

I imagine this is how other women feel when they paint their faces, and I smile.

"Do you have cider, cher?" I say to the man behind the bar, slipping onto one of the stools and drawing myself up, appraising him. Audience and player at once, what a delight. "Something that tastes like there could be spring again, something to match the air today."

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Well, we're all in the mood for a melody...

Aug. 20th, 2010 12:30 am
[identity profile] sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com
[The Tavern of Hell]
[It's nine o'clock on a Saturday, February 6 (day 251)]

...and the regular crowd rushes in. And I know the faces you see at the bar, making love to their tonic and gin.

Humming along with the jukebox, and the room's not too crowded, but it's full enough that I can step back and around the people crossing to their table or the bar and if it isn't what they would call dancing it's a movement that makes me smile. The Market was good to me today, and I am wearing my brown mask, but I have pinned a quartet of small bronze ribbons to one side, and brushed them back. They are a little darker than my hair, and it pleases me to have them there, reminds me of places and parties where people took delight in the subtleties of a mask.

I imagine this is how other women feel when they paint their faces, and I smile.

"Do you have cider, cher?" I say to the man behind the bar, slipping onto one of the stools and drawing myself up, appraising him. Audience and player at once, what a delight. "Something that tastes like there could be spring again, something to match the air today."

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“Sometimes too much to drink is barely enough.”

Jun. 22nd, 2010 09:58 pm
[identity profile] dorian-excolo.livejournal.com
[Saturday, January 23 (Day 237)]
[After Closing, The Carnival]

There comes a time when all the thoughts finally stop, overcome and drowned by the whiskey, by the opium, by whatever distraction is handy and available for purchase, and there's nothing but silence.  Not an entirely uncomfortable sound, the absence of all that bloody thinking, those dreams, which is the last thing I remember going through my mind as I raised the bottle in solemn salute - here's to you, you little fucks, may you rest well and far away from here - and I'm sure it would have been a wonderful sort of toast, had I not immediately passed out just after.

I come to and it seems like only a minute, I've closed my eyes and opened them again, but I know I'm not that lucky.  For one, I'm sober now.  And yes, it is the first realization that comes to me, probably because it's the most important.  I'm sober, which means I must have slept just a little while, and that's far more pressing a concern than the fact that it's gone dark when I remember it being afternoon just a moment ago.  I should go see where the whiskey's gone, I paid enough to bathe in liquor for the next few day's if I felt like it, but there is sadly some other small matter.  Small, yes, and not nearly as important as killing this nagging sobriety, but pressing.  I'll go with pressing.

"Excuse me," I say calmly, tapping on the back of the rather muscular man that currently has me thrown over one shoulder.  "There are worst places to be, trust me on that, but I would rather walk if you don't mind."  A laugh.  "Though the view is spectacular."

[Open to Will and any others around the Carnival after hours]

[CLOSED]
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“Sometimes too much to drink is barely enough.”

Jun. 22nd, 2010 09:58 pm
[identity profile] dorian-excolo.livejournal.com
[Saturday, January 23 (Day 237)]
[After Closing, The Carnival]

There comes a time when all the thoughts finally stop, overcome and drowned by the whiskey, by the opium, by whatever distraction is handy and available for purchase, and there's nothing but silence.  Not an entirely uncomfortable sound, the absence of all that bloody thinking, those dreams, which is the last thing I remember going through my mind as I raised the bottle in solemn salute - here's to you, you little fucks, may you rest well and far away from here - and I'm sure it would have been a wonderful sort of toast, had I not immediately passed out just after.

I come to and it seems like only a minute, I've closed my eyes and opened them again, but I know I'm not that lucky.  For one, I'm sober now.  And yes, it is the first realization that comes to me, probably because it's the most important.  I'm sober, which means I must have slept just a little while, and that's far more pressing a concern than the fact that it's gone dark when I remember it being afternoon just a moment ago.  I should go see where the whiskey's gone, I paid enough to bathe in liquor for the next few day's if I felt like it, but there is sadly some other small matter.  Small, yes, and not nearly as important as killing this nagging sobriety, but pressing.  I'll go with pressing.

"Excuse me," I say calmly, tapping on the back of the rather muscular man that currently has me thrown over one shoulder.  "There are worst places to be, trust me on that, but I would rather walk if you don't mind."  A laugh.  "Though the view is spectacular."

[Open to Will and any others around the Carnival after hours]

[CLOSED]
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