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riflewounds · 2 years

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Whumptober, day 2 | Nowhere To Run (cornered, confrontation)

Cw: abusive relationship, posessive whumper

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The sky glowed with those wonderful hues of purple and orange.

A little over half past six in the evening. It's been a good day today.

Fuchs told him to have some time for himself. To relax, unwind, do whatever he needed to do.

It was almost suspicious, the way his boss said all those things. The strange grin twisted the younger man's lip as he stared his gunman up and down. Something predatory twinkled in the man's eyes, but Durant - naively - paid it little mind.

What's the worst that could happen?

He trusted him. After all, wouldn't his boss have the best intentions in mind for him?

Durant turned the corner, long legs carrying him down a smaller street. Plenty of tall buildings, separated by thin, dark alleys.

He had a gun on him. If anything were to happen, he could fight his way out of it, tooth and nail.

Unless... unless he asked for it.

He passed by a deli or two. Then a fancy bar. He paused in front of it, studying the lit sign, but ultimately his interest faded. Too high-brow for him. He didn't need to be reminded of the weird fucks he worked for some years back. A good number of them seemed to love these fancy cocktail lounges, where even the cheapest drinks ran in the double digits and a laughable amount of french fries cost upwards of six dollars.

But the caviar and pork were suspiciously cheap.

And the wine had a strange aftertaste that reminded him of... a lot of things.

So he moved on, in search of some cheaper establishment. Those seemed to be honest, never lying about what they were. They didn't try to mask their rancid stink with fancy flowers or beautiful architecture. No, they proudly displayed their blackboard signs, touting their shit beer was cheaper than water. And they weren't lying, one large beer came in at half the price of a small bottle of water.

He kept pacing, heading through progressively shadier streets.

Until one sign caught his eye. It was colorful, shades of pink, blue, purple and yellow, big green-yellow lettering stating 'TOUCAN CLUB'.

And he went in.

Cheap cigarettes and tropical cocktails. He could pick out a faint trace of a tequila sunset among the dense sea of overwhelming scents. Maybe he should have that instead of his usual order of whatever was closest to whiskey on the rocks. He didn't particularly care about what they put in it, just that it was strong, burned his throat, and distracted him long enough to relax.

But the atmosphere beckoned him to try something else for a change. The dim colorful light, neon signs of toucans sitting on branches, they even had potted palms scattered around the bar to make it feel even more tropical.

He stopped in front of a big poster listing the drink menu.

Nothing out of the cocktail section caught his eye. He moved on to the special section, a selection of cocktails made only at this establishment, and nowhere else. They were all toucan themed, but there was one that sounded interesting. The Toucan Secret.

This one was based on white rum and orange juice, with some pineapple juice and a dash of dragonfruit. But the ingredients also mentioned sugar, kiwis, lime, everclear, and a 'secret blend'. Who knows how potent this would be.

But his curiosity got the better of him, Durant waltzed up to the bar, ordered this toucan-themed concoction, and sat his eager rear on the bar stool.

It took a few minutes, but he was a patient man. In his line of work, he wouldn't have gotten this far if he was an impatient little shit. He passed time by studying those colorful toucans. The lights were pretty, pink and yellow went surprisingly well together, molding into a red gradient where their colors met.

A mesmerizing image, one he was broken out of with the sound of glass against lacquered wood. "The Toucan's Secret, sir."

Before him sat a tall glass, much like the ones used for Long Island Iced Teas. It even had a green straw and a little pink parasol stuck in a chunk of pineapple lazily floating on top.

And it wasn't even that expensive.

It didn't take long for someone to notice him. He practically glowed with such a flamboyant drink on his hands. And as this stranger approached, Durant looked him up and down. Tall, he wouldn't call him handsome, but there was something about the way he carried himself that caught his fancy.

Durant sipped away at his drink. The pineapple juice nibbled at his tongue, tiny invisible saw teeth stripping the outermost layers of his tongue. The sugar and orange juice gave the cocktail its smoothness, and the dash of kiwi and dragonfruit left a nice sweet-sour aftertaste. He couldn't really feel the alcohol in there, save for the warmth spreading through his chest.

Overall, he was happy with his choice.

He took another long sip as the stranger sat down, briefly glanced at the lone gunman before he turned to the barman with those magic words: "I'll have what he's having."

Oh no. Durant knew this little dance. He's seen it before, been a part of it before. Wanted to engage in this little tango again.

They hit it off. Had a little chat. Things turned spicy, with the gunman forced against the cold tiled wall, giggling like a little child with a grin spanning half his face. Consensual violence.

He didn't recall most of what had transpired, on the account of his head slamming into the wall multiple times. Thankfully nothing broke, but his head throbbed with that nasty sickening headache and looking at lit street lamps sent waves of stabbing pain throughout his skull. But he could still walk.

Well, mostly. His legs ached, especially his thighs, and badly. But it was all in good fun, it was the good pain he sought out once in a while, not the bad pain he tried to avoid at all costs.

He still had that satisfied smile as he stumbled out of the Toucan club. The nice warm, fuzzy feeling radiated from his depths, rose up to his head and he tipped his head back for a moment, sending him reeling.

Okay, he definitely had a concussion. Combine that with alcohol (just one drink, but it was a hefty one, who knows how potent, too), and he had quite a powder keg on his hands.

He'll be fiiine. He always was, given enough rest.

But he didn't have time. The sun was setting and it was almost dark, and he had time until midnight to haul ass home.

Home. As if some dingy, moist hole in the wall was a home. No. It was one of Fuchs' hideouts, a web of strategically placed vacant apartments scattered across most cities. An expensive operation to maintain, but there always was a home (or three) wherever they went.

Durant traced quite a path through the town, killing time, trying to sober up a bit before he headed back. The concussion was enough of an issue on its own, he didn't need to get home drunk, too.

He wound up settling in a park, sprawling across an old bench. The wood caught against his creased clothes, a mainstream combination of a dark cotton shirt, black suit jacket and dark chinos, brought together with a simple cloth belt with a toothed buckle, and dark brown leather moccasins. Maybe excessively formal for this part of town, but inconspicuous enough to blend in with the crowds. The gunman sat there in the park, head craned back, resting against the hardwood strips. It wasn't particularly pleasant, but he's slept in worse places. Spending a few minutes resting on a shitty park bench was always loads better than sleeping on cold granite floors of a train station. And then scrambling before the guard set on beating the everliving shit out of him if he didn't leave.

He didn't like to reminisce about his time between jobs. Living on next to no money, unable to even get a motel room for the night. Raiding delis and gas stations to even get by, then skipping town just so the cops wouldn't get their grubby little hands on him.

And he got good at running. Running from the law, the people he pissed off, his previous employers, and himself.

Some time later, he noted how the cold was slowly creeping through his clothes. Maybe it was time to move.

Durant slowly got up to his feet. The world didn't spin as he moved, maybe he'd recovered enough to continue on home.

And so he walked. Away from the park, next to some small river, down a suburban street and then another. Suburban houses gave way to low apartment buildings, five, six stories tall at most. Blocs upon blocs of the same brown brick buildings, separated by thin alleyways.

He turned left, a second to last turn before he finally got home.

There was a hand at his throat, pulling him into the alley next to him. Durant went for his gun, fingers almost wrapped around the grip, when he caught a glimpse of the man's eyes. He barely got a sound out before the man's hand cinched at his windpipe and steered him back-first into the nearest wall with more force than necessary. Durant's head met the brick with a dull thud, bright sprites dancing across his vision as sounds slowly came back to focus.

"I don't think you've listened to me, puppy," the man hissed through clenched teeth, "I thought I've made myself clear."

He tried to remember how his tongue worked among the thick buzz in his head.

"And yet you didn't listen!"

The hand at his neck yanked at him, threw him off balance before it tossed his confused body to the ground.

He recognized the silhouette, long lanky limbs, messy dark hair, eyes full of some strange predatory instinct. "Fuchs?"

"Oh so now you've found your words," his boss mocked, kneeling beside the gunman, "Tony."

His lizard brain screamed at him to get up, but then Fuchs' hand was at his collarbone, just resting there, thumb stroking the gunman's shirt.

He wouldn't get up. It wasn't the right decision.

Durant felt how his ribcage grew and shrank under his boss' hand.

"Tell me, puppy. What did I tell you about hanging around other men without my approval?"

"To mind my own business," Durant replied, a slight terrified tremble to his voice.

"That's right. And what did you do?"

God, what should he say? The cat's out of the bag and it wouldn't go back in. Durant sucked in a tense breath.

"I went against my word."

"You'll have to make this up to me."

The gunman was afraid he'd utter those words. That this fucker needed his ego stroked with Durant squirming on the floor under him, scratching at the carpet and screaming, begging to be let go. He just hoped it would go quick this time but... he had a hunch it wouldn't.

"Now get up. We'll talk when we get home."

#whumptober2022 #no.2 #nowhere to run #cornered #confrontation #OC #fic #abusive relationship #possessive whumper

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dailyrandomscp · 1 year

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Today's random SCP of the day is SCP-803: Predatory Parasols

#scp

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trueshellz · 3 years

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Ice Cream, Sticky Kisses Event for @keiamor

Warnings: pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl), semi-public sex, swearing, reader getting verbally assaulted, suggestive thoughts, forced multiple orgasms, a bit of roughness.

Beach parties were the best thing ever!

Sun, sea, sand and hot guys were the perfect way for you to wind down after your last term at college. Exams were over and you had celebrated by purchasing a new bikini, a red one shoulder two-piece with a separate red chiffon skirt. It was jewelled around the hem with little gold diamanté detailing and the sides were cut out. You had gone past the store for 3 weeks before you even considered buying it, thought about it for another 2 weeks before you tried it on and another 2 days before you took the plunge.

Now, lying here under a huge parasol with your shades on you were excited to relax and recuperate before you started your new job in a week. The sun was warm on your legs, you could hear the thump of the waves as it hit the rocks near you and the faint screams of children as they played nearby. You had found a small secluded place where you wouldn't be disturbed on your trip. The chime of the ice cream van broke your daydream, deciding that it would be a good way to cool down and get some sugar.

Slipping on some flip flops, you tied up your hair and made your way across the beach through the small crowds of people. Making sure to avoid the groups of rowdy young men, the ones content on causing trouble with their predatory gazes and wandering hands. Edging to the side, away from the main shore towards the van you yelped, whirling around, when a hand landed purposely on your ass. Not an accidental brush, this hand cupped your ass like it was a ripe melon squeezing gently before you shoved him off. He reeked of alcohol and sweat, the gross combination making your nose wrinkle as you tried to side step him.

"Fuck off!"

"Come on sweetheart, you're out here looking that... I just wanted a quick taste."

"Ew. Leave me alone."

Moving away from him, you pulled your skirt around you tighter, vaguely aware of him swearing behind you. The noise getting louder as he followed you, your heart thumping in your chest as you searched for a security or lifeguard to help you. Turning around, you could see him stimping behind you spit flying, hands held in fists as he cursed at you. Your momentum suddenly broken when you rammed headfirst into a wall.

Or what felt like a wall at least.

"Shit... sorry... I- oh wow."

A lopsided grin, eyes twinkling with humour as you met his eyes. His blond floppy hair styled on the side, locks falling into his golden gaze. Hands clasping you by the arms as he steadied you, Pro Hero Hawks in all his winged glory. His skin tanned, a gorgeous shade from his time outside, hard muscles where they were pressed against your boobs, his-

"You fucking bitch! Who do you think you are huh? Think you're better than anyone else? Ugly bitch, you deserve to-"

"Finish that sentence, I dare you."

Gone was the humour and grin, eyes focused on the man behind you as he moved you to the side gently. Walking until he was face to face with your attacker, his wings arched menacingly behind him as he glared. Moving until he was nose to nose with him, you watched in awe as the vile man almost shrank before your eyes. The anger dissipated, almost sober now, eyes filled with fear as they darted side to side, seeking some help or assistance.

"Don't look at them. Why you looking at them? Don't look at her either. You had so much to say earlier. Care to repeat that?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, what? Can't quite hear you."

"No, sir. I'm sorry."

Hawks glared down at the man before walking back and holding your hand, tugging you away from him towards the benches. Sitting you down, you were suddenly aware of the feathers around you carrying a cold drink.

"I-"

"Drink something. You look like you're going to pass out, sweetheart."

Mouth opening and closing a few times, you sipped the drink in your hand. Looking up at him through eyelashes, his bronze legs encased in red shorts and yellow sunglasses perched on the top of his head. His wings had folded back now, demeanor a lot calmer without the danger around. His hands on his hips as he scanned the area, eyes darting around the beach. The sun catching his hair making it almost glow in the light.

"Thank you." You smiled a little when he looked at you. "For saving me back there."

Hawks couldn't help but stare a little, you looked so beautiful sitting there in his favourite colour. The warm hues against your beautiful skin, matching his wings, was gorgeous to look at. He could see the gems on the hem, the strip of skin peeking through at your hips and imagined the tan lines you would get. Recalling the incident, he remembered how scared you had looked when the guy was following you. He had seen the incident happen, not wanting to step in since you looked like you had it under control, but the disrespect he saw was too much.

"Can I treat you to an ice cream as a thank you?"

Sitting back on your blanket under the parasol in your little secluded corner, this time with Hawks sat beside you eating an ice cream, you couldn't help but feel a little nervous. You would glance at him from the corner for your eyes and see him smile at you, cheeks heating before you looked away quickly. His glasses were perched on his head, hand supporting him as he leaned back and licked his cone, you couldn’t help stare at the way his tongue would dart out to scoop up small bits. Watched enthralled as it would poke out and lick the side of his mouth, the strawberry sauce dripping down the sides from the heat making him chase it with his mouth.

Little did you know, the Pro Hero was thinking equally un-hero thoughts about you.

He had no right being this turned on, dick pressed against his shorts as he watched you eat your ice pop. He could see the sweet treat move in and out your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you sucked it. The sugary liquid coating your lips, small dribbles leaking down the side of your mouth that would would scoop up with your finger. Tongue lapping at the side to stop it melting, dragging it up its length before swirling it around the tip. The whole thing was erotic... and so wrong of him to think about. Especially after the pervert following you earlier. He wanted to bash his face in, make him suffer for what he did and said to you.

“... Hawks?”

Crap, you were talking to him?!

“Sorry, sweetie, I didn’t catch that.”

Too busy staring at you blow that ice pop.

“I said, you must be busy.”

“Hmmm, kind of.”

A sudden gust of wind had you shrieking, hands up to cover your face from the sand but it never came. Eyes opening slowly, you found yourself face to face with Hawks as his wings shielded you from the small sandstorm. So close, you could see his long eyelashes and the small spatter of hair on his chest. His hands were around your arms again, feathers tickling you slightly and you realised how well matched you must look. His red wings against your red bikini, the gold gems matching his sunglasses.

“Wanna wash off in the water?”

Hawks couldn’t keep his eyes off you, he knew he should, knew it was wrong but the way you looked right now? Fuck. The water sliding off your body, bikini wet and pressed to your skin. The skirt thing discarded, he could see the lushness of your ass when you turned around. Moving towards you, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling you towards him, having you fall onto him as he caught you in a soft kiss. He could feel your small gasp rather than hear it, the intake of breathe before his mouth descended on yours.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

The words were a whisper, drowned out by the water crashing around you and the thunderous rush of your heartbeat in your ears. He could see your body heat, flush from embarrassment as his hands clasped your ass. To answer him, you grasped the back of his neck and pulled him towards you. His kiss harder this time, a loud groan as you responded back in kind, your arms wrapped around his neck as he ran his fingers across your ass. His lips were soft, teasing as he bit your bottom lip and soothed the small hurt it caused, licking the side of your neck and sucking the skin there. His hands grabbing your ass harder now, fingers digging into the soft flesh, kneading it as he started rubbing himself against you. The length of his dick pressed against your stomach, a small flush working it’s way up his body as you reached into his shorts to wrap your hand around it.

"Can I..."

The question left hanging as you held him, running up and down his cock slowly. Smiling when his head dropped forward on your shoulder, a small groan leaving his mouth. Hawks dragged you to the side, an area enclosed by rocks as where the water was shallow and you didn't risk drowning. Fingers wrapped around your wrist as he pulled you until you were pressed against some rocks as his other hand untied the strings holding his shorts up. Your mouth running a little dry when he pulled about his length, long and hard curved up and slapping against his stomach. The tip red and glistening with precum, a long vein along the bottom curling to the top. Hawks reached up to untie your bikini, eyes questioning until you helped him. Your tits bouncing as they were free from their confines, his mouth licking from your sternum to your nipples. Back arching when warm and wet surrounded it, your hand threading through his locks as you held him there.

"Hawks..."

"Call me Keigo, sweetheart. Especially when I'm going to be fucking your tight pussy in a bit."

His words sent a rush of desire through your body, wetness pooling between your legs with each pull of his mouth. His hands trailing to his hips to take your hand and wrap it around his hard length, you mouth opening on a gasp as he began moving it up and down.

"Just like that, sweet girl. Stroke my dick while I get this body ready for me."

You gasped when his fingers drew your bikini bottoms to one side, thick fingers deftly parting your folds to gather your slickness. Dipping into your hole before circling your clit, fingers pushing further each time while his mouth distracted you. Your own hand moving up and down, gathering the pre cum to ease the way. You cupped his balls as he pressed two fingers inside you, the dual feeling making him groan loudly against your tits. Fingers moving in and out, pushing against your gummy walls as he rubbed your clit. Stretching you around them, adding a third and making your gasp, head thrown back as he spoke against your chest.

"Gonna stretch this pussy out, get it all swollen and puffy. Make it leak with my cum when I'm done. Fuck, you're so wet."

Suddenly he pulled out and away, hand stroking his dick as he lifted your leg, exposing your pussy once more before he started pushing in bit by bit. Your hands scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, running to the top of his wings and he held your hips. The feeling of his dick pushing into you had you whining, head buried in his neck as he groaned. The push and pull feeling as he added an inch at a time until your body had accepted the intrusion. His hips snug against yours, hands cupping your ass as he started moving in and out, wings providing a little protection from the elements and any wandering eyes who walked by.

You couldn't hear anything over the rush in your ears, his groans and whines in your ears as he snapped his hips. The slapping of skin on skin drowning out the waves crashing around you. Mouth finding yours and swallowing your sounds as he fucked you, louder and louder reaching a crescendo when your orgasm came abruptly. Your breath came in short pants as your heartbeat raced, not giving you reprieve, Hawks fucked into you harder. Spreading your legs wider so he could push into the deepest parts if your pussy, the movement hitting your gspot.

"Wait... H- Keigo. Slow... slow down. Please."

But that didn't stop him, his growling as he came again reaching a peak we you felt his hips stutter against yours. Your back arching and body shaking just as he pushed into you to the hilt and painted your insides with his cum. Kissing you neck and moving to your mouth, a hard kisses all tongue and teeth and he bit your lips until they were swollen from his kisses. Fingers digging into your ass until he emptied himself inside of you, grinding against your clit until you were sensitive.

The moment completely destroyed by a huge wave of water splashing on both your heads and making you both sputter. His dick slipping out with a wet pop. Your giggles met his as he looked at you, hair sweaty and stuck to his head as he put you down into the water. The cold a shock to your heated skin and wobbly legs.

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kazeofthemagun · 2 years

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You Welcomed Me Yourselves - Anarchy's Devil Parade

The luminous hand stilled, cyan eye searching for its master. And there they were, stainless in all their carnage, as though the rivers of blood streaming down the streets shied from the very fabric of their clothes. "That's too fast. You forgot what I am already? I told her to sing for me."

[Drabble about the Shadow Troupe of Gaudium, character introduction - Anarchy, Yarukiel, the Hatter, return of Herba and Oscha. A new plague arises. Post-series, prequel to The Creeping Shadows of Anarchy. 2.8k words]

[cw: blood, gore, mental and physical torture]

The night was young yet and the moon had only barely begun to show through darkened clouds. A lazy silver sheen illuminated the town, accompanied by the gold of streetlights and uncovered windows. Life carried on in the absence of Wonderland's evil ruler, and for the first time people could breathe.

Men, women and otherwise of various races and worlds breathed deep with a weight lifted from terrorized hearts, walking down alleyways and enjoying the scent of night. The district bustled with life and light, businesses carrying out their work and pushing the lifeblood of economy through narrow streets like veins.

All seemed to be well. In fact, all seemed to be too well.

Mechanical, like clockwork, did all these people move - and a pair of pale blue orbs that watched from the shadows could not say they approved of the monotony of such a life.

The being's lips stretched into a wide smirk, a smile that did not quite reach focused eyes. It was as though in that very moment, two seperate halves made up that pale face framed by pastel pink hair, one that warped in some twisted amusement and another that glared on from above through predatory orbs. What appeared to be red tendrils extended from their neck, half-hidden in an ornate white frill of their vestments; Ones with armored shoulders decorated with golden spikes. In their hands they held a creature, its body lifeless and woven out of silken fabric. Beady black buttons stared aimlessly off into the night as green and red fur bent under the caress of a gloved hand.

A head of vibrant color turned to look at the tall and crooked shadow looming behind. "Well, Oscha, what do you think? I say this is a prime night.. for our debut."

The shadow bent in an exaggerated bow, its mask - one that bore resemblance to a mask of tragedy - concealing whatever inhuman features lay beneath. Or lack thereof. Despite the shade's crooked appearance, horns made of fabric drooping like the branches of a willow tree, the male voice that seeped from the downturned grimace of its mouth was alike to a melodic chime, a sound too silken for the monster that it was. For it was anything but a man.

"Ah, yes, Your Frabjousness." The shadow jester dragged the strange-sounding title, earning a widening of the other's grin. The black crescent moons on Oscha's mask disclosed no emotion, even as crimson eyes gazed from beneath his cover. "I do indeed think this quaint little place could benefit from a little entertainment."

"That's what they wanted, so that's what they shall have!" A female voice chimed in, parasol resting on her shoulder and a hand on her hip. A woman not of flesh, but of plant fibre, a splendid and luminous flower blooming atop her head as hair.

A figure tall as two grown men loomed wordlessly behind, its shape one of a beast that stood slumped forward, long rattlesnake tail slithering slowly along the ground. No words or sounds - and that beast’s sounds hurt ears and minds alike - came out of its muzzle, or whatever its front could be called; A head that bore the likeness of a golden gramophone.

"Has your momma not taught you it is impolite to breathe down people's necks with a breath as bad as yours, Yarukiel?" Herba complained, tipping back with her parasol the gilded sheet of metal that lingered just above her head. "Ew."

The radio demon took one lazy step back.

In the very back of the group, there stood another man, one whose dishevelled blue hair obscured what little of his face could be seen from beneath his sizable top hat. A neon cyan eye gazed briefly before closing once again. He adjusted his gloves, dark green coattails swaying softly in the wind. "Let's just get this over with. I have a score to settle."

The figure at the front of the gathering spun theatrically on their heel, pointing finger aimed at their rather gruff companion. "All in due time, Hatter, my friend! Furthermore, you are aware you sound quite like one of those you so hate, are you not?"

The Hatter sputtered, ornate watch clicking closed in his hand.

"For now, why don't you join for tea? We wait until the ghastly hour. The devil's hour!"

A snap of gloved fingers, pale eyes and bubblegum hair illuminated by some red, wild magic. With a puff of white smoke and multicolor glitter a table and chairs appeared already set, intricate porcelain cups already filled with steaming liquid landing on snowy sheets and somehow spilling not a single drop. The magician gave another self-satisfied smirk, and claimed a chair at the top of the table, sitting with one leg over another.

The group all took their own seats - with Yarukiel lying down along the side - and had their late-night tea (with the notable exception of Oscha, of course.) Feather-stuffed monstrosities of sewn velvet and empty button eyes walked and refilled cups, while thorned walking plants guarded the perimeter. The faceless, 12-foot tall monster strewn at the base of the table somehow absorbed tea telekinetically through the tube of its gramophone. The floral jester made a disgusted face and ostentatiously pinched her nose, then changed seat. Yarukiel followed and Herba was forced to repeat the manouever a few times until pale blue eyes focused on her. All it took was a single, meaningful look and the woman sat down and politely remained. "Thank you, Herba." The magician sounded. Their head then turned towards their newest companion. "Hey, Hatter. What's the time? I do admit I’m growing impatient."

A cyan orb opened with the click of his watch. "It is nearly the ghastly hour, my Lord."

"Excellent!" And with a resounding clap, the table and chairs disappeared - sending Herba rump-first to the floor while both Oscha and the blue-headed man seemed to have been well prepared. "Ow." The woman exclaimed. Nobody paid her any heed, though. Nobody except the radio demon, who proceeded to loom. The jester grimaced.

The pink-haired magician gestured at the group to follow, and somehow, their two-tailed scarf did the same, golden claws bending like real fingers. Was it another kind of magic that set fabric into motion - or was the patterned garment a part of the being's own body - a mystery perhaps best left unsolved.

Slowly but steadily did the procession roll down the hill, lanterns lit with distinct reddish fire carried in the claws, hands, and tendrils of many vibrant monsters. Next to the moon's silver, and the town's gold; Their glow arose just as bright, out to challenge the order that had settled into the wounded land. A traveling circus, bearing many instruments and too-wide smiles.

A soft mist had descended into the valley, one breathed not by the Swordsman but rather nature's herald of morning. Before the moon stepped down from her pedestal and welcomed the sun, blanketing the city with a layer of snow-light vapor. Gradually, did the white shroud flicker; Crimson peering through its haze like distant, flaring eyes.

And then came the song. At first, a muted hum, the cry of woodland birds. Then, men's and women's voices and the guttural growling of beasts. The honking of trumpets, the melody of laughter that would come to haunt Wonderland like a boogeyman haunted terrified children.

"...Still heart-beats the garbled cry

Awakened hath the downturned eye!

Deliver rapture, vying fear

Come listen here! Our song draws near!"

It was a cacophonous song of cacophonous meanings, as if a hundred voices attempted to sing a hundred verses. Somehow, it all mangled and mixed together, a joyous nonsense tune that assaulted the ears in dying moonlight.

The perimeter of the town was less densely inhabited, and the sounds of night-life were not as loud. The first listeners turned their heads, peeked out of their homes, seeking the source of the song. A cranky old man yelled obscenities into the ether, splattering spittle against the window until his family gently ushered him away and back to bed.

"Belligerent the empty throne

Bled dry the wonder-licious mone!

With beat of wings and frabjous tings

From vivant shades the Parade sings!"

The red shone brighter, like fairy lights within a forest. From the fog, marching feet could be made out - faded, dark silhouettes, approaching steadily with lifted instruments and hoisted banners. A jester juggling jingly orbs; Making noise. They were noise personified. More gold lit up in the city, windows opening, people waking. Drawn from slumber by the nonsense song. The hollering heralds of a new age dawning.

"They are coming! Here they come!

Arisen is the throneless Lord!

Inverted eye and rhythmic drone

Twists and turns the joyous horde!"

A steady, resounding clapping - adhering strictly to the tune. A wide smile, wider yet, red light reflected within narrowed pupils. Face warped like the mask of comedy; With tragedy trailing right behind.

"Dead of night it spawns new light

The Troupe sings on with all their might!

Structured thought their dance does scorn

Of bloody smiles and golden thorns!"

Guards bearing spears and primitive rifles stood a wall between the parade and the town gate; The grinning magician stepped forward in a prance, tapping their feet and clicking heels. With a snap, blood-red tendrils wrapped around the sentries' feet - and glitter dust rained from above as the hovering Herba spun her parasol. Sharp eyes suddenly blanked, and weapons clattered against the ground. The crimson coils released as more dancing feet joined the parade, the men's voices a hearty bellow of joyous song.

"Still heart-beats the garbled cry!

Awakened hath the downturned eye!

Embrace your fear and tap your heel

Callooh! Callay! The Lord is here!"

And they arrived, joined along the way by hapless souls entranced by the dark magic that followed in their path. "Welcome, welcome!"

"..Of bloody smiles and golden thorns!"

The Shadow Troupe and all they enslaved roared with laughter, and whoever could not keep up collapsed along the way, suffocated by sickly joy. More pollen blanketed the area like the dust off a butterfly's wings - the culprit giggling madly as she glided through the air with her antigrav parasol.

Doors opened and people vacated their homes, lulled to insanity by the parade of nightmares. The town was up on their feet, and they danced and sang, more and more souls to reinforce the maddened crowd. The Shadow Troupe smiled in unison - even the demon Yarukiel let out a raspy laugh, the distorted voice from a smashed radio tower. "̵E̷n̶j̵o̷y̸ ̴y̷o̶u̵r̵ ̷g̸o̴o̸d̴ ̷t̵i̵m̴e̵s̸!̵ ̷E̸n̷j̵o̴y̶ ̸y̷o̶u̶r̴ ̷g̶o̸o̸d̸ ̷t̵i̶m̵e̷s̴!̸ ̵E̵n̷j̷o̴y̷!̵ ̵H̶a̷-̶h̷a̶!̷"̶

"Firaga!"

The beast's laughter was interrupted when a blast of flame zipped through the air, crashing into black hide and sending the creature hissing like an overtuned mic.

A gray-robed figure dashed into the fray, remnants of her spell crackling at her fingertips. Wild silver hair puffed out still from latent magic, and orange eyes glared defiantly with unbridled fury. A voice not of madness, and not one belonging to any of the Shadow Lords, either. "Who are you?! Why are you doing this?!"

Pale blues came to rest on fiery ambers as the Shadow Troupemaster drawled. "Sorry, but who are you? You should know better than to demand someone's name and not introduce yourself first."

More guards - somehow not mindwiped - rushed out into the main plaza, a shimmering blue gleam around their forms. Just like the mage's. The Troupemaster's eyes narrowed. "Magic Barrier, huh? Frankly, I feel quite insul -"

“Thundaga!”

A spell blitzed through the air - a massive thunderbolt plunged from the blue right into the pink-haired magician's form, electrifying nerves and sending a high-pitched yelp of surprise bursting through parted lips.

Instead of toppling over dead, however, the entity merely wobbled slightly and steadied - splaying the golden claws of their scarf as orange eyes widened in shock.

"Oh-o-ho-ho my! How rude." They chimed, happy-go-lucky voice suddenly dripping with venom. Though they looked comical with their clothes charred and hair standing on end, their right hand rose and fingers snapped. With a puff of smoke, everything about them was orderly once again.

Except that smile. That too-wide, too-white, chaotic smile. "No need to introduce ourselves, then. Sing for me."

The pavement below all but exploded - blood-red vines shooting out from the very earth and impaling unsuspecting defenders. They split and branched like capillaries, covering the entire town square in a wretched lattice.

Utter destruction. Death by a hundred spears - gored bodies flew through the air, the earth they had once walked on opening up to swallow them whole. Within, there was a maw of golden teeth. The parade laughed and continued onward with song on their lips, not caring whether the ground was no longer there to support them.

"̵S̸i̸n̸g̸!̷ ̴P̴l̷a̸y̸!̸ ̷L̶a̶u̶g̶h̸!̸ ̸N̸o̶t̷h̸i̸n̴g̷ ̵b̸e̸a̴t̶s̸ ̷t̵h̸e̸ ̵g̶o̶o̷d̷ ̷'̵o̸l̷ ̶d̴a̸y̶s̶!̶"̸ A corrupted recording erupted from behind the remaining guards' backs as Yarukiel leapt from the rooftops, slashing wildly with bone-white claws. Screaming erupted, magic flashed - lightning stake slamming into the evil spirit's hide. Herba descended to the ground, opening her parasol as hypnotic patterns began to form, the vents of her weapon spraying lung-corrupting pollen. Oscha’s wooden puppets-turned-alive swarmed the defenders, overwhelming them with sheer numbers. The massive radio beast recovered and coiled around itself, bringing its rattlesnake tail to a gramophone mouth. The plating shifted, the sound of a tuned microphone as a crushing wave of sound erupted from the golden tube, sending warriors flying with blood and brain matter bursting out their ears.

"Damnation..." The spellcaster cussed, evading a blow that came from a green-clad man. His white gloves now removed and palms glowing with spectral blue light, he thrust out his right to catch the defending mage. Fingers grazed against cloth; A massive spark of lightning and the barrier shattered.

No! Furious amber glanced frantically between the invaders, the maddened crowd and the failing defensive. Just.. who were these people? No - these monsters. They were monsters. As monstrous as Chaos itself. A Chaos Parade.

A Devil Parade.

Alas, she had little time to ponder. The warrior mage weaved through the air, dodging rapidly to create distance. Anything to cast the barrier again before that accursed song eroded her mind.

"Callooh! Callay! The Lord is here!"

Anything to get that sound out of her br -

A hand watch clicked open. Something glowed from beneath a shroud of blue hair.

"Slow."

On cue, a bubble of warped spacetime encased the mage, and suddenly, movement became difficult. Time's passage decelerated, leaving the defender stuck in limbo moving at one hundredth of her pace. Trapped.

"Haste."

The watch clicked closed as the Hatter walked forward in a leisurely stroll, encased in another bubble. He entered the mage's own bubble, the opposite force-fields cancelling out and allowing the man to walk at normal speed. A glowing, blue hand traveled towards his foe's chest. A hand of annihilation, like dark matter erasing matter. "Nothing personal." A deadpanned remark.

"Stop, Omega."

Glistening white teeth smiled incessantly. Moonlike blues rested on their prey. "She will sing of me so sweetly. Of me and my Devil Parade. Now, now, if we leave no survivors, nobody will spread the word, now, will they?"

A weak swallow from the trapped mage, amber flashing wildly. Red vines crept from beneath tiles, poking through the distortion bubble and reaching their target, unaffected by the field. Slowly, like snakes, did they wrap around slender joints and a gasping throat. Slithered into the ears.

"...I am the God of Joy and if it is freedom you so desperately sought, then freedom you shall receive. Freedom from your minds. My last incarnation was too good for you, you animals."

"You... you can't be..." A gargled whisper from a tightly-squeezed throat.

Red vines pushed deeper, and sing the mage did.

She sang. In a high pitched voice of pain she sang for Chaos and Chaos before her smiled a pearl-white smile.

"As for why I am doing this? Why, the people welcomed me. My people welcomed me when they slew he who ruled Wonderland. They welcomed me.. Anarchy. I am the God who takes the shape their followers yearn to witness."

The most deranged of ironies.

"..I, Chaos, am the reflection of all of your darkness. I am the sum of your sins. And I am inevitable." A snap of the fingers, and she saw it in the sky. Gazing down, a swirling galaxy. Feasting on the pain and confusion.

Growing.

In the end, however, the devil magician grew weary of her screams and released their hold. The Hatter undid his magic with a click, Yarukiel cackled madly in a voice of static, Herba blew a venomous kiss and Oscha emerged from a wall, pooling shadows still hungering for the warmth of souls. Anarchy's tendrils crept back underground, the red lines on their skin giving way only to near-deathly pale flesh. Another toy broken, but what loss was there in the loss of sanity, when the Chaos that ensued in their path was oh, so very sweet?

"...Wonderland and all that lies beyond will sing for me just the same."

With a wave of their hand, the Parade went silent and followed in tow. Red lights went out as the first rays of the sun slowly trickled down bloodstained walls, and just like ghosts, they disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a few still-crying bodies with no thoughts. Their cries were a droning tune.

A song of praise for all to hear.

#[[drabble #[[headcanon #[[Our Antithesis ║ Chaos #[[Devil Reborn ║ Anarchy #[[Poison Flower ║ Herba #[[Dread Jester ║ Oscha #[[Good 'Ol Times ║ Yarukiel #[[Mind's Fragment ║ The Mad Hatter #[[Omega #[[Gaudium Shadow Troupe

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a-jumped-up-pantry-boy · 4 years

Text

The Secret Stealer

Trees took graceful waltzing steps and swayed their leaves as the breeze hummed a secret tune, while striped and spotted dresses lackadaisically bobbed from one side of the street, which was coloured only in varying shades of brown, to the other, much like ducks on water - only without any purpose. They brought a much needed shock of colour to the otherwise miserable location, although many would insist that the plain street was charming, rather than personalityless. Inside the whimsical tea-shop, the interior of which was far more resplendent, and generally more pleasant, than the exterior, teacups danced between their owners’ hands and the saucers they paired with, creating an orchestra of clinking crockery, delicate spoons tapping against the sides of cups as the beat, and the main melody being the hums of appreciation from the grateful customers as they sipped their drinks.

“Thank you, sir, but I’m rather sure this topic is just far too complex for a woman to understand, no matter how competent you are at explaining it. Might I propose moving onto an alternate field of conversation, instead?” An asinine creature giggled and twirled a lock of honey coloured hair around a perfectly manicured finger she spoke, leaning across the table under the guise of reaching for the sugar pot to send a simpering smile at the way of her companion.

“Of course, Miss Alward. I understand completely; this topic is very complicated and you’ve far too much to think about without me trying to make you ponder something much too difficult for your brain. I imagine all your time is spent choosing new dresses, yes?” Her companion spoke considerably louder than she did, his arrogant tone attracting glances from many people at other tables.

“Well, what other activities would I be partaking in?” The young woman readjusted her skirt, flashing her ankle at the man who sat across from her for only a second, and giggled, a light sound that could come only from a head filled completely with air, glancing at him to make sure he took notice of her guilty show of ankle, looking satisfied when he continued to stare down at her feet. Drawing small circles with her left hand on a small piece of paper covered in patterns, she used her right to stir her tea as she continued to smile at him, seeming to have no aim other than to win a touch of her hand or a predatory leer disguised as an adoring smile from him. “The weather is very pleasant at the moment. I imagine your mother has been having many garden parties at the moment?” She continued to glance up at him from under her eyelashes every few seconds while he spoke.

“Unfortunately not. She’s been rather sick recently, and has been confined to the house, but she’s sorely missing all her parties.”

“Perhaps I could pay her a visit soon, to lighten her spirits?” He nodded and smiled at her again, as if she'd said something particularly endearing, and began talking extensively at the poor girl, making the mistake of assuming she held any interest in the least important aspects of both his and his mother's lives, simply because she'd made a polite inquiry, and incorrectly presuming her vacant smile, which was actually just covering her wandering imagination as she completely ignored every word the verbose man threw at her, was a sign of deep interest. As he began to talk about his third butler’s recent antipathy to the ducks in his lake, she felt overcome by a deep lassitude and began nodding in time to his lilting speech, contemplating how long it would take her to drift asleep that evening if he sat beside her bed later, still talking, and she observed the shambolic tweed jackets that contained women heaving stacks of books along the street, leaning against Picasso painted parlours and shooting sardonic smiles at the candy coloured dresses who stared with horror at their hair, clothes and literacy that they displayed with shocking confidence. Soon his stream of conversation, although really it was like a vicious river that never ended, moved onto a new topic, and she repressed a sigh, wishing she was imprisoned anywhere but that tea-shop.

A dress, made of light fabric where blues mingled in with browns, wandered along pathways that would be impossible to navigate, had the wearer not basically grown up in those woods, whilst the girl trapped inside it fiddled with her gloves and parasol as she wandered, staring at the sky and trees. Eventually she strolled into a clearing, flinging her arms open wide, dramatically greeting the other girls who resided there, hanging from trees and perched on rocks. The only woman there who was older than 25 made her way towards Clarissa, while a girl followed from behind her, shooting a grin towards her friend.

“Why, pray tell, does your dress have the contents of a teacup over it?” The woman asked, her eyes running over the stained dress a few times before she stepped forward and began scrubbing it with a handkerchief that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

“Mr. Lowood was the most tedious character I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting, and I had to spill my drink over me just so I could escape his company. Oh, Anne, why did you send me there?” Clarissa cried, stepping back from Anne’s rough hand and gently scrubbing at the dress herself, scowling at the persistent stain.

“Away with the dramatics, for Goodness’ sake. I’m hoping you found out something useful before you decided to jump ship?” Anne just gave the girl a disapproving look as she began to dance around the clearing while humming, then singing her message.

“His mother is sick, so I shall pay her a visit soon, and hopefully in her delirious state she’ll accidentally give us some information. And his butler, the third one, hates their geese and ducks, so perhaps if we threaten him with some aquatic birds he’ll-”

“Any other helpful information?” Anne’s question was greeted simply with a fast shake of Clarissa’s head and a disgruntled look at being cut off before she could finish her duck-based proposal. “Then I suggest Miss Reid accompanies you to change out of your dress,” she finished, then glanced at Clarissa once more and swept off to go and discuss matters, most of which were secret, with one of the other young women.

“This role is insufferable!” Clarissa muttered, stalking through the trees until she reached a sheltered spot, stopping underneath and struggling with the fastenings on her dress. “Whenever I gather secrets, I’m treated as nothing more than another silly little creature they can exploit and then abandon. Of course, I’m not, but it’s demeaning to have to pretend to be dim just so that I’m considered pleasant company.” She finally undid the buttons and pulled off her dress, glaring at it as it sank to the muddy floor in a depressive heap of heavily starched fabrics as if it was the sole reason she was forced into something that made her so unhappy, immediately stepping into another with no care for its delicacy, only being more careful with it after she heard snapping threads.

“Surely you realise what you do is important? Without you, I doubt we’d be able to...persuade men to do what we want. A business of secrets is barren and useless if there’s not a soul collecting the secrets. What did you discover today, at tea?” Catherine calmed Clarissa’s intense fury almost immediately, her soft breeze, which matched the soft ringlets that framed her face and light colours she always wore, putting out the fires Clarissa’s tenacious temper wouldn’t fail to set alight.

“At the expense of my happiness, peace and feeling of any emotion other than eternal boredom, I collected a few secrets. Nothing on their own, of course, but paired with the facts I’m sure I’ll discover during my meeting with Mr Lowood’s mother, there’s not a single situation I can imagine in which we fail. I don’t want to dwell on the possibility that we might fail; this is an important mission, even I understand that, for all Anne doesn’t trust me, and there’s an awful lot that seems to be resting on my shoulders. Mr Lowood seems about as harmful as a spaniel, but I’m sure his acquaintances could damage us if they saw fit, which they would if we threatened him. Truly, there’s no room for error.” Clarissa had by now fasted her dress and was pacing around the clearing, gesticulating wildly, while Catherine sat on the edge of a rock, smiling slightly.

“I’m certain nothing will go wrong; you’ve prepared for this mission for so long now, you have a plan for every possible error. And besides, Anne trusts you, you know she’s awfully fond of you, and she doesn’t trust many people. You’re truly a special creature if she has faith in you. However, she has nothing but stern feelings towards me, that must be why I’m still only allowed to sort through correspondences, the most tedious task of them all! But, tell me more about Mr Lowood’s misdemeanours,” Catherine answered, more eager about Mr Lowood than she had been about any of Clarissa’s previous cases, although she was sure that was just because she’d complained more about him than anyone else, and so of course her friend would be more intrigued by him. As she quietly uttered the secrets, careful nobody else could hear, she began tugging on her gloves, which seemed to be bound to her skin, mindful of the delicate spot by her thumb where a hole had broken the last time they had an argument, and which had been shabbily mended just after they made peace with each other. After Clarissa had finished discussing the “insufferable, eternally mundane Mr Lowood'' with Catherine, her friend suddenly dashed off, and she was left standing in the woods alone.

Rain, laced with knives shot down, soaking Clarissa to the skin as she ambled away, alone.

The secrecy was difficult for the women of the society to live under, as the pressure often suffocated them, which wasn’t unexpected, as they were forced to leave the entirety of their lives behind to become someone new and help the movement. This secrecy, a burden that all of them carried, flowed through their veins constantly, becoming a part of them, until it was difficult for even them to be able to tell the difference between the lies in their lives and the parts that were true. This secrecy had broken families as easily as dried leaves, their cracks on display to everyone else in their circle to observe, for as good as these women were at hiding, they could hardly hide from people who were as good at lying as them. This secrecy had caused women to pull away from their families completely because of the lies which comprised them so entirely, they were nothing but a series of stories.

Anne sat in a different clearing to the one all the younger women congregated in, bathing in the melody of the river tumbling over the rocks that inhabited it, thanking the stars that were just emerging that she didn’t have to assimilate any more information about the most fashionable style of dress, or listen to anymore mindless chatter that the girls pertinaciously assured her wasn’t utterly inane. Clarissa stumbled into the clearing, soaking wet.

“Why is it that I play this role, rather than someone else?” Clarissa’s voice was soft, not with anger - her anger was blazing and impossible to miss, it scorched the Earth and nothing was left untouched - but with confusion. Her hair, wild after sprinting through the trees in the way she so loved, curled around her face, not framing it as a beautifully decorated picture frame would a masterpiece, but surrounding her face as a cloud of smoke would an explosion.

“Many of the other girls want this role because they want to feel important. You, however, care nothing for the opinions of others. You wanted this, although you don’t anymore, because you wished to change things. These girls, of course they hope to witness and cause a change, but your sole purpose is to set things alight and rebuild cities after the flames, and this is a fact you’re well aware of,” Anne stated, her focus shifting from her umbrella to the girl stood in front of her.

“What about Catherine? Is she not filled with a flame, as I am?”

“Catherine...possesses a warmth, not a fire. Her wish is to change, but she has not the drive, nor the passion, that you do. A role, any role, isn’t suited for her any more than a life of complacent marriage is suited to you. She resents me for my observations, and yet she doesn’t aim to disprove them. That’s how I’m sure she’ll never burn as bright as somebody with a scorching soul will.” At Anne’s words, Clarissa nodded her head, never arguing with her statements about her friend. Catherine was dear to her, the closest companion to her soul she suspected she’d ever have, but she wasn’t tempestuous, possessing no storm behind her eyes, no wind to stoke the embers in her heart, no soul that seemed to drive her every move.

“When we first started this, my dearest friend and I, we thought it would work perfectly. We fit together as opposite pieces of the same puzzle. But there was a fantastic upset between us, and we discovered we weren’t from the same puzzle at all. Her shades of blue for the sky was actually the colour of the sea for me. We were so contrasting. She wanted to use the information we found to ruin gentlemen’s public image, while I wanted to use it to...convince them to do as we pleased. An enormous case, the one that finally snapped the last threads between us, was with a middle aged gentleman on a big council, with a plethora of people he could influence. We’d made it known to him that we had news of a scandal concerning him, a very secret one I doubt even his wife knew about, and my wish was to use this information to persuade him to add three women onto the board of the council, and to publicly support our ideals for equality so people would listen, for without a voice-”

“We can never gain equality. Anne, that expression seems to come out of your mouth more and more these days,” Clarissa’s tone was jesting, but her countenance had turned grim and there wasn’t a hint of a smile anywhere except her mouth.

“I say it because it’s true. As I’m sure you know, because your work does a great deal for us and our case.,” Anne shot Clarissa a meaningful glance, but she was too busy glaring at the river as if it were responsible for all her troubles to notice the look coming her way. “While I was eager to be more persuasive, my companion simply wanted to blacken the name of the mayor. I suspected she wanted to seek revenge, as opposed to making a legitimate change, and I said as such to her. My accusation excited her greatly, and before we knew it we’d spoiled the entire plan by causing a rift in our friendship. The mayor was unaffected, because our force wasn’t enough to make a difference as just one person, and it was many years wait before another chance came in which something could be done.” Throwing herself up again, Clarissa began striding across the river, alternating between kicking dirt into it and pulling leaves off the tree that shadowed over it, her mouth set in a firm line the entire time. Without either of them realising it, the rain had stopped, and as suddenly as the drops had stopped pummelling the Earth, her face cleared again, divested of all worry and anger that had overtaken her just seconds before.

“How can it be that what I do is important? Surely-” As she spoke, her clear expression remained, and her tone was thoughtful rather than virulent.

“We use information we’ve gathered to prevail upon authority to make the right decisions. There have been arguments that what we do is culpable, that threatening to sully a gentleman’s reputation for our own gain is unladylike or disreputable. But in such circumstances where we have no power, we must use whatever opportunity that comes our way to gain some semblance of authority, which we cannot do without means of control. By collecting the secrets, you give us a way to enforce that control.” Clarissa nodded throughout the entirety of her guardian’s speech, sitting uncharacteristically still.

“I suppose I should pay Mr. Lowood’s mother a visit and gather some secrets. I do enjoy this, I admit. It sometimes feels irrelevant, almost, what I do. But, I suppose you’re correct, and it can be of some importance, even if it doesn’t seem it.” Although she was prepared to leave, pulling her hat back onto the mess of curls and pushing her fingers back into her gloves, she remained in the clearing, some matter of deep thought overtaking her features and causing her expression to look even more vacant that it did when in the company of Mr Lowood. “What happened, after your disagreement with your companion?”

“Although we tried to come to peace with each other, we were far too different, and we ended on unhappy terms. It’s wrong, but I can’t say I’m upset with what occurred. We only caused each other vexation.” Anne glanced at the girl, who was once more lost in thought, as she strolled out of the clearing, her expression betraying nothing other than cogitation.

Many weeks later, seated in the parlour Mr Lowood’s estate, listening to his unsought after explanations as he began to sort through a shambolic bookshelf in search of an illustration of a butterfly she had no interest in seeing, Clarissa adjusted her hair and surreptitiously peered at the clock, praying more reverently than she had ever done before that it was finally 3 o clock and Catherine was close to arriving, so she could persuade, or blackmail, Mr Lowood to publicly condone the women who protested for jobs and equality, and to publish complementary features in his newspaper about their doings. An echoed ringing of a bell was heard by Clarissa, and no sweeter sound existed in that moment, and only seconds later an efficient housekeeper bustled in, announcing the arrival of Miss Catherine Reid.

As her friend walked in, Clarissa felt more confident, standing up, although nowhere near the height of Mr Lowood, and searching his face for a sign of confusion or fear as she spoke, but finding none. Still, she persevered, darting a glance over to Catherine to check that she was indeed saying the correct things.

“My dear Mr Lowood. I have heard recent news which rather shocked me, entailing details of your dealings with The Times Newspaper. Of course, I don’t suspect any accusations which charge you with publishing false, slandering reports of your rivals to be true, but it would be an awful shame if this information was heard all over respectable society. One could say your reputation would be ruined, just as your competitors’ were. I should hate for this to happen, and I dare say such trouble could be avoided with just a few simple acts from you.” Although Clarissa was threatening the man, he seemed awfully complacent, and she risked a glance over to Catherine to try and see if she had an explanation. A feeling of suspicion and inevitable trouble bloomed inside her at the smile Catherine was giving Mr Lowood, a suspect grin shared between people with a plan.

“Unfortunately, such accusations definitely are false, my dear Miss Alward,” Mr Lowood laughed, not sinister in any way, but disconcerting, taking into account the situation, nonetheless. “However, I also have heard what I’m sure are untruths concerning your relationship with important members of society. Dare I say you are a secret seller? Or a secret trader, whichever term takes your fancy. Your companion, Miss Reid over here, has been having very interesting conversations with me. How much you can learn when talking to somebody. Just as you learnt so much about me when you visited my mother, an elderly sick woman whom you manipulated. Your methods are rather sly, aren’t they? Of course, you’ve convinced yourself it’s for a good cause, but taking advantage of vulnerable members of society and then blackmailing people such as myself isn’t particularly virtuous.” Here he broke off, staring at Clarissa as she watched her world crumble. Catherine, a girl she was utterly assured was her friend, had betrayed her, selling her secrets on. She searched throughout her mind for answers as to why she would betray her as one would search for a missing sock: desperately, and to no avail. Although she was in an undoubtedly serious situation, in which it would be incredibly inappropriate to laugh, she found the irony of the situation amusing. A secret seller, having her secrets sold on to the very person she stole them from?

“Catherine?” Clarissa muttered, and staring right at her with no remorse on her features, no sentiment of apology, Catherine just nodded at the silent allegations and questions of guilt.

“I never was of any use. You complained about your role continually, but at least you were important. I was disposable, utterly forgotten in the tide of everyone else,” she said, a humourless laugh escaping her lips, although the only one smiling was Mr Lowood.

“Now, we can’t have women strutting around, believing themselves to be important, or superior-”

“We don’t wish for superiority, only equality. Surely that’s an admirable motive?” Clarissa interrupted Mr Lowood, her temper suddenly switching from hilarity at the irony to fury at the injustice.

“Maybe admirable to you, but if I’m to be tainted in your quest, then I disapprove. Now, I’m sure we can come to an agreement and you can forget your trade of stealing secrets, yes? Get married, live life as a mother rather than a rebel,” Mr Lowood continued to grin as he spoke, enjoying the situation far too much for Clarissa’s liking. “Of course, you can choose not to agree, but by doing that, you’ll be resigning yourself to a life of imprisonment. I have great influence over judges, and I’m sure a jury wouldn’t take kindly to your case. Do you agree?” All Clarissa could do was nod, but as she did so, she noticed that her glove, which she’d been pulling on nervously, had ripped, a hole breaking out in the exact spot it did the last time it broke.

@sharing-a-room-with-an-open-fire Thanks for reblogging the November prompts list because I wrote this using it (the prompt I chose was historic)!

#way too much description #feminist #my writing #history #historical writing #secrets #my work #betrayal #1900s #passion piece #I wrote this instead of sleeping #obsessed with the 1900s tbh

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fanficwritingrequests · 4 years

Text

I Hate Sand

What exactly does an ex-master assassin get up to in his free time? Murder? Puzzles? Cooking? Nope! He goes to the beach of course!

Daud never thought he would live past the age of fifty. He was an assassin after all, and he was good at his job. He’d made a lot of powerful enemies in the past, and a lot of people were out for his blood. It was only his reputation and sheer fear that kept them from striking. He’d expected to die at the edge of a blade or perhaps at the hands of one of his own whalers. Never in his wildest dreams would he have expected to receive any other fate than that.

And yet here he was, against all odds, and despite everything he’d done.

The infamous Knife of Dunwall, who’d taken out innumerable nobles for nothing but coin, who once caught the attention of the Outsider himself, and almost singlehandedly brought about the fall of an empire, now lived as a vintner in Karnaca. The man who had risen to infamy through his own wit and skill, albeit some supernatural help, and whose very name struck fear into the hearts of every man and woman in Dunwall, now grew grapes and made wine for a living.

He didn’t even have the comfort of being alone in his misery. When he left Dunwall, most of his whalers had insisted on following, despite all his protests. They even went so far as to sneak onto the boat he was riding to Serkonos. He tried to send them back, he really did, but even that backfired on him. It only ended with them finding more and more ridiculous ways to tail Daud wherever he went.

He once caught them in his vineyard, wearing these horrendous disguises, trying to pass off as trees or grass or whatever piece of nature was nearby. He nearly stepped on one of them. A lot of the whalers hid in the trees, perching on the uppermost branches where the foliage was thickest. At first, he decided to ignore them, see how long they lasted before they gave up. He spent an entire week with those idiots hiding in his trees.

He eventually realized his mistake.

Grapes, apples, and various other fruits were going missing by the dozen. He eventually lost his patience and threatened to pull them out one by one, only then did they finally get the hint and left the property.

Unfortunately for him, it was too much too hope for them to leave permanently. He soon found out that they somehow managed to acquire the house next door and were now using it to keep tabs on him. At this point, he just gave up and let them stick around. It wasn’t so bad. It was just like the old days, barring the assassinations and plague.

A year later, his vineyard was flourishing with the help of the other whalers. They had surprisingly taken up the art of winemaking with much gusto, and now their wine was well on its way to becoming one of the most well known in Karnaca. The merry band of ex-assassins were doing well themselves, even Daud had to admit that.

Life in Serkonos was simple. Calm. Quaint. And despite this, they had enough to keep themselves busy. They still took up missions for espionage, robbery, and similar conquests, but no more assassinations. Old habits were hard to break, and it made it easier for the whalers to get used to their new life. The thrill that came along with their previous occupation had planted a seed of adventure in each and every one of their hearts, and none of them really wanted to live a normal life anymore.

Some of the whalers took up hobbies, to while away the time when there were no missions to finish. Thomas learned how to bake (he was surprisingly good at it), Rulfio learned how to crochet of all things, a fact that the others teased him endlessly about, and Desmond took up writing again. He was currently working on a short novel. Daud himself took up wood carving, though considering the quality of his works so far, he might as well give it up.

In all his life, this was the first time he’d ever been truly content. He didn’t believe in happiness anymore, but if there was one word that could describe how he felt day after day, it would be contentment. He realized how fortunate he was. People like him didn’t get second chance. They didn’t deserve to. But by some twist of fate, he was spared from the punishment. Some inner part of him vowed to live a better life. One that was worthy of the mercy Corvo had deigned to bestow upon him.

He told Thomas about this once, as a fleeting comment in one of their many conversations, and the younger man took this as permission to force him to try ‘new’ things, and as Rulfio said, to ‘Stop brooding and get out of the damn house for once.’

And so one sunny morning, he found himself being dragged out onto the beach along with the others despite his protests.

“The water won’t kill you,” Geoff reassured him as they sat in the cart.

“I’m not afraid of the damned water,” Daud retorted. “I grew up in Serkonos, you idiot. I learned how to swim the same time I learned how to walk. Do you really think I’d be afraid of the bloody ocean?” He glared at the man, who shrugged.

“Then why do you hate going to the beach so much?” A small voice piped up from the rear of the cart. It was Aidan, an orphan they had picked up in the market. He must have been around thirteen, or fourteen at the most.

“None of your business.”

Aidan pouted and turned away from him. He sullenly took a bite out of the apple slice he pulled out from his pocket, and the rest of the whalers rolled their eyes. They were used to his sulking and the mock arguments that he and Daud usually had. It was a daily occurrence that didn’t really bewilder anyone anymore.

Eventually, they arrived at the beach. Fortunately, not many other people were there at the time. But the few that were, had their eyes trained on the former assassins as they stepped into view. None of them knew what they were of course, but that didn’t stop them. They watched from afar, subtly staring from beneath parasols, above handkerchiefs and behind fans.

Daud realized how menacing they must have looked. Fifteen well-built men who moved with an unintentional predatory grace, walking down the beach front. What a sight they must have made. The heavy silence was broken by the sound of Aidan whooping and running to jump into the water. The others soon followed suit, leaving Daud alone with the food and discarded clothing, for people to gawk at. He sighed exasperatedly.

Several hours later, everyone, even Daud, was soaked to the bone. The sun was setting on the horizon. Their laughter and chatter caught his attention, and despite himself, the corners of his mouth turned upwards. It was hard to imagine that only a few months ago, these men were assassins for hire. Now they seemed completely different people altogether.

Muffled footfalls pulled him out of his thoughts. Out of pure instinct, he whipped around and-

“Ack!”

He received a faceful of sand. He spluttered and choked on the dry, salty, material even as the others began to laugh. It took him a while to finally get rid of the sand, and even then he could still feel some moving in his clothes. Aidan stood a long way away from him and had the nerve to even giggle. The cheeky little-

“You-” Daud began, and glared at the child. Aidan immediately took off in the opposite direction, leaving Daud to roll his eyes and mutter, “I hate sand.” and run off after him. The whalers’ laughter followed the two as they played a game of cat and mouse around the beach.

#dishonored #daud #the whalers #thomas dishonored #fluff #crack #low chaos

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errantscriptor · 5 years

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@vivificamortem said:💏 | kou uvu (your turn!)

Ways to kiss:

Fortune favored those who looked for its signs. The moment she had found to strike the executive did. Taking advantage of the darkened alley just at the moment entertaining doctor had stepped beside. A hand tight around a wrist to pull them both into the sudden influx of night.

Packages and parasol hit the ground in equal time. She didn’t need to hide her face from the cats, rats, and stray mutts that may lurk farther in. It was just the two of them, alone for the first time since the defeat of a whale high up in the sky.

Never would it be said that the executive wasn’t bold. Having pressed her prey back to the wall, a hand resting on a pale thigh. Even the predatory glint in her eyes managed to catch the only light in the area.

A call from outside. “Madam? Madam Ozaki?” Goons looking for their mistress and wondering where she had run off to. Kouyou could only huff a singlar breath of disappointment. Even if she wasn’t about to let this fortune go unfulfilled.

Lips pressed to lips, long and as drawn out as any breath in lungs could handle. And longer still, inhaling the sweet scent of blood and blossoms from her prey to extend it just a bit longer. Until finally pulling back. A tip of tongue running lightly over painted lips. Retrieving her parasol and striding confidently back out into the bustle of crowds and worried sounds of subordinates.

38: because she is running out of time.

#( & ) Kouyou IC #vivificamortem #yosano kou tag #dfkjshdfgdfs

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irenewendywode · 5 years

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Tabitha, Chapter One

Tabitha’s body lay curled up at the bottom of the lake for most of the night.

It didn’t settle her the way it usually did.

The water was blind. It had no eyes to gawk at her, the way the rest of the world sometimes could. That was usually a comfort. She usually needed the escape. But—and this went against everything she’d ever known about survival—lately, Tabitha had just wanted to be seen.

She got no shortage of attention in Sunflower, when it came down to it. She was considered something of a character in the small, country college town. But that character, that was an act. That was a façade to cover up who she was down here in the dark.

She’d left the sunfish of the shallows behind at this depth, and the bigger fish stayed away. They could taste her, smell her, tell that she was predatory. Perhaps they’d adapted to her kind a long time ago. If they’d been curious, it would have been so easy to consume them and make the lake truly empty.

There was nothing to see at the bottom of the lake. Little to feel but the steady pressure of water. Little to hear but the faint, rhythmic shifts in the lake’s surface. The sensory deprivation left Tabitha alone with herself. Alone, she could be anything and anyone she wished.

Tonight, it only brought home the differences between wish and reality and made her miss all the things she denied herself by the light of day. She wished that she could be truly herself for once, out in the open, in the light.

When she’d had enough of that cradling nothingness, she got up and walked across the lake bottom, up its uneven slope and through the surface, to the little patch of beach by the lake where she’d set her things on a rock. Her internal time sense told her it was around 3:30 A.M.

She dried and dressed quickly in her plain work clothes. She was careful to brush away her footprints in the sand before leaving.

The gravel drive was rough under her bare feet, but it didn’t bother her—in fact, it was friendly, familiar, like the lack of breath under the surface of the water. Like her ability to see in crystalline detail in the darkness of the night. But it was another thing separating her from everyone else.

She pushed that thought aside in favor of the practicalities of the day. Milking was next, she reminded herself, and then she’d bake fresh bread. She always sold a lot of bread and sandwiches on days when the local college had a term just beginning and the new students were figuring out how to feed themselves.

Tabitha dried her short hair as she walked home in the darkness then quickly settled one of her older wigs onto her head, clipping it fast. She didn’t like to be without one for too long, even when she was by herself. It was one thing to not be presentable. It was another thing to know she looked so entirely unlike herself as she did without her wigs.

With her wig on, Tabitha was herself again, though she certainly wasn’t presentable. She still smelled of the lake, for one thing, but the sheep and goats wouldn’t care—they smelled of sheep and goats, after all. She’d shower properly once bread was in the oven.

In the middle of the night, at the bottom of the lake, with her sheep and goats, these were the parts of her life no one saw. No one ever could. It could compromise everything: her business, her place here, and her very life.

Silent on her bare feet, Tabitha slipped into the barn, put on her heavy leather milking apron, and greeted the first sleepy animal of the day with a scratch behind the ears.

She’d be lost without these creatures. They gave her what she needed to live. She had so much to be grateful for.

But some mornings, that just wasn’t enough.

Nights and mornings, those were the worst times. When everyone else was sleeping. When everyone else could be vulnerable beside their lovers and families. Unguarded.

Running the shop during business hours was good, she reminded herself. Evenings were better, often, between the classes she took at the college, Blue’s social invitations, and sewing club in the library twice a week.

Tabitha showered thoroughly, washing the smell of the lake off, and began donning her armor in layers. Thick, structured undergarments, petticoats, and padding. Some ruffled confection of a dress over top. An apron to coordinate, if she were manning the store, or a parasol for outdoors.

Her shoes really did need to be practical, but there she paid the money saved from making everything else herself to have sturdy shoes in styles that went with her dresses and in enough colors to match. High, laced boots, cowboy boots, and Mary Janes were her favorites.

Makeup, of course; one of her good wigs; hair accessories; and just a piece or two of jewelry. She loved ribbon chokers for more than just the fact that they obscured the line of her throat. She always wore one on a day when she felt the need to be put-together, extra-shiny and invulnerable.

She was going to need one today. She was already unbalanced and the crowds were going to be fierce.

The fantastic cowboy boots with sunflowers embroidered on them were the basis of today’s outfit. Yellow and blue: a yellow dress and classic blue gingham apron, a blue-ribbon choker with a tiny sun pendant, and blue bows in her curled and pulled-back hair.

She looked at herself in the mirror, cheerful and radiant. The way she wished she felt. At least the clothes got her in the right frame of mind.

She smiled, closed the door on her tiny, half-bare apartment, and went downstairs to open the shop.

Every morning, the shop smelled like the baking and like the wood of the building and like coffee and tea, like the night before had been scrubbed away. As the day wore on and people came in and out, it got messy and full of life.

There were advantages to the noise, as well as the clean quiet. She lost herself to the flow of it. Things were busy, and before she knew it, half the day was gone.

In the afternoon light, sun shone on the bright white window frames, on the twinkling wind chimes and bright porch railings outside, on the odd sliver of wall, making the space bright and cheerful. But no sunlight fell anywhere near the counter, the chairs, or the tables.

Two very familiar women were next in line: Blue, with her masses of curly black hair falling over an equally massive fuzzy magenta sweater, and Ellie, with her sleek blonde ponytail, peach button-down, and the patchwork bag hung over her shoulder. Tabitha still remembered how Blue had agonized over each scrap of fabric on its crazy-quilt surface.

“It’s lively in here today!” Blue commented with a grin, gesturing to two college boys who seemed to be starting an impromptu wrestling match in one corner.

Tabitha shrugged. “The shop’s seen worse.”

“What does it even take to ruffle your feathers, Tazz?” Blue asked.

Not as much as you think. “I hope you never have to find out.”

“But I wanna know!” Blue whined.

Tabitha shook her head. “What is your obsession with getting under calm people’s skin?”

Blue reached over to tickle Ellie. “Someone’s gotta do it,” she said.

Ellie swatted her, but she was smiling.

“If you say so,” Tabitha replied. “What’s your next play, then?”

Blue looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ve got your number,” she said. “I’m halfway to knowing all your secrets. I’ll figure it out.”

Tabitha didn’t let her smile slip as she insisted, “I have no secrets.”

“Oh,” Blue said, “everyone’s got secrets. And you’ve got some doozies. I can tell.”

“Ignore her,” said Ellie with casual good humor, elbowing Blue gently in the side. “She doesn’t know anything, not for sure.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, rat me out, why don’t you?” Blue said. “You can pay for the grilled cheese today.”

“You can’t alienate Tazz.” Ellie’s hands were folded primly in front of her as she stood next to Blue, showing no sign of being the type to throw an elbow someone’s way. “She makes the only interesting food in town.”

Ellie was going to school for nursing, and it was a good fit, too, because she seemed to be almost all solid sensible brains and charming bedside manner. Blue, beside her, was the quintessential theater major—although, officially, she was still undecided.

“Fine.” Blue sighed and dug out her wallet. She turned puppy eyes on Tabitha. “You know we love you deeply and would never stick our noses too far in your personal business, right, Tazz?”

Tabitha graced them with a small smile. “I know that about at least one of you.”

Blue, of course, just winked in response.

Internally, Tazz sighed. They had wits and determination enough for ten girls, and they would eventually figure her out.

Some days, Tazz was deeply worried about herself that she considered these girls her friends.

~❁~

Tabitha’s hands were large, knobby, and work-hardened, and sometimes it seemed they always had been. Most days she didn’t mind. Her hands could do the tasks she put before them, and that was what mattered. They were good hands that way.

Some days she envied the slim, delicate fingers of the girls who came to her shop after school. She watched them, wishing her hands had that same grace. Wishing they didn’t look so alien beside feminine things like lace and the intricate silver charm bracelets that were all the rage with the young girls of the town.

Things were busy that day, with the start of the new school year; college kids newly moved to campus and out exploring the town came into her little shop in a near-constant stream. She didn’t have time to register much detail about any of them. So when a pair of hands passed her a credit card over the counter, long and graceful but sturdy, with the twinkle of purple nail polish standing boldly on them, she almost didn’t see that the card bore the name Benedict Rollins.

When her brain caught up, her head snapped up to look at them, but they were halfway out the door with their purchases, long black hair sweeping across their shoulders.

Tazz knew most everybody in town, except for the new students. But they were just usually… small-town people, local people. People embedded in the same kind of culture that had been growing here for years, like the Birch farmhouse. Sunflower Community College didn’t have much to attract people from far away.

This person, they were something new.

She couldn’t help probing her memory for the details that made her think so: the style of their clothes, mostly black and possibly practical for a life entirely different than one lived on a farm. An accent that was more like what she heard on TV than those of the people around her, missing the familiar hint of Northern Appalachian twang.

It was a small thing, but throughout the day it slowly ate at Tazz’s mind. She watched her parade of usuals come through the café, and she milked the goats as she did every evening. But all the while, the line of their jaw and the swish of their hair replayed themselves in her mind over and over. The sparkle of their fingernails haunted her field of vision.

Were they—was he he? Something in her gut told her that that pronoun was right, and that the name Benedict was right. That frame of reference suited him. She didn’t like to assume his appearance could tell his story, but for now, in the privacy of her own head, she thought of him as male and she used the name from the card, Benedict.

His frame had been wide and somewhat lanky, his walk more swagger than sway, and every sparkle and the refinement of his appearance sat opposed to that but didn’t overwhelm it. It fascinated Tabitha, in a way her own appearance never had. And she’d only caught a glimpse today.

Part of her hoped she got a chance to see more, but then, he might have just been passing through. There was no reason to think that there might be more to their paths crossing.

Either way, the small silver bracelet she’d seen around his wrist worried her. She didn’t know what it said, but she’d seen enough to know what it meant. Something was wrong with his body, something serious enough that anyone caring for him would need to know about it immediately so as not to hurt him further.

He fascinated her, but she knew it was a terrible idea for her to get close to anyone as fragile as that.

Why was she even thinking about it? The hot summer air of the past months must have been baking her brain. Fall, and heavier business, would eventually bring her back down to Earth.

~❁~

Making human friends was a dangerous prospect, and she tried to keep things in the realm of casual acquaintances. Of course, she failed. Tabitha liked people. She didn’t know any other vampires, not anymore, but some of them, she suspected, were hunters by nature. Not Tabitha. Tabitha bred goats.

She liked to think she was like any other farmer with livestock. She took what she needed from them. The only real difference was that what she needed was blood.

She also milked them, made artisanal cheeses, and sold those along with baked goods and teas in her café. And she tried her utmost to remember that there was a great deal of difference between the rich but quiet social lives of the goat herds in her barns and the deeper, more important lives of the herds of college students tromping through Tabitha’s Tea House.

Occasionally, one of the new students ordered something containing an earthier cheese, spat it out, and said it tasted like goat guts. Occasionally, she had the desire to eat something herself that, for once, didn’t taste of goat guts. Like a mouthy college student.

But fortunately, not very often.

Given the options, goat guts really weren’t so bad.

~❁~

The next day, she found that Ellie and Blue were smirking at her from their usual table.

“What?” she asked them, in lieu of taking their order.

“You seem… different today,” Blue commented, her smile only widening.

“Different how?” A little nervousness shot through her.

“A little distracted,” Ellie said.

“And you’ve got these little smiles at odd times,” continued Blue. “Did you meet someone, Tazz?”

Damn them and their perceptiveness. But then, they wouldn’t have wiggled their way into their status as her friends without a lot of perceptiveness and persistence. Tabitha certainly hadn’t been looking for friends. Friends were dangerous. Friends got under your skin and learned all your secrets and made you feel things.

But here she was, distracted, dwelling on the simple memory of a man’s hands. It was distinctly possible that isolation was just as dangerous.

“No?” Tazz said unconvincingly.

“Ooh, was it one of the new students?” Blue asked, heedless of her answer. “You should come to the party tomorrow night. Everyone’s invited. I put flyers up at the dorms. Should go on for most of the night.” Blue winked. “So if you’re looking for someone who likes the night life…”

Damn their perceptiveness to the depths. Even if they knew nothing for certain, they knew too much. “Bluebell, you know I’m a morning girl. Got to be up to milk the goats and bake the bread and mind the store. When’s a girl expected to sleep?”

“Don’t you call me that, Tazz! You know I hate it!”

Tabitha just gave her a pointed look.

“All right, okay, I’ll stop! You are a perfectly normal girl with a perfectly normal sleep schedule. Just… think about the party? We’d love to see you there.”

Tabitha sighed, considering them. “Okay, I’ll think about it, but don’t hold your breath. Now are you going to order, or are you just in my shop to look decorative?”

~❁~

That night was sewing club.

Sewing club was always interesting. Not all the old ladies of the core group had welcomed her when she’d joined, with her over-the-top ruffled dresses and ever-present parasols. They seemed to take her style as an affront, some kind of mockery. They weren’t outright rude about it, but they were cold. But Cynthia, the sweet owner of the town’s only florist’s shop, had always seemed to see that Tabitha made and wore the clothes she did because she genuinely loved them. And so Cynthia was always ready with a little help or advice any time Tabitha asked.

Things had gotten better when Blue had joined the club—one other girl making dramatic dresses and costumes for the pure fun of it (although Bluebell tended to change styles every day rather than stick with one favorite theme, as Tabitha did). It had gotten even better when Blue had dragged Mira along. With the three of them and Cynthia forming their own little knot, it didn’t matter so much how often there was a dirty look shot their way from the other side of the room.

Blue always had something complimentary to say about Tabitha’s latest dress or skirt, and Mira often brought interesting problems to them for help: how to make a bathrobe that would be easy to put on even from her wheelchair, but still look like a bathrobe and not a blanket with arms, or how to make bags mimicking her favorite styles from magazines that were also practical to hang from the back of her chair.

Tabitha had joined the sewing club because she’d needed help with her projects, when she’d first moved back to Sunflower, but over time it had become something dangerously like having friends.

She didn’t want to give it up. That initial reason to stay was still there. She needed all the help she could get with these elaborate projects. And they weren’t just for fun—after all, one advantage of dressing the way she did, being what she was, was that it gave her an excuse to carry a parasol everywhere. But she made the clothes her own, loved them for all they had become a necessity.

Her dresses were her armor. They kept the world away from her secrets and her vulnerabilities.

Of course, letting Blue help her construct it all meant that Blue knew where the chinks were. And today Blue kept giving her looks.

Tabitha ignored them. She had enough trouble going on inside her head without Blue poking at the mess.

~❁~

Bluebell’s parents had bought their land in Sunflower as a vacation home, a place to go to get away from Harrisburg, but Blue had always loved it. She was one of the few city girls who’d come to Sunflower College in all the time Tabitha’s Tea Shop had been in business. Blue mostly had the house to herself, vacant barn and large pond included. And there was nothing she loved more than gathering large groups of young people to make a mess of her barn and splash around in her pond. So long as she kept the house locked and didn’t provide alcohol, it never ended up being too much effort to put everything right in the morning.

Tabitha, a part-time student at the college, had occasionally been known to attend these parties. She carefully cultivated an appearance as a friendly and sociable person. And she did enjoy the dressing up, watching people, and especially swimming in the moonlit pond.

But today was the first time she’d actually felt excited to go to a party in a long time, and that scared her.

She always took great care with her appearance—she had a lot of waking hours to make use of, and really, any excuse to use them was good. Anything to distract from the long nights. A lot of thought, a lot of labor, and a great deal of her money went into her clothes. Bathing suits were especially challenging on her unchanging figure, but if she wore a one-piece with a skirt, she could just about make it work. It wasn’t exactly the hottest style, but then, the newest fashion wasn’t always what Tabitha wanted to achieve. Modern American culture had a lot going for it, but she would always miss some things about her childhood—her heartbeat among them.

She put up her hair, piling her vivid orange-red curls on top of her head and tying them with a red ribbon. Her red-and-white bathing suit looked like a halter dress, drawing the eye away from too-broad shoulders to her face and lightly padded chest. Her skirt flared out, obscuring narrow hips. And today, somehow, it mattered more that she genuinely liked the way she looked.

She shouldn’t even be letting herself think about him. It was too dangerous to get close to him. But it didn’t matter. Just the chance to see him again buoyed her spirits in a way she wasn’t used to at all. She wanted to know who he was, why he was here, what kind of person might choose to sparkle like that amid Sunflower’s dusty, earthy landscape.

And if she didn’t go, the girls would notice. They’d worry. They’d talk. And that would be dangerous for Tabitha as well. So she drove her truck out to the party in the empty barn, sternly scolding the butterflies in her belly.

The music in the barn was pounding, but she smiled through it and greeted the people she knew, especially the regulars from the tea house. Her eyes roamed, sorting through the faces, heads, shoulders, hands, looking for a familiar glimpse of long black hair and long, delicate, painted fingers. But he wasn’t in the barn.

Tazz tried not to let her face fall.

“Did you find him?” asked Ellie, now at her elbow, her bright pink racerback top and shorts immediately recognizable. “Or her?”

Tazz narrowed her eyes.

“No?” Ellie pouted. “Have you been out to the pond yet? If they’re anything like your type, they’ll head straight for the water. You know that.”

Tabitha sighed. Those two could see through her far too well. Far too well for their own good.

“Go swim.” Ellie patted her shoulder. “If it’s meant to be? You’ll find them.”

Tazz had more than once wondered how Ellie could have so much faith, so much trust in the pattern of things, when everything her family and her town said about God stood so starkly against what she and Blue were to each other.

Tabitha didn’t have much in the way of faith herself, but she stayed away from the church, from crosses and holy water, just on principle, to be safe. Because if she existed, a vampire, the dark side of the supernatural coin, then who was to say the light side wasn’t out there as well?

But she didn’t pray, because it didn’t seem like proper form to be asking favors from an organization that seemed determined to stamp out not just those like her, but also those like her friends, the inseparable Blue and Ellie.

Tabitha stepped outside into the dark, friendly night, where people and light were sparser and the noise of music didn’t press against her quite so much. The lapping of the water against the shore of the pond was all the rhythm she needed.

The tiny beach was full, but there was no sign of the person she remembered. Maybe she’d imagined him. Maybe he wasn’t here. Maybe he was ill. She wandered along the lakeshore and thought.

He was sitting on the dock.

Lit only by candle lanterns on each corner and the barely waning moon above, he was magnificent. His hair was inky and seemed to blend with the black of his clothes, the shadows of the dock, and the invisible depths of the water. But the light glinted on jewelry, rings and necklaces, the hardware of his boots, those midnight-purple glittering fingernails, and—and his eyes. Piercing and intense.

And, of course, that terrible bracelet. A warning, a talisman that should, by all rights, keep her away.

“Hello.” She smiled at him just a moment too late to be natural. “I’m Tazz. Of Tabitha’s. I’ve seen you at the shop, but I wasn’t sure if I would again. Are you starting at the college?”

He shrugged.

“You’re Benedict, right?”

He laughed dryly. “God, call me Ben, if you have to call me anything.”

Ben didn’t say anything further. He didn’t seem like the type to enter into the kind of casual acquaintanceship that she had with so many of the students. Despite herself, Tazz liked that about him.

He hadn’t seemed disturbed by the use of his full name, just amused. “What if I think you look like a Benedict?”

He snorted and spread his arms wide. “This is what a Benedict looks like now?”

She noticed for the first time that he was wearing eyeliner.

“Definitely,” she said. “Definitely a Benedict.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “So, Tabitha, are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to sit down?” He patted the wood of the dock beside him.

“I’m going to swim,” she told him primly, and then began wading her way into the water.

He smiled back a little wistfully.

She wanted to know what that was about. Tazz loved the water, and some days she didn’t understand why not everybody was the fish that she was.

Maybe it had something to do with their need to breathe.

“You’re a little overdressed for a pond-hopping party,” she noted as the water inched up her thighs. She faked a shudder at the coolness of it.

“Well, I can’t, really,” he told her, jingling that little silver bracelet. “Not when I can’t see what’s in there. I could cut my toe on something, bleed out. That would be the end of Ben. Hemophilia.”

Now, Tazz really did shiver.

This was bad. One slip and he’d never stop bleeding. It was like a nightmare, playing out before her mind’s eye. Marina, all over again, but even more impossible to stop.

She couldn’t move. She froze in place, the shine off his bracelet the only thing in her vision.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ben said, a hand reaching out. “It’s okay, really. I’m on medication and everything. But why take a chance, right?”

“No, of course,” said Tabitha, shaking herself back to the moment. “You’re right. You shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” She retreated further into the water.

“Well, maybe I will swim,” he told her. “As long as you’re here to save me, right?”

“Don’t,” she pleaded, her voice startled into an unpleasant croak that she usually hated, but tonight she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Damn it. Damn it all. Damn everything. How could she be so attached already?

“You’re really worried, aren’t you? You don’t even know me.”

“I worry about everyone.” She blew out a breath. “Besides, Blue would be devastated if someone got hurt at her party.”

“She’s the one with all that curly, dark hair, right? And the cute girlfriend?”

Tazz’s jaw tightened.

“Okay, I get it,” Ben said, holding up his hands. “No mentioning the irlfriend-gays.”

“Do you always head right for the most dangerous possible spot for you?” Tabitha asked, voice steely.

“Not the most dangerous,” Benedict said. “I just like being honest about what I see.”

Tabitha frowned. She’d known too many people for whom ‘honesty’ meant ‘judgment.’ “And what do you see when you look at me?”

As he looked her over, Tabitha tried very hard not to listen to the reaction his heartbeat had to her. Whatever it was, whatever it meant.

“A very graceful, very beautiful woman… who tries very hard to look like she’s seen less of the dark side of life than she has.”

She sighed in relief. “That’s all?”

“Well, I haven’t seen as much of you as I’d like to yet. A few minutes in the moonlight can only get me so far.”

Tazz smiled despite herself. Despite the bracelet. Despite everything. And she had the sudden and bizarre thought that she didn’t know what to do with her hands or her eyes.

She was in so much trouble.

“So I’ve been asking around about who knows the local caves the best,” he told her, “and your name came up.”

She froze again, just for a moment this time. “You?” she asked. “Want to visit the caves?”

He smiled at her, a smile that meant no good. “I’m an artist. A photographer. They’re kind of why I came. I like beautiful things.” That devastating smile flashed once again. “Think I came to the right place for that, just from what I’ve seen so far. But yeah, I still want to visit the caves. And I shouldn’t be going down there myself, and definitely not without someone who knows the safest ways in and out and what parts are the most dangerous.”

His eyes were wide and pleading now. This guy wasn’t kidding. He’d moved all the way out here just for this, wanted this. She studied him. This wasn’t a joke for him. He knew the dangers… some of them, at least.

“You aren’t afraid of anything, are you?”

He shrugged. “I’m not afraid to die, if that’s what you mean,” he told her. “I’ve kind of had a lot of time to contemplate that, since I first found out that it could happen pretty much any time.”

Isn’t that all humans? she found herself thinking. But how different it must be for him, his skin that much thinner, his blood that much more easily shed. No, it wasn’t the same, not at all. What he was asking for was impossible.

She shook her head. “There’s no way I’m taking you down into the caves, not with your condition.”

“I’m not going to let that stop me,” he said with a sly smirk. But his eyes were hard enough that she believed him profoundly.

“You’re kind of a bastard, you know that?”

He sighed, leaning toward her and propping his chin in his hands. “Tazz, I have a policy. I’ve had it for a long time. I don’t let anyone stop me from living my life.”

That hit her hard. She wished, sometimes, that she could live like that. So freely. So courageously. Quiet words escaped her: “Not even yourself?”

Their gazes met and held. The only sound was the rippling of the water against the dock.

“That’s the hardest,” he said, “but no. Not even me.”

He reached out to her, and she almost couldn’t help but take his hand, those graceful fingers that mesmerized her, the sparkle to them that appealed to her so much. She could feel the warmth of it, the pulse of blood in his fingers.

No.

“I can’t.” She almost yanked her hand back, but she remembered to be careful, remembered to be sure not to hurt him.

“You can,” he called after her as she slogged her way back to shore. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure you can.”

The water dripping from her hands and body felt like the memory of blood.

~❁~

Tabitha spent nearly the entirety of Thursday’s business hours watching the customers to see if any of them were Ben.

It was ridiculous. She clearly had too much time on her hands still, if she had become this preoccupied by a man with whom she’d only ever had a single, short conversation.

Blue, of course, was insufferable about the whole thing and stayed until past closing to help her clean up, just to get the chance to prod her about it. She asked Tabitha whether she’d found him at the party, how it had gone, what he was like. If she’d gotten a date out of it.

“No,” Tabitha finally snapped. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not a good idea,” Tazz said.

“But why not?”

“That’s none of your business, Bluebell Jones,” Tabitha said.

“Harsh,” Blue replied and took to pouting. But Tabitha knew from experience that the quiet wouldn’t last long.

When all else failed, she could always derail Blue’s freight train of nosiness with talk of new clothes. And she was expecting a package today, new fabric in two new prints she’d been especially charmed with, along with ribbons and lace and various notions.

“Want to come down to the post office with me?” she asked Blue. “I’ve got a package arriving from the fabric store.”

“Are you kidding?” Blue’s eyes bugged out. “Like you have to ask. Always.” She hooked her arm through Tabitha’s. “Let’s go! What are we waiting for?”

“Let me get my umbrella,” Tabitha said, laughing despite herself. “It looks like rain.”

It began to drizzle about halfway there, and the two women huddled together under Tazz’s umbrella, talking. Blue, as always, pushed.

“You should go out more. Whether it’s with him or not. Do more social things. I know you like people.”

“I do things,” she responded. “I do classes, and sewing club. And I always talk to plenty of people, running the shop.”

“Yeah, and you’re all business, all the time. I know. I’m usually there. So are you afraid of fun, or what?”

Yes, Tabitha didn’t say. “Maybe that’s just what I’m like when I’m having fun.”

“Sure, Tazz.” Blue jostled their shoulders together as they came inside and Tabitha closed her umbrella.

She’d forgotten it was Thursday, the day Anne was usually behind the counter by herself.

Anne, among other things, always wore a largish crucifix around her neck and always peered at Tabitha suspiciously when she came in for a package on a drizzly day.

Tabitha usually just tried her best to ignore her but kept her distance, just in case there was some truth to the myth about the power the cross had over vampires.

Tazz went to her post box first, found the expected package slip, and brought it to the desk. Anne had the package ready and looked vaguely impatient.

Blue grabbed up the box before Tazz could decide what to do. “Can I, can I, can I?” she asked, practically bouncing.

“Oh, all right,” Tazz said with a show of reluctance. In truth, this was exactly why she’d even brought Blue.

Blue ripped the box open and sank down on the floor right there to paw through it. “Ohh,” she said, pulling out a roll of cornflower-blue silk ribbon. “It’s so soft.” She set it aside gently to look at the rest. “Oh, look at the sweet little rabbits!” she cried, finding the printed material. “That suits you so well. The dress will look amazing on you!”

Anne seemed to have had enough, because she cleared her throat, and when that didn’t budge Blue, she said, “Okay, pack it up, take this somewhere else.” She turned back, vanishing further into the office, but not far enough to stop them from hearing her mutter, “Dirty dykes.”

That made Blue’s back straighten, made her face go tight. Tabitha and Blue took the large box between them and scrambled out, rain dripping on their shocked heads and on the open box before Blue pulled the package fully into her own grip and nudged Tazz’s hand to put up the umbrella.

She lifted it over them both and glanced up and down the deserted street before speaking. “I’m sorry, I should have thought harder about what that would have looked like.”

Blue waved a hand, brushing it aside. “It’s fine,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I don’t. I’m not ashamed of what I am. And I wasn’t exactly the most discreet, either.”

“Why do you mind when people suspect that you’re with Ellie,” Tabitha asked her, frowning, “but not when people suspect that you’re with me?”

“You can handle yourself,” Blue replied.

“I’m sure you know Ellie can, too.”

“Yes, but…” Blue twisted a curl of her springy black hair around her finger. “You always seem like you know how bad things can get. I’m always going to be a source of drama, no one in this town expects anything less of me by now, but Ellie… she’s a good, wholesome girl. The ladies in the sewing club, the ones who glare at us, they like her. Everyone here likes her. She doesn’t need that to change.”

“Does she know that you think like this?” Tabitha asked.

“We’ve… kinda talked about it,” Blue evaded.

“Let me guess,” Tabitha said. “She doesn’t like it any more than I do.”

Blue twirled her hair and looked away. “No, not really.”

“Blue.” Tazz looked her in the eye. “You can’t tell me to go out and live my life, be myself, and not be afraid and then turn around and stop Ellie from making her own choices about how to present herself to people. It’s not fair, to either of us.”

Blue sighed deeply. “I know. But it’s hard to want to be part of the story of Ellie losing everything she has here.”

“You know I have a lot here that I don’t want to lose either, right?” Tabitha asked, nudging her shoulder this time. “I like my life.”

“Yeah,” said Blue. “But do you love it?”

Tazz couldn’t think how to answer, but she steadfastly maintained to herself that Blue had not won the argument.

~❁~

Tabitha could spend hours listing the reasons she shouldn’t form attachments like that. She was dangerous. Maybe not as dangerous as she had been those first few weeks, those first few years, but she knew from experience that her own viciousness could shock her. That years of control might suddenly come to nothing.

There were also hunters to worry about. She’d never encountered any directly, but she’d come far too close for comfort. Only her predator’s honed senses had warned her in time to stop a violent confrontation.

Tabitha knew that she would do whatever she had to for survival, when it came down to it, but she’d rather not get herself or any others of her species into trouble. When she heard the hunters before they heard her, she was cold enough to be gladder more for her own sake than for theirs. She felt hollow for that lack of kinship towards humans, and Tazz tried all the harder to think in terms of protecting humans, even if it was something she didn’t care about as much as she thought she ought to. She remembered being human, but it all got further away and more abstract every year. And the decades were starting to pile up.

It was a delicate balance, letting people close enough to remind her to care, but not the kind of close that had worked so badly for her before.

(x)

#book #writing #excerpt #first chapter #tabitha #sunflowers blooming

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absolutelyxosmittenxo · 6 years

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Imagine: Being in a relationship with miscellaneous RWBY girls and how they kiss you.

RUBY ROSE: Butterflies are fluttering in the weapon fanatic's tummy, a nervous smile bubbling with anticipation emphasising it. She is propped on her tiptoes and can't help but trip over her words. Once brave enough, Ruby nearly shouts, "Can I please kiss you?!?" If you comply, your lips are in for a treat as she kisses you so sweetly you can taste the leftover cookie crumbs on the corners of her mouth, and how she squeals so happily after is more than satisfying.

WEISS SCHNEE: Publicly, the bare minimum amounts to a brief peck on the forehead or otherwise as Weiss has restraint. However, silliness would prove to be an invitation for the heiress to express more of the soft touches and engagement. If you spill out some absurd remarks to rattle her chain, guaranteed she'll scold you lightly for the goofy behavior. "You're a dolt, an absolute dolt," and, as if an angel, she sends you off to Heaven with a brisk smooch and has her temple against yours, smiling so cheerfully.

BLAKE BELLADONNA: Books captivate the feline as she burrows her nose within the pages of an enticing narrative - suspense, wonder, magic sprinkled about in dark ink. Her golden rays depart momentarily to spy you investigating the situation, a soft smile creeping on her lips as you inquire about it further. You tug the story down without much straining, so you can see her better as she elaborates. As the Belladonna's mouth moves smoothly, you can't resist the urge to kiss her, leaving her agape from the sudden action. But slowly, a cherry blossom pink surfaces, and she timidly calls you out. "You're such a dork."

YANG XIAO LONG: An applicable comparison would be the sun peering above the hills as the morning blesses the world with an impression of the unknown yet thrill. Or maybe warmth consuming the land following a brutal winter would fit more? Nevertheless, you are enveloped in sunshine as Yang sends heat waves coursing through your veins. Most are random and kissing occurs often. She refuses to let you go, but knows you won't desert her as others have. Through it, her smile brightens and is so amazed to have you in her life. "You would not believe how much I love you."

PENNY POLENDINA: "What's a kiss?" As romance is a foreign language not programmed in the robot's system, you may require a moment to educate her on the subject. You'll need to gradually guide her, showing different appropriate forms to the best of your ability. Now more knowledgeable, each touch is so addicting she has rosy cheeks and is so exhilarated. But the second Penny starts, she has a chance of never stopping. Good luck deleting the information of kissing from her hard drive anytime soon.

NORA VALKYRIE: Predatory instincts lending a hand, Miss Valkyrie stalks behind you with ease, sure to not make herself known until the time arrives. Convinced you're oblivious, the pancake lover jumps onto the opportunity and tackles you into an unbelievable bear hug, arms squeezing the air from your lungs. Nora would smooch your cheeks as you demand to be freed whilst laughing - sound effects included as she produces mushy gushy mwah mwah noises and smothers you endlessly.

PYRRHA NIKOS: Passion doesn't begin to define how much passion is packed into each punch - or, kiss, for that matter - she sends your way. The softest palms appear to transfer a powerful aura as Pyrrha cups your face. Her eyes are twinkling stars that shine brighter upon encountering yours. Without hesitation, the invincible girl holds you close and kisses you with all her might to the point you might just faint. If you mention it after, the Nikos would be absolutely flustered.

COCO ADEL: "Hey, does this look like a good color on me?" A morning ritual of applying makeup wasn't excluding your assistance. The trendsetter has accentuated her lips in an alluring velvet, to coincide with her streaming locks. You would argue every color could be done well by Coco, in all honesty. But you simply nod, keeping it to yourself. She can tell something is on your mind, however, and plans to pry it out. With a swift scooping of your chin, she puckers up, smearing the lipstick on your lips. As you process it, the Adel quips, "I think red suits you a lot better than it does me."

VELVET SCARLATINA: A notoriously bashful baby bunny, repress those temptations to paint every region with affection until the time calls for it. Reach for the ears sprouting from her head, pecking them softly and progress downward. Redden the faunus' countenance, nibble her ears a tiny bit, boop her nose and finally confront those lovely lips. When you embrace, engage in how she is sumptuous as chocolate, and deepen the connection before she is pulling her ears down to hide her embarrassment.

CINDER FALL: The tracing along of your jawline would be indicative of the intrigue you show to the Fall Maiden, inspecting your value, strength, but already acknowledges the importance you have. "Don't you understand the risks of enchanting a woman destined for great power?" Regardless of your answer, she simply shakes her head, and prods your lips before colliding. Embers waltz across and leave your mouth to burn with the intense flavor. As it ends, Cinder smirks, "And perhaps I'm not understanding what could fall upon us if we continue - or I anticipate the future and what it contains."

EMERALD SUSTRAI: Abandoned on the streets of Remnant, romantic affairs weren't a topic rampant in her subconscious. But the idea of such investment becomes more tempting as your relationship progresses. With kisses, the thief would lean in, as she snakes her arms down your back. They're a rough battle as Emerald slips in some tongue and keeps the excitement going. But you aren't too surprised - but not too pleased - as she swiftly snatches your wallet and walks off to play around. As you shout, she can only laugh, saying, "Love you, babe~"

NEOPOLITAN: Silence is golden as the killer queen slithers into your lap, hooking herself around your waist. Do not protest as Neo presses a finger to your mouth to hush you, inching closer toward your face with a display of incredible fascination. The collision of your lips, twisting of tongues, beating of hearts - it's a recipe of perfection. As she smirks slyly in the midst of it, she pulls her parasol out, covering the scene so only you two can witness the glory.

ILIA AMITOLA: The concept has her faunus characteristic activate sporadically - she shifts through every plausible hue the color spectrum can contain. The chameleon has dreamt of reaching enlightenment in this way before yet hesitated. But as you reassure the ex White Fang member, curling your fingers in her ponytail to unlock a river cascading down her shoulders, she sinks. A kiss from her fairytale lover has her sense she is a true princess - and it helps her realize how truly loved Ilia is. To say the least, you are both seeing colors afterwards.

#rwby imagines #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #nora valkyrie #pyrrha nikos #coco adel #velvet scarlatina #cinder fall #emerald sustrai #neopolitan #ilia amitola

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inexpensiveprogress · 6 years

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Sports Gardens by Michael Rothestein

I thought it would be good to digitise an essay Michael Rothenstein wrote and illustrated in 1948 about ‘Sports Gardens’ or what we would now call an Arcade. It shows he was looking at his contemporary items as artworks, pre Pop-art.

Sports Gardens have a tough, adolescent, slightly underhand air; a compound of chain-store and small town fairground. They are of course an urban version of the country fair an indoor version compressed into restricted floor space completely mechanised and with some of the high spirits ironed out.

Further, Sports Gardens are static non-itinerant in contrast to the transience of the village fair, with its attendant sense of a momentary flowering for a single night. The knowledge that the show will be moving off somewhere tomorrow, that it will always be moving off somewhere gives the fair a quality of poignancy, of romance, which the Sports Garden entirely lacks.

So Gardens are harsh without being romantic; harsh, noisy and garish. Swing is laid on from 11am when they open to 12pm when they close. The typical pattern has a frontage of perhaps twenty feet, and runs straight back from the street. Pin-tables, wall-machines and cranes are ranged at either side: peep-shows are placed at the far end to give greater privacy. But in all Sports Gardens pin-tables and cranes are the largest profit makers, the serious business end of the industry. Hence these two types of machine are placed nearest the entrance in the largest numbers possible.

At the entrance to the Coventry Street saloon in London, for example, stands a large grab. A grab consists of a revolving table spread with the cheaper forms of ‘swag’: cigarettes, trinkets, powder-compacts, lighters-above which four shining chromium hands are poised. Aggressive in shape and predatory in gesture, these clutching silver fists are oddly symbolic of this tough, profitable branch of the entertainment catering business. Though in fairness to the management it should be noticed that earnings come chiefly from regular customers, fully aware of the small return received on outlay and not from the larger, more gullible crowd of casual visitors. Three or four shillings spent on the pintables may bring a few cigarettes: six or seven shillings on the cranes - a packet of Players. At the tables a maximum score earns a prize of two cigarettes.

Now the original cost of these machines was about £25, so it looks as if the profits must be very large indeed. The pin-tables themselves, all of American origin, are marked Daval Manufacturing Coy. Chicago. Importations stopped in 1939. Since no other country is able to produce machines of competitive quality, Sports Gardens carry equipment at least nine years old. But the machines are Cheap and easy to maintain: the brightly figured surfaces are all washable and the well-made ingenious machinery inside runs without undue need of repair.

There are, perhaps, twenty-five standard types of table. The numerals on the distinctive backplates are interspersed with pictures of cigar-shaped racing cars zooming along concrete autobahns, pink and blue skyscrapers, giant vermillion aeroplanes with all the faked-up, streamlined paraphernalia of the Futurist city associated with American boys' magazines.

As one releases the piston, the chromium ball kicks up the shoot, ricochetting from point to point touching off electric buzzers, lighting groups of coloured bulbs, while automatic calculators flash out rapidly mounting scores.

To register winning scores, it is necessary to know how hard to pull back the spring piston, when to jog the table. In a limited sense, then an element of skill does exist, though the scales are heavily weighted in favour of the machine. Rarely does a customer succeed in beating the hazards. When he does however the management count it good advertisement the ‘punter’ pulling in packet after packet of cigarettes, incites the crowd to spend sums far in excess of any temporary loss.

Regular customers are of many types but of only one sex-male. A mixed age-group, very young to middle-aged they return day after day to play a particular table. Many are prosperous; ten shillings is a not unusual sum to spend on each visit. Business men wearing soft hats of emphatic curve, carrying bulky pigskin brief cases, often play the tables in pairs during the lunch hour.

The peep-show, a non-scoring game of mechanism Peeping Tom has also an exclusively masculine following. A penny is placed in the aperture of the ‘Muto-scope’ or ‘Butiviewer’ and one peers down a black eyepiece at a miniature motion picture of a girl caught, as a rule, in protracted dalliance, wearing only her wrap or underclothes; a clothed male may also appear, the sleek young-middle aged shop walker type, sometimes dressed in Turkish costume.

The sequence of pictures shown within is advertised by a ‘still’ bearing the expected caption: ‘Paris Nights’, ‘Sunbathing’, ‘Parasol Polly’, ‘A Pair of Queens’. Some are old fashioned machines worked by hand. In this case stills of half-dressed chorus girls, of the 1920 type flick over as one turns the handle. The pictures are illuminated in flashes, so the viewer’s eyeholes shine yellow at one moment and are deeply shadowed the next.

The attendants are an essentially urban type, matey, good-humoured and nervy having a predilection for flashy up-to-dateness. This makes them touchingly proud of the little modern equipment they possess. Many of the older types of installation have great visual charm with their fussy grandfather clock appearance and elaborately erratic machinery ticking over within.

For these or other attractions single customers are apt to have a furtive look. They twist their mouths at you a bit sheepishly as they crane their necks to the peepshow eyepiece. But practised in groups, these penny pastimes take a more wholehearted and genial turn; and there is much geniality in the hours of peak attendance - rainy Sunday afternoons or evenings towards the week-end.

There is a sense of motion, vitality, quick-fire humour and attractively sharp colour, which contrasts not unfavourably with the stretched-out monotony of the scene outside. The Sports Garden entrance cuts a yellow hole in the black forbidding frontage of the night streets; beyond it we catch sight of the mysteriously welcome dazzle of coloured lights and animated crowds; while relayed Swing music, throbbing rather pleasantly down the empty street, thumps quietly at our ears.

#Michael Rothenstein #great bardfield #contact book

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aticklishtem · 6 years

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Something to Laugh About

((welp so~ I’m pretty new to writing this kinda thing but this Concept wouldn’t leave me alone, so I decided to give it a shot and yeah, maybe someone else will also enjoy this self indulgent trash pile, idk \o/ any kind of feedback is always welcome!!))

For a dame who made, employed, lived in and was even made out of so much candy, that Baroness Von Bon Bon could be an awful sourpuss.

In fact, Beppi wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her truly smile, and it sure wasn’t for lack of trying. Nothing filled his heart with more joy than a genuine, honest-to-goodness smile - the kids whose faces lit up with excitement when he handed them another of his balloon animal menagerie, the crowds who came by his tent to watch him willingly make a fool of himself, his fellow carnival workers and isle-dwellers, he treasured every single smirk, chuckle, giggle and reluctant grimace. Way back before he’d so much as dabbed the first lick of paint on his nose, Beppi had made it his mission to bring a smile to the faces of all of Inkwell, and he was proud to say that so far he had an almost perfect track record. Almost.

The Baroness’ place was over the other side of town, but the isle was small and even she had to venture outside to peddle her wares, so Beppi and Bon Bon had crossed paths plenty. Often enough that it seemed like he’d tried everything - his best jokes, his worst jokes, the pie gag, the seltzer, the banana peel, even his killer impressions of Djimmi and Wally and Grim and anyone else he could think of - to see her lips so much as twitch, but she still just looked at him like he was a piece of taffy stuck to her shoe.

Beppi wasn’t quite as much of a fool as he acted - he knew she fancied herself above him, above all of their colourful corner of carnival. She turned her nose up at their hot dogs and candy corn, declaring that her confectioneries were made with only the finest ingredients Inkwell had to offer, and she couldn’t imagine why anyone would opt to shovel all that greasy garbage down their throat instead. But he hadn’t gotten to where he was by giving up easy - it was that dogged determination that had coaxed chuckles out of some of Inkwell’s grumpiest inhabitants, after all. And it would’ve been too tragic just to let them all carry on their way, stomping through town so sour-faced: he couldn’t imagine anything worse than a life of stony silence. Laughter was Beppi’s lifeblood, long before it had been his living; it filled him up, made him feel big and shiny and swell like a balloon (metaphorically and sometimes literally) until he could just about burst, in the best way. He wanted - no, he needed to spread the joy all over town, all over Inkwell, every way he knew how, and remain hopeful that it’d prove just as infectious as it was irresistible, even for the sourest of pusses.

He was optimistic for another day of sunshine and smiles, during a brief break in the afternoon’s frivolities to relax under the shade of one of the colourful parasols in the square. Beppi had been in the middle of telling Djimmi all about yesterday’s unfortunate yet hilarious incident involving an overzealous balloon giraffe and a fruit hat when Bon Bon shimmied into view.

Without missing a beat, he broke off into a comical double take, and then figured he might just as well fall out of his chair in shock that the esteemed Baroness had seen fit to grace them with her presence. Djimmi just shook his head fondly, long used to his friend’s antics; Bon Bon opted to ignore Beppi entirely as she and Djimmi exchanged polite greetings, simply manoeuvre around him like a colourful puddle as she took the chair on the other side.

Typically tough crowd, but Beppi was prepared for that - and he had a good feeling about today, the fact that Bon Bon had willingly descended from her fancy castle to mingle with the common folk suggesting she might be in a good mood, or at least not quite as much of a sourball as usual. If he could pull just the right rib-tickler out of his hat, maybe she’d even -

Hot dawg - Beppi had to glance up to check if someone hadn’t lobbed a lightbulb right over his head as he scrambled back upright, because had he just been hit with a doozy of an idea.

“Hey, hey, Bonnie.” Beppi leaned in closer to her, his usual ear-to-ear grin turning just a tad more mischievous than usual as he nudged at her elbow. “Gotta question for ya.”

Bon Bon turned to him with a long-suffering sigh, her eyebrows knitting together as though it pained her even to look at him. “What do you want? And don’t call me that.”

“My sincerest of apologies, Baroness.” Beppi just managed to resist putting on his snootiest voice in response as he bowed and tipped his hat - he was happy to humour her this time, since her hoity-toity act would only make his eventual victory all the sweeter. “Aaaanyway. How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?”

“I neither know, not care to -“

“Ten-tickles!” he popped the punchline gleefully, sliding an arm around her waist and squeezing before she could get away. “One!” He felt her jump a little at the unexpected contact, but no giggles followed; undeterred, he kept it up, searching for a sweet spot with a few pokes to her ribs. “Two!” Still nothing: Bon Bon was just staring at him like he was doing something utterly ridiculous - which, in all (fun)fairness, was kinda what he was always doing. But this was getting weird, and not the fun kind - was this woman made of rock candy? “Three..?” Faltering for just a moment, he scribbled his fingers across her midsection and finally she reacted - but not how Beppi had hoped, as she seized his wrist and pushed him roughly away.

“Get off! What in the world do you think you’re…” Bon Bon’s big doe eyes widened even further, her eyebrows shooting up as realisation dawned. “Oh, I see - you were trying to tickle me, weren’t you?” Before Beppi could protest his innocence, she scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls. “Tough luck, Chuckles - you won’t get me to crack with such a cheap trick. Hmm, but I wonder…” Something almost in the vicinity of a smile slowly spread across her face, and it was more than a little unsettling, sharp as the glimmer of an idea in her eye as she glanced Beppi up and down, drumming her dainty fingers on the tabletop, and - whoops, he might’ve bitten off a tad more than he could chew after all. “Perhaps someone else around here just might?”

“Ah - heh…” A nervous chuckle escaped as Beppi edged slowly away from her, until his back bumped against Djimmi’s broad chest and he pounced on the potential distraction. “Oooh - you talking about Djimbo here? He’s plenty ticklish - just watch this…”

Before he could attack, though, two strong arms shot out and grasped his noodly ones. Beppi let out an outraged squawk of protest as Djimmi effortlessly held him captive. “Hey - what gives…?”

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Djimmi replied with a shrug and such a grand-piano grin Beppi was surprised his pants didn’t burst into flame, “but, as karma dictates, what goes around…”

“Well said.” Bon Bon nodded, her gaze positively predatory now as it lingered on Beppi’s now-compromising position; a bundle of nervous butterflies fluttered in his belly as she took a few steps closer. “I’m glad to hear someone around here has some respect - putting your greasy paws all over royalty like that? Why, I could have you executed. But…” She paused, actually licking her candy-heart lips as they twisted into a sadistic smirk, and with the slightest wiggle of her fingers Beppi knew he was done for. “I can think of something more fun.”

“N-nohohow, Bonnie, no need to be too hasteeheeheehee…!” Giggles spilled out the moment she spidered her fingers up his sides, barely touching him yet somehow unbearable all at once.

“Isn’t it funny,” Bon Bon purred, her sugary teasing sing-song only intensifying the torture, “how one who so desperately chases the laughter of others can be so easily reduced to such a giggly mess himself?” As if to prove her point, she dug right into his vulnerable underarms, and Beppi’s laughter pitched; with Djimmi holding him just a couple inches off the ground, he could do nothing but cackle helplessly. “It’s kind of cute, though. I might even prefer you like this, laughing too much to prattle on with your pitiful excuse for comedy.”

Beppi might’ve felt himself blushing even redder under his makeup at that last remark, if he could focus on anything other than her wicked fingers as they danced down across his ribs. “We may even have a new attraction!” she continued cheerfully, pausing to squeeze at his hips a few times; he could feel the tips of her nails through her silky gloves and his thin suit, digging in just enough to drive Beppi loopy as the teasing circles she was now tracing around his stomach. “Forget the dunk tank - how many coins for a go on this silly, terribly ticklish clown?”

“Bohohohon, nohoho - nohohot there!”

“Hmm? Not here? But that’s right where the target is!” Bon Bon just sped up, drawing faster and smaller circles until without any warning, she dug one of her devious digits right into his bellybutton; Beppi howled, writhing and bucking uselessly in Djimmi’s iron grip in a vain attempt to escape. “Oooh, look at that, I believe I just hit the bullseye! Where’s my prize?”

She wiggled away until Beppi was honking and wheezing like old Charlie, unable to even beg her for mercy or at least to think of his makeup, which was bound to be in ruins from the tears starting to roll down his cheeks. So this was how it ended - tickled to death by a candy lady. Well, he did always say to always leave ‘em laughing…

“Alright, now, Baroness, I think he’s learned his lesson,” Djimmi’s deep voice intoned, as he dropped Beppi back on his feet, Bon Bon finally ceased her attack - sure, she’d listen to him - and he gasped in relief, gulping in sweet lungfuls of air as he flopped back into Djimmi’s arms in a giggly heap, before remembering that he was a dirty traitor. “We don’t want the poor fella to literally laugh his head off.” He grinned, apparently unconcerned by Beppi’s best wounded glare. “It’s been known to happen.”

“That,” Beppi eventually managed to say, pointing an accusing finger at the both of them, “was cruel. And unusual.”

Bon Bon tittered, smoothing down her dress. “Oh dear, funny boy, was I too much for you? Can’t even take what you attempt to dish out? Well, I’d best be taking a powder anyway - time is candy, fellas.” She caught Beppi’s eye as she rose to her feet and shot him a sly wink, and his heart might’ve done a tiny somersault when she fluttered her fingers at them. “Let’s do this again sometime, shall we?”

She turned to saunter back off to her candy land, leaving Beppi and Djimmi to sit/float under the parasol in silence. Well, he’d better get used to it, because Beppi was definitely never speaking to him again. Not a word, not for the rest of their days, no matter how much he begged or -

“Djimbo.” Whoopsie - he’d just have to ignore him forever later, as he was already leaning over to nudge him repeatedly in the side. “D’ja-hear that? Bonnie thinks I’m cute.”

Djimmi chuckled indulgently, taking a puff of his pipe. “Perhaps you should be more careful how you address the Baroness,” he pointed out, eyes twinkling with gentle amusement, “lest you find yourself in another such ticklish predicament.”

Beppi shuddered dramatically, but his goofy grin only grew wider - because, well, Bon Bon had been smiling when she’d been tickling him to pieces. More than he’d ever seen her before, so maybe his plan hadn’t backfired quite as spectacularly as it might seem.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind letting her get the last laugh every once in a while, after all.

#tickling #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #cuphead tickling #slightly candyclown? you can interpret it however #i have No Clue how to tag this so i'll just #leave it here with the rest of the fire #tem writes #my fic

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sussex-nature-lover · 3 years

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Tuesday 22nd December 2020

Our Garden Birds. Part 1

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Before I start today, did anyone manage to see the Great Conjunction last night?

It was thick cloud cover here and the only bright light in the sky was a reflection of the house Landing lights in the bathroom window. I’ll keep looking out and you never know our luck although I have to say considering yesterday was the shortest day, today is putting up some stiff competition and the sky is a sheet of grey.

Back to birds...

Long Tailed Tit on one of our feeding towers

I’ve been chatting with Ms NW tE and she’s disappointed that her venture into bird feeding hasn’t taken off like she’d hoped and she wanted to have a conversation about that and about why and when do the birds come and go, so I thought that’s what I’d write about today. It’s turning out to be long, so I’ll have to carry over to tomorrow.

Why and How to Feed Garden Birds

First off think about your budget and the amount of time you’re prepared to put into feeding your birds. Second, think about the birds and wildlife you attract into your garden and what their needs are. For example we have a large and active squirrel population and for that reason we tend to avoid feeding peanuts - the cost is just prohibitive, we wouldn’t be able to keep up with them.

We offer hanging feeders with high quality fat balls NB please do not buy the coarse,cheap ones which are less nutritious and avoid the dangerous netting at all costs, Birds can get trapped in the net, it’s a very bad idea.

We have two metal garden obelisk type towers. They’re meant as features or to support climbing plants, but we have nicknamed them Italy and France (the Leaning Tower of Pisa and the Eiffel Tower don’tcha know, No prizes for why they got those names) and we suspend ‘Squirrel Proof’ (excuse me while I convulse with bitter laughter) Fat Ball Cages from each of them.

So called Squirrel Proof feeders No offence to designers and manufacturers but this is a battle you will never entirely win.

Squirrels are skilled acrobats and endlessly determined. We’ve used an old football rattle, a saucepan and wooden spoon, a kid’s Super Soaker water gun and any manner of things to frighten them off. They work, sort of, for a while...a short while.

We’ve had squirrels chew through plastic feeders and the ones made of very sturdy wire; learn to open the top lid so we had to secure it with twine and it was a devil then to top up or refill: one little squirrel actually got INSIDE the cage and when all else has defeated them they’ve stolen feeders and taken them away never to be found.

Squirrels really do manage the most outrageous assaults on the food sources

We also offer seed in ground trays of various sizes. The large wooden one has bitten the dust though after being trampled by Deer and the small ones have proven just the right size for tiny twins.

In the end we just accept that they’re hungry and pander to them as much as we look after our birds.

This brings me to another topic, not very savoury, but to be borne in mind - bird food may attract much less desirables. You can’t choose to put out food and always see it taken by what you intend it for and worst case scenario you may find it attracts rodents. Take in food at dusk if you can, sweep up any spilled seed and if you do have an issue then you may have to stop feeding for a time.

Also top priority for bird and garden health is to keep your feeders and the feeding areas clean. Good advice can be found Here and I do recommend to diary note regularly as we all know time runs away with us on the routine tasks.

Where to Place your Feeders

Bear all these points in mind:

Sheltered

The bird table needs to be positioned where there is not too much direct sunlight or in a windy location. Birds will feel safer it is in a sheltered position.

Quiet

If possible locate in a quiet place in your garden, preferably not by a path or any other area with human traffic passing. Remember not to place the bird table too far away from your house then you can still enjoy watching the birds!

One last thing to consider, make sure the bird table is placed away from cat ambush sites including fences which cats can leap from.

Safe Location

The bird table needs to be positioned next to a bush or tree; birds will perch before landing on the bird table to ensure that is it safe for them to land on it.

Raised

A raised bird table is easier to view from your house and safer being away from predators. Most bird tables are complete with a wooden pole but you can hang bird tables from a tree.

Nuthatch particularly like Sunflower seeds and you don’t have to spend a lot of money on suitable containers

Our feeders are directly in front of the kitchen patio doors so we have great viewing from our seats at the table - this is why so many of my photos are hurriedly snatched shots taken through the glass. We’ve left the dead trunk of the palm as a kind of Totem (our name for it) as the birds do like to fly to the various trunks and perch there or queue before going on to the feeder. The palm also offers some shelter and protection from both the weather conditions and the predatory Sparrow Hawk. We have Bamboo growing in our garden and in the hot weather I’ve been known to cut branches down and use those as a natural parasol too.

A lot of our birds are so used to us now that they don’t mind our presence and are happy to come and feed while we’re around outside. Some, like the Pheasants will more or less come and ask for more supplies, indeed when we had some resident Mallards, they’d peck at the door in the mornings. The Blue Tits will flock around my Crow as he fills up the feeders. We imagine the cry going out ‘The Man’s heeeeeeeere’

Female Common Pheasant above and Male below. The record number we’ve had in the garden at one time was the Season we got up to 22 - cost a fortune in corn

Anything for Me Please?

We’ve also been very lucky that when we had Dennis and now M Flambeau visiting, they are so well fed that they didn’t bother the birds at all. Actually Dennis used to watch the wildlife like he had his own TV channel for viewing pleasure. Here he is with his own personal Christmas tree. The little birds used to come and perch in it while he sat underneath.

When he first came to live with us he would occasionally give chase to a Butler (Squirrells) or two, but he soon tired of that and saved his energies.

Attracting Birds to your Garden

Just think when the breeding season is highly active, during Springtime, your garden feeders offer a handy and easy source of food for busy parents and their hungry nestlings.

Hungry young Great Tit

In bad weather and harsh winters when natural food is scarce, feeders can be a life saver and please don’t forget to keep fresh water available at all times too.

The important things to remember are good hygiene for your birds’ safety and well being and that if you are going to feed, do it regularly as you don’t want birds wasting their energy seeking out a food source that isn’t available that day.

Much the same as humans have different tastes and diets which are based both on natural preferences and on learned or informed decisions, our animal and bird life is subject to the same. I’ve noticed how some birds learn new tastes and routines to go against type and some stick rigidly to their type. Insect eaters such as Swallows for example haven’t ventured into our feeding areas despite once nesting in our front porch in the Robin box. Robins and the bigger birds like Magpie, Jackdaw and Rooks have found it very tricky to use the hanging feeders, but have persevered and triumphed, adapting their skills and mastering them to reach a food they enjoy. Others will happily scavenge for the bits that fall below.

‘Joe’ Rook and his balancing act. Source of the Joe nickname is Here

Starlings taking advantage of the berries on the palm

Top Ten plants birds will appreciate in your garden.

Birds of all sizes can be found sharing and feeding with impeccable manners, while others like Starlings descend like a veritable plague and are noisy and ill tempered with it. It all forms part of the experience of bird watching.

(mostly) Young Starlings and Great Spotted Woodpeckers make short work of three fat balls

Our gardens are an endless source of food for Green Woodpeckers, who unlike the Great Spotted ones, feed off Ants. We just need thousands more Woodies to keep up the sterling work.

Also insect eaters, Wagtails will come only to drink, although we did have one particularly comical Pied Wagtail who we nicknamed The Inspector because he liked to patrol the ground trays and see off other birds even though he didn’t partake for himself. I believe the expression for that is Dog in the Manger

Generic internet illustration

What's the origin of the phrase 'Dog in the manger'?

The infamous 'dog in a manger', who occupied the manger not because he wanted to eat the hay there but to prevent the other animals from doing so, is generally said to have been the invention of the Greek storyteller Aesop (circa 600 BC).

We happily ascribe this expression to Aesop, disregarding the lack of evidence that he even existed.

Many of the fables that have been credited to Aesop do in fact date from well before the 5th century BC and modern scholarship doesn't give much credence to the idea that Aesop's Fables, as we now know them, were written by him at all. Accounts of Aesop's life are vague and date from long after his death and some scholars doubt that there ever was a real Aesop. If he existed at all, it was as an editor of earlier Greek and Sumerian stories rather than as the writer of them.

Nothing written by Aesop now exists in any form. Nevertheless, you can go into any bookshop and buy a copy of 'Aesop's Fables'

I never actually thought of the expression as one of the Fables. The one that always springs to my mind is that of The Tortoise and the Hare, or the Hare and the Tortoise as it appears on the link above.

The carved staircase at Thornton Hall Hotel, Wirral - with scenes from Aesop’s Fables (est c1892) We used to go often for Sunday lunch when the girls were small

Once young broods are successfully raised you might notice feeders fall out of favour for a while. The wild foods like seeds and fruits in hedgerows and spilled grains from the harvest, mean birds can assert their independence and do their natural thing. They tend to return when they need to. Long Tailed Tits are a classic example of this behaviour taking long breaks in the woods and being missed very much by us. It’s great when they return.

Birds often disappear and go ‘into hiding’ after breeding when they moult and need time to recuperate, get their strength back and replace their flight feathers, Poor worn-out things.

Feeding birds can also have a side benefit - since the G S Woodpeckers became so very fond of the fat balls, we’ve noticed attacks on the bird boxes have ceased (fingers crossed) and everyone’s happily well fed.

To be continued.

Male Woodpecker using a crack in the palm to hold steady a piece broken from a fat ball

And do remember, as I said, in both hot weather and cold, please leave fresh, clean water for the birds to drink and to bathe. You don’t need a dedicated bird bath, they’re not fussy and really do appreciate a water source.

Little and Large, or should I say very large and little. Sparrowhawk above on the bird bath and Goldfinch below.

Decorations from the Standen Courtyard Christmas Trees

Two handmade heart decorations today. I thought we could do with seeing something nice and bright and different. These two are particularly beautiful and well crafted.

December 22nd Advent Door. The ever popular Blue Tit

The Nature Watch Nativity

The Shepherds were frightened at the sight of a brilliant light in the sky, but an Angel appeared and told them they should not be afraid as there was wonderful news to share. The lowly Shepherds were the first to be told of the birth of the baby Jesus.

Christmas Hymn of Choice today from King’s College Choir, Cambridge

‘Angels from the Realms of Glory’

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#caring for garden birds feeding birds Advent decorations Christmas #Nativity Goldfinch Sparrowhawk Woodpeckers #Squirrels nature photography

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