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F.A.Q. ♦ RULES ♦ PLOT ♦ FACE CLAIM ♦ CANON SPECIFICS ♦ BIO FORMAT ♦ CANONS ♦ DEATH TO MARY SUE! ♦ BELIEFS ♦ EVENTS |
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JOLY Technicolor-Werewolf SISTER SITES  
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| Caterpillars and Unfamiliar Realms; Valentine/Crispin Ska/Lena | |
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| Topic Started: Sep 23 2009, 08:30 PM (61 Views) | |
| Lena | Sep 23 2009, 08:30 PM Post #1 |
This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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Crispin was not particularly fond of other people's homes. They were always oddly awkward to sit in and even moreso to attempt a whimsical conversation in. At the moment, he was attempting such a conversation with a peculiar member of his fiancé's family. Mr. Dexter was firmly in the belief that he was her uncle. What was his name again? He had not said, assuming that Crispin was to know Valentine's entire family tree. It was five minutes before he began to look odd and seemed to have a most curious smile on his face. Goodman Uncle seemed to realize something with that smile and his next words actualized it. "Mr. Dexter," the future Uncle-in-law began with that same curious smile. "I believe it is time for you to go check up on her," he said, looking down at his hands and then at the door. Crispin shifted in his chair uncomfortably. The decorated room was beginning to get to him . . And he wanted to go on and have his afternoon tea. He hadn't gotten quite used to the French and their ways but by the Good Lord's Grace, he kept to the same tea time his mother and grandmother had and the clock was ticking closer and closer to that final hour in which after, tea would be impossible. Looking at the uncle, Crispin frowned. "Wouldn't she send someone to inform me of her readiness to leave?" he asked. Was there someone to even inform him besides the uncle? He was not quite sure. He did not recall whether she had any servants. Crispin himself had a maid and a butler, but one could not speak a word of English, having been sent by his second-oldest sister and a loyal servant of the Nobles of Ell and the second being a French girl who had not the voice for theatre nor the beauty for marriage. He wasn't particularly fond of either but they would do. . . The uncle, who he now remembered as Bellany, kept his odd smile at him. "She is waiting for you, simply go to meet her. No harm in that, is there?" That man had the oddest eyebrows: dark and thick, they rose and fell with each statement. Not wishing to anger or make the conversation any more awkward than it already was, Crispin stood and began his way into the hall and through a realm he could not recall venturing into before. Things were dank and smelled faintly of something he could only describe as unfamiliar. . . . |
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| Skazka | Sep 29 2009, 02:39 PM Post #2 |
all the ships go down/following the sound
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It had been so much trouble to have the wallpaper stripped out and replaced, but worth it. The garish patterns that had such a place in her childhood memory were still there, sometimes, glimpsed out of the corner of an eye. The mind made allowances to keep them there, swathing high walls in mustard-yellow and cheerful little agrarian scenes that time and wear had made warped and dim. There were monsters behind every tree and horrible instances of blackmail and murder behind every smiling little farmhouse, weren't there? Common, her childhood had not been, but the memories were too ugly to let linger. So they were gone, like pulled teeth, and in their empty places she had built her den. Hardwood, a more subdued wallpaper, a little rug in the corner, and it was cosy as anything. In lieu of family portraits, in a shadowbox frame on the wall was a single perfect representative of her hobbies-- an elegant exotic moth, with a wingspan larger than her hand the day she'd found it. One of those forcedly jolly family outings to a flower garden or a pretty little family mausoleum. The Greeks had imagined souls as butterflies; it had seemed intolerably cruel to take such a pretty thing and imprison it under glass, far from salvation. When the Day of Judgment came, she'd always imagined it battering against the glass. A truly uncommon childhood, and one gladly distant. In theory, there was also a clock on the wall, but she'd been so preoccupied with her pinnings and craftwork that she hadn't noticed the time. A lady's solitude allowed for time to slip past hours at a time.. Valentine startled at the sound of footsteps in the hall, pushing back from her desk and wincing at the shriek of chair legs on hardwood. Like chalk slipping on a slate. Hastily, she composed herself, brushing out her skirts and making for the door. Gathering up her braided hair in a bun and tamping it down viciously with pins, like a soldier preparing for battle. “Come in.” It wasn't as if anyone ever bothered knocking anyway. |
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| Lena | Oct 2 2009, 09:13 PM Post #3 |
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This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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Something rung out, startling Crispin and sending him off his balance entirely. Nearly bumping into a wall, he looked around for the source. . . That did not look like a bedroom door. Then again, were bedrooms supposed to have a peculiar look about them? Was she even in her bedchamber? He didn't know. Approaching the door that he had heard the noise spring forth, Crispin tapped three times. "Miss Valentine?" he asked softly. He felt so . . . well, not right when he was in this hallway. Something about it made him feel oddly. Maybe it was because it was not his own home. His home where the little French girl and the German butler were currently tiding up a bit and maybe trying to under each other's speech. Either way, he hoped they were entertaining themselves somehow. It felt so lonely in here. . . as it did in his own place besides of the parlor which, though tastefully done, was too bright for his tastes. He must preferred the very obvious gray color scheme of the rest of the house. It was comfortably done and it went with the heavily booked rooms rather well. . . . Knocking once more, he reached for the door knob, listening for another signal that he should and could come in. . . |
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| Skazka | Oct 8 2009, 05:47 AM Post #4 |
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all the ships go down/following the sound
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A mighty tug freed the door. Her mouth opened as she swung the door inwards, and she was fully prepared to launch on a critique of her relations' dubious choices of courtesies-- knocking like gentlemen, for example, when they were perfectly willing to tear into her mail? But it dropped down into a a perfect 'O' of surprise. She flushed a bit. “Oh! M. Dexter.” And with a little more certainty, “Crispin! I hadn't meant to keep you. You should have announced you were coming; I'd have gotten better dressed...” Look at her now, the perfect drab. Look on me well, Valentine thought, you have the rare privilege of unmarried men, both to see their wives in a certain state of undress before the wedding day and to see them in the same ugly gray they'd be wearing at 40, with their hair up in proper matronly fashion. To inspect one's goods both before and after the wear and tear of their union. Not only men in her family went gray young, but women as well; in her mother's saffron curls it scarcely showed, but in her own hair would blossom bold as day. If Crispin had more fortunate blood, perhaps their theoretical children might escape such a fate. “I was just pinning butterflies.” Valentine attempted to position herself in the general line of sight that led to the killing jar and the poison paste. That aside, men tended to assume it was a gentle hobby, mostly preoccupied with their thoughts of young ladies frolicking in sunlit meadows. Possibly wearing pith helmets and indecent amounts of clothing. |
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| Lena | Oct 27 2009, 06:31 PM Post #5 |
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This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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Crispin jumped back, shocked and his mouth agape. "Miss Valentine!" he exclaimed, slamming his eyes shut. "I did not realize you were indecent." He turned to face the wall and folded his arms expectantly. "Your uncle suggested that you were done getting ready for my visit. . He said I was expected at the moment. I take this was false?" He was blushing deep crimson and he didn't like the feeling. Embarrassment did not suit him at all. He had not the mind set nor the cute blush that most shy and timid women seemed to possess. Instead, he looked flustered and his nose turned peach. Altogether, not a cute picture. "Pinning butterflies?" he asked, still not facing her until he had some sort of indicator that she was decent. Crispin did not especially like nature; he found things like bugs and plants to be problematic as he seemed to break out into rashes from the bites and touch of many. He much preferred the city. The city was aglow with candles and people and life. At times, true, it was not exactly the sort of life he had thought would happen in Paris, but it was good enough for the present. . . And Valentine seemed to like Paris well enough. Perhaps they would stay after the wedding. Perhaps. |
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| Skazka | Oct 27 2009, 07:33 PM Post #6 |
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all the ships go down/following the sound
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Her hands went to the throat of her gown, and she drew her arms in front of herself, consciously attempting to distract attentions from anything that might constitute indecency. Breasts, for example, though they weren't exactly a pair of plump pigeons taking wing. The neckline wasn't even delicately lacy. The most frivolous thing about it was the buttons, and those were plain enough. (For some reason she'd taken to the thought that dressing severely and pinning back her hair would keep her dear cousins from elbowing at her about the marriage.) "No, no, Crispin, it's quite all right. Let me put something on..." This something being the nearest something, a delicately fringed shawl that had been one of the few personal bequests left by her mother. Worn to whisper-softness by time, it only aged her appearance further, face not taken into account. The dress and the shawl combined to give the effect of a face like a wizened old dried apple. A maiden aunt. No, think bridal thoughts. She slipped a dressing-gown onto her shoulders on top of that, for the sake of English dignity. "I was, yes. You can turn around now. Care to see my specimens?" |
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| Lena | Oct 31 2009, 06:22 PM Post #7 |
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This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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a Crispin turned the tiniest of bits. Women who had been in France too long seemed to have a somewhat slack definition of decency and as her fiance it was up to him to make sure she maintained some sort of dignity. When he had confirmed that, yes, she was properly clothes, he turned and snuck a glance past her into her room. It wasn't like he had expected, but that was only because he had not expected anything at all. He hadn't quite gotten used to the fact that she was a true person rather than someone who appeared and disappeared as he saw fit. "Specimens?" he asked, his tone a bit wary. Thedn he was to actually go in to the bedchamber then? He had expected to retrieve his future bride and then proceed to get tea. He did not plan watching her show him dead insects. Though Crispin found this hobby somewhat charming, he couldn't help but fear for the worst. Big eyed creatures staring out from beyond glass cribs, forever glazed over in death. A dragonfly with its wings frozen and the velvet colors slowly fading as time passed. The very idea made him shiver. "Certainly, Miss Valentine," he finally agreed with a tone that suggested otherwise. |
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| Skazka | Nov 2 2009, 04:56 PM Post #8 |
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all the ships go down/following the sound
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Had she been a minxish sort of girl (and that was a good, solid word, not something insubstantial and ready to flit away at a moment's notice, like the girls themselves) she'd have made a show of leaving her dressing-gown untied, flashing a delicate bit of bosom or throat or ankle as she bustled to provide the tour of her humble little garret. But she wasn't. She felt a warm opinion of Dexter as future spouse, and thought he could do just as well without little tidbits and enticements such as that. "Yes, indeed," she said, a little wearied, or simply hoarse from not speaking. Oh, the explanations, the interminable explanations. Yes, they're quite dead. No, you may not touch that one, lest its scales come away on your fingers and the color fade. "Specimens. Or were you--" Oh, horrors-- "Intending to go elsewhere? I'm sorry for the disorder..." Pretty Latin names and fine handwriting were more compelling to her than a trip to the opera or a hundred diamond necklaces. Or earrings, or new frocks, or pins for her hair. But Crispin was such a sweet boy with his intentions. She could manage. Shouldering deeper into her wrap and touching a temple to make sure no coils of hair sprung loose. |
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| Lena | Nov 4 2009, 05:47 PM Post #9 |
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This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
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Crispin felt the blush fade just as another bloomed anew. How had she known that he would much rather be spending the current moment being anywhere except in his fiancé's living quarters? "No, no, I have no other obligations today," he lied. "I just thought that, perhaps, you'd like to go out to tea." He paused, something just coming into his brain. Crispin remembered a recent note from his sister. Something about arranging for a maid to be sent for Valentine once she became Mrs. Valentine Dexter. Probably just a servant girl. She didn't need to be told now, that could wait. "It's no bother." Didn't she have anyone to tidy up the place? In England, she'd have at least three maids with the sort of family she had. "No bother at all," he added softly. |
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