I'm Ba-ack
Mar. 20th, 2007 07:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
athersgeoWell, had a fabulous time at the Gather - if you ignore the whole showers fiasco. I do, however, strongly suspect that I know who it was who thought it'd be 'funny' to turn the water heaters off and she should be wary for the next time we're all in Milton Keynes, particularly if I catch her in the showers...
In the meantime, I did manage to get not one but two bedtime drabbles done. This time out, the stipulations were much easier; just had to include a book, a song and a proverb. The main difficulty I had was in not including songs too obscure, and I managed to overcome that by the expediant of sticking with nursery rhymes and very CS-y songs! Also, for the first gather EVER, I managed not to completely give myself away on one of them. Yay!
A Woman of Custom
I can hear her; moving about. She's light on her feet, I'll give her that. She could have been a dancer, so light is she on her feet. Well that will be of use to me. Wouldn't want her to fail at the first hurdle, now would we? She's pretty enough, too, and her voice! If I believed in a God, I'd say it was given by Him. I hear her, every now and then, singing and it's almost enough to make me reconsider my plans. So innocent. So childish. So sweet. She sings Frere Jacques, when she thinks no-one's listening. But I'm always listening. And she is just a child.
Just an unwanted child and you know what they say: Waste not, want not.
I'll give her just a day more, then I'll make my move. I, Madam Porin, am not utterly heartless; her benighted fool of a father is only cold in his grave a bare two weeks. She will be mine, though. I will have her and possess her and put her to work. By the time that I'm finished she'll be the best out of all my girls. She's certainly got the intelligence and she's got the look of a hard worker about her. Yes, I think Adrienne Desmoins will be an excellent addition to my little business.
She'll be my Little Princess. The one that all my clients want to be with. And there isn't a single thing that anyone can do to stop me!
OK, so the song "A Woman of Custom" is excessively obscure; it did, however, beautifully fit the story!
The Best Laid Plans
Margot mechanically boxed up the books on Joey's shelves. They were supposed to be leaving tomorrow, with Joey, Jack and Robin following on at the end of the week. Joey, Robin and Daisy had gone down to Spartz to buy some last minute oddments, leaving Margot and the rest of the family to finish their packing.
But that had been done hours ago, and now all that was left was staring at the clock and waiting and wondering and hoping and fearing and praying that the lateness of the party's return was just because of a railway breakdown.
When the party had reached an hour late, Jem had said: "Margot, why don't you start packing some of the books. It will give you something to do." The unspoken words and the injunction not to fret were almost palpable – and they had seemed so utterly wrong to her. She was supposed to be the older sibling; why was it always Jem who looked after her?
She hadn't argued, though. At least packing the books would make her feel as if she were making use of the terrible surfeit of nervous energy and not simply sitting in the salon and metaphorically, at least, climbing the walls.
Unfortunately, she'd packed all the books in Robin's room and all the books in the salon and all the books in Jem's office. Supper had been and gone, the nursery bedtime was fast approaching and there was still no sign of the party returning. So Margot concentrated on the books in Joey's room and tried not to think about when, or if, Daisy would be home.
Into the box went Oliver Twist, a well-thumbed Christmas Carol and a pristine Nicholas Nicklby. Cecily Holds The Fort in its gay paper jacket was packed next to a sombre looking book of Austrian folklore. The libretto for two Gilbert and Sullivan works were bundled together with the words and music for Hark Hark The Lark. She was just reaching for a beautiful old edition of fairy stories when Margot's quick ear caught the sounds of Die Rosen's front door being opened.
Packing forgotten, she flew from Joey's room, down the stairs and into the hall where a sobbing Daisy stood in her uncle's kindly arms. There was a rough looking man dressed in skins and stubble standing in the corner; Margot ignored him. Instead, she dived between Jem and Daisy and swept the terrified little girl up in a hug and silently promised that she would never, ever let go.
That there was no sign of Joey or Robin told Margot something had upset all their carefully laid plans but just then, she didn't care. Her daughter was safe. The rest could matter later.
Yes, Ray wrote yet another Exile-themed drabble. For those who haven't seen the others, they can be found here:
Anschluss - Jem
Fear No Evil - Jack
Memento Mori - Joey
Warning, none of them are terribly cheery - especially the Jack and Joey ones!
In the meantime, I did manage to get not one but two bedtime drabbles done. This time out, the stipulations were much easier; just had to include a book, a song and a proverb. The main difficulty I had was in not including songs too obscure, and I managed to overcome that by the expediant of sticking with nursery rhymes and very CS-y songs! Also, for the first gather EVER, I managed not to completely give myself away on one of them. Yay!
A Woman of Custom
I can hear her; moving about. She's light on her feet, I'll give her that. She could have been a dancer, so light is she on her feet. Well that will be of use to me. Wouldn't want her to fail at the first hurdle, now would we? She's pretty enough, too, and her voice! If I believed in a God, I'd say it was given by Him. I hear her, every now and then, singing and it's almost enough to make me reconsider my plans. So innocent. So childish. So sweet. She sings Frere Jacques, when she thinks no-one's listening. But I'm always listening. And she is just a child.
Just an unwanted child and you know what they say: Waste not, want not.
I'll give her just a day more, then I'll make my move. I, Madam Porin, am not utterly heartless; her benighted fool of a father is only cold in his grave a bare two weeks. She will be mine, though. I will have her and possess her and put her to work. By the time that I'm finished she'll be the best out of all my girls. She's certainly got the intelligence and she's got the look of a hard worker about her. Yes, I think Adrienne Desmoins will be an excellent addition to my little business.
She'll be my Little Princess. The one that all my clients want to be with. And there isn't a single thing that anyone can do to stop me!
OK, so the song "A Woman of Custom" is excessively obscure; it did, however, beautifully fit the story!
The Best Laid Plans
Margot mechanically boxed up the books on Joey's shelves. They were supposed to be leaving tomorrow, with Joey, Jack and Robin following on at the end of the week. Joey, Robin and Daisy had gone down to Spartz to buy some last minute oddments, leaving Margot and the rest of the family to finish their packing.
But that had been done hours ago, and now all that was left was staring at the clock and waiting and wondering and hoping and fearing and praying that the lateness of the party's return was just because of a railway breakdown.
When the party had reached an hour late, Jem had said: "Margot, why don't you start packing some of the books. It will give you something to do." The unspoken words and the injunction not to fret were almost palpable – and they had seemed so utterly wrong to her. She was supposed to be the older sibling; why was it always Jem who looked after her?
She hadn't argued, though. At least packing the books would make her feel as if she were making use of the terrible surfeit of nervous energy and not simply sitting in the salon and metaphorically, at least, climbing the walls.
Unfortunately, she'd packed all the books in Robin's room and all the books in the salon and all the books in Jem's office. Supper had been and gone, the nursery bedtime was fast approaching and there was still no sign of the party returning. So Margot concentrated on the books in Joey's room and tried not to think about when, or if, Daisy would be home.
Into the box went Oliver Twist, a well-thumbed Christmas Carol and a pristine Nicholas Nicklby. Cecily Holds The Fort in its gay paper jacket was packed next to a sombre looking book of Austrian folklore. The libretto for two Gilbert and Sullivan works were bundled together with the words and music for Hark Hark The Lark. She was just reaching for a beautiful old edition of fairy stories when Margot's quick ear caught the sounds of Die Rosen's front door being opened.
Packing forgotten, she flew from Joey's room, down the stairs and into the hall where a sobbing Daisy stood in her uncle's kindly arms. There was a rough looking man dressed in skins and stubble standing in the corner; Margot ignored him. Instead, she dived between Jem and Daisy and swept the terrified little girl up in a hug and silently promised that she would never, ever let go.
That there was no sign of Joey or Robin told Margot something had upset all their carefully laid plans but just then, she didn't care. Her daughter was safe. The rest could matter later.
Yes, Ray wrote yet another Exile-themed drabble. For those who haven't seen the others, they can be found here:
Anschluss - Jem
Fear No Evil - Jack
Memento Mori - Joey
Warning, none of them are terribly cheery - especially the Jack and Joey ones!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-21 08:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-21 08:25 pm (UTC)