ClosetMonster Member
Practicing Optimist
STATUS: "Bother. Isn't there anybody at all?" "Nobody!" 7 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 6 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Practicing Optimist
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 377 (0.08 / day)
- VMs: 3
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Username history
- ClosetMonster 12 yrs ago
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RedSleeping,
Pascal
Status
Recent Statuses
7 yrs ago
Current
"Bother. Isn't there anybody at all?" "Nobody!"
7 yrs ago
Trying on shoes and going for a walkabout - will return to closet when I'm good and ready!
3
likes
8 yrs ago
Fell into the abyss of Closet... digging out from under all of the shoes.
2
likes
10 yrs ago
Time is mine for a full month! :) Yay!!!
1
like
Bio
A long time player, I have been co-writing (aka "role playing") for "ae long tahm". I have a fairly involved career which some years can be nigh all encompassing for months and months at a time. However, I always seem to return for the sheer delight of creating alongside another imaginative individual.
Most Recent Posts
You are so lovely, with your hidden secrets and your hissing laughter and your nyah's-cant-tell-youse-cause-trolls. :)
Bess spun and stared into the shadows, her heart leaping in both fear and anticipation. Was it him? But who else to call her Greensleeves?
She tucked the shawl more tightly around herself and was momentarily glad for the moonlight, or she'd look flushed. Not green any longer. She may not have been a high born lady, but she was clean, at the very least! Then again, she hadn't been tumbled about in the grasses by the stream either.
Voice caught in her throat, she hunched her shoulders about her ears and took a step closer, bidden by his voice, by the beckoning of a pale leather glove in the silver light. He was shadowed once more and she tilted her head to look at him more closely, to see if he were what her imagination had made of him. But too far, too dark, he was delightful and ethereal still.
And like that, as instant and clear as a dream, he laid her imaginings out before her. Oh, but the romance of the moment! The glancing lights, the rumble of his voice, the smooth gesture of one arm, a strong leg put out in a deep bow. Bess drank in the minute impressions he gave like a drowning man does air. Her eyes wild and wide, she kept so still as he spoke that she might have been on the verge of escaping, though that was so very far from wrong. She held herself as quiet as she was able to keep the trembling of the moment from making her fall to the ground.
Her will? What was her will? Was it to be the strange and tempting pique-nique or a ride upon a great horse which only a forest god might ride? A dance, as if she were some bedecked and bejeweled lady, to the constant thrum of crickets and water upon the air? Or would she wish for something more? Something greater than all of those together?
As he stood once more from his bow, she allowed her head to tilt at a slight canting to the left, dark eyes like holes in her pale face. A shift of breeze and the low-slung moon glinted off the golden chain about her neck. Her fingers played nervously with the frill of the shawl and she chewed on her lower lip as she let her mind dance.
Had she come and he'd been naught but a man, she may have laughed him off. But he was so far more than even her dreams could have made him! “Reynard,” she whispered to herself, to him. “A fox and I am nothing but a Bess,” she said with a twist of her lips. No Greensleeves, not any longer, thought she might have longed to continue the play. In the end, she was but an inn-keeper's daughter, wasn't she?
Or was she? The tempting taint of adventure was on the air and she, no matter her attempt to remain rooted to the ground, felt the earth falling away. She took one step and it felt as giant as if she were wearing seven-league boots. The second step was nothing compared to the first, and the next almost had her before him. As she halted on the fifth pace, she tilted her head back and looked up into his face. He, too, was pale in the moonlight, and the hand he held out to her felt like it was made of steel, encased in the most supple of leathers. Her hand was strong and she gripped his both to keep herself from falling over and to keep him from falling away. Now that she'd reached for the dream, she had little inclination to release him to anyone.
“It sounds, lovely,” she said with a bravado born out of wild dances in dim morning lights. She had been walking a world of fairy and magics for longer than he'd given his blessing on it, so she wasn't completely immune to its heady perfumes. Her lips parted and she smiled, sudden and bright. “Take me t'your horse, ser. Best be on our way a'fore th' night's half gone.”
She tucked the shawl more tightly around herself and was momentarily glad for the moonlight, or she'd look flushed. Not green any longer. She may not have been a high born lady, but she was clean, at the very least! Then again, she hadn't been tumbled about in the grasses by the stream either.
Voice caught in her throat, she hunched her shoulders about her ears and took a step closer, bidden by his voice, by the beckoning of a pale leather glove in the silver light. He was shadowed once more and she tilted her head to look at him more closely, to see if he were what her imagination had made of him. But too far, too dark, he was delightful and ethereal still.
And like that, as instant and clear as a dream, he laid her imaginings out before her. Oh, but the romance of the moment! The glancing lights, the rumble of his voice, the smooth gesture of one arm, a strong leg put out in a deep bow. Bess drank in the minute impressions he gave like a drowning man does air. Her eyes wild and wide, she kept so still as he spoke that she might have been on the verge of escaping, though that was so very far from wrong. She held herself as quiet as she was able to keep the trembling of the moment from making her fall to the ground.
Her will? What was her will? Was it to be the strange and tempting pique-nique or a ride upon a great horse which only a forest god might ride? A dance, as if she were some bedecked and bejeweled lady, to the constant thrum of crickets and water upon the air? Or would she wish for something more? Something greater than all of those together?
As he stood once more from his bow, she allowed her head to tilt at a slight canting to the left, dark eyes like holes in her pale face. A shift of breeze and the low-slung moon glinted off the golden chain about her neck. Her fingers played nervously with the frill of the shawl and she chewed on her lower lip as she let her mind dance.
Had she come and he'd been naught but a man, she may have laughed him off. But he was so far more than even her dreams could have made him! “Reynard,” she whispered to herself, to him. “A fox and I am nothing but a Bess,” she said with a twist of her lips. No Greensleeves, not any longer, thought she might have longed to continue the play. In the end, she was but an inn-keeper's daughter, wasn't she?
Or was she? The tempting taint of adventure was on the air and she, no matter her attempt to remain rooted to the ground, felt the earth falling away. She took one step and it felt as giant as if she were wearing seven-league boots. The second step was nothing compared to the first, and the next almost had her before him. As she halted on the fifth pace, she tilted her head back and looked up into his face. He, too, was pale in the moonlight, and the hand he held out to her felt like it was made of steel, encased in the most supple of leathers. Her hand was strong and she gripped his both to keep herself from falling over and to keep him from falling away. Now that she'd reached for the dream, she had little inclination to release him to anyone.
“It sounds, lovely,” she said with a bravado born out of wild dances in dim morning lights. She had been walking a world of fairy and magics for longer than he'd given his blessing on it, so she wasn't completely immune to its heady perfumes. Her lips parted and she smiled, sudden and bright. “Take me t'your horse, ser. Best be on our way a'fore th' night's half gone.”
I'm so glad you liked that line! :) I realized after having written it, it's a misleading, or almost innocently provocative line which suits her very well.
And! I finally got to download some Damon Runyan Theater. Oh my goodness, thank you SO much for turning me onto that! It is delightful. :) Absolutely adorable and amazing.
And! I finally got to download some Damon Runyan Theater. Oh my goodness, thank you SO much for turning me onto that! It is delightful. :) Absolutely adorable and amazing.
Hee hee... I love it! He's fascinating and yes - thank heavens she's starting to form up. I was worried she'd be vapid and romantic instead of the intensity which I think she's starting to show. It had to be an intensity which would drive her to do what she must in our final scene.
I do look forward to the lark. :) And thank you so much for the kind words. You're good for a person's ego, I'll have you know. Heh.
I do look forward to the lark. :) And thank you so much for the kind words. You're good for a person's ego, I'll have you know. Heh.
I leapt us forward some, was tempted to give another attempt to meet with our third character, but could not quite figure out how best to arrange that. Instead, perhaps it is time to give our almost-lovers a chance to become something of substance. I feel like I left behind a good deal - so if the post just needed more to happen in between, please feel free to say so and I'll take it back and we can do something different. :)
The necklace burned her skin and the guineas her pillow as she lay to sleep the restless sleep of the young on the edge of adventure. Bess was a practical girl, she was, so neither had been left for some roe buck to nibble or rabbit to get tangled in or magpie to feather its nest with. Instead, she had stowed each away safely and then been left with the impossibility of using them in any way. She had not been more than an hour's trek from her village, so travel to another place to spend such riches was out of the question. Neither was she about to flash such glitter in her own home, for all to see and speculate upon.
Bess had always been one to sleep the sleep of the good. Deep and true, she woke before the sun and went about preparations for the day, her time carved out as the sun rose, the remained shared with the village, the inn's guests, her family. But after her encounter in the wood, her sleep was restless, invaded as the caped man had invaded her glen. No longer had she rest in the wood. Instead, she could not bring herself to sleep past the beginning moonlight hitting her eye lids. Was the moon full? Had she missed it? Her heart raced when the night fell and every day was a search for a shadowed face, strong and young, with eyes so green that the color had to have been a trick of the eye.
Had he been near enough, she might have battled her inner nature, her desire for something else, something more, the yearning her childhood of fairy tales and wood-filled wanderings had wrought within her heart. Such leanings of her nature had been given outlet by her secret mornings but now those mornings were no longer secret. They were secret meeting spaces for forest gods and men whose hands burned heat through the waist of dresses. With night, memory returned and he was slender as a new foal, hard as a sapling, soft as a kitten, and bristly as her hairbrush. He was so completely unlike her experience of man, not of the farm stock – rough and smelling of ale and sweat, nor of the more powdered nobility. Instead, he fit into her dreams as not one of them had.
Yes – had he been near enough to her, she might have parsed him out and known him. Instead, with the half lit glimpses, the nearness of him under his cloak, the burst of energy as she attempted to escape his grasp, the glitter and his words about wanting to prove himself and her own safety, all conspired to make him dream-like in day and as real as her own hand in the night.
She floated through the days, fed the day men and dreamt half awake of the night time one, until the moon could not grow full fast enough. She had a sore ear from her father pulling it as she'd almost burnt the stew, the necklace about her neck whispered all hours of the day, and her mind was muzzy after the nights wherein she stood and stared out of the window in her rooms which overlooked where the highway wended from inn toward the wood where she had met him.
The night the moon filled to the brim and spilled into her rooms, Bess almost slept through it as exhaustion had finally taken her. But the touch of light had become something of an impulse and she sat up with a gasp, hand to her breast. For a moment, the dream spread through her limbs and she thought she ought to wake up to check on the moon. But reality spread and before she could think, she had pulled her skirts about herself as well as a shawl and was out into the moonlight before the truth of what she was doing could register.
The wood gleamed silver and onyx in the light from above. The girl's hair was in a braid against a shoulder and her shawl could not fully fend off the chill in the air. She narrowed her eyes against the glare as she stepped into her glen and looked about her. Had she missed him? Was it yesternight not this? She reached to the hollow of her throat and teased at the delicate chain there, at odds with the mean state of her clothing, wending it about her fingertips in worry while she looked about her for signs of his having already arrived and left. It was madness, this wanting to see him again, but she could not help herself any more than she could sleep at nights after having met him.
Bess had always been one to sleep the sleep of the good. Deep and true, she woke before the sun and went about preparations for the day, her time carved out as the sun rose, the remained shared with the village, the inn's guests, her family. But after her encounter in the wood, her sleep was restless, invaded as the caped man had invaded her glen. No longer had she rest in the wood. Instead, she could not bring herself to sleep past the beginning moonlight hitting her eye lids. Was the moon full? Had she missed it? Her heart raced when the night fell and every day was a search for a shadowed face, strong and young, with eyes so green that the color had to have been a trick of the eye.
Had he been near enough, she might have battled her inner nature, her desire for something else, something more, the yearning her childhood of fairy tales and wood-filled wanderings had wrought within her heart. Such leanings of her nature had been given outlet by her secret mornings but now those mornings were no longer secret. They were secret meeting spaces for forest gods and men whose hands burned heat through the waist of dresses. With night, memory returned and he was slender as a new foal, hard as a sapling, soft as a kitten, and bristly as her hairbrush. He was so completely unlike her experience of man, not of the farm stock – rough and smelling of ale and sweat, nor of the more powdered nobility. Instead, he fit into her dreams as not one of them had.
Yes – had he been near enough to her, she might have parsed him out and known him. Instead, with the half lit glimpses, the nearness of him under his cloak, the burst of energy as she attempted to escape his grasp, the glitter and his words about wanting to prove himself and her own safety, all conspired to make him dream-like in day and as real as her own hand in the night.
She floated through the days, fed the day men and dreamt half awake of the night time one, until the moon could not grow full fast enough. She had a sore ear from her father pulling it as she'd almost burnt the stew, the necklace about her neck whispered all hours of the day, and her mind was muzzy after the nights wherein she stood and stared out of the window in her rooms which overlooked where the highway wended from inn toward the wood where she had met him.
The night the moon filled to the brim and spilled into her rooms, Bess almost slept through it as exhaustion had finally taken her. But the touch of light had become something of an impulse and she sat up with a gasp, hand to her breast. For a moment, the dream spread through her limbs and she thought she ought to wake up to check on the moon. But reality spread and before she could think, she had pulled her skirts about herself as well as a shawl and was out into the moonlight before the truth of what she was doing could register.
The wood gleamed silver and onyx in the light from above. The girl's hair was in a braid against a shoulder and her shawl could not fully fend off the chill in the air. She narrowed her eyes against the glare as she stepped into her glen and looked about her. Had she missed him? Was it yesternight not this? She reached to the hollow of her throat and teased at the delicate chain there, at odds with the mean state of her clothing, wending it about her fingertips in worry while she looked about her for signs of his having already arrived and left. It was madness, this wanting to see him again, but she could not help herself any more than she could sleep at nights after having met him.
Projects is good. I'm about to tackle that as well. Boys are up - day is almost in full swing, but the birds are singing, sun is shining, and the day should be awesome. Have a good one!
Of COURSE I'm still up for this! I'm glad you are too! And I can almost empathize with the working that many hours at a job you dislike being hard. I have days or weeks when I greatly dislike mine. It's a bit of a dysfunctional relationship. *L* But nevertheless, I can relate to getting home with that bone-crushing weariness of having tried to make it through another day. That is rough. Very.
So juggle work and we'll slump along until things look up once more. No rushes and I'm still here.
Ah! And because my boys are still asleep and I have a sunny day in which the dogs wanted to be awake and happy, I was able to carve out some time for myself this morning before sausages and grits (or oatmeal, haven't decided yet - making a late morning coffee right now) and figure out Amel's viewpoint. So here we are! Sooner than next weekend - always a good thing.
So juggle work and we'll slump along until things look up once more. No rushes and I'm still here.
Ah! And because my boys are still asleep and I have a sunny day in which the dogs wanted to be awake and happy, I was able to carve out some time for myself this morning before sausages and grits (or oatmeal, haven't decided yet - making a late morning coffee right now) and figure out Amel's viewpoint. So here we are! Sooner than next weekend - always a good thing.
I am so sorry for the wait on this. :) I swear I'm alive and staring at it. Heh. I love the conversation between the two characters at this point. I blocked it out and Amel and James have had so little to say to one another in the time Amel's duty roster began that James' "You're and ass" comment just had me bursting out laughing. It was brilliant!
Now then, warning - this is next on my list and I'm wanting to focus myself a bit. However, this weekend has been eaten up by friends and upcoming work stuff. So here's hoping that I have time tomorrow. Otherwise, it's highly possible I won't get back online until next weekend. :( I just wanted to say Sorreeeee! Still, focus is set. Heh. Shall get this puppy done!
Now then, warning - this is next on my list and I'm wanting to focus myself a bit. However, this weekend has been eaten up by friends and upcoming work stuff. So here's hoping that I have time tomorrow. Otherwise, it's highly possible I won't get back online until next weekend. :( I just wanted to say Sorreeeee! Still, focus is set. Heh. Shall get this puppy done!
Ooo? Troll Lore???? :)
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