6th Summer 515AV
Bloodflower
Early afternoon
Bloodflower
Early afternoon
NoteIf you would like to join, and have a reason for your character being at Bloodflower, feel free.
"Where are you going?"
Adelaide turned around and looked down the staircase to where her stepmother was standing, smiling ever-so-sweetly, staring unblinkingly. Adelaide tried her best not to visibly shiver. Jafara looked like she was up to something - again. Plotting, manipulating... that which she did best. Naturally, it made the young Sitai uneasy.
"That's none of your business."
"Oh, I'm just asking my dear. There is no need to be so defensive. Only, neither your room nor any of the guest rooms are up there. That way, you'll only find my room, your father's room and your aunt's... and you know that neither myself nor your Aunt are to be disturbed."
"Well, then, logic dictates that I'm going to see my father." Adelaide said finally, her jaw visibly tightening, "If that is alright with you, of course."
She was about to turn on her heel, when she was caught by a simpering, falsely thoughtful, tone.
"My dear, if you don't mind my saying, it does bother me a little. It's not healthy, is it? A woman of your age spending so much time with her father. What exactly is it that you do up there?"
"We read books. We talk. He shows me what he's just finished writing. Sometimes we smoke." With every article listed, Adelaide's voice was getting lighter and she finished with a laugh, "You should try it sometimes."
"I occupy my time with more, uh... useful endeavours."
"Right."
"Dear me, Adelaide. Do not look so cross. I only have your best interests at heart. When are you getting married?"
At this, Adelaide rolled her eyes and spun around, continuing to go up the stairs.
"Be very careful, my dear. Very careful." The voice behind her was, on the surface at least, light and pleasant, accompanied by a little laugh, but Adelaide could sense a deeper anger underlying her words, "There may come a time when you wish you'd treated me more courteously, with the respect that you owe to a mother."
"You're not my mother." yelled Adelaide, from the top of the stairs without turning around, before disappearing down a corridor.
How had their relationship deteriorated so much? And so quickly? And why? And, though Adelaide was doing her very best to understand where the sudden mutual dislike had come from and to consider it fairly, she could not help but think that it was Jafara who had changed and not herself.
In her hand, the young woman held a book. It was a play which she'd picked from the Draer Library, and which she'd learnt a speech from. Her father was always the first one she practised her lines with and tried things out on. He was fair, but straight to the point - and quick to say if he disliked something.
"Just, what’s wrong with me? What is so hugely objectionable that they can’t even make the effort to be civil?" The character was called Leyla and she was bemoaning the fact that people weren't responding when she said 'good morning' to them - before going off on a tangent. It was a non-naturalistic play and a little odd, but Adelaide liked it. She continued murmuring the lines to herself. "I’ve always had a liking of the grotesque, as I suppose everyone has, but I’m honest about it, you know?" At that point, she would take a pause, and turn to face the audience to say, with a far stiller mannerism, her face illegible and her voice monotone. The next bit was a memory, a memory of her girlfriend Erin (or was it? Adelaide would have to read the whole script to be sure) "I looked down at her flesh in the lukewarm waters of the tin bath, her skin pink grey like a baby elephant because she had not yet lit any candles and the sun was setting. The Puppy Fat of her stomach rolled under her breasts like a wave of pastry, but as she stretched, it melted into her fragile bone china hipbones. Then, pushed by an indescribable urge, I put my hand into the bath and mopped her brow with the dirty water. Her brow, sizzling with the sweat which the hot steam laced her neck with. It looked like she was wearing a choker made of droplets sitting just above the swathe of dirty bath water."
Adelaide smiled, and repeated the lines again, dawdling in the corridor outside her father's room. She wanted to get it right. But maybe she oughtn't be monotone for the second bit? Maybe it would be better to make that bit more passionate, a rage of passion that verged on the incomprehensible, on the mad. She'd ask her father - he'd know what would work best. He was, after all, an excellent judge.
It was then that Adelaide noticed a wisp of a purple fume escaping from under the door to her father's room. As it floated down the corridor, Adelaide was hit by the scent of lavender and a wave of elation which caused her to feel a burst of heat rise buoyantly inside her. With a sudden start, she tried to push the feeling out of her mind and rushed to the door. She put her ear to it, but could hear nothing so, after a moment, she pulled the door open.
The young woman was hit by something short of a tidal wave of different scents, different emotions. She burst into a flurry of giggles even as a torrent of tears started to make headway down her cheeks. The room was heavy with a kind of coloured fog and the curtains closed. Adelaide could see dozens of little lights flickering in the darkness.
"Father! *cough* Father?"
Her entire body was on fire with different sensations, her head burning with different thoughts, different emotions - causing her a very sudden amount of pain. She felt like there were people screaming in her head, people laughing, people chatting merrily. She had no control over anything she was doing. She heard a maniacal laugh and it took her a couple of ticks to realise that it was coming from her own mouth. Then singing! And that too was coming from her own mouth.
"Want to live in Swilly, you must be petching bent;
To live in city housing and never pay the rent.
A place so full of scrubbers, with pimps and petchers too,
But when it come to fighting, they'd like to shyke all over you!
So come you up to Swilly, which isn't so petching bad,
Our girls are free and easy, with knickers that ain't ironclad,
Their skirts are shorter than their belts, their knockers will tantalise,
Though their amorous aims, lead to maternity claims,
its a Swilly girl for you: - or two - - or three ---, or four!"
And where had that come from? It was a memory, but a memory she didn't remember. How the petch could she remember all those lyrics? It was a song she had heard when she was a child - maybe five or six - sung by sailors on the docks, and it had shocked her a lot at the time... even though she had not completely understood what they were singing about. But how had she remembered? She didn't even have the memory of those sailors any more. It felt like a memory risen from the mists of her subconscious, where it had resided for close to a decade. But, to remember all the lyrics!
And talking of memory, where was she? Why was she in pain? Petch - Adelaide knew she was about to die. She was surely about to die. Her whole face was wet and though she was doing her best to retain some composure, blowing her nose into her sleeve rather than letting it run, her head was pounding like a Taloban drum. It was then that she tripped over something in the dark and she went falling forward... but it took her about a chime to reach the ground, she knew. She'd been in that room for bells. Two or three? Maybe more? But where was she? Where was she? It was very dark. Maybe she was in bed? Or underground.
From the floor, she could see an open doorway, and light. Then she remembered. Yes, this was her father's room. She really loved her father. Absolutely. He was brilliant. The greatest man in Mizahar and she knew it. Oh, she had to speak to him, didn't she? Show him the monologue she'd been working on. Adelaide could have hugged herself with glee and, in fact, did so. Oh yes, today was a really good day. She loved the monologue and he was going to love it too. He'd tell her it was brilliant and she'd be the greatest actress in all of Mizahar - which was, of course, true. In fact, she already was the greatest actress in all of Mizahar. She was certain of it. She'd just have to untap all her amazing potential because, to be honest, she knew nobody who was quite as clever, quite as talented, quite as interesting and incredible, quite as creative as she was. Except perhaps her father - he was amazing. And her cat - her cat was amazing too.
Adelaide yawned slightly. All those joyous feelings had tired her out. Maybe she would just go to sleep. Right there. On the floor. It was then that her hand came into contact with the thing she'd tripped over. She looked over it with a smile then realised it was her father. He was asleep. With a start, the young woman jumped up. Her head was weighing her down: she wanted to sleep. But something was telling her not to. A little voice in her mind. She tried to ignore it, but it kept getting louder, telling her not to fall asleep. 'Open a window' it said, 'Open the petching window now!'
It took another chime for her to do so, but finally Adelaide got to her feet, grumbling and lurched towards the window. It took her a chime to undo the latch, but then she finally did, and pulled open the curtains. The room was flooded with light and Adelaide had opened the window just in time to vomit into the bushes.
Adelaide turned around and looked down the staircase to where her stepmother was standing, smiling ever-so-sweetly, staring unblinkingly. Adelaide tried her best not to visibly shiver. Jafara looked like she was up to something - again. Plotting, manipulating... that which she did best. Naturally, it made the young Sitai uneasy.
"That's none of your business."
"Oh, I'm just asking my dear. There is no need to be so defensive. Only, neither your room nor any of the guest rooms are up there. That way, you'll only find my room, your father's room and your aunt's... and you know that neither myself nor your Aunt are to be disturbed."
"Well, then, logic dictates that I'm going to see my father." Adelaide said finally, her jaw visibly tightening, "If that is alright with you, of course."
She was about to turn on her heel, when she was caught by a simpering, falsely thoughtful, tone.
"My dear, if you don't mind my saying, it does bother me a little. It's not healthy, is it? A woman of your age spending so much time with her father. What exactly is it that you do up there?"
"We read books. We talk. He shows me what he's just finished writing. Sometimes we smoke." With every article listed, Adelaide's voice was getting lighter and she finished with a laugh, "You should try it sometimes."
"I occupy my time with more, uh... useful endeavours."
"Right."
"Dear me, Adelaide. Do not look so cross. I only have your best interests at heart. When are you getting married?"
At this, Adelaide rolled her eyes and spun around, continuing to go up the stairs.
"Be very careful, my dear. Very careful." The voice behind her was, on the surface at least, light and pleasant, accompanied by a little laugh, but Adelaide could sense a deeper anger underlying her words, "There may come a time when you wish you'd treated me more courteously, with the respect that you owe to a mother."
"You're not my mother." yelled Adelaide, from the top of the stairs without turning around, before disappearing down a corridor.
How had their relationship deteriorated so much? And so quickly? And why? And, though Adelaide was doing her very best to understand where the sudden mutual dislike had come from and to consider it fairly, she could not help but think that it was Jafara who had changed and not herself.
In her hand, the young woman held a book. It was a play which she'd picked from the Draer Library, and which she'd learnt a speech from. Her father was always the first one she practised her lines with and tried things out on. He was fair, but straight to the point - and quick to say if he disliked something.
"Just, what’s wrong with me? What is so hugely objectionable that they can’t even make the effort to be civil?" The character was called Leyla and she was bemoaning the fact that people weren't responding when she said 'good morning' to them - before going off on a tangent. It was a non-naturalistic play and a little odd, but Adelaide liked it. She continued murmuring the lines to herself. "I’ve always had a liking of the grotesque, as I suppose everyone has, but I’m honest about it, you know?" At that point, she would take a pause, and turn to face the audience to say, with a far stiller mannerism, her face illegible and her voice monotone. The next bit was a memory, a memory of her girlfriend Erin (or was it? Adelaide would have to read the whole script to be sure) "I looked down at her flesh in the lukewarm waters of the tin bath, her skin pink grey like a baby elephant because she had not yet lit any candles and the sun was setting. The Puppy Fat of her stomach rolled under her breasts like a wave of pastry, but as she stretched, it melted into her fragile bone china hipbones. Then, pushed by an indescribable urge, I put my hand into the bath and mopped her brow with the dirty water. Her brow, sizzling with the sweat which the hot steam laced her neck with. It looked like she was wearing a choker made of droplets sitting just above the swathe of dirty bath water."
Adelaide smiled, and repeated the lines again, dawdling in the corridor outside her father's room. She wanted to get it right. But maybe she oughtn't be monotone for the second bit? Maybe it would be better to make that bit more passionate, a rage of passion that verged on the incomprehensible, on the mad. She'd ask her father - he'd know what would work best. He was, after all, an excellent judge.
It was then that Adelaide noticed a wisp of a purple fume escaping from under the door to her father's room. As it floated down the corridor, Adelaide was hit by the scent of lavender and a wave of elation which caused her to feel a burst of heat rise buoyantly inside her. With a sudden start, she tried to push the feeling out of her mind and rushed to the door. She put her ear to it, but could hear nothing so, after a moment, she pulled the door open.
The young woman was hit by something short of a tidal wave of different scents, different emotions. She burst into a flurry of giggles even as a torrent of tears started to make headway down her cheeks. The room was heavy with a kind of coloured fog and the curtains closed. Adelaide could see dozens of little lights flickering in the darkness.
"Father! *cough* Father?"
Her entire body was on fire with different sensations, her head burning with different thoughts, different emotions - causing her a very sudden amount of pain. She felt like there were people screaming in her head, people laughing, people chatting merrily. She had no control over anything she was doing. She heard a maniacal laugh and it took her a couple of ticks to realise that it was coming from her own mouth. Then singing! And that too was coming from her own mouth.
"Want to live in Swilly, you must be petching bent;
To live in city housing and never pay the rent.
A place so full of scrubbers, with pimps and petchers too,
But when it come to fighting, they'd like to shyke all over you!
So come you up to Swilly, which isn't so petching bad,
Our girls are free and easy, with knickers that ain't ironclad,
Their skirts are shorter than their belts, their knockers will tantalise,
Though their amorous aims, lead to maternity claims,
its a Swilly girl for you: - or two - - or three ---, or four!"
And where had that come from? It was a memory, but a memory she didn't remember. How the petch could she remember all those lyrics? It was a song she had heard when she was a child - maybe five or six - sung by sailors on the docks, and it had shocked her a lot at the time... even though she had not completely understood what they were singing about. But how had she remembered? She didn't even have the memory of those sailors any more. It felt like a memory risen from the mists of her subconscious, where it had resided for close to a decade. But, to remember all the lyrics!
And talking of memory, where was she? Why was she in pain? Petch - Adelaide knew she was about to die. She was surely about to die. Her whole face was wet and though she was doing her best to retain some composure, blowing her nose into her sleeve rather than letting it run, her head was pounding like a Taloban drum. It was then that she tripped over something in the dark and she went falling forward... but it took her about a chime to reach the ground, she knew. She'd been in that room for bells. Two or three? Maybe more? But where was she? Where was she? It was very dark. Maybe she was in bed? Or underground.
From the floor, she could see an open doorway, and light. Then she remembered. Yes, this was her father's room. She really loved her father. Absolutely. He was brilliant. The greatest man in Mizahar and she knew it. Oh, she had to speak to him, didn't she? Show him the monologue she'd been working on. Adelaide could have hugged herself with glee and, in fact, did so. Oh yes, today was a really good day. She loved the monologue and he was going to love it too. He'd tell her it was brilliant and she'd be the greatest actress in all of Mizahar - which was, of course, true. In fact, she already was the greatest actress in all of Mizahar. She was certain of it. She'd just have to untap all her amazing potential because, to be honest, she knew nobody who was quite as clever, quite as talented, quite as interesting and incredible, quite as creative as she was. Except perhaps her father - he was amazing. And her cat - her cat was amazing too.
Adelaide yawned slightly. All those joyous feelings had tired her out. Maybe she would just go to sleep. Right there. On the floor. It was then that her hand came into contact with the thing she'd tripped over. She looked over it with a smile then realised it was her father. He was asleep. With a start, the young woman jumped up. Her head was weighing her down: she wanted to sleep. But something was telling her not to. A little voice in her mind. She tried to ignore it, but it kept getting louder, telling her not to fall asleep. 'Open a window' it said, 'Open the petching window now!'
It took another chime for her to do so, but finally Adelaide got to her feet, grumbling and lurched towards the window. It took her a chime to undo the latch, but then she finally did, and pulled open the curtains. The room was flooded with light and Adelaide had opened the window just in time to vomit into the bushes.
