Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/8/2018
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[[Hello, delicious friends! The Feast of the Exceptional Rose—one of my very favourite holidays—is upon us again, and this year, Vivienne and Ginneon Thursday have so very much to celebrate: his recent accomplishments with the Ambitious Barrister, her notable achievement pictured above, and, of course, our lovely couple's first wedding anniversary! All of these delightful happenings have been commingling and conspiring in my writer brain, until it eventually coalesced into an idea for a little forum game, the goal being to 'win' a Night on the Town with the Thursdays during the Feast.
Of course, while they are very charming and make for delightful guests at nearly every occasion, your own goings-on needn't have them at the centre of it all, but must be suitably entertaining that they agree to devote a few hours to such a splendid endeavour.
So, how exactly will this work? Those who wish to participate should make their pitch in the manner of your own choosing. (I'll kick it off by letter below once all the details are explained, but the next person might continue it on by crafting little scenario whereby they encounter V&G gadding about the city somewhere or other, or perhaps just gracelessly running up and shouting in their faces, or whatever else moves your ingenious little soul.)
The more voyeristic sort of forum posters who wish to comment but not participate are also welcome to weigh in on the ideas, in character or out, as a sort of Voice of Society/peanut gallery/Greek chorus, which may or may not have any sway over what the Thursdays chose to do, until one (or both) of your hosts make a decision, and posts a reply. Successful bids will 'win' one of the Nights, and I'll tick them off like a countdown, removing one from my inventory pool each time. (Of course, NotT are not actually transferable, so what you will actually get, beyond the forum post, is a gift box or some other sort of in-game token, or maybe the granting of a small request, like menace reduction, etc.) I'd like to do this for a least the two weeks of the Feast, but if it catches on and everyone is having a grand time of it, there are plenty of other Nights to be given away!
As Vivienne is of the firm opinion that rules are but pesky things meant for other, no doubt dull and uninspired people, I won't impose any, but shall ask only that we try to keep to the convivial spirit of the game, the duration of an evening, and the general themes of topic, language, and politeness established by the Powers that Be here on the forums and in Fallen London on the whole.
Good luck, everyone, and my fondest hopes that you all feast long and well! ♥]]
Intro post to follow!
edited by Vivienne Thursday on 2/8/2018
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Lady Sapho Byron
Posts: 770
2/8/2018
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A letter delivered inside a slim volume of lyrically lascivious mycological metaphors:
“My dear Vivi, I have a weekly standing reservation for a private suite at the Parlour of Virtue and I had the most splendid idea of how to make use of it this half fortnight! I propose that you and I arrange a series of edifying tableaux for Ginneon! For theme I propose the intersection of History and Religion, viz., we shall depict the most devotional rites of priestesses of the First, Second, Third, and Fourth Cities. I am no mean student of history, and I can assure you that costuming expenses for the Second and Third City arrangement will minimal. I am sure we can, with a bit of creativity, be equally parsimonious with the other two scenes as well. What say you? –S. B.”
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http://fallenlondon.com/Profile/Lady%20Sapho%20L%20Byron
Fighting the Menace of Corsetry Since 1892.
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Ginneon Thursday
Posts: 265
2/10/2018
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Lady Sapho Byron wrote:
“My dear Vivi, I have a weekly standing reservation for a private suite at the Parlour of Virtue and I had the most splendid idea of how to make use of it this half fortnight! I propose that you and I arrange a series of edifying tableaux for Ginneon! As Vivienne reads, Ginneon lazily runs his fingers down red locks of his wife's hair, a hand resting on her shoulder and an eye catching glimpses of Lady Sapho Byron's letter.
"Yes..." he says slowly. In his eyes a light begins to dawn. "Fantastic. We've just procured new papyrus scrolls from Visage. Well - not new. Old. New for Benthic. But Professor V____ claims she's traced them to the Second City. Says they shed light on the ritual adoration of a sacred bull. It involves rather a lot of masks though. Hard to tell where the Second City ends and Visage begins. I suppose I could compare the papyri to Manetho and al-Maqrizi. Otherwise...I really don't know where to start." Vivi opens her mouth to say something, but the opportunity is lost.
"At least - blessedly," he continues, "we have a wealth of information on the Fourth City. Shouldn't have much difficulty recreating those rites with more precision. Oh - but the First City." He strokes his beard, troubled, down to its point. "Where ever will we find 62 lamentation priests?" He scoffs, tossing the notion away. "They probably post-date the First Fall by a good half-millennium. We have so few extant tablets from Uru-"
Vivi makes a shushing noise as she lays a slender finger against his lips, then points out a few of Lady Byron's words that he seems to have missed: "Parlour Of Virtue" and "costuming" and "minimal."
Ginneon fights a losing battle with a smirk. "Yes. Well." A sly arch infiltrates his brow. "I suppose in matters of religion historical accuracy is a lesser virtue."
edited by Ginneon Thursday on 2/16/2018
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Ginneon Thursday: Revelrous Professor of Benthic
Departments of Mycoenology, Lepidoptery
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Hotshot Blackburn
Posts: 110
2/9/2018
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The walls of London are plastered three inches deep it seems with handbills and posters during the Feast of the Exceptional Rose, advertising all number of wonderful and questionable services. Urchins are hired by the score to put them up...and sometimes hired to tear them down. And the Debonair Sharpshooter is out as well, putting up a series of posters on the side of a Ladybones office with the help of an Urchin contact. While taking a break to wipe his brow, he looks across the street to spy a certain couple. He winks, and steps aside to reveal the enormous lilac poster he's just put up.
The top of the poster boldly states "LET THE MARSHES BE YOUR PLAYGROUND!" while the bottom promises "AN EVENING OF LUXURY AND SPORTSMANSHIP AWAITS!". The sideways sillhouette of an enormous Eremite Crab stands tall in the middle. Every detail, from the ridges on the claws to the flutes on the zee-znail zhell to the mounted rifle and wine bottle on the howdah is rendered in loving detail. More text winds around the side, looping up and down and around the crab: "See BUGSBY'S MARSHES by way of domesticated land-faring EREMITE CRAB! Enjoy a private dinner for two in a Couple's Crab FOURTEEN FEET OFF THE GROUND with a LIVE BLEMMIGAN BAND, or TRY YOUR LUCK at bagging YOUR VERY OWN FUNGUS-COLUMN with a GENUINE ELEPHANT GUN aboard our Sentry Crabs! Our EXPERIENCED TOUR GUIDES are always available to show you sights like the PERPETUAL WALTZ OF THE MUSHROOMS, the RUINS OF THE CENTURY EXHIBITION, the KNOT-ORACLE TEMPLE or the LIGHTS OF THE VIRIC BOG. Direct all inquires to the CRAB CARAVAN, WATCHMAKER'S HILL." An address is conveniently provided.
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Hotshot Blackburn: Messidor, Aspirant to the Calendar Council. Paramount Presence. Seeker of the Name. A firm believer in kindness, solidarity, and sufficient use of force and firepower.
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/8/2018
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While the Spires of the Bazaar have unparalleled views, occasionally, living in a sentient dwelling presented unique challenges, such as remembering where it had placed the dining room from one day to the next, or, as had happened just the day before (which happened also to be their wedding anniversary), finding that access to the stairwell down had been removed all together.
Today, after a rather circuitous route past many rooms still bearing the marks of the Thursdays' own particular brand of celebrating, Ginneon Thursday found his wife standing in front of a door he hadn't quite recalled being there before today. New or old, the door, though made of the same durable, chitinous material as the rest of the building, was bulging rather alarmingly.
"Is that a new development, dear, or have I forgotten in the midst of all our celebrating?" he asked, leading them in a small but prudent step away from the scene.
"Mmm," Vivi waggled her head along with the hand that isn't already occupied with a champagne flute. "Well, last I rightly recall, that was an antechamber where we kept hats—of the non-biting variety, canes, and any unwanted solicitors. Oh, and also our mail!"
Like a favoured pet called to the dinner bell, the fluttering movement behind the door grew only more agitated.
"Ah, I think I've put it all together now, Vivi. Our social calendars were already such the very devil to manage—remember, we've gone through at least three infernal secretaries who've just stomped off in a huff over the amount of work it all is, but this year, we've not only chosen to spend the rest of our lives together in what will no doubt be long and wonderful marriage, but we've also joined.... all our contacts."
Her eyes grew wide. "Oh. Oh dear." She sipped thoughtfully, the bubbles a familiar reassurance. "But it is still manageable, my darling. We'll just have to be a bit more.... selective. Maybe add an element of chance!"
"Like a game? he replied, grin widening. "As always, I like the way you think! Good show. Now, if you'd grab my épée from over there, dear, if you can get a handle on the knob, I'll charge the door and--"
"Or we could just pluck one bursting out from the gap there?" she suggested, which sounded less like something resembling work. "Whichever one you get ahold of first, love. We'll go at this like one might devour a Lorn-Fluke: one bite at a time!"
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Ginneon Thursday
Posts: 265
2/10/2018
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Rysiek wrote:
Meow! I mean... Hello! [...] P.S. You might have heard stories about me, buy I am not a cat, I assure you!" "Before we go, dear," Vivienne asks, "this Kirsikka...one of your friends?"
"Kirsikka..." he puzzles. "No, not that I recall."
"She insists rather fiercely that she is not a cat."
"I would never have assumed she was. Until she declared she was not."
"Seems like a cat."
"Seems like a cat," Ginneon agrees.
Vivienne bites her lip. "Cats are cunning creatures though..."
"Quite. If she were a cat..."
Vivi continues: "She'd do better to convince us otherwise by not broaching the subject at all."
"So not a cat?"
"Not a cat."
Ginneon strokes his beard. "But then again...she suggests activities each of which produces a singularly feline delight."
He sets pen to paper and composes a reply: "Dear Kirsikka," he reads, "we would be delighted to meet you. And this will not affect the matter either way - but do be straight with us: are you a cat?"
Vivi rests a hand on her husband's shoulder. "Are you sure that's the best approach, dear? Cats and the cat-like are subtle creatures. Such directness might be mistaken for rudeness. Almost as though you did mind her being a cat."
"I do not mind whether someone is a cat. I do dislike subterfuge."
Vivienne breathes a gentle sigh. "It's a wonder you've lasted in this city at all."
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Ginneon Thursday: Revelrous Professor of Benthic
Departments of Mycoenology, Lepidoptery
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Gemma Hawley
Posts: 55
2/14/2018
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Vivienne Thursday wrote:
"So now, who's next with a scary tale? It will keep us, or at least me, from leaping at every shadow as we walk."
Edric_Ascolt wrote:
wrote a fittingly-chilling tale.
*spoilers follow for the nature of the Foreign Office*
"I have a story as well," Gemma says, her hand gripping onto the Canon's arm just a little tighter, though for balance on the uneven path or to steel her nerve was unclear.
"As I've already dined on crow once this evening, I shan't assume that all of you come from the Surface," she said, glancing around at the group, "but I was born here in London and I was left in the care of an urchin gang as an infant, where I stayed until I was about 6 or 7. Then I was... adopted, you could say. My father- er, that is to say Mr Hawley, had been an art thief on the Surface, but down here, the pickings were much slimmer, so he branched out—confidence schemes mainly—soon finding that having a small trained accomplice would aid him both in sympathy and his success rate. It wasn't a perfect arrangement; he was a vain man who often had only the most passing acquaintance with telling the truth about anything, no matter how simple, and of course, I needed to steal to earn my keep, but overall, it was a good sight better than life with the urchins. At least there was always enough to eat and no one was swinging a sock-covered brick at me for being affiliated with a different gang. And he did teach me so many things, not just schemes and ploys, but useful things, like art, literature, history. Of course, he also told me that cheese is made of spiders and wells sing terrible songs that can ensnare people, so I may have a problem believing what I hear until I prove it myself." She flashes a small, tight smile.
"But Mr Hawley never really took to London life. He understood people so well, but monsters and devils and cowled creatures from beyond the stars were just entirely too much weirdness for him. The best technique he found was to ignore it, as completely as possible, preferring to spend his free time in endless pursuit of wine and women. Some years after we'd come to this arraignment, he came home from a salon practically walking on clouds after having met a silver-tongued lady who had done nothing but praise his baritone once the evening had devolved to the point of piano-side sing-alongs. 'The Intriguer wishes me to join their choir!' he'd practically shouted, and I almost laughed, thinking at first he'd meant a church choir, and the only reason Mr Hawley would ever cross the threshold of any church I'd ever heard of was to somehow walk off with the collection offerings. But no, he corrected me, rather this choir—this special choir—met at the Foreign Office... in small hours of the night, and he had every intention of showing them the boundless well of his talents right then."
"I never saw Hawley alive again. Later the following day, when he still hadn't returned, I started checking the pubs and social clubs he frequented, the parks and museums where we'd often run our short cons, but nothing. By the time I remembered about the Foreign Office, it was already past suppertime, the streets now clear of office workers but not yet filled again with those seeking their evening's entertainment. The courtyard in front of the building was mostly empty, but out of the corner of my eye I saw something—it looked at first to be a discarded bundle of clothes but as I got closer, I saw the blood. I knew it was him before I even reached the body, even without being able to see his face yet. Hawley was cold, his eyes glazed over and without a single spark of life remaining in them. But this was no ordinary murder. As soon as I touched him it was clear that his bones had all been broken, as if he'd been dropped from a great height, and then just tossed away, like an unwanted ragdoll. And h-his heart was gone, torn out by something with long claws and enough strength to make a hole that nearly went clean through him. As horrifying as it was, I couldn't stop looking at it, at the space where there used to be a beating heart, a person, and now all that was left was red, wet, stinking meat." Gemma swallows hard, her voice growing thick with emotion, but she pushes through it, determined to tell this tale once and for all.
"I don't know how long I sat there with him. The Special Constables showed up, no doubt summoned by someone over the spectacle I was making, and they wrapped the corpse in a shroud and moved it into the back of one of their black-windowed carriages. Another SC was tasked with cleaning the blood, but a quick scrub with a brush and bucket and all that was left of my father was a soapy pink smear on the pavement. And then they just piled back into their vehicle and went to leave without saying so much as a word to me. I grabbed one of them by the lapel before he could take his seat and shouted that they had to do something, that a man was dead, my father was dead, and the only thing to mark his passing was this sorry clean-up crew. The SC just looked at me, eyes nearly as lifeless as Hawley's had been and he said only this: "I suggest you forget what you saw here, miss. It's better for everyone that way." And then they were gone too, and I stood there, furious and miserable, covered in my father's blood and completely on my own for the first time, without a single idea of what to even try to do next.
"You know how swiftly gossip spreads down here. Word got around quickly of how my father had met his end, and there was no one who wanted to get involved with the sort of business that the Special Constables had to come to clean up. I got nowhere trying to look into the Foreign Office connection and no one else claimed to even know this Intriguer Hawley met at the salon. Even his so-called friends were no help at all, though a few of them tried to be kind, leaving covered dishes of food in the hall outside our flat, which sat untouched until they started to draw vermin. I couldn't do anything—sleep, eat, live—all I could do was remember just how sad he had looked in death, how very ordinary and pathetic. It was almost as if that SC's words had cursed me: the only thing I couldn't do was forget. How could I? If no one else would care about Hawley's murder, then I was going to have to be the one to avenge it.
"It didn't take much digging to become confident that this was the work of the Vake, but beyond that, all I had was a pile of half-arsed sightings of something with huge leathery wings and endless apocryphal stories of hunters who tried to take that beast down, only to lose their lives to it by the score. That didn't dissuade me. I didn't know what I had to live for anyway, so I vowed that from that point forth, my life had only one purpose: either I would kill the Vake, or it would kill me.
"That's why I never really made friends because I don't—I didn't—expect to have a future. How could I be someone's wife, or even worse, someone's mother, only to leave them alone and frightened and so damned angry, just like Hawley left me? No, I would have been even more to blame, because at least he didn't know what he was getting into, but I I knew from the start where I would find my end, and it all ties back to the Foreign Office."
For the first time since she began her story, she stopped their plodding stroll, turning to look at her companions, her green eyes bright with unshed tears. "They're doing something terrible there, I know it. I... I think they are responsible for feeding the Vake."
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Gemma Hawley—Former urchin, recovering misanthrope, fixer for the Cheery Man
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/19/2018
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[[What a splendid Feast, everyone, and thank you for such wonderful Nights on the Town! I hope you all made some delightful new friends and fell a little bit more hopelessly in love with something (even if it was only with yourself).
My thanks to the ever-wonderful Ginneon Thursday for his exceptional contributions as co-host and just being an all-around super-terrific person, as well as everyone else who contributed to the thread with gifts of your own scrumptious words. I had so very much fun!
Until the next Occurrence, I hope all your dreams are sweet! ♥ ]]
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Edric_Ascolt
Posts: 3
2/13/2018
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Ginneon Thursday wrote:
In the carriage to Watchmaker Hill, Vivi turns to their newest companion. "What was that you said, Mr Ascolt, about trouble at the docks?"
Vivienne Thursday wrote:
"So now, who's next with a scary tale? It will keep us, or at least me, from leaping at every shadow as we walk."
He gave a slight wave. "An issue of egos is all. A contracted merchant is unable to unload his cargo as the dock workers have a grudge against him. The Neddy men won't help as it isn't an issue of the Union and the bribe I've granted the Captain to use for such a situation isn't enough. It isn't something I can't handle its only that such a problem should not be my concern except for what he holds in his ship."
An eyebrow lifts at a thought, and turns to Vivienne. "Speaking of the Docks, however, I may have heard a tale or two that might please you lot. And it does not have to do with spiders, fortunately."
"I have a captain that does plenty of runs to the Carnelian Coast. He was a useful source of help during my time as governor of the colony. Practically sage, and cautious to a T. Now I didn't listen to all his anecdotes, as some of them I knew to be completely wrong, but there was one that took my interest above all others. He spoke of an encounter with the Blue Prophets, those dreaded avians that haunt the seas around the place. Now encounter itself was nothing of note. He managed to whip out the flock and run the rest away. He didn't hear any names from their dying breaths, at least no one of import to himself. He managed to sell the feathers for a decent profit, keeping a single one to himself, pinned on his jacket." He leans forward. "He returns to London, and on his return, he finds himself a clever little dame to call his own, at least for that evening. After a pleasant evening, he decides to give her the feather, a token of his affections. She leans in, and whispers her name, a valuable secret in its own context."
"But for him, it was a moment of horror. For at that moment, stunned speechless, he remembered that name as the one spoken by the very bird he plucked that feather from. And before he could do anything, the woman ran off, as giddy as anyone would with a night such as that."
"She was found the next day ripped to shreds in a Jack murder." He leans back, content for the story to end there.
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Canon Edric Ascolt, Extraordinary Mind, Eminence of London and the Bazaar over the Zee, Scholar of the Correspondance and Player of the Great Game. Dabbles in Zee Commerce and Bazaarine aesthetics.
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Hotshot Blackburn
Posts: 110
2/14/2018
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Vivienne Thursday wrote:
The group finds a path only slightly squishy with marsh moss, following the sounds of a rather cheerful sounding ruckus just over the next swampy hill (or four.)
A jaunty sign illuminated by numerous Foxfire candles looms large in the marshes - in the same pale violet coloring, a caricature of a rat-catcher shouts in a rather large speech-bubble, "Only 900 METERS to the CRAB CARAVAN!" One hand points into the distance, while the other hand points to a simple map. A pathway through the marsh is marked on the map: ahead of the party, that same trail is denoted by pairs of gas lamps placed on stout wooden posts.
In the distance, beyond the winding lamp-lit trail, what appears like a subterranean rodeo awaits. A circular patch of land has been put up in the midst of the swamp through use of wooden platforms and clear cut fungal stalks. Strands of electric light, in cheerful yellows and greens and blues, create a bulwark of light against the darkness. The indistinct shapes of people can be seen flirting around the various pavilions. The smell of chocolate rats-on-a-string, glazed fungus toffee and rock candy lorn-flukes waft on the salty marsh breeze. But most notable of all-
Eremite Crabs! Monstrous cousin to the humble hermit crab! Seven hulking shapes shuffling quietly in the gloom, each one bigger than a full-grown elephant! Most wear discarded Zee-Znail Zhells, but the largest lumbers around in the hollowed-out stone head of an ancient pagan god. Enclosed howdahs perch precariously atop each Crab, affixed to zhell and stone with legions of rope harnesses and waterproof rugs. The names are painted in the side in colors as bold as the fonts: "PRICKFINGER PENNY" "WOLFSTACKS WANDA" "BARNET BELLE".
And in the midst of it all, the Debonair Sharpshooter.
At the moment, Hotshot is the calm in the eye of a storm. Occasionally he directs a string of lights to be placed just so, a sign to be angled right there. A conductor before the grand opening, with nothing to do but wait for the curtain to rise. The Feast of the Rose was always a great time of the year to meet new acquaintances and make new contacts. And what better way to build a mounted cavalry force under the eyes of the Masters than disguising it as a tourist attraction? He should have thought of this before.
The crabs are ready to go, the handlers geared up and the supplies stocked. Hotshot himself will take lead spotter from Cumaean Connie. Everything is ready...all they need now are some actual visitors.
edited by Hotshot Blackburn on 2/14/2018
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Hotshot Blackburn: Messidor, Aspirant to the Calendar Council. Paramount Presence. Seeker of the Name. A firm believer in kindness, solidarity, and sufficient use of force and firepower.
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/10/2018
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Rysiek wrote:
charming things, and batted at passing moth playfully.
"The Museum of Yarn? How nice! It would be quite difficult go get lost there. don't you think, my love?" Ginneon said, nodding appreciatively.
"Oh, we could bring the kitten and made a day of it," Vivi purrs. "You know how much Monet does love a good game of pounce!"
As if it heard its name, the Parabolan kitten lept from the nearest mirror onto the setee, knocked over an empty-honey jar, and sauntered off in search of a snack.
edited by Vivienne Thursday on 2/10/2018
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Ginneon Thursday
Posts: 265
2/11/2018
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Rysiek wrote:
I could be a cat. But on certain points of view, we might be all cats. Ginneon whispers into Vivi's ear, "I see our categories of 'cat' and 'not-a-cat' may have been too strict."
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Ginneon Thursday: Revelrous Professor of Benthic
Departments of Mycoenology, Lepidoptery
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Gemma Hawley
Posts: 55
2/11/2018
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The raven-haired woman behind the bar, has, as is her habit, been listening to every word. (There are many rumours as to who, exactly, this woman is at all, but for the moment, the role of publican will suit just fine.) Before any of the brawls can escalate further, she pulls a large, obvious, and very well-used blunderbuss from somewhere down around her knees, and lays it without comment upon the bar. The background roar softens to mere indelicate murmurs.
Kirsikka's next drink is embellished with a spring of twining greenery, and their bartender waggles it back and forth beneath the Possibly a Cat's twitching nose before placing it down. (That question, at least, will be settled soon enough.)
Before the Thursdays, she places an elaborate carafe, its contents glowing the same mournful blue as a distant lighthouse or a widow's tear. "Well, there's nothing I can say about either cats or bar brawls that hasn't probably been said better before, but I will wager a bet with you. Since neither of the pair of you much looks like you like to get your hands dirty, tell me a tale that will give me a shiver, and the next round is on me."
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Gemma Hawley—Former urchin, recovering misanthrope, fixer for the Cheery Man
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Kylestien
Posts: 749
2/11/2018
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A letter arrives in a box sealed with a correspondence symbol. It reads as such:
"You have been cordially invited to a secret performance of The Bell And The Candle, the infamous opera that caused all sorts of ruckus at the Shuttered Palace. Come and see what all the fuss is about! Bringing a friend is highly recommended. Make sure to be discreet."
edited by Kylestien on 2/11/2018
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I will accept all actions, though I hold the right to refuse for my own reasons. However, if you explain WHY you send me a harmful action like Loitering or Dantes,And I feel the reason good, I will consider it more. http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Kylestien
Persuasive patron. You want a lesson, send me a message asking for one.
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Johnny Felix
Posts: 180
2/11/2018
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Johnny Felix, while being in the study musing over his correspondence, was struck by the thought that he hasn't seen his friends, the Thursdays, for quite a while. Now, he had the one or other idea what caused that absence, since he and his beloved Taimi had been newlyweds themselves not so long ago, but still, the occasion of their wedding anniversary seemed like an opportunity to meet up once again for a good old-fashioned double-date.
Johnny started to lay out plans for a night of restrained activities and decorous entertainment, but then he remembered to whom Ginneon and he were married to and started over again from scratch. Out with afternoon tea at Beatrice's and the visit of the Imperial Opera, instead drinks in abundance at the Temple Club (Ginneon always showed enthusiasm for the Fourth City architecture) and musical entertainment (with dance) at the Singing Mandrake. The table for four for dinner at Dante's could stay in place though as well as the merry carriage ride through the city in search for a proper bar for a nightcap afterwards. Johnny also took care of some minor precautions, like a donation to the Funds for Frequently Murdered Constables, just in case the ladies decided that stealing police officer's helmets has to be part of a proper evening entertainment (again).
He presented his plans to Taimi, who only suggested some minor improvements, like a duelling session with the Major, or a quick monster hunt at Jekyll Gardens ("It's practically on the way of our carriage ride, my love, and we could work up some proper appetite!"), as she was of course excited to spend some time with her friends again.
So, Johnny wrote a proper invitation in cursive on vat paper to Vivienne and Ginneon and sent a messenger bat towards the Bazaar spire, hoping for a speedy reply. After all, he couldn't imagine what would cause a delay in responding to correspondence in such a decent and proper household like the Thursday's.
edited by Johnny Felix on 2/11/2018
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https://www.fallenlondon.com/profile/Johnny%20Felix
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/8/2018
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Lady Sapho Byron wrote:
delicious, delicious things.
The reply comes swiftly, by messenger bat. Aw, and he has a little tissue-paper rose tucked under his collar, scarlet as a dark-dewed cherry.
"Sapho, dearest: did that last drink make my eyes got a bit funny, or did you just propose an evening with you, my beloved husband, and numerous costume changes of both the historical and ecclesiastical variety?? Darling, if you lock the lock behind, we may never leave!"
Vivi hurries to make find the next free day in their calendar, then smartly clears the day after as well.
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/9/2018
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Rysiek wrote:
wrote an earnest plea, but their mention of drinking makes it an easy sell
"But isn't the Medusa's Head full of Monsters and Criminals, dear?" Vivi asked, freckles standing out just a little more boldly upon the planes of her face as they had just a moment before.
"Monster-hunters," Ginneon was quick to reassure, "and I believe their public house now has a rule that all relics must be predeceased before they are allowed entry. Plus, no one has really seen much of the Cheery Man these past months, which has cut down significantly on the lethal drinking games."
"Very well, my darling, I am suitably convinced! Perhaps in the green silk and that lovely, looping bracelet for me.... to keep to the serpentine theme, and Derringer in your breast-side pocket."
edited by Vivienne Thursday on 2/10/2018
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/11/2018
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Kylestien wrote:
an intriguing invitation.
Vivi squints at the Correspondence symbol for a moment before passing it off to her husband. (Whether she just holds little talent for unraveling those arcane sigils or if she's rarely too sober to try is really a matter up for debate. Thankfully, Ginneon is excellent at taking up the gap.)
The letter sets her to chirping cheerfully in short order though. "Ooh, look, darling. 'Secret performance'? 'Infamous ruckus at the Palace'?! Yes, yes, I very much DO want to see what all the fuss is about. Do you think he means infamous in the same way as my staging of 'The Petals'?" One ginger brow arches coyly. "Well, we are no doubt paragons of discretion, so that much is covered."
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/11/2018
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Johnny Felix wrote:
a double-date perfect in every way.
The messenger bat is given a nice cricket as a tip, which he takes as an invitation to stay a while. Oh look, there's a dribble of honey over there that no one seems to be making use of either. How lovely!
Vivi hurries into Ginneon's study, finding him, not unusually, in front of a cosy fire with a glass of port in one hand and a dusty tome into the other. "Darling, look, it's a letter from the Felixes! Oh, it's been so long since we've a chance to catch up with them. Did you know they've opened a school in that enormous mansion that faces Greenmoss Park? Mm, I'm not quite sure if Lady Taimi acquired it or 'acquired' it, and it seemed somewhat gauche to ask... but anyway, yes, a Free School, so that all of London's children may have access to education, no matter if they come from a townhouse or a gutter or anywhere in-between. I think it's just brilliant!"
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Ginneon Thursday
Posts: 265
2/12/2018
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Kylestein wrote:
You have been cordially invited to a secret performance of The Bell And The Candle Johnny Felix wrote:
Out with afternoon tea at Beatrice's and the visit of the Imperial Opera, instead drinks in abundance at the Temple Club By the fountain in the Temple Club, Taimi mimics a drunken Bishop Of Southwark and slurs the killing blow, “It's what I do!” The merry group doubles over in anarchic laughter. Vivi pours champagne into towering flutes, and by his fourth airag Ginneon is toasting everyone and everything. “Johnny! This may be my favourite place in the City.” He looks up at the ceiling, then to the floor. “Or Fourth City.” He prods a column. “Regardless - to our hosts!” Ginneon greets each fresh pour with laughter, and the fountain always flows.
“I know you said no operas tonight, but we've received an invitation from a friend - The Bell And Candle. It's short, highly unconventional, and, as I understand, there is a large degree of audience participation. Starts an hour 'til midnight. We all could make it to the Mandrake after just as it's coming to life. What do you say?”
edited by Ginneon Thursday on 2/12/2018
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Ginneon Thursday: Revelrous Professor of Benthic
Departments of Mycoenology, Lepidoptery
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Lady Taimi Felix
Posts: 202
2/12/2018
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Ginneon Thursday wrote:
"I know you said no operas tonight, but we've received an invitation from a friend - The Bell And Candle. It's short, highly unconventional, [...] What do you say?"
"Of course, we say YES!" Lady Taimi booms, momentarily forgetting her voice is capable of variable volume. "And 'short' is exactly how I like my opera! Besides Vivi has been claiming this one is supposed to be already notorious. At least as far as generating speculation about its content, thus far I must agree! So, let us see what delights the stage has in store for us all tonight, eh? And the theatre's just a dawdle from here. Come along! Let's go in already!"
"Just one thing I feel might be prudent," interjects Ginneon, taking mercy on the playhouse's poor coat-check girl. "I think it's best you leave her either the harpoon or the tigress.
Johnny agrees, employing that smile that makes his wife a little weak in the knees (his choice of words) or soft in the head (hers). "Surely you won't need both, my love, at least for the length of an opera."
"That's not how I recall the reception after the staging of Vivi's last ballet," Taimi counters, but with an amused smile. "Very well, as Coco just adores the theatre, she shall join us, and the harpoon will refrain for any unnecessary poking for the duration of the evening. Hunter's promise." The Lady takes a moment to centre the tigress' tiara just so (the stringent rules of catkind are more merciless than a gallows judge) and then takes her husband's arm, now ready to tackle most anything (sometimes literally).
Before she again bursts into motion, she adds a small caution, mumbled sotto voce. "Oh, no matter what she says, do NOT give the tiger any absinthe. I'm pretty sure they've just managed to put out all the fires on that block from the last time."
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Lady Taimi Felix: Devoted Wife. Invisible Eminence. Patron of the Shadowy Arts. Monster Hunter. Lady of Adventure. Exceptionally Lethal. Loves a Good Chat over Coffee.
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Edric_Ascolt
Posts: 3
2/13/2018
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Gemma Hawley wrote:
"My... partner, Canon Ascolt," Gemma introduces. The fact that she recalls all their names shows just how closely she had been listening to the group's conversations, but such is life in London. Wherever one makes their toasts, there is always someone listening.
The Canon gives an imaginary tip of the hat to the fellow guests, his tastefully disheveled hair bouncing slightly as he does so. "A pleasure." Before turning towards Gemma. "I must thank you for the call. I was getting a little obsessed over a difficult issue with the docks. A personal feud is getting in the way of business, and you know I can't stand such a thing."
Gemma only shakes her head as she quickly arranges his hair. "The fact that tonight was so lively and you hadn't showed up suggested as much." She then quickly slips her arm around his, her larcenous dexterity entwining her own hands into his. He smiles back, and whispers, "You're improving. You'll have a basic working of it by the end of the feast at this rate." His grin hid pain as she deftly punched his gut, playfully but firmly.
He turns back to the attention of the crowd. "So! Horrid haunts and tantalizing tales by the Marsh, I hear? I dare say I can't imagine a more suitable evening for such an occasion!"
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Canon Edric Ascolt, Extraordinary Mind, Eminence of London and the Bazaar over the Zee, Scholar of the Correspondance and Player of the Great Game. Dabbles in Zee Commerce and Bazaarine aesthetics.
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Ginneon Thursday
Posts: 265
2/13/2018
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Rysiek wrote:
"It was bigger than the spider council!" "Well, Maria, I shall feel that much safer in the swamp with an accomplished spider-hunter at our side. And you, Kir...you are cut off."
In the carriage to Watchmaker Hill, Vivi turns to their newest companion. "What was that you said, Mr Ascolt, about trouble at the docks?"
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Ginneon Thursday: Revelrous Professor of Benthic
Departments of Mycoenology, Lepidoptery
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Edric_Ascolt
Posts: 3
2/14/2018
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Gemma Hawley wrote:
A heartbreaking tale of love and ambition
Vivienne Thursday wrote:
An earnest word of encouragement, both of liquid and whispered form, and disdain for crustaceanism
Edric did his best to lean in for her support. Such a personal tale does not leave one without an open heart. Unless you were soulless (and he would know a thing or two about soullessness). He did not say anything, but held her hand firmly in his. He did not say anything when the flask was passed, but he enjoyed the burn as he took a swig. He did not say anything, when Vivienne took her aside, though he was grateful, as her advice was certainly something he would give, if his mind was not occupied with resolving certain.....implications, that have now surfaced from her tale. When she returned from her pep talk, he did whisper to her as well.
"I'm sorry." His tinged eyes looked on in sincere sympathy. "I know that was hard for you to share." He passed her a handkerchief for her tears.
Gemma took it with a pained smile, clearly bittersweet after recounting her tale and receiving such honest support. "I'll live" she said, in a half hearted attempt to be irreverant. They both chuckled, clearly finding some humor in the jest.
He turns his attention towards Vivienne, overhearing her own whisper to her confidant. (A spy is relatively good at such a thing). "Mrs. Thursday, I did not expect you of all people to be afraid of crustaceans."
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Canon Edric Ascolt, Extraordinary Mind, Eminence of London and the Bazaar over the Zee, Scholar of the Correspondance and Player of the Great Game. Dabbles in Zee Commerce and Bazaarine aesthetics.
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/14/2018
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[[Hello everyone, and a very Happy Valentine's Day to you all! ♥
I am very much enjoying the ongoing RP, but wanted to take a moment to remind any newcomers or onlookers that they are welcome to start/offer a different Night on the Town at any time. Plus, while the Feast is still going on, I'd really love to send out some more treats to other players! (Mmm.... freshly-baked delicious words., you know you want some! ;D)
To fit the theme of the day, I offer a very Neathy love song:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Br8S9j5rQPY
Have a lovely day of love, everyone! ]]
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Rysiek
Posts: 693
2/15/2018
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Vivienne Thursday wrote:
Vivienne Thursday wrote:
"So now, who's next with a scary tale? It will keep us, or at least me, from leaping at every shadow as we walk."
Gemma Hawley wrote:
wrote a terrifying and possibly seditious tale.
Hotshot Blackburn wrote:
A jaunty sign illuminated by numerous Foxfire candles looms large in the marshes ... Everything is ready...all they need now are some actual visitors.
Even in the gloomy light, Vivienne's face has paled several shades as she listens to Gemma's tale, one hand covering her mouth to hold back a gasp, or worse. Without even thinking of how many people that rough fist may have pummeled, her first instinct is to grab at Gemma's hand with her other and squeeze it tightly in sympathy. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, Miss Hawley, all of it. To bear witness to my own death was frankly almost more than I could stand, but someone you love..." Her eyes meet Ginneon's and hold them fast. To think of life without him would be.... just too much to bear.
Still, as the mood has grown somewhat sombre during these dark tales, she fishes out a flask of something encouragingly boozy, passing it around the group to bolster their nerve all a bit better (or at least to help them forget.) A cheer goes up from the crowd as the first sign for the Crab Caravan comes into sight and all begin to move a fair bit faster toward the brightly-lit scene.
Before they all rush away, Vivi pulls Gemma to the side for a quiet word. "You know what that stupid man said to you, to forget?" She shakes her head, the tight, angry movement causing her ginger curls to bounce askew. Vivi just impatiently shoves them out of the way. "I'm not one for blood debts—an eye for an eye will leave us all blind, or at least more at the mercy of passing sorrow spiders, but it is my advice that you should take all of that pain, all of that helpless and impotent fury you felt from that night, and learn to use it. Every time someone tells you that you can't do something, that you couldn't possibly manage, you take a piece of that pain, of that rage, and you shove it right back down their throats! To the Well with them all!"
Vivi's sudden ferocity causes Gemma to laugh, not her usual cynical bark, but a genuine and appreciative chuckle, and the two, still arm-in-arm, sped their steps to rejoin their paramours and friends beside. Kirsikka's nose twitches, having already detected the rather entrancing smell of chocolate and rodent wafting through the air.
While her usual cheerful smile has reappeared on her freckled face, Vivi whispers to Ginneon out of the side of her mouth, "There is not a chance in, on, or under this Earth that I will ride a crab of any variety, but I'm sure there's many other things here that would be quite fun."
Kir sniffs. Rats... mm... oooh! Chocolate! Even better! And there she goes! Running off towards the source of promising food!
Maria sighs. What can she say. Her own girlfriend is technically dead... "My condolences." she says, sighing "And.. the Vake?" her eyebrows furrow "I thought it was nothing but a legend told to scare people? Still... at least crabs are better than spiders. Though, knowing Kirsikka... who ate a fish raw.... guts and all, we might be thrown out due to her trying to eat her steed..."
--
The silesian Detective
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Rysiek
The incredible Warsovian. She certainly didn't steal your diamond necklace. That idea is RIDICULOUS...
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Maria~Konstantynopolska
The silesian vengeance seeker
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Agata~Grym
I apologize for any and all anachronisms. I am too lazy to check some facts if I am sure they are from the 1890s or sometimes think they are.
Oh, and by the way, I am not polish, I am GERMAN to clarify for heavens sake... tylko po polsku mowie. Um Himmelswillen...
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/15/2018
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Edric_Ascolt wrote:
He turns his attention towards Vivienne, overhearing her own whisper to her confidant. (A spy is relatively good at such a thing). "Mrs. Thursday, I did not expect you of all people to be afraid of crustaceans."
Vivienne laughs, a sound like tinkling bells. "Oh, Canon Ascolt, for one with such keen ears, you must have mistaken my contrariness for bravery. In truth, if your belle is a fierce tigress, I am but a sweet pussycat. I keep purring as long as I get my way."
Fearless she may not be, but it is true that one must try new things if one is to find new delights. "Very well," she says, eyeing the howdah carefully, both to check its craftsmanship and also so that she did not have to look much at the steed. "But we," her arm clamps to her husband's with much enthusiasm, "will go second!"
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Rysiek
Posts: 693
2/13/2018
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Ginneon Thursday wrote:
Rysiek wrote:
"It was bigger than the spider council!" "Well, Maria, I shall feel that much safer in the swamp with an accomplished spider-hunter at our side. And you, Kir...you are cut off."
In the carriage to Watchmaker Hill, Vivi turns to their newest companion. "What was that you said, Mr Ascolt, about trouble at the docks?"
Kir giggles "Cut off? Cut off from what? Because it feels good! The world is so bright! And intense! NOTHING can defeat me! NOT even you, you stupid purple poodle! And the spiders can bite me!"
Maria smiles "Uhm... I would prefer to avoid spiders..."
--
The silesian Detective
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Rysiek
The incredible Warsovian. She certainly didn't steal your diamond necklace. That idea is RIDICULOUS...
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Maria~Konstantynopolska
The silesian vengeance seeker
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Agata~Grym
I apologize for any and all anachronisms. I am too lazy to check some facts if I am sure they are from the 1890s or sometimes think they are.
Oh, and by the way, I am not polish, I am GERMAN to clarify for heavens sake... tylko po polsku mowie. Um Himmelswillen...
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/13/2018
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Rysiek wrote:
Kir giggles "Cut off? Cut off from what? Because it feels good! The world is so bright! And intense! NOTHING can defeat me! NOT even you, you stupid purple poodle! And the spiders can bite me!"
Maria smiles "Uhm... I would prefer to avoid spiders..."
"Don't worry, ladies," Vivi says with a winsome smile. "Should Kir's poodle not frighten off any dreaded spidery beings, I think our loud carousing will give them all ample warning to get out of our way and find quieter, though no doubt less tasty, prey!"
The group finds a path only slightly squishy with marsh moss, following the sounds of a rather cheerful sounding ruckus just over the next swampy hill (or four.)
"So now, who's next with a scary tale? It will keep us, or at least me, from leaping at every shadow as we walk."
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Ginneon Thursday
Posts: 265
2/12/2018
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Gemma Hawley wrote:
"Since neither of the pair of you much looks like you like to get your hands dirty, tell me a tale that will give me a shiver, and the next round is on me." Vivienne Thursday wrote:
"Sometimes, our heads can do as well as our fists at helping ourselves out of trouble" Upon the completion of Vivi's tale, Ginneon furtively offers his wife a small, unidentifiable bottle, which she refuses, holding her gaze directly ahead.
"Vivi is braver than I, for my shiversome tale is one I cannot repeat." Back into his coat the bottle disappears.
His normally mirthful face falls, haunted. "I may appear a pretty professor..."
"You are a pretty professor," VIvi interjects.
"Mayhaps." The imprint of a smile in his eyes. "But I do not content myself with Benthic's ivory walls. I have occasion for long voyages across the wide Zee. No crossing is easy. None was chilling as my last." He clears a hoarseness from his throat.
"A Tyrant Moth in Port Carnelian was my aim. Subduing it proved simple. Returning it north, lashed to my ship's deck, was another matter. That is the tale I cannot tell."
"I will not tell you how, azee, the Moth fitfully awoke from its torpor and strained against its bonds. I will not whisper of the snapping lines that sent so many into the unforgiving depths."
"I will not give echo to the voices that cried. Nor to the chorus they formed that has never stopped singing."
"I cannot recount the stadium of teeth that bade them enter. I will speak neither of the one who kicked his fellow into the yawning abyss, nor of the one who swam towards it as though salvation lay within."
"I will say nothing of the curses and prayers bellowed to Jesus, Salt, and Storm. Of the carnival, cannibal beckoning of sulfur. Of the desperate defense against ships painted black. Of threadbare-sinew's apocalyptic struggle to raise a single flare..."
"The true story of these things, I cannot bear to repeat."
edited by Ginneon Thursday on 2/12/2018
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Ginneon Thursday: Revelrous Professor of Benthic
Departments of Mycoenology, Lepidoptery
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Gemma Hawley
Posts: 55
2/12/2018
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Ginneon Thursday wrote:
a chilling tale as fitting as his wife's.
Miss Hawley's eyes are old far beyond her years, and she has seen—and done—many unpleasant things here in her native London. Still, they widen at the surprisingly macabre tales presented to meet her challenge. Funny what one says about books and their covers.
There is a note of admiration in her voice as she places a very small glass before each of the couple, the luminous liquid a constant shifting of greens and gold, azure and ultramarine. "My father may have had trouble admitting when he was wrong, but I don't make the same mistake. You have each earned this to be sure. As to its provenance, I can't say exactly—you know how Monster-Hunters tend to get with their boastful yarns—but the one who gave it to me called it the Mermaid's Song. Just that much is all you need, and tonight both your dreams will be of being set lazily adrift on a sun-filled sea. Only sweet ones, I promise."
Her wink is sly, but true.
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Gemma Hawley—Former urchin, recovering misanthrope, fixer for the Cheery Man
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Ginneon Thursday
Posts: 265
2/13/2018
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Hotshot Blackburn wrote:
The Debonair Sharpshooter is out as well, putting up a series of posters [...] "LET THE MARSHES BE YOUR PLAYGROUND!" Gemma Hawley wrote:
There is a note of admiration in her voice as she places a very small glass before each of the couple, the luminous liquid a constant shifting of greens and gold, azure and ultramarine. "A sun-filled sea," Ginneon sighs. "Sounds delightful. A Venetian toast seems fitting. As they say -" He bangs the glass on the table. "A la tua." Back the glass goes and down it comes once more.
"You," Vivienne addresses the publican, "must be able to recount a few good tales. I'll tell you what..." She leans in conspiratorially. "There is something of a fair in Bugsby's Marshes. Mushrooms waltzing to a Blemmigan band. Fungus-Column-hunting. Tours of the Century Exposition Ruins astride very tall crabs. Have someone take over for you tonight and join us."
"Splendid idea," Ginneon agrees. "Tell us a tale to make one shiver when we're out in the darkened bog. Perfect setting for it. Maria, Kirsikka - you as well."
"There was that Debonair chap who invited us," Vivi adds. "Perhaps he'll show us around."
edited by Ginneon Thursday on 2/13/2018
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Ginneon Thursday: Revelrous Professor of Benthic
Departments of Mycoenology, Lepidoptery
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Gemma Hawley
Posts: 55
2/13/2018
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Ginneon Thursday wrote:
Have someone take over for you tonight and join us."
"Splendid idea," Ginneon agrees. "Tell us a tale to make one shiver when we're out in the darkened bog. Perfect setting for it. Maria, Kirsikka - you as well."
Gemma's usual surly expression lightens by several degrees at the invitation, which she is eager to accept. "Just a moment, and I'll get things settled here."
First, she waves to a looming hulk of muscle by the door, then decides its probably best to put the blunderbuss back under the bar. (No need to remind Eight-Fingered Pete of his nine-fingered days any more than she had to.) She leaves behind her bar apron as well, revealing a sable suit as dark as her hair (all the better to remain unseen in the Neathy gloom) and boots fit for stomping whatever might dare to get in her way.
While the rest of the party gather their things, Kirsikka still nibbling at her leafy drink stirrer, Miss Hawley stops at the foot of the set of stairs that head up to the bar's second floor. She purses her lips and a frail, warbling whistle emanates from her mouth. As it continues, it gathers some strength, though her look of somewhat vexed concentration shows it still doesn't sound exactly like she thinks it should. Regardless, it found its mark, and from down the stairs emerged her target, a tall man in a verdant tailcoat and trousers, his own attire, in stark contrast to hers, quite obstinate in its right to be seen in the darkness. His note in reply is much more melodic, though the rest of the party give a sharp little twitch at the sound, as if their eardrums had been bitten by a marsh gnat.
"My... partner, Canon Ascolt," Gemma introduces. The fact that she recalls all their names shows just how closely she had been listening to the group's conversations, but such is life in London. Wherever one makes their toasts, there is always someone listening.
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Gemma Hawley—Former urchin, recovering misanthrope, fixer for the Cheery Man
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/9/2018
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Hotshot Blackburn wrote:
a delightful and enticing crustacean adventure indeed!
"I've got some wellies for us both in the landau, darling!" Ginneon always does try to be prepared.
"The handbill mentioned a rather exclusive dinner, but did not happen to mention refreshments, did it, my love?" Vivi asks, gathering a thick-hided seal-skin cloak over this evening's more delicate creation. "No mind, I've plenty room in my purse!"
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Rysiek
Posts: 693
2/10/2018
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Another letter arrives, in a very shakey handwriting and in crayon, as if written by a five year old
"Meow! I mean... Hello! I heard of your offer! And I have a trip for you, which could be fun! It goes to the museum of Yarn! I tell you! It is an offer worthy of Bastet! Yarn is fun and you are looking for fun, right? I also have more offers, like... a fishmonger's stall! I saw one that had a nice, large tuna! Totally tasty! And then we could go and shop for cardboard boxes, go sniff some catnip and top it off by buying spinny chairs and spinning on them in front of a nice, warm fireplace!
I hope to get to meet you two,
Kirsikka!
P.S. You might have heard stories about me, buy I am not a cat, I assure you!"
--
The silesian Detective
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Rysiek
The incredible Warsovian. She certainly didn't steal your diamond necklace. That idea is RIDICULOUS...
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Maria~Konstantynopolska
The silesian vengeance seeker
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Agata~Grym
I apologize for any and all anachronisms. I am too lazy to check some facts if I am sure they are from the 1890s or sometimes think they are.
Oh, and by the way, I am not polish, I am GERMAN to clarify for heavens sake... tylko po polsku mowie. Um Himmelswillen...
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Rysiek
Posts: 693
2/9/2018
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A letter arrives, on a randomly found paper, which has unreadable scribbles on the back
"Hey Ginneon. I just had an idea. But first, how is your wife? And, well... I thought, what would you say for a normal night out drinking? My last parties were odd, what with Christmas being crazy and well... best skip what happened afterwards. They still make me turn red. Was nice, though! And well, Halloween ending in a fire as I told you... I could use some normal time out with friends without fearing for my life, for once... nothing against Fleshy, but... well, sometimes my ears hurt after I am with him too long. And things go crazy with him usually. Though the last one was fun. He even taught me to impress my girlfriend with hunting! Back to the things... ah yes. Drinking. What would you say about the Medusa's head? Feel free to bring your wife! I would like to meet her.
Maria"
--
The silesian Detective
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Rysiek
The incredible Warsovian. She certainly didn't steal your diamond necklace. That idea is RIDICULOUS...
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Maria~Konstantynopolska
The silesian vengeance seeker
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Agata~Grym
I apologize for any and all anachronisms. I am too lazy to check some facts if I am sure they are from the 1890s or sometimes think they are.
Oh, and by the way, I am not polish, I am GERMAN to clarify for heavens sake... tylko po polsku mowie. Um Himmelswillen...
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/11/2018
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Gemma Hawley wrote:
a worthy challenge for a chilling tale.
Vivienne Thursday is talented at many things, and should one invite her to list them, they might find themselves occupied for quite some time. Frightening stories, however—those false or true—are not her forte, as she is far more bold than brave, but nonetheless, she squares her shoulders and meets the somewhat smug gaze of the woman behind the bar.
"You may not recall, Miss Hawley," Vivienne answers softly, noticing the woman's hands, scarred knuckles and thick callouses long used to rough work, "but I have seen you at your violent delights, ruling the leaderboards of the under-underground boxing circuit. Your opponents often underestimate you—a situation I have found myself in once or twice, though my feints and parries are nearly exclusively made with words. So I will take your challenge, and offer you here, the sad tale of one terrible night, when another found herself completely overwhelmed by the ferocity of her opponent. Let us call her..." the bow of her lips quirks as she considers and dismisses a few sobriquets, "The Careless Socialite."
"The Careless Socialite traveled far and wide through lands awash in sunlight, always leaving all manner of chaos in her wake. None of it seemed to matter to her, you see. Things so scenic in the night-time grew cynic by the light of day. No one cared what she had to say, our belle, or even if she was happy. They cared that she was there, and that she was fair, and maybe, if they were very lucky indeed, that she might grant them her favour."
Any good storyteller knows when their audience is hooked, their interest in her tale evident in their forgotten drinks, their intent gazes and open mouths. Vivienne sipped at her drink, mostly for the liquid courage would help her weave the rest of the tale, but a little anticipation never hurt anyone either.
"One day, the Careless Socialite, having grown even more incautious than usual, left behind that lush and sun-lit world, hoping that perhaps, somewhere smaller, and a bit quieter, and certainly much darker, she could be.... if not better behaved, than at least less obvious whilst at her indiscretions. It was there, in the dark, she met someone.... let us call him... The Impassioned Academic, and our blithe heroine was not just surprised, but actually quite startled, to find that she now did care for something, for someone, more than she thought herself capable. And though this new place and this new circumstance were untrod and unexplored territory, she had every hope that together, they would find their way through any hardship."
"Now that is a love story, and a fine one, but what you asked for, Miss Hawley, was a shiver, and here it is: The Careless Socialite, though in love, unfortunately was still quite careless, and the new place where they had made their home was a place quite fraught with danger. Some monsters— yes, a good tale always needs a villain, does it not?—stole away the Socialite, and buried her, very much alive, deeply in a hole in the ground. In that box, she had much time to panic, and that she did, and much time to cry. and she did plenty of that too. But eventually, she thought of a way out of her confinement, but it would hurt. It would hurt quite a lot.
"Our girl, plucky she is, used her head to find the correct answer, and so dug her way out of that coffin, bleeding and bruised, yes, but unbroken and perhaps just a little less careless."
Vivienne's head tilts just so, and at the part of her hair at its crown, the ginger strands are split by a deep and imperfectly-healed scar, which ends a fair few centimetres across the freckled skin of her forehead. "Sometimes, our heads can do as well as our fists at helping ourselves out of trouble, Miss Hawley."
edited by Vivienne Thursday on 2/11/2018
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Ginneon Thursday
Posts: 265
2/10/2018
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Rysiek wrote:
Drinking. What would you say about the Medusa's head? Ginneon and Vivi arrive in the Medusa's Head, sidestepping two drunken brawls (that will undoubtedly converge) and a Clay Man arm-wrestling two Rubbery Men - not normally a fair fight, but the Rubberies seems to have been allowed the full use of all their tentacles.
"Maria! There you are." The Thursdays join Maria at her corner table, make introductions, and swiftly order a round of drinks. "Maria is one of my mentees - and an eager one at that. Now that I think of it, darling," he turns to Vivi, "I believe I have just enough time in my schedule for three more advanced students in the social, physical, and deductive arts." He sips his ale. "Oh, and let's not forget dexterity."
A stein from the nearby growing melee sails overhead seemingly straight into Maria's hand. "Dexterity...like this?" she says as she finishes its contents.
"Just so."
[As a Paramount Presence, Ginneon can train three more pupils from level 100 to 200, giving lessons in two skills at a time. Perhaps these slots can be claimed by participants in our little game here, chosen by lottery.]
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Ginneon Thursday: Revelrous Professor of Benthic
Departments of Mycoenology, Lepidoptery
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Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 42
2/14/2018
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Vivienne Thursday wrote:
"So now, who's next with a scary tale? It will keep us, or at least me, from leaping at every shadow as we walk."
Gemma Hawley wrote:
wrote a terrifying and possibly seditious tale.
Hotshot Blackburn wrote:
A jaunty sign illuminated by numerous Foxfire candles looms large in the marshes ... Everything is ready...all they need now are some actual visitors.
Even in the gloomy light, Vivienne's face has paled several shades as she listens to Gemma's tale, one hand covering her mouth to hold back a gasp, or worse. Without even thinking of how many people that rough fist may have pummeled, her first instinct is to grab at Gemma's hand with her other and squeeze it tightly in sympathy. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, Miss Hawley, all of it. To bear witness to my own death was frankly almost more than I could stand, but someone you love..." Her eyes meet Ginneon's and hold them fast. To think of life without him would be.... just too much to bear.
Still, as the mood has grown somewhat sombre during these dark tales, she fishes out a flask of something encouragingly boozy, passing it around the group to bolster their nerve all a bit better (or at least to help them forget.) A cheer goes up from the crowd as the first sign for the Crab Caravan comes into sight and all begin to move a fair bit faster toward the brightly-lit scene.
Before they all rush away, Vivi pulls Gemma to the side for a quiet word. "You know what that stupid man said to you, to forget?" She shakes her head, the tight, angry movement causing her ginger curls to bounce askew. Vivi just impatiently shoves them out of the way. "I'm not one for blood debts—an eye for an eye will leave us all blind, or at least more at the mercy of passing sorrow spiders, but it is my advice that you should take all of that pain, all of that helpless and impotent fury you felt from that night, and learn to use it. Every time someone tells you that you can't do something, that you couldn't possibly manage, you take a piece of that pain, of that rage, and you shove it right back down their throats! To the Well with them all!"
Vivi's sudden ferocity causes Gemma to laugh, not her usual cynical bark, but a genuine and appreciative chuckle, and the two, still arm-in-arm, sped their steps to rejoin their paramours and friends beside. Kirsikka's nose twitches, having already detected the rather entrancing smell of chocolate and rodent wafting through the air.
While her usual cheerful smile has reappeared on her freckled face, Vivi whispers to Ginneon out of the side of her mouth, "There is not a chance in, on, or under this Earth that I will ride a crab of any variety, but I'm sure there's many other things here that would be quite fun."
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Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Rysiek
Posts: 693
2/11/2018
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Ginneon Thursday wrote:
"Before we go, dear," Vivienne asks, "this Kirsikka...one of your friends?"[...] "It's a wonder you've lasted in this city at all."
Kir gulps, as a response arrives "Uhm... why do you ask?" she answers, uncomfortable with the answer "I mean. I could be a cat. But on certain points of view, we might be all cats. Or... we might not be cats at all..." her ears twitch. Good she has her tall hat to conceal them "So, it depends on your point of view if I am a cat or not!"
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The silesian Detective
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Rysiek
The incredible Warsovian. She certainly didn't steal your diamond necklace. That idea is RIDICULOUS...
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Maria~Konstantynopolska
The silesian vengeance seeker
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Agata~Grym
I apologize for any and all anachronisms. I am too lazy to check some facts if I am sure they are from the 1890s or sometimes think they are.
Oh, and by the way, I am not polish, I am GERMAN to clarify for heavens sake... tylko po polsku mowie. Um Himmelswillen...
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Rysiek
Posts: 693
2/10/2018
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Ginneon Thursday wrote:
Drinking at Medusa
Maria smiles "I hope I didn't really fail the exam." she says, as always dressed in a turtleneck and a leather jacket. She looks at the brawl "Maybe... I should have chosen a safer bar." she says, in hindsight "But Fleshy likes the place... maybe because he can teach me brawling here? Helped a bit while hunting with Cosette."
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The silesian Detective
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Rysiek
The incredible Warsovian. She certainly didn't steal your diamond necklace. That idea is RIDICULOUS...
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Maria~Konstantynopolska
The silesian vengeance seeker
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Agata~Grym
I apologize for any and all anachronisms. I am too lazy to check some facts if I am sure they are from the 1890s or sometimes think they are.
Oh, and by the way, I am not polish, I am GERMAN to clarify for heavens sake... tylko po polsku mowie. Um Himmelswillen...
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Rysiek
Posts: 693
2/13/2018
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Ginneon Thursday wrote:
Hotshot Blackburn wrote:
The Debonair Sharpshooter is out as well, putting up a series of posters [...] "LET THE MARSHES BE YOUR PLAYGROUND!" Gemma Hawley wrote:
There is a note of admiration in her voice as she places a very small glass before each of the couple, the luminous liquid a constant shifting of greens and gold, azure and ultramarine. "A sun-filled sea," Ginneon sighs. "Sounds delightful. A Venetian toast seems fitting. As they say -" He bangs the glass on the table. "A la tua." Back the glass goes and down it comes once more.
"You," Vivienne addresses the publican, "must be able to recount a few good tales. I'll tell you what..." She leans in conspiratorially. "There is something of a fair in Bugsby's Marshes. Mushrooms waltzing to a Blemmigan band. Fungus-Column-hunting. Tours of the Century Exposition Ruins astride very tall crabs. Have someone take over for you tonight and join us."
"Splendid idea," Ginneon agrees. "Tell us a tale to make one shiver when we're out in the darkened bog. Perfect setting for it. Maria, Kirsikka - you as well."
"There was that Debonair chap who invited us," Vivi adds. "Perhaps he'll show us around."
edited by Ginneon Thursday on 2/13/2018
Maria blinks "Uhm... so, Cosette got me out to hunt this large, scary spider... it was bigger than the spider council!" she tries to explain
Kir's pupils dilate, after she glares at the bartender for waving the drink under her nose "Ooooh! How about that large, scary purple dog I am seeing now! It is baring it's teeth and threathens to bite your wife's head off, Mr. Thursday! The one above whose head that large, tasty bird is flying." she continues to nibble her leaf stirrer "Best watch out for dogs. Now, can someone shoot that bird down? I am getting hungry, so that could be a nice lunch, meow!"
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The silesian Detective
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Rysiek
The incredible Warsovian. She certainly didn't steal your diamond necklace. That idea is RIDICULOUS...
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Maria~Konstantynopolska
The silesian vengeance seeker
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Agata~Grym
I apologize for any and all anachronisms. I am too lazy to check some facts if I am sure they are from the 1890s or sometimes think they are.
Oh, and by the way, I am not polish, I am GERMAN to clarify for heavens sake... tylko po polsku mowie. Um Himmelswillen...
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