#Ashford Marble Works

[the-ashford-arms]

Discover Historic Landmarks in Ashford in the Water: A Peak District Gem

Explore the historic landmarks of Ashford in the Water in the Peak District. Visit Sheepwash Bridge, Holy Trinity Church, and the Old Hall. Discover the history of Ashford Marble Works and enjoy the beauty of Thornbridge Hall and Monsal Dale. Stay at The Ashford Arms for a perfect getaway. Book your stay now!

[antaxzantax]

Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 55

Summary: Alfred Ashford agrees with Peter Lee to perform sadistic rituals in an abandoned factory.

1

The mansion stood on a gentle promontory.

He rang the doorbell.

A red-haired individual greeted him.

“Welcome to my sweet home.”

The guest entered the estate like a prince marching to his coronation. In the entrance hall, a stylised white marble statue reproducing the nude torso of an Atlantean dominated the room as its centrepiece. Its features, in contrast to the classical hieratism, were a grimace of pleasurable pain reminiscent of works from the Hellenistic period of Ancient Greece.

“I'm a sculptor. You don't have a name. Do you want me to show you the workshop?”

“Show me the film,” Alfred ordered dryly.

Peter hurried down the corridor to a door set into the eastern wall. He unlocked the latch and motioned Alfred through first. Alfred descended a flight of worn stairs that roared in pain with every step from decades of neglect. Behind him, Peter flicked the light switch. A set of lonely, bare bulbs flickered on. The bulbs hung from the ceiling by the effort of a rickety copper wire. The basement was empty except for a chestnut-coloured leather armchair and a television perched atop a bedside table with a VHS mounted on top of the box. Alfred accidentally inhaled a strange, sweetish stench that snaked through the isolated atmosphere of the room.

Without waiting for Peter, Alfred sat down in the armchair. He settled himself by crossing his legs and took the cardboard box out of the inside of his jacket. He lit a cigarette while Peter revived the television and pulled out the VHS to play the tape.

A black background with Japanese lettering. A house similar to the ones he had seen on the postcards his father received from the Japanese subsidiary of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals. A man wearing a suit and a mask that hid his face. The man carried a curved sabre which he drew when he entered the house. He went into a room on the first floor. In the room was another young man pleading for his life. The man raised the sabre and cut the young man to death. The dismemberment of the young man was realistic, crude, raw and honest. The sabre sliced through skin, muscle and bone as if they were made of paper. The victim's high-pitched shrieks reverberated through the speakers in the basement.

The footage lasted fifteen minutes, the equivalent of three five-minute cigars, and faded to black. The player paused. Alfred put the last cigarette butt in the steel packet.

“Where did you get it?” asked Alfred.

“I bought it over the phone from an anonymous guy I met at the video store downtown. I haven't seen him since.”

Alfred got up from the chair. Peter got up from the floor.

“And... that's it?”

Alfred sounded bored, as if watching a banned film was a minor pastime.

It had not surprised him. It had not moved him.

Peter's hands began to move erratically. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

“Are you the devil?” Peter spoke as if he had been shaken by a high-voltage cable.

“What demon?” he replied calmly.

Peter went to the back of the room. He grabbed a handle stuck in the floor and pulled it to unbolt a trapdoor. A foul smell of decay emerged from the hole as if he had uncovered a mass grave. Alfred futilely held his arm over his nose. Peter pulled a doctor's bag from the hole in the floor. He placed the bag on the leather chair and opened it to reveal its contents. Alfred peered into the tiny abyss.

A collection of rusted and uncleaned surgical tools. Bloodstains were embedded in the metal like scabs covering a wound. Alfred coughed, positioned parallel to Peter. The latter pulled a bone saw from the bag. Inexpressive, he swung the saw around to face Alfred.

“I practice with animals. This basement is my secret place.”

Alfred did not retreat. The momentary shot of adrenaline he felt from identifying a potential threat intercepted and overrode the neural reception of the nauseating smell. Defenseless and not knowing how to fight hand-to-hand without harming himself, he dismissed attack as the main course of action.

“I had my secret place too.” Alfred whispered to Peter without looking away. “I spent my teenage years at boarding school in England. I had a group of friends there...” Peter listened carefully. “There was an attic in the dormitory where I lived. We would take the bad kids up there and punish them. I was in charge of the punishments. I called myself the master of ceremonies.” Peter put the saw down. “I wore a rabbit mask that one of the boys bought for a Halloween costume.” Alfred cleared his throat. “The important thing was not to leave a mark. We'd stick them on their backs with leather belts and ivory canes. We'd lock them in cages in the attic and deprive them of food and drink until we got bored.” Alfred gave Peter a nostalgic half-smile.

“Were you found out?” asked Peter, engrossed in Alfred's narrative.

“No. The school owed my family a favour and the law of silence was imposed.”

“Were you punished?” Peter's facial expression had relaxed considerably.

“Yes, but only the teachers. I was only whipped with the cane, not given any of the punishments in the attic.” Alfred glanced at the trapdoor. “I've had some practice with animals myself.”

“Do you listen to them too?” Peter mumbled excitedly.

“The voices?” Alfred answered automatically because of the remarkable number of times he had heard the same question in horror films.

“Are you schizophrenic too? The voices ordered me to kill you so you wouldn't call the police.”

Alfred smiled pleasantly natural.

“No, I'm not schizophrenic, but I also have strange thoughts. Have you ever tried it with a person? Do you know what it feels like?”

The suggestion caught Peter by surprise and off guard. He shook his head.

“It's a very pleasant sensation,” Alfred whispered.

Peter took a couple of steps back. He threw the bone saw onto the couch and dug his knees into the floor.

“You are the devil. You have come to me.”

“Would you like to try it?” offered the demon called Alfred.

“Yes.”

“I will see you next Saturday at the same time and in this house. I will tell you my plan.”

Alfred went upstairs and disappeared through the front door. Peter kept vigil for the rest of the night with his knees to the floor and the cellar hatch wide open.

2

Alfred returned around noon to the mansion he shared with his sister and father in the wealthy suburb of Raccoon City. Alexia was tending a rose bush in the back garden when Alfred appeared to inform her of his meeting with Peter Lee.

“Is dad in home?” Alfred yawned.

“No.” Alexia cut the stem of a rose.

“I have already seen the film.”

“So?”

“There was something else.”

Alfred moved closer to his sister so that she could hear his murmur.

“There is a trap door in the cellar of his house,” he said in Scottish Gaelic so that no undesirable would understand. “A mass grave with the remains of the animals he practices on. He keeps the instruments in a doctor's bag. The tools are stained with blood. He is schizophrenic and thinks I am the personification of his demon. He wanted to kill me, but I dissuaded him by telling him about the attic in the Jacob II. I think he now reveres me.”

Alexia cut a second rose.

“I've had an idea,” Alfred added hesitantly. Alexia prepared to cut a third rose about to wilt. “Do you think I'm a demon?”

Alexia did not respond, focused as she was on the rose bush. In reality, she knew what Alfred wanted, hence her accusatory silence.

“Don't tell dad, please,” he pleaded out of politeness, because he knew that telling his father was her responsibility, not Alexia's. “I'm going to do it, and I want Ogie[1] involved. He wants to be involved too. We've talked about it.”

“Maybe you should have been a priest,” said Alexia.

“You're right,” Alfred confirmed and turned away from her to go into the house.

Alexia was right.

His introduction to the priesthood was his last chance to achieve a self-awareness that would have enabled him to quell the Craving for good. The Craving was a phenomenon that his great-grandfather Thomas began to experience at the same age as Alfred, at fifteen, and which he tried to quell for the rest of his brief life without success. Thomas described the Craving as a visceral and irrational impulse to commit infamous acts. The subject, possessed by the Craving, did not reason like a human being, but indulged in the most despicable instincts. He was beast, but not man, and this beast had to be tamed to avoid being controlled by it. In the particular case of Thomas Ashford, the Craving manifested itself as an obsessive fixation on consuming human flesh.

In his manuscripts, Thomas recounted his frequent trips to London's East End to satiate the Craving. Dressed incognito, like a factory worker, he would pay whores a generous sum of money to lock himself up with them in the cellar or attic of an abandoned house. Out of Catholic devotion, Thomas never committed the sin of fornicating with his victims, nor of being suggestive with them or kissing them, for he was a married man and faithful to his wife. However, before beginning his ritual, Thomas would get drunk with his victim, as alcohol was his only source of weakness, and then kill her by suffocating her with a rope. Once the victim was dead, Thomas would begin a second ritual, described in his memoirs, which included the skinning of the skin, the Egyptian draining of bodily fluids as if to mummify the body, the dismemberment of arms and legs, and the opening of the cranial cavity with a saw for the subsequent preparation of the brain with spices and bourbon flambé. The meticulous cooking of the human flesh and other organs such as the heart and pancreas usually took no more than three hours.

Once the food was prepared, he would organise the feast in the same place where he had killed the victim. The sour taste of the cooked organs and the soft texture of the human flesh gave him an indescribable, ultraterrestrial, addictive pleasure. A tally sheet taped to the cover of one of the notebooks listed a total of 107 souls; 105 low-life women and two men of the worst kind with whom he had fallen out over a rugby match. On the same sheet of paper, the first name, surname, gender, age, nationality, occupation, city of residence, marital status and religious denomination had been recorded with detective-like meticulousness. All the victims were cut from the same cloth: between 20 and 30 years old, unmarried, lower class, living in London, Protestant and English. Thomas, in keeping with his moral principles, never devoured anyone who was Scottish and Irish, Catholic, old and socially worthy.

Thomas rationalised the Craving as a test from God to demonstrate the strength of his faith and as a punishment for the weakness of his spirit, which was prone to be intoxicated by worldly passions such as alcohol and lasciviousness. Since the Craving was reluctant to abandon his being, he took up a strategy based on a virtuous Catholic life, devoted to prayer and contemplation of the ten commandments, with some borrowings from the Franciscan rule and a ten-month stay in an Italian monastery. It didn't work, but it allowed him to bear the craving with temperance, reducing the number of people he devoured each year, and finally to die in peace with himself and his fellow relatives. He interpreted the cancer that took his life in his late forties as an act of divine commiseration for his torment and atonement for his own flesh.

Alfred read Thomas Ashford's memoirs during the summer before he started university and at a time when he was still unable to put a name to the strange thoughts that gripped him. To summon a demon you had to know its name, and its name was the Craving. The Craving that tormented him possessed a different nature. Cannibalism disgusted him, even if it was one of his favourite subjects as a spectator. His thing was the infliction of pain. Sadism.

It all started in the attic of King's House with the first time he put on the rabbit mask, and from then on he couldn't and didn't know how to stop. First, it came about as an escape from his depressing reality. Second, as a way to impose his power on the boarding school. Third, as an addiction. Fourth, as an artistic expression. And fifth, as a combination of all of the above. There was not a day that went by that he did not wish to ascend to the attic to carry out his sentence on all the boys who dared to break even the most absurd of rules. His group of executioners cheered and praised him, and each cheer revived his Craving. Such was the magnitude of the tyranny that the Jacobite core of King's House imposed on the school that Alfred was referred to the institution's psychiatrist. The psychiatrist ascertained the source of his affliction and recommended to the school authorities that Alfred be assessed by a forensic doctor specialising in serial killers, but the Headmaster declined the request because of its obvious social repercussions for the prince and his family. In the end, the decision was made to seal off the penthouse and disband Alfred's Jacobite clique by moving the boys to the remaining residences. Alfred was left alone in King's House. Henry, an ordinary boy, was the only one who survived him. Without his main source of amusement and without friends, Alfred's character soured.

As Henry was the only one who stayed by his side, Alfred made him the target of his frustrations and outbursts of rage. His abuse of Henry was verbal and emotional, as he lacked the physical substance to attack him. Henry endured his tantrums and hurtful comments with an imperturbability that would have made the Virgin Mary weep. On the last day of school, now sixteen years old and admitted to the University of Saint-Andrew, Henry approached him, shook his hand and then said: you are a monster, an unhappy, petty bastard with an inferiority complex. Your life is meaningless and you are nothing without your lackeys. You are alone and abandoned. You disgust me. Henry's words stuck in his heart like silver stakes.

Back at Ashford Hall, Alfred retreated to his bedroom, where he spent his nights weeping with rage and banging his head against the wooden bars of the canopy. He refused to seek help from his father and sister lest they mock his pathos. So, during the worst summer of his life and to keep from hitting rock bottom, he began reading the Bible at night to comfort himself with the motivational passages and exploring the cottage, sifting through the more than 150 years of stratigraphic layers that had accumulated over the previous five generations like an archaeologist.

On one of the explorations he discovered great-grandfather Thomas's safe. The box had been locked since his death and it took them a triumph to peel the lid off the box after Alexander helped him pick the lock because no one could remember where Thomas had hidden the key. From inside Alexander retrieved the photographs from when Thomas was alive and he was a baby, while Alfred kept a couple of the handwritten notebooks that most caught his eye to read.

From these notebooks, Alfred became familiar with the concept of the Craving and understood what was wrong with him, which increased his hatred for Henry. However, he did not want to end up like his great-grandfather. He did not want to be a slave to the Craving, so he made a decision inspired by Thomas' strategies.

He called in the chaplain of Ashford Hall and confessed to him all the sins he had committed in the Jacob II. The chaplain forgave him his sins in the name of God. Forgiveness improved his state of mind, but that was only the first step. The next step was to frequent the chapel with unusual assiduity. This habit caught the attention of Alexia, who spontaneously began to accompany her brother in his prayers, although Alfred knew that Alexia did not believe in anything resembling a divinity and that she was not praying either, but possibly reflecting in silence. Alexia's contemplative accompaniment cheered him greatly, enough to fracture the shell of decay in which he lived. He was not a wretch, he told himself when he was with Alexia in the chapel.

On August, 1st the Stuarts travelled to the Vatican for the confirmation of Alfred and Alexia and their cousin Auguste by the Pope. Alfred used the event to validate himself as an Ashford and a Stuart, and as the beginning of his test of faith. After confirmation, Alfred stayed at the Vatican to attend a minor seminary for young Christians in which he had enrolled at the time of his decision. The programme was geared towards a priestly ministry, but what interested Alfred was not the profession, but whether he could work in himself a radical change of conscience that would enable him to overcome the Craving and become a better human being than those who despised him, like Henry. Whether or not he would end up as a priest was another matter.

He entered as a boarder in a residence located on the outskirts of St. Peter's Square. Unlike the Jacob II, Alfred did not enjoy any privileges, even as a scion of the Defenders of the Faith[2] . He shared a dingy room with twelve other boys his age. The beds were a rotting jumble of wooden slats whose boards dug into his back through the starving mattress. The pillow still retained the shape of the previous head that had rested on it. The only ventilation available in the room consisted of a window with a broken latch through which a little wind filtered in along with the cacophonous nightlife of Rome. The heat was unbearable and undressing was punishable by a caning, so Alfred removed his pants in the dark and hid them under his pillow to keep his testicles from wrinkling. The food was, to say the least, vomitous. A concoction of two kinds of pasta with meat that looked like rat meat, sometimes fish, and lots of boiled vegetables. The menu at the Jacob II, while not good, tried hard to appear acceptable and not look like expired mashed beans. Alfred ate what he could and stole the rest from the kitchen when it was his turn to do the dishes. The one notable advantage of the seminary was the absence of bullying and mistreatment among fellow students because of the imposition of a pious, scripture-dedicated lifestyle. It was not forbidden, but they never spoke to each other. He did not learn the name of any of his co-religionists and they did not learn his either.

Apart from the obligations he had to observe as part of the pseudo-monastic coexistence, Alfred concentrated on his purpose of finding in Catholicism the inspiration to redeem himself from his Craving. He was initiated into the themes that most appealed to him, such as penance, martyrdom, atonement and the apocalypse. The apocalypse fascinated him with its annihilating descriptions and he copied down by hand the quotations he liked best in order to memorise them. Then he would repeat them mentally like mantras with the first morning prayer. But the apocalypse took him back to the rabbit mask and he saw the boys he tortured as the agonising souls in the nine Dantesque circles. Because of these visions, Alfred was afraid of failing in his enterprise and switched from the apocalypse to more generic Old Testament texts. These passages were not at all revealing to him, so they were easier to digest but duller to memorise, and he used them for the assimilation of new spiritual conceptions.

First he tried chastity. He faced his first contradiction with the biblical model of the family. A man and a woman united in holy matrimony. Alexander was married once and divorced, and never intended to remarry. In addition, his father was bisexual. He had lain with both men and women and at times with both, committing the sin of sodomy. However, Alfred had also sinned. He had had sex with Henry in his room at Jacob II and on two occasions. But that was the norm in British boarding schools. In the absence of women and in the midst of adolescence, there was no other option. Although homosexuality was frowned upon, it was tolerated if you were not caught. But Alfred, unlike his father, wanted to be a straight man like his grandfather Edward. He was decidedly heterosexual, the experience with Henry did not count, and he aspired to marry a woman he was in love with. Since his father was an ungodly man, he would make it his mission to resolve this contradiction. But then the problem of masturbation came up.

Onanism was proscribed by the Bible and in this sense he acknowledged that he had been a recidivist sinner. At the Jacob II he had pleasured himself in the company of his Jacobite friends and alone in the bedroom and study room with porn magazines that one of them was responsible for stealing from the village. Wet dreams were what he dealt with the worst. He would wake up on occasion with a major erection and a stained bed. At home he would privately tell Harman to take care of it, but at the Jacob II he had to lie on his fallen soldiers until the next mandatory change of bedding. At the seminary it was much, much worse. At the Jacob II he discovered a positive correlation between not masturbating and an increase in the frequency of wet dreams. Despite this, and to be consistent with his morality, Alfred vowed not to give in to temptation.

Unfortunately, the flesh triumphed over the mind. A stain was detected on the bottom of his bed and he was interrogated by the monk in charge of discipline. Alfred lied as best he could, but was still punished by being locked in a cell for a day. He prayed until he was hoarse, but to no avail. He continued to be assaulted by wet dreams and spontaneous erections. However, that was not the worst of it. The worst was that he was dreaming about Alexia.

The Bible also regarded incest as a sin and in this respect had another irresolvable contradiction. As the son of a royal house, 90% of his family tree was made up of relatives of varying degrees of consanguinity. The Stuarts, from whom he was directly descended, had preferred marriage between brothers and cousins ever since the first Stuart was crowned king of Scotland. Indeed, he believed that had he been born five hundred years earlier he would have been obliged to marry and procreate with Alexia for lack of a better marriage to a princess from another country to whom he would surely also have been closely related. Veronica Ashford married a cousin Douglas, though Stanley had him through an extramarital affair with a Prussian general. Stanley married a Campbell cousin, as did Thomas. Arthur married a distant cousin from a German royal house who was descended from Charles II of Stuart. Edward was the first to marry a foreign woman related to the Royal House of the Netherlands. But that was also the norm for his kind until relatively recently. The point was that he did not consider Alexia a sex object. Alexia was his twin sister, his partner, his best friend, not a piece of meat for pleasure. For this reason, these wet dreams repulsed him, causing him bodily and spiritual discomfort. But he could take no more, he had to act urgently.

Finally, prompted by the beatings he received when the new evidence came to light, Alfred opted for a desperate measure which, when he returned home, Alexia understood in relation to that specific context. After the night prayer, he slipped away and locked himself in a tourist confessional. He took out a picture of Alexia and masturbated to it. The flesh was weak and he hesitated about his ability to fulfil the purpose.

There was only one final solution left. Mortification of the flesh. He undisciplined himself so that the monk could flog him. But the blows rekindled the craving. Pain into pleasure and torment into ecstasy. He committed twice as many faults and received twice as many punishments. And, after a bad blow, he ended up in the infirmary with the skin on his back torn. At that precise moment, Alfred had an epiphany. He was deluding himself. Thomas fought an untamed force because that force was himself. The Craving was not a demon possessing him, but the manifestation of his desire. And because it was his desire, the Craving was himself. Thomas despaired of justifying his actions. Alfred would not justify himself. The Craving was the manifestation of his will. His God.

At the end of August he graduated from the seminary and flew back to England. He had accomplished the task of clarifying his conscience.

Peter called him a demon.

Alexia understood his feelings.

The Craving was back.

3

William Birkin was readmitted as chief researcher at the underground laboratory. They were laughing at him. They were definitely playing a sick joke on him.

He laughed out loud after reading the letter. A stunned Annette grabbed his hand to reassure him. What if they left Umbrella? Annette listed a number of companies that would accept him without hesitation. They could move to Chicago, near Annette's family. William denied the well-meaning proposal for one reason: the explanation. He had to know why, and he wouldn't stop until those responsible for such detestable behaviour towards him sang like a church choir. He hadn't worked at the company for more than a decade for nothing. He deserved an answer.

The platform descended down the hole to the lab's reception desk. William handed in his old card at the reception desk and received the new credentials. Chief researcher.

“They are waiting for you in the main laboratory,” said the receptionist.

“Who is waiting for me?” he asked, but the receptionist refused to answer.

He walked down the same corridor as the first time and leaned against the same wall for the second time. The electronic double doors opened. The lab was different in layout, instruments and machines; as if the previous lab had been a reverie. There was no table in the centre to hide what was at the back, nor did he recognise any machine like the one the blonde woman had used to destroy the only existing sample of the G-virus.

A delirium?

William advanced towards the centre of the open space.

It had been a nightmare.

A door creaked behind him.

William turned away.

A young woman and an older bearded man.

William clenched his fists.

The two approached him with a certain parsimony. The young woman held out her hand to shake his.

“Dr. William Birkin. I am Dr. Alexia Ashford, who will be chief researcher in this laboratory along with you. This is my father, Dr. Alexander Ashford, president and CEO of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals. It's a pleasure to meet you,” said Alexia.

William reflexively shook his hand. The shake was light and quick.

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Mr. Spencer has spoken very highly of you. I hope your results continue to be as brilliant as they were in the Arklay laboratory,” Alexander continued.

William shook his hand next. The shake shook him painfully from the exaggerated pressure with which Alexander had gripped his hand, and lasted for a couple of seconds that passed like centuries.

It was a nightmare.

A voice inside William climbed into his throat to scream, but his lips were sealed with the force of a million atmospheres. They were in front of him: smiling, feigning sympathy and congratulating him on achievements that had been memorised for the occasion.

It was a nightmare.

I had to wake up from the nightmare.

Silently, he approached one of the tables. He lit a lighter. The flame glowed with the intensity of the sun.

I had to wake up from the nightmare.

He burnt his hand.

He screamed until his jaw unhinged. He punched the lighter as he groaned in pain.

Alexander ran towards him. He was going to kill him. This man would kill him and he would wake up from the nightmare. With enormous strength, he grabbed him by the shoulders. However, he remained rigid.

“Are you all right, Dr. Birkin?” he said in a honeyed tone, and with a murderous look in his eye.

William mumbled an insult that Alexander did not understand.

“You can join us a week later. You haven't finished your stress treatment yet, have you?” said Alexia.

William looked at Alexia. Alexander stepped in front of him to obstruct his vision and increased the strength of his grip.

“You should go to the infirmary,” Alexander continued. “Talk to Dr Garcia. She will advise you.”

Alexander withdrew his hands. Then, guided by a supernatural impulse, William left the laboratory and made his way to the infirmary, as Alexander had instructed him.

I had to wake up from the nightmare. It was not real. Nothing was real. But his hand burned. He examined his palm. He felt the burning. He felt the mortality of his body.

It was real.

The nightmare was real.

4

Peter was tinkering with a statue when the doorbell rang.

Alfred.

“My name is Auguste.”

A burly, red-haired man accompanied Alfred. Peter invited them in. Alfred showed Auguste the statue presiding over the reception. Auguste commented that it was not bad.

Peter did not understand anything. He had arranged a meeting alone with the demon, and the demon had come with him. Auguste made him nervous. A gigantic guy with a rougher way of speaking than Alfred, although he identified that they both shared the same accent. When they got bored of staring at the statue, Alfred asked Peter to show Auguste his secret place. Was Auguste another demon? He didn't know, but Alfred trusted him blindly.

They went down to the basement.

Peter played the tape a second time. Auguste sat down in the armchair. Alfred leaned against the wall. The tape ended.

Auguste smiled and gave Alfred a knowing look. Peter had lost track of what was going on.

Auguste pulled a pistol out of his shorts and pointed it at Peter. The latter raised his hands in terror. Auguste stood in front of him with the gun in line to his heart. Alfred stood next to Auguste. He reached inside his jacket to pull out a switchblade. The blade shot out of the handle.

“Last week we agreed that I would tell you my plan,” said Alfred. “And I asked you if you'd ever tried it with a person. Sit down.”

Peter sat down in the armchair under Auguste's gun. Alfred stood behind the television.

“I'll make you a deal. I want you to be our enforcer. We will be your master of ceremonies. We will procure the meat and you will carry out our wishes. The rituals will take place in an abandoned factory we just bought. You will not ask about the identity of the meat, nor will you become attached to them. Your job will only be to be the executing hand. The rest will be our responsibility. In this respect, you will have to comply with a number of conditions. First of all, silence. If you reveal our activity to anyone, we will kill you. Secondly, you belong to us. You will obey us above all things. If you disobey, we kill you. Thirdly, the fault is yours. You are the one who killed those animals. And fourthly, our relationship will be limited to these kinds of encounters. You are not our friend. Do you accept?”

Peter swallowed hard.

“Who would I have to kill?” Peter trembled like a flan shaken by an earthquake.

Alfred positioned himself at Auguste's level.

“You will not ask about the identity of the meat,” Alfred stressed.

“I'm sorry.” Peter apologised, cringing.

“Do you accept?” Alfred repeated.

The devil required his services. The voices had casually led him to the climax of his vocation.

“Y... Yes. I accept.”

Alfred smiled and put the knife away. Auguste holstered the pistol in his trousers. The two began their retreat from the house. Auguste gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“I'll call you next Saturday night. That will be our time for the rituals,” Alfred announced without waiting for Peter's approval.

Alfred and Auguste went upstairs.

Peter had made a pact with the devil.

[1] Nickname of Auguste Campbell.

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Defender_of_the_Faith

[upgradeyourkitchen]

Bespoke Kitchen Specialists in Ashford: Hire to Customizing Your Gourmet Retreat

Ashford, a historic town in central Kent, is home to a vibrant population that appreciates uniqueness and handiwork. Homeowners are increasingly resorting to custom solutions that represent their individual interests and lifestyles when it comes to designing the kitchens, which are the focal point of the house. Bespoke Kitchens in Ashford is the perfect example of how your kitchen should reflect your own taste. Bespoke kitchen designers create designs that are specifically tailored to each homeowner's likes and lifestyle, ranging from modern chic to traditional elegance. 

They work closely with homeowners to understand their preferences. The Ashford bespoke kitchen makers are passionate about what they do. They approach every assignment with years of experience and a dedication to quality. Handcrafted cabinets, precisely cut worktops and carefully fitted appliances are just a few examples of the high-quality workmanship that goes into making kitchens that last a lifetime. 

Bespoke kitchens frequently use locally and sustainably sourced materials, which is consistent with the town's dedication to environmentally beneficial methods. Reclaimed wood and energy-saving equipment are just a couple of the ways that Ashford's custom kitchens support environmentally friendly design principles. Upgrade Your Kitchens is the ideal option to fulfill your demand if you're searching for Bespoke Kitchens in Ashford. 

Some Key Features and Elements to Get Kitchens in Kent 

Kitchen layout

The kitchen's functioning and flow are largely dependent on its arrangement. Galley, L-shaped, U-shaped, and open-concept Kitchens Kent designs are typical configurations. In addition to facilitating effective workflow between the cooking, prep, and cleaning sections, the plan should maximize space use and allow for traffic movement throughout the kitchen. 

Cabinetry

A kitchen's cabinets are a key component, adding visual appeal and providing useful storage space. Select high-quality cabinetry that fits in well with the kitchen's general design and has plenty of space for storing cookware, utensils, and pantry goods. For extra convenience, take into account features like pull-out drawers, adjustable shelves, and soft-close hinges.

Countertops

Choose strong, aesthetically pleasing surfaces that are resilient to wear and tear from regular usage. Butcher block, granite, quartz, and marble are popular choices. Choose countertops that go well with the cabinets and overall design plan by taking into account elements like color, texture, and upkeep requirements. 

Appliances

Choosing Kitchens Kent appliances should take into account their energy efficiency, practicality, and aesthetic appeal. Appliances are an integral part of any kitchen. Make an investment in top-notch equipment that suits your cooking habits and the size of your home. The refrigerator, stove/oven, dishwasher, and microwave are important appliances.

Kent Kitchen Makeovers: Unleash the Potential of Your Culinary Space 

Choosing to renovate your kitchen has several advantages that might improve its use and visual attractiveness. Kitchens may become antiquated and inefficient over time, as their layouts become unsuitable for contemporary living. With a Kitchen Makeovers Kent, you may arrange the area to best serve your needs, streamlining everyday duties and increasing efficiency. Older kitchens might be dangerous or devoid of necessary amenities that make them convenient and comfortable. 

By adding contemporary appliances, better lighting, and ergonomic design features that increase your family's safety and comfort, kitchen renovations may solve these problems. Experts in kitchen makeovers have the skills and expertise to create a kitchen that fits your demands and budget while yet being aesthetically beautiful and practical. They can assist you in selecting the right materials, arranging your space optimally, and smoothly integrating appliances. 

Professionals foresee possible roadblocks and are equipped to handle unanticipated difficulties that may crop up during the project, guaranteeing a successful and seamless conclusion. Experts are knowledgeable in all facets of Kitchen Makeovers Kent, including installation, deconstruction, plumbing, and electrical work. This guarantees excellent craftsmanship and compliance with safety and construction rules.

[machine-without-feelings]

I posted 5,749 times in 2021

133 posts created (2%)

5616 posts reblogged (98%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 42.2 posts.

I added 459 tags in 2021

#hadestown - 149 posts

#the great comet of 1812 - 110 posts

#dead poets society - 40 posts

#stranger things - 28 posts

#i don't have a cool queue pun so this will have to queue - 27 posts

#<333 - 26 posts

#hadesephone - 22 posts

#i love this - 19 posts

#screaming - 19 posts

#orphan black - 19 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#bro i think about this all the time... also everyone say thank you to that videographer who took the most iconic shot ever with that last gi

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Snades Headcanon

- When Persephone is down below, Hades never takes his wedding ring off

- Even when he showers (which annoys Persephone to no end)

- But snakes obviously can't wear wedding rings 

- During summer, Persephone always keeps her nails painted with bright colours

- And whenever Hades goes up top to visit her, she paints the tips of his rattle tail to match her nails

- Hades loves sneaking in through the bedroom window at her mama's house (she never locks it just in case he decides to drop by)

- And weaving himself into the vines that hang above Persephone's canopy bed

- He begins the process of waking her up by rattling his tail

- Persephone is a pretty light sleeper, especially when she sleeps alone

- But even if she does wake up (normally just at the window cracking open), she enjoys this little game he plays, so she'll pretend to stay sleeping

- He'll slowly lower himself to rest his head on her pillow

- And start nuzzling her cheek

- If she's still pretending to be asleep, he'll drop his full snakey body on her

- Once he's sure she's awake (with a humph at his weight on top of her), he'll wind himself around the length of her arm, resting his head on one of her shoulders

- After weaving through her fluffy bed head, something they both enjoy 

- And she'll tell him about any dreams she had

- Although he can't reply, he'll nod along and give her encouraging squeezes for her to continue

- As she goes about her morning routine, making herself coffee before anything else, he'll usually sit himself on the kitchen counter and watch her

- But if she's particularly grumpy or ignoring him (because Persephone is most definitely not a morning goddess) he'll activate what Persephone calls Cat Snades Mode

- Which involves pushing items one by one off the counter

- (Gods help him if one day Demeter catches him)

- And will only be stopped when Persephone puts her hand in front of his face to nudge

- They'll both ignore whatever is on the floor

- And Hades will flick his tongue at each of Persephone's fingers

- Persephone in return will press a kiss to the top of his head

- And insists on booping his snoot

- The inconcealable smile that it brings to Persephone's lips makes it all worth it

83 notes • Posted 2021-03-30 20:28:02 GMT

#4

no one:

my brain: WƏŁĆØMË welcome to MOSCOW

89 notes • Posted 2021-02-08 23:30:39 GMT

#3

the post was getting a bit long but thank you for tagging me @therichardcameron <33 here’s my 8 for 8 :)

1. favourite colour: yellow

2. currently reading: for uni: roxanne by daniel defoe, frankenstein by mary shelley and mrs dalloway by virginia woolf; for pleasure: first term at malory towers by enid blyton and war and peace by leo tolstoy

3. last song: please leave a light on when you go - brittain ashford and dave malloy

4. last series: cw the new season of big mouth and s2 of new girl

5. last movie: possession (for english class)

6. sweet, spicy, savoury: savoury

7. craving: a fucking break

8. currently working on: staying on top of uni work, getting my adult shit together, recording for @laftheclown and @atarev ‘s hadestown fan album, not losing my last remaining marble

no pressure tags: @theprayersthataremadeoutofgrass @irreplaceable-ecstasyy @melnonny @thelei-kanenas-pasteli @thepeggyofthegroup123 @peaked-in-third-grade @notahero-notamoviestar @romanticprometheus

110 notes • Posted 2021-11-17 02:21:21 GMT

#2

Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 as Whose Line is it Anyway?

i have no idea what this tv show is but now i want to watch it. inspired by this post because it made me cackle

Natasha

Marya

See the full post

134 notes • Posted 2021-06-21 12:20:07 GMT

#1

MUSICAL THEATRE GOOGLE DRIVE LINKS 🌻💛

HADESTOWN REUNION: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1iBALCpBk_qeY3x8BZdJ3suxim7Cc5azF/view?usp=sharing

the hosts ramble a bit at the beginning and end, and one of their mics is weird for the first few seconds that i was recording but ! here is the full hadestown reunion for anyone who missed it / wants to watch it again !

AGAINST WOMEN AND MUSIC!: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1RkRknKxLNvRXoQHjDedIS-3q6jZq5oZS/view?usp=sharing

342 notes • Posted 2021-02-25 22:09:25 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[restaurantinsanjuan]

The Best Things to See, Eat, and Do in San Juan

Why come to Puerto Rico when you could travel in Mexico, or Miami, or even the Dominican Republic nearby? Great inquiry. Come to Puerto Rico to encounter the unusual impression of being in a completely unique nation (gas by the liter, streets by the kilometer, Spanish is spoken) while as yet being in the United States (same dollar, same president, no requirement for a visa). An outing here is a 3-for-1 deal of Caribbean sea shores, tropical rainforests, and wonderful mountainscapes - with the uncommon special reward of not one but rather three bioluminescent sounds. There's sufficient to see and do in Puerto Rico to keep you occupied for quite a long time.

All things considered, at the top of any Puerto Rico agenda ought to be San Juan, the dynamic capital city where most of the island's visitors land. Set up in 1521, this is the most established European-established settlement in the US and the second-most seasoned in the Americas. You don't need to squint too difficult to see that rich history around you: The pastel-hued Spanish frontier structures and thin cobblestone roads of the Old Town are ensured by seventeenth century strongholds and a 15-foot-thick crisscrossing divider. Take a mobile tour around Old San Juan to get the full impact. Additionally of historical import: The piña colada was concocted here.

Be that as it may, San Juan is something beyond enchanting old stuff and tourist shops. It's a mosaic of steadily advancing areas, similar to the cosmopolitan Miami vibes of Condado, or the fashionable person bars and road craft of Santurce. Regardless of whether you're here for the afternoon or remaining for a whole week, here are the best things to do in San Juan.

The Best Things to See on a Trip to Puerto Rico

Tour the history-pressed San Juan, zip line through a tropical rainforest, and hit the sea shore.

Visit the absolute most seasoned fortresses in the Americas

We should move the touristy stuff first, will we? Two tremendous fortresses front San Juan's northern face. To the west, the sixteenth century Castillo San Felipe del Morro (normally known as El Morro) is undoubtedly perhaps the most notable attractions in Puerto Rico. With its essential area ignoring the San Juan Bay, El Morro protected this port city from 1539 to as of late as WWII.

Passage into El Morro costs just $7.00 - save your ticket, since it likewise incorporates section to "that other fortification," Castillo San Cristobal, inside 24 hours of procurement. This is fundamentally El Morro's neglected younger sibling, yet San Cristobal is cool too! It's the biggest European fortress in the Americas and features the notorious Devil's Guerite (Garita del Diablo). Rumors have spread far and wide suggesting that warriors would randomly vanish as they stood watch in this guerite.

It's about a mile stroll from one fortress to the next, and the walk alone is breathtaking, with pastel provincial houses on one side and a capturing blue ocean on the other. A mammoth esplanade fronting El Morro fills in as a public social event spot, and is a great spot to take a break.

Take a look at the lead representative's home

After you visit the fortresses, walk the waterfront down to La Fortaleza, another walled compound where the island's Governor lives. You're not permitted to go in - it's in a real sense the Governor's home and office - yet you'll see it from the entryway. Lately, the First Lady has stepped up and brighten Fortaleza Street paving the way to the fundamental door. Right now, it's adorned with many bright umbrellas drifting over the road.

Snap a selfie at La Puerta de la Bandera

Since 2012, the passage doors of a flimsy structure on San José Street have become a significant image for Puerto Ricans living under the island's present financial emergency. Craftsman Rosenda Álvarez initially painted the doors with the Puerto Rican banner, just to revisit her painting four years after the fact, quiet the red and blue shades of the banner, and paint them dark all things considered. It was an analysis to the questionable monetary oversight board that is currently controlling the island funds. The structure is presently a famous selfie spot among tourists and local people.

Chase for noticeable (dead) local people in the graveyard

Despite the fact that it's found right close to El Morro, this pioneer time graveyard is regularly neglected by tourists. It lies right external the divider, confronting the ocean. The Santa Maria Magdalena de Pazzis Cemetery is the last resting spot of a few noticeable Puerto Ricans - among the most acclaimed names discovered here are Pedro Albizu Campos, Jose Celso Barbosa, and José de Diego, among numerous others.

Chill with something fruity

In the event that you see a little kart with "piraguas" composed on it, do not spare a moment! Piraguas are squashed ice cones seasoned with nearby natural product syrups like cherry, enthusiasm organic product, strawberry, tamarind, coconut, and lemon. Sadly they're a withering practice, yet they can in any case be found in Old San Juan, particularly close to El Morro and Paseo la Princesa.

You'll likewise see hand crafted popsicles sold to a great extent at inhabitants' front doors, generally for $1. These are paletas, seasoned with pretty much every natural product on the island. Guava. Coconut. Other stuff. I got one that was an orange-and-cream blend, and I discovered it some way or another gooier than I'd anticipated. It was likewise truly reviving. Which was fundamental around noontime in the late spring, when the city can be, ah, I'll simply say it, abusively hot.

See the rotunda in the Puerto Rican Capitol

The capitol building is a marble structure fronting the Atlantic, not a long way from Fort San Cristobal. Passageway is totally free, Monday through Friday. Look upward at the roof, where the history of Puerto Rico is portrayed in a dazzling, point by point mosaic. Remain in the focal point of the rotunda, and you'll be encircled by glass-encased duplicates of the Puerto Rican and U.S. constitutions. Outside, the Puerto Rican and U.S. banners fly one next to the other.

Visit the most established house of God in Puerto Rico

In the first place, look at the gallery at Casa Blanca, a house worked for the Spanish traveler Ponce de León and his family. De León, who broadly (and uselessly) looked for the wellspring of youth, kicked the bucket on a campaign before he could move in. Walk a couple of squares to the San Juan Bautista basilica where Ponce de Leon moved in, and where he'll remain forever; he's entombed inside.

There's nothing extravagant about the design, however San Juan Bautista is the most established church in Puerto Rico and the second most seasoned in the Americas. Notwithstanding the tomb of de León, it contains the holy place to Carlos Manuel Rodríguez Santiago - the principal Puerto Rican and the main layman in the history of the United States to be beatified.

Dance to the beat of "Despacito" in La Perla

La Perla has gained notoriety for strict hundreds of years. This historic shanty town was initially settled in the nineteenth century to house previous slaves and destitute workers who weren't permitted to live inside the city dividers. Today, the area appreciates newly discovered acclaim as where Luis Fonsi shot his music video for "Despacito." It was hit hard by Hurricane Maria is still amidst remaking. In case you're nearby on a Sunday night, go celebrating at La 39 Bar, a shoddy bar based on the top of a house that was mostly obliterated during the typhoon. Request a Medalla, the most mainstream brew in Puerto Rico.

Go to a well known speakeasy mixed drink bar

Likewise featured in the "Despacito" music vid is the speakeasy El Condal. This spot is so well known among local people, it doesn't require a sign outside. It's found where the well known Hijos de Borinquen bar used to be (you can in any case see the first name inside, painted on the divider), and El Condal holds the calm vibe of the famous unique.

It's tourist-accommodating, however as you advance inside you'll discover more than tourists drinking - and moving - there. Past the covered up indirect access are four more individual spaces, including a wine-bar, dance floor, and basement like bar - each with its own music, vibe, climate, beverages, and food. You may even get spendy and drop $9 on a mixed drink.

Attempt a delectable tripleta

Puerto Rico has no deficiency of delightful road food, particularly since the food-truck fever has assumed control over the island. In any case, Puerto Rico has had its own customary food-truck dish throughout recent decades - it's called tripleta. What's a tripleta? It's a sandwich. Tripleta implies three, so this sandwich has marinated barbecued 3D square steak, ham or pork, and chicken. It is served on a portion of yam bread with chips, mayonnaise, and ketchup. Trust me, it is delightful! Among the most famous tripletas is El Mariachi, found in Caguas and numerous different districts. You can visit best Italian restaurant in San Juan.

Absorb the Miami vibes along Ashford Avenue

Ashford Avenue feels like a Caribbean adaptation of Miami Beach with its Miami-style design, very good quality stores, popular lodgings, and beachfront bistros. Stroll along the road to absorb the climate, chill at the beachfront Ventana del Mar Park, have a dynamic night at the historic La Concha Resort, or tune in to live groups at the Hard Rock Café.

[thronesofshadows]

Absolution || Cecily & Evelyn

TIMING: Last night/this afternoon (following this) PARTIES: Cecily (written by @mor-beck-more-problems) & @thronesofshadows SUMMARY: In order to help Morgan, Evelyn takes things into her own hands. CONTENT: Mentions of infidelity, fun nightmare times

It wasn’t very difficult to figure out which room Cecily was staying in. All it had taken was a few hundred dollars given to the front desk staff and a pout on her face that said just how sad she was that a visit with an old and valued family friend had ended so abruptly. Evelyn hadn’t gone to visit her, even though she knew that she had a bottle of the Lady’s favorite scotch at home. No, Cecily didn’t deserve pleasantries any longer. If she wasn’t going to play by the rules of proper society and actually help, then Evelyn didn’t have to play by the rules either. It was evening which meant that she could work everything to her advantage. It was going to help Morgan, and even if it didn’t, she hadn’t fed on any of the English elite in a long time, and there had always been a certain fascination that she’d held with it, as a child. The way that it could reveal their secrets, ones she’d whisper in their ears at parties if they were especially keen on bothering her. Which Cecily had done. Evelyn waited until it was significantly dark out, until past nine p.m. when she knew Cecily took her last cup of tea for the evening and went to bed. Turning invisible and intangible, she made her way through the wall of the hotel and up to Cecily’s room. Well, her father certainly was still in favor of believing his daughter was human, because Cecily’s door was easy to slip through and Evelyn quickly made her way over to the bed, brushing a strand of hair away from the woman’s face in a movement that could have seemed kind under any other circumstances. Pressing her palm against the woman’s temple, she let the nightmares begin.

Cecily had gone to bed with her usual nightcap cocktail and bedtime mystery. White Crest was ever so much the disappointment, and her appointment with Evelyn had soured so dreadfully. The bowl would fetch a pretty price if she could get a more professional opinion on it, and that would do nicely for her enterprises, non-profit and...otherwise. What she needed was a good night’s sleep to put it all behind her, so she might be at her best for the following day. Her stay was almost up, and perhaps she might find something worth enjoying in it. She felt drowsy as soon as her head hit the pillow, but rather than the velvet oblivion of a wonderfully medicated sleep, she instead found herself in a hotel room in Paris. Robert Hoffman was on his side of the bed, taking a business call. By this time, he was always taking business calls, and she would try and try to coax him out of it, reminding him that she was much more interesting than his shares or his truly odd little wife. Her attempts never worked for long, but the urge to soften those hard lines in Robert’s body pulled on her now, as if she could never learn. “Oh, darling, look what I have for you, hm? Darling, please, won’t you? I think the world will stay on its axis for an hour or two without your supervision.” She reached for him, but he was like marble--no, he was marble. He wasn’t real at all, and she was alone with this facsimile creature.

Cecily screamed. A stone hand fell on her own, crushing it. The false Robert turned to her, faceless and uncaring. “They’ll find out,” a voice said. It was coming from the speaker on the hotel phone, but it seemed to fill the whole room. “They already know. They’re just waiting for the right moment, Sissy. They know. They’re waiting.”

One of the things that fascinated Evelyn most was how much nightmares could surprise her. What surprised her was the sudden transition to Paris in Cecily’s dream, but what surprised her more was the sudden addition of Evelyn’s own father. Had Evelyn had the ability to dream, she was certain that her father would have ended up in a dream or two of hers, but as it stood she could not (save for the brief and unfortunate incident months ago), which meant that this was Cecily’s. She pushed forward, focusing on the words. Both her father and Cecily were much younger here, but she wasn’t focused on that. Darling? Evelyn shook her head outside of the dream, watching what felt like an incredibly private moment. What was, though she hardly cared for that, it was in her nature and this was who she was, though this particular case seemed to be worth looking into more. If she’d initially gone just to pay Cecily back for causing her to seize up with a worry she didn’t know she was capable of, she was now far more keen to discover just what was going on. Evelyn didn’t flinch when the version of her father in the nightmare turned out to not be real. The words that followed, echoing around the room, were far more interesting. Far more relevant to the task at hand. She pushed harder, willing anything else to be drawn up and out, be it her worst fears or anything else. Evelyn paused for a moment, hand firmly on Cecily’s forehead, realizing, for a brief time, that her father looked almost just as he had in the few photos she had once found of him and her mother. “You deserve whatever is coming for you.” She whispered, unnoticed.

The phones continued to blare and Robert was still staring at Cecily faceless and horrifying. He put one of his marble hands on her, hard enough to crush her neck. But there was no oblivion, just the pain around her neck, throbbing down her whole body. The stone mouth opened, and Robert’s voice whispered, “You give me a fine time, dear. A fine time indeed.” It was what he always said when they parted, and she, full that she was, hung her reputation on it all. She reached for something, anything to break the stone grip on her, but instead of her taser, she found the phone he had given her. It was vibrating with messages, one after another after another. A fine time indeed, my dear. We know, you fool. You’ve been the most delightful joke. A fine time, dear. There was no escape for her. The sound rang to a deafening peal, and she screamed for it to stop...but the sound grew, replaced with the church bells in the cathedral her father had always brought her to. She was inside, each ring cutting into her ears and the hands around her weren’t Robert, but the gargoyles that flanked the tower. Its stone mouth opened in a silent roar, and it seemed to Cecily that it was quoting Dante and the fate of adulterers. She struggled in the gargoyle’s grip, screaming against the painful sound of bells, and then she was flung into the air, plummeting to the steps where she would surely die, a mockery, a disgrace…

She watched, in a certain morbid fascination, as the events unfolded. As the words that her father said far too similarly echoed words she’d heard before and even spoken herself. Evelyn shook those thoughts away, her focus instead turning to feelings of disgust. How dare Cecily speak to her the way that she had when she was hiding this? Part of her supposed that she was supposed to feel bad for Cecily, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She noticed her falling, down - down - down and she removed her hand suddenly, just before Cecily hit the pavement. Guaranteed to cause more grief and worry in the long run. She ran her fingertips over Cecily’s hair for a moment, resisting the urge to pull at it like some small child. She should have, back when she was a child and could get away with such actions. Would have, if she’d known the specific details of Cecily’s relationship with her father. How could he have done that to her mother?

She snuck out of the room, footsteps silent, as she made her way to the concierge desk. Nobody was there, not now - and so Evelyn wrote a note in perfect script - Cecily Ashford has a meeting with Evelyn Hoffman tomorrow, 2pm. Remind her when she awakens.

The next afternoon, Evelyn found herself again in the lobby of the hotel, two glasses of sherry in front of her when she noticed Cecily enter the lobby, a look of confusion apparent on her face and having forgotten her lipstick. Evelyn couldn’t help but smirk. “Cecily, hello!” She waved. “We had a meeting before you return home. Will you sit, please?” She looked up at her.

There wasn’t enough makeup in this godforsaken area code for Cecily to successfully hide the bags under her eyes. After awakening from her nightmare, she had been up the rest of the night, fearing to look at her phone and fearing to leave it alone for more than five minutes. She didn’t recall making the appointment with Evelyn, but by the time she called the front desk to have her meal brought up, it was too late for her to reach out to the girl. She stumbled on her way into the lobby, not quite masking the throb in her head from exhaustion. “H-hello, dear,” she said. She didn’t have enough wherewithal to mind being invited to sit in her own meeting. “Do remind me what it is we had left to discuss? We parted so abruptly, I’m afraid I can’t recall.”

She looked terrible, and Evelyn had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. No, right now she finally had the upper hand and she was more than keen to use it. “Hello, I do apologize if I woke you.” She turned her look to one of pity, perfectly masked behind her own put-together lipstick and outfit. She hadn’t known exactly how Cecily would appear, but she did know that most people didn’t look their best after an evening of nightmares. Particularly if they weren’t used to it. “I had a few more questions about the bowl.” She took a sip of her drink, crossed her legs. “We parted terribly abruptly, so much so that I forgot to mention something.” She bit her lip and let her eyes grow wide for a moment. “You mentioned my father, and something only clicked after we had parted ways. So please.” She let her lips fall from their gentle curve into a harsher line. “Sit.”

Cecily didn’t sit so much as collapse into the armchair opposite Evelyn. She had tried to soften her morning with several glasses of sherry, but the loosening of her mind only brought her nightmares to the front of her groggy mind. “I did, yes,” she sighed. “A lovely man. I’ve been meaning to get in touch with him.” Her ache for him was an insidious thing. Perhaps part of her wanted to be damned for it. And there would be something delicious in having something he wanted so badly. Sitting on it alone would have given her a thrill were she not clammy with dread.

“So I can imagine.” The lobby was relatively empty. “You always did find him lovely, I recall.” She didn’t - wouldn’t have, outside of the knowledge she has now become privy to. Though she did recall her nannies scooping her up when she’d been a child at parties, whisking her away to her bedroom to spend time brushing her hair until she decided it was just right. How they’d usher her away from her father if Cecily came over to talk. Evelyn’s mouth twisted into a frown for a brief moment before taking on a more pensive expression. “You are going to give my friend the bowl.” She bent forward, hair spilling over her shoulders. “You will do so, or else I may have to speed dial to someone who knows someone who writes for The Guardian, and what a wonderful article they would have on you. I doubt that any of your charities would wish to have anything to do with you if they knew what I know.”

Cecily had enough sense in her mind to know that Evelyn was up to something. She looked like the cat that ate the cream. But Cecily couldn’t pin down what it was. Even when she started flexing her pert little muscles, the picture of a girl in dress-up, Cecily never guessed. “And what is it that you know, or think you know, Eva dear?” She said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “I have a busy day and limited time in which to indulge you.”

“I know you have been seeing my father in what is certainly not a professional capacity and have been since before I was born. Including when he was married and including when you were - are - married.” Evelyn smirked. “You refuse what my friend and I have asked and I will make such a scandal out of you that you will never have a chance of returning to high society. Do not try to deny this, when I have a feeling about things such as this I have yet to be wrong. I am certain that I could find others to confirm too, if you’d like?”

Cecily’s stomach turned. Had she not been kept awake all night by that very thought, she might have kept a better poker face, but her jaw fell slack like some gaping child. She could hear the voices in her head again, that awful ringing of the phone. “How do you know this?” She asked, unable to keep the fear from her voice. But they all knew. Some part of her understood and dreaded the fact that everyone new. “You little trollop, this is blackmail!” She hissed.

“I remember things.” Evelyn looked over to Cecily, eyes growing wide. “I was tiny and quiet when I wanted to be, sometimes being buried in a book has its benefits. I remember all sorts of conversations.” It wasn’t true, but she had overheard snippets before, though nothing to make full sense of what was going on. “Fancy word for it, though I do have the lipstick for it, and  if you mean to insult me you will have to do a whole lot better than that. These are school games.” She smirked. “Give us the bowl and whatever else we might ask for, and I will not breathe a word of this.” For now.

“What kind of assurance do I have that this will be the end of it? Who is to say you aren’t going to drag this out the next time you want something?” Cecily challenged. Pride kept her arguing, but she knew deep down that she would give the girl what she asked for. The bowl was one of a kind, but it was just a venture, an ideality. Her reputation, her friends, Robert-- she couldn’t be so reckless. Cecily sat, seething in her discomfort, her hands tensed with the urge to clench into fists or scratch the girl with her manicure. She didn’t even wait for Evelyn to reply. “Very well,” she said.

She offered a shrug at first, not wanting to speak. She wasn’t about to give Cecily any more power for anything than she deserved, and she certainly did not deserve this. Evelyn took a sip of her drink. She relished in how uncomfortable Cecily seemed, and she knew it was perhaps childish of her, but she missed it. She did not mind all of the softness that had come upon her since arriving in town, but this was a game she missed, and one she was pleased that she could still play a full hand at. “Excellent.” She giggled, then. “It is always a pleasure doing business with you, Cecily. You also will not tell my father that you saw me. Understood?”

Cecily nodded, sinking deep into her chair. She understood too well.

She knew that she had won, and Evelyn found herself deeply proud of that. She nodded at Cecily, motioning for her to go and retrieve the bowl. She knew that she had her in the palm of her hand now, and so she didn’t see it fit to follow her. If she didn’t come back with the bowl, Evelyn would not hesitate to call in her favor. She found quickly that she didn’t have to, as the older woman returned with the bowl and Evelyn took it from her, holding it carefully. “Thank you. That will be all now. Hope you have a restful day.” She smirked. “And a safe flight back, of course.” With that, she turned and walked out the door.

[forlornhorizon]

The Marble and the Moon 2/4

Summary: The source of cats has been located. But what’s that saying about eggs and omelettes? Warnings: n/a

Creative liberties have been taken regarding @ride6artblog​ OC, so I wouldn’t consider this canon to their character. Also we go from 0% to 100% real quick but my justification is that he’s been under a lot of stress for a while.

------

Diane showed the picture around, but only two people gave her useful information.

The first was Mr. Varnnia. “Ah, the young Ashford,” he said slowly, chewing through another lump of bubblegum. “I believe he was here before I. The cats follow him…” He blew a bubble and popped it. “They are not terrible creatures, I suppose. They are a bane to the plants, but they respect one’s space more than others. They wander with him, late into the night…” Mr. Varnnia lapsed into silence, perhaps in contemplation of said midnight wanderings.

Diane nodded her thanks and retreating, giving him privacy to mull over his thoughts.

The second was the camera’s original owner, Mirphy Fotoparat. “Aw YEAH! ASH!” Diane winced. Mirphy’s volume changes always caught her off guard. “So, you found him, huh? It’s been like… FOREVER since I last saw him. His cats are still all over the place. Got some GREAT pictures of them.” She slapped the wall with perhaps more force than was necessary. Sure enough, there was a montage of cats, immortalized in polaroid. Diane counted five in total—the last, which she had yet to meet, was a sleek, black feline with a white underbelly.

She filed that away for future reference. Perhaps this Ash Whatshisface guy might need help tracking down his cats.

-

Her first attempts to contact Mr. Whatshisface did not go well.

No matter the time, whenever she popped behind Martha, he was sleeping. And he slept like a dead man, insensate to pokes, prods and Diane’s unspoken pleas.

She even tried staying up all night next to his sleeping body, and then his probable apartment door, and both times she’d been dragged back to bed by Doc Habit’s paper-maché helpers, forced to watch a “bedtime story,” and woke up after noon.

It was not a great time for Diane. It was weird hearing Doc Habit’s speech switch from disorganized to threatening. Like a switch going off in his brain.

On the plus side, she was finally able to get up to the terrace. The last of Ash’s cats was here, hiding beneath a lawn chair, batting around a marble. When the cat knocked the marble her way, Diane sent it back with a nudge of her foot. The cat took this as an invitation to a game of pong, and they played until the cat decided it was time to groom instead.

Diane, a secret magpie, pocketed the marble. It was green glass, with a little swirl of color in it. A cat’s-eye marble, if you would.

Also on the terrace was one Kamal Bora.

The poor man was a wreck. Working for the good doctor had not done wonders for his anxiety. His eyes darted this way and that, as if he expected the doctor to jump out from behind a corner. Was he grinding his teeth? Not out of the question. “He hasn’t even been out to check on Ash recently!” Kamal said, looked frazzled. “He used to do that all the time… but now? Nothin’! Nada! And then…” He narrowed his eyes. “There was that thing with Martha…”

Doc Habit checked on Ash? Really? The good doctor… didn’t seem like he cared. He was more the person these days to rub salt in the wound (“Where people stand up high and think about not existing” he’d described the terrace. Beg pardon Doc, but what). A dismal sign of the times, perhaps? Diane dug through her pack and shoved the picture of Ash into Kamal’s face.

“Oh, yeah, that’s Ash. Er. Ashford. He’s been here a while. Practically lives here.” He scratched his head. “He’s been doing a lot of sleeping during the day. Like, a lot. He’s always been a nightowl but that can’t be healthy.”

Well, now Diane absolutely HAD to meet him.

-

Habit’s “Big Event” was coming up in just a few more days.

It left Diane feeling like tiny bugs were crawling just underneath her skin. She slept fitfully, too, the worries about what would happen if she couldn’t get people out turning her stomach into knots.

Diane waited, and Diane watched, but still, Ashford Whatshisface slept.

Time was running out. She couldn’t afford to let him sleep for much longer.

It wasn’t fun to be mean, but there was that saying about eggs and omelettes.

She stood over his sleeping form. In one hand was her most recent acquisition. This is gonna hurt us both, friendio.

Diane mashed the button and the piercing HONK of an air-horn broke the early morning quiet.

The effects were instantaneous.

The man flailed into consciousness, with a shout of "AGH! I'm awake, I'm awake!" His cat, tail standing on end, bolted. Ashford, awake at last, cast his head around wildly, looking for the source of the noise. He caught sight of Diane’s jersey and followed it up to her face. Diane almost pitied the man for waking up to her perma-scowl. Ashford squinted blearily at her. “Did you… did you wake me up?”

Who else could it be? Diane nodded.

“Oh… okay?” He stood up, wincing as his joints noisily popped. “Do you, uh, know what time it is?”

Diane fished out her watch and held it out to him. Early. So I’m the bird that gets the worm. Which is you in this metaphor.

“I guess I feel asleep again…” He rubbed his eyes. The man looked absolutely bushwhacked by life.

Are you alright? Shouldn’t you be sleeping in your actual bed? Diane tilted her head, brow furrowed.

The man rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. “I know it’s not a very good place to sleep, but I can’t help it…”

She tilted her head, trying to prompt him to speak without opening her mouth herself. Of course, Diane couldn’t really judge. She’d fallen asleep under a bush more than once.

He cleared his throat. “Did you… need something from me?”

I need you to tell me everything you know about Dr. Boris Habit. Diane hesitated. How could she even ask that? She didn’t have anything that pointed to the doctor. Except those diary pages, and those were too private, too personal, to bandy about.

She could just tell him. But her tongue was a useless lump and the words strangled themselves in her throat.

His cat returned then, tail returned to a normal level of poof, and twined itself around his legs.

So, instead of abandoning the conversation and coming back when she had something solid, she pointed to his cat, like she was godsforsaken toddler.

“Oh!” Ashford said, brightening. “This is Corta.” He leaned down and hefted the white puffball up. “Would you like to meet Corta?” He held the cat out. Despite being held under the armpits, it was undisturbed.

Diane had never held a cat. It always felt too forward in feline etiquette. But it was being offered...

She held out her arms and accepted the cat.

It was heavier than Diane thought, and Ash had to coach her on where to put her hands, but it was honestly quite pleasant. The beast was just as fluffy and warm as she imagined. She stroked it with her free hand and it purred, right into her chest. This was it. She could die happy now. Pa would understand. He’d say a few touching words at her funeral, like “she died doing what she loved.” Some people might cry, but many more would nod in understanding, knowing that they, too, would accept death after such joy.

"I'm pretty sure he's part Maine Coon," Ash said. Diane had no idea what a Maine Coon was but she dreaded meeting a full one. "He's a real cuddlebug!" The cat stretched out to its full length, almost spilling out of Diane's arms.

She buried her face in the cat’s fur.

And sneezed.

Corta struggled and wiggled out of her grasp like a chunky, fluffy eel. It used its claws on the way down, too. Diane winced. The cat gave her an affronted look, like it was called her rude for daring to sneeze.

Same to you, pal.

“Are you alright? He didn’t scratch you, did he?” Ash looked distressed. Was he concerned for her?

She shook her head. I’ve had worse.

“You! Don’t be rude,” Ash scolded the cat, smooshing its widdle fuzzy face.

It was too adorable.

“There’s usually a few more that hang, but…” Ash’s brow furrowed. “I haven’t seen them recently. I hope they’re not getting into trouble.” The last part was more of a mumble than anything else.

Well, Diane could fix that easily enough.

-

She returned no more than 10 minutes later, with a fist full of feline-filled polaroids.

He blinked in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that for me, but thanks!” He sorted through the pile, and smiled in relief.

Diane studied his face. Was that enough? No, his smile was a touch too hesitant, too fragile for her to call it a day. It felt to her like a candle flame, flickering in the breeze. But what could she do? She needed an opening.

He’d talked a lot about the naughty Mr. Corta…

She leaned forward and tapped the first picture she’d taken—the untouchable marmalade. “That’s Bud,” he explained. “He likes to be tall. He even got on top of Martha one time!” He pointed up towards Martha’s center chimney. “That was… actually pretty scary. I tried climbing up but got trapped halfway up.” He had a little self-deprecating laugh. “He—they. They had to find a ladder to get us both down, it was pretty embarrassing.”

Three guesses as to who “he” was, and the first two didn’t count.

The mystery flavor cat was a Siamese, by the name of Fennel, who was always finding another dark, dank place to stick her whiskers into. Santo, the gray lounger, like to explore along with her. They tried to keep Santo out of the lounge, but he was an escape artist and couldn’t be kept from anywhere. He even got into an unspecified office. The black-and-white terrace feline was Prim, a naughty little thief who had stolen: a paintbrush, a contract, a locket, the keys to the lounge (which led to Jimothan forcing his way in through Santo’s illegal lounge entrance) and keycards (multiple times). Corta was the first cat Ash had picked up and the cat had stuck with him, come hell or high water.

It was pleasant, fluffy talk. Ash didn’t give any indication he minded having a one-man conversation, as there wasn’t much Diane could contribute. And she couldn’t help but notice the way his words slipped whenever he talked about a certain someone.

And Diane couldn’t help but notice that this was the closest place to Doc Habit’s probable office.

He wasn’t being honest. With himself.

It was as if he was still sleeping, in a way.

But Diane needed him awake.

Eggs and omelettes, yet again.

If this wasn’t the best goddamn omelette by the end, she was going to set the kitchen on fire and blame Habit.

“Do you have cats?” Ash was asking her. “...Is something wrong? Are you alright?”

Instead of answering, Diane glanced upwards.

Ash followed her gaze up to Habit’s theoretical office. He blanched even paler, if that was possible.

He understood what she was asking.

The candleflame guttered out.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s... that’s where Dr. Habit lives. He watches over us from there but... he hasn’t come out of there recently. It-it makes you wonder what’s going on with him, doesn’t it?”

He stared down at the ground.

Diane tilted her head. Talk to me, please.

He met her eyes. He looked so horribly uncertain and sad in that moment, face drawn and pale, exhausted to the core. “It’s just, I’m...” Ashford fell silent. "I'm worried," he said lamely. "About... about Dr. Habit. I haven't seen him in ages. What if he's sick, or hurt?" Ashford rubbed at his eyes. "I shouldn't be worried. He's... He can take care of himself, but... I can't stop worrying about him. If I could see his face again, that’d be better than nothing. ...I'm sorry, I'm just being... stupid." There was no hiding the dampness in his eyes.

Say something, she told herself. Something, anything. In this very moment, he needed someone to reach out to him.

Words sat leaden and dead on her tongue. They were trite and meaningless. There was no April here to bring lilacs out of the emotional dead land. There would be no miracles, because the person he needed most wasn’t there.

She couldn’t do it.

She was too much of a useless lump. Dead weight for her father, and now look at her, dragging out this man’s pain pointlessly.

Diane couldn’t say later what had driven her to do it. She wasn’t this kind of person normally, but it was hard to see someone in such abject misery and do nothing. She reached out and hugged him.

It was a pathetic, awkward side-hug, but it was the best she could do. What did Pa do when she was little? She clumsily patted his head and hummed some vague tune she hoped was comforting.

It’s all gonna be fine, I promise.

[mononoke-no-ko]

Emperor x Lelouch, Comparing Objects

Requested by https://gelinepot.tumblr.com. This is a short story from “Talkin’ Rebellion” novel that was featured in The Complete (2008) guidebook with C.C. narrating her brief interaction with Charles and then with Lelouch at separate times. Translation below.

In a wide corridor at the deepest part of Britannia court, I was leaning against the marble wall doing nothing, as I heard footsteps began to echo from far away. The owner of the footsteps is a combination of a large build in full apparel. He stopped before me, so I decided to say some words to him. "Oi, Charles." "You... it's been awhile. How did you come in here?" "'How'? Foolish question. I'm C.C. you know." "I see." "I've had enough of admiring flowers and butterflies in Aries Villa. Once in awhile I want to amuse myself by looking at your stiff face." "Well, it's natural to quickly get tired of beautiful things." (TN: the word he used can also refer to "beautiful maiden") He's the common example of emperor's bad habit. Because we're talking about women, I decided to ask. "By the way, I heard you’ve taken another new royal consort. What an amorous guy." "Just some lower class people willingly offer their woman... Well, it's a flow of nature for female to cling on to powerful male." "And so you shrewdly accepted the offering, was it not for your own convenience?" "Peasants conceived the wrong idea just like a peasant they are. When did I ever agree to accept their deal?" "...impressive, Charles. Good for you. Did you get a good woman?" "There's no good or bad for a woman whose face or name I don't know." Huh? What is this? "Oi, it's your own wife right?" "There are too many of them, I can't visit every one of them." "...Charles, how many spouses do you have?" "Hmm... still not up to one hundred yet." ... What a remarkable thing to happen. One hundred wives you say? "...good grief, not even those from medieval era would go that far." "Exactly. There’s no modernity in the heart of this country. Just like primitive organism, it simply grows excessively from eating other nutrients." "It's your country, right? Is Britannia Empire a slime mold?" "Yes it is." Stated matter of factly huh. To my amazement, as if he just suddenly remembered something, Charles said, "....Did Marianne say something?" "Curious?" "I'm not. That person is a woman who will come to me directly if there's something she wants to say." "She laughed heartily. 'Lechery is a hobby for heroes, as expected from Emperor, the scale is enormous' she said. Good for you, your royal consort has a big heart." "C.C., do you also want to join my beloved harem?" All of a sudden, Charles said some really dreadful thing.  "What a joke. My body is not for the likes of you to touch." "Well, I thought you were waiting here for that purpose." "To think so conveniently for yourself, you must have lived an enjoyable life." "Is that how it looks?" "That’s how it looks. Though what you're thinking inside that huge skull of yours, I'm not interested to know that far." Really, Marianne. What's so good about a stiff man like this? Only her taste in men I could never understand.  As for me... right, I like them to be a bit cuter and more refreshing to look at.

***

...after seeing a dream from distant past, I open my eyes. Turning over my body to look around, I'm in my room in Ikaruga. Just a little while ago I lived together with Lelouch, but now that person is in Tokyo doing this and that work. Talking about Lelouch, I was asked by him to look for the whereabout of Geass cult. Although the cult's general position had been narrowed down, the exact location couldn't be identified yet.  Sigh, he will probably nag and complain, but it couldn't be helped. Let's give a report to Lelouch for once. Ah, working this diligently, I'm really something. I get up slowly and stand in front of the video communication terminal. I get connected to Ashford's communication channel, right when there's only Lelouch on the other side. He's in panic while talking to someone on the phone. He told me to "wait and be quiet for a moment" with a gesture. For some reason his face looks deeply troubled. "...As I said, on Cupid's Day with Shirley... No, even if you said you can't give up... I'm already... That's why, it’s no use, that's the rule after all... No, it's not just because of the rule... hmmh... (piip)" Ah, he ran out of patience and ended the call one-sidedly! Piririri piririri. Lelouch's phone rang again. "Yes... Oh, it's you... eh? As I've said, at that event with Shirley... No, even if you said I'm lying... Even if you said it doesn’t matter..." Haha.  Somewhat, I understand the situation. Oi, Marianne. What's with your kid? Or rather, this must be running in the blood. As I listen, I catch an urge to do some mischief. With a shrilly voice, I look at the other side of the monitor to make sure my voice could reach the mic of Lelouch's phone, and try to say this following line. If it's just acting, I can say this kind of line without much trouble. "Mm geez Lelou~ch who are you calli~ng? When you're alone with me, if you don't make sure to look at only me, I hate☆it☆" At the moment Lelouch showed a ‘good’ expression, I wanted to keep it as a picture. He immediately pulled the phone away from his ear. From his phone's speaker, a deafening hysterical voice of some girl could be heard even from here. Hahahaha. Trapped in a quagmire. (TN: I used the Chinese translation for this, since I don’t know how to translate “死沼だなー”) Lelouch tossed his phone into the safe and securely covered its lid. He squared his shoulders and came in front of me on the monitor. "...what did you mean by that, C.C.?" "'Look at the person's eyes when you talk to someone', I was talking about very basic common sense, you know?" "That's NOT the tone you used!" "As always, looking closely, you seem to be leading an interesting life." "...is that how it looks?" "That's how it looks." "For me it's not interesting at all!" Hoho. "Lelouch, let me tell you something good." "When you put that kind of pretense, there's no way it could be anything decent." "Lelouch, lechery is a hobby for heroes, isn't it?" As soon as I said that, Lelouch regained his composure and sneered. "Hmph, as expected from immortal witch, even the things you said are ancient." ....hoho, pleased to hear that, Lelouch. What an uncute boy. Just now that was quite expensive you know~ Well well, I wonder how I will make you pay for that.  Look forward to it, Lelouch~  

Fin.

[thebluelemontree]

You believe in the Ashford Theory? If yes, is Aegon or Jon going to be the Targaryen champion?

“No” with an asterisk and neither.  My issues are somewhat with the strength of the the theory itself, but also the way advocates tout it.  

The Ashford competitors are most likely coincidence as tourneys tend to attract high profile people from major and minor houses alike.  Baratheons, Tyrells, Lannisters, and Targaryens have all competed in various tourneys throughout history.  Why is this one super special?  Humphrey Hardyng is a tourney knight that made his name at the great melee of Maidenpool in 208 AC.  Why wouldn’t a famed tourney champion want another go at the next big tourney of his generation?  That’s what tourney knights do.   

I also take issue with the theory leaving out Robert Arryn.  Why is Willas Tyrell counted, but not Robert?  Willas is offered in a preliminary conversation made by Olenna Redwyne and Margaery Tyrell, neither of whom have any legal rights to make a betrothal for Mace’s heir.  Oh, I’m sure Mace would have been fine with it, but it’s his marriage contract to make.  Lysa Arryn is both Sansa’s next of kin, her guardian, and rules as Robert Arryn’s regent.  She does have all legal rights to make a marriage contract for them both, which she expressly makes clear that Sansa will marry Robert.  Even after her death, Lord Robert in his puppy love, expresses a desire to marry Alayne one day.  Sansa has a far closer relationship to Robert than Willas, who she never met and likely will never meet.         

Advocates for the theory want to place all their chips on that tourney’s “outcome” to a greater degree than the tourney(s) most directly associated with Sansa.  First, the Hand’s tourney, which ended in upset.  Loras Tyrell forfeited his final match and gave the victory to Sandor Clegane for saving his life.  Loras is Sansa’s #1 crush and ideal lover/husband for up until her last chapter in Feast.  With a forfeit, Loras is saying “there’s no competition here.  The winner is clear.”  I would also point out that the Ashford tourney did not conclude with a winner of the joust, Targaryen or otherwise.  It ended in upset with Dunk’s trial by combat after he struck Prince Aerion Targaryen for assaulting Tanselle, which Dunk’s side won and the Targaryen side lost.  Funny how people who love this theory ignore forget that part.    

Now she has the Tourney of the Winged Knights on the horizon and which will surely end in a way no one planned as there are so many Chekhov’s guns present.  This tourney has way more in common with the tourney at Whitewalls from The Mystery Knight.  Whitewalls is constructed from marble quarried from the Vale.  Both are hosted by a former master of coin, who have ulterior motives behind it.  Both involve treasonous activities and elements against the current monarchy.  One celebrated a marriage and the other a presumed betrothal.  The TotWK is almost certainly rigged for Harry to either win or do well.  Whitewalls was rigged for Daemon II Blackfyre to win the grand prize, a dragon egg.  Both involve competing knights that are not what they seem or who also have secret motives of their own:  Dunk as “the Gallows Knight,” Daemon as “John the Fiddler,” Bloodraven disguised as “Ser Maynard Plum,” Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse and also to a lesser extent Ser Lyn Corbray for his secret resentments toward LF.  That tourney ended in upset with the grand prize reported stolen before the final joust.  Sansa being the real prize of the TotWK, it seems very likely Shadrich and/or Lyn (if he finds out who Alayne is) are going to attempt to steal Sansa.  

The theory’s interpretation of the “Targaryen champion” as Sansa’s endgame falls flat as it doesn’t work with the trajectories of Aegon or Jon either.  Aegon is most likely headed straight into marriage alliance with Arianne Martell for a Targaryen prince-Martell princess restoration.  It’s Rhaegar and Elia all over again.  Doran was already making moves toward this with a betrothal to Viserys until that went tits up.  Now he’s received word from Jon Connington that “Elia’s son” as survived and is coming with the Golden Company and he sends Arianne to meet him.  That’s even more serendipitous a match than Viserys.  Arianne and Aegon just makes way more sense than Sansa and Aegon.  I don’t expect Aegon will survive the series, he and Sansa are no where close to being on each other’s radar, and that marriage alliance doesn’t really serve their immediate interests anyway. 

As for Jon… just no.  Jon is only a Targaryen in as much as Rhaegar was the sperm donor.  Ned is his true father.  That’s the point.  He is a Snow, a Stark, and a First Man through and through.  If Jon does have a romantic interest, it’s either Val or Danaerys most likely.  I’m not even entirely sold on the idea that he and Dany will have that kind of relationship, but I definitely see and accept the possibility.  We don’t even know yet how Jon is going to be affected by his resurrection and honestly, he may die at the climatic battle of the series.  All other “evidence” for Sansa winding up with her brother-cousin in canon is super weak.  I don’t like theories that want me to ignore huge swathes of stronger evidence or contradictory evidence in order for them to work.                                                 

[mothernatureknows]

@flaming-charisma

The royal parlor room shines in the soft light of the morning sun, pooling in from the glass doors on the west and east end. A salty, ocean breeze peeks its way through, settling over the freshly polished cherry wood and the recently cleaned marble floor. It provides a nice, refreshing breather for all the handmaidens rushing about, making sure everything is one hundred percent perfect for the prince about to arrive for breakfast. Well, everyone seems to be rushing about except for the one princess seated at a table, in the very center of the room, a tired expression heavily marked on her soft features. It’s most likely from the lack of sleep she’s had these last few days or from the slight  d r e a d  she feels about this upcoming arranged marriage. Her sister, the queen, had told her that it would be for the good of the Ashfords to continue a royal blood line, to begin a tradition of marrying into royalty—since they hadn’t been royal to begin with. Besides, it would do them well to make the strongest alliance of all with a neighboring kingdom, that is according to the Royal Congregation. Therefore, Madeline, being the loyal, trusting sister, agreed without hesitation, but not without a few, personal doubts of her own. Rumors ran rampant throughout the castle about the visiting prince, especially from those who had claimed to have previously worked for him. From the fleeting whispers Madeline had heard from her handmaidens, it was enough to make her feel more worried and even less enthusiastic than usual. Hence why she feels incredibly on edge about this first meeting with the prince and about the strong possibility that the rumors she heard may just be true. 

Uneasy, green irises watch as each of the handmaidens disappear into the service wing, leaving her alone to wait for the prince. Suddenly, she feels the room to be very stuffy, despite the open glass doors. Without a second thought, she reaches back to undo a few knots of her blue silk corset, the thing practically asphyxiating her natural flow of oxygen. It isn’t until she’s almost loosened it enough, when one of the servants outside the main doors announces the prince’s arrival, opening the sleek, mahogany doors to the parlor. Quickly, she proceeds to remove her hand from her corset strings and place it on her stomach, rising to greet the prince with a short, unknowingly impolite bow. “Your highness,” she says, tone tired and flat. “Pleased to make your acquaintance this morning.” Even though there wasn’t much to be pleased about. 

[homepictures]

Five Things To Know About Kitchen Plans | kitchen plans

White Wood Kitchens, a full-service kitchen architecture and activity administration close with locations in Sandwich, Falmouth and Kingston, are appreciative to advertise that they are the almsman of four  2018 Architecture and Adjustment Industry of Cape Cod (BRICC) awards; a Gold Accolade for Arete in Sales and Marketing: Best Showroom, Associate Member, a Gold Accolade for Arete in New Construction: Kitchen beneath $60,000, a Gold Accolade for Arete in Remodeling: Kitchen beneath $60,000, and a Silver Accolade for Arete in Sales and Marketing: Best Business Program for their 2018 White Wood Kitchens Architecture Guide.

 This year’s accolade commemoration was captivated on November 8th at the Wequassett Resort in Harwich, MA. The BRICC Awards are presented biennially by the Home Builders & Remodelers Association of Cape Cod (HBRACC) to admit arete in building, remodeling, design, sales and business on Cape Cod and the Vineyard in about 40 categories.

“I am awfully appreciative of our aggregation for acceptable these awards,” states Gail O’Rourke, President, and buyer of White Wood Kitchens. “White Wood Kitchens may accept developed essentially over the accomplished year or two, but our accepted of assignment and allegation to chump achievement has backward the same.”

White Wood Kitchens is one of Cape Cod’s best avant-garde kitchen architecture companies alms full-service kitchen and ablution design, activity administration casework and aging-in-place design/build expertise.  The aggregation collaborates with architects and builders to ensure all parties on a activity are in alignment and works carefully with audience to actualize a anatomic and affected amplitude that expresses their style.  Their babysitter casework agreement audience bright advice of the project’s advance and procedures in adjustment to advice them adore the architecture process. The showrooms backpack a cardinal of affection chiffonier lines, a ample alternative of granite, Silestone, Cambria and marble as able-bodied as an agitative ambit of chiffonier hardware.    

White Wood Kitchens is amid at 160 Route 6A in Sandwich, MA, 70 E. Falmouth Highway in East Falmouth, MA and 56 Main Street in Kingston, MA. For added advice on the showrooms, appointment www.whitewoodkitchen.com or alarm 508-353-9183. Appointments are accessible Monday through Saturday. Architecture analysis and activity consultations are offered at no charge.

Five Things To Know About Kitchen Plans | kitchen plans – kitchen plans | Delightful in order to my personal website, in this time I will explain to you regarding keyword. And after this, this can be a first image:

Gewusst Wie: Entwerfen Sie Eine Küche Grundriss | Küche in 27 … – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

How about graphic preceding? will be in which wonderful???. if you’re more dedicated therefore, I’l l show you some picture yet again beneath:

So, if you desire to have these awesome graphics about (Five Things To Know About Kitchen Plans | kitchen plans), click on save button to save these graphics for your laptop. These are all set for down load, if you’d rather and wish to take it, just click save symbol in the article, and it’ll be directly downloaded in your pc.} Lastly in order to find unique and latest picture related to (Five Things To Know About Kitchen Plans | kitchen plans), please follow us on google plus or bookmark this blog, we try our best to offer you regular update with fresh and new photos. Hope you love keeping right here. For many up-dates and latest information about (Five Things To Know About Kitchen Plans | kitchen plans) pictures, please kindly follow us on twitter, path, Instagram and google plus, or you mark this page on book mark section, We try to provide you with update periodically with fresh and new pics, love your browsing, and find the best for you.

Thanks for visiting our site, articleabove (Five Things To Know About Kitchen Plans | kitchen plans) published .  At this time we are pleased to announce we have discovered an awfullyinteresting nicheto be pointed out, that is (Five Things To Know About Kitchen Plans | kitchen plans) Most people attempting to find specifics of(Five Things To Know About Kitchen Plans | kitchen plans) and certainly one of them is you, is not it?

kitchen floor plan ideas focus on kitchen with islands floor plans … – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Kitchen Layout Templates: 6 Different Designs | HGTV – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Fitzroy_ Porcelain and Stone – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Plan #1234-The Fincannon – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

How to Make Outdoor Kitchen Design Plans Effectively … – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Custom Kitchen Building Online Design, Plans, Materials, Install – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

White Solid Wood Small Kitchen Cabinet Using Grey Marble … – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Image result for small cafe kitchen plans | Small houses in 27 … – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Kitchen Remodel Fairfax – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Western Townhomes – Unit 6 – Townshend plan (2) – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Kitchen Planner | RoomSketcher – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Kitchen Floor Plan Ideas | afreakatheart – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Kitchen Plan | Kitchen Decor Design Ideas – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Ashford Plan 3 Kitchen Area – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

New Home Building and Design Blog | Home Building Tips | Open … – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

The Enduring Style of the Traditional Kitchen – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

27 Outdoor Kitchen designs sure to Inspire – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

The Layout of Small Kitchen, You Should Know – Home … – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

20 Best Open Plan Kitchen Living Room Design Ideas – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

22 Jaw-Dropping Small Kitchen Designs – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Choosing the Best Kitchen Floorplan Design | Smart Ideas – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Open Kitchen Designs – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Small Kitchen Design Plans | Kitchen Decor Design Ideas – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Kitchen, Lichtraum, Gallery, Living Room – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Design Your Own Kitchen | Modern Kitchens | Kitchen Plans – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

Small Kitchen Floor Plans Houses Flooring Picture Ideas … – kitchen plans | kitchen plans

The post Five Things To Know About Kitchen Plans | kitchen plans appeared first on Home Picture.

from WordPress https://homepicture.online/five-things-to-know-about-kitchen-plans-kitchen-plans/

[blood-darkened-moon]

Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 15

Outside the bus, he lit a cigarette. A line of faces blurred by the celerity of his pace paraded to his right to enter the vehicle. Old people, children, and adults; one after the other. The driver beeped once to announce his departure to the stragglers. An old nonagenarian was the last to pay the fare. The engine roared. Smoke from her cigarette mingled with the exhaust. The bus began to pull away. Before long, its silhouette merged with the overcast horizon of a hooting autumn morning.

The stench of tobacco permeated his worn old leather trench coat and dark wool scarf. He adjusted his beret in case it sparkled. In his left trouser pocket, he kept a manicured white missive with a coat of arms on the lapel. The emblem detailed a gold eagle holding a halberd over a red and black English shield. Inside was a simple typewritten invitation signed by Alexander Ashford, 6th Earl Ashford. The earl congratulated him on joining the household staff as a butler and a date and address was given: October 23, 1971, Ashford Hall, Northumberland, England. He threw the spent cigarette on the floor.

So much sacrifice to end up as the servant of the rich. His father, a hard-working miner, and his mother, a dedicated kindergarten teacher, did everything they could to ensure that the youngest of their four children enjoyed a better life than his humble ancestors. At school he was taken for a smart boy, but not smart enough to aspire to become a lawyer or a doctor. At fourteen he dropped out of school and went to work as an apprentice in an electrician's shop. At sixteen, he left the shop to replace his father, disabled by an injury to his right arm, in the coal mines. He rose to foreman and, for ten years, enjoyed a good standard of living until he was laid off due to the productive thinning of the mines. Without an alternative plan or better prospects for the future, he ended up on the street, eking out a meager living on the meager allowance he was given as compensation for his expulsion. He heard about his three siblings during the funeral of his mother, who died a decade after his father.

Taking advantage of the burial, he tried offering his labor to the church. He was assigned the task of helping in the installation of the building's electrical system in exchange for bed and board. It was during his stay at the church that he discovered the announcement that overturned his unfortunate life trajectory. A wealthy local woman was looking for an apprentice butler. Because the pay was good and hunger was pressing, he went to the applicant, Mary-Anne Campbell, Duchess of Glasgow. Under the orders of the head butler, he was trained in the secrets of the trade and secured a job. Believing she would retire on the spot, the duchess unexpectedly asked him for a favor: to replace Michael Smith as butler to her English cousins, the Ashfords. She telephoned Smith to be interviewed. He was recruited for the fall of 1971 at Ashford Hall, the manor house of Earl Ashford. He packed his meager possessions and bid farewell to his native Scotland for England.

He grabbed the chipped, cloth-lined metal suitcase and set off for Ashford Hall, walking along the shoulder of a paved road. After a short distance along the side of scattered cottages, he entered a well-maintained dirt path bounded by a clump of bare trees and bushes. Beyond the trunks and branches, he made out the brown moorland of the Cheviot Hills. Shuffling through the damp leaf litter, after half an hour, he caught a glimpse of the marble walls of a neoclassical mansion. He quickened his pace. Breathing heavily, he reached the estate walls. The access to the country house included a double-leaf trellis gate and, on the right side, a sentry box. He detoured to the sentry box, where he presented himself to the stocky, burly watchman to give him passage. The watchman, uniformed in a police-like outfit, checked the invitation letter. He allowed him access after verifying his identity over the phone. After manually undoing the locks, he ventured into a landscaped esplanade whose design reminded him of the Parisian Champs Elysées.

On his way to the front door, two figures appeared on the landing of the stone staircase. A stocky figure dressed in black, which he assumed to be the butler, and a slimmer one in a turquoise suit. As he approached them, he could make out the wrinkled features of a wiry old man and the neat good looks of a bearded, blond-haired young man. Once in front of the staircase, the prissy old man subtly nodded to him to ascend. There was no one else besides the two of them. Receptions at Glasgow Castle were usually more boisterous. Before he reached the last step, the butler, whom he assumed to be Smith, rushed over to shake his hand.

-Welcome to Ashford Hall, Mr. Harman. I'm Michael Smith," he greeted him in an emphatic Southern accent.

-Thank you, Mr. Smith, it's a pleasure," he replied, softening his Scotch.

The blond man joined them. Smith stood to one side with his hands clasped behind his back and puffing out his chest like a barnyard rooster.

The blond man joined them. Smith stood to one side with his hands clasped behind his back and puffing out his chest like a barnyard rooster.

-Welcome, Scott Harman, Mr. Harman, to Ashford Hall. Alexander Ashford, Earl Ashford. Address me simply as Ashford, the lord is unnecessary in private. The last he said in Scots.

-Thank you for trusting me, Ashford," he marked the accent.

-Not at all. -He cocked his head. -Go ahead.

With the suitcase in tow, he crossed the ancient wooden double door into an imperial double-story foyer dominated by a marble staircase, itself covered by a lustrous red carpet. On either side, a row of Corinthian columns supported the ornate balustrade above. Overhead, a lantern topped a dome decorated with celestial scenes. Smith cleared his throat, interrupting his rapt attention.

-Mr. Harman, if you will follow me, please, I will show you to your bedroom and office.

Ashford distanced himself with a parting gesture.

-It has been a pleasure meeting you, Harman. I hope your work will prove fruitful and mutually beneficial. I will see you in my office tomorrow to show you around the house and grounds, and to meet my family. Good evening. -Again they shook hands.

-This way. -Smith pointed to a side door.

Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator

Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 15

Fuera del autobús, se encendió un cigarro. Una hilera de rostros difuminados por la celeridad de su paso desfilaba a su derecha para entrar en el vehículo. Ancianos, niños y adultos; uno detrás de otro. El conductor pitó una vez para anunciar su partida a los rezagados. Una vieja nonagenaria fue la última en pagar el pasaje. El motor rugió. El humo de su cigarrillo se mezcló con el del tubo de escape. El autobús comenzó a alejarse. En poco tiempo, su silueta se fundió con el anublado horizonte de una ululante mañana de otoño.

El hedor del tabaco se le impregnó en su desgastada gabardina de cuero viejo y en la oscura bufanda de lana. Se ajustó la boina por si chispeaba. En el bolsillo izquierdo del pantalón guardaba una manoseada misiva blanca con un escudo de armas sobre la solapa. El emblema detallaba un águila de oro sosteniendo una alabarda sobre un escudo inglés de color rojo y negro. Dentro de ella, una sencilla invitación a máquina firmada por Alexander Ashford, sexto conde Ashford. El conde lo felicitaba por su incorporación al personal doméstico de la casa como mayordomo y se le indicaba una fecha y una dirección: 23 de octubre de 1971, Ashford Hall, Northumberland, Inglaterra. Tiró el consumido cigarrillo al suelo.

Tanto sacrificio para acabar como el criado de unos ricos. Su padre, un esforzado minero, y su madre, una dedicada profesora de infantil, hicieron todo cuanto pudieron para que el más pequeño de sus cuatro hijos gozara de una mejor vida que sus humildes ancestros. En la escuela le tomaron por un chico inteligente, pero no lo suficiente como para aspirar a abogado o médico. A los catorce años abandonó la escuela y entró a trabajar como aprendiz en el taller de un electricista. A los dieciséis, abandonó el taller para sustituir a su padre, inválido por una lesión en el brazo derecho, en las minas de carbón. Ascendió a capataz y, durante diez años, disfrutó de un buen nivel de vida hasta que le despidieron por el adelgazamiento productivo de las minas. Sin un plan alternativo ni mejores perspectivas de futuro, terminó en la calle malviviendo del ínfimo subsidio que le facilitaron como compensación por su expulsión. Supo de sus tres hermanos durante el entierro de su madre, fallecida una década después que su padre.

Aprovechando el entierro, probó a ofrecer su mano de obra a la iglesia. Le asignaron la tarea de ayudar en la instalación del sistema eléctrico del edifico a cambio de cama y comida. Fue durante su estancia en la iglesia cuando descubrió el anuncio que trastocó su lamentable trayectoria vital. Una ricachona local buscaba un aprendiz de mayordomo. Debido a que el sueldo era bueno y el hambre apretaba, se presentó ante la solicitante, Mary-Anne Campbell, duquesa de Glasgow. Bajo las órdenes del mayordomo jefe, se adiestró en los secretos del oficio y se aseguró un puesto de trabajo. Creyendo que se jubilaría en el lugar, inesperadamente la duquesa le pidió un favor: que sustituyera a Michael Smith como mayordomo de sus primos ingleses, los Ashford. Telefoneó a Smith para ser entrevistado. Fue reclamado para otoño de 1971 en Ashford Hall, casa solariega del conde Ashford. Empaquetó sus escasas posesiones y se despidió de su natal Escocia rumbo a Inglaterra.

Agarró la desconchada maleta de metal forrada de tela y se encaminó a Ashford Hall andando por el arcén de una asfaltada carretera. Tras recorrer un breve tramo a la vera de dispersos cottages, se internó en un sendero de tierra en buen estado delimitado por un cúmulo de pelados árboles y arbustos. Más allá de los troncos y las ramas, distinguió el pardo páramo de las Cheviot Hills. Arrastrando con los pies la húmeda hojarasca, al cabo de media hora, vislumbró las marmóreas paredes de una mansión neoclásica. Aceleró el paso. Respirando con dificultad, alcanzó los muros de la finca. El acceso a la casa de campo incluía un portón enrejado de doble hoja y, en el lateral derecho, una garita de vigilancia. Se desvió a la garita, donde se presentó al rechoncho y corpulento vigilante para que le cediera el paso. El vigilante, uniformado con un conjunto semejante al de la policía, revisó la carta de invitación. Le permitió acceder tras verificar por teléfono su identidad. Tras descorrer manualmente los cerrojos, se aventuró en una ajardinada explanada cuyo diseño le recordaba al del los parisinos Campos Elíseos.

En su camino a la puerta principal, dos figuras aparecieron sobre el rellano de la pétrea escalera. Una achaparrada figura vestida de negro, que supuso que sería el mayordomo, y otra más esbelta ataviada con un traje turquesa. A medida que se acercaba a ellas, distinguió las resultonas arrugas de un enjuto anciano y la esmerada buena apariencia de un joven rubio y barbudo. Una vez frente a la escalera, el remilgado anciano le indicó sutilmente con la cabeza que ascendiera. No había nadie más aparte de ellos dos. Los recibimientos en el castillo de Glasgow solían ser más bulliciosos. Antes de salvar el último escalón, el mayordomo, que suponía que sería Smith, se abalanzó sobre él para estrecharle la mano.

—Bienvenido a Ashford Hall, señor Harman. Soy Michael Smith —le saludó con un enfático acento sureño.

—Gracias, señor Smith, es un placer —respondió suavizando su escocés.

El hombre rubio se les unió. Smith se echó a un lado con las manos agarradas detrás de la espalda e hinchando el pecho como un gallo de corral.

—Bienvenido, Scott Harman, señor Harman, a Ashford Hall. Alexander Ashford, conde Ashford. Diríjase a mí simplemente como Ashford, el lord es innecesario en la intimidad —. Lo último lo dijo en escocés.

—Gracias por confiar en mí, Ashford —marcó el acento.

—No hay de qué. —Se ladeó. —Adelante.

Con la maleta a cuestas, cruzó la vetusta puerta doble de madera a un imperial vestíbulo de doble planta dominado por una marmórea escalinata, a su vez cubierta por una lustrosa alfombra roja. En ambos lados, una hilera de columnas corintias sustentaba la ornamentada balaustrada superior. Sobre sus cabezas, una linterna remataba una cúpula decorada con escenas celestiales. Smith carraspeó interrumpiendo su embelesamiento.

—Señor Harman, si me sigue, por favor, le conduciré a su dormitorio y despacho.

Ashford se distanció con ademán de despedida.

—Ha sido un placer conocerle, Harman. Espero que su trabajo resulte fructífero y mutuamente beneficioso. Le veré mañana en mi despacho para mostrarle la casa y sus instalaciones, y para que conozca a mi familia. Buenas noches. —Otra vez se estrecharon la mano.

—Por aquí. —Smith señaló una puerta lateral.

[thesassybooskter]

THE DUKE KNOWS BEST by Jane Ashford: Excerpt & Giveaway

NOW AVAILABLE/SOURCEBOOKS CASABLANCA

They’re wrong for each other, for all the right reasons…

Lord Randolph Gresham has come to London for one reason only–to find a suitable wife. Verity Sinclair may be intelligent, beautiful, and full of spirit, but her father knows a secret about Randolph that makes her entirely unsuitable as his bride. Not right for him at all, never, not a chance.

Verity knows that Lord Randolph lives in a country parish, and she wants nothing more than to escape to town. He may be fascinating, attractive, rich, and the son of a duke, but she’ll never marry him, nor will she talk to him, flirt with him, walk with him, or dine with him. She’ll sing a duet with him, but only this one time, and only because everyone insists.

But one duet invariably leads to another.

Buy Online: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo

Add to Goodreads

  Excerpt

Looking around the front hall of Langford House, with its soaring stair and rich marble floor, Verity judged it the grandest house she’d ever entered. Light poured down from high windows, glittered in a huge crystal chandelier, and gleamed in the gold stripes of the wallpaper. A hint of potpourri scented the air, along with beeswax and lemon. The clatter of the London streets didn’t penetrate the gracious silence. “Goodness,” murmured her mother. Verity was determined not to be intimidated.

A liveried footman led them through two beautiful reception rooms to the back of the house. He opened a door and stood back. Verity and her mother stepped over the threshold into a perfectly splendid music room. For a moment Verity forgot everything else as she took in the fine instruments waiting to be played, the older ones adorning the walls, and the piles of expensive sheet music. She could spend hours in a place like this and be blissfully happy, she thought.

And then a tall, stately woman came forward to greet them, and Verity was making her curtsy to the duchess, as well as wondering where Lord Randolph could be.

He hurried in on the heels of that thought. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I was just… Mama, this is Mrs. Sinclair and Miss Verity Sinclair. Ladies, my mother.”

“Your Grace,” they murmured.

The duchess said, “Welcome to Langford House.” And with the warmth in her blue eyes and the ease of her smile, Verity felt the atmosphere in the room change from grandiose to relaxed. Or perhaps it was simply her own mood that had shifted, she thought. As they sat down and exchanged remarks about the weather and the season, she found she could talk to Lord Randolph’s mother with surprising ease.

“I know you have musical matters to discuss,” said the duchess after a while. She rose. “I will leave you to it. But I wanted to make sure you have all you need, Mrs. Sinclair.”

“You’re very kind.”

“I’ve seen to the arrangements, Mama,” said Lord Randolph.

“Sponge cakes and macaroons?” she asked.

“What else?”

The humorous look they exchanged gave Verity a glimpse into the Gresham family, which seemed a pleasant place. The door opened, and a maid came in with several sturdy working candles. “You said you’d bring some embroidery,” said Lord Randolph to Verity’s mother. “I wanted to make certain you had good light.”

The duchess gave him an approving nod and went out. Lord Randolph made a great production of getting Verity’s mother settled with the candles set just so and a cushion for her back and offers of tea or other refreshment. “So kind,” she murmured as she was settled in the front corner of the room.

Verity noticed that it was the corner farthest from the pianoforte. And that the special candles and cushions—which a less observant person might dismiss as finicky items for a man to consider—effectively rooted Mama at a distance. It was unlikely that she would overhear much of what they said, unless they started shouting. Which she might, if Lord Randolph tried to maneuver her in a similar way. And where had he acquired such skill at diverting chaperones?

“I’ve pulled out piles of music,” he said when they were at last free to begin. He led the way over to the table where the sheets were displayed. “I was thinking we should choose popular pieces rather than anything too complicated. Perhaps even repeat the song we did at Lady Tolland’s.”

Their eyes met, mirroring memories of that astonishing experience. Verity’s cheeks grew hot. A self-conscious silence stretched out. She could actually hear her mother’s needle prick the embroidery canvas.

Lord Randolph cleared his throat. “Ah, our audience at Carleton House will be varied,” he went on. “Not all will be particularly musical. But I’m eager to hear your opinion about the program, of course.”

He stopped and waited for her to speak. He gazed at her as if he actually wanted to know her views, and wasn’t just pausing to give the appearance of listening before telling her what to do. It was a point in his favor. “What about some Italian songs, varied with Scots or Irish ballads?” she suggested. “How long need we sing, do you think?”

“Long enough to satisfy the prince’s wounded vanity,” he responded wryly.

Verity looked down to hide a smile. “That sounds rather difficult to measure. An hour?”

“No more, certainly. We are doing a favor, not putting on a full concert. Shall we say six pieces? With one in reserve in case they insist on more?”

Verity agreed, and they looked through Mozart’s and Haydn’s arrangements of popular tunes and sheets of songs by Robert Burns and Thomas Moore. Langford House appeared to possess any piece one could desire, and Verity envied the bounty. She had to ration her purchases of sheet music on her allowance. The money her grandfather had left her was in trust until she married. And why was she thinking of that now? “‘Robin Adair’ would make a lovely base for a set of variations,” she said.

They bent over the music together. “It would indeed,” said Lord Randolph. He sat at the pianoforte and began to play the simple melody, and then to embellish it. Verity hummed along, following his elaborations. “Just here,” he said, playing intricate series of notes. She caught the idea at once. Spontaneously they sang a verse with the new adornments, their voices blending in a twining harmony. By the end they were staring at each other, mutually astonished.

“Very pretty,” said Verity’s mother from the corner.

It was as if he could predict exactly what she meant to sing, Verity thought. Or, perhaps, his musical impulses ran in precisely the same direction. The phrase in tune took on a whole new meaning as they ran through the entire song, consulted briefly, and then tried it again. The result was equally lovely and interesting, but different with the varying choices of the moment. This must be what it was like to be intoxicated, she thought, as she fell into the music and a give and take with this man she barely knew— somehow they vibrated to the same pitch.

    a Rafflecopter giveaway  

  About Jane Ashford

Jane Ashford discovered Georgette Heyer in junior high school and was captivated by the glittering world and witty language of Regency England. That delight led her to study English literature and travel widely in Britain and Europe. Her historical and contemporary romances have been published in Sweden, Italy, England, Denmark, France, Russia, Latvia, Slovenia, and Spain, as well as the U.S. Twenty-six of her new and backlist Regency romances are being published by Sourcebooks. Jane has been nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews. She is currently rather nomadic.

Website | Facebook | Goodreads

THE DUKE KNOWS BEST by Jane Ashford: Excerpt & Giveaway was originally published on The Sassy Bookster

[cessanderson]

Our dining room http://ift.tt/2jz9Fxa Sara @ Russet Street Reno Hi everyone!  I wanted to share our little dining room before the holiday craziness, I know it's been awhile since my last post.  This room is pretty small, and it's the hardest working room in our house.  Lots of stuff happens here, eating, homework, crafts, packaging prints for my business, even folding laundry.  Since we downsized our kitchen by a lot in this house, I had to give up one of our dining tables.  The midcentury table's style fit better in this house, but I'll admit it's form over function.  This table is wobbly, hard to keep clean, and a little dinged up.  At least I don't have to worry about ruining it!  I've spent a lot of time trying to add functionality and beauty to an otherwise bare box of a room with an awkward half wall.  Here is how the room looked when we were in the process of renovating the house:

And here is how it looks today:

One of the main problems with this room is how narrow it is.  Unfortunately, we really need the extra storage that the pieces on the sides provide.  Our tiny useless kitchen offers little cabinet space, so I purchased this beautiful media console from CB2 to use as extra storage for pots, serving pieces, and craft supplies for the kids.  I love this piece so much!

For above the console, I reused our starburst mirror and wall urchins, then added a marble shelf from CB2.  

One day the marble top of this piece will hold fancy liquor bottles, but for now, it's practical for little kids.

I bought a box from Homegoods to hold Ashford's completed homework pages.  Not sure what I'm going to do with it all!  Side note: making a 5 year old do homework pages sucks ass. 

The other side of the room has our vintage cart, which we have crapped up with the Keurig, stand mixer, and coffee mugs.  Also, the wine is stored underneath along with random stuff like placemats. 

We do not have enough counter top space for these things in the kitchen, so having them here is a necessity.  I also want to point out the Ikea plant on the half wall is like a full tree now.  Here's a picture of what it looked like few years ago in Minnesota, seen in the window.  (PS - sweet little Ashford was only 2.5!  Ahhh!)

Man, I miss that kitchen and dining table so badly every day of my life!  Anyway, getting back to the point...here is a look at the space on the other side of the console, just a few short months ago. 

It was a hot mess, and all this junk just sat there during the summer.  During the winter, our huge hibiscus took up this spot, dropping leaves and dried flowers all over the place.  Oh, and Zach loved to play in the dirt.  Awesome!

I decided that enough was enough, and the hibiscus was going to have to tough it out in the attached garage this winter.  I wanted to claim this area back, so I decided to make a little seating and display area using this cool metal coffee table from Target.  (No longer available)

I also needed to stash file baskets underneath, so it works perfectly for less than $50.  

It does work as a seating area, and Zach sits up there sometimes.  When he feels like sitting, that is. 

I put a faux fur on top, then some Target pillows to spruce it up.  Even though we didn't need more lighting, I really wanted to use my capiz pendant to avoid storing it any longer.  Then I found this awesome wire one at World Market when I went to buy a black cord.  I debated the two. 

Ultimately, I liked the capiz because it broke up all the gold, and it looks much nicer lit up.  I ended up using the other one somewhere else, because it was a great deal!  We love having this pendant on at night along with the pole lamp. 

I wanted this area to be a cute spot to display artwork and photos, so I bought this metal memo holder from Target and it does the trick perfectly.  I can use regular clips, and magnetic-back clips. 

For the tiny bit of wall next to the window, I chose three black frames and printed some photos of the boys in black and white.  They are eating donuts in the middle one, and in the other two, they are showing their bellies to fit with the dining room theme.  Ha!

I just love this little spot.  I like having pretty pillows in every room, even the dining room!

Hello! 

The curtain rod is the same as the living room.  We love it, but it's not the easiest to install.  After I put up the picture frames, I wanted to balance them on the other side of the widow.  I bought these square metal shelves from Target (sensing a theme, here?) and put up paper templates to see where I should hang them.

They ended up being the perfect place to store rarely-used but pretty vases, and coffee mugs right by the Keurig. 

The last little spot is the tiny wall in between the kitchen doorway and living room.  I knew I wanted to put the chalkboard here, and some sort of display space. 

I ended up finding this pretty wire memo holder at CB2, and bought a bunch of magnetic clips to use for Ashford's art.  This time of year, it will get cleaned off so we can hang Christmas cards instead.  Love it!

I picked up this black rattan basket and throw blanket from Target (sorry, I just love Target) and we use this all the time when it gets cold on the couch.  You might notice the Pottery Barn zebra rug I've had for 9 years.  This thing is still going strong!  I'll say it over and over - wool rugs from Pottery Barn are the best investment ever!  It definitely has stains now, but it's perfect for this room since it will only get more ruined by my minions.

The last item in the room I wanted to mention is the light.  I was IN LOVE with this light when I found it on Wayfair.  Actually, I found it for much more at a local lighting store, then got it cheaper on Wayfair.  Sadly, it's always filthy and full of gnats because the top of the globes are open.  I'm sort of regretting my purchase!  When the globes are clean, it's beautiful. 

Anyway, that is the dining room.  Since leaving my career in Wisconsin and starting my less lucrative photography business, my motto has always been reuse everything I can.  Most of the accessories in this room were very inexpensive, the only big ticket items were the $900 console and $600 chandelier.  I'm very happy with the way it turned out!  Here are some before and afters, the first being the way the house looked when we first saw it:

Here is during reno, last December at Zach's birthday party, and today:

And the little corner, in September and today:

And just because, here is a photo of the gorgeous morning light we get in here.  I try to never see sunrise, but this kid loves 6:30am!  One thing this house has plenty of, is amazing natural light.  That is huge for me! 

Not to leave the big kid out...here is the dining room hard at work on a typical morning.  Cereal bowls, colored pencils, paper, this is it! 

Have a fabulous December!

[forlornhorizon]

The Marble and the Moon 3/4

Summary: The cat man is sad. The florist’s child needs to fix it. A shame she’s only got two braincells to rub together. Warnings: n/a

More creative liberties, which I feel absolutely no guilt for. Ashford still belongs to @ride6artblog

----

It wasn’t going to be fine.

Diane was making a gamble—scratch that, TWO gambles—and she didn’t like her odds.

She needed Ashford OUT of the Habitat, first and foremost. Whether or not her gamble with the doctor worked out, she didn’t want him caught up in it. And if it didn’t work, then he had a running start and hopefully Diane would be the only corpse.

The day before, she stayed with Ash until the paper maché demons came to drag her away and Doc Habit gave her another look at his budding horror project (the “Who’s that waiting for you?” over the shadows of pine trees and the “Maybe they’re closer than you think ;-)” with the red light blinking in the background was enough to keep her up until the early morning. Thanks Doc. You should have gone into movies). It hadn’t been enough to make a difference. In the end, he just pasted on a fake smile and told her he was fine.

He wasn’t gonna leave, as things stood.

Therefore, Diane had two plans.

Both were poorly-conceived, but she didn’t have any other ideas.

“Operation Paparazzi” was to somehow take a picture of Doc Habit from the rooftop in his penthouse and hope she could take a decent picture, and THEN hope that Ash would take it as a replacement for being visited by the doc.

If this didn’t work, then it was time for “Operation Tiger Bait”: lure him out by stealing his puppet or something and have him “coincidentally” run into Ash.

Which could very easily turn tragic, so Operation Paparazzi was the preferred option.

Come to think of it, she realized while climbing the stairs, this could get tragic for her in a hurry. Maybe she should write a letter for Pa. A farewell note. Maybe she could pressgang Ashford into delivering it. Pa was good with sad people.

But then again, what would she even say? “Sorry Pa, you were right. I made a dumb, desperate decision and I died like a moron. Yours truly, your dumbass daughter”? Good job. Disappointment to the end, Diane.

Her objective was the rooftop, which was pretty easy to get onto. Really, there should have been a railing. What if Petunia got up here? An accident waiting to happen.

Diane took the first photo from the edge of the roof nearest the penthouse, earning her a nervous, “Isn’t that, uh, a little too dangerous?” from Kamal.

She took several steps back, and took another. Rinse and repeat, until she’d crossed the length of the roof and seriously concerned about the amount of film she had left.

The polaroids mostly came out with… nothing. A whole lotta orange glass. Neither hide nor hair could be seen of Habit, unless the suspicious dark splotches on some of the polaroids were him. They were… vaguely person shaped?

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to take a picture of Habit,” Kamal said warily when presented with the photo containing the big blotch. “He’s always so creepy in them!” He narrowed his eyes. “That’s why he has to use the puppet.”

Really? Cat sat at the top of the stairwell, squinting at the one with the biggest blotch.

Not a single distinguishing feature to be seen.

Diane tried to put herself in Ash's shoes. If her friend had been emotionally (and physically) distant, and all she wanted to do was see them again, was a shot of them in the distance going to make her feel better? Or would it emphasize the distance between them?

How could she fix this?

Diane laid back on the concrete and stared up at the sky.

One of Ash's cats, Prim, roused themselves from sunbathing and walked over to watch Diane.

Howdy furball. I don't suppose you've got an answer.

She craned her head to watch the feline mosey around her, sniffing her leg in a greeting. Prim stayed just outside her reach, so Diane didn’t reach for them. Didn’t want to be rude and all.

Diane was getting nowhere mentally. Diane fetched the marble from her pocket and rolled it over to the cat.

This was yours, right?

Prim looked from the marble that rolled into its butt to Diane, and gave it a cursory whack back to her.

She caught it and sent it rolling again.

Another game of ping-pong, or it would have been if Diane hadn't gotten distracted by a passing thought. The marble bounced off her thigh and went tumbling down the staircase.

Whoops. Prim looked at her expectantly.

Diane set the pictures to the side, and stood up. Her back cracked unkindly on the way up. God, she was getting old. Diane nudged the cat with the toe of her shoe.

You knock it down again and I'm not getting it for you.

She followed the marble down the stairs sedated. When she stooped to pick it up at the bottom, a black-and-white shape blurred past her, something orange and black in its mouth.

The sight took a second to permeate her brain. When it did, she bolted after the cat, taking the stairs to the first floor 1, 2, 5 at a time. You miserable thief! I was warned about you, too!

Prim cornered better than she did and infuriatingly out-sped her on the carnival grounds. Diane cursed herself and the feline every step of the way. It wasn't a good enough picture! Ash was just gonna be disappointed! He didn't need to be disappointed! He needed to be happy! This wasn’t helping.

The cat slowed down just as it was rounding Martha. Sensing an opportunity, Diane put on a burst of speed and pounced, seizing the criminal. Got you! ...Oh.

For some accursed reason, Ash was awake, without airhorn-based assistance, and privy to the sight of Diane snatching up one of his cats by the furry midsection.

...Manhandling one of his cats was probably a bad look.

With all the care of a bomb technician, Diane set the cat down and took a step back.

Great. Now he was gonna be sad. And maybe mad.

…Smad? Smad.

His cat all but pranced over to him, tail high and arced over its back. Like it was presenting a dead mouse for his approval, it dropped the photo at his feet and meowed.

“Prim!” He said, face distressed. “You’re not supposed to steal things! I will get the spray bottle.” Prim, unconcerned, reared up and rubbed its forehead against his when he stooped to pick up the photo. “I am so sorry about Prim,” he said. “I’ve tried everything to get her to stop stealing, but… she…”

Diane wished she could retreat into her jersey and just live there for the rest of her life. The best-case scenario of ‘Ash doesn’t recognize the photo,’ already unrealistic, became more and more unlikely the longer his stunned silence went on.

“You…” he ventured. “Did you…?” He looked from the photo to Diane and back again to the photo.

Diane shot a glare at Prim. I’m going to get you back for this, furball. She exhaled through her nose, mentally bracing herself for the worst, and nodded.

She couldn’t look him in the eye.

“You got this… for me?” His voice was choked. Diane hazarded a glance at him. Ash was dabbing at the corners of his eyes with a flannel sleeve.

Fire and damnation, she fucked up. Diane took a step towards his, arms raised, to do… something. Give him another hug? Was he still fine with hugs? Was she still fine with hugs?

“Just because I said all that stuff yesterday?” There was a quaver in his voice, different from yesterday. “I… I don’t know what to say.” And he was smiled. “Thank you… thank you so much!”

Diane gave him a confused thumbs up.

Was it just her imagination, or did Prim look smug?

She was going crazy, she just knew it.

But this was exactly what she needed. And now she had her opening.

Diane shuffled closer, trying to feel too much like a naughty child, and tapped the photo.

Ash gave her a strange look. “You… want to hear about him? Really?”

Diane nodded.

“Well…” Ash looked up at the penthouse, and sighed. “He was the one to welcome me here, when I was—after… when I got here. I guess that’s not that much. He probably does that for everyone…”

Diane shook her head. She would have remembered that.

"Oh." He blinked in surprise. "It was just me. ...Huh. He was really nice to me, you know? He showed me around the place, and he..." He coughed, a slight blush staining his cheeks. "A-and he made it feel like a place I could always come back to, as weird as that sounds. And he always paid me a visit, which was kind of... you know... made me feel like I mattered." His final sentence got quieter with every syllable, the last word hardly more than a whisper.

Diane got the picture.

She wasn't that in-tune with people but even she could see where this was going.

Bro got it bad.

She gave him a consolatory pat on the back.

That's rough.

"I still don't know why he locked himself up. Was it something I did? It has to be. What else could it be?"

Diane shook her head. People had all kinds of things that lived in their head. You simply couldn't take responsibility for all them. Not a single customer trapped Diane's voice in a vice.

"I wish I could do something." Ash lapsed into silence.

Diane stood with him.

He wasn't... 100% happy. But this was better.

You know what? The omelet wasn't turning out bad.

"But wow!" He said, holding the photo up to the light. "I didn't know you could get a photo from outside the penthouse. I thought you needed a telephoto lens like Mirphy claimed she had." He tugged at his collar nervously. "N-not that I was thinking of spying on Habit”, that would just be—wait, where are you going?"

Diane was already gone.

-

She slapped a new photo on his chest victoriously.

Ash stared at her, uncomprehending.

It's my victory.

He looked at the photo, another picture of Doc Habit, but zoomed in so closely that the white of his teeth clearly stood against the dark shadow of his body. For added benefit, it looked as though Habit was staring directly into the camera. Any other time it might have freaked out Diane, but she was past the point of caring about whatever freaky trick Doc could have pulled out of his sleeves.

He looked at Diane...

Do you like it or not? C'mon, give me something to work with.

...And laughed hysterically. He was doubled over, he was laughing so hard. Tears collected in the corners of his eyes. "Mra-rah?" Corta asked in concern.

"You-you!" he wheezed. "You didn't—you didn't have to do this for me! I just—I was just—" He flailed his hands. "This was very nice and I... I don't know why you would go to all this trouble? And for me?"

Diane shrugged her shoulders.

Ash gulped in a few deep breaths, trying to get his shakes under control. "It's—I—" He took in one more deep breath—in through the nose, and out through the mouth.

"Thank you," he said finally. "You didn't have to go out of your way to do this. To do ALL of this. But you did! You did and... and I really appreciate it." Ash took another look at the photo. "Do you think... things will get better?"

Diane tilted her head from one side to the other.

She nodded.

Ashford smiled, and it lit up his whole face.

He'd be safe now, Diane knew.

Either way, the time had come.

She turned to go. "Wait, uhm, do you—?"

Diane looked back to Ashford. His hands were twisted nervously, his face conflicted. "...I'll see you around?" he ventured.

Diane nodded, and waved goodbye.

[cessanderson]

Our favorite thing in the house http://ift.tt/2s7uy4P Sara @ Russet Street Reno This area of the house has been completed for awhile now, but the craziness of life has made this post a little late.  Ashford, Shaun, and I all had birthdays in June, and then Zach fell off a slide and broke his arm!  Unsurprisingly, we've been using this appliance an awful lot lately.

We knew almost upon moving in that this area would be a great kegerator spot.  We really could've used another closet, but what is better....more space to hold crap you forget about, or tap beer?  As I said in my post last July, PRIORITIES.  We still need to add trim under that cabinet, but for now the white paint on the toekick is a great disguise.  We got the kegerator from kegerator.com.  Very unique name, I know.  It was very exciting when it arrived!  I got a 15" base cabinet from Home Depot and promptly put it there to pretend like everything was done. 

Then I realized that I couldn't take on this project myself, mostly because I don't install stone counters, but also because our children are stage 5 clingers and I needed professional help.  I called a 'handyman' company I've used in the past, and they gave me a quote I could live with.  For $1000, we got the cabinet installed and preparation for counter, quartz countertop, counter installation, a new outlet, shelves hung, and all touch ups done. 

I am in love with the quartz!  The color is Wilsonart 'Haida' and it is very simple and pretty.  Marble-esque, but really just very soft and neutral white with black/gray veining.  I haven't decided if I will caulk the edges yet, for now it looks great.  I painted the cabinet with our Behr Ultra Pure White trim color, and got some fun hardware from Anthropologie. 

For the area above the counter, I opted for these 'Vigneto' shelves from Ballard.  The top shelf holds a lot of vintage steins from Shaun's grandpa, and fancy liquors we never drink. 

We ended up with this off-kilter arrangement because the stud was directly in the middle, and we couldn't put the bracket for the wine glass shelf in the middle due to the glass holders.  I was initially annoyed, but I think the rustic look of the shelves makes it look ok.  Since the bottom shelf is not in a stud on the right, we opted for a light picture frame and no glasswear on that side.  (I have no idea what to put there, so baby Zach in a towel after a bath is as good as anything - considering he is the reason I drink!)  I was most excited about the tap handle holder. 

We went to a local bar that had a similar pipe-inspired tap handle holder, and the idea really appealed to us.  I got this 18" pipe towel bar from Etsy, and then went about finding the right hooks to use for the handles.  It wasn't easy, the bar was thick and the threads to go into the handles had to be right.  I ended up finding a 'clothesline' hook at Ace that worked, but it was rather long.  I just sprayed them with Rustoleum 'Black Night Metallic' spray paint to match the galvanized pipe better. 

I really love the outcome, and we have room for a few more handles of beers we get often.  I hung the print we've had since Russet street in this area, I still love it and I'm glad it found a home.

The wine glass shelf is great, but we really don't use it for wine glasses.  Those live upstairs, because we drink wine on the couch in our living room.  Often. 

Being from Wisconsin, I'm a huge New Glarus fan.  My awesome brother got me this used tap handle and a pony keg of Spotted Cow for my birthday, and it was the perfect gift!  If you've never had Spotted Cow, go to Wisconsin (it's only sold there) or have a friend pick you up a pack.  So good!

Overall, I'm very happy we did this project, and it really has given us a lot of joy and fun while entertaining.  When people don't know we have it, and come down the stairs, it's amusing to see their eyes light up when they look behind them.  I feel it was well worth the $2400 we put into it.  And obviously, it could be done for much cheaper if you have the time and skills to do all the labor!

It's also totally awesome to pour myself a tiny beer whenever I like.  Let's be honest, some days are 'it's 5 o'clock somewhere' days.  Ok, most days are.  I can safely say I have at least 8 ounces of beer daily.  It is a small indulgence to look forward to!  

I hope this post has inspired you to create a little beer nook in your house!  Your friends will thank you.  I will thank you when I come over.  By the way, invite me over.  I need to talk to adults!

 Have a great weekend!