#granny josephine when I catch you

[maleficamenteio]

As a fellow believer of the "Sylus and MC being lab experiments as kids" theory this art broke my heart...

[randomabiling]

It’s been a billion years since I’ve written anything, especially a drabble, but this universe sort of popped into my head, with characters and headcanons all of a sudden and I had to put some of it down. Anyway, hopefully it isn’t too awful...for anyone that even follows me anymore. Under the cut for length.

December, 1991

The distinct musk of pine gently tickled her nose when Charlotte opened her bedroom door, the unnatural quiet of the house unsettling to her ears. It was rare to be up earlier than the staff, who started their day in the last inky clouds of night, well before the sun had a chance to shine its light through the windows. Tugging the tassels of her robe tightly around her waist, Charlotte gingerly placed her toes over the room’s threshold, testing the floorboards just outside her door. The responding groan seemed to reverberate through the chilled gallery and Charlotte cringed, shoulders tense under her ears, as she waited for the other bedroom doors to screech open, the entirety of her family catching her in the act. When the hallway remained still, Charlotte let go of the breath building up in her lungs and she fully exited her room, slipping the door shut behind her.

With her fingers lightly grazing the upstairs railing, Charlotte wandered to the stairs, carefully scuttering past the shuttered doors along the way. Mummy and Daddy, Granny and Grandpapa, Edward and Marie. Charlotte grinned to herself as she passed their room, remembering how high great Granny’s eyebrow had risen when Edward and his girlfriend had arrived for the Christmas holiday, suitcases hefted up the stairs before they retreated into his old bedroom, together. They all had waited for her to say something, an aside or a zinger that had the precision of a rapier to the gut, but she had remained silent, the twinkle in her eye negating the mock horror on her face. Charlotte wished to know the secrets of great Granny’s life, sure that there were many colorful tales waiting to be told.

The glow of a lamp left on in the foyer provided a hazy vision of her path as she advanced through the hallway. As lightly as she could, Charlotte tiptoed down the tread, quietly removing the velvet rope that blocked off the grand staircase from the Great Hall. Passing through the stanchions, Charlotte replaced the hook into its holder, restoring the rope and sequestering the rest of the house once again. Quickly she danced across the marble toward the twin oak doors of the library, pausing to twirl around in the pre-dawn peace. The towering fir tree, resplendent with its ornaments, filled the space with scent and beauty. The sprigs of pine and holly draped around the banister, the wreaths hanging over fireplaces, merrily decorated with pine cones and flouncy bows and silver bells, the poinsettias covering every table top, there was nothing like Downton dressed for Christmas. Charlotte took a deep breath, sucking it all in greedily, basking in the few hours when the Crawleys had their home to themselves. When there were no tourists in the house, no gawkers from around the world with their cameras and endless questions, when the house was silent and calm in the pre-dawn, Charlotte could almost imagine her ancestors elegantly lighting up the home, filling each corner with a different kind of life.

Remembering once again her intended destination, Charlotte hurried into the library. She immediately went to the fireplace and placed some logs in the hearth, lighting the wood and stoking the small flame until it roared to orange life. The room instantly filled with the heat of the growing fire and Charlotte rubbed her hands together before folding herself onto the sofa, tucking a throw blanket around her legs. From inside her robe she slowly pulled out the book she had been concealing, looking around to confirm her privacy, though no sound had indicated she had company.

Once she had the book out in the open and resting in her lap, Charlotte laid her palm on the fading leather, imagining the oily coating it would have had when it was first purchased, before it’s spine had been bent and broken over the years, before any dreams or heartaches had been etched into its soul. A tiny spark of guilt nudged at her, but she pushed that away and dived into the book. Charlotte had to stop herself from tearing through the pages she’d already consumed, her hunger to read more making her fingers twitch with need, for fear of damaging the fragile pages crinkling under her touch.

Wiggling back further into the crook of the sofa, Charlotte settled, a sigh of contentment escaping her lips as she brought her knees up and laid back into the downy pillows. She squinted, and absorbed the words in front of her, letters meticulously spaced and perfectly loopy, handwriting that seemed like the product of some heavenly being, not the frantic scribble that Charlotte was used to her own hand producing.

May 4, 1891

What a difference a day can make! I awoke yesterday in the early hours of the morning, shivering with pain and much anticipation and this morning I was awakened at the same time by the strong, supple sounds of my own darling baby girl. It would be too distasteful to go into all of the details here, suffice it to say laboring is a business I am glad to be done with for the time being. But oh the reward for all of that is so infinite in its sweetness. Dear Mary Josephine Crawley, our daughter. I already love her more than I think my heart is capable of. There is an actual ache, just below my breast bone, when I look upon her. I daren’t say anything to Robert about it for fear every doctor in York, Thursk and Ripon should be called. He is so devout in his worrying!

But truly, I almost cannot hold all of what I feel inside, I’m positive I’ll burst with it! I wonder if she can feel it, all of my love, as I hold her against my breast. Surely she must!

Robert is completely enamored with her and has assured me numerous times in the last twenty-four hours of his indifference to Mary’s gender. I know his placating to be true each time I see the look in his eyes as he gazes down on our little Mary. But still, Mama is none too pleased, and already there is hushed whispering of my fitness to carry another.

I won’t let such worrying spoil these first few memories I am making with my Mary. She has instantly become the most precious being in the world, my darling, darling little girl. I have a daughter! I am someone’s Mama! It is both terrifying and right and I am so completely and utterly happy at this moment in time, I wish to hold it in my heart forever.

“Are you crying?”

The words shook her back into the present and Charlotte leapt in her skin, her breath all tangled in a ball of fear lodged in her chest. When she looked up to see her Granny, she let out a long and quivering exhale. With her hand on her chest, Charlotte could feel the skittering drumbeat of her heart and only once it slowed to its normal pace did she realize her cheeks were wet. She remembered the diary when Granny came closer, lowering herself onto the sofa. Trying to cover it by splaying her hands over the leather, she only stoked her granny’s interest, the older woman feigning casualness as she nodded toward Charlotte’s lap.

“What has you so engrossed these wee hours of the morning? Trigonometry?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes and blew at the bangs falling out from the ponytail holding her hair.

“No…” she replied vaguely, stalling until a plan sprung up in her head on what to do with the diary.

While she wasn’t necessarily sure she’d be in trouble for taking it, neither did she think anyone would be happy. Granny held out her hand patiently, and looked at her passively. Acting like a girl of nine caught with too many biscuits and not an almost grown woman of seventeen, Charlotte handed her snatched booty over, her face growing uncomfortably flush. Through lowered lids Charlotte watched Granny cautiously turn the book over, as though even before its contents were revealed she somehow intuited its specialness. Despite the gnawing anxiety building in her stomach, she couldn’t help but look over Granny’s shoulder as she opened the cover of the book. The sharp intake of breath after she read only a few lines told Charlotte Granny recognized who’s diary she had discovered.

“Where did you find this?” Granny whispered.

Charlotte cleared her throat and twisted the ties of her robe up round in her fingers. “In the attic. I wasn’t looking for it! Sarah and I were just fooling around. We were bored and there were loads of people in the house and no way to sneak by them outside and so we went up there and I found it and well I started reading and…”.

Charlotte’s voice faded and she grimaced as her grandmother blinked rapidly. She waited for a scolding from the older woman but only felt the firm squeeze of Granny’s hand on her knee.

“So you never answered my question. Why were you crying?” Granny prodded encouragingly.

Charlotte snatched the blanket around her legs and tucked it into her chest, nervous excitement energizing her. It felt good to speak about her secret snooping. And she had so many questions for Granny!

“I just got to the part where Granny Cora has great Granny Mary! And it was so beautiful, how happy she was. Especially after everything she’d gone through with grandpapa Robert!” Charlotte gushed.

Granny snorted in astonished confusion. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte gripped her grandmother’s hand. “He didn’t love her in the beginning you know.”

Granny shook her head. “I don’t think I believe that.”

Charlotte shook her head emphatically. “No it’s true. He didn’t.”

Granny waved her hand. “I know the school of thought on that, but I’m telling you, as someone who knew them from the time I was ten years old, there is no way I will ever believe that Donk wasn’t always mad for Granny.”

Charlotte leaned closer, licking her lips. “Tell me about them. Tell me about her. You all talk about grandpapa Robert all of the time it seems, but never Granny Cora. Great Granny especially doesn’t. Why?”

Granny sat back, studying Charlotte kindly, a sad little frown forming creasing her mouth. “That is strange, I’ve never noticed. Perhaps because after she died, we didn’t want to upset Donk.”

“Didn’t he want to remember her?” Charlotte asked.

“Oh darling,” Granny crooned. “I think she was the only thing he ever thought about once she passed. You could see it. He’d be staring off and one of us would speak to him and he’d have to shake himself back into the present, as though he had been on a journey far away. It just hurt him too much.”

“That’s so sad,” Charlotte whispered.

“I think we were all so conditioned that after we lost Donk, we still didn’t speak about Granny Cora. Which is a shame because she was kind and loving and she filled the house with joy.”

Granny sighed, smiling at memories hidden and foreign to Charlotte. Charlotte wrapped her arm around the woman and Granny returned the embrace. They sat together, watching the fire, both stuck in their own thoughts.

“Great Granny is angry with me, isn’t she?” Charlotte asked finally.

Granny chuckled. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

“Granny!” Charlotte moaned.

“She doesn’t always articulate very well,” Granny explained. “She cannot understand why you would want to go to school in America when there are very good schools here.”

“It’s Harvard!” Charlotte exclaimed. “You aren’t against me too, are you?”

“Never,” Granny said warmly, stroking Charlotte’s cheek. “And neither is Mary. She’s just, well, she’s going to be one-hundred next year-”.

“I’ll still be here for that!” Charlotte promised.

“And what a celebration it will be!” Granny exclaimed.

Charlotte laughed. “Great Granny won’t want a fuss.”

“That’s what she’ll lead us to believe,” Granny said with a grin. “But she’ll secretly expect something as grand as a Diamond Jubilee.”

Granny, pleased with her own joke, clapped her hands together merrily before bracing the sofa and pushing herself up. She turned back to Charlotte, looking down on her granddaughter with such warm affection, Charlotte felt it fill her up inside. How she adored the woman before her!

“You’re kind of like her, you know.” Charlotte said quietly.

Granny’s nose scrunched up, her lips in a pout. “Like Mary?!”

Charlotte let out a snort. “No! And by the look on your face, I’m guessing it wouldn’t have been a compliment if I did mean her.”

Granny shrugged. “She and I are...different. And really, does anyone get on with their mother in law?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Charlotte quipped. “No, I meant Granny Cora.”

Granny’s features softened. “How so, darling?”

Charlotte looked down at the book she still held in her lap. “Well, she was an outsider and so were you, being the daughter of Donk’s lawyer. And you’re the kindest person I know, and you said that about her, so…”.

Granny blushed, reached down and brushed a stray hair off of Charlotte’s forehead. When she spoke, her voice was tight with emotion. “I take that all as the most precious of compliments. Don’t stay up too late.”

With those words, Granny left Charlotte in the library, her satiny robe swishing against the floor as her graceful figure disappeared behind the door. Charlotte’s eyes lingered a moment across the room, and then she flicked her attention back to the diary, settling back into her spot and opening where she had left off.

May 10, 1891….

[babelovesjosephine]

The bus was going to King Cool Mountain, Scrappy was just pleased he was sitting up the back seat, not like that Pit Bull on the bus going the opposite way he seen sitting right up the front in the old ladies seat. He knew where it would stop, he always got off the 591 at the Forum, he had to, in the hope he’d catch Piddy at the urinal instead of Asian and Autistic Australian children sedated by Ketamine, what a embarrassing mess, but he had to save his food up for Piddy but he was always going the opposite direction when he arrived, Scrappy was worried, a Mall full of sick infants and left sitting up the front on the Granny’s seat - he needed Chicken Liver.

Beatrice seen him get off the bus, ‘poor Dog’ she thought, and all for the love of Chicken Liver, it was driving her mad also and these damned Poodles strutting their stuff at the ‘Mall’ was making her nauseous. She told Apples they should try again, things were good now but with the anticipation of those dogs connecting and the parties they would put on it would be a bummer if it didn't happen. If one more Poodle made some comment about what her neighbors really wanted in a women, yes a women - not a Poodle, she would end it her self, probably by driving the bus alone, no one told her what Piddy and Scrappy wanted in a women, she went way back with them, further back than a Poodle walks back at the site of Chicken Liver. “May I please have a Pound of Chicken Liver?” “Darling, one should know a young women would dress her self appropriately at the mall noting the attire would seduce a real dog - if one were ‘up for it.’  Then her eyes clawed through her loose Tee Shirt and Adidas track pants she pretended not to notice the latest female Nike’s and her shirt was her own label, “WW”, that’s what made it so stupid -  she was no Poodle she dressed for it when she wanted it and this Poodle she could easily take behind the cow shed and shoot her self...

Piddy wasn’t happy, he knew Scrappy seen him in the old ladies seat, this was nothing but embarrassing and that bloody Jack Russell wagging his tail with his tongue hanging out wanting more of it made him sick, then ‘wack’ another one got it, he ripped his throat out before he made it fully onto the bus - he was looking for the 591 but he found a hearse. He was done, he was going home, he can’t keep up with a Jack Russell they’re built for it, every one thought Pit Bulls are the ultimate dog for blood sports but it’s Jack Russell’s... lie down be a good Puppy Dog roll over and as fast as lighting - loose your nose. Piddy couldn’t compete with that, he had to go for the throat and he was SICK of the taste of blood, tears welled in his eyes, why a nice old Pit Bull like me, ‘I want nothing to do with it’ all for Chicken Liver and we have to share it - whack, can’t stand the taste of it, it’s making me sick, and why Australia yeah we’re the dogs but they knew what that meant and none of them can use the toilet, the worst are old virgins and their Mothers hate them also terrified of tools and no Penis AND Scrappy feels sorry for them! Almighty God’s Pit Bull started howling between savage killings tears running down his nose, ‘bloody Jack Russell’s losing his scent.’

Daffy was furious how dare they treat Mother Worship like that, she had been told to be always nice but it wasn’t easy, in most cases if nice didn’t work ‘smile nod your head, admit the necessities of their five cents worth and dismiss them.’ She laughed she knew what the Chicken was going to get when Beatrice got home, Josephine was looking for Chicken Liver too Daffy never followed Beatrice around but they knew each other well and she knew well enough Mother Worship would need some seasoning for her Fried Chicken. “May I please have some Natures Gift dog biscuits?” “We’re sharing today Daffy.” Josephine smiled, even easier she thought, “may you please share some Nature Gift dog biscuits and please call me Josephine.” The Poodle snarled a little and got a head ache and said while cross eyed examining her board shorts and loose singlet “your boxing out fit’s only fit for dogs, some biscuits would suit it....” Daffy drew her breath, this is some stupid shit that’s for real, the days of shorts for males was well over and both the Singlet and Shorts were labels straight off the runway this season, how ridiculous, but if Mother could handle it she too could. Daffy was quick with the biscuits even thanked the Poodle for sharing, she waited at the bus stop with biscuits leaving them in the shade. “Here he comes, look at him!” she told Bambino Blow, Scrappy was in full flight with a empty bladder and 4 Chicken Halves for dinner - with a Coles attendant following carrying Southern Spices mixes. Daffy was handed the Spices and dialed ‘Mother Worship’ on her phone while Scrappy ate his biscuits...

Finally it was over, Scrappy was at the bus stop - on time now instead of 10 minutes early, plastic dog bowl in his mouth and salivating at the thought.  The Maker OF ALL FOOD had played The Maker OF ALL FOOD’s song Billy Idol singing LA Woman so he was off..... The King Cool Mountain awaited and these Precious and Exquisite women needed their nice little ways and that Pit Bull... he was lost for words, it was ether to the vet or Chicken Liver and he too needed to share the latter so he entered the bus wagging his tail. He was gob smacked, on the back seat sat a great Pit Bull a different colored plastic dog bowl in his mouth tail pounding against the seat, salivating at what was to come. “Hey Big Fella, help me up there I’ve put on some Pounds.” “Scappy I’ve gotta give it to you, you know your way around a good Scrap, but please you’ve gotta know, the Granny Seat, it was for you, I was keeping the Pedo’s off your bus - so embarrassing”. Piddy put his bowl down and licked his lips a little, his head a little low... “Well woof woof, I had no idea, I was so worried, thought you looked a bit ridiculous knew there would be something in it though, thanks for all the killings though saved my carnivores a job.” “If I have to sit in a Granny seat again I’ll give you my Chicken Liver for a month.”   

[stone-man-warrior]

September 24, 2018: 7:16 pm:

September 24, 2018: 6:45 pm:<br><br>I was attacked again today by a group of ... StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-09-24T22:16:24-0400 - Updated: 2018-09-24T22:16:24-0400

September 24, 2018: 6:45 pm: I was attacked again today by a group of terrorists while I was cutting some firewood from the downed trees that Wrights Tree Service Pacific Power Corporation Special Assassins cut down a week or so ago. The people that attacked me attempted to put a rope around me and drag me with an automobile. The attackers include a man from the Oregon Forestry department by the name of Bill Walen, Sandy Monroe of 434 "MyStreet" who was the driver of the vehicle that did the dragging of a human being, someone by the name of Ben associated with L'il Pantry Markets, and others unknown. One of the others may have been Scott Lyter of 329 "MyStreet" and he is associated with Jim Segal Automotive Center on 7th Street in Grants Pass. The one I believe to be Mr Lyter was killed in the attempt. The one I believe to be Ben was dragged with a vehicle while tied to a rope or cable by Sandy Monroe, who was driving a Suzuki Samurai, presumably by mistake since they are both associated with L'il Pantry Markets. The man from Oregon Forestry was also killed in the attempt, he did not speak English. There were others involved and they brought with them at least one African Lion. I don't know if the Lion was killed for sure, but I think it was killed. As far as the actual identity of these people goes, all I know for sure is that I know what Sandy Monroe looks like and the dragging happened through the woods and then onto the road at her home. If it was Scott Lyter, I would recognize him except these people all wear disguises, so th enotion of Mr. Lyter's involvement is a result of listening rather than seeing. There was a lot of Nitrous Oxide in the air today, my saw was running way faster than normal at the time of the attack, which was planned around a fake complaint about my chainsaw use today. The forestry worker was here to advise me not to use my saw. The man, Mr. Walen, approached me and demanded that I give him my keys, then explained that I had stolen Ben's truck and he was there to take it back. Mr. Walen was killed in the attack on me and my home today. Tomorrow I will have to deal with other Oregon Forestry Department workers because of Bill's stupidity. There could also be trouble from Jim Segal Automotive center if it indeed was Scott Lyter who died on the driveway at my house today. There is no law enforcement to help. These are terrorists who kill Americans. The details I explained above is a typical scenario that takes place when Americans are killed at their homes by these kinds of terrorists. Someone comes to the house about something, today it was a State of Oregon Forestry worker called on a complaint about chainsaw use. It's bullshit. They show up to kill. While the bullshit forestry worker is there and exposing me, or other Americans, to the Nitrous Oxide/Versed gas, there are other terrorists sneaking up from behind and still others using the breeze direction to expose the victim to more airborne poison gas. They all work together with secret communication between them. Eventually someone was supposed to out a rope around me and then yell "Hit-it!" like water skiers do, then the vehicle takes off with the victim tied to the rope or cable. Sometimes they bring movie cameras and film the snuff movie for profit. There is more to say about today's attack if only there was someone who would help. No one will help. This is a true account of a real attack on an American Citizen by a group of terrorists. This kind of attack is happening all over the state of Oregon every day and no one will help. Please send help.

Shared with: Public

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-09-24T23:51:03-0400 - Updated: 2018-09-25T00:11:21-0400

September 24. 2018 8:28 pm: With everything that happened today I forgot about what happened last night. Last night, I was attacked by two men. One of the men was wearing a Gumby costume, the other man was wearing a Sheriff uniform. First, the Gumby came to my front door and was waiting there when I went outside. Gumby was injured badly as a result, and turned out to be a man with white hair and a big, thick white beard. There are two men that I know of that fit that description, one is Richard Taylor, and the other is Mr. Myers of 560 "MyStreet", I do not know his first name, nor do I know that his last name is Myers, what I do know is that He lives at the Myers Family Seventh Day Adventist terrorist cell. After the Gumby ran away into the woods towards creek between my house and the Strongs, another man dressed in Sheriff uniform came to the door and was there when I opened the door again, just the same as with the Gumby. The man in the Sheriff uniform could very possibly have been fake Sheriff Dave Daniels of Josephine County Oregon. The man in the Sheriff uniform asked me where the Gumby suit was. I thought he was saying someones name, like Granny Sue and told him he was at the wrong house and to go to the heroin dealers house at 601, there is someone named Sue over there. There was a fight and the man in the Sheriff uniform also ran into the woods injured. Both of these men came to my home through the woods rather than down the driveway like normal people do. They came from the Strong Screen Actor Guild terrorist family cell at 3747 Russel road and through the creek and wooded area in between my house and the Strong terrorist cell. I remember seeing the blue color of the Gumby through the trees in that direction earlier in the day. This is not the first time I have encountered a man in a Gumby suit. I am talking about a seven foot tall Gumby here, wit a terrorist inside ready to kill whoever he has targeted. Years ago when my children still lived at home and were going to the nearby schools, they told me about the giant Gumby that had attacked them on the way home from the bus stop. There was a Poky back then too, and there may have been a Person in a Poky suit last night but I don't remember seeing the terrorist in the Poky suit last night. I should have killed the Giant Gumby and Poky years ago when they attacked my children. It does not surprize me at all that the second man was wearing a Sheriff uniform and could have very well actually been the real fake Sheriff Daniels. If so, then Gumby came to kill me after running around and possibly hurting or killing someone earlier in the day. Then, the Gumby, if my thinking is correct, came to my house to kill me then put me in the Gumby suit. That way, the Sheriff would show up later and find me in the Gumby suit after having hurt someone. That is a typical scenario in Socio-Terrific Dystopian Oregon where the terrorists thrive with impunity. This morning Francis Taylor was lurking around and she may have been in my house. I vaguely remember that there was someone wearing a red shirt inside my house. There is so much Nitrous Oxide mixed with Versed airborne poison gas being blown around during these attacks that it is a wonder that I can recall my own name. Francis Taylor of 600 "MyStreet" is the first terrorist I encountered after moving to Oregon twenty-two years ago. I just thought she was a nosy neighbor for the first five years because I would catch her and her husband in my yard so often. They would tell me that they have a right to be there because they were in the easement. Please send help before this happens to you or your family.