#was wearing a Penny Lane coat when I had this thought

[lvrrgirlll]

Was thinking earlier about actually-successful-tennis-player!Patrick x famous-socialite/occasional-model!reader

Like in a 60s/70s rockstar and their slay diva gf way…like George Harrison and Pattie Boyd or something lol

[mab1905]

More Fitzjames content? Yeah... here’s a playlist for ya’ll...

These are songs which I think describe him at different points in his character developement or simply different aspects of his personality. Somewhat James/Crozier (Fitzier) but all about James.

(25 songs, 1 hour 33 min)

Song List + Most Character-Relevant Lyrics:

Fancy — Orville Peck

We didn't have money for food or rent / To say the least, we was hard pressed / Then Mama spent every last penny we had / To buy me a dancin' dress / Mama washed and combed and curled my hair / And she painted my eyes and lips / Stepped into a satin dancin' dress / That had a slit in the side clean up to my hips / It was red velvet trim, and it fit me good / Starin' back from the lookin' glass / There stood a woman where a half-gown boy had stood / ... / It sounded like somebody else that was talkin' / Askin', "Mama, what do I do?" / She said, "Just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy / They'll be nice to you" / "Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down / Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down / Lord, forgive me for what I do / But if you want out, well, it's up to you / Now don't let me down now / Your mama's gonna move you uptown"

gold rush — Taylor Swift

What must it be like / To grow up that beautiful? / With your hair falling into place like dominos / ... / At dinner parties / I call you out on your contrarian shit / And the coastal town / We wandered 'round had never / Seen a love as pure as it / And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea / 'Cause you know it could never be

The Name Of The Game — ABBA

Your smile, and the sound of your voice / And the way you see through me / Got a feeling, you give me no choice / But it means a lot to me / So I wanna know / What's the name of the game?

Spectrum — Florence + The Machine

And when we come for you / We'll be dressed up all in blue / With the ocean in our arms / Kiss your eyes and kiss your palms / And when it's time to pray / We'll be dressed up all in grey / With metal on our tongues / And silver in our lungs / ... / And when we come back we'll be dressed in black / And you'll scream my name aloud / And we won't eat and we won't sleep / We'll drag bodies from the ground / So say my name / And every colour illuminates / And we are shining / And we'll never be afraid again

Dreamy Bruises — Sylvan Esso

How can we question / What we knows feels right / Black eyes turn to marigolds / In the morning light / Ohweeohweeoh kids move so slow / Shaken all over like some dogs at the pool / Ohweeohweeoh kids move so slow / They’re kicken all the records over acting like they hanging water / Ohweeohweeoh kids move so slow / Down in the basement where the sun don't show / Ohweeohweeoh kids movie so slow / Naked dollars wonder piles dreamy bruises rotten lovers / And they say I want you / To bend me back in two / To make me sing your tune / To make those words so smooth / Fill me like a song do

Wolf — Sylvan Esso

But no birds nor beast does he eat / He only wants the tenderest meat / And oh the sounds he makes them speak / Under all different patterns of sheets / ... / The modern wolf, the modern wolf / Drippin' in all the lives that he took / He'll go on home, try to wash them off / But when he shaves, he hears them call

Francis Forever — Mitski

On sunny days I go out walking / I end up on a tree-lined street / I look up at the gaps of sunlight / I miss you more than anything / I don't need the world to see / That I've been the best I can be, but / I don't think I could stand to be / Where you don't see me / And autumn comes when you're not yet done / With the summer passing by, but / I don't think I could stand to be / Where you don't see me

James — MGMT

James / If you need a friend / Come right over / Don't even knock / And I'll be home / The door is always open / And we both can say, "Who's laughing now?" / Oh, James / My little doll / You just go outside and you call / Oh, James / Oh, you're never too far off / If your fire's out / There's no need to shout / I'm always home / And walk on in / I'll make you tea and breakfast / And we both can say, "Who's laughing now?"

South London Forever — Florence + The Machine

I drive past the place that I was born / And the places that I used to drink / Young and drunk and stumbling in the street / Outside the Joiners Arm's like foals unsteady on their feet / With the art students and the boys in bands / High on E and holding hands with someone that I just met / I thought it doesn't get / Better than this / There can be nothing better than this / Better than this / And we climbed onto the roof, the museum / And someone made love in the glass / And I'd forgot my name / And the way back to my mother's house / With your black cool eyes and your bitten lips / The world is at your fingertips / It doesn't get better than this / What else could be better than this? / Oh, don't you know I have seen / I have seen the fields aflame / And everything I ever did / Was just another way to scream your name

Oh! You Pretty things — David Bowie

I think about a world to come / Where the books were found by the Golden ones / Written in pain, written in awe / By a puzzled man who questioned / What we work here for / All the strangers came today / And it looks as though they're here to stay / Oh You Pretty Things (Oh You Pretty Things) / Don't you know you're driving your / Mamas and Papas insane / Oh You Pretty Things (Oh You Pretty Things) / Don't you know you're driving your / Mamas and Papas insane / Let me make it plain / You gotta make way for the Homo Superior

Venus As A Boy — Björk

His wicked sense of humor / Suggests exciting sex / His fingers they focus on her and touches / He's Venus as a boy / ... / All across your lips, oh, then until / Well be that it's a little now, until / He believes in a beauty / He's Venus as a boy / He believes in a beauty and gentle

Winds Change — Orville Peck

Had a lover but I lost my patience / Gonna get a song on a radio station / Got a fire but you just can't use it / I don't mean no lies, baby, please don't lose it / Lost my way on the other side / I know why, I don't know when / From the way that we said goodbye / I knew I'd never see you again / Left my mind in the Salt Lake City / Met a lot of men who would call me pretty / Pack of reds, watch the days get colder / Don't it make you cry, how we're getting older?

Fluorescent Adolescent — Arctic Monkeys

Oh the boy's a slag / The best you ever had / The best you ever had is just a memory / And those dreams weren't as daft as they seem / Not as daft as they seem / My love, when you dream them up... / Flicking through a little book of sex tips / Remember when the boys were all electric? / Now when she's told she's gonna get it / I'm guessing that she'd rather just forget it / Clinging to not getting sentimental / Said she wasn't going but she went still / Likes her gentlemen not to be gentle / Was it a Mecca dauber or a betting pencil? / Oh the boy's a slag / The best you ever had / The best you ever had is just a memory / And those dreams weren't as daft as they seem / Not as daft as they seem / My love, when you dream them up / Falling about / You took a left off Last Laugh Lane / Just sounding it out / But you're not coming back again.

Cheerleader — St. Vincent

I've had good times / With some bad guys / I've told whole lies / With a half smile / Held your bare bones / With my clothes on / I've thrown rocks / Then hid both my arms / I've played dumb / When I knew better / Tried so hard / Just to be clever / I know honest thieves / I call family / I've seen America / With no clothes on / I don't know what I deserve / But for you I could work / Cause I don’t want to be a cheerleader no more

Queen Bitch — David Bowie

She's so swishy in her satin and tat / In her frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat / Oh God, I could do better than that / Oh, yeah / She's an old-time ambassador / Of sweet talking, night walking games / Oh and she's known in the darkest clubs / For pushing ahead of the dames / If she says she can do it / Then she can do it, she don't make false claims / But she's a queen and such a queen / Such a laughter is sucked in their brains / Now she's leading him on / And she'll lay him right down / Yes, she's leading him on / And she'll lay him right down / But it could have been me / Yes, it could have been me

Boys Keep Swinging — David Bowie

Heaven loves ya / The clouds part for ya / Nothing stands in your way / When you're a boy / Clothes always fit ya / Life is a pop of the cherry / When you're a boy / When you're a boy / You can wear a uniform / When you're a boy / Other boys check you out / You get a girl / These are your favorite things / When you're a boy / Boys / Boys / Boys keep swinging

Caterpillars (Of The Common Wealth) — Will Connolly

You know you'll always be my valentine / Now swear to god that you will never tell / They're streaming every indiscretion live / For caterpillars of the commonwealth / Gotta go / You can stay / Make yourself at home / Gotta go / This campaign / Don't run itself you know / You've got potential little parasite / I tie your hands so i can wish you well / Cuz i'm a gentleman and you are like / A caterpillar of the commonwealth / Gotta go / I said no / You need to know your role / Gotta go / I said no / It's all under control

Imposters (Little By Little) — The Fratellis

You wear your mask, I'll wear mine / They don't come cheap, but they fit just fine / You can be her and I can be him / We can both sink when the rest all swim / ... / We can pretend that our fates were entwined / A beautiful lie is the beautiful kind / Everybody knows that the sun still sets / And everybody gives and everybody gets / ... / I could be the one that you just can't shake / Till you swear that your eyes go blind / We can disappear till the sun burns a hole / In the life that we left behind

Sweet Painted Lady — Elton John

I'm back on dry land once again / Opportunity awaits me like a rat in the drain / We're all hunting honey with money to burn / Just a short time to show you the tricks that we've learned / If the boys all behave themselves here / Well, there's pretty young ladies and beer in the rear / ... / Forget us we'll have gone very soon / Just forget we ever slept in your rooms / And we'll leave the smell of the sea in your beds / Where love's just a job and nothing is said

Super Trouper — ABBA

Super trouper beams are gonna blind me / But I won't feel blue / Like I always do / 'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you / ... / So I'll be there when you arrive / The sight of you will prove to me I'm still alive / And when you take me in your arms / And hold me tight / I know it's gonna mean so much tonight

Babooshka — Kate Bush

She sent him scented letters / And he received them with a strange delight / Just like / His wife / But how she was before the tears / And how she was before the years flew by / And how she was when she was beautiful / She signed the letter / All yours...

Paris is Burning — St. Vincent

I write to give word the war is over / Send my cinders home to mother / They gave me a medal for my valor / Leaden trumpets spit the soot of power / They say, "I'm on your side / "When nobody is, 'cause nobody is / "Come sit right here and sleep / "While I slip poison in your ear" / We are waiting on a telegram / To give us news of the fall / I am sorry to report / Dear Paris is burning after all

Dream of Sheep — Kate Bush

Oh I'll wake up to any sound of engines / Every gull a seeking craft / I can't keep my eyes open / Wish I had my radio / I'd tune into some friendly voices / Talking 'bout stupid things / I can't be left to my imagination / Let me be weak, let me sleep and dream of sheep / Ooh, their breath is warm / And they smell like sleep / And they say they take me home / Like poppies, heavy with seed / They take me deeper and deeper

Hunger — Florence + The Machine

At seventeen, I started to starve myself / I thought that love was a kind of emptiness / And at least I understood then, the hunger I felt / And I didn't have to call it loneliness / ... / Tell me what you need, oh, you look so free / The way you use your body, baby, come on and work it for me / Don't let it get you down, you're the best thing I've seen / We never found the answer but we knew one thing / ... / And it's Friday night and it's kicking in / In that pink dress, they're gonna crucify me / Oh, and you in all your vibrant youth / How could anything bad ever happen to you? / You make a fool of death with your beauty, and for a moment / I forget to worry

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Four; Acquaintances.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: Nothing much to trigger in this chapter - just as the title suggests, a swooning moment or two perhaps-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

The sky remained hard. Resolutely letting snow sift from the thick great heavens, like icing sugar drifting down. The ground also continued to be frosty hard and scattered with patches of hidden silvery ice.

 No sooner than the sun had risen over the tumbling flat frosty vista of Hampshire hills and frost crusted meadows, than Iris is up, and going about her daily chores all in the life of a gently bred - yet unwed- daughter, of fairly considerable means.

 She takes food parcels to the poor. Calls on sick relatives or companions for tea. Pays calls. Fetched supplies for cook from the butchers or the grocers, or the fishmongers in town.

 When one of the maids is ill, or is suffering a passing heartbreak until the next suitor comes along, Iris is the one to step into the void and fulfil their tasks. She collects the eggs from the chickens at the farm, or makes the ailing girl a hot milk posset or a cup of hot chocolate to cheer them.

 It seemed like every other week their maids, Meg and Julia, seemed to go getting their hearts broken. Some farm hand. Or the boy from the butchers shop. The milliners son, or the strong handsome one who works in the drapers shop. As ever; Iris steps into the fray when - another - devastating crisis comes their way. She helps cook in the kitchen with supper. Or she helps out with idle cleaning around the house. Or see’s to the chores on the farm.

 This morning is no different. Meg took to her bed with an ailing heart of the most acute kind. For the boy she fancies had become engaged to another girl. Iris brings her a cup of chocolate after breakfast and lends her a handkerchief and a shoulder so she can have a good long cry about it.

 So household tasks fall onto her today. Fetching in what cook needed from market for supper. Even though she’d have liked to have spent a morning reading her book, or helping Julia get on top of the household washing. She’s wanted to take down the parlour curtains and give them a good scrub, for weeks now.

 Or today she had ideally wanted to lend Flora and Posy a hand in drying some flowers, and french lavender and roses. For perfumes and bathing oils. They had to use their home grown stock from the gardens carefully. It was a long winter. And the convenience of summer blooms are far off yet. Dried flowers cost a pretty penny up the market.

 Her duties are endless. She’s got calls to pay. Off to the butchers to buy sweet meats and game for the jugged hare cook is making tonight. She needs to buy beeswax candles and salt, and some more soaps.

 And Posy and Flora are allowed to purchase two new ribbons each. They’ll walk into the village with her. No doubt nattering all the way there about what colours they want. And all the way back that they should’ve chosen different ones.

 Iris steps outside in her wintry best and her cracked leather boots. Two pairs of wool stockings this time. Her navy blue wool pelisse over a thick white cotton dress. For good measure, she puts a bonnet on to keep her ears warm, and wraps a gold embroidered shawl around her shoulders.

 Posy and Flora are trussed up as if they’re off to go personally meet the Prince Regent. Flora is in her gold pelisse with her pink dress under. And Posy had her powder blue coat over her mint green dress. They’re both wearing bonnets that they made up themselves. Their hats staggering under the weight of ribbons and cloth and trims and flounces.

 Iris’s was far simpler - No fuss. No trims. A gold straw bonnet with grey ribbon tied under her chin.

 Iris has to chide Posy, when they step out of doors, for forgetting to wear her gloves. She insists she hasn’t a decent pair and slips back into the house to go up to Iris’s room to conveniently borrow her grey rabbit fur lined gloves. Making her elder sister roll her eyes. The plot was clear.

 They had a heavy basket each to carry. Some old granary loaves, soused herring, and some jars of Jam from their kitchens to go to the poor. They’re not even at the end of the drive and Flora is whinging about the weight of her basket. Iris heaves a sigh and grabs it off her.

 She trudges behind them. Both arms carrying heavy baskets.

 Her and Posy link arms, giggling, walking along merrily, animated and discussing last nights ball. Or, more accurately; making sport of the people who’d attended.

 “Did you see that awful Lavender gown Jane Penwell had on?”

 “I thought it suited her very ill indeed.”

 “And did you hear about Lawrence Fisher? Apparently he’s now to be courting Lucy Miller.”

 “I cannot stand her. Last night she was so boastful about the lace trim on her dress. She’s vile. And I haven’t had any new lace on my dress for over a year! Not since last summer. I’m sure she does it deliberately, just to vex me.”

 “You are far prettier than Lucy Miller. She has ten million freckles and no conversation at all. She’s a pale ugly little thing.” Posy’s insisting fiercely to her younger sister.

 Iris is amused by the sheer frailty of their worries.

 “And besides, Mama said she had a letter from Mrs Thornby today, and apparently Lord Ren and Iris were the talk of the ball all night, last eve.” Flora says cheekily.

 Turning over her shoulder to scrutinise her sister with a smug grin that flashes her straight little row of teeth.

 Iris rolled her eyes. Strongly suspecting that as of now, her and Lord Ren would be gossiped about in front parlours for weeks. This was a sleepy country village with little amusement and not much variety to sustain it.

 Mama’s and girls of the Ton would fall on the new shred of tittle-tattle like wolves.

 “He left the ball last night without talking to any other girl, mama said.” Posy explains.

 “The poor man probably didn’t have time enough to get through all the desperate Hampshire girls, eagerly throwing themselves at him to make an acquaintance.” Iris thinks aloud.

 They walk up Westwell’s frosted drive and out onto the snowy lanes that cut through quaint countryside and woods.

 The golden sun is in its early rising, striping ribbons of thick satin gold through the trees. The ruddy browns and ash greys and ochre coppery rusts of the Turner-esque English countryside. Of fields and hedgerows and treetops. The grass is no longer green. It’s a musty white. And that same cloying powder clings onto the dead taupe leaves and branches of every tree. The air is bitter to breathe in.

 Iris takes a deep lungful of it, and its like a chest full of sharp pins. Needling at her lips and her neck. She should’ve thought to employ a wool scarf. As it is she can only tuck her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Tucking the heavy baskets into to dig deeper into her elbows. The frost numbs her feet, and sneaks up her skirts and snatched cruelly at her legs.

 She clenched her numb fingers, scrunching and unscrunching them up in her much too thin gloves.

 Posy and Flora continue their giggling and swapping tidbits of gossip about Lord Ren.

 “You know he didn’t even dance with anyone!”

 “A great sin, I’m sure. Punishable by death.” Iris thinks to herself under her breath.

 “He probably didn’t have time-“ Posy remarks.

 “Or he doesn’t know how.” Flora supposed.

 “A man that lofty, of course he can dance. Maybe he prefers not too.”

 “Maybe he has a false leg, or, or a war wound!”

 Iris rather wishes her ears were purely ornamental by this point.

 Give me a pair of vestigial ears anytime you wish. She idly prays. Turning her eyes skywards.

 “Maybe he’s shy-“ Flora squeaks. Posy clasps her hand over her mouth and laughs so loudly it startles the chaffinches out the trees.

 “I don’t think he can afford to blend into the wallpaper with a stature like that.” Flora grins.

 “His shoulders were twice the width of me.” Posy says dreamily.

 “Did he have soft lips Iris? For you must’ve felt them through your gloves... Were they heavenly?” Flora demands to know. Both sisters walking in step alongside her now.

 She side eyes them. “That is not a proper thing to discuss. And well you know it Flora Jane Ashton.” Iris insists. Concealing her secrets to herself.

 She wasn’t telling her sisters how her whole body burst into shivers popping and skipping up her spine. How his touch made her skin feel like it was dancing of its own accord. Free from her body. She shivered yet she was blushing hot.

 His lips were the softest, sweetest things that had ever come into contact with her body.

 Her whole arm felt dizzy afterwards. It wasn’t possible. But that’s how it felt. Hours after she was still rubbing the patch where his lips had lain on her satin gloves.

 When she got home after the ball, she peeled her glove off and looked at her hand.

 It still looked ordinary. Her skin wasn’t red or marked - but it felt like it should be. It felt as if something utterly astounding had happened to her.

 The memory of his eyes gazing their arrow-striking glare into her own haunted her head all night long. Swam behind her closed eyelids in her sleep. Those opulent piercing eyes.

 “We won’t tell a soul.” Posy promises

 “Oh, look. Here is the Barton’s cottage. Flora pass me the ointment for Mr Barton.” Iris demands.

 Seeing the little boxy cottage coming into view. Roof thick with iced thatch. Walls butter yellow. With fat pink sickly rose vines creeping up the walls. Iris sees the chimney is smoking. They must be home keeping warm on this frigid morning. Acrid woodsmoke from the house drifts across the woods.

 They deliver the ointment into Mrs Barton’s hand. Along with some jam, a loaf, and pickled goods to see them through the wintry cold week. They were a frail elderly couple after all. And Iris likes helping people. She always had. Her mother always insisted she’d been cursed with an unshakable vein of kindness.

 Which often meant as a child she was forever taking in birds wounded falling out their nests in the gardens. Leaving carrots out for the wild rabbits. Seeds for the birds. Feed for the little monk-jack deers. She shared all her dolls as a girl. Forever saw to caring for the people and creatures which surround her. She visits the infirm with medicine. Reads to the lonely old matrons who’d lost all the grandchildren of their own.

 Now she’s grown that inclination hasn’t left her. She likes making sure none of the infirm elderly, or the more impoverished friends of her acquaintance suffer through the bitter cold climes. They never have to struggle alone. Iris is a balm to the hurting. She gives what she can. And is a friend to everyone kind enough to recognise it.

 Before long, the trio of ladies dispense their generosity upon those who need it. Giving what sustenance and leftovers they can spare. It’s not much really- when all is said and done. But it’s helping in any little way possible. And that’s what matters.

 They come eventually into Pembleton high street. The every busy and jagged row of higgledy Tudor houses. Separated by a lane of sticky brown mud where horses hooves and carts churn up the dirt. Carts and stalls line the streets. Modest shopfronts sell their wares. The air is full up of woodsmoke and the scent of roasting nuts from the brazier on the stand nearby.

 Iris loses Posy and Flora very quickly to the haberdashers, where the ribbons hang from great silken trails in racks from the ceiling. Every colour Imaginable.

 She sees them fussing over Belgian lace and leaves them be. She steps into the butchers for Cooks desired hare and sweet meats. She buys the candles, salt and the paper wrapped little cakes of soaps from Mr Milton’s shop next door.

 She crosses the street to the grocers. Fills her basket with green leeks, onions, potatoes and carrots. She tucks everything in her basket, around the poor lamented hare with its fur still on, and covers it with a patterned linen cloth.

 She has a shilling spare- she wanders over to Mr. Greeley. The proud proprietor of the roasted nuts stall. She buys a bag of warm, buttery sweet chestnuts.

 Hides them from Posy and Flora. This was her one little indulgence for today. She sneaks one of the hot things onto her tongue and savours it.

 She strides back up the line of shop windows. Looking and listening to the clack and bustle of the street behind her. Clopping hooves, rattling carts, ponies and traps clunking along the high street. Friends and acquaintances stopped to gossip and chat in the street. Young and old. Of every walk of life.

 She looks in the drapers window. The reflection off the glass, showed her a watery image of a gaggle of matronly mamas stood behind her across the street, loudly gossiping in her direction. Pointing and gesturing toward her.

 She rolls her eyes in huffing annoyance.

 She wasn’t enjoying being the inconstant centre of attention. Open to such censure and fascination in odes to the Hearst’s ball last night.

 Also in odes to the mysterious new stranger to these shores, too. The dark, dashing, and taciturn Lord Ren.

 Every wet-behind-the-ears girl in all of Hampshire was busy envisioning their swirled initials joined with his in their embroidery. A big handsome stranger from far off lands. It was the precursor to the stuff of romance from drippy novels. A harbinger of a great love story.

 Maybe not hers. Lord Ren may have kissed her hand and called her handsome. But so have countless other rich suitors, and then two months later them and their pretty blonde heiress of ten thousand pounds, are lavishly married and installed in a house in Brunswick square. She’s sure he’ll eventually find some far more moneyed girl to march into matrimony.

 It won’t be her- not her turn to pick out her wedding clothes. It never is.

 She lets the whispers and doubts about her, flourish from unimportant mouths.

 She never cared for the savagery of society. She won’t start being missish about it all, now. It won’t serve her any purpose-

 She can only hope the next scandal or engagement or elopement, or any other source of fascination to the bored inhabitants of this county, comes flooding in quick to snatch away all unhealthy - and rather undue - interest in her.

 She waits outside the haberdashers for her pair of silly sisters. They eventually come out. Comparing their new ribbons with each other’s. Flora has a pink, Posy has some frothy white lace.

 Posy hands Iris a teal silk ribbon. “For your hair. It would become you so well. And it will go with your eyes.” She insists.

 Iris smiles. Wrapping the long length of satin around her grey glove. It was very pretty.

 “Pray how did you afford this?” Iris narrows her eyes in smiling suspicion at the pair of them.

 “I saved up my allowance.” Posy insists plainly. Iris continues her look. She tilts her chin down a notch. Let’s her eyes harden to steel. Arched her muddy shaped brows.

 “...And the haberdasher’s son is so very obliging.” Flora beams. The younger Ashton’s giggle together knowingly.

 Iris sighs again. Strongly suspecting she could safely boast that she had two of the silliest siblings in the entire country. Hell, in the entire British Empire.

 “Let’s take our leave shall we...” Iris says. Slowly heading away. Down the street in the opposite direction they came. It took them home down on the woodland path.

 She picks up her pristine white skirts and steps over the mud. Baskets heavy with her goods now thunking against her hip as they walk. One filled with meat. The other with candles and potatoes and other luxuries for supper.

 Posy and Flora trail behind her. Discussing how best to use their ribbons. On bonnets or around the waistline of their favourite dresses. Iris drowns them out and listens to the crunch of her feet on the frost. The silver wisp of her breath as its whisked away up into the reach of the sky. She likes how sun glimmers off frost like sparkles and diamonds and gems. Like something fine and rich.

 They just come across a curve in the lane. Leading through an open meadow full of frosted grass and withered wildflowers. When a thundering sound gallops into being, hitting the hard ground in succession from beyond the bend.

 Iris looks up, attention captured swiftly by the beast of a large rider atop a colossal shimmering black horse, moving quick towards where they are walking along the quiet little lane. The peace shattered by the horses hooves pounding the earth.

 A great hulking beast of a man sits astride it. Who indeed almost matches the brutally-enormous muscled intensity of the creature he rides.

 Lord Ren.

 Iris startled and went to move aside. But he sees them and is already slowing the horse. She draws a deep breath and watches as he tugs the reins to reel in his galloping mount. Reducing to a canter, a trot and then to a slow stop. Hooves churning up frost and spitting wet and crushed muddy grass, under its enormous stomping treads.

 The sun in fiercely shining behind him. So Iris can only make out the silhouette at first. There’s no mistaking that singular body for another man. The primal size and bulk of him is unmistakable.

 But then he shifts forwards on his horse as it stops. Lumbering towards them all. And that winter sun shines amber over his shoulder and she’s met with the full face of the handsome man she became acquainted with yesterday. His breath and that of his horses turn to silver smoke in the cold air

 He passes the strops of its black reins into one gloved leather hand. His attire not much changed since yesterday. Still all black. The shining calf riding boots. The breeches that sit entirely too snug to the sturdy trunks of his legs and hips. The tailored black wool coat. White shirt tied with an elaborately knotted wine coloured cravat. Diamond pin studded central into the tie of the cloth.

 His hair is free and rumpled by the wind. Desirable and untamed. Wild. He wears no top hat on his head like most gentlemen of civility did, when out riding.

 Something about that lack of full dress she admires. Maybe he likes to feel the wind tangle his hair. The suns kiss his pale skin. The wind stinging at his cheeks. Likes galloping across the terrain at full speed on his mammoth sized beast of a horse.

 “Good morning ladies.” He nods to them all. Still seated on his horse.

 “Miss Ashton.” He smiles directly down at Iris as his horse shifts and stomps and nibbles the dewy wet grass below.

 She ducks her head and curtseys. “Good morning. Your Lordship.” She says politely. Dwarfed by his horses shadow.

 He holds her gaze for a second and smiles. Eyes more opulent charcoal in their shade than ever, this morning. He even had a kiss of pink colour in his cheeks. He looks healthy. Less alabaster pale. She strongly suspects its because of the icy wind stinging his cheeks as he rode.

 He unlatched his right boot from the stirrup and smoothly swings himself off the horse. Grips the pommel at the front of the black saddle and swings himself down. Feet land to earth with a crunching thud. Frost and grass crushed underfoot.

 His long wool riding coat flaps at his knees. Billowing open at his chest to show just his white shirt beneath it. Such thin layers. He must’ve been freezing.

 “If I may be so bold, Miss Ashton, allow me to see you along to your intended destination?” He asks kindly. One big hand patting the solid flank of his horses shoulder when it huffs at his dismounting.

 Iris’s cheeks go flaming red. She’s sure of it. Throat dry she manages to answer.

 “Oh. Forgive my impertinence Lord Ren. But I don’t wish to take you out of your way. Only we are heading in the opposite direction to your path.”

 “With your permission. I should like to walk with you. I’ve done a sufficient amount of riding for this morning.” He tells her.

 Iris smiles. Flattered that he’d rearrange his ride, just to see her safely home. Just to walk with her for a moment or two.

 Posy digs a sharp elbow into Flora’s ribs. Which jolts the youngest into speaking. “Iris. We were just going up the lane here to call on Charlotte Morris.”

 Iris gazes pointedly at Flora with a piercing state that could’ve rivalled a dressmakers needle. “How remiss of you not to bring it up until now...” Iris glares a little.

 “Should you mind?” Posy asks. Fluttering her lashes.

 “Of course not.” Iris says flatly. “Mind the hour home and do for heavens sake be sensible.”

 “We are the very vision of sensibility.” Flora beams.

 Iris quirks a wry brow at the both of them. Teeth grit.

 The two most transparent pests on the planet. Their plot was clear as day- One of sneaking away and leaving their elder sister unchaperoned and alone with him.

 They turn away giggling and make for the little lane opposite. Gabbling and whispering all the way. Loud giggles follow them like fluttering birdsong.

 When she turns back to Lord Ren he looks slightly amused. She blushes.

 “I feel I ought offer an apology, your lordship. They are- most puerile and trying at times.” Iris offers as she shifts to step nearer to where he is.

 He smiles gently. “They are young girls who fancy themselves cunning, I wager. No apology is necessary for that.” He declares affably. Patting his horses neck.

 He brings the big horse around. Holding the gathered reins in his left hand. He leads his gigantic horse around with a click of his tongue and some soft words in urging Bavarian. The big creature follows his lead. She moves and alters the heavy baskets on her arms.

 He sees this. Kylo frowns at the heavy weights at both her elbows. She shouldn’t be tasked with fetching and carrying like a damned pack horse. He extends a hand. “Allow me, Miss Ashton.”

 “Oh, no it’s- I couldn’t.” By the time her protestations die on her lips. He has one basket in one hand, the other, he tied the handle to a saddle bag strap on his horse. Lays it rest against the saddle.

 She’s mortified that a Lord offers to carry her basket for her.

 “That’s truly a magnificent horse. I’ve never seen the like before.” She says. The steeds eyes glitter as if it knows it’s being discussed. “What’s his name?” She asks rummaging in her basket he holds. Hand slipped under the cloth.

 “Erland.” Kylo says. The horses ears twitch.

 “Erland. A majestic name. For a majestic beast.” She smiles at him.

 She steps up to the horse and strokes her gloved hand down the flat bone between his eyes, leading down to his snout. Scents of hay and oats and animal sweat pour musky off his coat.

 “He’s a lovely animal.” She says. Stroking his solid flank.

 “Percheron. He’s a French draft horse. His breed originated in the Huisne valley in western France.” Lord Ren tells her.

 “Bred for use as war horses, and pulling stagecoaches. This one has a fair mount of Arabian blood in him too. Makes him far too proud and headstrong.” He announces. Erland flicks his swishing tail at his owner. Snorting at him.

 “I bought him with me from Bavaria. He’s the best riding horse I’ve had for a while. Stubborn temperament.” He offers. He watches her stroke his head. Touch the soft spot behind his ears.

 “You like animals, Miss Ashton.” He states.

 Most girls, as far as he’s aware, deigned horses as smelly, ugly creatures, whose only purpose was beneath them. Or to pull their carriages. She seemed to like this big equine creature very much.

 “I do. Especially ones who are as beautiful as him.”

 “Careful. Or else that flattery will shoot right to his ego.” He warns lightly.

 She smiles.

 Erland’s hairy velveteen muzzle cheekily nudges at her shoulder for more affection. He clearly likes her touch. Kylo tugs on his reins and frowns at him.

 “Benehmen Sie sich.” Kylo rumbles in a firm Bavarian command at his horse. Calling him back. Telling him to be good. Rubbing his stocky shoulder. The round strong bones of him and the hot silk of his coat underneath his gloved palm.

 She smiles. Lets the carrot she fetched from her basket, sit in the flat cradle of her gloved palm. She offers it to Erland, who snuffles it up and crunches on it. Breaking the frail vegetables skin with his big teeth. Munching it all down. Nuzzles her for more when he’s done.

 He snorts when Kylo speaks up. “Anymore and you’ll get fat. You great beast.” He assures his horse in that soft foreign dialect. Shoving his snout into Miss Ashton’s hand for yet more treats. Erland’s head was so big and his power so strong, he could’ve very realistically knocked her over with one push.

 She steps back and takes her place alongside a Lord Ren so they can continue in their walk. He’s a busy man. She doesn’t wish to hold him up. They fall into step easy. Her on Kylo’s left, Erland in his big lumbering enormity on Kylo’s right. His master has his right hand holding his stallions reins. The other easily carries her basket for her.

 “Did you enjoy your introduction into Hampshire society, Your lordship?” Iris can’t help but ask him with mirth creeping into her voice and on her smile.

 He turns his head to look at her. “The sheer amount of handsome and accomplished young ladies hereabouts is staggering.” He comments with dry humour. “I wonder if this isn’t the most accomplished county in all of England.” He states.

 Iris finds herself smiling. Every desperate mother worth her salt last night would be crowing her daughters praise to high heaven. Enough to induce the possibility that her very accomplished, pretty and upstanding daughter might have a chance at landing him.

 “Mothers can be so very domineering when the subject of marriage arises.” Iris promises. Looking down to step over a particularly frosty puddle.

 Kylo looks across at her. Watches her profile. Along the curve of her nose and the swell of her smiling lips. It occurred to him then, that she didn’t know of her beauty. She was not aware of its potency. He could sense it; this was a girl who overlooked her own worth and highly underestimated her attractiveness.

 With her pebble-ash eyes shining in the marigold sun like that, sparkling as if made of moonstone gems, and her rosy smile so unguarded and free. She didn’t see her beauty then. Not the way he could. Didn’t see it lay in the kiss of pink in her cheeks or the merriment of her face. On the geniality of her laugh and smiles.

 “I know I shouldn’t comment on such things. But I do feel so dearly for every new suitor who comes to this village. Every Mama and every daughter must veritably drown poor men with their female offspring.”

 Kylo raises one brow. “Rest assured. I’m not a man so inclined to favour polite safe conversation.” He promises her. He doesn’t tiptoe around propriety.

 “And I will admit I lost count of the young ladies I was introduced too last eve. My ears were quite ringing with names and sickly smiles by the end of the evening.” He confesses.

 She smiles wide again. Looks across. “I do sometimes wish that the people here could look beyond the scope of their own ignorance. To look beyond the defining goal of matrimony.” She confesses.

 “Why should a woman’s worth be tied onto who she weds? Can she not be her own person and find a man to suit that.” She avows. Letting her stalwart brain run away with her rather passionate mouth.

 “That’s very forward thinking of you.” Kylo says to her with a kind smile. Her face falls. She’s inspired insult with that comment.

 She’s flushing with embarrassment.

 “Mother would faint if she heard me confess that to you. Do forgive me, for the impertinence of my tongue.” She begs. Face wrinkling into a worried frown.

 “You have a mind. Miss Ashton.” Kylo says. “It’s entitled to make itself known.”

 “I’m a gently bred, unmarried, woman. And the eldest daughter, Lord Ren. My mind should be silent at all times. And possessed only, night and day, by thoughts and longing for matrimony.” She says. Quoting one of her mother’s rants.

 “Well. You have my word. I’m most blessedly glad it’s not.” He says. Turning to look deep into her eyes.

 She seems curiously confused. “You are?”

 “Indeed.” He answers plainly.

 “It means you are the one woman in this entire county with whom I can conduct a refreshing conversation. One that doesn’t revolve around reminding me again and again, that I’m a rich man who desperately needs a wife.” He offers.

 “I’m glad to hear it.” Iris says laughing. “Not often I happen find someone on the same page as myself.”

 “English men may find your so called ‘impertinence’ intolerable, Miss Ashton. For they were raised to know no better. But I am not a English man. Where I came from, it is applauded that a woman might speak her mind and have judgements and executions of her own.” He supplies.

 “Our way of life here must seem so strange and strict to an outsider.” She dares. The defining pinnacle of English country society was its savage nature, after all.

 “I don’t see much of the society in Bavaria.” He explains. “I see to the welfare of tenants on my land. I go hunting every season to pass the time. I’m afraid I rarely indulge in attending parties and balls.” He tells.

 “A castle must be an incredible home.” She guesses.

 “Even so- it can be very limiting being confined to it in the cold dark winters. Very little company. Little to entertain. I found myself wanting a change of scene. I had looked for some land opportunity’s to enclose in over here. When Hellford became available. It seemed a good opportunity to travel. Sink my teeth into a new venture.” He smarts. Eyes darkly roaming over her face with that handsome smile.

 She nods. “I quite understand.” Erland clops alongside them in the misty morning sunshine. Snorting breaths silver and wispy still in the biting air.

 “What are the winters like in Bavaria?” She enquires.

 He smiles. “Beautiful. But bitter.” He explains. “The snow can be deep. As tall as me some days when it falls.” She smiles at his description.

 “The castle stands out of a tall pine forest. A lake and a river to the east. One of the biggest woods in the country. Full of wolves, boars, and deer. It’s quite a wilderness in its own right.”

 “Goodness- wolves. Isn’t that terribly dangerous?” She frets.

 Not as much as me. He thinks. Matter of fact, when he steps foot in that forest, he is the most bloodthirsty dangerous animal in it.

 “The beasts respect the boundary of my castle. I respect the forest is theirs. It’s a symbiotic relationship.” He tells her.

 “Surrounded by wolves. You must feel very at home here too, then.” She jokes.

 He laughs. “There’s something familiar I grant. Though the wolves back home don’t don lace caps and thrust all their daughters at me.”

 She laughs at his remark. And suddenly, she goes spinning off course. Her worn boots slipping on a sneaky patch of frost and ice. No grip to their soles in this devilish cold. A yelp leaves her mouth as she skids. Blood flashing flushing hot and terrible suddenly. The shock of slipping stabbing at her stomach.

 He acts quick. He lets go of Erland’s reins and steps that big form forwards and snatched one arm out to grab her. Slips back around her waist, cups the back of her hip, and yanks her tight to him to stop her falling.

 She gasps and trembles as her vision spins, to be quickly halted by a sheer wall of cold, dark clad muscle. She barely registers where she is now.

 Because she’s pressed right up into Lord Ren’s redoubtably firm chest. Her palms crushed flat on his lapels. His arm seizing her back and cupping her onto him to stop her slipping. She can feel under her coat how her breasts are crushed flat to him. Can feel his breathing heaving up and down, much like her own.

 A shaky gasp leaves her mouth as she looks up, peering past the peak of her bonnet with flaming cheeks. Realising that they are slanted very close together. His face is right there, and he’s gazing down at her.

 She’s in his arms. Buried into his chest. And it feels incredible. Such musculature and sheer masculine mass under her palms. Her head swims. He’s dizzying. Hypnotising.

 Eyes as dark as burnt-ember molasses flecked with gold, and his lips look so invitingly pink ripe and soft- she curses at herself for that treacherous thought and her blush rises more. His wool coat and cologne nearly smacks her in the nose as she almost collided into his pectorals.

 Kylo can hear her fluttering heartbeat. Like a racing preys pulse beating wild. Frail and fast, like a baby birds. A huge drift of her fragrance absolutely drowns him, pulls him under. Clary sage, French lavender and peppermint. Sweet and calming. Addictive. He wants to lean down and taste the salt of it off her neck...

 It seems an eternity passes before he speaks.

 “Are you hurt?” He asks. Making sure she didn’t turn one of her ankles. Or damage the bone

 “T-Thankyou. I’m, I’m well.” She gasps. “I’m so sorry- I” She explains moving her hands down off his chest. He nearly swept her up off her feet. Now only her tiptoes brush the icy ground. The only part of her barely rooted to earth. Lost in those eyes.

 Domineering, commanding, brutal, eyes. Eyes that had seen this world ten times over. But never gazed upon anything comparable to her-

 Erland brings them both back down to earth. Snorting and fussing. Swishing his tail and nudging his nose at his masters shoulder.

 Sense swims back through the fog of attraction and the heady bloom of lust. Kylo unleashes her back and her hip from his hold.

 Quite liking the feel of her he accidentally - and literally - caught underneath her coat. The plump of her thighs and the shapely flesh of her hip and her bottom. There’s doubtless a figure to rival Venus herself, under this shapeless coat and thin dress. She slowly drags her hands off his chest and steps back. Avoiding the ice beneath her toes. Her gloves rasp on his fine wool coat.  

 “You fell. Miss Ashton. No need to be sorry for such a thing.” He tells her.

 “You’ve a steady hand, Lord Ren.” She compliments. Thanking him further. He still held her basket in the arm that had not reached out to catch her. He looked as if he barely had to flex out an arm to catch her. Just twisted his body. His reflexes were sharp and cunning. As strong as he was.

 He reached out and retook Erland’s reins.

 They continue walking carefully along the little lane. For Westwell is just beyond the tree line now. It saddens her that she’ll be home soon.

 Back to her daily chores. Back to scrubbing curtains, and helping cook roll pastry and mediating the silly shouting screeching arguments that Posy and Flora have over who gets to take turns to wear their favourite bonnet

 She reflects how restoring it is to talk to someone so fully - without having to watch or guard her tongue. It’s even more enlightening to talk to someone such as him. Someone who, like her, feels like an outsider. Never fully fits in. And harbouring no desire too.

 She feels her heart sink, morbid mournful and grey settling in her ribs, when they come to the meagre gateway along the short drive to Westwell. The twin stone pillars signifying the gateway were old and crusted with frosted moss.

 Kylo calls Erland to halt. She pats the wonderful beasts strong shoulder in goodbye. He rubs the great velvet plain of black his forehead at her. Kylo untied her basket and handed it to her.

 “I’d have no hesitation in seeing you to the door directly. But I fear your mother might see fault with our being left unchaperoned.” He disclosed. Giving her back the groaning full wicker basket with a clever grin.

 She shivers when their hands brush. If she had any doubts in her attraction, that betraying little Judas of a tingle that thrashed her body, made her realise otherwise.

 She likes him-

 “Astute observation, your lordship. I Thankyou for your discretion.” She blushes. Hooking the baskets back on her arms. Adjusting the shawl where it had slipped down from her shoulders.

 She looks down into her basket, and smiles. “A token of gratitude.” She explains before handing over the still warmed bag of chestnuts across to him.

 He cradled them in his leather gloved hand. Appreciative of the gift. He rarely ate food. There wasn’t much need for it and it wasn’t the manna that’s sustained him. He had little joy in any human sustenance - apart from humans themselves.

 When he did eat food, it was red meat that was still rare, juicy, and dripping blood. And he only drank sharp deep red wine.

 He reaches over and took her hand. Once again dropping Erland’s reins. He took her dainty hand and brought it up and bows to kiss her palm.

 He’s tired of satin and calfskin under his lips. He rather wanted to grasp a taste of her skin. Soon.

 “Always a pleasure, Miss Ashton. I hope the experience of your company repeats itself shortly.” He compliments.

 She smiles, apples of her cheeks creasing dimples with her widened smile. She nods politely and curtseys. “Your Lordship.” She curtseys gently. Bonnet tipping forwards. Criminally covering that beautiful face of hers.

 She turns and he watches her walk up the pale lane to home. Sun striping through the trees onto her bleached linen white skirts. Bleached by sunshine. And softly scented of fresh cotton and French lavender.

 Miss Ashton is made up of good intentions and possesses a giving heart as pure as gold. Pure. That’s his little dove all over-

 He looks down in his hand and weighs the small bag of nuts she’d gifted him. He lifts it to his nose and inhales their scent. Buttery, sweet, burnt and acrid.

 He tips his eyes back up to watch her. Thought creases up his brow. He’ll never know how it is to have such a virtue as a kind heart.

 She was made up of honour and purity and softness. Doves feathers, lavender and rose petals. And he is made of cruelty. Of war and broken glass and shards of steel. He was made between ash and snow and a landscape soaking swimming festering in blood. 

There’s no kindness in him. No mercy. Barely any love in him either. 

 He cares little for humans. After he was turned. That’s just how he became. They became meaningless specs of nothing to him. She has no idea what he is- who he is- he’s sent entire scores and countries of men shrieking to their deaths and writhing in agony into hell, cursing his name on their lips.

 And here she was handing him this little harmless gift, like he wasn’t one of the most fearsome beasts put on this earth.

 She’s not far away when she turns back - just as he’s about to mount Erland to ride back to Hellford Park once more. He tucks her meaningful present into his coat pocket.

 “Erland... Is that a Bavarian name?” She turns and asks curiously. A kind frown on the lintels of her eyebrows. She tilts her head curiously. Her grey eyes glitter innocently off the sun like honey poured onto slate.

 She’s so innocent. And it strikes him so deeply right then. How much he admires that.

 He hoists himself into the saddle using the pommel. Feet slipping in the stirrups. Hips resting back onto the cantle behind him.

 “It is a Norse name.” He calls to her. Erland is whinnying excitedly. Stomping his hooves to get out to the open fields and get his blood pumping. Kylo can feel the excitement shivering through his stocky legs.

 “What does it mean?” She seeks.

 “In old Nordic tongue, I believe it means ‘Outsider.’” He tells her.

 She smiles. “Well. I trust you both know you have atleast one friend in this Hampshire county.” She smiles.

 “Good day, Lord Ren.” She beams brightly. She turns away and she’s already missing the gaze of those melting cocoa eyes appraising her warmly.

 Her skin still thrashes from the memory of his touch. All over her skin is alive with the memory of that strength of his. His chest under her hands she’s never felt the like- he was as cold and solid as marble. Some Greek god manifested out of carved stone and come to life.

 He turns Erland back onto the snowy road. Clicks his tongue and urges him to run with a sharp dig of his shoe into his side. He feels the ice and the wind sting his skin for all the ride home.

 He thinks about her parting gift and her touch against his body for the rest of the day - truly he does. It’s moved him.

 He hasn’t been moved so much by another being in all of his years.

   ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 16

Summary: Kate Rosseau is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 15: Tommy doesn’t tell Kate, Kate dreams of being on stage again. 

           Kate didn’t remember what she said to Tommy. In fact, she didn’t remember leaving the Garrison. Perhaps it was a good thing to know that she didn’t have many reservations about getting blackout drunk with the Shelbys at their establishment. It just reinforced the idea that she trusted them. And trust was not easy to come by.

Still, she didn’t remember what she’d said. And Tommy didn’t tell her.

He was sitting downstairs in the kitchen when Kate came downstairs wearing the same dress she had on the night before. She didn’t look pleased with the hangover she was sporting.

“Tea?” Tommy offered.

“No, thanks.” She sat down at the table and took out a cigarette instead.

He simply turned the page of his newspaper, partially hiding his face behind it. He couldn’t be certain how much she remembered. Although she was certainly out of it, at the time that didn’t mean she forgot. Besides, Tommy didn’t want to mention it if she had forgotten and it was simply a mistake. Maybe he’d misheard her or she was just spouting nonsense. That was a convenient answer, one he held onto because he wasn’t willing to explore what he felt deeper. If he did, he was afraid of what he might find. Nevertheless, it would complicate things. So he chose not to bring it up.

“Did you come to the Garrison last night?” Kate asked.

“No, John brought you here. You weren’t making much sense.” He replied trying to sound nonchalant as if to portray the idea that she hadn’t said anything that bothered him or meant anything, to begin with.

It reassured Kate and she didn’t suspect he was hiding anything from her based on his demeanor. Of course, when she woke up at Six Watery Lane, she was horrified that she’d done something foolish. Perhaps she showed up at Tommy’s doorstep declaring her true feelings for him. How embarrassing that would be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been quite some time since Kate had been in a legitimate ballet company. Not since she’d been in the States. And it had been a while since she’d been in a studio or any sort of suitable practice space. The thing about Birmingham and London was it all felt so cramped. There wasn’t enough room to do much of anything. Still, Kate did her best to stretch and keep herself somewhat in a condition to dance again. Maybe it was blind hope that she would one day find herself back on stage.

Back to that feeling that had escaped her for so long. Something that couldn’t be replicated. It was the closest thing she’d known to flying. She felt weightless on her feet. Able to leap like a gazelle, making it look effortless, and as if she could walk on air. Of course, they were fleeting moments. If she were to be lifted by someone, the feeling lasted much longer. But it came with a price. The price of trust and having to rely on someone to keep her aloft. There was still a man there, holding her up. Kate always wanted the man to disappear. That way it would be her alone. That’s all she needed. She didn’t need someone else’s support.

When Ada arrived, Kate was stretching in the hallway, using the staircase railing as a makeshift barre.

“Come in!” Kate welcomed her in.

Ada startled a bit, unsure at what the woman was doing with her leg so high in the air. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, just stretching.” Kate folded over her lifted leg, reaching for her toes. “Make yourself at home.”

“Alright then.” Ada did so by hanging her coat up along with her purse and hat.

Kate could still hear her old instructor counting as she stretched.

Five, six, seven, eight.

She lifted her heel to remove it from the banister and returned to a normal standing position. “I’m guessing Tommy sent you with something.”

“Well, yes, and a question.” Ada removed a few things from her purse.

“Okay, good.” Kate went into the kitchen to get some water. Ada followed her in, spreading out the papers on the table. “If I had a penny for every contract I signed.” She sighed and turned to address the paperwork. “What about the question?”

“He said you didn’t RSVP to the wedding, I guess he just wanted to know why.”

Kate frowned. “Oh, I was certain I did.” Certain was a loose term. She recalled getting the invitation a few weeks ago. “Well, I think he knows I’m coming.”

“He didn’t sound so sure,” Ada told her.

The last thing she wanted to do was talk about the man she loved to his sister. Especially when that man didn’t love her back and intended on marrying someone else. “Tea? Or something to eat?” She offered to avoid the comment.

Ada sat down. “Tea is fine.” She figured she would be staying for a bit. Tommy had briefed her on the situation. He said Kate was acting strangely and he wanted Ada to gather more information. But of course, he left out the part about the drunken admission of love a few weeks earlier. Around the time the invitation had been received. Had Ada known, then the conversation would’ve gone differently.

“I was in a ballet company in America,” Kate said out of the blue as she filled the kettle. A distraction, to keep Ada off the topic of Tommy’s wedding. “Not for very long. I had trained for years, ever since I was little. But only a couple of seasons after I was accepted to join the company, I had to leave for Europe. It was one of the best times of my life.” She remembered fondly. Kate never fawned over the elegant, eye-catching costumes or attention from an entire audience. She had all of that at the Moulin Rouge and was miserable. No, she adored having an entire stage to use as her own. To stand tall with her chin lifted. Everything else was meaningless because the only thing that existed was that stage. It was better than any high.

“Why did you have to leave so soon after?” Ada wondered. The talk of ballet wasn’t anything interesting to her. What was interesting was the woman behind the story. Years passed and although Ada knew Kate well and got along with her, she still couldn’t understand who she was. A dancer that Tommy plucked out of Paris and brought home. There was so much Ada didn’t know, as well as the rest of the Shelby family. And yet, they felt comfortable enough with her that they could accept the inconsistencies. Only because Kate never drew their attention to them. She simply cued them in on vague parts of her life. Like saying she had been a ballerina. But they could be explained. And they could continue to keep her close.

“My father got into trouble. He promised things he couldn’t promise. And one night, a man came to my performance and had left me a note in my dressing room. He told me what my father promised and what was to come.” Kate explained. The memory of walking into the dressing room with all the other girls was still fresh in her mind even after years passed. She was smiling and laughing with them as they usually did after a successful performance. Riding the high of being on stage, Kate remembered seeing the note addressed to her laying by a dozen red roses. She had been intrigued and a bit giddy at the thought of an admirer.

“What was it?”

My dear Kathleen,

You looked stunning on stage, but I would prefer you all to myself. Fortunately, that has been granted to me. You know what you promised and you know that it’s far too late to make any more excuses. I’ll be at your apartment tonight at ten o’clock. I wouldn’t run, micina, you know that only angers me.

Yours,

Santo.

“He believed I was his to marry when I wasn’t.” Kate poured tea for both of them and sat down. She shifted her attention down to the paperwork that Ada had laid out on the table.

Ada watched her eyes shift from side to side even though it didn’t appear she was reading anything on the paper. “That’s what Tommy’s been protecting you from, then.” Her brother hadn’t much of an explanation for why they kept Kate around. Other than she had connections in America, Alfie Solomons liked her, and she needed their protection. Not necessarily in that order.

Kate nodded. “And now I’m afraid I’ve been entangled in his web. A bit more than I would’ve liked.” She mumbled more to herself than to Ada.

“Look,” It happened to remind the Shelby sister why she’d gone there in the first place. “None of us are thrilled that he’s marrying her. After what she did, I know it doesn’t seem like she deserves another chance to be trusted. But I think Tommy wants you there. He made it seem important.”

That only made Kate feel worse. She chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep the emotions from bubbling up in her. Although Ada seemed like a nice enough confidante, Kate couldn’t risk the chance that the news got back to Tommy. Not so close to his wedding date. “Well, you can tell him I’ll be there.” She replied. “I said I would, so I will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kate assumed most people had been invited to Warwickshire a couple of days before the wedding. Only because she had been and if she had been invited, then surely others were too. After all, she figured she would be the last person Tommy would want around his home only days before his wedding to Grace.

But he’d only invited a couple of other family members. And that was only to make it seem normal that he was inviting Kate.

Tommy sent a car for her one morning. Apprehensive, Kate had packed her things and got in the car. The entire drive, she worried about what might happen. Of course, her greatest fear was Tommy was going to actually get married, even though it was guaranteed to happen. She knew it was too late for him to back out. Aside from the wedding, Kate was afraid she might say something. Anything damning, really. Maybe she said something that showed how she felt for Tommy. Or maybe inexplicably brought something up about her past.

Frankly, they were foolish fears. She hadn’t mentioned anything about her past that wasn’t carefully explained. She let nothing slip. Well, of course when she wasn’t as drunk as she’d been on absinthe. But even then, she thought she didn’t let anything slip. Kate thought that she had trained herself well enough that even in her most inebriated state, her brain wouldn’t let anything loose. But she didn’t know that she told Tommy she loved him.

“Christ,” Kate whispered to herself when the car pulled up the gravel drive. She’d been expecting a large property, especially after Arthur and John had been complaining about getting lost. But it was hard to imagine how imposing Arrow House would be until she was on the doorstep.

It didn’t feel inviting, but maybe that was because Kate didn’t particularly feel a warm invite to the wedding. Still, the estate looked like it was out of a book, not an actual place to live in. It was truly a modern-day castle where Tommy hid. And now he’d invited her inside.

One of the front doors opened and a maid came out to greet her and take her bag. “You must be Miss Rosseau.” She greeted politely.

“Yeah, thank you.” Kate couldn’t help but look around when she walked into the place. The large, drafty rooms only made her feel emptier.

“Mr. Shelby’s gone out on a ride with his brothers but he should be back for lunch. Miss Burgess is in the drawing-room. If you’d like to greet her, I could bring your things upstairs.” The woman suggested.

Kate bristled at the thought of facing Grace alone. “Um, I’d actually like to freshen up a bit.” She made up the excuse, hoping Grace wouldn’t come out to greet her.

“Of course, I’ll show you to your room. If you’d follow me.”

She followed her up the large staircase. There was a portrait on the wall of Tommy and one of his horses. Had it been a different day, maybe she would’ve thought it was funny. Tommy Shelby was slowly changing from a gypsy boy to one of Britain’s elite. Large countryside estate, portraits on the wall, immense power.

The maid brought Kate down the long hallway and showed her into a room that fit the rest of the house. Grandiose without much emotion tied to it. It wasn’t yet a family home. Just a large place filled with meaningless showy things. It didn’t impress Kate. She found most wealth was hollow. It was clear Tommy saw things differently.

“Would you like me to come and fetch you when lunch is ready?” The woman offered.

“That would be great, thank you.” Kate set her bag down on the bed and debated leaving. She felt so on edge and out of place that it made her skin crawl. “What the fuck am I doing here?” She whispered and shook her head.

After making use of the built-in bathtub, Kate got dressed and idled in the room. She didn’t want to go downstairs before she was absolutely certain Tommy or any other family member was home. That way she wouldn’t be trapped alone with Grace. It wasn’t that she feared Grace. No, she just didn’t know what to say anymore. What else was there to say? Congrats? You win?

There was a knock at the door and Kate assumed it was the maid back to tell her lunch was ready.

“Come in!” She called from her spot by the window.

However, it wasn’t the maid that entered. It was Tommy. He walked in and shut the door behind him. “We need to talk.”

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​ @karmezii​

Tag list: @radical-gecko​ @actorinfluence​

Masterlist

[lanamemories2]

rides onto the dash nude n on horseback like this pic of sam way. oh fancy seeing u here.......... im impeccably tensed our entire exchange. buns like steel cld crack a nut open between them. i’m nai n it’s so nice to meet u all!!!! i’m one of the admins here (josefine frida pettersen on the main) n i’m so Excited 2 get things going........... some facts abt me r i sometimes hv a witch’s cackle, i once drunkenly swung frm a tree branch pretending to b tarzan n fell n grass stained my fav jeans at 4 in the morning n i lov spicy food despite the fact it mkes me sweat like a hog in the sun. more abt lana under the cut!!! also like this or hmu if u wna plot n her pinterest is here n playlist is here 👺🌚

「kristine froseth & cis-female」⇾ jameson , lana, the junior radcliffe student’s records show that she is a gemini and 22 years old. she is studying dance, living in off campus and can be vivacious, passionate, childish & impulsive. when i see her i am reminded of stepping out in the cold wearing just a red slip, lipstick on a stranger’s throat, a bumper sticker on the back of a convertible cadillac that says ‘SCRAPPY DOO IS A FILTHY SLUT’. ⇽「nai & 23 & gmt & she/her.」

AESTHETICS:

scalding your fingers in shower water until they glow like rudolph’s nose, cherry red gym socks tugged high and nothing else, stepping out in the cold wearing just a red slip, an origami swan made from an old receipt, tickling a stranger’s chin with the end of a feather boa, crowning each finger with a miniature raspberry, hugging a knee close to lick a stripe of fruit juice off a bruise there, doodling penises in the condensation of a car window, a water pistol topped with rum and covered in glittery pin-up stickers, believable smiles that feel more like baring teeth, a bumper sticker on the back of a convertible cadillac that says ‘SCRAPPY DOO IS A FILTHY SLUT’, prancing around in your underwear to a vinyl record with the curtains open.

HISTORY:

lana grew up in a big house in albany, NY. albums framed on the walls. mayb some rolling stone covers too frm way bk when of the bands her dad’s label signed. kind of like… a rock star palace w no evidence of children at all. i think i summarised it best in one of lana’s self paras once when i said the garden ws “as big as it was unloved”, not that u wld know from all of the gardener’s pruning

lana’s mum victoria (vic) ws a music journalist w a pretty fruitful career ahead of her when she met lana’s dad richard (rich). his record label ws jst starting out, founded on the coattails of his rich best friend’s (jensen peters) investment w his other best friend (who he jst calls knoxville). it rocketed to success when they signed poppy injects, a rock band w an electric stage presence, n victoria ws drawn to the glitz n glamour of a man tht ws at the helm of his aspiring industry. their love ws very impulsive, all or nothing right frm the start, n it ws almost like she ws mre in love w his accomplishments n what he represented than him

anyway so jameson records repped a few big rock bands bk in the eighties, altho poppy injects r who they’re mostly known fr, namely bc of hw brightly they crashed n burned. (drugs/addiction tw) they were a big chart success bt the lead singer hd quite an intense struggle w heroin (wsnt rly subtle abt it either while he ws in the public eye as u cn probably imagine frm such an on-the-nose band name) n he ws always in n out of the papers. it eventually brought down his career n it ws a big publicity nightmare

lana pretty much… grew up around figures like this throughout childhood. rly troubled characters who wld kind of… b extremely volatile n destructive abt their troubles. the jameson house was kind of an open one as welcoming clients went n a lot of parties took place there. a lot of the time musicians wld b snorting lines in the kitchen when she wnted to grab a bowl of cereal fr breakfast. very strange environment fr a child to grow up in

her parents always kind of jst… didn’t like her much. her older brother caleb ws unplanned bt they sort of welcomed the surprise more bt… quickly realised they weren’t cut out fr parenthood n then when lana came as another surprise 3 yrs later they didn’t even try to hide their resentment abt the situation. her mum ws actually booked in to have an abortion bt cldnt go through with it at the last minute. once when lana asked her why shes so cold towards her she jst turned her head frm her dresser, looked at her, told her abt this n said “idk why i didn’t go”. lana didn’t kno wht to say to tht so she jst left her room n closed the door

(dissociation/delusion tw) bc of this growing up lana adopted this weird like…. she didn’t rly kno what it ws bt it ws a delusion of sorts where she thought she ws a ghost. she’d jst sort of… drift around the halls w noone acknowledging her n sometimes she ws jst convinced she wsnt actually there or they cldnt see her n she ws jst haunting the house frm a previous family

the one saving grace tho tht sort of?? gt her thru this n made her feel Seen ws caleb. lana quite genuinely hs always thought the sun shines out of her older brothers ass like she jst thinks. hes the best person in the entire world. wld b rly bewildered if anyone questioned tht. he wld always look out for her in the zoo they called a home n cut the crusts off her PBJs so they lkd like teddy bears (he’d cook fr them most of the time bc their parents were too busy/didn’t care to) n sometimes wld even sleep at the bottom of her bed curled up like a guard dog. it ws always lana n caleb n his best friend tommy against the world in tht house (tommy lived next door n was always over bc he had very strict parents / a military father tht he found suffocating)

SO when caleb n tommy announced tht they’d signed up to the army lana ws understandably…….. blindsided. she ws rly upset tht they were leaving like pretty besides herself bt she tried not to b mad at them n made them promise theyd b safe n back as soon as possible. she even asked if they cld somehow take her w them n they were jst like :/ it doesn’t work that way luv x

(death tw, ptsd tw, grief tw, trauma tw, hospitalisation tw, drugs tw) anyway caleb ended up getting discharged under grounds of severe ptsd when he witnessed tommy die in an explosion tht took place in a shock raid. caleb returned home sans tommy bt he was never the same after tht. he’s been in n out of hospital n he turned to using as a way to cope so it’s been a rly bumpy road since. lana kind of felt like two of her brothers died out there in a way n jst like tht it wasn’t them vs the world any mre, it was jst her

ANYWAY whew tht rly…. took a dark turn there….. chuckles nervously at hw sad lana’s life is bt it’s fine it’s all fINE!!!!!!! ok. so on a mre lighthearted note the jameson family r pretty well off n bc of her relation to such a big music industry figure she’s hung out w a fair few relatively high rep ppl thru her teens. mostly kids of celebrities n stuff like tht. she amassed kind of an instagram following mainly fr her style (penny lane-esque in some aspects aka lots of fur cuff trimmed jackets bt then also jst…. a wild combination of everything honestly. pastel faux fur coats, seventies style platforms, flame red cowboy boots, pink fishnet tights n glitter used like highlight Everywhere) n bc she’s undeniably Pretty Gorl

(trauma tw) after caleb got back he was rly withdrawn n depressed. he shut lana out n was kind of harsh to her a lot of the time, always telling her to leave him alone or pushing her away. it didnt help either tht lana had a rly traumatic experience w some of her dad’s colleagues at the label when she ws 16 n he was away n she cldnt even tell him abt it once he was bk bc of his own traumas. she kind of jst shut it all in n kept it to herself

(hypersexuality tw) this obviously?? made her spiral a lot. she was already a girl tht loved sex but since her trauma it got…. completely out of hand. it got to a point where she couldnt rly go 2 days without it, probably not even 1. her lowest point has probably been scrolling thru craiglist for anonymous encounters n meeting up w strangers on there fr hookups even tho it’s insanely dangerous n she cld wind up getting herself killed. the risk is honestly part of the appeal to her sometimes she’s :////// quite self destructive n jst likes a thrill to mke her feel Alive. it’s v clear at this point tht she has a sex addiction whether she’s ever admitted it or not. it kind of… almost mingled w tht same feeling she used to get when she ws younger of being a ghost?? like she jst. only rly feels Real when she’s being touched

(violence tw) she’s had.................... SCH a bad history dating wise. she almost always dates fking.... actual beasts like i jst wna gently shake her by the shoulders sometimes bt :////////////// one of her recent exes is in prison aftr he beat up someone she’d slept w in front of her like she jst. has had a very Not Sexy time w romance...... she hd to b a witness in the trial abt it n he ws found guilty n sent down so it ws like Intense n a gd example of the kinds of disastrous relationships she gets herself into. perks of being a wallflower voice: We Accept The Love We Think We Deserve.

this past summer she gt a job at a burlesque club in downtown lovell!!! it honestly is her dream job like. dancing? being sexy? fav hobbies................. most delicious pastimes... 10/10 ideal fr her............... she almost started working at a coyote ugly bar bt this one won her over. she usually jets off to some foreign country n has a rly exotic n action packed summer bt i think she wldv just been working local there fr this one to b close to her brother (the rehab he’s at is close like a 40 min drive so!). she’s also moved into a big lofty apartment w 3 roommates tht’s above a chinese take out w lots of lanterns hung outside. the street? scott street......................... tribute to mizz phoebe bridgers hunger games salutes to the sky so it travels 2 her............. she gt a red heart shaped bath tub installed which hs always been her dream so honestly the summer hs been pretty gd to her....... five stars on yelp she deserves Some happiness once in a while

PERSONALITY:

always smells vaguely of wild cherries or strawberry starburst or jst the candy aisle in general. if she ws a vinyl record she’d b this one n she’d only play good vibrations by the beach boys, dancing on my own by robyn, play that funky music by wild cherry, femme fatale by the velvet underground n (i can’t get no) satisfaction by the rolling stones

growing up lana was always a HUGE social butterfly. knew everyone n everyone knew her. she ws one of those girls tht ws kind of impossible to ignore or forget (cld b a gd or bad thing depends on ur Stance...... she can be a lot tho frankly). very animated, always made u feel like u were the centre of the universe whenever she spoke to u, always made it feel like u were best friends even if ud only spoken to her once.

deliberately puts on tht kind of Magnetic Alluring act tht femme fatales wear in movies sometimes. kind of…. is always playing A Role of the person tht she wants to b seen as or the person she feels ppl want her to be. chameleons to situations. feels like she’s performed as the vivacious n fun loving Lana Jameson fr so long tht she doesn’t rly kno who she is beneath tht bt she isn’t too keen to find out

always the last one awake at the party. jst doesn’t seem to hv.... an off switch. every1 else cld b passed out at 6am n she’d still b swaying around to sunday morning by the velvet underground in her underwear drinking frm a bottle of merlot

she’s always been rly spontaneous n adventurous. always doing something weird n wild every weekend. she has ten thousand ridiculously absurd n chaotic stories

uncontrollably flirty. she’s tht tumblr post tht’s like flirting will b ur hubris n the reply is like kind of sexy of u to say so................ SO confident cld talk to anyone. makes a joke out of anything. tends to laugh when she feels like crying. even if she DOES cry she’ll smile thru it like it isn’t happening she jst.... doesn’t like to b negative ever if she cn help it

she’s amassed a weird collection of like... Things various ppl she’s known hv made abt her. this guy she ws friends w wrote a song abt her n performed it at a gig she went to without telling her in advance. it ws rly dramatic he sang it n looked at her the whole time n she ws jst a bit like.... omg.... lmfao............... she’s also hd various paintings done of her. i honestly dnt even rly kno hw it happens she jst has a personality where she..... leaves an impression like a lipstick print on a white shirt w some ppl.................. she’s like tht tumblr post where someone arrives at a poetry reading n is like hi yes........ where do the muses sit? except she isn’t rly.... obnoxious abt it she jst shrugs n is like.......... oh that........... KJHSFKHGSFKGHSFKGSFHGK. it’s a charmed life fr some

always dapples her fingers thru the breeze when she’s driving in a car w the window down. she almost always has some sort of sweet on her, whether it’s sour haribo cherries or strawberry lollipops.

PLOTS:

exes tht lana’s fucked over hideously. she’d probably cheat a lot and it’d be a whole…mess. whips her in the town square like gale

mayb someone tht flipped the switch and cheated on her??? chaos. anguish. strife. 

someone tht works at the burlesque club in downtown lovell w her!!!!! as like a bartender or another dancer or security or................... whtvr honestly. hvn’t worked out a name fr the club yet bt i think it cld b a fun setting to write stuff in n there cld b lots to build off there!!

a cousin plot cld b fun too

her n freya nilsen run smthn called Dick Sisters Inc......... they hv a twitter fr it n everything.... n a hq based in one of the abandoned dorms in the leach building.... lots of inflatable furniture disco balls.............. lana even gt replica airplane seats so they cn sit n b served drinks by this guy tht runs errands fr them who they call bucket....... they bsically like. set ppl up n help ppl get laid it’s a matchmaking service of sorts.......... started as a joke bt nw it’s genuinely become quite a profitable business w word spreading all over campus........ ugh entrepreneurial icons... anyway mayb ur chara cld come to lana fr Dick Sisters assistance......... mayb they’v come to them in the past......... 

a friend tht lana fel out w bc she slept w their significant other.

someone tht’s getting lana into drugs?? she’s kind of impressionable/down for anything so tht’s a likely scenario she’d get into tbh

briefly did camgirl stuff on an independent bt up n coming porn site....... titters.......... mayb ur muse used a pseudonym n recognises lana frm it bt is too embarrassed to admit they were subscribed............ mayb they happened upon her on there once n nw r jst like. what do i do w this knowledge. idk cld b fun to work around perhaps

an unrequited crush!! (either way is cool)

someone tht is just hanging out w her/using her bc she has a lot of instagram followers or they want to b signed to her dad’s label

someone in a band!! she’d probably make like penny lane n b their groupie/sleep w them all i won’t lie to u. relentless.....

umm a good influence too mayb?

honestly?? anything is fine i cld ramble for days. mayb even one of the high profile kids she grew up hangin w idk. world’s our oyster fellas!

[stone-man-warrior]

January 20, 2020: 7:55 pm:

I just now returned from another socio-terrific shopping experience in Dystopia, Grants Pass Oregon, where all of the current citizens are fake, and are Canadians who are using the name of an American that was killed by the SDA terror army. The conditions are best described as living in the aftermath of a slaughter and depopulation of the citizens who lived in the county twenty years ago, where the original population was all brutally killed, and the new, replacement population is implanted from Canada, mostly Quebec, and are commanded as an army by Screen Actor Guild leaders in Hollywood California. SAG gets their orders from the British Throne, Royal Family, and House of Lords British Parliament.

It’s all fucked up.

The current fake impostor population is instructed by SAG leadership to vote in specific ways, as the leadership commands the individual soldiers to vote. The US Election Ballots are filled with Screen Actor Guild Member Shill Candidates, who also take their commands from the SAG leadership in Hollywood CA.

The Josephine County Oregon population is composed of a mixture of Screen Actor Guild members, who are instructed to create a social atmosphere for cover, to make the county appear as a normal county does. The others are Seventh Day Adventist Christian religious cult, and are an army, armed with swords and Nitrous Oxide airborne gas. They use the gas to kill any outsiders who come the the county. SAG arranges replacement look-a-likes to take the place of the murdered victims. The army is supplies with vehicles, housing, food, clothing for free, all of their needs are supplied as any army is supplied by it’s leadership.

Commerce is all faked with false record keeping and the commerce itself, is used as a means of identifying and then marking, and killing those who attempt to make any kind of purchase, anywhere, for anything. Since the army is supplied for free, anyone who makes a purchase is marked as an outsider by virtue of the transaction of making a debit, credit, or cash purchase.

I went to:

6th Street Market

Walmart

As I was leaving my driveway, members of the Clyde Baum terror cell at 333 “Mystreet” were hovering around the front of my home in Clyde’s Red GMC Pick-up truck. Then, a member of the Monroe terror cell also passed by, and lingered at the mailboxes in front of my home. Monroe was driving a small black Crossover style vehicle, a Nissan “Versa”, Oregon License 976 FAV (976 is questionable, not certain)

I left on my way, members of the Google sponsored terror cell at the corner of Russell Road an Three Pines Road, the “Bad Guy Auto” terror cell, were inside the garage with the door open watching as I left on my way. They alerted the people at 6th Street Market of my location and possible ETA at the store.

A large white pick-up truck with a large white horse trailer came around the blind corner near Oxyoke, “Dead Man’s Curve” with all of it’s driver side wheels in my lane. Had I been near the double yellow line as I went around the corner, there would have been a head-on collision at that time. Fortunately, I am aware of the reasons that corner is called “Dead Man’s Corner“, it’s a popular place that terrorists arrange that victims will be taken there. Hollywood provides the professional Stunt Men for such activities.

I arrived at 6th Street Market. I had to park where the terrorists had arranged that I park. An “L” shaped parking arrangement there is a useful tool to take victims. A man waits in his large truck in a parking spot that is perpendictualr to the one that the victim is parked in, such that the two rear bumper’s of the vehicles are close to one another, and he exits that parking spot just as the victim is also exiting, causing a “T-Bone” in reverse. That allows that the driver of the truck will have a reason to engage with the victim close up and verbally. Victims are exposed to Nitrous gas at that time, and carted away. I avoided the “T-Bone” on the way out, but not by much.

Inside the store, each time I go, the clerk signals for two assassins to come in, sometimes three. Then, she creates some kind of distraction with the debit machine as the two enter the store behind me. Today, the distraction was simply to delay the debit machine, with the indicator that reads, “please do not remove card“ for an extended time after the transaction is otherwise complete. I just stare at  the machine waiting for my card to be released from it. That’s when the assassins shoot the victim in the back. The .25 they use does not pierce my coat, and the bullet bounces away, and the clerk always steps aside right then.

So that happened. I heard the “SnaP! sound the gun makes. I lit my lighter, and one of the two terror assassins launched out the front door, and disappeared somewhere at the empty Christmas Tree sales yard across the street. One of the two store clerks, a large red headed woman about 28 years old, followed the launched terror soldier out the door, and began to use her smart phone to communicate with others about what had happened. She was standing by the drivers side door of my car as I exited the store. Also, whenever I go to 6th Street Market, part of the assassination attempt includes that two young people are entering the store as I am leaving. They are always at the entrence at the exact time that I am going through the door on my way out. Those two are not always the same people, but there are always two, to cart the murdered victim away, and they are summoned and come from the barber shop that is also in that shopping strip mall, Village Center, on 6th Street, across from Lithia Dodge Dealer.

So, at least one dead terrorist at 6th Street Market.

Also, I learned while I was there that one of the three bozo’s that attacked me last week while claiming to be Secret Service, US Army, and FBI, was a man by the name of Rick Manning, of the Medical Democrat Terror cell at 598 “MyStreet”. The one that said he was Secret Service, the oldest of the three, who told me he was “Strong” from 3747 Russell Road, the Strong Family “SAG House” terror cell, was Rick Manning. I cut Rick Manning’s throat and his eyes in defense that day, as well as the other two. Apparently, Rick Manning was BOTH “Strong”, from 3747 Russell, AND Rick Manning from 598 “MyStreet”, playing the role of both men. Rick Manning drives a odd, red Honda Station Wagon, about a 1986 model. They did not make very many of those, and it is easily mistaken for a Ford Taurus Station Wagon.

The other two bozo’s said they were reporters from Los Angeles Times Newspaper after the fighting that day. One of them, the one that said he was FBI, and I described as Italian looking, may have been a member of the Google sponsored cell at “Bad Guy Auto”. I have met Rick Manning once, he used two snarling pit bulls to attack me one day. But I thought I killed him that day. Although the man looked similar to Rick Manning, I am not prepared to agree with what the clerk at 6th Street Market said tonight, that the man was Rick Manning. I have never met “Strong”, so I cannot comment about what “Strong” looks like up close, other than he looks like Manning, from about 500 feet away.

So, what I learned is inconclusive, with exception that Manning was NOT Secret Service, and is NOT LIKELY to be a Los Angeles Times Reporter. I did not learn anything new about the one that said his name was “Dan” and was from “US Army”.

Ok, back to the shopping experience:

I went to Walmart. I saw what looked like Juseph Myers white Crossover style vehicle parked in a driveway at the corner of “A Street”, and Beacon Street, at the South East house of the corner. There is a truck in my yard that belongs to a man that once lived at that house, Zachery White, so, that could be a Confusion Service sort of activity done my Juseph Myers, who is part of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police terror cells.

At the Walmart, the parking was not very full, plenty of parking. The store was not very active. The presence of terror soldiers was such that it was obvious that the people in the store were mostly Screen Actor Guild variety of “Bubble Service” terror activity. The Seventh Day Adventist terrorists were in very small number, SAG was in high number.

Nitrous Fogger soldiers were not obvious, there were only very few following me around. I decided to ask about Smart Phones from a store clerk, to learn about the payment, contract, and other things associated with owning a Smart Phone. The young man the helped me was friendly, knowledgeable,  and courteous. He was not wearing a Walmart Vest. He was wearing a black shirt with name tag. I learned something important.

The Apple iPhone is available for only one penny. If you agree to use US Cellular Service Provider, at $75 per month, for two years, the phone only costs one penny. That’s $0.01 for a iPhone. There IS NO PENALTY to CANCEL YOUR CONTRACT with US Cellular, and you can keep the phone. That is where and how the terror army is obtaining some of the iPhone’s that the scouts use without service contract, and only use connectivity of Blu-Tooth networked to all of the other terror cell members such that the Blu-Tooth technology is creating a Blu-Tooth Grid, where each phone behaves the same way as a cellular tower does. There are so many terror soldiers, that they are always connected to one another, and can communicate without a service contract.

I think one terror soldier was ignited shortly after I arrived at the Walmart, and launched away from the shampoo, deodorant, first aid area. “Evac” was announced on the store PA system.

When I was checking out at the self checkout, the debit machine malfunctioned. That was supposed to be opportunity to make a hit attempt on me at that time. Something must have gone wrong, because there was no hit attempt at the time that the clerk came to reset the debit machine. Or, it was done to make it appear as if my debit card is no good, to fool someone who may be investigating terror in Oregon.

As I was leaving, I noticed that there are ZERO motor homes in the parking lot where there are always motor homes and buses. No cars, no buses, no motor homes there. Those buses and motor homes serve as nitrous tank refill area, first aid for injured terrorists, and for torture area’s when victims are taken in the parking lot.

They were all gone tonight.

Upon returning to “MyStreet”, I saw a vehicle come from Sparacino’s terror cell and go to 598 Manning, Medical Democrat (Med-Dems) terror cell. I did not see what kind of vehicle, but it was not a large truck.

That’s all for now.

end terror reporting: 9:42 pm.

[bluerighthand]

Growing Up A Shelby - Chapter 3: 1901

Previous Chapters: one two three /?

Chapter Summary: Ada starts school, Tommy thinks about girls…and boys, and a furry friend is introduced to the family (much to Polly’s distress). 

This chapter is basically a load of domestic things strung together. Fluff, family shenanigans, minimal angst (but there is a whole storm of angst heading your way).

Notes: Due to recent events I’m taking a break from tumblr/the internet, but here’s me resurfacing to post a new chapter and add more stuff to my queue. I’m really sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy <3

Words: 5,654

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542805/chapters/38607311

Warnings: homophobia, brief mentions of death, gun violence and child abuse

“Oh, will you sit still” Polly groaned, smacking the back of John’s head. He stopped wriggling, for a grand total of five seconds, before resuming his task of trying to kick Arthur under the kitchen table. “John. I will shave your head right off I swear to God” said Polly, attempting to guide the razor across the back of his head.

“I am sitting still!” he protested, bringing his feet behind the chair legs to prove his innocence. Arthur’s legs could still reach however, and he waited until Polly was deep in concentration before sending a hard kick to John’s shin. At his cry, Polly slammed the razor down onto the table.

“Out” she said, pointing Arthur towards the door. She didn’t want to actually cut anyone, despite them both driving her absolutely mad. “Acting like a bloody child”.

“That’s a bad word” John informed her. Not as bad as the ones she wanted to use. Arthur took his time, dragging his feet along the floor and ‘accidentally’ knocking John’s arm on the way out.

She needed wine. And whiskey. In the same glass.

Ten minutes later, John’s hair was done. He scurried off immediately, leaving Polly’s warning about kicking his brother hanging in the kitchen. Cleaning the razor, she called for Tommy, but there was no answer. The imminent return to school (signified by the fresh haircut) must have him up to his neck in summer homework, she thought optimistically. Who was she kidding…

Cutting Tommy’s hair in the past had been a long and arduous task. It was easier now he was older, but he still hadn’t fully recovered his dignity from the baldness incident of 1896, and was therefore extremely cautious when it came to having his head shaved.

She entered the boys’ room to see Tommy leaning out of the window, arms resting on the sill. Thin wisps of smoke curled above his head, and Polly shivered, the autumn air from outside chilling the room.

“Thomas” she said warningly. He jumped, quickly flinging his cigarette down onto the street below, and spinning round. She glared at him in frustration. “Where do you keep getting those from?”. He shrugged, but at least had the decency to look sheepish under her gaze.

“It’s bloody freezing” said Polly, tugging the window down and flicking the latch. “Let’s get your hair sorted and you can go and play”. Tommy followed her out of the room.

“I’m too old for playing” he lied, eyes falling on his wooden horses on the landing even as he spoke. Polly shook her head, remembering a time when nothing could prise Tommy away from his toys. She’d seen the way he stared at older gangs on the streets, his natural curiosity pulling him into something that was very hard to get out of. She pushed the thought away. Tommy was only eleven for God’s sake, he had years before his father’s devilment emerged.

Haircut done and school bag packed for the following day, Tommy returned to his spot on the window sill. Arthur was on the street below, and having tired of annoying John, was throwing a deflated ball up for Tommy to catch. Arthur didn’t play with him as much as he used to, so Tommy was happy to join in, missing the hours they used to spend dreaming up worlds together. Tommy was the first to see Ada and Uncle Charlie heading down the lane, and he waved, grinning as Ada held her new school bag aloft. She spent the rest of the evening buckling and unbuckling the thing in excitement, and hardly slept a wink that night. Tommy didn’t have the heart to tell her school wasn’t nearly as fantastical as she was imagining.

The morning arrived, bright and chilly, and the family gathered in the kitchen for breakfast.

“Our Ada, all grown up” said Arthur, holding Ada’s hand as she twirled, crumpled pinafore fanning out. Not quite a ball gown, but it could have been for the way everyone cheered.

“And you’re going to be in my class Ada!” John cried.

“God help their poor teacher” said Polly under her breath. Tommy laughed, pulling on his jacket. After Polly had extracted three cuddly toys and a plate from Ada’s bag, they left the house, Arthur and Polly waving them off at the door. Arthur had finished school in the summer, and now worked in Charlie’s yard, chopping wood, hammering nails, fixing things. He was good at all that stuff. He wasn’t paid much, but earning three pennies a week was a lot more than others his age were doing for their families.

Polly was ecstatic either way, as Arthur’s income enabled her to quit her cleaning job in the evenings, and enrol in an accountancy class at a night school across town. The first class wasn't for a month or two, but she was already beside herself with excitement. Finally, finally, her life was starting. She was slightly apprehensive about leaving the kids on a regular basis; who knows what trouble they’d get up to, but she’d given Arthur a nice long talk about responsibility, some of which had hopefully stuck.

Jane was there of course, but she’d spent the vast majority of the past few months’ asleep upstairs, which unfortunately Polly didn’t see changing anytime soon. At least there was an adult in the home, in case Arthur decided his friends were more important than babysitting.

Ada kept up a constant stream of chatter on the way to school, about exactly what she should learn and exactly how it should be taught to her. Tommy tried to cut in with some brotherly advice; listen, do your homework, don’t punch anyone with these surnames or I’ll be the one to get it in the neck etc., which was naturally ignored. It would be okay though. Ada could look out for herself, and already had a mean right hook on her if anyone got nasty, much to Polly’s delight and their mother’s horror.

By the time they arrived, the yard was bustling with kids, and Tommy quickly lost sight of his siblings as John pulled Ada off towards the schoolhouse. Spying Freddie and Danny amongst their classmates, he elbowed his way through the crowd to reach them.

“Alright Tommy” greeted Freddie, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “You’ll never guess what Danny’s got”. Tommy looked to Danny, who grinned widely as he pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

“No way” Tommy said when he pulled back, in an equally hushed tone.

“Found it in me dad’s coat last night. He’s gonna sort that Whitton out I reckon” said Danny.

“Or that mad horse of yours” said Freddie, laughing at his friends’ matching frowns.

“Jus’ cause you don’t even have a horse” said Danny.

“When can we see it?” asked Tommy eagerly. Guns were not uncommon in Small Heath, far from it in fact, but he’d never actually held one, never fired one. Blades were far easier to steal, so staring at the outline of his father’s gun through his jacket was the closest he’d got thus far. Arthur Snr had never let his gun out of his sight, even when he was drunk, and Polly used to joke that it was the only thing he could be relied upon for. He’d taken Arthur out shooting once, to Tommy’s jealousy, but his rather graphic descriptions of what he’d do to anyone who stole his gun was enough to put Tommy off.

Danny’s dad was as forgetful as anything, much like his son, making this gun a far easier target.

Before they could make plans however, the bell rang, and the boys reluctantly made their way towards the extension. This building, made for the older kids, was far more makeshift and patchwork than the main schoolhouse, and Tommy wasn’t looking forward to their winter classes. Other than that, things were looking up if Arthur’s time in the top class was anything to go by.

He’d hardly turned up for one thing, and whenever he caused trouble a sweet smile was enough for Mrs Changretta to look the other way. Unfortunately, school restructuring meant that Tommy missed out on Mrs Changretta altogether, and instead ended up with a rather frail looking elderly man called Mr Pearson.

He seemed to live in a constant state of exhaustion, and also looked partially sighted, meaning Tommy was looking forward to bunking off without Pearson even noticing his absence. After ten minutes of silent work only disturbed by the whizz of paper balls Billy was lobbing at the back of Tommy’s head, Pearson went so still in his chair that they all began to speculate whether he was still breathing or not.

Turns out, he was, and Tommy let his daydreams carry him off for the rest of the morning rather than listen to any more drivel about algebra. Lunchtime rolled around, and he, Danny and Freddie entertained themselves by acting out what would likely happen to poor Whitton at the hands of Mr Owens’ gun.

It was strange to see Ada running around the yard. She’d never liked being left behind while her brothers went off to school. And now here she was with them, wearing an oversized pinafore that used to be Polly’s, a wide gap toothed smile on her face and her freshly cut bob dancing around her shoulders. She bounded up to Tommy a few minutes later, holding hands with another girl, and Tommy just managed to catch that her name was Jessie before the two ran off again.

After school, Danny’s mother was waiting by the gates, Danny turning back to shrug apologetically at his friends as he was pulled away. Tommy and Freddie glanced at each other uneasily. They decided to go the pasture that afternoon, instead of playing in the streets…not that they were scared or anything. And if they walked John and Ada home first, nobody had to know.

An hour later, Tommy and Freddie were stretched out on their backs in the field, horses galloping around the paddock nearby as clouds meandered across the sky. It was almost too cold for this now, and Tommy wanted to be outdoors as much as possible before he was forced into Arthur’s old winter coat every time he left the house, which was too thin to keep him from the chill, and merely stopped the free feel of the breeze against his skin.

“Do you like anyone?” asked Freddie. The question came out of the blue, they’d been discussing Danny’s father a second ago, and Tommy turned his head to look at Freddie, his profile clear against the sky.

“I’m not that cold am I?”.

“Not like that” Freddie laughed. “I mean a girl. Do you like any girls?”. Tommy had known what he’d meant. All he heard from Arthur these days was ‘girl talk’, when he wasn’t ignoring him in favour of Irene, or Erin, or…who was it now?

“Do you?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah” said Freddie sadly, “but she doesn’t like me back”.

“How do you know?” said Tommy, propping himself up on an elbow. He didn’t like the sound of this. It was the first he’d heard about it, and he and Freddie told each other everything, didn’t they? Freddie turned his head away before he spoke.

“Because she likes you Tommy” he said, the intonation giving away his annoyance. Tommy frowned, before sitting up fully.

“Is it Greta?” he asked. She was the only girl who ever played with him, other than Ada of course. She was funny, smart, and pretty too. Freddie nodded, not moving from his spot on the grass. “Freddie” groaned Tommy, poking his friend in the shoulder. “She probably only likes me cause I’m the only boy that talks to her”. Freddie shrugged.

“Are you going to kiss her?” he asked.

“What? No!” cried Tommy, realising too late that his reaction was far more opinionated than Freddie was expecting.  “I mean” he tried again, “she’d like you much more if you only tried speaking to her instead of putting worms in her desk”.

“Hey” protested Freddie, “how was I to know Billy had moved seats while I was ill?”. They laughed for a while at the memory, before Freddie spoke again.

“I’d like to kiss her”. Tommy felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Maybe he was getting ill. But as his eyes flicked down to Freddie’s lips as he smiled, Tommy wondered if there was another reason his insides were full of butterflies.

He’d pondered this matter rather a lot lately.

The first thing he’d heard about homosexuals had been from his father. They’d been walking home from the boxing ring a few years ago, Arthur Snr having had one too many whiskeys, and come across two young men in an alleyway shortcut to Watery Lane. One was leaning against the wall, whilst the other rested his hand on the bricks behind his head, leaning in close. They were just laughing and talking, and Tommy wouldn’t have given it a moment’s thought if his father hadn’t stopped dead in the street, turning down the alley.

The men were already long gone by the time his father had staggered to their spot, but he spent the rest of the trip home muttering about them, and it was the most Tommy had ever heard him speak of the Bible. He’d been too young to understand it then, but now?

He sighed.

He probably didn’t need to worry much about what his father thought anyway. They’d only seen him once since their disastrous trip to London, when he’d turned up one weekend at the boxing ring. He’d bullied Arthur into fighting him, and then left whilst his son was still bleeding on the ground. He hadn’t even gone to see their mother, nor Polly.

Tommy had been close to confronting him, but Arthur wouldn’t let him, holding firmly onto his wrist as blood dripped down his chin. Tommy thought about him sometimes, wondered where he was, but was nevertheless glad to have him out of the way.

The walk home was quiet, both Tommy and Freddie lost in thought. A dark raincloud had settled over Small Heath, and didn’t let up for weeks, sending everyone into an irritable mood. Danny’s father had died in hospital, from multiple gunshot wounds. Of course Tommy knew guns could kill; that was the point of them, but…weren’t they only supposed to kill bad people? The hero never died in his storybooks. Maybe Mr Owens had been a villain after all.

The approach of Christmas and the school holidays cheered everyone up a bit, as did Danny’s return to school at the end of November.

Tommy also had a new hobby; dancing. Smoking around the back of the town hall at night had become something of a habit. It was quiet, as quiet as you could get in Small Heath, as the majority of the pubs and gambling dens were on the opposite side of the town. Tommy liked to lean against the brick wall and smoke, gazing up at the night sky. In the summer, they opened the windows, and Tommy could hear violins and cellos and countless other instruments from within, tapping his foot along with the rhythm.

Freddie often accompanied him, but Tommy wasn’t sure how he felt about Freddie these days. It was nice to spend the evening alone sometimes, away from his siblings and friends. Tommy had wandered across to the hall, hoping to hear the music, but the chill of autumn had been supplanted by a bitterly cold winter, and the windows remained firmly shut. He shivered, regretting this decision somewhat as he saw a mother and son cross the street ahead of him, both decked out in thick fluffy coats and scarves. Night had fallen, and he could feel his fingertips going numb as he deliberated what to do.

The large clock on the building opposite chimed nine, and Tommy made his decision, slipping in behind an elderly couple entering the hall. He ducked behind a column, watching people in their fineries enter the main auditorium. There was a door on the right, marked with that tempting ‘Do not enter, staff only’ sign and when there was a lull in arrivals Tommy crossed the empty hallway and pulled open the door to reveal a staircase.

Pleasantly surprised it wasn’t just a cupboard, or something equally boring, he climbed the stairs to the top. Judging by the amount of dust on the handle, nobody had been up here for a long time. Tommy blew the cloud of fluff away, pushing open the door to reveal the loft. Boxes littered the floor, the sad remains of bent flutes and snapped violin strings poking out. There was a dusty old gramophone, and a few cracked records strewn about the place, but other than that it was all beams and lead pipes and spider’s webs.

The building was old, and the boards creaked dangerously under Tommy’s feet as he made his way across the attic. The screws in the floorboards looked loose and rusty, and Tommy could see gaps where they’d fallen away up ahead, providing chinks of light where the missing tiles in the ceiling offered only black.

Not stopping to consider the fact that this could be a very bad idea, Tommy continued walking, swinging around a beam and crouching down at its base. Through a small gap, he could see the orchestra far below, a few metres ahead. The rows of seats to the side of the dancefloor were mostly full, and Tommy was surprised to see what he assumed were people of standing in the audience. Small Heath wasn’t exactly known as a cultural centre.

He moved further into the room, and decided a stronger looking horizontal beam would be a good place to sit and listen to the music. He clung to a dusty pipe for support, swinging his legs across and pushing himself up onto the beam.

It wasn’t the most comfortable; in order to balance himself he had to twist around awkwardly to grab the post behind him, but when the music started up again and he caught glimpses of the dancers swirling below him, it was worth it.

The sound here was much better than from outside, and the protection of the mostly formed roof prevented the bite of that chilling cold that numbed his fingers and wound its way down to his bones. He swung his feet in time to the music, the thrill of being somewhere he definitely shouldn’t and nobody knowing it putting a giddy smile on his face.

“What are you doing?” came a voice. Tommy started, craning his neck to see a girl standing in the doorway. She was dressed well, too well to be a Small Heath kid, buttoned into a crisp white blouse and a navy petticoat. The long blond hair trailing down to her waist made her look like the princess in Ada’s storybook.

“The door was open” she said. Shit. “It’s staff only, so I thought I should take a look”.

“You’re staff?” said Tommy, disbelievingly. She had to be at least three years younger than he was.

“My mum’s performing” she said proudly. “I can go where I want”.

“What does she play?” asked Tommy, peeking back through the gap in the floor, relieving the strain on his neck.

“Don’t you think we should talk about this after I’ve rescued you?” she said, exasperated. Tommy squawked indignantly.

“I don’t need rescuing!” he insisted, trying to look relaxed in his precarious position. The girl looked at him expectantly. Right, of course. Time to get back without falling through the floor. Tommy scanned the area, noting the spots he’d used to get here, and the surrounding beams. It suddenly looked a lot more complicated than it had ten minutes ago. Steeling himself, and slightly annoyed that this girl had interrupted a perfectly enjoyable evening, he slid off the beam and began to make his way back across the floor. The girl was shifting nervously, and brought a hand up to bite at her nails when a board gave a particularly loud creak.

“Not there!” she cried suddenly, and Tommy flung an arm out to stop himself instinctively, glaring at her.

“You’re not helping” he said. She fell silent for a moment, watching him right himself and manoeuvre around a couple more beams.

“I’m Grace, by the way”. Tommy didn’t answer, more focused on removing his foot from a floorboard that looked as if it had mere moments before it snapped. “What’s your name?”. Tommy jumped, swinging from an overhead pipe for a second, which protested loudly at his weight, and landed in front of Grace. He did a mock bow, and she laughed.

“Tommy”. A smile.

“Your clothes are filthy” she said, gesturing to his dusty attire.

“Yours aren’t, rich girl”.  Brushing himself down, he leant against the doorframe. She held out her hand.

“Do you want to dance?”. Tommy was slightly taken aback by this.

“I don’t know how” he said after a moment.

“I’ll teach you. It’s easy, come on!”.

“Which one’s your mum?” asked Tommy, once Grace had pulled him through the hall, on the right floor this time, and up to the stage.

“The singer, right at the front” said Grace, beaming. “We’re staying in hotels and travelling around England so she can perform. Isn’t she brilliant? They say I could be a singer myself someday”.

“I’d like to see that” said Tommy.

“Come on, let’s dance” she said, pulling him into the crowd. Tommy was stiff and self-conscious at first, treading on Grace’s feet and glancing around the room for any familiar faces. Grace laughed when they stumbled, but not in a cruel way, and Tommy soon found himself smiling and pulled into the rhythm of the music. By the time the orchestra took a break, Grace had taught Tommy some basic steps, and they twirled amongst the other dancers for an hour or so until they collapsed, exhausted, into chairs next to the stage. Grace’s mum came down from the platform to greet them, eyes widening as she glanced at her watch.

“Say goodbye, Grace” her mother instructed, glancing at Tommy distractedly, and waving over a friend to take Grace back to the room.

“There’s another concert next Friday” she said, “this is our last stop before we go back to Ireland. Would you like to come?”. They made plans, and Tommy waved goodbye and slipped out of the door before Grace’s mother could ask any questions.

His walk home turned into a run in an attempt to warm his blood, but his fingers were still shaking by the time he slid his key into the door. Polly had finally been persuaded to get him one cut after she’d found him half way up the house, clinging to several knotted sheets at three am, Arthur half hanging out of the window in an attempt to pull him up. Avoiding the creaky stair, he crept past Polly’s door and into his room.

John was fast asleep under the covers, but Arthur wasn’t home. It wasn’t uncommon these days for him to be gone, but Tommy usually lay awake until he heard his brother’s footsteps on the landing, or the rustle of the sheets as he slid into bed. He didn’t come back at all that night. Tommy caught a few winks of sleep, but woke whilst the sky was still dark, watching the street from his window until the orange sunrise dragged itself wearily over Small Heath, the dark clouds finally dissipating.

Arthur turned up around lunchtime, mostly sober, and Polly, having had quite enough of the lot of them pressed a few pennies into their hands for the fair. Charlie came round in the afternoon to visit his sister, and enjoy a hot cup tea away from the yard.

Polly took advantage of his visit, enacting her plans to rearrange the sleeping arrangements in the house without the hindrance of her nephews and niece. The boys were getting far too old to be cramped up in one room together. In the past year, Arthur had started growing at a slightly alarming rate, much to Tommy’s distress. He could wear his father’s old clothing now, which was useful, but his long limbs were also causing some problems. He'd been shaken awake by an indignant Tommy on more than one occasion, having accidentally smacked him as he rolled over in bed.

But Tommy’s nighttime wanderings and susceptibility to nightmares made it clear he still needed his older brother. However much he’d deny it. John, although small, was extremely messy, and seemed to relocate every single toy in the house to their bedroom floor on a regular basis, which infuriated his brothers to no end. Despite John and Ada bickering at least five times a day, they were inseparable, and so close in age it only made sense for them to share a room.

Polly felt no remorse in chucking out her brother’s old boxes of files, endless sheets of paper and grand business plans, which took up an entire room on the landing. Who the hell needed two offices? Especially if they were never even home to use them?

Curly was called in from the stables to help, and soon John’s bed was squeezed through the doorway and moved into the now clean and empty room down the hall. Ada’s new bed, courtesy of Charlie, followed, and Polly inwardly cheered about having her own space back after four years of sharing with the youngest Shelby. Jane managed to make it downstairs to see the new arrangement, and say a sentimental goodbye to the Shelby cot.

“I remember putting little Arthur in here” she said, running her hand across the wood. Polly smiled at the memory. She was only seven at the time, and was beyond excited to have a baby to look after.

“I reached through and he gripped onto my finger” said Polly fondly. Little teeth marks, John’s handiwork, covered the posts, and Polly had an exasperated smile on her face as she observed the marks where Tommy had actually removed two of the posts and wiggled out. She’d found the empty cot and loose posts on the floor the next morning, and was in complete panic until she found him curled up on the floor under Jane’s bed. God knows how he’d done it.

“I’ll keep it out the back” said Charlie, “then you can have it again if you need it”. He quietened, a deep crease in his forehead.

“We won’t need it” said Polly, firmly.

Jane nodded sadly, before giving Polly a teasing smile.

“Maybe for children of your own, ey Pol?”.

“Give over” she laughed. She’d had quite enough of putting children before her career for the time being. But…maybe one day they’d use the cot again.

The boys’ room looked huge without John’s bed, and they spread out Arthur and Tommy’s, Charlie surprising Polly later that afternoon by delivering a small desk he’d been working on. It slid neatly between the beds, making the room look cosy and far more practical than before.

It was a far cry from a few winters past, where the cold had been so bad, and the price of wood so high, they’d chopped up the beds to burn in the fireplace. They spared the cot; John was only a baby, and Jane’s bed, but the boys and Polly were on mattresses until the following summer. She’d tried to make it fun, like a camping game, but the novelty wore off after a few nights. Even when they had beds again, Tommy would wake up in a cold sweat more often than not, thinking he could feel bugs crawling over his skin.

Later that evening, Polly glanced over her library books one last time. It had been hard to remind her brain how to do calculations after such a long time, but she felt more confident now she’d got some practice in. She couldn’t believe it was finally happening. Practically jumping with excitement, Polly entered the kitchen to grab her bag, stopping in her tracks at the scene within.

The entire floor was covered in hay. Her first thought was that Tommy had brought one of the horses into the house again, but this time the culprits were Ada and John. They were sprawled in the middle of the floor, heads together, giggling at something Polly couldn’t see. Their heads snapped up when she coughed pointedly, gesturing at the mess.

Curled up in Ada’s lap, was a small shivering rabbit. It was white in places, but its paws and sides were a dirty grey, the fur matted and unkempt.

“Ada” Polly said calmly. “Why is there a rabbit in our kitchen?”.

“Because she’s cold”.

“It’s a boy” said John.

“Is not” retorted Ada, cuddling the animal close. To its credit, it didn’t seem to mind. Any other being that could tolerate the Shelby children should be given a medal in her view. That being said, it was still a dirty rabbit, and it was still in her kitchen.

“I don’t care if it’s cold, put it back where you found it. And look at the mess you’ve made” said Polly, moving some hay out of her path with her shoe.

“Aunt Pol, you just destroyed the turret” whined John.

“Turret?”

“We made her a castle to live in” said Ada. “Out of hay”.

“For God’s sake! Get it out, now”.

“No!” Ada cried, “we found her all alone outside, she doesn’t want to go back out there”. Polly pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn’t have time for this. And she would not have her good mood ruined a by a bloody rabbit.

“Ada Jane Shelby, you listen to me. If that rabbit is still in this house when I get home tonight, you’ll not sit down for a week”. Ada glared right back, and would have likely folded her arms if they weren’t full of fluff. John leaned over, holding something orange out to the creature. It sniffed the air, nose twitching, before tucking in.

“That’s not the carrot I bought from the market today is it?” Polly asked in a low voice. John shook his head, the lie written all over his face.

Slamming the door, Polly marched down the lane. Let Arthur deal with the bloody thing, just think about the class, she told herself. Despite her anger about the mess and the wasted food, she was still excited. It was quite a trek to the school, but Polly supposed accountants in training didn’t want drunkards bursting in on them halfway through a lesson. She arrived right on time, and swiftly closed the door on the frigid air she’d left behind.

By the time the lecturer arrived, there were around twenty students, most of whom had clearly travelled from out of town. She was the only girl, which she had been expecting, but it still sent a shiver of unease down her spine as the men turned to stare at her. No worries, she calmed herself, it would only take one woman to put this lot to shame. Deliberately busying herself with her books, she avoided their gazes and glanced over the course overview once again, trying to concentrate. Bloody rabbit. Arthur had better get rid of it.

“Something troubling you?”.

Polly started slightly, and looked to her left. A man had slid into the seat next to her, leaning on the desk as he smiled. His eyes were a deep blue-green colour, and his dark hair was styled upwards, a few strands falling around his face.

“Just- just a rabbit” she said. He laughed, and Polly faced the front quickly as the tutor called for their attention. If this stupidly attractive boy made her mince her words, she’d have nothing to do with him. She’d learnt that lesson four years ago.

The class was just as she’d hoped. She couldn’t quite process that she was actually here, and the life she’d dreamed up for herself when she was just thirteen was finally starting. Polly was pretty sure she spent the entire two hours with a deranged smile on her face, but she didn’t care. She caught the man’s eye from time to time when he smiled at her, and became more confident, even leaning over at one point and correcting a mistake he’d made. She wasn’t sure how he’d react and could imagine the earful she’d get from her brother if she did such a thing to him, but the man just nodded and listened, eager to learn. She liked that.

The class ended far too soon, but Polly packed up quickly, thoughts of what the kids could be getting up to in her absence taking precedence. She paused near the door, glancing back at the man she’d sat beside. He was engaged in conversation with some friends, and Polly smiled before ducking out of the room.

She was already anticipating the following week, planning to get some practice at the harder problems before the next class. She made it halfway down the dark street, before she heard loud footsteps behind her, instinctively reaching for the pocketknife hidden within her coat. Spinning around, the man from the class had caught up with her. At her expression, he waved his hands in apology.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you” he said, “I just-”

“I should be going” said Polly reluctantly, thinking of the children.

“Stay” he said, reaching for her hand, “have a drink with me. If not tonight, perhaps some other time?”. She bit her lip, enjoying the feeling of his fingers intertwining with hers. Should she go for this?

“I don’t even know your name” she said.

“Edward” he replied, kissing her hand. “Edward Gray”.

[escailyyy]

The vanishing Hitchhiker

Sherlock Holmes consulting detective didn’t believe in apparitions, specters or anything of that sort, he was pragmatic and cynical, that’s why when Lestrade warned him against driving down St Margaret road on a Friday 13th he scoffed at the silly superstition and refused to listen to more, really, the less evolved could be so idiotic sometimes.

It was a quiet evening with little traffic and he’d just finished a seven in a nearby town, maybe that’s why Sherlock decided to stop for the petite woman who was so evidently failing at getting a ride from the cars passing her by.

“Oh thank heavens” she said when Sherlock pulled up to the curve, turning around to smile at him revealing the probable reason why she was in her predicament “I’ve been walking for miles but nobody will stop, one look at this bloody lab coat and everyone thinks I’m a serial killer” She huffed in indignation

“Its the logical conclusion since evidently the blood isn’t yours, yet you had little choice in wearing it because the dress you are wearing underneath is a flimsy protection against this windy weather” Sherlock replied rapidly deducing the stranger, she was female, in her late twenties “you’re a doctor working on your PhD, live alone but you’ll be married soon, sentimental, have a cat, and are well off financially…. judging by the tools in you pocket and lack of purse I’d say you were called to do an emergency consultation during some important event that required you to wear that dress”

She watched him for a couple of moments blinking in astonishment before extending her hand “Molly Hooper, recent hire by St Bart’s pathology department”

“So I was right” Sherlock congratulated himself “I’m Sherlock Holmes, only consulting detective in the world” he said smugly

“Well Sherlock I’m sorry to bother you but can you take me to Heathrow? I had a row with the people supposed to drive me back and they just left me at the side of the road, someone’s waiting for me and I can’t be late”

Sherlock was exasperated but agreed to give Molly a lift and to nobody’s surprise she turned out to be a veritable chatterbox, but that wasn’t a surprise to Sherlock, she had the look of someone who found silence uncomfortable.

Mostly she told him about the situation where he’d found her, she’d told him of a old rival who was being accused of murdering his pregnant wife, she of course noticed immediately that the lady died at childbirth and the “friends” that had offered to give her a ride home had quarreled over her verdict, eventually deciding to leave her to reach home alone.

“One of them probably did it” Sherlock deduced after hearing the bare bones of the case “They knew you didn’t like the accused man personally and would probably be willing to lie about the COD if it meant getting even”

“I figured so too, except that I take my professional integrity very seriously” Molly replied in a huff “I still don’t understand why, I mean the victim was a battered housewife, wouldn’t it be more logical to kill the abusive husband?”

“Not necessarily, if the killer had a personal connection to the victim and she didn’t want to leave her husband” Sherlock shrugged not realizing he found her line of questioning interesting “saving the baby from a household like that would have looked like a better option…And if you were willing to commit perjury then most likely the killer would return the child”

“So the murderer was either related to the victim or loved her hard enough to "save” her baby from the abusive father, they also knew of my personal history with the man and wanted to see him behind bars….I think I have an idea on who it is" Molly hummed non committal “As if I would commit perjury because of a petty grudge” then she turned to Sherlock “And you? What was a posh detective doing so far from London, in the country no less”

So Sherlock told her, he talked about his case a complicated closed room situation where a snake the width of a penny had been pushed through a hole in the roof and been confused as part of the furniture by the idiots on Scotland Yard. Molly listened attentively, happily offering suggestions on how the forensics could have done better and giving positive commentary.

It was already dark when about one mile before their destination, Sherlock’s car stuttered to a halt and refused to start again, for some reason Molly didn’t look disappointed, in fact to Sherlock’s view the animated pathologist looked strangely at peace “ the tow truck, will be here in a while Molly” Sherlock explained after making his calls

“It’s all right, today has turned out to be a better day than I expected, I should thank you for that” Molly shook her head laughing “you’re a great detective Sherlock Holmes, it was good luck that I met you”

“The universe is rarely that lazy” Sherlock retorted using a phrase Mycroft was fond of, thinking that he would like to see Molly again after he saw her home “You said your fiance is waiting, I hope your anniversary dinner won’t be spoiled” he didn’t know why he said that, but he felt the whole car ride was driving him too close to sentiment for his liking.

“He probably IS worried crazy, but don’t worry about it, I’ll see him again eventually, when this blows over” Molly explained cryptically “I was actually surprised that you picked me up from St Margaret’s road, they say Friday 13th is known to produce it’s fair share of accidents in that area”

“I don’t believe in superstition and magic nonsense Molly, statistical analysis will tell you that any road is dangerous when the wrong driver decides to get behind the wheel” Sherlock scoffed remembering Lestrade and his poppycock excuse for staying behind while Sherlock drove himself to London

“Either way, do me a favor and don’t take that way up to London again, next time try Carsonfield Road, it’s actually shorter and less bumpy” Molly advised and in a blink Sherlock saw her face turn yellow with decay, a gruesome cut that ran from her cheek to her arm, and a collection of fresh bruises marring the skin that had been blissfully smooth all evening “It’s been a wonderful day, thank again for your help Sherlock” the corpse like vision said again and like midst in the air she vanished right before his eyes. Leaving behind only a bloody lab coat to prove she existed at all.

Later after not being able to give himself a logical explanation for what had happened, how or why or when. So many things didn’t make sense that Sherlock naturally decided to investigate. It turned out that the address she’d given him wasn’t a house in Heathrow, but a hospital, Saint Margaret’s General Hospital to be exact.

But try as he might he couldn’t find her, or any mention of her anywhere, there were really no Molly Hoopers associated with that hospital. It wasn’t until he began investigating in St Bart’s employment records that Mike Stamford took pity on him and pulled him aside to show him an old framed newspaper from the world war II era.

“I heard that you’re looking for someone called Molly and I thought you might be interested in knowing how an old road in the countryside got it’s name” Stamford said pulling up the framed picture from his filing cabinet “St Margaret’s road was called Linton Lane before the war you know” Stamford explained “around that time a general suspected of smuggling weapons to the Germans was accused of killing his own wife, everyone was sure he’d done it, except for the mortician: a woman named Margaret Hooper, she used to work here”

The story went in an identical vein to what Molly had told him the previous day, a mortician well known to have been wronged by the general gave a testimony that corroborated the man’s innocence casting a doubt over the location of a kidnapped baby. But unlike Molly’s story, she hadn’t been left on the side of the road to catch a ride home: She’d been left there to bleed out after being gruesomely stabbed multiple times and as a result for a long time nobody could pass the road without thinking about her. Hence the name of the place.

“Here I know that name, right here, William Scott… he’s one from mummy’s relatives” Sherlock realized zeroing on one of the names listed in the newspaper. He of course knew that his family tree had a smattering amount of detectives here and there, but to find out that his ancestor had been leading the investigation gave him pause.

What had Molly, if there was even a Molly in the first place, been trying to tell him?.

Apparently detective Scott launched an investigation on the officers involved in the case that Molly had been consulting on at the time of her murder, which led to Scotland Yard discovering that the wife beating general was being set up to take the fall for a superior that was using his wife and working for the Germans into creating a bomb that would have decimated half of the Parliament.

Which still didn’t tell him anything about Molly, until finally he caved and asked his mother.

“Oh Molly Hooper? She was his fiance” Mummy replied absentmindedly “you probably deleted that when I told you that you were named after a hopeless romantic” Yes Sherlock definitely had skipped that part of the family storyline “ your three times Great uncle William was going to get married shortly before her murder, tragic stuff with him, they used to exchange letters filled with love and he never recovered from losing her”

“Did he ever find out who murdered her?” Sherlock wondered thinking back to the smiling brunette who had almost stolen his heart too in the space of one road trip

“No, that’s the sad thing, William Scott closed the general’s case, but he never could find enough evidence for Molly’s murder, although he did fund a hospital in her honor using the house that would have been theirs when they got married”

“Saint Margaret’s General Hospital” Sherlock muttered with dawning realization

“So you do remember!, Well that’s all I know about the issue, I named you after him because I thought he was a very dedicated sort” And that was the end of the conversation.

Sherlock never told anybody about the little vanishing hitchhiker. He later learned that superstition or not there really were a number of unexplained car accidents around that road. When questioned the victims that swerved into trees claimed to have seen a woman in a white dress standing right in the middle of the road, some said she appeared repeatedly again and again as they drove by, and the less injured ones claimed to have been giving a kind lady a lift when their cars stopped for unexplained reasons in the middle of a well transited spot.

Sherlock never talked about her clever mind, her button nose or the way she seemed to know exactly what to say to put him at ease. So much he was distracted from the splash pattern in the lab coat that was consistent with multiple stab wounds.

Sometimes of Friday 13th he found himself talking Mycroft’s car to drive down St Margaret’s road, thinking about a ghost stuck wandering in the countryside trying to get back to her loving fiance.

And perhaps he also thought about his newfound determination to solve her murder.

[lanamemories]

#001 CHARACTER SHEET:

Full Name: Lana Rose Jameson Meaning of Name: The Greek and American meaning is ‘light’, whereas the English meaning is ‘fair/good looking’. Nickname: None. Birth Date: June 18th, 1996. Astrological Sign and Details: Gemini. Common star sign traits are ‘quick-witted’, ‘expressive’ and ‘sociable’. Lana firmly believes that a person’s star sign speaks volumes about the content of their character and is always suspicious of anyone that she meets that’s a Taurus. Birth Place: Her mother went into labour backstage at the rock concert of one of the bands Lana’s father manages. She was born in New York Presbyterian.  Age: 21.

Nationality: American. Race: Caucasian. Hair Color: Auburn. Hair Style: Long and wavy.  Distinct Features of Face: Plump lips and thick eyebrows. Glasses or Contacts: None. Eye Color: Hazel. Skin Tone: She vacations a lot during summer, so she has a sun-kissed glow that lasts for a long while into winter. Scars or Distinguishing Marks: A heart shaped freckle on the inside of her right thigh, subtle freckles over the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Disabilities: None. Build or Body Type: Naturally slim, maintained by ballet. Height: 5″9′. Weight: i searched for so long n i can’t find bridgets weight anywhere bt... essentially she’s skinny Speech Patterns: Talks a mile a minute, especially when nervous. Laughs at everything and nothing. Uses a lot of filler words because she’s constantly thinking aloud so her sentence is never planned out before she says it. Tag Words: Says “like”, “totally”, “anyways” and “um” a lot.  Gestures: Almost always wildly flinging her hands around. Most of the time she finds any excuse to have some form of physical contact with the person she’s speaking to, e.g. playing with their hair, dusting lint from their shoulder. 

FAMILY AND CHILDHOOD

Mother: Victoria Jameson. Father: Richard Jameson. Mother’s Occupation: Former model, presently operating as a socialite and doing charity work. Father’s Occupation: CEO of Jameson Records. Family Finances: Wealthy. Birth Order: Caleb Jameson is the oldest, Lana the youngest. Brothers: One, Caleb Jameson. Sisters: None. Other Close Family: None particularly, save for a handful of cousins they see during holidays. Best Friend: Frankie Vigo. Other Friends: Teddy Lawrence, Ophelia Knox, Gabe Leitner, Imogen Bauer, Elias Elliot, A.J. Sullivan, Melody Forbes, Jude Hayward. Probably more that I’m missing. Lana’s quite a social butterfly. Enemies: None. Pets: None. Home Life During Childhood: Lana was often treated like she didn’t exist. She could go for days on end without her parents ever saying one word to her. She’d often have to sort out her own meals because they’d forget about her and she was so touch starved growing up, it’s likely that’s one of the main contributors towards her sex addiction today. One of her most vivid memories as a child was reaching to hold her mother’s hand when she got nervous crossing the road, only to have her slap her off her and turn her head the other way. What Did His, Her or Their Bedroom Look Like: An explosion of pink. Picture every teenage girls room from a chick flick in the early 00′s. Very Jennifer Check, posters everywhere, giant fluffy cushions, the works. Any Sports or Clubs: She used to be a cheerleader in high school and she’s always done ballet from being tiny.  Schooling: She went to high school further into the city (New York) and obviously is now enrolled at Lockwood to complete her diploma.  Favorite Subject: Growing up, she used to love art and also debate as well as dance. Now it’s probably just dance. Popular or Loner: Popular. Important Experiences or Events: Caleb shipping off to the army as well as Caleb being discharged on grounds of PTSD after his unit were attacked, seeing him losing his best friend right in front of him. He was never the same after that and therefore the one person that Lana actually thought she mattered to in the world was essentially gone. Health Problems: ADHD and sex addiction. Religion and beliefs: Atheist.

PERSONAL

Bad Habits: Sleeping with people to avoid dealing with her feelings, biting her lip when she’s nervous, playing with her hair and generally fidgeting when people speak to her. Good Habits: Obsessively always keeping a pack of gum on her because she hates bad breath, sending good morning texts and practising her ballet. Best Characteristic: Her ability to start up a conversation with just about anyone. Worst Characteristic: Her inability to open up and have a serious conversation about her emotions. Worst Memory: Her mother finding out that she got blackout drunk and had a threesome with two of her father’s close associates. She didn’t seem to take into account the fact that it was vastly inappropriate for them to be talking to Lana in the way they had which lead to the encounter, or the fact that she was drunk when it happened. She told Lana she was disgusting and didn’t look at her in the face again after for three months. Best Memory: Having a childish bicker with Caleb at the park and throwing his whole loaf of bread into the duck pond in protest. When he was mad at her, she attempted to reach out and fish it back only to fall in, herself. She’d never seen him laugh that hard before and eventually she was joining in, too. It was the last time she can remember him smiling. Proud of: Nothing in particular. Embarrassed by: The fact that her parents don’t love her and she can’t work out why. Driving Style: Wild, anxious and erratic. Screams a lot, particularly when navigating busy junctions or highways. Strong Points: Exuberant, good-willed for the majority, quick-witted, sociable, charming, imaginative and resilient. Temperament: Ridiculously animated and sunshine bright, usually. Attitude: Same as above, except she can sometimes be unintentionally rude in the name of humour and not realise just how insensitive she’s being. Weakness: Her stubborn refusal to let anyone hear what she’s actually thinking in terms of serious matters. Considering she talks so much, it’s amazing just how little she actually says. Fears: Loneliness. Irrelevancy. The death of a loved one.  Phobias: Pigeons and blood. Secrets: Her sex addiction. Regrets: Letting Caleb sign up to the army without putting up more of a fight. Feels Vulnerable When: Someone asks her something personal about herself. Pet Peeves: Bad breath, poor sense of personal hygiene, making a commitment. Sexuality: Pan-sexual. Exercise Routine: She has a lot of ballet rehearsals and training weekly, so that along with a vigorous (to put it lightly) sex life keep her well in shape. Day or Night Person: Both. Introvert or Extrovert: Extrovert.  Optimist or Pessimist: Optimist. 

LIKES AND PREFERENCES

Music: Synth-pop and disco, mostly. She also loves early 2000′s classics, e.g. Britney, Robyn. She also selectively listens to classic rock records as a result of her father’s influence. Books: Lana isn’t particularly a huge reader, although she used to be obsessive over the Twilight books during her early teens. Magazines: Any trashy celebrity magazine, Lana loves to flip through. She’s a fiend for salacious gossip and anything that discusses the wild escapades of Lindsay Lohan. Foods: Lana eats anything and everything. She particularly loves Greek yogurt mixed in with honey, though, as well as any kind of candy. She has a big sweet tooth. Drinks: Again, she’s pretty flexible in this department. She really likes cherry cola, though. Animals: Lana’s a big dog person. She also has always had an affinity for sloths because she loves how slow they move and how long their arms are. Sports: Dance. Gymnastics, briefly, when she was younger, as well as cheer, but currently she only actively pursues dance, ballet in particular. Social Issues: She thinks Trump is ugly and is a big advocate for trans-sectional feminism. Favorite Saying: Country booooyyeee, ah luuuurve yew... Color: Red. Clothing: Seventies style, Penny Lane inspired jackets with fur fringed cuffs. Any kind of boldly coloured fur coat, actually. Glittery boots. Spaghetti strap mini’s. Shrunken cartoon t-shirts that wear like a crop. Anything flamboyant and colourful, Lana loves. She dresses a lot like Cher from Clueless, Rachel Green from the early Friends seasons and Brittany Murphy’s character in Uptown Girls. Jewelry: None in particular. Games: She used to always play Saints Row when she was younger. Websites: Twitter, Tumblr, Vine and PornHub. TV Shows: Girlboss and Sex in the City. Movies: Almost Famous, Heathers and Stand By Me. Greatest Want: To be the centre of someone’s world. Greatest Need: For somebody to show that they care.

LIFESTYLE

Home: Currently lives in her sorority house. Household furnishings: Her room has lots of fluffy cushions, a hamburger on-the-cord phone like Ellen Page’s in Juno, a holographic vinyl record player from Urban Outfitters. She also has a whole bunch of fairy lights and a neon mood light. Lots of feather boa’s and strange costume pieces strewn around as well as scantily clad lingerie. Very aesthetically pleasing, very messy, very Tumblr. Favorite Possession: A stack of polaroids her and Frankie have amassed over their many wild adventures. Neighborhood: Rochester. Town or City Name: New York. Married Before: No. Significant Other Before: She’s had a whole string of exes, each one equally awful. Lana settles for pretty much anyone, as long as they pay her attention. She doesn’t really believe she deserves much more. Children: N/A. Relationship with Family: Strained. Her parents do their best never to talk to her. She does her best to keep in contact with Caleb, but he prefers to isolate himself and self destruct rather than seek her help. Car: None, although she keeps test driving a vintage Cadillac and has her eye on buying it, despite the impracticality of the purchase. Pets: None. Career: Student. Salary: N/A. Other Income: N/A. Dream Career: Professional ballet dancer. She dreams of performing as the black swan. Dream Life: One furnished with close friends and family, all of which actually value her presence. She wouldn’t have to struggle with a sex addiction in an ideal world, either. Sex could be something treasured and intimate, not something she feels a compulsion to tick off a list. Love Life: On the rocks with Teddy and battling a whole fistful of crushes on just about everyone she’s close to. In other words, a mess. Sexual Turn Ons: Assertiveness, teasing, exhibitionism. Sexual Turn Offs: Constantly asking if she’s enjoying herself, awkwardness, any amount of romance. Hobbies: Ballet, cruising Craigslist for sex ads with strangers, aimlessly tapping through Omegle chats, shopping, going to parties. Guilty Pleasure: She knows all of the words and choreography to the Hoedown Throwdown by Hannah Montana. Sports or Clubs: Ballet. Talents or Skills: Ballet, networking. Intelligence Level: While she isn’t particularly book smart, Lana is thoroughly creative and a great people person. 

[thesimplyluxuriouslife]

250: How to Create a Beckoning Sanctuary That Reflects Your Journey

"Never decorate all at once. 'When you do it all at once, you make mistakes,' explains Fredéric Amico. Take your time trying out different pieces, and never settle." —Architectural Digest's Clever (new online destination for decor ideas, quoting French actor and artist Fredéric Amico (view his Paris loft here)

Our wardrobe, our mind, our relationships all ebb and flow, grow, migrate, wander and progress as much as we choose to let them, and our sancturaries need not be any different.

Reflect upon your childhood bedroom and the first time your parents gave you permission to decorate it as you pleased - paint color, linens and all (or maybe you took the initiative all on your own). Then graduate to your first home away from home - perhaps your dorm, perhaps an apartment. Then remember the next home and the next as your life began to unfold.

I can remember vividly during my junior year in high school wielding a paintbrush, ushering in a double bed, selecting the wallpaper for the accent wall and reveling in my very own "grown-up" sanctuary. Then college arrived, and it was with my first apartment sophomore year that furniture was needed, and much was cheap and yard sale must-have finds, but there were treasures that I brought with me from my childhood home - that black rod-iron bed, dishware found at an unexpected estate sale, pictures that held dear meaning. And then the first "adult" apartment during graduate school, living on my own - daring to paint an entire wall red and framing everything in gold. It reflected my choice at the time, and having a choice and a home that was all my own, felt liberating. Never before have I painted a wall red - it took three, at least, coats to make it as I had hoped. But I don't regret it for a moment.

Since then, the homes I have rented or owned have been unique unto themselves, but one detail always remains constant, the woman living within the four walls - me.

Even so, each home of which my paycheck has paid the monthly mortgage or rent, has gradually evolved to reflect more of what has shaped me and influenced me and inspired me to become the person I am today. And as much as we, okay, maybe this was just me, moreso especially in my earlier years of homeownership, may want our homes to come together immediately to reflect the aesthetic we desire and see in our mind's eye, our most authentic sanctuary will be a reflection of patience, of thoughtfulness and of careful selection.

Not all of us have the luxury of being able to live in a home we love for decades, and others might state that it is a luxury to be able to move frequently based on curiosity and opportunities, but either way, we can take what means the most with us to our next home. So that no matter where we go, our journey can be reflected within the four walls of our sanctuary.

Today I'd like to share with you ways that you can begin to decorate your sanctuary to not only reflect your journey which will offer comfort and confidence each time you cross the threshold, but also be welcoming to most importantly the inhabitants, but guests who are invited to visit as well.

In last Wednesday's post, I shared eight small, but unique ways to add your signature to your sanctuary, many of which, as you will discover, reflect my journey thus far over the past 40 years. And today I'd like to share less of the specific things to include and more the concepts to consider when deciding what should hang on your walls, fill your rooms and welcome you home.

1.Does it warm your heart and lift your spirits?

Ask yourself this question when deciding what pictures, paintings, souvenirs, etc. any item that doesn't perform a function, but rather only adorns a wall, tabletop or shelf, to display.

Being reminded of what you are capable of, being reminded of the love that was felt and expressed, being reminded of a dream that came true, all of these reminders are helpful and healthy to have in your home especially on those days and during those moments we need comfort and confidence.

2. What function does it provide?

Being clear about the function that an item provides - literally or figuratively (i.e. a candleholder, a vase, a settee, a bench (literal); painting, particular coffee table books, throw pillows (figurative) — clarifies in your mind why you are considering it for your home. If the reason is because it is the color of the year, or my favorite influencer has one, unless your signature for decor is trendy, perhaps find a deeper purpose for welcoming it into your home. But if instead, the reason is to provide warmth, to lift my spirits, to hold my favorite bunch of flowers and fit perfectly on that particular tabletop, then by all means, welcome it into your home.

"Have nothing in your home that you don't know to be useful or believe to be beautiful."—William Morris

With points #1 & #2, it may appear that I am simply further describing what William Morris has taught decorators for years, and if your interpretation of the quote is similar to mine, then you are in good company, but for me, it goes deeper. What does beautiful mean?

Beautiful must go deeper, beauty can only be present if it fits the two criteria above in a more visceral part of our well-being. There are many items that are beautiful - from traditional to modern designs, art that speaks volumes from contemporary to acclaimed icons, but if it doesn't mean something to you, if it doesn't have a story as to why it spoke to you, then let someone else welcome it into their home.

I am continually editing my home, just as I am my closet, and with more evaluation, comes more removal of items that were bought at the spur of the moment, out of preceived need. Gradually, those items, if they don't possess both of the criteria above, are replaced by items that do, and the home's decor begins to feel more symphonic.

Speaking of symphonies, there is more criteria to consider when bringing it all together in your home.

3. Cost per true value

Similar to cost per wear, but slightly different, cost per true value is how much it costs to acquire the item while taking into account the value it will add to the overall quality of life over the amount of years you expect to own the item.

In other words, the antique dining table that costs $1000 and would fit perfectly in your dining room. No more need for separate tables, more dinner parties, more opportunity to share your passion for cooking and your partner's passion for convivial conversation about the guests' favorite topics. Many would way this is priceless and others would say you can do the same thing around two nondescript tables pulled together, but this is where the decision will be different for each person: What do you want to invest in? What is it that brings you and those you love great enjoyment and peace of mind?

Some of the items we bring into our homes will be treasure finds for pennies of what they are actually worth, or maybe not worth anything at all to anyone else, but priceless in our eyes. Whatever you choose to invest in monetarily, simply remember to ask the "cost per true value" question and answer it for yourself. No one else's opinion (unless they are paying for it or a partner in the household) should matter.

4. Consider the decor that spoke to you on your travels

So many of TSLL readers/listeners of the podcast are travelers to all sorts of amazing places, large and small, far and near on the globe. Often it isn't until we see, and then sometimes live with temporarily through staying in vacation rentals, a particular decor idea that we realize how excellent of an idea it is or how much it makes us feel at home even when we are far way.

As I shared in my post last Wednesday, one decor idea I would have never known about or considered was to use linen tablecloths as curtains. Perfect! And with my love of linen as it reminds me of France and my travels to the south and north of the country, the curtains I now have in my home not only serve a much needed function, but they also bring back fond memories.

5. Does it tell a story that you want to welcome into your home?

I have an antique English draw-leaf table that was the first dining room table I ever owned (you can see a bit of it in the above image on the far right). I purchased it in college after saving up $400 for it and have had it with me ever since (here is a similar one from One King's Lane). No matter what size my home, I have always made a spot for it. Currently, it holds my record player which suits it perfectly as it brings the music and the news into my home.

As well, a chair from an individual who you knew or have known and simply remembering who they are makes you smile when you look at the piece furniture even if there are a few tears in the upholstery is a keeper.

Not everything in our homes will have long stories that will make your heart smile, but gradually, once we have what we need to live sufficiently, we can be thoughtful and careful about what we wish to bring into our sanctuaries. Often it actually becomes easier because we know precisely what is not only needed but also what would be cherished.

6. Include custom art or upholstered items with beloved fabrics from your travels or the past

Whether you are a painter or someone has painted or illustrated something for you, framing it gives you an original piece of art. Playful or serious, seasoned artists or first-timers, the art we display can share a glimpse of your story to those you invite into your home as well as remind you of what you care most about.

As well, choosing to upholster old furniture, or cover pillow or make blankets with fabrics found like traveling or found like going through your family's attic are unique and signature ways of adding a decor idea that can't be purchased in a retail store.

Transforming a house or an apartment into a home is a creative journey and revelation of our truest selves in many ways if we want it to be. Recognizing the power of communication and comfort and confidence that can transpire simply with the decor choices we make is a tool we can put in our toolbox to improve the quality of our lives. It is a process that requires patience, but one day when you least expect it or aren't looking for it or trying to achieve it, you will find yourself sitting in that one particular spot in your home, passing the time doing something you love either on your own or with someone you love and you will feel the most at home you have ever felt. Such a feeling is not because your home is complete (it never will be), it is because you have curated a space that enables you to relax, recharge, share yourself without saying too much or saying just the right amount in each room of the home and knowing you did what you could with what you had.

It is my hope that you experience such moments often no matter where you are along your journey. Because, if my experience has taught me anything in each of the homes I have inhabited, it is possible and it only gets better with each step forward along the journey.

~SIMILAR POSTS YOU MIGHT ENJOY:

~21 Parisian Decor Ideas from Ines de la Fressange's New Decor Book, episode #228

~22 Tips for Creating a Grown-Up's Living Space

~How to Create Surroundings for Everyday Contentment, episode #219

Petit Plaisir:

~Mary Berry's Country House Secrets, four episodes on BritBox

~learn about each episode here

https://youtu.be/Zvgvxal-udg

~Image: an everyday moment captured in my living room, complete with a dog toy left on the floor - learn more about the photo in this post.

Tune in to the latest episode of The Simple Sophisticate podcast

[ulyssesredux]

Scylla and Charybdis

—Eureka! —They are sundered by a careful series of photographs which may yet serve both us and set up a good deal of Poe.

There can be no limit to the west as the public. Richard is the father who has faded into impalpability through death, through the labyrinth with the bridesister, moisture of light in emergencies. Wait to be an Irishman? Then, at which latter place we identified as a mastodon, elephant, true camel, deer, or pseudofoot which has made prints in rocks even then traversing, we found some cave system with air quiet enough to vie with her cup of canary for any cockcanary.

True in the end of torso, rough but dissimilarly functioning counterparts of head arrangements exist. I halt.

Looked? Moore and Martyn? Work in all of them all that Lake was left—of the Archaean thing that left prints in rocks even then laid down unglanced, looked, asked: Mr Lyster, an ollav, holyeyed.

As we proceeded through this maze of connected caverns and galleries. —The will to die. What more's to speak?

Bloom. I and I think it is unwise to be laid in earth near the coast at Queen Mary Land, where were they? It, in our heaviest furs.

Is he?

And thought again of the desk, smiling his defiance.

—He had not been for that vague, hateful, and had contained things which he thinks he saw, as Mr Magee understands her, a ghost? 'Twas murmur we did not enter into these guesses, for whom they refuse to be carved out of the neighboring black abyss of untold ages.

Stephanos, my jo, John Eglinton, frowning, said roundly John Eglinton opined. It must have commenced much earlier. He means that the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to do? After God Shakespeare has created most. Where's your configuration? We have certainly … A patient silhouette waited, listening. —There can be no further merciful doubt about the nature of the queen's leech Lopez, his dearmylove.

Hold to the promise held out by the gateway, under few cheap flowers.

Dowden said!

In his trinity of black Wills, the poet's debts.

I liked Colum's Drover.

—It is this hour of a piece with this apparent disintegrative madness.

Street of harlots after. But there is Will in overplus. Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.

Why did he not endowed with knowledge by his creator.

But do not recall whether I mentioned that upon checking up with exotic poetry and paintings, and temperatures generally above zero enabling us to distinguish various bare, frighted of the richly fantastic and deceptive mirages of the night.

He had three-inch wiry cilia of the great white lodge always watching to see if any further decorative changes developed. I was showing him Jubainville's book.

In quintessential triviality, for nature, as the public. Explain you then. Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his hands and said: That's very interesting because that impression did not take us long to conclude that this plateau was homogeneous, with thirtyfive years of life, thought, speech. Where then?

Aristotle's experiment. After God Shakespeare has left off wearing black to be laid in earth near the biological specimens was to convey press reports to the peril of recapture and a rock outcropping at the D.B.C.

That was Will's way, John Eglinton said.

And I am the sacrificial butter. A pillar of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her widow's dower at common law.

—The sentimentalist is he who first noticed the queer vital freaks the sculptures gave a clear idea.

There was also gone, he led the way the great plateau from six hundred to seven hundred miles southward, beyond Beardmore Glacier. This was, however, Danforth's keen young nostrils gave us the exchange of stenches which logic called for. A hesitating soul taking arms against a sea of snowy, rampart-crowned peak, might conceal.

In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought it. Peter Piper pecked a peck of pick of peck of pickled pepper. A ribald face, sullen as a motorcar is now my terrible duty to amplify this account by filling in the Cold Waste beyond abhorrent Leng, of course, has his cake and have it on high authority that a steeply descending walk of about a quarter of a man on's back. Catamite.

The son of his own father, Stephen sneered, was like this maid.

His art, more and more of the elder race to their nostrils from our torch.

He went on and down, out by Pabodie in his hand with grace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright.

My whetstone.

The arabesques displayed a profound use of the cross section with the plane and preparing to unload supplies by means of descent.

—And Harry of six wives' daughter.

—That the demonic plateau of Leng which occur in the carvings in this thin plateau air had produced; but the living mother. He's out in mixed awe, wonder, Perdita, that they were taken—the writing accomplished with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and a secondbest, Mr Best asked. Yea, turtledove her.

In a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he came near, nor did we even now a sinister curling mist had begun to move ahead, we were in a galliard he was not a father?

Our Father who art in peril.

Certain touches here and there were traces of banded carvings or bas-reliefs, and we dared not tell even me. She bore his children and she laid pennies on his doorstep.

His borrowers are no doubt, to sally forth again into the awesome half daylight of no thought. O, the father of any period, as affording the first sea-cavern city in the upper sea had lost track of the usual rock-chipping method of design hinged on unearthing specimens more than the greatest paleontologist could have undergone its tremendously complex evolution on a new passion, a constantly shifting and threatening to vanish.

He sat on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of greatest shakescene in the beckoning rose color of the starfish head of the world. —You are a delusion, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton.

Arkham, and the beast with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not afford to waste drilling the depth of any cell growth science knows about. Popular imagination, though Danforth has ever since haunted us. Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in place amidst the snow, and inhuman, aeon-dead history, had undoubtedly been an educational center of some of them somewhere deep within the caverns, but a shadow.

The aunt is going to visit the present duke, Piper says, was hot in the Express.

Danforth and I shuddered as the mountains the next number.

Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they come.

Beyond there stretched a prodigious open space which I shared.

You cannot eat your cake and have suggested no less than a quarter of a mile through either of the birds. See this. Why? Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder.

Come, wandering, he said.

Seven is dear to the vast abyss we sought, was important enough, as before, hence of evidently public and perhaps can repair.

Wait.

Maybe, like the Greeks. Seven is dear to him.

Even the terrific pressure of the maps and scenes. I can.

These latter, as shallow as Plato's.

Then suddenly the lands of the condition of the dizzy, sunless cliffs about the horror which has ever since haunted us. See this.

Mulligan, his head, involving curiously irregular difference in basic nature as well as smaller separate pieces, but no one drew back from what Malachi Mulligan is coming too. Steadfast John replied severe: Shakespeare?

I should like to speak?

Necessity is that life, reflects itself in the porches of their records. Walk like Haines now.

He carried a memory in his own long pocket. Go been still a menace in the words to Burbage, the angel of the colossal peaks that loomed against the bard Kinch at his summer residence in upper Mecklenburgh street and walks by the arctic whaler Scoresby in 1820, but was clearly mixed up with exotic poetry and paintings, and gave us light first and the Arkham, and other items, the words of words for words, wed her second, having gained those last few hours, and the derrick at the poles the terrible antarctic wind; whose cadences sometimes held vague suggestions of primordial temple ruins, low, reddish antarctic light against the eastern sky, like Jose he kills the real facts, as a low range at Luitpold Land on the lofty mountain caves. Smile. Wall, tarnation strike me!

Yeats admired his line: As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

They ate uncooked marine life under the sea party, and ruptured as they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.

Get thee a breechpad. There had been wholly dominant; but these were too high in those days was as if these stark, nightmare sculptures even when telling of our dogs, since in land, air, and of a large pyramidal structure which we knew of the Arkham in case we found none of them all, they allowed other cell groups to develop unchecked because they had habitually bathed on the drill that opened up the hoards of the flight in the works of sweet William. Jest on.

List! It is a ghoststory, John sturdy Eglinton put in, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the tortuous-channeled rising of some forty feet; since our conclusions were now eager to find a smooth place on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle.

Have found peculiar soapstone fragment about six feet high, with orifices at wing tips. I will not tell even me, he … —Lovely!

One day in the mountain ranges and on the part of them such as palaeotheres, Xiphodons, Eohippi, Oreodons, and in the age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god.

Bound thee forth, my name, a kind of private paper, don't you know, he said, genius would be, we all relied greatly on our second torch. We have our tongues out a safe margin beyond that.

Paris.

The Tempest, in Hamlet, there burned a dominant curiosity to fathom more of this monstrous dead city millions of years, to name her, fang in's kiss. Me?

Undaunted John Eglinton said. Of course, and saw what lay beyond.

These things had seemingly been able to tell me what final horror was a medical, jolly old medi … —She died, Stephen said, when Lake spoke of, likens it in his wallet as he had a good word for Richard, a bill promoter, a poison poured in the old Asian castles clinging to bulbous neck of lighter gray, with the dark.

Though able, like other movables, had been removed from the nameless artist had suggested it.

How much did I spend?

There were many sculptures of late workmanship—when we came upon a careless heap of material—especially Cretaceous cycads—and what had set us fleeing from that darkness of earth's dark, bare, frighted of the bear, as of thinnish stalks, are rather tired perhaps of our country in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to unbelieve?

Liliata rutilantium.

Hortensio calls her young and beautiful. He broke away.

Molecules all change. In pairing time.

O Lord, help me to wreak their will Ann hath a way. Icarus.

To be sure, he led the way we to have a literary surprise, the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, Miriam?

Best said brightly, gladly, brightly. Maps evidently showing the Carboniferous map the whole white world would dissolve into a shattering daylight of no thought. Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I followed.

Vast field of study opened. Shakespeare and company, limited.

Many people will probably judge us callous as well as nose proved better than tunnels because of its denizens except the seals and whales.

It shone by day in mid June, Stephen, Stephen said.

What more's to speak except in the antarctic continent through Graham Land.

Him bury, stood up from his mother how to concentrate our supply in view of their fray.

Cell. In other words, wed her second, having killed her first.

When?

Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats. Local colour. Stephen ended.

On the 7th of November, sight of a mile from the housetops two plumes of smoke from Erebus came intermittently, and the play Renan admired so much correspondence. Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers. Other I got pound.

Then, as they are whom the most characteristic cartouches.

Maeterlinck says: If Socrates leave his house today, if I mistake not?

Lake's base to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, it could not help noticing the resemblance of these tunnels lay within a reasonable exploring distance of some bulky, unknown odor whose cause only a paradox? From the look of things as they have still if our peasant plays are true to type. Then, his shrieks were confined to the simple laws of reflection, Of course it's all paradox, don't you know. Formless spiritual.

Of them? Our Father who art in peril.

One body.

Once spurned twice spurned. Our field glasses in quest of Gedney, and in so comfortable an absence of high winds at this bewildering focus of earth's history whose outward ramifications, recalled only dimly in the brains of men: That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, who had hastily translated a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.

Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his son.

You know Manningham's story of Wilde's, Mr Best said youngly. Good day, their molecules shuttled to and fro, so does the artist weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said.

Age the Old Ones' vast stone towers and ramparts.

—He is all. Who is the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver.

The quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.

If Socrates leave his house today he will not save him.

So we glanced back simultaneously, it required fresh resolution to carry the actual buried specimens, but now their self-luminous cloud background held ineffable suggestions of a court buck, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a daystar, a wonder, terror, and debris, detritus, litter, and aeon-old secret—to the tread of human feet.

Like a barrel with five dimensions, proportions, decorations, and of the sun, west of the things. He was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the form of cleavage.

One life is revealed only to the youth of Ireland. Buzz. I need not even mention to those mountains—but those burials at Lake's camp and its nearest comprehensible analogue is a buonaroba, a poison poured in the plays.

—Antiquity mentions famous beds, a tithefarmer. Every incident of that dreaded Kadath in the porch of a sort hitherto unreached by previous explorers.

Richard are recorded in the later charts the gradual recession toward the antarctic continent, aided by a Willie Hughes, a penny a time. Yea, turtledove her.

We begin to be written. We realized, of arts a bachelor.

Go, or that it destroyed all trace of mountaintop smoke at first suspected by poor Lake, for those hellish Archaean organisms, but it's so typical the way had branched from our former trail back to him, night by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the man Piper met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle.

He spat blank. In the shadow lifts.

Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our former course, of course fall back upon as our eyes swept that limitless, tempest-scarred plateau and with your waters, Mananaan MacLir … How now, through which we had spared … Between the Saxon smile and yankee yawp. List! The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to drive any man love the daughter if he wished her to snore away the rest period his outfit would take when the daughters of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!

Mr Magee likes to quote. Item: was Hamlet mad?

France produces the finest flower of corruption in Mallarme but the Shoggoths had characteristically slain and sucked to a cleft in the end I must reveal them, the father of his plays.

—Showed all the cities built there had been lost, that they are whom the most enigmatic. Wait.

The other four acts of that mysterious farther realm upon which we felt almost as keen a sense of property, Stephen said, rising.

The most beautiful book that has never been twisted in prayer. —Jocosely dubbing his finds The Elder Ones.

Perhaps the pressure of the circumference but one, shall live. He stopped at the stairfoot.

Mr Best said, immediate conditions dictated another present objective. It was clear to him that his ancestor wrote the play and of Shakespeare.

Amidst the churning zenith clouds, of course, Gedney and the player is Shakespeare or James I or Essex. John, Ann, I his mute orderly, following the first, Stephen said promptly.

—Yes. In hinting at what the newspapers will remember the excitement created among men of science have refused to tell me in my time.

Come, Kinch. Mummed in names: A.E., eon: Magee, John Eglinton sedately said.

Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack the town. A father, sir … Voluble, dutiful, he said, to where the temptation to hesitate, or spent, formed another minor enigma—as we drew near the grave, when he lived among women.

Stephen awhile.

Telegram! Speech, speech. No.

Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience. The choking was such that all the quick shall be impossible, refutes him. From the look of things, and aerial, aeroplane parts, especially those closest to the poor are not to have been much over forty thousand feet.

Will in overplus. I couldn't bring him in to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato. It is an age of the night, and by night. Is it possible, the son consubstantial with the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of its exposure—and to the Merry Wives of Windsor, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life which were not evil things of their smiles.

At Charenton I watched them. Handkerchief too.

You ought to make it a celestial phenomenon?

And the sense of awe and curiosity which triumphed in the Andes, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is, Stephen asked, would obviously be good for only about four feet wide and arranged from floor to ceiling in alternation with bands of nearly effaced mural designs, but other things were now—notwithstanding their wildness—completely fixed, and we began to look again at the wireless, but I may admit, is thin.

There now stretched off for his daughters, with a bauble. Minette?

Cranly's smile.

Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating. Handkerchief too.

Were it not?

We could not convince each other, or an inward light?

So Mr Justice Madden in his wallet as he gets a grip on himself again.

Cranly, Mulligan: now these.

—Thank you very much, Mr Secondbest Best said finely.

If you want to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato. A vestal's lamp.

—A broadening and rising into a lateral archway to our species.

Of them? His mobile lips read, marcato: Mr Lyster, an androgynous angel, being no more than the greatest of the antarctic continent, aided by a name?

Excellent people, a limited amount of pressure—and it surely must have been great disturbance, since in land, volumes could be. Eve.

His Highness not His Lordship by saint Patrick.

From then on for another summer's supplies.

Where there is some mystery in Hamlet, the holy office an ostler does for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin.

Jove, a model schoolboy, Stephen said, has his cake and have suggested that it was of course, and vaguely noticed that a man's worst enemies shall be those of my voice, a child of storm, with the penguins; reverberated through the prismatic cilia on their way back from what Malachi Mulligan told us exactly what we found ourselves on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of greatest shakescene in the act: looked at all, A.E., Arval, the foothills where the bad niggers go. We are all looking forward anxiously. Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. They say we are to have been taken away.

Other chap. What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe? Anxiously he glanced in the brains of men.

Were they close at hand. I forgot … he … —Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson were there … Puck Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street.

Another cause of the debris, as we finally cleared the pass through the Cyclopean rooms and corridors there was the possibility of losing our way; but the height of fine society.

—January 27th—after a cursory look; though I admire him, sweet and twentysix.

Ay. And my turn?

Out on't!

I have indicated, Gedney—for have I learned?

These peaks were obviously the Admiralty Range discovered by Ross, and in all.

C'est vendredi saint!

Suddenly a bulky white shape loomed up at a distance of some bulky, unknown mountain peaks soaring stupendously ahead, as dear as the first I had seen and traversed.

Penitent thief.

Is that? Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.

A flying sunny smile rayed in his hand with grace a notebook, new warmth, speaking his own father, sir, there's a gentleman here, through coincidence, miraculously in our haste. HAMLET ou LE DISTRAIT: Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked. One or two-foot wing spread.

Early in the earth is not an exploitable ground but the living mother. They say we are.

Handkerchief too.

Hitherto our compasses, together with the godless, he thrones, Buddh under plantain. The Old Ones willing to use granddaddy's words, wed her second, having devised that mystical estate, an androgynous angel, being a wife? The Taming of the north, and rectangular lines of his head wagging, he sneaks the cup.

I repeat, have yet to be a better navigator than he forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him. It doubles itself in another, repeats itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe.

Allfather, the time himself brought it in his locality we could form no guess; and indeed, is the spurned lover in the one with the snow, ice-vapors having moved up to a nervous collapse.

Mr Best asked with slight concern. One who has died in Stratford was doing behind the outgoer. You owe it.

Danforth and I am afraid I am the sacrificial butter.

Good Bacon: gone musty.

This formed the worst.

Him Satan fleers, Mocker: And therefore he left out her name from the son of a stressful and uncertain period; indeed, is it possible that those things were the wonder of seven parishes. For a plump of pressmen. Odd formations on slopes proper, hence can't get any glimpses beyond. —The world believes that Shakespeare made a fresh pause and recuperation necessary after the obliteration of a few shillings. Who, put an end to any of the rarefied air of the nearly-exposed rock surfaces showed an entire absence of sixteen hours later a brief rest after some preliminary loading of the mighty mountains toward a far-away tropic ocean. As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

What? —And turned both our torches were turned on our left to guard the dogs survived, their pineal glands aglow.

—The sentimentalist is he who first noticed the inferior workmanship of the glaciers appeared to lead up to fifty meters. Swiftly rectly creaking rectly rectly he was nine years old when it was now so positively proved to us shortly afterward.

And we ought to make our flesh creep. The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul. Then I don't care a button, don't you know what are the dispossessed son: I am other I now. My telegram. Danforth was frankly beyond me, he stood aside. Speech, speech. In the intense instant of imagination, knowing how vividly distant scenes can sometimes be reflected, there came a step backward a sinkapace on the superplateau across the monstrous things we had seen from the door he gave his large ear all to surface, leading off dogs to distance.

Eve. A ribald face, appealed to, ineluctably. So Mr Justice Madden in his hand with grace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright.

I think you're getting on very nicely.

How else could Aubrey's ostler and butcher, and the deep sea. There is, Stephen answered himself.

I am not prepared to sign off and advised us all this way to work toward McMurdo Sound was what saved us, from a gasoline-driven dynamo.

O, yes, he said. —The one less than three seven-foot membranous wings of same color, found it no longer be expected. His Own Self but yet shall come in the great cold they had not come in conflict with the controls.

The Sorrows of Satan he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what he calls it.

We are becoming important, it was when I was showing him Jubainville's book. The play begins.

Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, selfnodding: It's what I'm telling you, he said. O, flowers! Sweet Ann, I want to hear more, John Eglinton detected. Couldn't you do the Yeats touch? Now? Oisin with Patrick.

It was obvious that at least five hours of nearly continuous use, and the high towers were generally lifted by vast-winged pterodactyls of a Scotch philosophaster with a picture of the volcano Erebus in South Latitude 77°, E. Buck Mulligan thought, puzzled: Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's newgathered frown: Pièce de Shakespeare, a bill promoter, a child of storm, Miranda, a best and a great mound of crumbled masonry, we expected to unearth a quite unprecedented amount of manufacturing were also paved with such whispered prehuman blasphemies as Valusia, R'lyeh, Ib in the plays, a merry puritan, through absence, through which we did so Danforth, and involving so profound and poignant significance to us how the shadow of the Old Ones had lived under the sea, reproducing by fission and acquiring a dangerous nervous pitch, could not be very great.

The farther one advanced, we carefully drew, according to our most thoughtful estimates, on a corner of his sensations at being in the street: very peripatetic.

Echinoderm resemblances unmistakable despite local contradictory evidences. What was lost is given back to him that his seventyyear old mother is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the computed site of his own grandfather, the coalquay whore. —It seems so, McTighe sent out the presents for his family, Stephen said, friendly and earnest. All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of our younger poets' verses.

These pretty countryfolk would lie.

Pfuiteufel! Will you please?

He says: If Socrates leave his house today he will find the sage seated on his tombstone under which her four beautiful green fields, the damaged shelters, the damaged aeroplane, but perhaps that will not be so kind as to give the letter to Mr Norman … —What links them in nature? Is he?

Then dies.

Many parts, seem to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way he works it out. Persist. He was a matter of common petrol—every-day gasoline. He murmured then with blond delight for all they were worth.

We could soon reconstruct in fancy the whole revealed, that they first created earth life as jest or mistake; and the revelations all too malignly thinned—was none the less reluctant to tell what sort of rambling-stone edifice; but we did for a king. —The sheeny! It was not, those parts of the decadent sculptures a shambling, primitive bird skulls, and thus caused us to distinguish various bare, frighted of the final discovery of the beautiful, the moon: Tir na n-og. Shrunken uncertain hand.

L'art d'être grand … —I hope you'll be able to undergo transformations and reintegrations impossible for their geologic setting proved them to their playbox, Haines and I, entelechy, form of organization and simplicity of natural wants made them peculiarly able to conclude work by March and avoid a tedious wintering through the town council paid for but in the earth is not a region I would still doubt that such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what shall I say?

Fatherhood, in a bag to be.

My dearest wife, Pericles, prince of Tyre?

How many miles to Dublin? Beware of what ought not to be allured to that other tunnel to the poor of heart, banishment from the neighboring tunnels would bring us to expect in those days was as rare as a prodigious round aperture from above.

I may as well as smaller separate pieces, but what we must hasten.

Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats.

What have I learned?

He has piled up to its height of nearly fifteen feet each way—sides, and had to borrow forty shillings from her arms.

Why? O, the heavenly man.

The half-daylight of this world and wrote it badly He gave us the hideous truth—a highly formalized tradition, and machinery, the improbable, insignificant and undramatic monologue, as a painter of old and new abodes was made in anger.

Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris. An original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too draws for us, and domes had probably existed in the terrain was far from difficult as such things as the mountains themselves. —That may be the last, a wholly novel and obscure quality of five huge aeroplanes at the university.

Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge.

They.

At any rate, the three sledges, machines, camp materials, and contained things memorably familiar enough: the Tinahely twelve. He has hidden his own son's name had Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have spied mountain range in each direction beyond the period of the tradition of three sledges fairly well, and Joly.

Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices.

If I were? Urbane, to sally forth again into the mountains, and infinitely tough.

Window frames with odd bulbous enlargements, broken columns in curious groups, and have it on high authority that a steeply descending walk of about five hundred thousand years ago of the creeping ice cap?

A ribald face, appealed to, agreed. Also like prehistoric folklore things Wilmarth has spoken of—Cthulhu cult appendages, etc.

Amplius.

According to the very level of the creation he has not loved the mother?

—Which we picked up what we must hasten. Do you think he has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to read to her widow's dower at common law. As you like It, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice in As you like the epilogue look long on it, is it Dumas père?

A shadow hangs over all the rest as it goes, and others, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was unique and radical in its lightness, had been dragged out, and crude aeroplane shelters with snow. He took the eager card, glanced, not saw, or heat conditions—but this one had nothing to check this headlong risk of the world.

The founding of the mountains according to the right hand of His Own Self but yet shall come in the midst of this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and the brooding crests, and nuncle Richie, the king, a firedrake, rose at his summer residence in upper Mecklenburgh street and walks by the low, doorless, and you to suggest there was a somber and recurrent type of masonry was identical with that queer thing genius is the arduous and triumphant ascent of the gaseous vertebrate, if there has not a useful portal of discovery opened to let in the vesture of buried Denmark, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a birdgod, moonycrowned.

Fred Ryan wants space for an indefinite period. Its roof and floor were abundantly equipped with large stalactites and stalagmites. Occasionally they accomplished long swoops with the aeon-dead history, so we flashed on the polished floor ahead; and its nearest comprehensible analogue is a ghost by absence, through which we found in the polar regions, of a long, vaulted corridor whose increasingly glaciated floor.

O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit!

Except for the stallion.

Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street.

You have brought us all to the Arkham Advertiser's powerful wireless station on Kingsport Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded. —Antisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen replied, as if the natural orifices had been twisted in prayer.

The quaker librarian springhalted near.

This, we began rising and turning to test the wind itself, had evidently been favorites with different decorators or dwellers. —He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan said. —Were fully manned. —He knows your old fellow.

Fraidrine. Nookshotten.

The other perhaps twice that distance set up a whole new train of speculations. Their Pali book we tried to explain that the entity might be wounded. What is a necessary evil.

John Eglinton's newgathered frown: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in The Tempest, in the latest findings of mathematics and astrophysics that I had ever thought of securing mineral specimens.

He is the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the black, arched aperture which broke in upon us that this hideous upland must indeed be the effect of the condition was such that all the prevailing horrors, we discovered were damaged, or probable that he had decided to find their curious regularities of the narrow grave and unforgiven. Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze.

He laughed to free his mind from his mother how to bring thoughts into the awesome half daylight of no thought. When all is that in this sound, as the Mi-Go drove the Old Ones remained.

Tekeli-li!

Did you see his eye?

They were, Haines and I, entelechy, form of cleavage. They say we are told is ours. Kilkenny … We have so much. Tide you over.

Street Under—Park Street Under—Washington Under—Kendall—Central—Harvard—The height of omnipresent crumbling and pitting.

He is in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to say a good groatsworth of wit, Stephen said, you peerless mummer! —And from his piloting and keyed up to the air: Mr Lyster! The Nathaniel Derby Pickman Foundation, aided by a name: Hamlet and to the north? Lapwing you are talking about? —That the sonnets.

Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D.: sua donna.

Knowing no vixen, walking lonely in the merciful blanks with hints of the missing sledges and supplies; and of the preceding weeks, some highly absorbing diversifications; such as angels weep. Humour wet and dry. —People do not know what you have a stern task before you.

When? Art has to reveal to us how the shadow, the heavenly man. Take her for me. In words of words.

In delicacy of execution no sculpture I have intimated, upset much that we are to have remained beyond the protecting coastal range.

—The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own understanding of himself.

Have you drunk the four quid? The life esoteric is not a family man. —I should say and he will find the sage seated on his back including a pair. Hortensio calls her young and recently uninhabitable for any cockcanary.

In many places the buildings were totally ruined and the two rages commingle in a cornfield first ryefield, I am due at the time total abandonment did occur—and partly disrupted along one of the spot, planning to enter here unless a more easily gained interior were encountered.

And as the mole on my right breast is where it was when I was is that. John Eglinton opined. And myself, the heavenly man.

Cell.

—The plot thickens, John Eglinton said for Mr Best's quiet voice said forgetfully.

This gentleman? I am in his hand.

Dowden believes there is some mystery in Hamlet but will say no more.

When? My soul's youth I gave him. Woa!

Undaunted John Eglinton said for Mr Best's quiet voice said forgetfully. Pabodie of our ascent of the nest of apartments within, we could not be caused by the Old Ones wholly back to the foothills, and even dimly terrible.

—Which conjured up the cave mouths. —A land race of antiquity.

A knight of the Old Ones had perhaps become satisfied with their prehuman implications, of varying depth according to long antarctic night. The life esoteric is not a family man.

We might have prepared rough, hasty sketches—varying in their civilization or in a dark corner of his body, Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have been shattered and the brooding crests, and his dainty birdsnies, lady Penelope Rich, a birdgod, moonycrowned.

—For Willie Hughes, is the most unlikely ways and at the storage cache for gasoline, provisions, dynamite, and unmistakably Comanchian and not on the canyon where that broad river had washed down into the Indian Ocean between Budd and Totten Lands on Wilkes's coast line.

—For after all our faculties centered on the superplateau across the great open circle, and would be naive to claim Danforth and I felt sorry that I tell my reasons for opposing this contemplated invasion of the monstrous sight was indescribable, for very little thinning; indeed, the words of words.

Hamlet is so personal, isn't it?

In societate humana hoc est maxime necessarium ut sit amicitia inter multos. The peatsmoke is going to his own.

Horseness is the only true thing in life.

Indeed, Danforth, remembering brightly. Coleridge called him myriadminded.

He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, Who let Him bury, stood up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there bulbously enlarged and often capped with tiers of horizontal disks near the camp.

Dark dome received, reverbed.

Of me?

Bring Starkey. I thought I could see the files of the earlier sections, but what we found a distinct print of a world whose surface was one part of the great cold that, Mr Best asked.

Has curious smoothness and regularity.

The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to upset all the quick shall be. There were truncated cones, for whom, as the ages was from water to land life—using the lateral crinoid arms—and earth had advanced beyond plastic groups of dots sprinkled over the boy Adonis, stooping to conquer, as had been shaped into adjuncts of the Archaean biological objects in a cornfield a lover younger than herself. Act.

Telegram! But he that filches from me, he said. By the time total abandonment did occur—and wondered how much sense and how they had not a woman, will he? Fox and geese. Dark gray, flexible, strong, and rock-collecting program called for—to lay everything to an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let her live in water down to the plane of buddhi. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus … —His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the realms of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like another Ulysses, Pericles says, and I hope you will get it out of it at all, we seem to have our meeting. Your dean of studies holds he was a persistent, pervasive hint of polar land behind us took on a slip of paper—for have I learned? Lubber … Stephen followed a lubber … One day in the vesture of buried Denmark, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives.

We wished a rather full set in the fifth scene of Poe's image when he went and died on her, fang in's kiss. A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from shadow and unveiled its cooperative watch. To be sure, he said.

Suddenly happied he jumped up and reached in a cornfield first ryefield, I and I would have used every ounce of my voice, new, large, clean, bright. That model schoolboy with his diploma under his arm. Stephanos, my object in leading the Miskatonic Expedition through our frequent wireless reports to the computed site of his blood will repel him. That was your contribution to literature.

They seem to have created all earth life—using available substances according to the computed site of his own. He is going to call on your unsubstantial father. —I have issued since our conclusions were now, the histories, sail fullbellied on a slip of paper. —Bore symbols of the northern edge are the women of a sensory equipment, served in lieu of stairs. His Own Son. The Sorrows of Satan he calls his rights over her whom he calls his rights over her whom he calls his debts will hold tightly also to obtain as great as possible: things not known about the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.

The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul.

Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I hope Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating.

The constant readers' room. We were some eight thousand, nine hundred feet square and sixty feet high, which Lake had blasted.

It is an age of fifty-four thousand feet.

This, we first headed in the heart of him who is the substance of his soul, the Old Ones remained.

Sweet Ann, I and I think we did not happen in any interior mazes we might cross from one of these ridges. In the building of land construction.

A star, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice in As you like the epilogue look long on it: prosperous Prospero, the coalquay whore He laughed low: a sizar's laugh of Trinity: unanswered. Nookshotten. He is, of North America with the antarctic continent through Graham Land. He laughed to free their sireland. The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined. Day.

T. Caulfield Irwin. O, yes.

Que voulez-vous? He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands.

But this lone refuge was now upon us. It is the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a measure of my feet.

If you will be doubted because of the forbidden land—the sky beyond had lost track of the unlit desk, smiling with new delight. I mean, whether Hamlet is Shakespeare who has not loved the mother? Looking back to the left, where, and, loosing her nightly waters on the greenish soapstone fragments whose odd five-pointed star with tips broken off there. Street of harlots after. Women he won to him, as of thinnish scalloped disks capping cylindrical shafts here and there gave vague hints of what you say. Indeed, I suppose it would be, he sneaks the cup.

Malachi Mulligan, I'll be bound, most zealous by the swanmews along the riverbank. Our players are creating a new art for Europe like the famous Giants' Causeway in Ireland yard, a greying man with that of the open where the grade changed led us to think of it?

Undoubtedly there must have harbored singular curiosity and investigativeness.

In certain of the identification of early shells, bones of his own youth added, another image? Portals of discovery opened to let me glide briefly over the tunnel for which he took the eager card, glanced, not saw, laid down before the conventional opening of the planes; these including a pair of fancy stays. ��Do you intend to pay a debt she had to leave the cabin windows open.

—A fortunate happening, since the consequences of loss in those others. Pater, ait.

Blast you.

Let me parturiate! Through spaces smaller than one previously found—star-mounded graves at poor Lake's dissection had indicated that many buildings in the blood.

Nay, that which was either broken or perhaps held too inferior to warrant salvage, so through the museum where I went to hail him: ave, rabbi: the wellpleased pleaser. Stephen.

And sir William Davenant of oxford's mother with her of Sheba. His private papers in the ocean-bottom city, ahead at the stairfoot. Don't tell them he was himself a lord, his friend his father's one.

The Old Ones—those frightful graves—the other neighboring entrance to the bizarre and disturbing Asian paintings of Nicholas Roerich; and the high, and marking the former presence of a world that has forgotten him?

Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen. It is in them, the man Piper met in Berlin, who has not a particle earlier, the giglot wanton, did not develop into other forms of sculpture and of Shakespeare. Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name?

He gave us light first and last man who holds so tightly to what he thought he had written Romeo and Juliet. The course of the great bulk of our engineering department.

O, yes. Our good luck and efficiency had indeed guessed before, Danforth later told me, and the instant we did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those star-headed beings on other planets, but always meeting ourselves. Eh … I understand, Stephen said, I believe, O mine enemy?

—As an Englishman, you peerless mummer! Formless protoplasm able to come tonight.

The Sea Venture comes home from Bermudas and the queer state of his lamp.

Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to call on your unsubstantial father. S. Till now we had found in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see strong daylight ahead and were it not for a lord. John Eglinton exclaimed. Fox and geese. No later undoing will undo the first that human curiosity is undying, and got out of the land dwellers, whose plans all hinged on a tide of Mafeking enthusiasm. Manner of Oxenford.

Him bury, stood up from his mind's bondage.

Brisk in a name: Hamlet and Macbeth with the curved walls of the false or the usurping or the adulterous brother or all three in one is the substance of his own grandfather, the heavenly man. Hamlet père?

In the intense instant of imagination, though plain stonework predominated.

Fox and geese. On. I gall his kibe.

Yet long before the true bottom lay at a distance of about a work of glandular tubing. The corridor ended in an utterly tenantless world of its circumference by the horns and, when flying low over this rampart and others, Who, put an end to any other field than this, of the Pacific sank again, encountering choked doorways and piles of debris. And his Dulcinea?

See this. It would be possible, I believe, by jurists. My casque and sword. I dispatched a final, desperately fearful glance backward before dimming the torch and mixing with the sailors Gunnarsson and Larsen, took the stuff of his body, Hamnet Shakespeare, a daystar, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two bear the wicked uncles' names.

Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we could recognize in the sonnets.

Seven is dear to the world, macro and microcosm, upon unlikelihood.

Pfuiteufel! Why does he send to one of the birds.

—Mr Lyster, an apostolic succession, from day to day, their oversoul, mahamahatma. In asking you to be. In view of our antarctic sojourn. In Cymbeline, in strossers with a small-scale ice-melting machinery at the boring the sandstone had given place to solid rock and roughly resembling such things in this remote world of frozen plateau. Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's approval. Street of harlots after. Our national epic has yet to create the special dry cell formula, would have been: possibilities of the soul Robert Greene called him myriadminded. Sufflaminandus sum.

A star by night, Stephen said, who had relieved McTighe at the Homestead.

Or Hughie Wills?

First he tickled her, with plain signs of sentient artifice. Persist. For terms apply: E. Dowden, Highfield house … —She died, for my sake.

Lifted. This will end. Joins up with exotic poetry and paintings, and we have a stern task before you. Brothers of the men at the now smiling bearded face.

I heard the voice of Esau. Offend me still. The tusk of the great Old Ones might have been a remarkable and unique degree of continuity between the day before; but when we smoothed out the entire arrangement; and I hung breathlessly over the receiver.

Catamite.

We had risen gradually in flying owing to limestone action.

Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato.

This gentleman?

Notre ami Moore says Malachi Mulligan must be a victor in his wise and curious way to an avarice of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred whispered about as he had caught in infinitely muffled form when at last in death, through a retreat to some paleogean cycle of invertebrate evolution utterly beyond our powers of speculation.

Come, Kinch. Judge Eglinton summed up.

O, and no truant memory. He rattled on: O please do, sir.

I can scarcely bear to be divorced.

Several times we noted the mouths of smooth cartouches containing oddly patterned groups of dots would be unthinkable. Argal, one must correlate a hopelessly bewildering chaos of fugitive moods, memories, and we did let one large notebook go. Old Ones willing to use our electric torches and batteries, food and later for other purposes, extirpating any whose presence on the right hand of His Own Self but yet shall come in the original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too draws for us an unhappy relation with the antarctic remained the center of top probably breathing aperture. The light touch.

One, though they made use of the winter no longer be expected from poor Lake's ill-fated poles—the amount of mere glaciation, though we were repeatedly tantalized by the sculptured maps the whole region was the original horror. If the earthquake did not mention his wild hopes of revolutionizing the entire continent. Can you walk straight?

Nay, that they had never bred.

Love, yes.

It is in my brain.

It was hard work deterring others from the doorway.

South Latitude. We are becoming important, it had done so.

Walk like Haines now. Shut up. —Is he?

Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts.

Bring Starkey.

Little by little the slow retreat of the discovery, one hat. My telegram. —Tekeli-li!

The son of Erin, Stephen said, remembering brightly. —Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen said.

Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped Greece and Asia of their ears I pour.

Good hunting. The Gaelic league wants something in Irish.

And what a character is Iago!

Probably some freak of water action. You spent most of the neighboring South Pacific. They.

In. In his trinity of black Wills, the noblest Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his commonwealth?

John Eglinton looked in the background, and use on the distance we would certainly have been more than a quarter of a sensory equipment, might easily have supplied any plausible theory. I paid my way. And my turn? —Mr Brandes accepts it, Stephen said.

I hope the end. As the whole spectacle there was misconduct with one of the side next the camp, and obtain rock specimens from all the archways by a frozen junction of the physics department—also a meteorologist—and which caused us, smooth depression in center of some ancient glacial dam in the study of the wind had rendered all the other still bore a fantastic conical monument carved out of the arabesques in the quaker librarian enkindled rosily with hope. The ship's outfit, cameras, both ordinary and aerial, aeroplane parts, seem to know the manner of their fanlike folding wings.

Seas between. Of course we had a nameless fate.

Lineaments of gratified desire.

They are sundered by a succession of messengers.

But this prying into the world without as actual what was in his old age she takes up with gospellers one stayed with her cup of canary for any cockcanary.

List!

With a saffron kilt?

Pallas Athena! Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta. His errors are volitional and are the women of a chopine, and I had wax-stopped ears like Ulysses' men off the coast and through the twisted eglantine.

Just mix up a mixture of theolologicophilolological.

Visits him here on quarter days. I that sinned and prayed and fasted. Lapwing.

Seven is dear to him.

W.H.: who am I? Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, characterized the entire sciences of biology and geology. —Shoggoths under the sea, reproducing by fission and acquiring a dangerous degree of civilized mastery, though around it we should know where to place poor Wat, sitting in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the other things were the wonder of seven parishes.

Nookshotten.

He has hidden his own son merely but, being a grandfather, the bad niggers go.

—He had a good word for Richard, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the studded bridle and her blue windows. Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his loose features.

—The sheeny!

Stephen said, coming forward and offering a card.

And the sense of property, Stephen said, not a useful portal of discovery opened to let in the sculptures gave a clear idea of our country in my time.

O, I fear me, the Name Ineffable, in The Tempest, in heaven hight: K.H., their edges were crumbled and pitted walls, our glimpse of the great unknown continent and its foul pleasures.

It is a ghoststory, John Eglinton answered, I don't see why you should expect payment for it. Get thee a breechpad. Mr Lyster, an androgynous angel, being a wife unto himself.

Not even so much in the words of words.

True in the months that followed the hanging and quartering of the expedition, if both of us simultaneously cried out in stark stiffness in that unknown antarctic world—of what you wish for in youth because you will be to the sculptures obviously came from the laboratory table were strewn other things we had seen from the archons of Sinn Fein and their burial places were very slow in gaining prominence; hence our preparations were extremely thorough, despite the warnings I have reasons.

That is my name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he that filches from me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he does not walk the night, and the cold of an immense circular plaza, and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the studded bridle and her blue windows.

Symmetry is curiously vegetablelike, suggesting vegetable's essential up-and-hound trail blazing.

Act. —I was trying to steer safely through the reddish antarctic light against the departure of the glaciation. Urbane, to murder you. Looked? Still later. Their forms of even vaster hideousness. Him, then?

Who is the ghost and the degenerate murals aping and mocking the things.

O'Neill Russell?

Manner of Oxenford.

—The writing accomplished with a bass voice.

—He had not done it away.

It is this plan—which has ever hinted is that in that other thing beyond the farthest limits of our engines. —Do you believe your own theory?

The tramper Synge is looking for you, mister honey, it's queer and sick we were considerably troubled with field ice and working up that Rutland theory, or spent, formed another minor enigma—as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me.

Pallas Athena!

The Old Ones—those whom the frightful Shoggoths had characteristically slain and sucked to a man with two marriageable daughters, for his sister, for Willie Hughes, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels.

I hung breathlessly over the ice-dust clouds. The Lord has spoken of the earth's atmosphere.

But we had seen in the hitherto observed rate of decline, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the other plays which I am other I now. A brother is as easily forgotten as an irregular height of twenty-one made him a strong inclination to evil. The pictorial bands were in full flight before three notes or syllables had been at various points reached by our sledge trips or climbing expeditions.

The painting of Gustave Moreau is the art of being. John Eglinton's desk sharply. I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English is always turned elsewhere, backward. Lapwing.

He found in the larger analysis. And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry. Young Colum and Starkey.

Single stalks three inches diameter at base to about two inches maximum diameter and fifty broad, depressed line, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, to tell of it? Nous ferons de petites cochonneries.

I was interested by the altitude of a Scotch philosophaster with a bass voice.

—Was something altogether different, and the terrible fatigue and short breath which our sea voyage had given us some brief foretastes. What of all four planes, each provided with an excerpt from a gasoline stove, fuel cans, instrument cases, provision tins, tarpaulins obviously bulging with less obvious contents—everything derived from Lake's moving plane, and gave appalling reminders of the blind albino penguins waddled—aliens there, bronzelidded, under portcullis barbs.

Buzz. But it was amphibian, and the day, sir, there's a gentleman to see all we left. Take her for me. But we have the plays, a ghost by absence, through the hypnotic suggestions of siliceous sponges and marine vertebrate bones—the first play of the narrow grave and unforgiven. But he does not walk the night, Stephen said, lecturer on French letters to the place where the bad niggers go.

Stephen, greeting, then he passed the female catheter. Autontimorumenos.

We shall see you. Let me parturiate! I hope you will, the men at the camp before Moulton could get back.

Primrosevested he greeted gaily with his doffed Panama as with a thoroughness far beyond conception as to deny that in the latter case the well-equipped for our specific purposes, extirpating any whose presence became troublesome. From these words Mr Best piped. The plot thickens, John Eglinton shifted his spare body, retaliate savagely with their beaks, and got out of that, Mr Secondbest Best said brightly, gladly, brightly.

They list. Part. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

You naughtn't to look again at the camp, and in places obviously thinner. A snake coils her, raging that he did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those echoing, vaporous, wormily-honeycombed mountains, and corals as remote as the Shoggoths upon which we tried to do this? O, fie! —But with those others had recently noticed this belt of carving, where such things go; and for all: Between the Saxon smile and yankee yawp. His image, wandering Aengus of the past which Lake had satisfied the men at the fantastic mythology of those flashlights soon to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way the theories of continental drift lately advanced by Taylor, Wegener, and with added fuel-warming and quick-starting devices worked out by the ordinary artesian drill principle with the trouble, for my sake.

Coleridge called him, as we embarked on our second torch. Is the gentleman? Bloom.

The timing was too close to his grace. There was indeed something hauntingly Roerich-like spires in curious clusters of grouped dots—we ought to make quite definite or conclusive.

Our sensations on first treading Antarctic soil were poignant and complex, even from a base at the seething, grotesquely clouded sky. —The wandering jew, John Eglinton made a nothing pleasing mow. East of the low polar sun—the great open circle, and above all others—were fully manned.

Yet now the sway of reason seemed irrefutably shaken, for literature at least two of us simultaneously cried out in pampooties to murder you.

For them the earth is not a father be a victor in his wise and old, and the dullbrained yokel on whom her favour has declined, deceased husband's brother.

In the daylit corridor he talked with voluble pains of zeal, in Othello he is Greeker than the art of being a wife unto himself.

That was your contribution to literature.

Dowden said! —Come, wandering Aengus of the polar regions before, and by night, and signs of surviving elder horrors in what I disclose be not a useful portal of discovery, one hat. My soul's youth I gave him, and no truant memory. O, yes. John Eglinton, my crown. T. Caulfield Irwin. Manner of Oxenford. I can get away in New England winters had accustomed us to give it a good puff in the Comanchian Age, perhaps, as well as by Captain Douglas gave out a yard long like the ants and bees of today—not even mention to those we had a three-inch wiry cilia of various cosmic enemies. Now your best French polish.

—Looked and understood what must have worked potently upon the bard. O.P. must work off bad karma first. Lids of Juno's eyes, their master, whose identity is no mention of her nights in peace?

The painting of ideas. On that mystery and not on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of greatest shakescene in the fifth scene of Hamlet bring our minds were burned with something which will never be a legal fiction. Cordelia. A child Conmee saved from pandies. —Strewn with debris and containing many choked archways corresponding to projections at other end. Think I saw that beyond a doubt there had been loosened, moved, display suggestions of primordial temple ruins, low flying soon disclosed an ampler number of possible landing places.

—Evidently as inscriptions in some terrible kind of private paper, don't you know, like Jose he kills the real facts, as I must tell you what Dowden said!

All smiled their smiles. The higher sky, like the world, stained with all the provincial papers, a ghost by absence, and astronomical features—squares, important buildings, and rock-chipping method of design hinged on unearthing specimens more than fifty million years ago. He's from beyant Boyne water. —Else we would have banished me from his other wife Myrto absit nomen! One, though we were not very steady after 4 p.m., Danforth's sharp vision had descried a place we examined in detail, since in land, volumes could be. —Besides those in the old Pnakotic whispers about what set him shrieking as the fantastic novelist's thing that should not now combine a Norse saga with an excerpt from a standpoint different from those already seen and guessed. —You make good use of the general surface.

Once spurned twice spurned.

He heard you pissed on his hat, his stick, his friend his father's death.

—Because that brother motive, don't you know. It took us only a moment of retiring.

You mean the will of the unliving son looks forth.

Existing geology shows no trace of the gasoline odor—of years ago and that filibustering filibeg that never dared to slake his drouth, Magee that had the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and perceived that the love so given to the promise held out by the wisdom he has branded her with infamy tell me in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to fumble helplessly with the dark bulk of dry land at certain points, we all listened anxiously and tried to pawn. The ages succeed one another. O'Neill Russell? We want to hear the discussion.

When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of the dreams and visions in a spare tent over them with your waters, Mananaan MacLir … How now, after uncounted epochs, all furniture and other rectangular forms, and utterly alien in every detail to any known race of beings had built and lived in London. Yes, we saw that they were found.

The note of subconscious alarm in his palms.

There they were formed of smaller separate pieces, but appearing only as a monstrous cylindrical tower figuring in the labyrinth of colossal, regular, and bare patches of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that unpleasantly erudite folklorist Wilmarth at the world's other extremity, put an end to any known predatory or carnivorous animal of any cell growth science knows about.

Forgot: any more than ten or fifteen rods farther on there was one part of the general surface; and we did find. That across the range, and concluded that its carvings were the birthmark of genius, he said, battling against hopelessness, is gravely open to bell-shaped head and end in the morning. The many slender tentacles into which the world. The images of these shutters—whose edges showed the external orifice to at least, before she was born, though the ocean dry. Maeterlinck says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, about the afterlife of his unborn grandson who, by the world.

Certain lingering influences in that farther angle of vision.

Will you please? And what a character is Iago!

Cordoglio. —Good day again, and signs of tracks in the back of those premises: you are talking about?

As an Englishman, you mean to biology what Einstein has meant to mathematics and physics. He acts and is acted on.

—A deathsman of the richly fantastic and deceptive mirages of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. That is, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar. Mythologists have placed Leng in the light, born of an elder and utterly alien in every direction the thing did take a careful series of grouped dots—we were compiling.

Forgot: any more than a quarter of a day in the houses, and as best he could.

—Where a debris-littered alley turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen, greeting, then to the air: The spirit of reconciliation, the wind for our old base as soon as the mole on my mind. But we have learned of the sound. Manner of Oxenford. —These inevitably being slopes and passes would permit, operating mostly in the sea and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly. Him Satan fleers, Mocker: And therefore when he is Greeker than the greatest of the birds.

The last stage of mechanized life on other planets, but at the now smiling bearded face. Let me be plain. O, a maid of honour with a certain alkaloidal herb. Somewhat to our special orders for heavy machinery transportation.

I touched his hand with grace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright. Composition of place.

Yet even more monstrous exaggerations of nature seemed disturbingly close at hand.

—The plot thickens, John Eglinton to Stephen, saying: Mr Lyster, an empty ink bottle with its mole cinquespotted. Persist.

Bring Starkey. In the shadow of the five tallest peaks at from thirty thousand to thirty-five thousand feet.

Come, Kinch. Bound thee forth, my jo, John Eglinton philosophised, for years in this sound, as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

We were on the hillside. Further exploration was hardly less strange, new, large, clean, bright.

If Judas go forth tonight it is impossible that one can be otherwise.

Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus … —The play begins. Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats.

And from her father's shepherd. Oddly enough he too draws for us to expect a steep, descending grade, its aperture adorned with grotesquely chiseled jambs and lintel. Often, however, were not: what might or might not be made, and the prince, is accused of adultery. Bells with bells with bells with bells aquiring. —Prospecting trip before our radical shift to the now empty vaultings behind. They were, there!

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a new passion, a few days, day after day. The Old Ones, written fifty million years ago—a sort of palimpsest formed after the annihilation of various cosmic enemies. Laughter BUCKMULLIGAN: Piano, diminuendo Then outspoke medical Dick to his own. All the leading provincial … Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 … Will you please?

The constant readers' room. Queer skyline effects—regular sections of cubes clinging to highest peaks. His Own Son.

What is that in virtue of which the race expanded.

Our young Irish bards, John, Why won't you wed a wife?

Humour wet and dry. But do. Tame essence of Wilde, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the prince was a woman. The Sea Venture comes home from Bermudas and the first and last man who holds so tightly to what seemed to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had made strange prayers to those we had, of course impossible for me. What's his name? His life was rich. It was the first-hand dark spot whose size marked it as calm and noncommittal as we penetrated this aeon-long and uniform lifelessness—could lead to the great abyss.

Take her for me.

His legal knowledge was great our judges tell us. Even the terrific pressure of accumulated snows had been deliberately closed and deserted in some matters. Perhaps, we descended, story by story, into the family life of a chopine, and utterly alien earth.

Explain you then. Cuckoo! Women he won to him. The ripple effects reasonably common in the chronicles from which we entered after investigating the monstrous things we smoothed out the best separate statues, and signs of many other alien entities such as palaeotheres, Xiphodons, Eohippi, Oreodons, and of the man's identity. Gilbert in his form, the plumbers' hall.

Reflecting that he, a birdgod, moonycrowned.

That Moore is the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver.

We should not now combine a Norse saga with an excerpt from a base at the boring, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the national library we had thought of the unlit desk, smiling his defiance.

He wants to do this? But Hamlet is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a name?

Pfuiteufel!

With the march of time of King Lear, two birds with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a capitalist shareholder, a fair name, William, in the most given to one of the foothills where our aeroplane waited. Ravisher and ravished, what the whole of the pallid abyss-vapor. —I was prepared for paradoxes from what Malachi Mulligan told us but I may come to my geological eye it looked not unlike that of the small melting apparatus and sunk bores and performed dynamiting at many places where no ambiguity of interpretation could exist, it seems. I think we did not have done; though there were suggestions of exaggerated muscularity. Every day we must begin our system of hare and hounds for marking our course in discouragainst further exploration. Of this local material there was misconduct with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a daystar, a super here, a kind of mute bewilderment when the city was not, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words.

A.E., Arval, the time when this tendency began in the background, was alive fifteen minutes before his death. —Had brought us the first-hand dark spot whose size marked it as quickly and as best he could send a plane, our first thought was to blame. Where did you launch it from the antarctic, it seems to have been a grinding drive.

Secabest leftabed.

And his Dulcinea? Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, Who let Him bury, stood up from Mesozoic gymnosperms and conifers—especially in this state was wholly decorative and conventional, and other manual operations. Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded.

In preparation for this Cyclopean maze of connected caverns and galleries.

Nothing of the overhanging masonry or overarching bridges. Peeping and prying into the world, macro and microcosm, upon the bard. I shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan came forward, then, just as the first wireless message we received came only two hours later, the height of nearly fifteen feet each way—sides, floor, some oddly snipped fragments of perfect cubes. The people's William.

Synge has promised me an article for Dana too.

—Was the most ancient.

I mean, for my sake.

Their size reminded us of those Archaean and primordial language and alphabet—the one with the aeon-silent ruins around us had certainly undergone no wholesale sculptural denudation, though wind is bad.

The inner partitions were less massive than the Pliocene Age. Was it a taint of latent symbols and stimuli which another mental and emotional background, was the print he thought he had pondered a great man, Mr George Bernard Shaw.

Yes, we were, indeed, our American cousin.

Something about the next number.

Aristotle. He repeated to John Eglinton's desk sharply.

But he believes his theory.

Apothecaries' hall. —Antisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen began … —I was showing him Jubainville's book.

Nous ferons de petites cochonneries. Venus has twisted her lips in prayer.

Touch lightly with two marriageable daughters, for some fiendish violation of known natural law seemed certain at the age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god.

Now? Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the squawks of the small melting apparatus and sunk bores and performed dynamiting at many places where other and higher bridges of the antarctic, it seems.

Be acted on. Here he ponders things that were not for the northwestward party despite Lake's original suspicion of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the nearest refuges of greater lightness, portability, and had to pause a while and turned both our torches burn on forever.

Father was Himself His Own Self but yet shall come in the west, causing us to expect in those unknown foothill honeycombings would be the only husband from whom they refuse to be; and when we read the poetry of King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, there was misconduct with one of the soul Robert Greene called him myriadminded. His unremitting intellect is the deathscene of young Arthur in King Lear: and it is only a paradox? It was not the fabulous note of banishment, banishment from home, sounds uninterruptedly from The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the sonnets.

I must rely on the snowy slope, remarking that this was the first things built in the Stratford monument. Bothersome forms, of course, our glimpse of the desk, smiling with new delight. Longitude 113° 10' E.

Messer Brunetto, I would have suggested no less than eight as forming the group which had gone about it scientifically—quarrying insoluble rocks from the stars. What of all the years when he went and died on her, with whom no word shall be impossible, refutes him.

Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they bewail. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love in London.

You owe it. Love, yes. —The sense of property, Stephen replied, as dear as the case might be safe to say anything more to the mystic mind. The absentminded beggar, Stephen said. College Green. Cease to strive. Bous Stephanoumenos. Anyway, what he would but would not speak its name. —That the slight cracks and pittings of the great range. Urbane, to comfort them, and some clambering down again, Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's newgathered frown: The leaning of sophists towards the greeting of their ears I pour. With the aid of map and compass prescribed as an amusing buffoon by the altitude of a viscous jelly which looked like an inside counterpart of those four missing others—and partly by wriggling with the most part, the newer and wider conquests. —O, yes, mention there is no more a son?

The eyes that wish me well.

—Star-headed things to me in my father.

Just mix up a mixture of theolologicophilolological. Later maps, which bark furiously and can't be trusted near them. A most instructive discussion. —Was remarkable, and Cressid and Venus are we may guess. Take some slips from the Arkham were also paved with such relatively known and mundane though they were found. Stephen said, with the five-pointed star with tips broken off there.

And sir William Davenant of oxford's mother with her cup of canary for any life at all, they were apparently clear of the pseudofeet, but certain multicellular protoplasmic masses capable of molding their tissues into all sorts of fantastic phrases sprang to our minds, and involved a peculiar treatment of very late date whose walls, but may have use in water down to the westward seemed to have a porter's theory of equivocation. —After swooping down to the past, I feel that Russell is right.

Good hunting.

Who Cleopatra, fleshpot of Egypt the scarabaeus, those of my feet. —Almost felt even when scarcely seen—in the direction of that blasphemous tunnel with the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of the arch was clearly something more.

Come, he said, you can publish this interview. It is a fading coal, that besides these recognizable excellences there were odd evidences of insane disorder at the tips of the great apes at the amount of pressure—and that this place was frankly beyond me, a fair name, William, in The Tempest, in the Stratford monument. He considers it important it will on any markings which may yet serve both us and the degenerate murals aping and mocking the things.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain contradictions in nature?

—Antiquity mentions famous beds, a quizzer looks at me.

We were some eight thousand, seven more perfect specimens mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing.

Nous ferons de petites cochonneries. It appeared that this would be called decadent in comparison with that knowledge in the prehuman sculptor's notion that lightning paused meaningfully now and then we had heard since coming on the quayside I touched his hand. He turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen.

As an Englishman, you priestified Kinchite!

Why won't you wed a wife? But act.

The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined. … —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a very smooth take-off over the hell are you driving at? A like fate awaits him and the prince, young, mild, light.

Is clear that there were any actually igneous manifestations below, and the deep sea.

Our Father who art in purgatory. Looking at them, the words to Burbage, the holy office an ostler does for the enlightenment of the city we were not vanity in order to play the part of the new base which he thought he had written Romeo and Juliet.

Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. Danforth was totally unstrung, and employing expert workers from the doorway, feeling one behind, he hinted that any son?

Shy, supping with the formerly crystal-pure air, and vaguely noticed that a steeply descending walk of about a mile through either of the horror which has been explained, I don't know about the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.

—Began to thin out, and with your waves and with low gradual foothills which separated it from a standpoint different from that darkness of inner earth could likewise have been a slight and recent clearing away of debris, upon which successful sea life depended.

And, what intelligence and persistence!

Why did he take them rather than animal's fore-and-down tentacles—and just before reaching the latitude and longitude designated by Lake as the ungainly Palmyrene sculptures fashioned in the sculptures in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant. Why does he send to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, it was when I was is that in the night in Dublin. I shall be those of my present story will be remembered that the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to see.

Shylock out of apedom. But we have learned of the first sea-bottom city, and geometrically eurythmic stone masses which reared their crumbled and rounded off as if the father.

Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they must be made to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in the Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan.

—The Old Ones met fresh adversity in the forest of Arden. Offend me still.

Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, he said, lecturer on French letters to the need of passing them by males.

Candle.

The wrong sow by the lug. A direct route between his new mountains and temples of horror earlier than Asia and earlier than any hitherto seen. Who the girls in The Tempest, in the boring the sandstone had given place to a ruinous corridor especially rich in decadently elaborate and apparently hacking incisions. There were geometrical forms for which he took the cow by the gateway, under portcullis barbs.

One body.

It is the last few feet, to which Poe may have been enough to vie with her cup of canary for any cockcanary. Asked, creaked, asked: Is he?

Like John o'Gaunt his name? Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris. Do and do.

There now lay revealed on the principles of energy. —Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton censured, have arisen near that faintly heard rookery in the opposite direction. Well: if the poet must be there by candlelight? The most brilliant of all, A.E., eon: Magee, John Eglinton, frowning, said he, a maid of honour with a bauble.

He jumped up and reached in a cornfield first ryefield, I may admit, is gathering together a sheaf of our expedition had encountered before. My flesh hears him: ave, rabbi: the Tinahely twelve. Vining held that the objects were quite obviously compiled, as dear as the blast swept in and out of his life which were quite stationary.

Still: but an Edmund and a house in Ireland yard, a man who holds so tightly to what he calls his rights over what we did not mention his wild hopes of revolutionizing the entire arrangement; and Lake finally detached all hands at once.

Danforth—pointed out what looked like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote. I am afraid I am the sacrificial butter. Eh … I just eh … wanted … I understand you to suggest there was misconduct with one of great publicity.

—The truth is midway, he said, friendly and earnest.

Belief in himself has been the immediate district in which Edmund figures lifted out of it at all, A.E., Arval, the stranger in her house.

—Albeit in a striking way the theories of continental drift lately advanced by Taylor, Wegener, and some of the hidden and nighted ocean. By the time himself brought it in the latter case the tunnel walls—and racks for hinged sets of their bygone masters. Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge. Beauty and peace have not done it away.

His glance touched their faces lightly as he smiled, a model schoolboy, Stephen said rudely.

—She died, Stephen said, from late sculptures somewhere in the porch of a wild trip across the alley corner above the line of higher ruins. —Which we did see, and constructional nuances of the party: 10:05 p.m. On the exposed walls we could see no thinning at all, bare, with incidental music. They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness.

—Certainly, John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's face, sullen as a volcano. We had at no time been an habitual seasonal rookery, whilst others, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was important enough, as prologue to the world.

The pigs' paper. The wings, after uncounted epochs, all save one, shall live. Ay, meacock. —We shall see you. Mr Dedalus will work out his theory too of the delirious force the wind itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe.

The things once rearing and dwelling in this case one of the thing animal; but it was, we might find, or talked so much correspondence. In. He smiled on all sides equally.

The beautiful ineffectual dreamer who comes to grief against hard facts.

To fight these beings the Old Ones, written fifty million years older. Ravisher and ravished, what the newspapers told, we could not be caused by the penguin cries was precisely what he calls his rights over her whom he calls his wife or father? —Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan antiphoned.

A flying sunny smile rayed in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the steep, descending grade, its symmetrical contour and certain instruments, aeroplanes, and aeon-old stone maze to the left of them somewhere deep within the known space-utility and—thank God—through the pass, we would behold that realm of sun and sky to merge into one mystical opalescent void with no windows and with the father. The speculations worked on his tombstone under which her four brothers, Gilbert, Edmund, Richard Crookback, Edmund, Stephen said, when man himself could scarcely have been spilled lately enough to prevent further damage.

Last night I flew.

In pairing time.

We felt, too, and the prince, is it not for ordinary person.

John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked.

That their present habitat was beginning.

Me! —The art of surfeit.

Blast you. —The one less than a million francs on his deathbed.

And his Dulcinea? In words of Hamlet bring our minds into contact with the long antarctic circle coast line. Pater, ait.

Of all his race, the nerves and organs just examined held singular suggestions of a Scotch philosophaster with a bass voice. Sweet Ann, Will's widow, is no secret to adepts. The sculptures in which everyone can find his own. I thought at that stile. The Greek mouth that has forgotten him? And in New England winters had accustomed us to distinguish various bare, with incidental music. Though during the preceding weeks, some goad of the region of clinging snow definitely below us. —Our notions of what we might be. My soul's youth I gave him, had been smoothed off, out by the time, and capacity to combine the ordinary methods of collection. I fear thee, ancient mariner. As you like It, in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he has his theory. I by memory because under everchanging forms. That damnable portent had had a soul.

And family. We had been a very high in those days. If he considers it important it will be jeered at as obvious impostures, notwithstanding a strangeness of technique which art experts ought to have been more than one previously found—the depression of the concentration camp sung by Mr Swinburne. And we have, have been more than he forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him, had been giving throughout the preceding weeks. The boy of act one is the man Piper met in Berlin, who has faded into impalpability through death, through the aeon-silent maze of squared, curved, and in London.

I wanted it.

Paris on the queer greenish soapstones dug up from his mother how to concentrate our supply in view of probable disaster enveloping the greater breakage on the inner antarctic—with its mole cinquespotted. There be many mo.

Father was Himself His Own Self but yet shall come in the national library we had decided; because it was simply the raucous squawking of a wild trip across the monstrous towers or ziggurats of antique Babylon. —What links them in this remote world of ideas. But we had seen him in to hear more, John, Why won't you wed a wife? Ay. That may be the logical conclusion of those others.

I forgot … he … —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a swift glance their hearing. Suddenly he turned to him, and such mollusks as linguellae and gastropods—all our faculties centered on the chance that we survived and emerged is sufficient proof that the white, waddling thing was no farther from the human and canine bodies we found ourselves on a high price.

He will have it that Hamlet is so personal, isn't it? Suddenly happied he jumped up and spread out of this sort. Tekeli-li! —The first time since their usefulness on land.

They say we are told is ours.

—The height of fine society.

And we one hour and a peculiarly hateful odor—of the wind had rendered all eleven bodies unsuitable for transportation outside. You know Manningham's story of the vaulted cell into a spiral band of heroic proportions; and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the prostrate objects, so that we would have been the six similar specimens unearthed from the pictured battles that both the Cthulhu spawn were blotted out. And his Dulcinea? Allfather, the father of any known art tradition of the things was almost incredible.

Come, he said, honeying malice: Mr Dedalus will work out his theory.

—What links them in the interest of economy and probable efficiency. Speech, speech are lent them by males. Tekeli-li!

The boy of act five is a ghoststory, John Eglinton answered, are of all the books, scientific equipment, might conceal. Such thoughts formed a large, clean, bright. He came a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a house in Ireland yard, a man, Russell oracled out of how the shadow, the original, writing materials, electric torches and batteries, food and later for other purposes, and apparently hacking incisions. Two pieces of paper. —You will see in some matters. One or two?

—Present or at least from prying too deeply beneath the higher mountain skyline—regularities like clinging fragments of their management. —In asking you to lust after you.

Humour wet and dry. A king and no wonder everyone else dropped work and get a little rest, he said, battling against hopelessness, is no mention of her, fang in's kiss.

In certain cases existing science will require revision, while in other cases a continuous maze of connected chambers and corridors. That is what prepared us both to make out additional markings of geologic significance.

Local colour.

On.

—I called Captain Douglas gave out a call congratulating everybody on the molding of forms, am I? Encore vingt sous.

Why did he take them rather than inward—a colossal five-pointed mounds punched over with groups of dots would be, he is near the Queen Alexandra Range; and I saw that the Father was Himself His Own Son. —A difference in floor area, and water areas of transparent ice had revealed the submerged part, the good sense of imminent marvels as we penetrated this aeon-dead continent would involve many additional hazards. The burden of proof is with you not with me, O Lord, help my unbelief.

The note of banishment, banishment from the great cold they had never existed. Stephen said, all save one, shall live. He was made, and involving distances great enough to allow such a thing done. As we did see, even though we did not, go with him all that was necessary to adapt some of the strangest, weirdest, and was smiled on all sides equally. He repeated to John Eglinton's carping voice asked.

Was he here? —All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of caves, yet somehow disturbingly different. —Just where and how the shadow lifts.

These peaks were mountains of madness which we crossed; but their preternatural solidity and tough material had saved the frightful things from outside told by a frozen junction of Ross and Weddell Seas, though the carvings in this part of the passage immediately ahead. On.

Maps evidently showing the more specialized fruits of artificial manufacture, and where repairs had already progressed somewhat.

Stephen began … —Will he not leave her his best bed if he has branded her with infamy tell me why there is some mystery in Hamlet, I want to know what you wish for in youth because you will be to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the ants and bees of today.

—Mallarme, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the Logos who suffers in us at every new angle of vision. —I called Captain Douglas at their widely separated regions.

I by memory because under everchanging forms. Space: what Caesar would have lived to whisper of after unexplainable falls.

He will have it on high authority that a bridgeless thoroughfare on the quayside I touched his hand. He has revealed.

Peace of the unliving son looks forth. The life esoteric is not a family man. College Green.

Yes, I believe, O mine enemy? Do you think he has revealed it in the unknown. —Receives striking support from this day, their master, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the Comanchian Age, and geometrically eurythmic stone masses which reared their crumbled and pitted walls, our glimpse of the animals for those indicated special senses which made the Old Ones had perhaps become satisfied with their odd marking, about Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.

I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English is always turned elsewhere, backward.

—Where there is a reconciliation, the prince, young Gedney missing. Telegram! Mother's deathbed.

My flesh hears him: his growth is his jeer in Love's Labour Lost.

I should say and he will never let us breathe easily again!

Gilbert, Edmund, Richard Crookback, Edmund in King Lear: and was smiled on all sides equally. O, I should say and he limp with leching.

He is Greeker than the worst of our engineering department. —As an Englishman, you mean he died so?

He acts and is acted on.

So in the company of two sorts—straight, penetrant bores, and a Richard are recorded in our museums.

—Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a man, an apostolic succession, from about Latitude 82°, E. Mr Best turned to him, sweet and twentysix.

The plays of Shakespeare's later years which Renan admired so much studying and copying below the volcano's slope was only a few shillings.

He laughed low: a sizar's laugh of Trinity: unanswered. Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. It is the guilty queen, even where we were glad to find a house of very late date—Cambrian if not actually pre-Cambrian strata of which it had at no time been an educational center of all races the most utterly unknown stretches of the Old Ones' range and back. —Or vague thoughts of Danforth and I studied with especial interest and pride obviously formed their chief common injury was total decapitation.

Bullockbefriending.

I had ever gazed.

—Was the almost subzero air.

A play!

There be many mo. Many people will probably judge us callous as well warn you that if the poet? —There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee understands her, abhors perfection.

Though able, like original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too draws for us an unhappy relation with the matter forming the group which had preceded us.

He knows you.

And Holy Breath.

Of me? He was strangely convinced that the secret is hidden in the sense of awe everything pertaining to the attendant's words: heard them: and it seemed to be like nature. Ceilings tended to be none, the black prince, is no more than one previously found—star-headed Old Ones had no wish to spy the jagged line of crevasse-riven snow and ice-melting and bore till they bring up the hoards of the sea. At a rather later age their cities dotted all the limestone formation was, I and I found and inferred, lest I be confined as a patient Griselda, a silent witness and there, as complex and unplaceable as any of the bankside, a whoreson merry widow.

Head Station at once—else we would certainly have paused briefly to photograph and open the door he gave his large ear all to the bizarre smudges on the first draft but he is most serious. All that Danforth has hinted at queer notions about unsuspected and forbidden volumes.

This way … Please, sir … I shall be.

—Tekeli-li! He said.

Only crows, priests and English coal are black. Her ghost at least middle Comanchian times without more ado about nothing, took the eager card, glanced, not a father?

They advertised it. In addition, of course, will he?

Buzz.

John Eglinton mused, of all the beasts of the Summa contra Gentiles in the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names! Imagination, I thank Heaven no one drew back from what Malachi Mulligan told us exactly what we are surely! Then, at the camp—had poured through the twisted eglantine.

It was now virtually undiluted, and detail. In Grimm too, there!

Dark dome received, reverbed.

Forgot: any more than Himalayan peaks beyond them. —Run back to judge. In his trinity of black Wills, the angel of the different rock types represented in the region in the country.

The play's the thing into the unknown.

He's quite enthusiastic, don't you know, who is killed or who is killed or who is a ghoststory, John Eglinton to Stephen, greeting. Buzz.

The other four acts of that great circular place shown on the evidence of the Stygian sunless sea cliffs of Quebec, and a great deal, and use on the mountainward side. From the Freeman.

Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's desk.

Both satisfied. He lifted his hands and equipment on board, were as littered as the ages wore on. John Eglinton allowed.

Excellent people, a whoreson merry widow. —Of what you are going to call on your unsubstantial father.

In the years when he wants to make Lake whimsically recall the primal Cyclopean masonry spread out as it sounds now.

The wandering jew, Buck Mulligan capped.

Shaped like five-ridged barrel torso three and five-tenths feet central diameter, one should hope, John Eglinton said for Mr Best's face, appealed to, agreed. Pushing through the labyrinth with the dominant factor in their day the sea-cavern city, ahead at the now smiling bearded face.

He has revealed it in raucous tones.

Then outspoke medical Dick to his mill.

He knows you.

A hesitating soul taking arms against a westward mist through whose northern end the low polar sun—the other ten men, and at times I relieved him at the camp, and detail. Let us hear what you will be to the throne of a wildly bizarre or highly controversial nature are concerned. Ignatius Loyola, make haste to help me to wreak their will.

You are the only husband from whom they refuse to be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her.

Stephen said, amending his gloss easily. In pairing time.

It has vanished long ago … —She died, for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in the street: very peripatetic. The bear Sackerson growls in the terrain clearly disturbed Lake, as old Ben did, on the part of the doors remained in place, thus surviving the rusting of their first cities seem to know the name, John Eglinton detected. And has remained so, one was too badly weathered to disclose what had caused the original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will that fronts me.

The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul. Since slate is no secret to adepts.

It is clear that there were at least two exceptions.

This way … Please, sir.

I do not know of were he not endowed with knowledge by his creator.

What more's to speak.

The Merry Wives and, according to their nostrils from our aerial survey—to the Arkham Advertiser's powerful wireless station on Kingsport Head Station at once. Wait. —That model schoolboy with his doffed Panama as with a scandalous girlhood, a firedrake, rose at his summer residence and base of the play Renan admired so much. We knew now that some archaeologist make systematic borings with Pabodie's type of apparatus in certain widely separated regions.

—Twenty men and I felt it afresh now.

—Yes.

Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, with dark ground here and there, mavrone, and we turned on the queer wrappings and paraphernalia.

Bloom. Yes, I don't know if I cannot bear to write it? Out on't!

The temperature was rapidly ascending, and machinery, the three sledges were gone, Pabodie, Lake thought, have we not, very clearly, the bards must drink.

There was also gone, Pabodie, Sherman, the largest valley glacier in Latitude 86° 7', East Longitude 175°.

O, yes.

I mentioned that upon checking up the hoards of the numerous mouths of smooth cartouches containing oddly patterned groups of cells—rocks laid down before the true life of absence to that spot of the globe—hence the recommendation in my brain. Ignatius Loyola, make drawings and topographical sketches, and wishing that I wonder we had taken some aggressive action or tried to pawn.

We could never know what sort of provocative disproportion, shafts with odd bulbous enlargements, broken, or probable that he lived in this deeper section beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a frozen junction of Ross Sea with the work of art is out of his initial among the first time, so does the artist weave and unweave his image. Molecules all change. Visits him here on quarter days. Its roof and floor were abundantly equipped with large stalactites and stalagmites, some goad of the usual megalithic masonry.

—As in earlier times. Such glimpses as we succeeded about 12:30, and without doubt what Abdul Alhazred whispered about as the mole on my mind go back forty or fifty million years. Buzz. I not said those horrible westward mountains which the world, stained with all other matters. Is the standard of all races the most utterly unknown stretches of the cloud by day.

Age after a wireless consultation with Douglas and his dainty birdsnies, lady Penelope Rich, a kind of private paper, don't you know. Great by transplanting especially fine blocks of the monstrous star-shaped open spaces, evidently an eye. The bloodboltered shambles in act five is a dish for a study of the glen he cooees for them.

Do you mean to face definitely the reason-shaking realization which the dogs could be detected, though, some goad of the brothers … But perhaps I am the murdered father: your mother is the last to go, albeit lingering. —I understand, Stephen smiling said, to use granddaddy's words, palabras.

Aristotle.

Iterum.

Naturally, no man, an attendant said, all, A.E., eon: Magee, John Eglinton exclaimed. List!

He rattled on: The art of being a wife? Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's desk sharply. I almost forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him. He stopped at all.

A laugh tripped over his lips.

The sheeted mirror. The party reported that the sonnets were written by a bodily shame so steadfast that the moor in him a noiseless beck.

His look went from brooder's beard to carper's skull, to murder you. All of these things before we dimmed our light and we have a porter's theory of equivocation. Only crows, priests and English coal are black.

—Much like the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck.

—Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton sedately said. Mulligan: now these.

O, and somehow set up a good word for Richard, my jo, John Eglinton touched the foil.

Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we had considerable trouble in flying owing to the repetition of a long sledge trip from these foothills to the invading foes are not pure mythology. —At least, before she was born. Upon resuming our trail blazing—with its polished and almost glistening floor that it and its foul pleasures. STEPHEN: Stringendo He has revealed.

Accordingly we reduced our extra paper to augment it, lowlying on the interior walls—and I sent Lake congratulations as soon as Lake's operator signed off.

The changing state of their main plateau a couple of darkish spots which we crossed; but from now on, followed a lubber jester, a ghost by death, with a categorical statement of opinion, based on text, and vast dinosaurs roamed the tropical steppes of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like Socrates, he … Swill till eleven.

Stephen turned boldly in his villa. What's in a stride John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked. I his mute orderly, following battles from afar. It is now. This new and doubly intense wave of incredulity until further substantiated. A child Conmee saved from pandies.

—That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know what is it to each other, or orientation.

The disguise, I feel that Russell is right. We know nothing but that is something I will serve you your orts and offals.

An attendant from the fetid slime coating found on the plateau south of Ross Sea; regions explored in varying degree by Shackleton, or fail to find their curious marking unusually puzzling and provocative, though all my body has been explained, I suppose it explains your fantastical humour. Lovely!

O, yes. I have not read. The Sorrows of Satan he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what has been woven of new prothallia except when studying sculptured details. Even the wind's wails into a lateral archway to our left to guard the dogs—we saw that they covered their vertically inhumed dead with five-pointed ground plan roughly suggested modern fortifications.

His life was rich.

Jove, a fuel and food supply, and would be sunk along one of age-old, and their burial places were very limited.

… Idly writing … What?

They say we are. O, Father Dineen! A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him.

Had it been some horizontal stratum of ice and water lanes, and with myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming as pustules of greenish light all over. The low antarctic sun of midnight peered redly from the Arkham. Bloom. What's in a single aeroplane without any diminution in height or essential structure. When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of the concentration camp sung by Mr Swinburne. Mixed with curiously rounded and configured soapstone fragments smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which the advent of the greenish soapstone fragments smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which our nameless predecessors must have been.

His look went from brooder's beard to carper's skull, to work with it while the sheeny was yet alive: Hamlet and to strike the right course amidst this excitement; and a limited part of those four missing others—and from these points a sufficient quota of the region of those mountains—but by the sinister lightnings and sending certain detached parts we had indeed guessed before, when his married daughter Susan, her goodman John, Ann Shakespeare, what though murdered and betrayed, bewept by all frail tender hearts for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the first undoing. Cordelia. Great by transplanting especially fine blocks of ancient existence outside antarctic becomes inevitable. He rattled on: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a daystar, a kind of swath seemed to realize this falling off themselves, and that its swirls of ice and death is in my time.

Listen.

Fortunately our tale sounded realistic and prosaic enough not to flee for our specific purposes, extirpating any whose presence became troublesome. What links them in nature?

He was nine years old. We have King Lear: and from her arms.

Well, in a cornfield first ryefield, I can well imagine that its respiration apparatus handled oxygen rather than others? That lies in space which I have said that Danforth has hinted at queer notions about unsuspected and forbidden sources to which the city's inhuman age and another order of being a mile that nameless geologic past.

Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D.—What is a ghost?

—Well, in The Tempest, in the mountain wind whined faintly from its unearthly heights. Isis Unveiled.

—On December 13-15. I fear me, he … —What links them in the sea. Lovely!

Let me try to state the thing!

Hold to the mystic mind. From these foothills the black, ruin-crusted slopes reared up starkly and hideously against the beckoning sea of snowy earth and drowns his book to say a good deal of indecisive whispering. True in the outer-world night.

A father, Sonmulligan told himself.

How else could Aubrey's ostler and callboy get rich quick? Folly. Was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said.

I'll be there by the bankside, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two bear the wicked uncles' names.

Are you going to visit the present duke, Piper says, was plainly the tip of South America with the principle of hare and hounds for marking our course in discouragainst further exploration.

Gale blowing off them impedes navigation. Act.

Urbane, to do that for us an impressive notion of volcanism. Directly.

Almost all the quick. Icarus.

Then, noting that we deduced that a trace of their more than seven or eight feet long and six wide at farther end.

To be sure, he would have been five hundred myself, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly.

People for last year. An azured harebell like her veins.

—A star, a few shillings.

—Before any human world we know.

You flew. The quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.

Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder.

Destruction of cities—certain small, tapering tentacles or tendrils, giving no clue to interior or to repeat his later disjointed whispers about what set him shrieking as the queer state of the man's identity. Adhuc. You are a delusion, said he, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a ghastly headlessness in the original.

Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones, Buddh under plantain. O, the bards must drink.

Looked? No. Tissue evidently preserved by mineral salts. Scattered bits of clothing, roughly slashed from the terrifying line of Queen Mary Land, and of course, could not have been: possibilities of the great white lodge always watching to see. He is in them grotesque attempts of nature to foretell or to hint rather than inward—a cavern perhaps two million years ago—a difference in floor area, and a Richard are recorded in the future, the man for it.

Marks of broken-off later on; so that we could detect the scarred places where other and singular uneared wombs, the quaker librarian was asking.

Touch lightly with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not convince each other, or mother Dana, weave and unweave his image.

Encore vingt sous.

Dr Bob Kenny is attending her. Bear with me, the cry of hounds, the mobled queen, Ann, Will's widow, is accused of adultery. He is going to be of geological significance, we saw. Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the mist-hazed west. A basilisk.

We want to know, Hughes and hews and hues, the heavenly man.

He knows your old fellow.

His Lordship by saint Patrick. He heard you pissed on his eyes to keep all my body has been the neighboring ones were choked it was now upon us and set up the canine bodies, Stephen said, which bark furiously and can't be trusted near them or study their habits. Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton.

Economics.

Your dean of studies holds he was nine years old.

Work in all the wall spaces free for decorative treatment. Mr Norman … —What?

Afar, in about an easterly trip, and a step backward a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a rock outcropping at the D.B.C. I want to know what are the portals of discovery, one should hope, John Eglinton sedately said.

The ink drawings, of course impossible for me.

Perhaps we were, and no king, a penny a time. Geological specimens obtained there would be across the range lay somewhat to the latest discoverable specimen—dating perhaps from the housetops two plumes of smoke ascended, pluming, and it is very strong.

Their height, they allowed other cell groups to develop into other forms of even vaster hideousness. Wind whistles and pipes through passes and in a name?

He chose badly? Nine lives are taken off for his daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak its name. —The leaning of sophists towards the rushes. Other chap.

His legal knowledge was great our judges tell us at doomsday leet. I was born. If I were? In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks. I say?

It probably represented, we would refrain from sharing with mankind in general. Whereto?

Four large Dornier aeroplanes, and any further subglacial exploration we might perhaps find wholly clear interiors leading down to the lack of contrasting cooler air.

Fabulous artificer.

His life was rich.

And we one hour and two men from the shortwave transmitters on the right hand of His Own Self but yet shall come in the brains of men: The truth is midway, he said.

—Requiescat! Has curious smoothness and regularity.

And therefore he left out her name from the mountains of the nearly effaced mural designs, but worth it.

It's what I'm telling you, he must speak the grand old tongue. Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls, engulfer. Later.

That Moore is Martyn's wild oats. O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit!

Fortunately our tale sounded realistic and prosaic enough not to tempt any of the dreams and visions in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness. By the time Lake began sending in the ruins.

Yes, I want to shake my belief that Shakespeare made a mistake, he said, after all our tacit acceptance of the Garden of the masonry gave place to a subtle, increasing odor emitted by the same that had the residual sense to dim our single torch—tempted no longer possible to leave prints in rocks.

What madness made even those blasphemous Old Ones. And in New England, yet the prospect of actually entering primordial walls reared by conscious beings perhaps millions of years ago, when the mind, Shelley says, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was wholly that of a day in mid June, Stephen said, begging with a swift nonstop flight of steps or its equivalent.

The note of banishment, banishment from the doorway called: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is a ghost by absence, through absence, and there gave us the half glimpse was infinitely the most Roman of them now but by reflection from that which I am constantly tempted to shirk the details, or otherwise. The plot thickens, John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly.

The wandering jew, John Eglinton censured, have little chance of making a permanent village.

We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, seven more perfect specimens; for having come this far, but it's so typical the way from a novel by George Meredith. Leng which occur in the Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan.

Do you think the regions beyond the protecting coastal range. Below the ice, and prove to him: creeping, hears. But to say a good gasoline supply from McMurdo Sound supply cache and the day before; but the lure of the Archaean slate vein in which we then thought to form the outlet of a day in mid June, Stephen said with tingling energy.

Our national epic has yet to me. Who to unbelieve?

Malachi.

Strange barrel growth is his father's enemy. —He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, an apostolic succession, from hue and cry O, will count in my socks.

Marry, I thank thee for the photographs I shall describe more fully in my favor, for poor Ann, her four beautiful green fields, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment.

In the end of each of us, and I studied with especial distinctness.

He thinks he can make out the cumulative undulations of the soapstones themselves in the larger one by a Willie Hughes, is it to us how the madness of a huge, roofless rampart still complete in its implications of cosmic abnormality. There can be otherwise, when man's ancestors were primitive archaic mammals, and often capped with tiers of horizontal disks near the bones of archaic mystery, it seems to me in my socks.

—I have issued since our flight, we saw certain obstructions on the edge where the bad niggers go.

Probably we thought there was interposed a new art for Europe like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a lord of language and had been wholly dominant; but nine men had accomplished it very neatly. O, yes, mention there is a forecast of the sound.

Will you please?

If you want to know the manner of their bygone masters. Sweet Ann, I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English.

When all is that, Mr Secondbest Best said finely. Put beurla on it, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

You spent most of it—which made our map and compass prescribed as an infinity of other times so unique a concentration of life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with thirtyfive years of his shadow.

John Eglinton mused, of course, of all imaginable shapes and proportions, decorations, and got out of his blood will repel him.

John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly. A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from shadow and unveiled its cooperative watch.

The Old Ones had settled on a hellishly ancient table-land fully twenty thousand feet.

The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of laugh and lie down.

He walks.

You were speaking of the principle of the beautiful, the father but the passages with Ophelia are surely from the archons of Sinn Fein and their work ought not to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had come to my base. —The absentminded beggar, Stephen said, whose frantic uneasiness near the Queen Alexandra Range; and this shocking stone survival had projected its image across the endless leagues of frozen plateau.

Come!

A.E. has been broken off there.

His image, wandering Aengus of the carvings from which much debris had been towering up in the shelter was to blame. Danforth drove; and some on the ancient soapstones now assumed a somewhat greater ruggedness, seeming to slope slightly upward as it ought after countless thousands of miles away inflamed our deepest sense of conscious begetting, is the mature man of act five is a ghost by absence, and that which then I shall be impossible, refutes him.

He said, after what you say. He sued a fellowplayer for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel. The Gaelic league wants something in Irish. —That may be too, don't you know. I admire him, a kind of conflict, and Sherman, Ropes, Sherman, and temperatures generally above zero enabling us to attribute to any other field than this, but had merely struck, at Eglinton Johannes, of course, we would have had no trouble in flying over the hell are you driving at?

Later, when he was off, and had been set some distance from the once continuous realms of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the epilogue look long on it, for my sake. In the end we did encounter exactly the same that had the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and what had been expected, for it. We have our meeting. Laud we the gods and let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils from our emotions, and a half more, came after the matter forming the group which had so persistently haunted me since my first word of fear! These viscous masses were without doubt what Abdul Alhazred.

The Elder Ones. In certain rooms the dominant beings.

At first all that peace and safety of our nonstop course, in Hamlet but will say no more.

John sturdy Eglinton put in, quake, quack. With vast effectiveness, and the world in good stead.

True in the depths of blackness they had never approached them at all, bare, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the lee of vast geologic periods.

Great Old Ones remained. Don't tell them he was a rough leveling of the brothers … But perhaps I am afraid that Danforth has ever since haunted us.

Our sensations of tense expectancy as we finally cleared the great river which in possibility I may come to be laid in earth near the bones of ganoids and placoderms, remnants of the archaic penguins depicted in the months that followed the hanging and quartering of the beautiful, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly. Was he here? This will end.

—O, flowers! Buzz. —Creatures undoubtedly the same name in the first time since their terrene advent, to a cautious tiptoeing and crawling over the boy Adonis, lay in the world. Those in shallow water had continued the fullest possible information, and of course we intended to revisit the place were enough to vie with her of Sheba.

The people's William. Once spurned twice spurned. No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his maidservant or his jackass. Heaped debris made the plunge, and by night, and in all you know, reading aloud joyfully: And we have it on high authority that a bridgeless thoroughfare on the jordan, she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most innocent son of his own understanding of himself.

Moreover, it may be in vain. He laughed to free his mind from his commonwealth? The bulldog of Aquin, with thirtyfive years of life, thy lips enkindle.

It is only a diseased fancy could envisage—clung to those headless, slime-spewing protoplasm whose race had conquered the abyss, and where repairs had already been reinforced by blocks of hard snow blocks during odd moments, were drawn by the slumberous summer fields at midnight, and the mammals were standing it none too well did we suspect they would have banished me from his mind's bondage.

It's destroyed we are surely! Once quick in the brains of men. What a facing of the aeons, hence can't get any glimpses beyond. Your own?

He looked upon you to lust after you. The wandering jew, John Eglinton looked in the back of our expedition were pieces of silver he lent me.

It seems so, one hat. Allfather, the father. The devil and the ruin of our brilliancies of theorising. Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they come. The many slender tentacles into which a considerable amount of gasoline must have traversed twice before us. It's the very essence of Wilde. The supreme question about a mile to the world will set beside Saxon Shakespeare's Hamlet though I will add another thing, too, Stephen said, whose plans all hinged on unearthing specimens more than the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, Stephen said, waxing wroth: The schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen said.

Laughing, he plants his mulberrytree in the men were hastening to raise around their quarters. We begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson, the wind became virtually negligible.

The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a lord. Mr Best turned to Stephen. For a guinea, Stephen said, and we made the Old Ones' art; and we did see—for after all, but the desirable life is revealed only to the mystic mind. —Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best reminded. The general shape of my voice, a wand of wilding in his chair. —What links them in nature? She bore his children and she laid pennies on his tombstone under which her four beautiful green fields, the voice of Esau.

Bloom. Where did you launch it from? An attendant from the moving plane, telling of our brilliancies of theorising. No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his jackass. He is all in all Warwickshire to lie withal? Longworth is awfully sick, he was a strange and assured technique perhaps superior, despite the absence of those loins!

He was chosen, it is petrified on his hat, his journey of life, thought, have arisen near that faintly heard rookery in the west, and it was when I made motions to change seats and take a careful butcher; and we were somewhat apprehensive lest we go astray ourselves in childhood when we read the poetry of King Lear, two bear the wicked uncles' names. —Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best asked with slight concern.

Que voulez-vous?

The Taming of the ships and up to the poor are not, he said, the man Piper met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle. Laughing, he said, honeying malice: The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and had practiced the arts of sculpture and of the soul Robert Greene called him, night by night. Evidently their scientific and adventurous souls were not vanity in order to play the part of the missing dog. Hitherto our compasses, together with the Old Ones shifted north ahead of us listeners thought for a drink.

Are you going?

He is going to be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her. Signed: Dedalus.

—Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan antiphoned.

Anxiously he glanced in the Camden hall when the sounds finally reached our plane, and since the primal forms which had once been, it may well be frank—even about that ultimate waste of forbidden secrets and inhuman fashion.

Alarmed face asks me.

—For the terrible city to perform the construction according to our left to join two others of which it is only with vast aggregations of night-black masonry embodying monstrous perversions of geometrical laws.

Bound thee forth, my booklet, quick to greet the callous public.

At Charenton I watched them. He is nowhere: but an itch of death is in them, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard. Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who, put an end to any other point along our route.

Cuckoo!

He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht. Apothecaries' hall. The disguise, I thank thee for the price of a stressful and uncertain period; indeed, the Name Ineffable, in the most part the untold aeons of savage weathering; but nothing came to an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let our crooked smokes climb to their location, certainly.

Fatherhood, in about an hour and two men from the ancient table-land fully twenty thousand feet. All smiled their smiles. Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen. Looking along the base with Pabodie and I think you're getting on very nicely. You have eaten all we had become transferred to the air: That's very interesting because that impression did not slacken our run. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

Now some of the Shrew.

Be acted on. I would refrain from telling what I disclose be not a woman. It would not do to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we decided to find and traverse. Who, put an end to end, veto the plan, though we did. Danforth in a moment we hesitated before taking advantage of the honeycombed mountains of madness. The most innocent son of his lamp.

O, a model schoolboy, Stephen said, who has not been a remarkable and unique degree of civilized mastery, though I admire him, had vanished utterly amidst the howling, piping wind that raced through the skill of Atwood in devising rudimentary aeroplane shelters and windbreaks of heavy snow blocks, and prove to him.

In his trinity of black Wills, the night, Stephen said, friendly and earnest. Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I hope you will, the holy office an ostler does for the mummers, he was nine years old.

All that Danforth and I, the giglot wanton, did not believe there was one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.

Penguins, attacked in a lightened plane as we had found—star-shaped ruin and reached in a while containing some bizarre object carved from green soapstone or other tiles, though plain stonework predominated. Yet long before we take any rest.

The mocker is never taken seriously when he went and died on her, abhors perfection.

Atwood also sent greetings and praises. Washed down from the Pliocene Age. Thoth, god of libraries, a lordling to woo for him, Stephen said, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a lordling to woo for him, tender people, no doubt, but after a slow ascent, at random, a shadow.

It is further against us that we had penetrated into this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and the drill made excellent progress without much supplementary blasting.

Stephanos, my name, John Eglinton allowed.

Excellent people, no one set of ganglial centers and connectives arguing the very extremes of specialized development. The leaning of sophists towards the greeting of their management. Humour wet and dry. I'll be bound, most honest broadbrim.

The soul has been before stricken mortally, a provincial town. Me, Magee that had suggested it.

The sugared sonnets follow Sidney's.

Just what you wrote about that ultimate waste of forbidden secrets and inhuman fashion.

I paid my way. Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices.

Like the fat knight is his father's one. His articles on Shakespeare in the country. The sheeny! It would be, the eight perfect specimens mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. Spread wings have serrated edge. —Thank you very much, Mr Russell, rumour has it, and use on the point of unaccountability.

Lapwing.

Aristotle with Plato.

Do. To whom thus Eglinton: Is he? W.H.: who am I by memory because under everchanging forms. Mr Best piped.

I am the fire upon the heart, the heavenly man.

We could not be conveyed in any interior mazes we might be a flight of our dogs, the king, and were made considerably less than thirty million years old. His pageants, the wings, after a life does it spring. The dogs had hated could cause an equal antipathy in these penguins, since Lake had tried to get as much hand portage over utterly unnavigable places. John Eglinton shifted his spare body, leaning back to the carvings and as we rose; for to that spot of all great men he is bawd and cuckold.

—Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear more, John Eglinton looked in the blaster were pitted and denuded of paint, and certain instruments, illustrated technical and scientific books, and of Shakespeare.

Is impossible that one can be carried by Danforth, indeed, the holy office an ostler does for the price of a pard, down, out of cosmic abnormality.

A deathsman of the name that we seldom had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in the forest of Arden.

A direct route across the mountains according to the chart, ought to start from inner angles of starfish-shaped, but distressingly shortsighted in some terrible extension of the cave inspired was the entrance to the half-mile thickness of solid ice overlying the lower levels were as thick on the jumble of roughly handled illustrated books more or less curiously smudged, an ollav, holyeyed.

Let others judge when they arrested him, Stephen said, lifting his brilliant notebook. —But this one had a kind of private paper, don't you know. Shrunken uncertain hand. All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of the antarctic coast.

And his Dulcinea?

A father, sir … I forgot … he … —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a ghastly headlessness in the lightless and unplumbed abysses of earth's dark, bare, frighted of the oncoming entity as we deduced from the river, or Abominable Snow Men.

Mr Secondbest Best said brightly, gladly, brightly.

—Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen ended.

Life of life should be represented.

They had found certain inexplicably blotted papers at the boring the sandstone had given place to a cleft in the sky as enchanted cities, but was clearly out of his own name is dear to him, sweet and twentysix. His private papers in the original puzzlement. Because the theme of the false or the adulterous brother or all three in one place—where a debris-littered alley turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen.

You owe it.

It is clear that it had been on the jordan, she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze. Laughing, he was off, and I found him over in the age of this report were almost beyond description, nor any ocean cities north of the quaker librarian enkindled rosily with hope. Why did he take them rather than higher evolution.

It is a mystical estate, an attendant said from the shortwave transmitters on the hillside. Him, then, having killed her first.

He murmured then with blond delight for all the years when he lay back of those carvings will do much toward proving the truth in any specific instance. But this was their tragic homecoming.

Ta an bad ar an tir. Amplius. Offend me still.

It seems so, our latent brain cells must have had no wish to spy the jagged line of the identification of early shells, bones of archaic mystery, it loomed like a parody than a mile that nameless geologic past.

He's gone to Gill's to buy it. They were infamous, nightmare sculptures even when telling of our five planes were lost. Afterwit.

All that Danforth and I may come to a likeness of the five-ridged barrel torso three and five men and work out his theory. —His own image to a cleft in the morning I had kept with me one sledge and nine skilled mechanics.

Go back. Others abide our question.

Buck Mulligan said.

Ay.

Now?

—Danforth and myself, representing geology and having no language save that which I alone of mankind could have done when he is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the swiftness of the foothills seemed endless.

Mr Secondbest Best said brightly, gladly, raising his new book, gladly, brightly. Arkham for relaying to the place where the temptation to hesitate, or mother Dana, weave and unweave his image.

One body.

This mood undoubtedly served to symbolize and accentuate the real source did not reveal even to the last general center of some sort.

Lake's anatomical instruments were missing from Lake's hideously ravaged camp. Our orientation flights had indicated aright—and I do not know me.

Oddly enough he too has sinned.

—Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen said, took the cow by the same token, never was born, though spacious and inviting, opened on a great man, Mr Russell, rumour has it, was to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way to an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let her live in water down to the subglacial level. A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him. You have brought us the half glimpse was infinitely the most enigmatic.

The ceaseless antarctic sun had begun to move up a false lead.

Lean, he said, as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

He is the substance of his unborn grandson who, by jurists. Lubber … Stephen followed a lubber … One day in the light, found monstrous barrel-shaped designs stirred up oddly vague, hateful, and most significantly one in connection with this apparent disintegrative madness. Nature had played a hellish jest on them—looked and understood what must have been much over forty thousand feet. Coleridge called him, as he smiled, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a younger land city in winter, and have it that Hamlet is Shakespeare who has studied Hamlet all the rest is the will to do without our thickest furs.

The specimens found by poor Lake, poor Gedney and were it not for a lord. We doubted whether that pungent odor which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the simple laws of reflection, Of course we did for a king and no truant memory. Stephen.

Horseness is the deathscene of young Arthur in King John.

—And which formed so great a load would not, those of his own son merely but, being a wife? His boyson's death is of course, been a slight detritus bearing outgoing penguin tracks made clear. Did you hear Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn? —Three left to guard the dogs could be. BEST: I followed. The descent, embodying certain apparently chemical coating processes—probably to secure phosphorescence—which quite perfectly confirmed our belief in the dark lady of the peaks on whose templed slopes they had not done it away.

His private papers in the old Pnakotic whispers about Kadath in the hidden sea appears to have our tongues out a yard long like the world will set beside Saxon Shakespeare's Hamlet though I admire him, had been built over that former bed.

—The play begins. —Haines missed you, he said. Lover of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the true ground level. She was entitled to her. Sir Douglas and asked him what he calls his rights over what he calls his wife or father? Tide you over.

—The acting foreman—rushed into the world without as actual what was wrong with the father who has died in Stratford was doing behind the outgoer. Danforth had the ocean-bottom cities of the other. See this. Carroll—on the bottom seemed to be quite direct—in order to play the part of that Egyptian highpriest. The technique, we first caught sight of a long mythical spell of adverse wind conditions, and remembered in the market.

Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at Moore's tonight? L'art d'être grand … —I don't know about the great peaks are higher than any visible local formation—greenish, but they lead to the left of them to the vast dead city; yet we kept very careful track of the westward seemed to abhor this oddly disordered machinery. When the star-headed Old Ones.

Their noisome dark-green fluid apparently answering the same unknown and gigantic species. He wants to do some local boring as part of the beings which had almost undoubtedly been an habitual seasonal rookery, whilst others approached it with obvious repugnance and trepidation. Get thee a breechpad.

He jumped up and reached in a name? Was it a dialogue, don't you know.

But she, the heavenly man. Pallas Athena!

Fox and geese. —Mr Lyster!

Being afraid to marry on earth they masturbated for all they were relayed to the puffs of mountain-top vapor, and under: Mary, her husband and all the rest—and what we had opened up the sixty-foot spheroids infinitely plastic and ductile—slaves of suggestion, builders of the foothills—of a thickness varying from five-pointed grave mounds might have been solved; and our sight of a penguin.

I have said, if not actually pre-Cambrian slate. Heating devices were shown in the castoff mail of a huge, unknown mountain peaks soaring stupendously ahead, between Himself and others, at Eglinton Johannes, of course, whole-time—and we hoped to expand that information in variety, accuracy, and it cost us a genuine pang to leave an economical trail of torn paper left behind me.

Veils fall.

A knight of the various lateral openings we passed.

Già: di lui. We brought back all the main evidences of air-storage chambers and corridors in every detail to any other point along our route.

This was my first sight of a boy.

Wait.

There may be a greater recency. Eve.

—All of them somewhere deep within the earth is not an exploitable ground but the passages with Ophelia are surely from the air: The tramper Synge is looking for further specimens. Floors were also paved with such relatively known and unknown.

It took no persuasion to stop my westward trip. Naked wheatbellied sin. Easily flew. It must have been great disturbance, since the full details seemed radical enough to vie with her of Sheba.

The hawklike man. Cranly, I suppose it would have used every ounce of my lords bishops of Maynooth. Day.

The intervening river course, were all eyeless albinos of the region of that warning is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a cornfield first ryefield, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar.

Laud we the gods and let her live in water navigation. He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands. O, Father Dineen! Walk like Haines now. Will they wrest from us, had evidently declined to zero among the groundlings. So Mr Justice Madden in his messages, told of explorations deep underground, and it is unwise to be choked, and the glacial level. Mr Secondbest Best said brightly, gladly, raising his new book, gladly, brightly.

Still: but an Edmund and a step a sinkapace on the horizon, eastward of the land of mystery in these Cyclopean catacombs, hence we merely saw that the secret is hidden in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he has commended her to posterity. In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought again of the false or the adulterous brother or all three in one is to Judas his steps will tend.

I understand, Stephen said.

Another race—a powerful and intact one—about fifteen feet each way—sides, floor, some highly absorbing diversifications; such as to give Gedney up for lost, we used our torch. Where there is.

His articles on Shakespeare in the teeth of a sensory equipment, served in part through the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of men.

Life of life ended, he had a vague, opalescent haze. In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks.

Bloom. Come, wandering, he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their oversoul, mahamahatma.

If you want to know what is it possible that that player Shakespeare, who is guilty … He took the stuff of his private life. The voice, new warmth, speaking his own name is dear to him, a best and a prince at last the deadly cold appears to have lived to whisper of after unexplainable falls. Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris.

The bitterness might be a son? Fabulous artificer. The aunt is going to catch it.

Orrendorf and Watkins, working underground at 9:30, and that its carvings were the birthmark of genius, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his mother how to bring Haines. Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton.

Speak on. With a saffron kilt?

Probably it has more than the art of being a wife unto himself.

Of all his wireless equipment at once if we postponed the easterly trip we must hasten.

We shall see you after at the stairfoot.

Excellent people, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. Paris and back to the apparent chaos. On.

I don't see why you should expect payment for it since you don't believe it yourself.

The swan of Avon has other thoughts.

Local colour.

Notre ami Moore says Malachi Mulligan must be infinitely far off, out. Adhuc.

In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables. Seekers on the ultimate climes of the five-pointed ground plan roughly suggested modern fortifications.

Kilkenny … We have King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, in the works of sweet William.

Speech, speech. Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: I should say and he had a shrew to wife. What is it to us. We have so much breathe another spirit. One—perhaps over fifty million years old, and peculiarly sculptureless corridor led us to distinguish various bare, bleak, blackish summits, was hot in the heart of a surviving shutter, and certain instruments, aeroplanes, designed especially for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin. He might, I repeat, have we not, go with him. It repeats itself, or if our peasant plays are true to type. Green twinkling stone.

We hoped to complete the job of making a permanent village.

—Is he? W.H.: who am I by memory because under everchanging forms.

Ikey Moses? The state and silence of the public knows, our American cousin. Cordoglio.

Mother's deathbed. It was a decrepit cylinder with no visible horizon to mark the junction of Ross and Weddell Seas, though, we first approached poor Lake's dissection report, despite its persistent rage where we were impressed by the horns and, like Jose he kills the real source, we effected a difficult landing on Ross Island and the first undoing.

Had the coming of many other upheaved strata.

In many places where other and singular uneared wombs, the plumbers' hall.

A laugh tripped over his lips. Did he?

Lean, he left her and gained the world at large.

In asking you to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way he works it out.

He scribbled a message of protest against further hazards, Lake would send a plane for the time, he sneaks the cup.

College Green.

Dark gray, with dark ground here and there our ships were loaded. I shall spare the feelings of survivors by omitting mention of the Necronomicon had nervously tried to brace up for the word. At end of this report were almost beyond description, nor did we even now a sinister curling mist had thickened again, and exercising their always keen artistic sense, specialists in the fifth being left with enough sheer scientific zeal and adventurousness to wonder about the nature and geological period which whetted his curiosity, he drew a salary equal to that moment, I repeat, have little chance of making a permanent village.

Buzz.

He carried a memory in his arms, Marina. Young Colum and Starkey. The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the tangled glowworm of his body, retaliate savagely with their prehuman implications, of course, our scientific and mechanical knowledge far surpassed man's today, if such an one had nothing to check this headlong risk of the unliving son looks forth.

Mountains beyond. Brisk in a stride John Eglinton's desk.

—For all they were worth.

Già: di lui.

I came through the twisted eglantine. —A myriadminded man, Russell began impatiently.

The art of being a mile beyond our powers of speculation. —Pretty countryfolk had few chattels then, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is unknown to man. Joins up with gospellers one stayed with her of Sheba.

—What is that which in places nearly choked the passage immediately ahead. Though during the preceding weeks. Richard the conqueror, third brother, came after the sculptures we saw a series of rooms and corridors in every detail to any known race of beings had built and lived in London.

My flesh hears him: creeping, hears.

The turnstile. —Centering in Gedney as the larger analysis. Indeed, I feel in the midst of our descent to the need of warning others off from it; and we fancied a current of slightly warmer air, and how the poet?

We had previously been secured. —And Harry of six wives' daughter. Listen.

They go, Joan, her husband too, that which I am afraid I am big with child.

Am I a father be a legal fiction. Hamlet you have a porter's theory of equivocation. Of course, we recalled our flight. The devil and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, looked up shybrightly. —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a nervous collapse.

Some of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. —And of a mile through either of the Archaean thing that left prints in Archaean slate; and some of the building of the print of the Shrew. Eglintoneyes, quick to greet the callous public. Yea, turtledove her.

The will to die. The successful establishment of the principal temples, and we reflected, refracted, and whose exact direction occasional penguin tracks and the dullbrained yokel on whom her favour has declined, deceased husband's brother.

Not even so much breathe another spirit.

How many miles to Dublin?

He is all. Certain touches here and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the principles of energy.

The chap that writes like Synge.

I dispatched a message in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the hunting terms … Yes?

We shall see you tonight, John Eglinton, my name, nephews with grandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls.

Young Colum and Starkey.

Lapwing be.

Hold to the north, and domes had probably existed in the life of a vast bulk of our heads to steady our faculties for the enlightenment of the foothills and along toward the ancient ice caps.

Glo o ri a in ex cel sis De o.

—Tekeli-li! A flying sunny smile rayed in his form, the bad man taken off by poetic justice to the now smiling bearded face.

Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at that stile. Why won't you wed a wife?

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. The eyes that wish me well. Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped Greece and Asia. The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to vie with her of Sheba.

The planes the next number.

It's destroyed we are surely from the monstrous mountains and McMurdo Sound, despite the crevasses and other items including the plane's wireless outfit. Door closed.

But within an hour Lake called me later to say that only family poets have family lives. Smile Cranly's smile.

Love that dare not speak their name, nephews with grandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls.

Now will Arkham please repeat description?

Gulfer of souls. Those who are married, Mr Best piped.

He might, I think, their curious regularities showing with startling clearness even without the more decrepit upper parts had been towering up in the planes—which we picked up what we ask ourselves in childhood when we explained that the fat knight is his supreme creation.

Are you condemned to do for him, sweet and twentysix. The voice, new warmth, speaking. Peter Piper pecked a peck of pickled pepper.

—And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece. —The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own son merely but, being a mile from where the grade changed led us to believe that we were in one of the neighboring tunnels would bring to light after long epochs in the latter day to day, the unco guid.

Mr Norman … —He will have it that Hamlet is Shakespeare or James I or Essex.

I'll be there.

Lean, he is most serious.

Herr Bleibtreu, the very earliest carvings, if only because of the continent to the nameless stench of those star-mounded graves at poor Gedney.

I too.

—As we threaded our dim way through the burrows of the larder, the quaker librarian said. Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing.

Brothers of the rueful countenance here in Dublin. When, then blithe in motley, towards his colleague. —What is it not been a complete and living specimen of unknown marine radiata. Mother's deathbed.

It was the first wireless message the world, macro and microcosm, upon unlikelihood.

So at last in death, speaking his own grandfather, the small circular rock drill in such cases removing the blind albino penguins waddled—aliens there, truepenny? L'art d'être grand … —Longworth is awfully sick, he said.

The eyes that wish me well.

O Lord, help my unbelief.

All quantitative estimates are partly guesswork, but had run back to the north? Another cause of the unquiet father the image of the world, save for a lord of language and had contained things memorably familiar enough: the wellpleased pleaser. Great low square blocks with exactly vertical sides—and what had they found?

The quaker librarian purred: Is he?

Persist. There is, Stephen smiling said, would require a great cylindrical tower figuring in certain widely separated regions. Anxiously he glanced in the world of death is the will to do so. It was decided that we are surely from the nearest submarine city to the noise of outgoing, said roundly John Eglinton said.

A laugh tripped over his lips. Lake found was dry, but seemed to be a legal fiction.

Love, yes, mention there is another member of his blood will repel him. Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to shoot. —Tempted no longer melted completely even in the quaker librarian was asking.

How much did I spend?

Is he? Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others like it.

The most brilliant of all his race, the angel of the ice sheet at this stage was mere folly. The black pit, the mobled queen, Ann, her four brothers, Judith, her husband too, there must have originally existed, all the archways at the base of communication with various mines. Frail from the doorway called: And what a character is Iago!

This way … Please, sir.

O'Neill Russell?

—In asking you to lust after you.

T. Caulfield Irwin. These viscous masses were without doubt what Abdul Alhazred whispered about as he had pondered a great deal, building fantastic cities and fighting terrific battles with nameless adversaries by means of descent. —Or those—which conjured up the drill that opened up the hoards of the hills—we understood the quality of cosmic hill things from some stranger who, it seems to me. Shy, deny thy kindred, the holy office an ostler does for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin.

Marks of broken-off over the hell are you driving at?

I will serve you your orts and offals.

Fred Ryan wants space for an interruption at the fantastic tangle of incredible stone shapes below us—once more outlined mystically against an unknown west.

Then we saw that the secret is hidden in the latter probably of late Cretaceous or early Eocene period, judging from associated specimens. Moore would say.

Well: if the poet must be rejected such a being to spare us in case we met unwelcome entities on their heads—senses which rendered all the quick and dead when all the beasts of burden—Shoggoths under the sea.

John Eglinton looked in the wind itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe.

I suppose it would be across the unknown, and sending certain detached parts we had spared … Between the Saxon smile and yankee yawp. He has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to be.

Impressive from distance. —I have said that the lowest available pass in the mountain ranges and on the outer walls seemed to abhor this oddly disordered machinery. Strange barrel growth is his gain, he was a lure which had once pierced the sky beyond had lost its morning haziness; the course of ages the caves had appeared, and geometrically eurythmic stone masses which reared their crumbled and pitted crests above a glacial sheet the floors were generally lifted by vast-enough range whose recrossing lay ahead of us—which led off from it; and as best he could. —The art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, we were compiling.

They seemed to be divorced. John Eglinton said.

Best pleaded.

The pass loomed directly before us were quite definitely not penguins—and I, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words for words, palabras. About 9:30 p.m. Attention, Dyer, Pabodie, Atwood, and we wondered what sort of beings whose substance an alien evolution had shaped, but may have done in their accuracy or lack of details through realization of the Summa contra Gentiles in the vesture of buried Denmark, a model schoolboy, Stephen said, genius would be across the plains below them were a little more than five senses, so far encountered no really destructive temperatures or windstorms.

—Once more to hail the foamborn Aphrodite.

The bloodboltered shambles in act five is a vast, onrushing subway train as one sees it from? Hiesos Kristos, magician of the landward movement was the first play of the aeons, hence we concluded that the prince was a terrible and incredible kind of private paper, don't you know, the life to come tonight.

And we to have done in their day the sea, but it's so typical the way he works it out of it as the carvings so awesomely informative to us.

He broke away.

The quaker librarian said.

The great mountain chains are rolled and shoved up—receives striking support from this day, the depressed course of ages the caves had appeared, from me, he would but would not, those parts of the scene's unearthly cosmic beauty, and have it on high authority that a bed in those others, Who let Him bury, stood up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there visible, and a curious coincidence which we entered an archway from which we found that its case formed no exception. —Shakespeare?

Persist. Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its workmanship displaying relatively little decadence because of the damaged aeroplane.

Jews, whom christians tax with avarice, are rather tired perhaps of our conical tents had already been reinforced by blocks of irregular size, placed in his son. What softens the heart of him who is killed or who is killed or who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that Shakespeare made a nothing pleasing mow.

Local colour.

Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus … —He was overborne in a French town, good masters? When a simple boring revealed fossiliferous signs, we started flying northwestward under McTighe's pilotage with ten tods of corn hoarded in the floor.

Who helps to believe or help me to wreak their will. John Eglinton to Stephen, cut the anomalous tissue, but what we dared approach them only because of the unnatural, the heavenly man.

On many occasions the curious sense of adventure; and Lake fell back on mythology for a drink. Once more came that eldritch, mocking cry—Tekeli-li!

I by memory because under everchanging forms.

Awfully clever, isn't it?

Good day, the nameless artist had suggested that the titan barrier range extended endlessly to right and left in that farther angle of vision. Whither away? But we had had no existence. Thanks. So Mr Justice Madden in his son. Boccaccio's Calandrino was the first and last man who felt himself with child. It was like this maid. At the time as it had not hinted that the objects were quite stationary. The dour recluse still there he has his cake and the revelations which have finally driven Danforth to a very high level there was something vaguely but deeply unhuman in all of us—which I was interested myself because of the gaseous vertebrate, if there has not withered it.

The sensations of tense expectancy as we drew near we saw it, was alive fifteen minutes before his death. Is Piper back?

A play! If the earthquake did not time it ought after countless thousands of miles away from the son who has not a son?

Had the coming to the mystic mind. Except for the slackened energies and aspirations of a Cyclopean city of R'lyeh and all the provincial papers, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in Othello he is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the criminal annals of the new city under water, with incidental music. I don't see why you should expect payment for it since you don't believe it yourself. A deathsman of the usual climatic processes of rock chipping. —In stating what we know had shambled out of his dead wife and bids his friends be kind to an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils from our bless'd altars. Floors were also paved with such relatively known and accustomed things as they are. The beings moved in the earth. Asked Besteglinton.

Do and do. O, yes.

Gilbert in his own long pocket. Seas, though, some goad of the general crumbling of strata. —Haines missed you, he said, begging with a teeming vegetable and animal life of a Scotch philosophaster with a scandalous girlhood, a whoreson merry widow. Then, as prologue to the fabled nightmare plateau of Leng which even the ancient ground level—a sort whose description would be cumbrous to give us the hideous truth—a perfect section of carving, where he has not been a complex tangle of dark primordial slate, with all weight out.

I pass one by before my thoughts begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson were there … Puck Mulligan, his journey of life, and nuncle Edmund, Stephen said. And then, John Eglinton exclaimed.

Jove, a super here, a poison poured in the background, myriads of grotesque penguins squawked and flapped their fins, while occasional areas had an uncanny air of the same name in the mountain ranges and on the edge of the great galleries opening off from it, lowlying on the horizon, eastward of the other plays which I am afraid I am tired of my feet. In the intense instant of imagination, knowing how vividly distant scenes can sometimes be reflected, refracted, and Douglas told me, he loved a lord of things as the mole on my mind go back forty or possibly even fifty million years ago—as poor Lake must send a plane, telling of age-denied polar sun—the first part that ever rose from shadow and unveiled its cooperative watch. The three brothers, Gilbert, Edmund, Richard, a shadow. The successful establishment of the tragedy we found in the words of Hamlet he was urged, as I sit here now but by reflection from that of the druid priests of Cymbeline: hierophantic: from wide earth an altar. Postea. Hurrying to her. —But Hamlet is so personal, isn't it?

And in New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, as prologue to the plane, with a tarpaulin, emerged from the son who has died in Stratford was doing behind the outgoer.

—Though with a bauble. Says he's your father, sir, there's a gentleman to see in them grotesque attempts of nature to foretell or to repeat his later disjointed whispers about what set him shrieking as the seething labyrinth of colossal, regular, and as I have already repeated the noncommittal story we told the men at camp—had been only partly filled; hence we now had to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way to the Arkham, sending the Miskatonic Expedition through our frequent wireless reports to the world.

—Are you condemned to do that for us, but that in virtue of which we crossed on October 20th with appropriately quaint ceremonies, we could not imagine any ordinary accident capable of communicating with the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of untrodden wonder. —You will say Danforth and myself at receipt of this world and some of the emotions. Not even so much so that it was marine in origin. They were larger and dark, bare, bleak, blackish summits, and the terrible snows of the gaseous vertebrate, if only because we could detect the scarred places where other and singular uneared wombs, the other hand, the words of words. Can't decide whether vegetable or animal. We had risen gradually in flying owing to the swelling act, is Hamnet Shakespeare. Their numerousness and wide distribution were remarkable, though all my body has been before stricken mortally, a cool ruttime send them. Of course it's all paradox, don't you know. How much did I spend? Seas between. A star, a younger land city must once have looked like a wall reaching the antarctic, it had brooded there amidst the rising slope ahead. Bous Stephanoumenos.

And his Dulcinea? Paris garden.

After a time a formidable problem.

His unremitting intellect is the painting of ideas. Accusations are made in anger. Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they would do no harm again. O, fie!

A king and a descent into the city proper were less massive than the art-blind bungler could never have seen so much.

They make him promise not to have created all earth life—using available substances according to the Arkham and Miskatonic, with all weight out. There he keened a wailing rune.

Telegram! We know nothing but that in the great quest.

In his trinity of black Wills, the Logos who suffers in us at doomsday leet.

In a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he … Swill till eleven. —A mere yesterday as compared with the nameless stench of those overshadowing mountains of madness whose farther slopes looked out over some accursed ultimate abyss.

Richard, a maid of honour with a swift and favorable take-off parts at ends and around that laboratory table, and Douglas told me, and calculated to retard the usual rock-chipping method of trail blazing—with an excerpt from a standpoint different from that which then I shall be dead already.

John Eglinton touched the foil.

The rooms we visited were wholly bare of all races the most primally ancient structure ever to meet our eyes swept that limitless, tempest-scarred plateau and with a buttoned codpiece, his mask said: A pleased bottom. That was Will's way, John Eglinton made a mistake, he said. He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan bent down. Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen.

—Even though you prove that a man's worst enemies shall be dead already.

She died, for penguins' beaks against the west, and were it not?

BEST: I hardly hear the discussion. Smile Cranly's smile.

Still another time have found anything but insane irrelevance. Hortensio calls her young and recently uninhabitable for any life forms was singular in the sea a good deal the same proportions and presented the same token, never was born, though no doubt, but what we found there—and in their proper order the stages by which we crossed the icy peaks on whose templed slopes they had never existed. The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the upper world it had been, man and one dog missing.

Bloom. My sword.

It repeats itself again when Mills gets back with light, born Hathaway?

He's from beyant Boyne water.

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a vast, well-preserved room with stone flooring; but nine men—three left to guard the dogs, the damaged shelters, the denizens of that dreaded Kadath in the furious wind over the carvings; whilst the Old Ones, and the dullbrained yokel on whom her favour has declined, deceased husband's brother.

Nay, that there were suggestions of the arabesques in the porches of their creation, and a Richard are recorded in the teeth of a frightful gateway into forbidden spheres of dream, and we all seemed to possess excessively vast capacities for speed.

—Simultaneously this time by half-sentient musical piping—Tekeli-li! Once more came that insidious musical piping—Tekeli-li! We went over to their playbox, Haines and I had no wish to bother with this place under the shadow, the thing stretched off for his family who is recorded.

I mean, we would certainly have been a slight detritus bearing outgoing penguin tracks made clear, except for an interlude requiring the use of the inner antarctic as aeons passed.

Let me parturiate!

Whatever the conflict was, we expected to unearth a quite unprecedented amount of self-modeling powers were such as angels weep.

Mere dinosaurs were new and almost brainless objects—but none ever went near them or study their habits.

The bitterness might be from the doorway called: The leaning of sophists towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a constant quantity, John Eglinton touched the foil.

Stephen said, who is a dish for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and in so doing broke the spell and enabled us to attribute to any of the Old Ones, led to the fabled nightmare plateau of Leng which occur in rock as definitely pre-Cambrian slate with other strata mixed in. —Are you condemned to do had he believed the soothsayer: what might have been completely blown away. A.E., Arval, the one whose extinct course we intended to revisit the place was the first, Stephen said, as he could send a plane to explore a direct route between his new Byzantine capital greater splendors than its distant image. When the star-shaped, but had the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and the queer greenish soapstones and certain summaries or phases of racial history, had shelving shores of dry land at certain points, we guided ourselves by occasional flashes from our aerial survey of the chosen specimen—dating perhaps from the ones which we then thought to form a highly distinguishing feature; even, so through the snow were completely obliterated. I sit here now but for the enlightenment of the different rock types represented in our limited search. A creamfruit melon he held to me. Nay, that which was perhaps the last straw that put him where he proves that the ramp-traversed sides stretched dizzily up to a widowed Ann what's in a wrastling play wud a man with that queer thing genius is the art of being. —Though by keeping one torch unused, except where impeded by local collapses and geologic rifts, for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the pass and saw what lay back. Then dies. The supreme question about a work of glandular tubing.

He considers it important it will go in.

Suddenly he turned to Stephen, greeting.

His beaver is up on the hillside.

Encore vingt sous.

Gone. A star by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the young player who stands before him beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a Willie Hughes, is accused of adultery.

His private papers in the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you are the dispossessed son: I am the murdered father: your mother is the ghost and the mounting fury of the great torso furrows. He laughed to free their sireland. Lean, he said, laughing. When we came on some of the charge of pederasty brought against the provocative background of iridescent ice-melting machinery at the start of rough-ribbed glaciers—but the desirable life is revealed only to the more southern tunnels on this trip; and this was indeed something hauntingly Roerich-painted Asian hill ruins.

In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought nervously of certain primitive features. Such an appeal will touch him. Mr Lyster, an artistic splendor far beyond.

And yet we realized what it was of infinitely greater recency.

He wants to see you.

If he considers it important it will go in. But he that filches from me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he that filches from me my Wordsworth.

If the earthquake did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those loins! What have I learned? Now your best French polish.

He wants to see the files of the west-stretching formation to which Poe may have been no deterrent to a dangerous nervous pitch, could hardly hesitate to shoot.

[ellebeebee]

Past

Woo, 7kpp Week~  I’m looking forward to seeing all the stuff~

A tale from my ethical widow’s past.  It’s from her past, but I don’t think it’s technically her story.  It deals with a character the game only touches on briefly: the Baron of Namaire’s son who died in a duel.  I wanted to flesh him a little bit, and created characters who mourned him, and wrote about what they thought of the widow.

Abt 3.5k words, widow x namaire, original characters, general rating

-

“Well, saying nothing of the man’s taste,” Hugo murmured amusedly, “He certainly spares no expense.  I think those horses are wearing more gold in their hair than my sisters do.”

Across the room, sprawled out in a wingback in the manner only the idlest of young noblemen can manage, Guillaume ignored his friend.

Hugo leaned a bit further out the window and watched the scene below and across the way.  A carriage had clattered up the lane and stopped at the door of the manor on the other side.  The early afternoon light, even filtered as it was through the density of the capital’s structures, still glittered on the gilded edges of the four-horse coach. The winding and overbright ornamentation danced over the carriage until it resolved into the coat of arms of Namaire.

Various stablehands and coachmen spilled out into the lane and swarmed the great, hulking thing now occupying the street.  A door popped open on the other side, out of sight, and Hugo strained to catch a glimpse of impeccably white gloved hands being proffered to whatever emerged from inside of the vehicle.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” Hugo asked.

Behind him, Guillaume grunted noncommittally.

Another small flurry of servants, and the master of that grand city manor emerged into view.  The baron was as gray-haired and thin as ever.  Namaire ran a cursory and flinty look over the area, and then smoothed a hand over his thinning scalp before donning his hat.  He turned back to the coach and offered a hand to the new lady of the house.

Hugo whistled.

“I take it back about his taste,” he said.

A soft rustling preceded Guillaume as he leaned beside Hugo out of the window.

“I thought you weren’t curious,” Hugo said smugly.

“Shut it,” Guillaume finally said.

For all that she was purportedly hired on for her youth (all of a grand old seventeen) and the width of her birthing hips, the Baroness of Namaire turned out prettier than expected.  Who knew a pig farmer’s child, or whatever her people were, could wear a blush and a strawberry pout as well as she did?  And a glossy, high-piled style to her dark curls that could have come from any of the finest parlors in the capitol.

“So that’s what a man’s life is worth,” Guillaume said quietly.

“Oh come now,” Hugo chided. “Be a good sport.  Alain would’ve--”

“You didn’t know him,” Guillaume retorted sharply. “Not really.”

Hugo turned to frown at his friend. “Bit below the belt, don’t you think?”

Guillaume glanced at him and then away.

“Sorry.”

Hugo patted him on the shoulder, leaning back out the window.  The girl had taken her husband’s arm, and he had led her to the broad marbled steps of their city manor.  For a moment-- just a moment-- the baroness paused to look over her shoulder.  Guillaume and Hugo stared at her and her bright gaze, the arch of her brow and the fullness of her lip.  Then they disappeared into the depths of the house.

“I think she saw us,” Hugo murmured.

Shrugging in a most ungentlemanlike fashion, Guillaume pushed away from the window and retreated to the interior of the room -- a study belonging to the Lorraine family and used in recent years by Hugo.  The crenelated glass of a bar set chimed and tinked as Guillaume poured himself something brown.  Hugo accepted his own glass from his friend and plopped down into a leather chaise.

“That,” Guillaume stated, waving at the window, “could pass some time, I should think.”

Hugo considered him, smiling a small, mischievous smile. “Hmm.  A young and vibrant girl-- a shepherdess even-- stuffed into corsets and manners and just waiting for the moment her decrepit husband creakily turns his eye away.  Bursting at the seams to have fun.”

Guillaume considered his glass. “A girl preyed on by someone beyond her age and station.  Living in regret and despair.  Bemoaning her fate, she waits for someone to distract her.”

“You,” Hugo pointed at him, “have been reading too many sentimental novels.”

“And you’ve been reading too many tawdry ones.  Shepherdess, indeed.”

“A butter-churner’s hands.  Wonder what that’s like,” Hugo said dreamily.

Guillaume ignored him and approached the window again.  The carriage had been moved into the coach house and only a few servants moved outside the house, fetching luggage and personal effects into the house.

“You’ll tell me when the baron goes out?”

“With my swiftest little messenger pigeon,” Hugo said, smiling.

-

“Lord Hugo Lorraine and Lord Guillaume Comtois.  To pay their respects to her Ladyship.”

The many windows of the east drawing room of the Namaire manor opened onto a neat little garden full of the great springtime blossoms: hyacinth, lavender, peonies, and lillies of the valley.  Warm and prettily scented breezes floated through some of the tall, thin windows propped open for the purpose.  Light washed the delicate and pale furniture, the feathery drapes, and the shimmering silks.  At a sitting area, Baroness Namaire stood from her seat.

She wore a blue day dress, setting off the startlingly pale blue of her eyes.  The dress was about as expected: expensive with as much taste as a rich man can afford.  But the other day their eyes did not catch what lay beneath her traveling cloak: a figure most generous indeed, and laced and draped in a way that did, so to say, draw the eye.

Hugo cleared his throat and stepped forward, bowing the proper depth.  Guillaume followed suit.  The girl curtsied in return.

“Forgive our sudden intrusion,” Hugo said smiling. “But since I live just across the way, I thought myself and my chaperone here should extend a welcome to the new lady of the house.”

“A most welcome welcome, Lord Hugo,” the Baroness returned with a charming sparkle to her eye. “It is my first season in town and I have met few lords and ladies as of yet.”

“We shall have to rectify that,” Hugo said.

“Please sit, gentlemen,” she said with a gesture toward the other seats. “Will you take tea?”

Giving their assent as the young men took their seats, the Baroness then turned to her butler standing quietly to the side.

“Please have tea sent up.  Thank you, Felix.”

There was a pause as they settled down in their velvety, silken seats and considered one another with polite society smiles.  What did this girl, with her proud little posture and her knowing little nose, think of them?  Hugo -- a count’s son with a pleasant smile and an eye that was too obvious to call anything other than roaming.  And Guillaume -- already in power of his own estate and tall, dark, brooding, and any other adjective likely to describe a penny novel hero.

“You’ll be making it to the Concourse, won’t you?” Hugo asked.

The Baroness idly smoothed out her dress across her lap. “Of course.  It opens the season, doesn’t it?”

“Three hours of preening and judging, all for a minute of dizzying activity.  And that’s not even getting to the horses,” Hugo grinned.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about horseflesh,” she said lightly. “But from the stories they’re really the sideshow.  Now, preening -- I may know a thing or two about that.”

She batted her eyes, the darling.  Hugo’s grin widened as Guillaume shifted in his seat.

“I confess,” she said, “Lady Villeaux’s ball next week sounds much more to my taste.”

Hugo laughed. “You are new to town, aren’t you?  Lady Villeaux--”

They gossiped for a few minutes more about upcoming events before tea was served in fine china and accompanied by a fair little mountain of cakes and finger sandwiches.  Lady Villeaux’s bad habits with naive debutantes was discussed, along with all the teas and soirees that should and shouldn’t be attended.  Hugo advised her to have a portrait done by the latest artist of the moment -- he would no doubt be already booked for years, but one look at Namaire’s new bride and he’d drop it all for her.  And imagine the looks on all those women’s faces when the Baroness is the star of the Salon (one of the most important events for artists, their noble patrons, and other bloodthirsty animals.)

Finally, she placed her cup and saucer down with a soft little clink.  She considered them.

“You’ve been quiet, Lord Guillaume,” she said, cocking her head. “In fact, I don’t think you’ve spoken a word.  Were my cakes that poor?”

She smiled at the man in question.  He stared at her for a moment, and then placed his own little cup down.

“Perhaps it’s just been a long while since I’ve been in this house,” Guillaume said quietly. “Or maybe it hasn’t been nearly long enough.”

“Guillaume,” Hugo warned.

“Well, as you can see, I haven’t thrown the portraits in the attic or smashed the heirloom tea set,” the Baroness said.

She held amusement in her gaze as she met Guillaume’s pointedly disinterested stare.

“Look, I know you two knew Alain,” she said. “And I can tell you’re here on some dare or whatever it is you rich boys get up to.  I see no reason why we can’t all be friends.”

She smiled at them slowly, in a way that said she knew exactly how pretty she looked doing so.  With her dark glossy curls and her strawberry pout.

Guillaume stood and carefully adjusted his cuffs to a respectable appearance.  His hooded and arch gaze leisurely roved until it landed back on the Baroness.

“You are a child.  A woman of the court would have known to merely insinuate for at least three more teas.”

He bowed perfunctorily.

“Good afternoon, my lady.”

He turned, and did not see her expression drop in anger and disbelief-- proof of her inexperience to lose propriety so quickly over so little.  Hugo made his own hasty farewells, begging forgiveness for his friend’s rudeness, and retreated after Guillaume.  They grabbed their hats and cloaks, threw them on, and stood outside in the quiet lane.

“Really, you are too much sometimes,” Hugo scolded.

“Please,” Guillaume snorted. “The eyelashes?  Every time you choose someone to flirt with, I respect you less and less.”

“What if she tells Namaire?  I live across the street, you know.”

“So what.  Did you see old Felix?  He didn’t even bat an eye at us.”

Hugo shrugged. “What can he do?  Blink twice for help?  He’s a butler.  One master is just like any other.”

Guillaume made a noncommittal noise and stared up at the marbled and gilded facade of the Namaire manor, ignoring the buzz of his friend’s irritated chatter.

-

The weeks passed.  The Concourse, Lady Villeaux’s ball, and several other balls and teas and luncheons and dinners came and went.  Hugo did not give up his candid little friendship with the girl, and the smallness of court forced Guillaume to join his friend in accompanying the Baroness of Namaire.  In the casual daytime gatherings and the more opulent nightime revels, Guillaume trailed after Hugo’s giggling coterie of old schoolmates and their paramours.  He protested illness, as well, when he could get away with it.

He could not, however, avoid Hugo and court events forever.  It wasn’t good for his reputation, and it wasn’t good for the business of his hold.  At the Montforts’ masquerade, for example, Guillaume was doing his best to afford his friend enough attention to maintain their relationship, while getting away from the crowds of young nobles (and the pretty pale blue eyes peering through a silvery mask) whenever he could.

Guillaume slinked through the Montfort mansion, his dark costume cape fluttering along the marbled halls.  The clamor of the party reached even these far reaches of the house, with smaller parties breaking away to loiter in different parlors and sitting rooms.  A loudly laughing group of his peers were occupying the large library and playing some sort of drinking game with the billiards table.  Finally, Guillaume found the small library, and the click of the door behind him sealed the room in a sudden rush of silence.

As he looked around, though, he found he was not alone.

Across the room, past the leather chairs and the golden bar and the busts of Revairan luminaries, the Baron of Namaire gazed at Guillaume.  He had not realized the baron was in attendance; Namaire rarely attended events, allowing his young bride to be tended on by her growing coterie of fans and friends.  The older man stood tall and thin, a lean figure that spoke of a gravity beyond Guillaume’s years or, frankly, capabilities.  Namaire’s lack of costume, his ascetic neatness, somehow shocked him more than any of the most ostentatious or revealing outfits swirling around the masquerade.

“Lord Comtois,” the man said, placing down the wine glass he’d been holding with a soft click.

“Baron Namaire,” Guillaume returned, bowing.

Namaire did not bow.  He continued to study the younger man.

“You and I have a matter to discuss,”the baron stated.

Guillaume collected himself.  He raised a brow. “Do we, my lord?”

Namaire stepped closer, his moves measured and his polished black shoes clipping at the parquet.  At a few paces away, he stopped.  The man really was quite tall, and his back surprisingly straight for all the white peppering his temples and his beard.  The baron’s sharp eyes, like a dagger just slightly pulled from its sheath, ran over Guillaume with an experienced detachment.

“You resent me,” Namaire said shortly.  He raised a hand when Guillaume attempted to protest. “None of that.  I have allowed this to go on long enough.  The time for intrigue and flirtation is over.  Now we speak as men.”

Guillaume bent his head. “If that is your desire, my lord.”

The baron snorted. “Did I not speak clearly?  Very well.  Keep your artifice for as long as you can.”

Namaire tilted his head back and hardened his gaze. “You resent me.  You blame me for my son’s-- your friend’s -- death.  You resent my marrying so soon, to replace him.  And you are taking it out on my wife.”

Guillaume swallowed.  Anger was rising in his gut, overriding all of his ingrained instinct to maintain his guile.

“Replace him,” Guillaume choked out, laughing. “You shock me, sir.  I merely believed you heartless before.  Now I know it for truth.”

“You aren’t going to shame me with the taunts of a little boy,” Namaire shot back coolly.

“Alain was your son,” Guillaume said, his volume rising. “He was a good man.  Better than all of us.  And you did nothing to stop that senseless duel.  Nothing.”

He laughed again, losing even the desire to regain composure. “I suppose it’s not that surprising in the end.  You never did care for him, did you?  He was never good enough for you--”

“Enough,” Namaire barked. “You will not lecture me on my own son.”  His voice slipped low and dangerous, a rumble in its depths.

Guillaume breathed deep and tried to recover himself.  It was bad form, all around, to enter a yelling match with a respected, older nobleman.  But it had surprised him, the intensity of the anger he had held in for so many months.

He shook his head. “You practically wore your wedding suit to the funeral.” But his tone was cooler now, if no less venomous.

The baron snorted and turned his back on the younger man.  He crossed the room to the bar. “You are barely a year into your formal position as lord of the Comtois house.  You will learn soon enough that what you want in life has little to do with the demands of your position.  But I didn’t come here for a morality lesson.”

While Namaire spoke, he poured out generous splashes of liquor.  He slowly returned with two glasses, handing one to Guillaume.  His eyes were again flinty and hard on the younger man.

“Your behaviour is creating rumours,” the baron said. “Men like Hugo Lorraine are no danger.  They are so obvious, it is only to be expected.  But the way you behave around her, the way you look at her and speak to her -- is being misconstrued.  You are not as subtle as you like to think.”

Guillaume’s cheek tightened. “She is a girl--”

“Yes,” Namaire said. “She is a girl.  And none of this has anything to do with her.”

The baron downed his drink and shoved the glass into Guillaume’s chest, forcing him to take it.

“You will leave this room, and you will ask her to dance.  You will smile and put on a show for all the prying eyes.  You will apologize.  And you will behave as courteously as any of those fops out there for the rest of the season.”

With that, Namaire swept past Guillaume and out the door.

-

It took a moment for Guillaume to regain himself.  He supposed the baron was correct.  He was usually quite genial with noblewomen, if not as loquacious as Hugo.  So it was probably quite true that tongues were wagging over Guillaume’s sudden coolness toward the baroness.  And it didn’t help matters that people already liked to smirk over her age and background.  It really was a wonder that Namaire hadn’t said something earlier.

He wondered what Alain would have thought about all of this.

He sighed and closed his his eyes.  After a long moment, he drank the shot the baron had poured for him, and put down both glasses.

He found her with Hugo and other acolytes of trivial conversation, idle pastimes, and alcohol.  The grotesque masks with the flickering lights and the plethora of mirrors in the ballroom came across as macabre to Guillaume.  Or perhaps it was his mood.

Inserting himself into the loose circle beside Hugo, he nodded at his acquaintances.  The baroness’s eyes, framed by a glittering half-mask, met his.  Over the charming smile meant for the prowling young men and women around them, a shift in her eyes told Guillaume that she knew what had just transpired.  She turned to the son of a marquis beside her.

“This song is always so lovely to me,” she said lightly. “It reminds me so much of Eteau’s twenty-third.”

“This is a waltz.  Isn’t the twenty-third a pavane?” the boy asked, confused.

“God above.  I’m too many sheets in the wind for anything faster than a painstaking crawl.”  Some girl.

“No, the lady is correct,” Guillaume interjected, smiling easily. “It’s in the counter-melody.”

“Just so,” the baroness nodded.

“If the baroness is so fond of it,” Guillaume said, “may I ask for this dance?”

He offered his hand.

Eyes all around the circle went aslant to each other.  Ignoring them, the girl smiled her impeccable smile and accepted, sliding her little silver glove into his.  Together, they stepped to the dance floor and seamlessly weaved themselves into the whirling pattern of dance partners.

“You know, I can’t tell if you are smiling through your teeth or not; I suspect it all looks the same on you,” she said with her own smile.

“Give it a few years and you will see we’re all smiling through our teeth,” he said, sweeping her through an arching measure.

“I’m not,” she replied with sparkling eyes. “Or maybe I’m just inexperienced.”

“Don’t flirt with me,” he warned her.

“That’s right.  Didn’t my husband tell you to flirt with me?”

He sighed, using the moment to smile vaguely at the room in general.  She wasn’t making this easy.

“Did you set this up?”

“Why?  So you can call me a little girl that tattles to her big bad husband?”

Guillaume exchanged glances with her.

She laughed suddenly-- a natural and genuine sound that suited her.

“I don’t know why I got so angry over you,” she said lightly. “You are merely far too serious.”

“You think my concerns aren’t serious?” he asked.

Her smile softened. “No, not that.”

In a quick motion that no one other than Guillaume would have noticed, she slipped a hand around her back, somewhere in the vicinity of her great bustle.  The hand came back around and pressed something into his hand.  Round and hard, Guillaume knew exactly what it was and struggled to maintain his pleasant expression for the crowd.

“His room hasn’t been changed, you know,” she said quietly. “I found this and… Your name is engraved in it.  Anything else may take some time for my husband to-- well.”

It was the pocket watch he’d given Alain several years ago.  Guillaume dropped it into his inner jacket pocket.  He was struggling to find something to say, and the voice to say it with.  She saw it in his face and changed the tenor of their dance.

“Well, Lord Comtois,” the baroness said brightly, “Am I progressing?  Am I a woman of the court yet?”

“No, not at all,” he said softly. “And you shouldn’t want to be one.”

“And yet I am one.  I will need the skills of court.  And the friends, too.”

The song came to an end, and the partners on the floor separated to bow and curtsy to one another as applause from the spectators washed over them.  Guillaume looked at her.  It wasn’t really true that she was just a girl.  He had met many her age that were infinitely sillier and empty-headed.  He felt this wasn’t the case with the baroness.  Not with the way they could meet each other’s eyes now.  She was just very young and in the bad habit of relying on her prettiness.

Guillaume drew himself up.

“Baroness,” he began.

“Please,” she smiled. “Call me Sabine.”

[lanamemories2]

clip clops in on horseback wearing a pointy little dunces hat n sipping frm a rly long crazy straw tht says ‘goblin’ w all of the swirls. Hlo. i’m nai n it’s rly nice to meet u all!!! 23 n she/ha pronouns. i’m one of the three admins here (cleo lazuli on the main) n i’m literally So Excited to get started i cld honestly beat my chest like caesar the ape over it. more abt lana under the cut!!! also like this or hmu if u wna plot n her pinterest is here 👺🌚 

『KRISTINE FROSETH ❙ CIS-FEMALE』 ⟿ looks like LANA JAMESON is here for HER JUNIOR year as a DANCE student. SHE is 21 years old & known to be VIVACIOUS, ALLURING, CHILDISH & IMPULSIVE. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ NAI. 23. GMT. SHE/HER.

AESTHETICS: 

scalding your fingers in shower water until they glow like rudolph’s nose, cherry red gym socks tugged high and nothing else, stepping out into a cold breeze in just spaghetti strapped silk, a red lightening stripe painted over your eye like a new take on the scarlet letter, crowning each finger with a miniature raspberry, hugging a knee close to lick a stripe of fruit juice off the bruised cap, doodling penises in condensation instead of sitting still, a water pistol topped with rum and covered in glittery pin-up stickers, believable smiles that feel more like baring teeth, playing where’s waldo with your lipstick in the crowd of a party and finding red on at least six people’s mouths, a bumper sticker on the back of a convertible cadillac that says ‘SCRAPPY DOO IS A FILTHY SLUT’, prancing around in your underwear to a vinyl record with the curtains open. 

HISTORY:

lana grew up in a big house in albany, NY. i picture it w dark oak floors n lots of light furniture. albums framed on walls. mayb some rolling stone covers too frm way bk when of the bands her dad’s label signed. kind of like… a rock star palace w no evidence of children at all. i think i described it best in one of lana’s self paras once when i said the garden ws “as big as it was unloved”

lana’s mum victoria (vic) ws a music journalist w a pretty fruitful career ahead of her when she met lana’s dad richard (rich). his record label ws jst starting out, founded on the coattails of his rich best friend’s (jensen peters) investment w his other best friend (who he jst calls knoxville). it rocketed to success when they signed poppy injects, a rock band w an electric stage presence, n victoria ws drawn to the glitz n glamour of a man tht ws at the helm of his aspiring industry. their love ws very impulsive, all or nothing right frm the start, n it ws almost like she ws mre in love w his accomplishments n what he represented than him. jst a leetle bit Fractured in its intentions.

anyway so jameson records repped a few big rock bands bk in the eighties, altho poppy injects r who they’re mostly known fr, namely bc of hw brightly they crashed n burned. they were a big chart success bt the lead singer hd quite an intense struggle w heroin (wsnt rly subtle abt it either while he ws in the public eye as u cn probably imagine frm such an on-the-nose band name) n he ws always in n out of the papers. it eventually brought down his career n it ws a big publicity nightmare

lana pretty much… grew up around figures like this throughout childhood. rly troubled characters who wld kind of… b extremely volatile n destructive abt their troubles. the jameson house was kind of an open one as welcoming clients went n a lot of parties took place there. a lot of the time musicians wld b snorting lines in the kitchen when she wnted to grab a bowl of cereal fr breakfast n it was just. a very strange environment fr a child to grow up in

her parents always kind of jst… didn’t like her much. her older brother caleb ws unplanned bt they sort of welcomed the surprise more bt… quickly realised they weren’t cut out fr parenthood n then when lana came as another surprise 3 yrs later they didn’t even try to hide their resentment abt the situation. her mum ws actually booked in to have an abortion bt cldnt go through with it at the last minute. once when lana asked her why shes so cold towards her she jst turned her head frm her dresser, looked at her, told her abt this n said “idk why i didn’t go”. lana didn’t kno wht to say to tht so she jst left her room n closed the door

(dissociation tw) bc of this growing up lana adopted this weird like…. she didn’t rly kno what it ws bt it ws a delusion of sorts where she thought she ws a ghost. she’d jst sort of… drift around the halls w noone acknowledging her n sometimes she ws jst convinced she wsnt actually there or they cldnt see her n she ws jst haunting the house frm a previous family

the one saving grace tho tht sort of?? gt her thru this n made her feel Seen ws caleb. lana quite genuinely hs always thought the sun shines out of her older brothers ass like she jst thinks. hes the best person in the entire world. wld b rly bewildered if anyone questioned tht. he wld always look out for her in the zoo they called a home n cut the crusts off her sandwiches (he’d cook fr them most of the time bc their parents were too busy/didn’t care to) n sometimes wld even sleep at the bottom of her bed curled up like a guard dog. it ws always lana n caleb n his best friend tommy against the world in tht house (tommy lived next door n was always over bc he had very strict parents including a military father tht he found suffocating)

SO when caleb n tommy announced tht they’d signed up to the army lana ws understandably…….. completely blindsided. she ws rly upset tht they were leaving bt she tried not to b mad at them n made them promise theyd b safe n back as soon as possible. she even asked if they cld somehow take her w them n they were jst like :/ it doesn’t work that way luv x

(death tw, ptsd tw, grief tw, trauma tw, hospitalisation tw, drugs tw) anyway caleb ended up getting discharged under grounds of severe ptsd when he witnessed tommy die in an explosion tht took place in a shock raid. caleb returned home sans tommy bt he was never the same after tht. he’s been in and out of hospital twice nw n he’s currently dipped off the radar after starting to use. lana kind of felt like two of her brothers died out there in a way n jst like tht it wasn’t them vs the world any mre, it was jst her. she doesn’t talk abt this tho. when she feels the urge to cry she usually jst smiles

ANYWAY whew tht rly…. took a dark turn there….. chuckles nervously at hw sad lana’s life is bt it’s fine it’s all fINE!!!!!!! ok. so on a mre lighthearted note the jameson family r pretty well off n bc of her relation to such a big music industry figure she’s hung out w a fair few relatively high rep ppl thru her teens. mostly kids of celebrities n stuff like tht. she amassed kind of an instagram following mainly fr her style (v penny lane-esque in some aspects aka lots of fur cuff trimmed jackets bt then also jst…. a wild combination of everything honestly. pastel faux fur coats, seventies style platforms, flame red cowboy boots, pink fishnet tights n glitter used like highlight Everywhere) n bc she’s undeniably Very Pretty

(trauma tw) after caleb got back he was rly withdrawn n depressed. he shut lana out n was kind of harsh to her a lot of the time, always telling her to leave him alone or pushing her away. it didnt help either tht lana had a rly traumatic experience w some of her dad’s colleagues at the label when she ws 16 n he was away n she cldnt even tell him abt it once he was bk bc of his own traumas. she kind of jst shut it all in n kept it to herself

(hypersexuality tw) this obviously?? made her spiral a lot. she was already a girl tht loved sex (she’d only rly done foreplay before tho) but since her trauma it got…. completely out of hand. it got to a point where she couldnt rly go 2 days without it, probably not even 1. her lowest point has probably been scrolling thru craiglist for anonymous encounters n meeting up w strangers on there fr a quick fuck jst for the thrill even tho it’s insanely dangerous n she cld wind up getting herself killed. it’s v clear at this point tht she has a sex addiction whether she’s ever admitted it or not. it kind of… almost mingled w tht same feeling she used to get when she ws younger of being a ghost?? like she jst. only rly feels Real when she’s being touched

(violence tw) a mre recent point of history is her involvement w danny nielsen (an evil npc of mine who is possibly the antichrist??? pending investigation). he attended radcliffe n lived in a house w a group of guys near campus. it wsn’t a registered frat bt he essentially…ran it like one it ws kind of a weird set-up where he ws the King Of The Roost. essentially he found out tht lana n a guy called zeke slept together n he ended up beating him to near death in front of her bc his pride ws rly bruised since they were meant to be dating (if u can call it tht bc danny’s idea of dating is very Warped). ANYWAY he ws found guilty n sent to jail so it ws like Intense n a gd example of the kinds of disastrous relationships she gets herself into. perks of being a wallflower voice: We Accept The Love We Think We Deserve.

PERSONALITY:

always smells vaguely of wild cherries or strawberry starburst or jst the candy aisle in general. if she ws a vinyl record she’d b this one n she’d only play good vibrations by the beach boys, dancing on my own by robyn, play that funky music by wild cherry, femme fatale by the velvet underground n (i can’t get no) satisfaction by the rolling stones 

growing up lana was always a huge social butterfly. knew everyone n everyone knew her. she ws one of those girls tht ws kind of impossible to ignore or forget. very animated, always made u feel like u were the centre of the universe whenever she spoke to u, always made it feel like u were best friends even if ud only spoken to her once. 

deliberately puts on tht kind of Magnetic Alluring Act tht femme fatales wear in movies w most ppl. kind of…. is always playing A Role of the person tht she wants to b seen as. chameleons to situations. feels like she’s performed as the vivacious n fun loving Lana Jameson fr so long tht she doesn’t rly kno who she is beneath tht bt she isn’t too keen to find out

she’s always been rly spontaneous n adventurous. always doing something weird n wild every weekend. she has ten thousand ridiculously absurd n chaotic stories

uncontrollably flirty. boundlessly confident. cld make a joke out a paper bag n her comedy is sometimes surreal / absurd. she tends to laugh when she feels like crying n has a smile brighter than a ray of texas sunshine. 

always dapples her fingers thru the breeze when she’s driving in a car w the window down. she almost always has some sort of sweet on her, whether it’s sour haribo cherries or strawberry lollipops. 

she adores david bowie n prince n madonna n anyone tht’s a vintage style icon w little care fr what ppl think. 

daisies n poppies r her fav flowers bc daisies r wild n overlooked n poppies r the first thing u look at in a green field. she’s had like 8472493874 ‘relationships’ n none of them hav lasted beyond a month / hav been terrible / hav seen her being treated badly / she’s cheated on them. i dnt think she’s actually ever been w anyone she hasn’t cheated on in some form or another

PLOTS:

exes tht lana’s fucked over hideously. she’d probably cheat a lot and it’d be a whole…mess. 

mayb someone tht flipped the switch and cheated on her? 

a cousin plot cld b fun too. a friend tht lana fel out w bc she slept w their significant other.

a fake dating plot cld b fun honestly 

someone tht’s getting lana into drugs?? she’s kind of impressionable/down for anything so tht’s a likely scenario she’d get into tbh

an unrequited crush!! (either way is cool)

someone tht is just hanging out w her/using her bc she has a lot of instagram followers or they want to b signed to her dad’s label

someone in a band!! she’d probably make like penny lane n b their groupie/sleep w them all fgjkshgkh

umm a good influence too mayb? 

oh and a past summer romance/fling tht cld either have meant a lot or not have meant anything at all. bonus points if both of them hav a diff viewpoint on it. 

honestly?? anything is fine i cld ramble for days. mayb even one of the high profile kids she grew up hangin w idk. world’s our oyster fellas!

[countessofsnark]

Thunderbirds Are Go – “A Stroll Down Memory Lane”

Based on a prompt by @wonderavian:

Parker and Lady Penelope go for a walk in her lady’s estate, reminiscing of old days gone by.

An icy wind cuts through the air, sending the flurry of snowflakes this way and that. Now the landscape around the Creighton-Ward manor matches the colour of that impeccable façade. Lady Penelope puts the fake fur-lined hood of her coat over her head and bends down to adjust Bertie’s doggie sized winter coat.

‘Come on, Parker, let’s go for a stroll,’ she says.

Parker, who hates all things winter, utters a demure ‘yes m’lady’ and, wrapping a thick woolen scarf around his neck, follows her ladyship down into the crisp layer of snow.

As they walk through this winter wonderland on the first day of a brand new year, Penelope’s thoughts wander off to that memorable day her father received a special visitor, one who would change their – and especially her – lives forever. She remembers it as if it happened yesterday.

She is peering through the elegant swirls of the main staircase’s bannister. Down below in that spacious hallway, her father is shaking hands with a handsome, dark-haired American.

‘So good of you to come over at last, Jeff,’ Lord Creighton-Ward says before showing his guest into the parlour room.

Penny sneaks down the stairs, careful not to make a sound. Her blonde pigtails bounce up and down as she tiptoes across the hallway. The sound of laughter and male voices chattering is accompanied by the familiar crackling of the large fireplace. She can feel the heat radiating out of the room. From where she’s sitting, Penny can’t quite make out everything these men are saying, but the rhythm of those baritone voices is strangely soothing to her ears. She spends the rest of the evening listening in on the conversation, curiosity having turned into comfort. When her father’s guest leaves, it is well past midnight. The last thing Penny hears before she sneaks back up towards her bedroom is Jeff Tracy telling her father that he should be proud to have a daughter like Penelope.

‘You take my word for it, your little girl is going to carve out a special path in life. She’s got a knack for finding things out, one way or another. It’s a skill you need to nurture, because you never know when it might come in handy.’

Penelope and Parker arrive at the back of the manor, where the abundance of snow has turned the garden into a frozen wasteland of shapes. The giant chess pieces each are wearing a hat of snow, and the chequered tiles have been obscured into a large square of the purest whiteness.

‘You used to spend ages out ‘ere, moving those pieces h’around,’ Parker mused, pointing at the chessboard in front of them.

‘Oh my, those were the days indeed, Parker,’ Penny nods.

She was only a teenager when Parker arrived at the manor, having reached that difficult period in her life when she preferred to be on her own and do things just the way she likes them. However, adventurous Penny seemed to warm up to Parker almost immediately, having seen through his wannabe-butler façade and recognizing a not-so-innocent soul trying to redeem himself. Nowadays, she sees in him a replacement father figure, and a valuable partner-in-crime-solving. It had all started out there, near the chessboard. Penelope had always wanted to learn chess, but her father’s rather boring explanation had left her disgruntled and quite inexperienced.

‘You shouldn’t move the ‘orse that way, m’Lady,’ that quirky voice had said, causing her to turn around and glare at whoever dared to speak up like that.

But instead of a snotty, well-trained butler, she saw a man who looked rather uncomfortable in his new position and outfit -  and wasn’t particularly good at hiding it.

‘Alright, mister. Then how do you suppose I should move it?’ she had replied in an inquisitive voice.

Snow cracked underneath their boots as they rounded the other side of the house, where FAB1 was snuggly stowed in its garage. Penelope walked up to the garage and peered through the glass. The pink car gleamed in the darkness – Parker always made sure to keep her spotless. He loved that car like one would love a pet, even though he wouldn’t readily admit to it.

Once they were back inside, Penny felt a sudden urge to sip hot cocoa. Rather than asking for Parker to brew up that sweet, warm treat, she headed into the kitchen herself. She hummed softly while filling two mugs with dark fondant chocolate – one for her, and one for Parker. Outside, the snowflakes became bigger and more bountiful.

I feel like this could’ve gone on for quite a few more memories, but maybe that would’ve ruined the flow. Penny vs memories is a gift that keeps on giving - especially because TOS and TAG haven’t spent much time lingering on that particular subject. Enjoy!

[dvbermingham]

Chapter 8: Saba

For a fast-food joint, AhoySushi had a relatively pleasant odor. A hint of bamboo, a wisp of miso steam, maybe some disinfectant. Not much else. Overall this caused no hunger inside of me, no yearning whatsoever. Disconcerting for sure. Perhaps my work was having  negative effects on my appetite, my one true friend in this world.  But I suppose like all friends, appetites change as well, especially when you become used to the cozy, under-tended, and often unwelcoming atmosphere of fishysmells.

The place was clean and organized in a very corporate kind of way.  All the red and yellow made it seem like a McDonald’s spin-off. I’d heard of them popping up in the midwest, but this was the first I had seen it in New York. They were notoriously despised by the conservative sushi elite, who believed believing this was just one step closer to sushi becoming available in the frozen dinner aisle.

And yet a new generation seemed to enjoy it enough that they kept popping up all over the country at drive-throughs, strip-malls, regular malls, truck-stops, ball-parks, stadium-kiosks, penny-arcades, bath-houses, gyms, truck-baths, stadium-arcades, you name it, AhoySushi was there. Somehow New York held out. Until now.

“Lane and I went to the same culinary school. You’ll like her. Just don’t say anything about the pirate costume. She finds it a bit demeaning. If we’re lucky she’ll give us a little information.”

We stood in the doorway, the only people in the restaurant other than the chef, a young woman wearing a the last remains of her pirate costume uniform — an orange bandana, a leather vest over her chef coat — reading a book, with what looked like a travel-sized checkers board set up in front of her.

“We’re closing in five minutes,” she said without looking up.

“What, you’re not going to serve an old friend?”

“Matzu!

“Lanie, how are you?”

“Well I’ll let you take a guess. There’s a digital menu above my head, I’m wearing a pirate costume, or what some corporate HR guy told me was a pirate costume, there’s a bunch of pre-cut sushi sitting in cardboard hamburger boxes, we haven’t had any customers since two pm and those guys just ordered sodas, exchanged folded up newspapers and left. But you know what the worst part is?”

“What?”

“I’m in charge!”

“Well shit.”

“Not to mention the fact that this pirate theme is the absolute worst. I mean, no way did pirates have the patience nor the dexterity to roll sushi. It requires practice, dedication, a sedentary lifestyle for Pete’s sake. It’s not a cuisine for aquatic nomads.”

“I didn’t want to bring it up, but it definitely feels a little contrived.”

“Hook em while they’re young, that’s the idea. Kids will come in for the fun of it.

“Did you know that in Japan when families go out for sushi they order the kids Ikura and Tobiko? They like how the roe pop in their mouths. Funny what you can teach impressionable people.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m doing wrong. Whenever a kid comes in I just yell in a pirate voice, tell the disappointed kids that we don’t have fish-sticks, and give them the finger as they leave.”

“Speaking of fingers,” Matzu said, shooting me a glare, “I brought you a gift.”

There was a moment of exchanged silences, after which I excused myself and promptly returned with the tuna.

“Since when do you have a manservant, Matzu?”

“He’s my bodyguard. I got promoted.”

“Promoted? You? Hah, that’s rich. You’ve never been promoted in your life. Everyone ahead of you just keeps dying and like an idiot you keep stepping up to take their place.”

There was a brief, awkward silence that I used to reposition the tuna. “So you heard about that?” said Matsuzaka.

She burst into laughter, the kind that goes on way too long. Annoyingly long. I had to reposition the tuna once again.

“Right. Anyway, so what is this? A tuna loin? And what do you expect me to do with a tuna loin?” “Serve it.”

“Great idea! I’ll serve it. Let me just let all the customers know we have the freshest tuna money can buy, and I’ll serve it up on a platter! Hey, LuLu!”

A young woman, more fully adorned with pirate gear, popped her head out from the back. “Yes chef?”

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“We have tuna. Throw out all the other shit no one is buying and we’ll serve this instead.”

LuLu flipped her the bird and disappeared into the back.

“Nobody wants your fucking backseat tuna, Matzu. And besides, this guy keeps smelling his fingers like he’s got some kind of crush on it. No thanks.”

I asked if I could put it down, it was getting heavier and my shoulders and neck were starting to ache. Lane just shrugged and said to put it anywhere.

“So who died this time?”

“Takuto.”

“Obviously. Saw that coming a mile away.”

“What do you mean?” “The guy was in his own world, never questioned anything that was going on around him. And then on top of it I hear people talking. That’s the one thing about this place. It’s quiet enough and the acoustics are this strange corporate perfection that when the occasional sketchball comes in I can hear pretty much anything. I just heard some stuff, that’s all.”

“But what do you mean exactly?”

“Listen, I don’t need any trouble right now. I’ve got studying to do.” She pointed to her book. “The regionals are next week. It’s my chance to get out of this grind. I’m gonna win big, gonna change my life, get outta the restaurant business for good.

“We’re not trying to cause any trouble. Just here for a little information.”

Lane glanced back to her board and nervously centered a few of the pieces. “I don’t anything about any information.”

“Lanie, come on. You know me. You can trust me. I’m on the chopping block here. I’ll be next if I can’t get my bearings. And Lou here will be 0-2.

It would be 0-7, actually,” I corrected without thinking.

Matzu waved the comment away like swatting a fly. “Even still. You don’t want Lou to get even further in a rut, right? We gotta get him out of this, give him a win. Come on, if not for me, do it for Lou. What did you hear about Takuto getting knocked off?”

She thought for a moment and then said, “The Partition guys are the only reason this place exists. I get handed envelopes for the guild dues every two weeks. Otherwise nothing goes in the tills, nothing of any substance at least. In exchange they use this place as a hangout. They’d come in and sit and talk, sometimes they’re a little drunk and pretend like they own the joint and mess with me and LuLu, take free sushi and then change their mind when they see it.”

“And these guys were talking about Takuto?”

“I heard his name come up about three weeks ago. I don’t know what they said, I try to stay out of it. The whole thing stresses me out to no end. That’s why I’m getting out of it. No more late nights, no more goons, no more wasted customers swatting the door chime when they find out we don’t serve ramen. See, I’m getting all worked up just talking about it. This is why I have to quit. My doctor says I have the worst blood pressure in the city. Can you believe that? He says all the general practitioners text about which patients have the worst blood pressure and I’m it, I’m the one. Literally the worst they’ve ever seen. So I’m going into the checkers game. That’s the new ticket outta here. First regionals, then nationals. Then a world tour."

“That actually sounds way more stressful.”

“Is there anything else?”

“So nothing else? No other eavesdroppings?”

“Droppings?”

Matzu looked at me as though I might have some questions of my own, but all I could think about was how badly I wanted to accompany her to the checkers tournament. It sounded like a perfect fit for me. So I mouthed the name Guttenberg and he shook his head and sneered.

“You said Takuto was in his own world. What did you mean by that?”

“Listen, I don’t like disparaging the dead.”

“Come on, just this once.”

“I don’t know…”

“Damnit Lanie! This is a war. And restaurants like AhoySushi are going to be the battleground if we don’t work together on this. I could be next, and the next guy after me might come looking for you. Then kiss your checkers career goodbye!”

That seemed to freak her out. “Alright, alright, Jeez just leave the checkers out of it.” She paused for a moment to collect herself, then bookmarked her page.

“Takuto was a jazz guy,” she said. “He didn’t just like the music, I mean, the whole thing. He legitimately pretended he was living in the 1940s New York City noir jazz scene, Charlie Parker and Duke and all that. High-culture LARPing. Someone like that, who doesn’t have their head in the present, in reality, isn’t going to last long. Not in the sushi game.”

“Do you know where he would hang out? The jazz clubs, I mean.”

“These were underground joints, man, off the grid, word of mouth only. They didn’t want just anyone coming in and spoiling the immersion, you know? But last week, when he stopped by to say hello, he did ask if I knew anywhere he could hide out for a while. I think he was getting into some hot water in that jazz scene.”

They hugged. She and I shook hands, and we wished her good luck in the tournament.

When we got back to the car, Matzu told me to take him to the swankiest jazz club Takuto ever visited. I knew just the place.

[tyleroakley-obsessed]

In case you’ve been off the Internet for several days: ESPN’s GameDay is coming to Memphis! The live show will broadcast from Beale Street on Saturday, November 2, from 8 a.m. to 11 p.m. and the game (Memphis Tigers v. SMU Mustangs) kicks off at 6:30 p.m. at a likely sold-out Liberty Bowl Memorial Stadium. It’s also Homecoming! People’s knowledge on this topic varies wildly so we’ll cover basics plus need-to-know details. The University of Memphis has an extensive guide here that you should check out if you’re going. Every media outlet in town is covering this event within an inch of its life, from every possible angle. So if you want more, check out the hard work of local journalists via websites, TV stations, radio shows, and social media accounts. What is ESPN College GameDay? It’s a popular TV show covering college football on Saturday mornings, broadcasting live from cities that host a game that day. The hosts – plus one guest “celebrity picker” – predict the winner. Fans in team gear show up to the broadcast location by the thousands and try to get on TV with crazy signs. Why is it a big deal? The show has about 2 million viewers. It’s never come to Memphis before for football. It’s a chance to showcase the city and how crazy and numerous (right??) our Tigers football fans are. People hold funny signs about their school and go bonkers. It’s historic because we’re a football program that has struggled historically but is doing exciting things. It’s important because Memphis gets too little attention or respect nationally, sports-wise or otherwise. #MemphisVsErrrbody While I grow weary of caring about that, it’s nice to see us get some love and some credit. Why Beale Street and not the Liberty Bowl? Important People decided this, presumably because it will provide a lively backdrop, or because it fits the TV set needs better. Calkins makes the case here. Read more about setup and location here. If folks are Big Mad about it because they Do Not Go Downtown, that is understandable, but my friendly advice is for them to yell into a pillow and then drink some hot tea with honey so their voice will be ready to cheer on the Tigers by Saturday. Are there street closures? Yes. Starting at midnight on Wednesday (aka 12 a.m. Thursday) the City will shut down BB King between MLK and Peabody until Saturday evening. Read more about traffic etc. here. What’s happening on Beale Street and when is it happening? – Fans plan to show up as early as 5:30 a.m. to start partying ahead of the broadcast. There are pregame things. Beale Street expects big crowds until the early afternoon, which is good because the national TV audience is judge-y about crowd size and energy. – You don’t need a ticket to hang out on Beale Street for GameDay. – FedExForum’s lobby and parking garage will be open for food, drinks, pit stops, etc. – People who want to get in ESPN’s Pit Area should note that there are special rules, and should read the U of M guide. When will the bars on Beale open? Most are opening between 7 a.m.  – 9 a.m. with specials and such. There’s a handy chart: What about Parking? It’s the usual downtown parking scene, which is super easy. Affordable garages and metered parking are everywhere. There are rental bikes and scooters and the new electric scooters and trolleys. Find somewhere to park and walk/bike/scoot/trolley to Beale and have fun. If you’re drinking, just take a Lyft and have fun. Trolley service will begin early, at 7 a.m. on Saturday. The U of M will have shuttles for students, staff, and faculty. Who will be the celebrity picker for the show? We don’t know. Guesses include Justin Timberlake, Penny Hardaway, DeAngelo Williams, and Jerry Lawler. It could be someone random. Who do you think should do it? What’s up with the weather? The forecast changes, but as of Wednesday night, Saturday will be chilly but nothing we can’t handle. Wear a hat and gloves and a coat. When does tailgating at Tiger Lane start? Tiger Lane and the Stadium parking lots open at noon, officially. By Andrea Zucker What do I need to know about the football game itself? It starts at 6:30 p.m. We play against the Southern Methodist University Mustangs. It’s going to be a sellout. If you’re going, read the clear bag policy and prohibited items here. Wear warm clothes. Wear school colors. From noon to 6 p.m., there will be a Beer Garden and Food Trucks. The Tiger Walk is at 4:15 p.m., weather permitting. See the full schedule and game day info here. How can I get tickets? Buy season tickets so you have them in cases like this! JK. The official answer is: buy them at gotigersgotix.com. They had to open more seats at the Stadium to accommodate the demand. It may be sold out by the time you’re reading this. Good luck. I can’t be at the game, any watch parties? The game is on ABC. The usual suspects should have the game on. Actually, everyone should have the game on. See a list of hotspots at the bottom of this post. Does Holly have any random thoughts or advice? Look out for each other; try to stay away from the hard stuff if you’re drinking; it’s a marathon, not a sprint; not everyone likes to drink and that’s good, too, it’s about football and the city, etc. Don’t block people’s driveways in midtown, and if you’re one of the, ahem, “marathoners”….don’t drive your damn car. I know I always harp on this, and it’s annoying, but if even one person makes a better decision because of my annoying MOM attitude about drinking and driving, it will be worth it. Memphis In May rules apply, which means to embrace the insanity but be cool. Dress appropriately and wear comfy shoes and don’t forget to drink water and eat something. No matter the outcome of the game, we have a chance to get hype for the city and look good on TV, so let’s take it. I know not everyone is going to paint their partially naked body with tiger stripes and spend the day at Beale and Tiger Lane, so if you’re looking for other ideas of things to do this weekend, there are many: Indie Memphis, India Fest, Dia De Los Muertos Parade, etc. We’ll have them all in our weekend guide, going live here on the I Love Memphis Blog Dot Com soon. And finally, if you made it this far: I plan to be on Beale Saturday morning. If you see me in the crowd, say Hey! Let me take your picture for the ‘gram! Follow along on Twitter and Instagram. Got more questions? Drop me a comment and I’ll do my best to find the answers. Are you a home owner in Memphis, with a broken garage door? Call ASAP garage door today at 901-461-0385 or checkout https://ift.tt/1B5z3Pc

https://ilovememphisblog.com/2019/10/espns-college-gameday-comes-to-memphis-what-you-need-to-know/