#we likely all prefer parcel mules

[batnbreakfast]

With all the steps and narrow paths, this is a usual way to transport things around here:

[blisserial]

Twelve

We were a circus, yes, but never before had we plied our talents beneath the shelter of a proper tent. Ross claimed he hated tents and that the fabric walls and the disappearance of the sky gave him vertigo. I think he simply didn’t want to split with the coin necessary to procure such an expensive prop.

When we saw the jeweled beauty staked beneath the Capitol's white spire I think we all began to dream of endless, cheering crowds and previously unseen acclaim. I know I drew my shoulders back and lifted my chin. Summer south of the border had taught me that we were more than mud grubbers. Now I think I began to realize that we could be near royalty.

"It's sewn all over with sapphires," Will marveled, tattoos flexing as he stretched to stroke the gleaming fabric.

"I imagine they can be cut free," Maurice replied. He tossed Ross a speculative look.

"No," Ross replied quickly. "Let them be. Don't take anything isn't ours. There's danger in that."

Because I caught Amy's nod and frightened genuflect, I made a rude noise. Ross turned his glare my direction. "I mean it, Bliss. Don't tempt fate." Absently he patted the chrysanthemum pin now stuck through the leather of his belt.

The tent was larger than most of the Southern hotels we'd frequented. Beyond the door flap a footman waited. He bowed so low his chin nearly touched the ground then motioned us to the center of the ring.

We were without our mule and stallion. No hoofed animals were allowed beyond the first circle of the city. Instead, the Seat had gifted us with a pair of lions.

I thought fanged animals were a far road more dangerous than hoofed but Ross appeared calm. He'd worked with large cats in his youth, leopards and striped mountain cats, and we'd been promised that these two shaggy beasts were well trained by the Seat's own personal jester.

"They sit at her feet," the footman reported, reaching past thick wooden bars to ruffle a tawny coat. In his cage the lion began to purr, a deep, rumbling growl. "Or do summersaults while she plays a pipe. Gentle as lambs, these two."

I doubted it, but when the footman released the animals in order to demonstrate their talents, the creatures were indeed better mannered than our one eyed tom. Will soon had their cues down and Ross was fairly bristling with excitement.

"Beloved by the people." The footman nodded and preened subtly as one of the big cats rolled on the ground. "We truly cannot have a performance without them."

"We'll work them in." Maurice nodded. "My troop is nothing if not creative."

Creative assuredly. Our Bearded Lady had deft hands with a tailor's needle and also a pack rat's addiction to odd rags and bits of fine fabrics. She went to work piecing together elaborate, ruffled skirts made of feathers and damask. The skirts had lion sized waistlines and matching paste crowns; an example of the Bearded Lady's odd sense of humor.

The costumed lions were meant to dance with the dogs in the center ring while Ross's tabby queen strummed her guitar and the one eyed tom howled vulgar accompaniment. Amy would preside over them all. In this the dog girl reached the highest pinnacle of her career, I am sure.

It all ran surprisingly well. Our dogs and cats did not, as I expected, turn tail and run the moment the lions were introduced. I suppose Ross's menagerie feared his hand above the lions' hunger.

The elegantly coiffed, perfumed Southern audience roared and clapped at all the appropriate places. The shadowed pavilion at the far end of the tent remained opaque but the Seat's courtiers, arranged at the foot of his throne, nodded and smiled. Ross took their smiles as encouragement. That, and the showers of coin raining at our feet from above.

The adulation must have gone to Amy’s head. I was juggling in the far ring and did not see her leap to the lion's back, but I heard the increasing roar of the crowd. I might have continued on oblivious if the Bearded Lady hadn't screamed.

As it was, I looked over just in time to see the affronted animal turn its shaggy head and casually rip Amy's thigh to clots of meat and gristle.

Maurice quenched colored flame as he jumped to the dog girl's aid. The Bearded Lady continued to scream. Eager, frenzied cries from the audience above rang in my ears. And at the foot of the Seat's pavilion, his courtiers clapped and nodded in genteel approval.

                                                              *****

      The boy was dressed as he had been at Tamner's party, a proper pampered little lord head to toe. The white silk of his stockings had none of the stains one expected in a lad. His velvet doublet was unwrinkled. He stank of Southern perfume. Only the child's ruffled mane was out of order; burnished curls fell over narrowed brown eyes and onto the collar of his tunic.

He held the pistol steady, small hand loose and practiced, while he shook his head.

"A simple question such as I asked demands a simple truth, Sergeant." He spoke in the fluting tones of a lad whose balls had not yet dropped. He pursed his lips in dramatic regret. "But you lied. I thought so then. I know so now."

The silver pistol looked as though it had been fashioned to fit that particular miniscule hand but Maurice did not doubt the delicate thing could put a hole in his chest. He found himself clenching his teeth, and forced his jaw to relax.

"I've no idea what you mean."

"Witchery." The boy pronounced the word as though it tasted sweet on his tongue. He used his free hand to gesture at the blackened walls. "Or do you expect me to believe that conflagration was the result of an oil soaked rag and well timed distraction?"

He laughed as though he found himself terribly amusing. From somewhere behind Maurice the thin priest cackled a nervous echo. That sound, far more than the pistol, made Maurice begin to sweat.

The boy must have seen something on Maurice's face because he wagged his head carefully from side to side. "Don't try it, sir. Burning me won't do you a bit of good and I'll still put a bullet through your heart. Besides," the weapon remained still and steady as the lad crouched at Maurice's shoulder, "surely you've killed enough for one day." He leveled a meaningful past Maurice.

For the first time Maurice noticed the rank, charred stink rising about the room: blackened bone and hair. He knew the taste of ash well.

"I didn't kill them." Because he was sure he hadn't. Most of the priests had been still in the hall and the man closest behind had been hale enough to send Maurice tumbling to the floor.

"No?" The boy's brows quirked. "That isn't supper I smell, nor dinner I see."

Maurice lunged upward. He managed to knock the pistol from the lad's hand, but only, he thought, because the little monster allowed it. He did not quite make it to his knees before the muzzle buried itself again in his rib cage.

"Look your fill," the boy said. "And tell me that isn't murder."

The guards lay where they had fallen, inside the door and beyond, across the bottom of the stairs. The leather of their uniforms had turned brittle. Their boots steamed. Their hands were gone to blackened bone and what remained of their faces made bile rise in the back of Maurice's throat.

Only the elderly priest stood untouched, leaning hard against one blackened wall. His weathered face was set in a rictus of adoration and fright. And it was not, Maurice slowly realized, the fire the old man feared.

"I didn't do that." Maurice said quietly. Because he had always had far more control on the battlefield and he would not think that disuse had eroded his grip. "Who are you?"

The pistol jumped against his flesh as the boy exhaled a thoughtful sigh.

"He," the child said at last, "and his like prefer not to give me name. You.  Well. Often enough, your people call me Fox."

 The boy bound Maurice hand and foot with fine silver linked chain he produced from a small chest on the table and, pistol adamant, sent him to stand against the far wall. Then he made the old priest clear the room of the ruined bodies. It was a grisly, horrifying task to watch, but the man did not complain.

When the priest was finished he bowed, shaking, bloodied hands clutched to his robes, leaving vivid smears.

"Stand outside," the monstrous lad ordered. "Shut the door. I will call you when I want you."

The priest bowed again and shut the door. The soft, faint sounds of temple life above muffled to non existence.

The boy set his pistol on the table and parceled fruit and bread onto a small china plate. This he set on the floor in front of Maurice as one would feed a dog.

"Eat." He said, "I arranged it especially for you. You'll be hungry, I imagine.”

Maurice was not, but he slid down the rough wall until he sat on his heels and freed a grape with manacled hands.

"Northern grapes," he noted. The small purple fruit was cold and firm between thumb and fore fingers. "Fresh."

The boy plucked a grape from the platter on the table and burst it between sharp teeth. "They are my favorite." He scraped juice from red lips with his tongue and then smiled. "You don't believe me."

Maurice rolled the grape between his fingers but did not lift it to his mouth. "I never question a man's tastes, lad."

The boy's delighted laugh rolled and then vanished as quickly as it had come.

"No," he said, suddenly cold. "About the other. You don't believe I'm your Fox."

"My Fox is a god." And a wise man never ate a god's offering. "He runs in a beast's form, when he runs at all." Maurice tilted his chin at the abandoned pistol. "A god has no need of a man's weapons."

"There is ease in the mechanical." The boy sat on the floor a body's length away from Maurice. He pulled his knees up under his chin. Despite the ash in the room, the lad's white stockings were still clean. "And Fox is clever."

Maurice released the grape. It bounced on the china, rolled, and dropped to the floor. He regarded the boy silently, hoping he looked a good bit more indifferent than he felt.

"Do you plan to keep me prisoner?"

The boy appeared to give this idea great thought. "We've enough food to last a day or three. If the grapes do not sour. I abhor soured grapes. But this room gets cold. And we cannot expect Father Geschke to stand out there forever. The man's joints are bad and he's not got but a small family of days left to him."

"It would be," the lad continued, "easier on us all if you just explain."

"Explain?"

"The witchery!" The boy displayed a child's petulance beautifully, even sitting still as he did. "You are right. It doesn't exist, it shouldn't exist, I've mad sure of it. And yet there you were, sir, at Tamner's celebration, displaying your unnatural flame for all to see." His ivory skin grew flushed and mottled. "It does not exist, and yet you have it in spades. Where did it come from? How did you get it? Tell me!"

"You're mad."

The boy chewed his lip and muttered to himself. Then, quick as the child's Jumping Jack Maurice had once seen on display through a toymaker's window, he hopped to standing and spread his arms wide.

"How old am I?" He challenged.

Foolishness, Maurice thought. But: "Ten Summers, no more."

"And how old are you, fire eater?"

"Thirty and seven."

"The day you were born," the lad bent like a hinge at his waist, scowling into Maurice's glower, just out of reach, "your mum slaughtered her best goose and your father caught its arterial blood in a silver cup and left the whole on the cornerstone of my cottagers' church."

Maurice opened his mouth and then closed it again. The boy continued on.

"On the day you turned five your father picked an entire tree's crop of apples and your mother bundled them into a freshly woven basket and left the whole on the cornerstone of my cottagers' church. To bring you luck. Your mother," he straightened up again, seeing something Maurice could not, "had a bit of the rot in her left foot. You stole an apple from the basket. Your mum lost that foot soon after and you've never been particularly rich in luck. You shouldn’t have taken what was mine."

"Enough," Maurice said, despite himself, remembering his mother's gulping cry as the village surgeon cut off her putrid foot. She had not been quite the same after.

"And do you remember," the lad asked, spearing Maurice with a charming smile, "when you turned ten and five?"

Maurice did not, at first, and then, reluctantly, he did. He felt color rise again, this time along his own throat.

"Your mum in her grave and your father not long from his," the boy said. "You convinced the Matron Clark to lie with you, in the scrub alongside my church. And after, you left your offering wet upon my cornerstone, all because young Horace Redding told you, sir, that such a hedonistic ritual would bring you Fox's favor."

Maurice could not speak. The boy took bread from the table and broke it casually into two.

"You've never deserved my favor. And only because of the blood in your mum's silver cup do you have my mercy. So, best speak now." He bit into the bread, sighed easily, and spoke through a full mouth. "The witchery. How did you come by it? Who gave it to you? Speak! Was it that old meddler, that stolid fool, my brother Trout?"

                                                        ********

Moire could not find Maurice. He hadn't been seen in the barracks since sunrise. His cell was all but empty. He'd left his knife behind and the pack that contained his circus tricks.

Sometime since his arrival Maurice had picked up a cake of soldier's hard soap. It sat on the end of his neatly folded bedding along with a battered washing ewer. The man had always been obsessive about cleanliness.

Moire did not feel much compunction searching his quarters, because Maurice had never, in the time she had known him, locked a door. And because she was and always would be his commanding officer, and so had long ago earned the right. And because if Bliss had revealed her troubles to anyone, it would have been Maurice.

But she found nothing of Bliss, nothing out of the ordinary, and certainly no sign of a struggle. If the Northern king's soldiers had come for Maurice, they'd not come for him here.

Moire left the cell and stood for a moment in the subterranean corridor, thinking.

She remembered the old bolt hole. A small, possessive part of her heart wanted to throw off her priestly robes and responsibilities and find Bliss again, shake her until secrets spilled out, fix whatever scrape her friends had gotten themselves into.

Once, that would have been her right. But no longer.

Now, she belonged to the gods. And as if those self same gods heard her traitorous heart, they sent her a gentle reminder, in the form of the officious Corporal Aansi.

The man had, lately, somehow become her conscious.

"Major." Aansi appeared wholly relieved. "Thank the highest. I've been looking for you since afternoon bell. They said you were doing your wash."

"I was." Moire folded her hands into the sleeves of her robe. The fabric prickled but she'd grown used to it. "Something came up."

Aansi eyed the door at Moire's back. The corporal could not quite keep his disapproval hidden.

"You're wanted ." He said, with emphasis, "At the temple."

"Of course I am," Moire replied, smothering a sigh.

 Daily obeisance appealed to Moire's warrior self. It was, after all, only another form of patience, not so different from days and nights spent in formation, waiting for the enemy to make his move. The temple floor was nearly as cold as a camp tent in winter and far more uncomfortable than a day spent in the saddle.

During obeisance Moire was never alone. To her right and to her left the other initiates spread in motionless rows, brows pressed to the floor, eyes closed.

Moire could hear her companions breathing, when she was not distracted by the beating of her own heart. Often she became lost in the inhale and exhale until that ocean of life lifted her chest and she grew light and full of certainty. Then every lingering doubt fell away and nothing remained but the companions at her side and the promise of her new future.

But for once Moire could not focus. The rhythmic breath of the men and woman sprawled around her became a distraction, an irritation. Time seemed to inch forward, painstakingly slow. Her forehead grew numb against the stone floor.

She wanted to open her eyes and roll her head and look up at the towering altar. She needed to seek answers to new questions in its glittering, all-seeing eye. She waited for that light, that certainty.

It didn't come.

Outside midday grew into evensong. Soon the bells would ring again and free her from supplication. Moire wondered if Maurice had returned safely to his cell.

A throat cleared, startling against the susurrus of breath. She forgot not to look up.

A young priest looked down at, expression kind. "Initiate," she said. "You are expected in the library."

Surprised, Moire glanced side to side at the motionless, scarce breathing bumps that were her brothers and sisters. The priest shook her head and lifted one finger to her lips.

"Take the main staircase," she said. "They’re waiting.”

[onikabeauty]

Fenty Beauty: Haul, First Impressions + Swatches

Rihanna’s Fenty Beauty line really has taken the ‘world of beauty’ by storm; 11 days since worldwide launch including SEPHORA and Harvey Nichols the brand focused on inclusivity and a jovial approach to make up still has two hour queues forming outside the Harvey Nichols Flagship London store.

A launch I couldn’t retain my excitement about meant I ordered as soon as the products were on HN.com- I beat the queues but had a painful wait over the weekend for my parcel. In such a short amount of time I cannot give my full reviews, that is to come, for now I have my impressions and swatches to share.

KILLAWAT FREESTYLE HIGHLIGHTER

Ginger Binge/Moscow Mule 

Trophy Wife 

Mean Money/Hu$tla Baby

These highlighter duo/singles are described as ‘killer radiance’ for face and eyes with a cream-powder hybrid formula. They are supposedly ‘long wearing’ (this is a common claim across the entire brand), with superfine shimmer that melts into the skin. I am not going to disagree with any of those claims, because largely they are true. I really love the highlighters, they are my favourite products from the line- the range of colours has me feeling some sort of way and as you all know Trophy Wife (the jewel in Fenty Beauty’s crown!) has been viral all over social media since launch- it is more shimmery than the other duo’s, almost like suspended glitter in the most beautiful rich 24k gold tone. It looks so stunning on the eyelids or as a highlighter on a matte face. The downside is this: the glitter disperses everywhere eventually, it is not so obvious, as the colour and sheen remains wherever you placed it, the shimmer just cant stay put.

PRO FILTR SOFT MATTE FOUNDATION

290/330

I’m impressed that Fenty Beauty had such a huge range of colours at launch- 40 shades to be precise, most brands usually start out with a small selection and build as time goes on. I have worn the foundation twice, so I don’t think I can address all the claims yet- that is another post in a few weeks. I can say I like the concept of ‘soft matte’, I am shy of matte finishes because of my dry skin and texture, this is very smoothing and airbrushed and a good medium coverage, and in all an embodiment of the whole ‘soft matte’ concept. A lot of questions are about the oxidation claims- it does, a tad, the colour gets a bit darker when dry, had I known this when I purchased both 290 and 330 I might have not got 330 too, but you live and you learn.

FENTY GLOW UNIVERSAL LIP LUMINIZER

How sweet is this little hexagon shaped lip gloss! It is actually quite tiny with a giant doe-footapplicator, which contrary to everyone else talking about it, I don’t like it. I prefer smaller more precise applicators. There is only about 10ml of product as well, and it is a beautiful colour but its just a natural toned gloss, you might have something similar or another brand will have something the same. Lip Luminizer= Not essential.

MATCH STIX SHIMMER SKINSTICK

I want to preface this product by letting you all know I usually hate this kind of stuff. I don’t do shimmer sticks and stick blushes etc. I don’t like them- I’ve tried high end and drugstore ones and they never impress me. I am so far impressed with the shade I have ‘Sinamon’- I use it as an eyeshadow more than anything else, and it stayed on all day with no primer! and in photos it looked so pretty and metallic. I don’t think I can ever get through it all as there is so much product- I’m looking forward to trying the other shades especially ‘Confetti’.

lip luminizer/sinamon match six

FINAL THOUGHTS

I have really enjoyed Fenty Beauty; I am impressed by the range of products they have just at launch, their price range is somewhat friendly for a high end line, I love their brand ethos and campaign (Slick Woods is my new baby), all their products can be used for so many different purposes and their worldwide availability is also fab. I look forward to using and seeing more of the brand this year, Im sure Rihanna has some amazing products coming up- I’m thinking eyeshadows next? I will continue testing my haul, especially as we approach the colder weather I’d like to see how the foundation performs on my sahara like skin, and do you guys think I could get away with slathering Trophy Wife all over myself and using London Transport?