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31_days2009-01-03 10:16 pm
flowerpot.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2009-01-03 10:16 pm
[JAN 3RD] [ORIGINAL] PARTIE TROIS
Title: PARTIE TROIS
Day/Theme: January 3rd · her handwriting
Series: Original
Rating: G
Word count: 1 029
He wouldn't go so far as to call the so-called supper a disaster, but it was true that it hadn't gone too smoothly. Retiring to what he now considered his study, Lukas ran his fingertips over the weary wood of an ancient desk cluttered with folders of such volumes that he hadn't bothered to look through any of their careful labeling. Where Ajax Frost, his mentor, had been meticulously tidy, taking great care to put his business in order and getting rid of what had no importance to others and leaving only what could possibly become relevant in the future, the former owner of this room had left it completely helter skelter and as is. The silver snuffbox had lain open with it's lid to the side and the strongly smelling contents drying up, and he'd found an embroidered lace kerchief - unfortunately previously used for what such a cloth is intended to be used for - on one of the shelves of the book-case. Such small things weren't even the start of it: Victoria auf der Schwarzwald had always been scatterbrained and fond of a lot of things, in great quantities, for very brief moments before her butterfly brain fluttered on to another fancy, often equally obscure. She had collected snuffboxes for a time, often hand-carved and in shape of sad-looking little dogs, as well as rare specimens of insects, hand-mirrors which she inevitably broke by the end of the evening, stamps from Brazil, all the free lead pencils she could get her hands on, purses, movies featuring Tommy Lee Jones, and soil samples from every corner of the world which were stored in small glass vials, all labeled by Victoria herself in a surprising attempt at a resolute orderliness quite unlike her. She had brought with her only the collection of the latter. Luckily she hadn't kept all of this in the study which Lukas had attempted to clear out as politely as possible in order to claim for himself, now that both Ajax and Victoria had.. moved out.
And then there were the notes. Post-its and cut-outs and corners ripped from newspapers, notebooks and other magazines on which numbers, runes, names were scribbled all over the place, always taken out of context, seldom more than a single item and only very rarely connected with anything else to give it any form of importance to an eye uninitiated. Victoria's network of contacts had been quite vast, not just her mind and manners were scattered and quivering nervously like that of a butterfly, but she was quite a social one as well.. although given her predatory nature perhaps a more prudent analogy would be that of the spider in the carefully spun epicenter of her network of associates. If she had only sorted all the notes out he would probably be sitting on a bible of information, but taken out of context the frustrating scraps of paper were just that: a nuisance you found everywhere. Pegged to curtains and hidden away in brand new lady's shoes with price-tags mirroring half the GMP of a third world country. He would have to put a servant on the task of connecting names and numbers, but he was aware that it might take a bit of time since Victoria had taken all her servants, those who might possibly be more in the know about her social connections, and left him to carve out a new kingdom on his own. Granted, they had left him the palace..
He unfolded a meticulously rolled-up of yellowing paper that he'd plucked out of a potted plant without much interest as he'd taken a cursory glance out the window at the sleeping city below. Sundsvall was a darling little place, not to mention that during winter days such as these it only saw sunlight for a few hours, making it ideal for Lukas' type of work. There wasn't a lot going on at night, so for someone seeking night-life entertainment outside of the grand, flashy casino down by the harbour the city would be a disappointment. People went to sleep early, trudging through daily lives on routine like mindless bovines circling through their pens searching for a fresh blade of grass. Without particular interest he deciphered the grandiose strokes of Victoria's hand.
22:10
An early evening engagement. An appointment with her indispensable hairdresser, perhaps, or the beginning of a full night's tryst with one of countless lovers or victims. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought her a victorian degenerate rather than just plain cooky old Vicky, the vicious socialite. It'd taken him a couple of years to learn how to make out what she was actually trying to write through the swirls and strokes of her lettering, and when he'd been younger the sight of one of her long letters, delivered him by personal messenger, had made him break out into cold sweats. Nowadays, with the notes lying around everywhere, it made his skin crawl with frustration. But he reckoned that there'd come a day when he'd miss it. He hadn't even been given a chance to say goodbye. Frost had taken the time of an entire evening to inform him of the little things that need doing - they had taken a human lifetime to go through the basics of regency already - making certain to impart the last tidbits of knowledge he could think of possibly being important at some point in time on his successor. Victoria had stormed into his chambers one night looking for one of her corsets, tossed a bewildered rat at him - how she'd loved her rats, laughed at his expression, and stormed right back out. He hadn't realized that it would be the last time he'd see her. At the moment, the idea of a life without broad-bosomed, boisterous, decadent Victoria felt like a blessing, but he knew that just like her four-page letters, he'd come to long for the piercing noise of her laughter.
He crumpled up the scrap of paper and tossed it on the floor for his butler to pick up at some point in time, discarding the pointless thoughts for the night.
Day/Theme: January 3rd · her handwriting
Series: Original
Rating: G
Word count: 1 029
He wouldn't go so far as to call the so-called supper a disaster, but it was true that it hadn't gone too smoothly. Retiring to what he now considered his study, Lukas ran his fingertips over the weary wood of an ancient desk cluttered with folders of such volumes that he hadn't bothered to look through any of their careful labeling. Where Ajax Frost, his mentor, had been meticulously tidy, taking great care to put his business in order and getting rid of what had no importance to others and leaving only what could possibly become relevant in the future, the former owner of this room had left it completely helter skelter and as is. The silver snuffbox had lain open with it's lid to the side and the strongly smelling contents drying up, and he'd found an embroidered lace kerchief - unfortunately previously used for what such a cloth is intended to be used for - on one of the shelves of the book-case. Such small things weren't even the start of it: Victoria auf der Schwarzwald had always been scatterbrained and fond of a lot of things, in great quantities, for very brief moments before her butterfly brain fluttered on to another fancy, often equally obscure. She had collected snuffboxes for a time, often hand-carved and in shape of sad-looking little dogs, as well as rare specimens of insects, hand-mirrors which she inevitably broke by the end of the evening, stamps from Brazil, all the free lead pencils she could get her hands on, purses, movies featuring Tommy Lee Jones, and soil samples from every corner of the world which were stored in small glass vials, all labeled by Victoria herself in a surprising attempt at a resolute orderliness quite unlike her. She had brought with her only the collection of the latter. Luckily she hadn't kept all of this in the study which Lukas had attempted to clear out as politely as possible in order to claim for himself, now that both Ajax and Victoria had.. moved out.
And then there were the notes. Post-its and cut-outs and corners ripped from newspapers, notebooks and other magazines on which numbers, runes, names were scribbled all over the place, always taken out of context, seldom more than a single item and only very rarely connected with anything else to give it any form of importance to an eye uninitiated. Victoria's network of contacts had been quite vast, not just her mind and manners were scattered and quivering nervously like that of a butterfly, but she was quite a social one as well.. although given her predatory nature perhaps a more prudent analogy would be that of the spider in the carefully spun epicenter of her network of associates. If she had only sorted all the notes out he would probably be sitting on a bible of information, but taken out of context the frustrating scraps of paper were just that: a nuisance you found everywhere. Pegged to curtains and hidden away in brand new lady's shoes with price-tags mirroring half the GMP of a third world country. He would have to put a servant on the task of connecting names and numbers, but he was aware that it might take a bit of time since Victoria had taken all her servants, those who might possibly be more in the know about her social connections, and left him to carve out a new kingdom on his own. Granted, they had left him the palace..
He unfolded a meticulously rolled-up of yellowing paper that he'd plucked out of a potted plant without much interest as he'd taken a cursory glance out the window at the sleeping city below. Sundsvall was a darling little place, not to mention that during winter days such as these it only saw sunlight for a few hours, making it ideal for Lukas' type of work. There wasn't a lot going on at night, so for someone seeking night-life entertainment outside of the grand, flashy casino down by the harbour the city would be a disappointment. People went to sleep early, trudging through daily lives on routine like mindless bovines circling through their pens searching for a fresh blade of grass. Without particular interest he deciphered the grandiose strokes of Victoria's hand.
22:10
An early evening engagement. An appointment with her indispensable hairdresser, perhaps, or the beginning of a full night's tryst with one of countless lovers or victims. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought her a victorian degenerate rather than just plain cooky old Vicky, the vicious socialite. It'd taken him a couple of years to learn how to make out what she was actually trying to write through the swirls and strokes of her lettering, and when he'd been younger the sight of one of her long letters, delivered him by personal messenger, had made him break out into cold sweats. Nowadays, with the notes lying around everywhere, it made his skin crawl with frustration. But he reckoned that there'd come a day when he'd miss it. He hadn't even been given a chance to say goodbye. Frost had taken the time of an entire evening to inform him of the little things that need doing - they had taken a human lifetime to go through the basics of regency already - making certain to impart the last tidbits of knowledge he could think of possibly being important at some point in time on his successor. Victoria had stormed into his chambers one night looking for one of her corsets, tossed a bewildered rat at him - how she'd loved her rats, laughed at his expression, and stormed right back out. He hadn't realized that it would be the last time he'd see her. At the moment, the idea of a life without broad-bosomed, boisterous, decadent Victoria felt like a blessing, but he knew that just like her four-page letters, he'd come to long for the piercing noise of her laughter.
He crumpled up the scrap of paper and tossed it on the floor for his butler to pick up at some point in time, discarding the pointless thoughts for the night.