July 21, 2014

Fiction: As Lady Quinn Rests...

Yes it has been quite some time since I paid attention to this blog.  I'm trying to get back to my old writing habits, so while I try that please try to enjoy this fictional piece that is of on of my LARP characters.  P.S. if you're still reading after 8 months of no updates, thank you, I really appreciate it.

"Well please, Miss Moreaux, please show us the savage dance that will bring your land the rain!"

A scene I have repeated multiple times.  Partially for my amusement, partially to make it right.  I smirk to Lady Tatar, in her blue dress and dripping jewels.  Abel told me she only recently became a lady, and many believe she didn't deserve it.

This time around, I don't just stand there politely.  Survival in this space is no longer an issue.  I have survived.  This time, I respond with a smirk and I approach her slowly, my low heels clicking and my stride steady.  I put a hand on her hip and take her free arm up, and as her amazement manifests on her face I waltz with her in front of everyone at the gathering that night.  Suddenly I hear a Strauss movement swell around us, and all of the people around us laugh in amazement.

This time the victory dance only lasts a moment before I become a fluid body floating down to the small lab I shared with Abel over a century ago, when we settled in the city.  Before the fire.

He grins at me.  "You have too much fun with this Lady S--"

Even in this deep rest I bring up a finger and raise my brow.  "Excuse me, Baron Abel."

He nods as I land to the floor.  "You are excused, Lady Quinn.  Though I should apologize.  I am glad you have found a way."

I try not to remind myself that I merely imagined that.  The walls turn into enlarged, flat representations of some of my favorite compounds--lithium aluminium hydride, psilocybin, clove oil--which glow and give some needed light to the scene.  I see Abel as I last saw him, in his jacket, slacks and boots before he ran into our haven and I could not run after him.  I'm currently in the long dress and understated gold jewelry that I entered my rest in.

I look to the table to see words intermingle in the flasks and the tubes, bubbling in the beaked patiently waiting me to write down a result.  But it's not time for me to, so I ignore it.  "I am glad as well.  Our work has helped me greatly."

"I'm glad I picked you well.  Kindred don't like to admit that lineage is important sometimes, but I found it vital.  If I hadn't picked you..."

"Abel, I'm not certain if you are my ego or not."

"Can I be?"

"I don't know, I'd ask Freud."

Suddenly a little rustling as the compounds shift slightly and change color--a light purple.  It causes Abel to look ghostly.  I feel a grin grow not only in my dream, but just softly as I rest.

"What could it be, Lady Quinn?"

"They've changed the flora around me.  I'm assuming lilacs.  That's a rarity."

I let Abel fade, and I float back onto a chaise in a silk sheath dress, my hair down.  I lift my feet up and wait to see if it is Lord or Lady Quinn who will be reading me new poetry this evening.  I feel lucky that I occasionally can even hear it.

Though part of me wishes they'd ghoul someone who was a francophone native.  However, I'm not in a position to complain, so I lie.  And I wait.  And I enjoy.