S T I L L

i rise cleo fisher 26 yo. modern.

[walkingthroughhistory-deactivat]

"But I was used to finding something deadly in things that attracted me; there was always something deadly lurking in anything I wanted, anything I loved."

John Knowles, A Separate Peace.

[cleofisher]

alistairefox‌:

the meet the societies event always leaves alistair feeling like they shouldn’t be there. rarely does anyone who ever approaches the invictus table ever get to join, but it only feels like a way to rub in the exclusivity of their club to the rest of the student body. and maybe it is, but it was established long before alistair came to orion that invictus set up to say hello and offer tight-lipped smiles, and who is he to break tradition ?

he still hates it, though.

he smiles and forces conversation. he talks about invictus as if he’s reading a prewritten description. it’s bland, and every time he has to apologize and say that they’re currently not accepting members leaves him feeling weary.

when jennifer trenton comes up to him, he wishes he could disappear on the spot. she is chipper and cheerful and does not seem to be getting that he doesn’t want to talk. she talks about doing a piece on invictus for the gazette and he does his best to try and convince her out of it. attention does not need to be drawn to them, no more than it already is. he’s beginning to talk to her about their first-of-the-year party, to give her something slightly exciting to latch on to, when another voice cuts in.

at first, he feels relieved. were it this time last year, that feeling would have stuck, but times change and now he doesn’t quite know how to feel in her presence. he looks between jennifer and cleo, falling silent before shooting an apologetic look towards jennifer, and a part of him is glad when cleo manages to get the other girl walks away.

he manages a tight-lipped smile and a curt, “ thank you. ” despite his tone of voice, he does mean it. it would be a lie to say he hasn’t missed her, but a deeper part of him is worried by her. they both know that she has more power than him with where they stand on the issue of invictus’ misdeeds. one word from her and they are done. 

he wishes things were different.

“ sit down, stay and chat for a minute. ” he tilts his head towards the empty seat next to him before folding his arms across his chest, letting his gaze fall forward toward the crowd of people milling about. “ don’t worry about missing it — ” he had, in fact, worried about her not being there “ — it was like the ones from our first and second year. nothing too exciting — except kit and horatio went skinny-dipping instead of getting to know our newest members, so i’ve been told. ”

this feels too normal. it’s uncomfortable. 

he wonders how she’s feeling.

he doesn’t ask.

“Hmm. That does sound like them.” The wine tastes awfully dull, nothing like the rare stuff they stole from Sayre’s house at practically every party last year. It swirls in the crystal glass under her direction, her own eyes directed in the crowd before them. They do not make a rare sight, nor a strange one.  Those people know who both Alistair and Cleo are. She hates that she likes the notoriety. Its a remnant of pride of being seen at his side. Of being associated to his prestance. The wine colours the sides of the glass; she should have chosen the white. Now the only thing it reminds her of is blood. 

Licking her lips, erasing all traces of the beverage, Cleo thinks hard about what Alistair just said. Keeps herself from asking after Kit. Hopes the girl is alright, after everything happened. How could she ever vote for this stupid, horrible idea, that’s a mystery. Was her desire to please too strong that she would have done everything Alistair would have asked her to do? Cleo suddenly does not feel as proud to be sitting next to her best friend. 

Yes, best friend. The only one who ever held that title in her life. 

“Speaking of new recruits,” some are in attendance, she heard. Familiar faces from the club are also present, carefully watching the interaction. Cleo turns to Alistair, sitting more comfortably in the chair, feigning indifference for the audience. A small smile plays on the corner of her lips. “You met my offering?”

It’s a crude choice of word, but as of now, it’s pretty much the truth. Invictus is an entity in itself, demanding new blood every year. Espina is meant to be a wild card, she knows. Something fierce and dangerous, a breeze in a house of cards. Choosing a new member meant that she was still a member, especially if Espina was accepted amongst their rank. 

Cleo had made a choice, a few weeks before the start of school. Invictus would not get the better of her, nor of those she loved. The hardest part would be to steer them all towards the light, and try not to drown in the grudges that filled her heart. Cleo would do it. Could do it. 

Had to do it.

[ljllian-blog]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 / * @cleofisher

date and time: october 9th at half-past 5PM setting: a nearby cafe, popular but niche enough

LILLIAN ENTERS THE CAFE, WET, and stands in line with water rolling from the slick surfaces of her raincoat. it hangs long and loosely belted at her waist; she leans against her umbrella as if it were a cane. the weather makes old injuries ache and throb as if the claps of thunder are surging through her bones. somehow, the cafe remains lively despite the weather. she admires it for that even while wearing a glower. as she is frowning and surveying the room, wishing to whack the ankles of those slow and indecisive people ahead of her line, she spots a familiar face at a familiar table. 

in place of the raindrops, she feels dread pooling wet and cold around her boots. 

is this how i make antiquity feel ? she quashes the wonder: no. i’m made of different things. fear reacts in me differently. guilt reacts differently. i am not afraid; i am anxious and angry for it. 

she contemplates leaving. the door is nearby, and there are enough people seeking refuge from the storm to make her presence insignificant. even the sound of the bell ringing, which might otherwise attract a glance, is muffled by the sound of talk and storming. lillian is straightening and lifting her cane when she catches cleo’s wandering gaze. they don’t make eye contact, not really, but lillian knows she has been seen.

to leave now would be to concede something crucial.

she puts her hands into the warm pockets of her rain jacket. the umbrella swings on her wrist as she walks forward to take her place at the counter. her order rolls out as usual, and the barista makes quick work of replacing her crisp cash with a steaming mug. they usually give styrofoam cups at this point in the day — eager to avoid washing the big, ceramic things they use before noon — but she always receives hers in a proper mug. she never has to remind them, either. with the mug in one hand and her umbrella still hooked around her wrist, she marches over that familiar table. it feels as if she has stepped into the past, footstep after footstep down a route she has taken countless times. they always sat beside the wall so lillian could work in peace; she hates the way strangers cast rogue glances as they passed behind her back. nothing about her work is secret — not academic work — yet her peevishness is unrelenting. 

her chair was open, and she sat in after taking time to hang her items on one of the wall’s convenient hooks. the jacket, the umbrella, her scarf, her purse with its wet leather outside. they dripped down the wall, like it was sweating, as she sat down across from cleo. in the space of the small table where cleo’s things were not, lillian folded her arms — after pushing up her sweater sleeves, of course. a little diamond bracelet was around her left wrist, glimmering as if it, too, were rain-moistened. it was only the lighting. 

❛  you weren’t at sayre’s,  ❜  she says in greeting. her voice is not accusatory, but she sinks her teeth into the fact as it is presented.  ❛  alistair finds you ghostlike as of late. you aren’t haunting me, though, are you ?  ❜ 

[cleofisher]

It’s been raining for hours now, and Cleo keeps getting distracted. Eyes to the window, pen tapping the notebook in front of her. The sky is crying, it seems, pouring its heart out. The air is heavy because of it. She wishes the rain could wash all their sins, drip to the floor, down the drain.

She’s been here for hours now, for so long the other patrons are regarding her with jealousy and annoyance. Cleo couldn’t care less. This is the perfect spot when she needs the white noises of the coffee shop. And they serve coffee, that’s definitely a plus (she did try to sneak some coffee in the library, but got scolded so hard she never tried again).

Cleo wishes she could concentrate on her essay, but the inspiration is missing. She keeps seeing her reflection, and hates how humidity made her hair so wild and frizzy. And maybe she should have ditched the glasses; she looks like a fake academic. Is she, a fake? She feels like one. Sighing, her focus changes when the bell chimes, and without any real interest, she turns to the door. Time seems to stop, for a brief moment.

It was always difficult to miss Lillian in a room. Her very presence seems to call for attention; that much distinction into one being should not be possible. Cleo always wonders how people can not notice her. Lillian walks in; she’s a diamond in a coal mine.

Heart pounding, blood rushes to her face, and Cleo has never felt the desire to flee as much of now. Even meeting the others from Invictus was not as intimidating as seeing Lillian again.

Cleo does not remember crying, especially not in the last summer. Emotions had been clogged up, repressed into a somber part of her heart, where none would hope to access. As Lillian makes her way to her table, all cool, neat confidence, Cleo wonders if the pain in her chest is her heart bleeding out. She could cry over Lillian, she thinks. Maybe she should have, these last months. But crying would be admitting that the fight is over. And if there’s something Cleo is bad at, is abdicate.

“No, indeed I was not. I haven’t missed out much, I was told.” Cleo takes a moment to observe Lillian, tries to gauge her reaction. The other woman had always been a difficult read. Same as the books she works so hard to translate. Cleo does not justify her absence, like she did with Alistair. She’s unsure as if Lillian would even care anymore.“Haunting you would mean I’d be dead.” am i dead to you? “I’m not quite there yet.”

The bracelet catches her eyes and Cleo sighs, her own finger playing her scarf; Lillian got it for her last year. The quality is so much better than half of the things she owns. “I’ve been to that dreadful meeting of the societies though. Where I saw our dear Alistair.” Cleo holds Lillian’s gaze, lifts an eyebrow.

[cleofisher]

date & time: october 8th, 11:00AM location: college of humanities availability: closed to @antiquitylloyd

Cleo had to decide, over the course of that past few months, that doing the right thing should motivate most of her future actions. That applied to a multitude of things: scams, murders, smoking. On paper, that sounded great. Now, as she exits her first class of the semester, in which Professor Drayton subbed in for the usual teacher, the only thing that comes through her mind is that she would really go for a cigarette. God, that man hasn’t changed. One minute he’s riling them up, tell them platonic phrases that's supposed to get them motivated but ends up being mostly passive-aggressive, and the other minute he keeps telling them he’s the best. Here’s hoping today was a one time thing.

The cold is a right distraction and the way it bites her skin makes her feel more awake than ever. Snow is falling a little bit, not enough to whiten the earth, but enough that winter makes itself known. It’s coming. She loves winter.

Cleo stops for a moment, waits before emerging out of the building. She should go to the library, but she could also just, go at her place. And sleep. And maybe make a voodoo doll of Drayton. (not the righteous thing to do, though.). She’s debating her own self when a figure makes her way next to her, and it takes a few second before Cleo’s attention is drawn up to the other.

It’s Ani. From Invictus. And from her last class. Cleo had noticed her, but had completely forgotten her existence after Drayton had come in. But she’s next to her, and Cleo resists the urge to snap, to ask what ever did she want? She should work on her grudge-holding temper, really. She remembers how every other member voted against her in that fateful meeting last June. That’s a hard thing to forget (and forgive).

Instead of going for the aggressive venue, she asks, neutral : “Hey, what’s up?”.

[cleofisher]

date & time: october 6th, 7pm location: outside the societies building, meet the societies night availability: closed to @merchemeres

The night is dark, the air feels heavy. Smoke escapes her mouth and Cleo watches it melting into the foggy air. It’s going to rain tomorrow, she read somewhere. A coat would have been a good idea, she thinks as her free hand tries to create warmth on her arm. The joint does little for keeping her warm either. It helps calming her nerves, though. How she wishes she could be elsewhere, god. It’s not as if the conversation with Alistair had gone wrong, it even went way smoothly than she initially thought. Not that Cleo had any idea how it would go. Still.

Sound of footsteps coming from behind catches her attention and she straightens up. No one needs to see her this vulnerable. Cleo forces herself to look disinterested, her back to the great, grand, white marble column. A shoulder down, arms crossed, one foot up the column. She learnt that pose from the best. Right at this moment, Cleo itches to be able to recreate Lillian’s perfect form. How every of movements of hers were never random, everything planned to the last detail.

At least, Lillian is nowhere to be seen tonight (yet?). Cleo knows, she searched every dark corners of the room.

When the energetic character that is Mercedes appears next to her, Cleo feels something akin to relief rushing through her. Shoulders sag a little bit more. A breeze seems to welcome the other girl; Cleo resists the urge to shiver.

“Having a good night, I hope?”

Cleo does not know Mercedes much, but from what she was able to gather from the Medieval student, she’s absolutely delightful. Went through her first Invictus meeting unscathed, Cleo even heard between the branches that the recruit had made a good first impression.

Cleo released another cloud of smoke through the air, handing the joint to Mercedes.

[cleofisher]

date & time: october 6th, 5:45pm location: societies building, meet the societies night availability: closed to @alistairefox​

Cleo might have missed the first meeting of the year, but she couldn’t miss the Meet the societies night. As a third year, it is practically a responsibility. Of course, that does not mean she wouldn’t be late. But at least she’s here. And on a mission. She smiles to a few, familiar faces, makes her way through some groups. Most disregard her because she’s Invictus, they know. Everyone knows. Some are still interested, because some think that through her, they could get an invitation. 

Invictus is a mystery, so intriguing. Even more this year with its charming, irresistible new president. That’s all everyone talks to her about. She spots him, in the middle of the room, gathering the attention of most around him. Like a magnet. Some things don’t change. 

Stealing two glasses of wine from a passing waiter, Cleo makes her way behind him.  Jennifer Trenton from The Orion Gazette (or was it from the astronomy society? She’s unsure, though she knows she’s a third year too) is talking Alistair up. Untrained eyes would never notice how boredom seems to emanate from him. But Cleo knows him. Some things won’t ever change. 

“Oh, Alistair, darling, there you are.” Voice strong, demanding, she smiles politely at both when they turn to her. Naturally, she places herself on his left (habits die hard), and the rest is history. Cleo hands Alistair the second cup of wine, and looks at Jennifer, waiting for the girl to continue on whatever she was ranting on. The girl clearly looks shocked by the interruption, and Cleo can admit that it was a bit rude. But saving Alistair from boring conversations is something so ingrained in her  that she couldn’t care less. Seeing as nothing would come out of the other girl, she raises an eyebrow at her. “Right. Would you pardon us then, Jennifer?” Her tone is non-negotiable, and with a last, polite smile, waves her goodbye with her free hand. 

She turns to Alistair as they’re left alone. A few glances are shot their way; she hopes it’s because of her new dress, knows that it’s not. 

“Well, you’re welcome for that.” Cleo raises an eyebrow at Alistair, takes a moment to really look at him. There’s something in her chest, deep and dark, that clenches. How much time has it been? Five months? A foolish thought crosses her mind; let’s get out of here. let’s grab lillian and let’s run. She ignores it, obviously. Running would be cowardice, and none of them are cowards. Silence stretches for a few minutes, but Cleo refuses to let it be tainted by awkwardness.

“Sorry I missed your first speech on Friday. My flight was delayed.”

[cleofisher]

BOLD what your muse CAN do.

REPOST, don’t reblog.

cleo can : 

bake a cake from scratch | ride a horse | drive a submarine | speak a second language  | dance | catch a fish | play an instrument | throw a punch | build a deck | ice skate | unclog a drain | program a computer | change a flat tire | fire a gun | sew | juggle | play poker | paint | fly a kite | sculpt | write poetry | change a diaper | sing | shoot a bow and arrow | ride a bike | swim | sail a boat | do a backflip | play chess | give cpr | pitch a tent | flirt | stitch a wound | read palms | use chopsticks | write in cursive | use an electric drill | braid hair | make a campfire | make a mixed drink | do sudoku puzzles | wrap a gift | give a good massage | jump-start a car | iron clothes | roll their tongue | magic tricks | yoga | tie a tie | skip a rock | shuffle a deck of cards | read morse code | pick a lock | cook a three-course meal | make a killer cup of tea | drive a car | use a DSLR camera | run an eight-minute mile | knit

[cleofisher]

mypersonalshapesblog‌:

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“There is poetry in my head and my heart since I have been in love with you. You are a Poem.”

— Nathaniel Hawthorne, from a letter to Sophia Peabody c. December 1839

[accras]

Toni Morrison dancing at a disco party in New York. March 5, 1974. Photographed by Waring Abbott

[cleofisher]

Through all the bright hours   I cling to expectation, until   darkness comes to reclaim me as its own. Hope fades, day is gone   into its irredeemable place and I am thrown back into the familiar   bonds of disconsolation.

a plagued journey, maya angelou

[halfsavages-deactivated20200621]

audre lorde, “uses of the erotic”, sister outsider: essays and speeches

[vonkloecker]

carpe noctem

[vonkloecker]

carpe noctem

[forestwonders-deactivated202602]

Plantin-Moretus Museum

[kalevit-deactivated20230107-dea]