IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME COMING.

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I miss you allll

[vivatregiina-blog]

( open starter )  

    “ Do you have a light? These bloody matches got damp.”

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“No,” The younger stated simply, an impish grin curling the sides of outstretched lips. “Nor would I offer if I did. I hate the odour – surely it cannot be salubrious for your lungs, Evie.”

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light thinks it travels faster than anything,   but it is wrong.   no matter how fast light travels,   it finds the darkness has always got there first,   and is waiting for it. –– ivy whittmore ; character framework.

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@NJ CAN YOU HEAR MY GAY TEARS

[burkcesq]

His bright gaze followed Ivy’s back in the direction of the property, lips pulled momentarily in a tight line; a silent expression of his newly fortified dislike for its inhabitant. He would have chastised himself, for it had been less than a month since his arrival ( which was no time to form an opinion ) yet the Frenchman could not find it within himself. A development he believed had come about as a result of fatherhood, nothing else. Where his children was concerned, Nicolas became an immovable, or unstoppable object. “Then it is a remarkably peculiar custom to display.” He smiled, features lighting up. “I am very glad to find that I am not alone in this experience. In Paris one can simply disappear into a large crowd, here everyone seems very… close, and aware of one another’s actions.”

If it were even possible, Nicolas’ features lit up further at the sound of his native language in her response; and so well spoken. Without a breath of hesitation, the blond male took her hand lightly in his own, and lifted it to press a soft kiss to her knuckles. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. I believe I have, my children seem to enjoy it here, even if they are still hesitant.” He released a soft sigh, the smile nevertheless still present. “If they are all pleasant as you, Madame, then I’m sure I shall never want to leave.”

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Reprehensible though it was to arraign one’s neighbours in such a state of unfamiliarity, Ivy knew better than to gainsay the Frenchmen’s faithful statement. The most she had spoken of her own were offhand comments, for the Whittmore estate had been sequestered from the cluster of residential areas in Port Clearwater: leaving little room for undesirable inhabitants with nothing but acreage besieging it. Irregardless of the implications, a cursory laughter threaded through the air betwixt them, her lips rising in simplistic gaiety. “Ah, yes, –– b Paris is la Ville Lumière. One cannot place it juxtapose to a Cornish town. Have you come from Paris, Mr La Faille?”

Momentarily struck by the irradiance of opposite features, Ivy’s countenance soon reflected his own – bright eyes, a tender grin, and roseate cheeks, as though the mirthful spirit of the colloquy had bled into her skin. “I am pleased that I have not forgotten such a language, or made a fool of myself. My mother – I am told – lauded of French roots.” Her hand then gingerly hoisted to his lips, she canted her head to the side; red ringlets bobbing around her shoulders. “I am sure they shall enjoy it; weekends are seldom without recreation for children, or so, that is what I seem to remember. Oh, they shall have to visit soon, your wife and you also – I should love to meet them.”

[undynememes-blog]

CHARACTER FLAWS MEME.

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bold flaws your character has / italicise ones they used to have, or have partially. feel free to add more.

absent-minded / abusive / addicted / aimless / alcoholic / aloof / anxious / arrogant / audacious / has bad habits / bigmouthed / bigoted / blunt / bold / callous / childish / cruel / cursed / dependent / dishonest / disloyal / disturbed / dubious / egotistical / envious / erratic / fanatical / fickle / fierce / finicky / flirty /gluttonous / gruff / gullible / hedonistic / humourless / hypocritical / idiotic / ignorant / illiterate / immature /impatient / impious / impish / impulsive / incompetent / indecisive / indifferent / infamous / intolerant /judgemental / lazy / lewd / liar / lustful / masochistic / meddlesome / meek / megalomanic / naïve / nosey /obsessive / oppressive / overambitious / overemotional / overprotective / overzealous / paranoid / peevish /perfectionist / pessimistic / phobic / rebellious / reckless / remorseless / rigorous / sadistic / sarcastic /sceptic / seducer / selfish / self-martyr / self-righteous / senile / shallow / smart ass / solemn / spineless /spiteful / spoiled / squeamish / stubborn / superstitious / tactless / temperamental / theatrical / timid / tongue-tied / unlucky (with love) / unpredictable / untrustworthy / vain / weak-willed / withdrawn

[castreynolds-deactivated2017090]

It truly was a beautiful day, the Summer was dying out, making way for Fall and better weather. It was a day like this that Cas before the war might have taken his beloved out on a stroll and they would have talked long after nightfall but that seemed like a life time ago of Casimir. He didn’t notice that the woman had approached him so when she spoke, it spooked him. The jump made him drag the pencil across the paper. He sighed, as he looked at the paper and grimaced as he handed the notebook, “Uh, sorry about that.”

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A self inflicted chasten imbrued her conscience in full as Ivy pondered from whence the bright idea to sidle up to an agog man had issued. She knew well enough in her own home that the barrier of silence ought to be broken with delicacy... the effects of war far more prominent and abiding upon the residence of Port Clearwater than many were lief to divulge, whilst she herself only experienced torment in caliginosity. Reddened brows drew together as she noted the toll it had taken on the man’s artwork, mild creases of discontent forming around the corners of her lips. “Goodness, you’ll have to accept my deepest of apologies. I merely wished to congratulate you on your work.”

[tru]

JENS KAESEMANN

[starkandsnow]

demelza in s0205

[aiirbcrne-blog]

     He swallowed. The mistress of such dulcet tones rang apodictic within his ear, the prospect of quietude hampered by the displeasure which framed Ivy’s speech ; a bristle of hostility paving its way across his expression in subtle accordance. His head did not rise immediately, however, instead opting to travel upwards ; whether out of reluctance to meet her gaze or to admire a figure he was more familiar with than was perhaps comme il faut, he could not quite distinguish the reason.  ❛Miss Whittmore,❜ Ralph drawled, eyes finally matching her own upon the completion of a silent breath, ❛I was not aware I had to announce my inhabitancy here, nor did I believe there are any here who wish to know of my presence as of yet. And in any case, it is you who has found myself, thus saving me the trouble.❜ A brow arcuated slowly, before he gathered one leg to fold over the other and cleared his throat in an attempt to do away with the caustic edge of his own exordium, ❛You are well, I trust?❜

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     The decorum and perhaps solemnity interweaved in such an encounter weighted on the chambers of her heart, sinking though anchored by a lasting and corroded guilt, and the once writ-large fury upon features had been quelled by a faint shade of despair. An askance gaze superseded by rounded irises cast over Ralph’s demeanor, his hesitancy to meet her eyes matched in the recoiled nature of her stance by which she had received so authoritative an appellation. “Yes, I do believe I have saved you the trouble of being discovered by any other, for it is not I who has waited upon your return so hopefully,” She pointed out matter-of-factly, only beginning to mull over the hypothetical repercussions of Evelyn stumbling upon her astray fiancée in the insalubrious midst of a pub (and perhaps repressing an impish leer at the thought). Without query, she pulled out a seat and settled upon it, “why did you not write?”

[ireneayre-deactivated20180514]

“Allow me,” Irene insisted, “I can’t steal your afternoon away and expect you to pay for it, too. Consider it a thank you. For humouring an old fool.” Her gaze lifted to the waiter, requesting a glass of water– sparkling, of course– and a cup of lemon tea. She could only ever seem to write well with tea or wine. It seemed more polite to save the latter for later. Her head tilted towards Ivy in readiness, hand stilling over a fresh page. “So– where would you like to begin?”

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Ivy made no complaint as she settled back into her chair, rufescent ringlets falling about her shoulders. “If anything, you are doing me a favour, surely. Were it not for your company I might return home with no justification as to my absence,” Well-modulated words emitted in the appearance of a jest, but truly Ivy had grown weary of the sterility which prevailed in the Whittmore household. 

She then threaded her fingers together, veins therein coursing with the remnants of excitement. “I would be doing you a disservice if I did not attempt to limn the beauty that is the Bombay port. Have you heard for it?”

[penelopewilherns]

[carterdewhurst-deactivated20170]

He squeezed Cathy’s hand gently, letting the younger girl know that he was still there. He knew that she had issues, though why he still didn’t know. He nodded at the woman, wishing she hadn’t known him before. It was one thing moving to a new place, but a different thing when someone there knew who he had been before. The war had changed everyone it seemed, least he had that to remember, though how much he couldn’t tell. “Yes, though still not very trusting of strangers” maybe that was his own fault, if only someone had told him the child had been alive sooner. 

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     “Then we shall not be strangers,” She remarked resolutely, tenderness for the child’s mother relaying into a present kindness. “May I ask after her name? I’m afraid Em–– I was never told.” She tucked her hands behind her spine, fingers intertwined together as she awaited his answer. Her eyes glanced downwards towards the young girl, wondering swiftly how a lone man managed to raise a girl. 

[burkcesq]

Her answer to his question was greeted with yet another smile; Nicolas was more than pleased to find everyone he had come across in Clearwater had been, at the very least civil. It had been one of his greatest concerns, and the weight lifted from his shoulders was an immeasurable comfort. “I’m certain I shall know it eventually, he seems very keen to… express his opinion. At an impressive volume.”

The Frenchman straightened upright, eyebrows perked with interest. “The Bishop family.” He repeated to ensure the name was securely memorised. “Ah, yes. We arrived but three weeks ago, though I’ve been rather preoccupied with work, hence the lack of introduction.” That very topic animated him once more. “Forgive me for not introducing myself, yet again. This seems to be becoming something of a regularity. I’m Nicolas Lafaille, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Madame. And I thank you for your help. If there is anything I could do to return the favour, please do not hesitate to ask it of me.”

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With nimble digits wrought together, a coy grin was elicited from the Frenchman’s words and her eyes drifted once more to the manor, ascertaining that the man had darted inside completely, before then retorting, “I am told it is a right of passage when one’s lineage is so deeply ingrained in the history of Clearwater. But it makes him no more congenial to newcomers such as ourselves.”

The vivacious spark which encompassed the gregarious individual brightened Ivy’s complexion, corners of her lips raised in a exhibit of mirth. “C’est un plaisir, monsieur,” She greeted in his mother-tongue, a strapping Whittmore education boasting of the many romantic languages well-established in her lexicon. “Ivy Whittmore.” To seal her exordium, she offered to him a hand to shake. “And you are surely welcome. You have culled a fine place to put your roots down in, though I beg you do not judge the character of Clearwater by that of the Bishop’s when there are far more amicable neighbors to be had - they shall nevertheless offer the town’s best in entertainment.”

[ireneayre-deactivated20180514]

Irene was silent, save for the scratching of the pen against the old, tea-stained pages of her journal. Ivy’s narrative weaved into her own ideas, and what where fragments of an idea mere moments ago seemed to flourish into life before her. Then, as quickly as she began, she stopped. Irene looked up at the girl with a warm smile. “By all means, continue if you’d like to. Don’t be afraid to seem impolite if you’d rather not. Of course, I’d have to continue with my own research regardless, but it’s interesting to hear it first-hand. It’s the best form of history, by far.”

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Rose tinted lips lifted in sheer delight as the woman entombed her words upon parchment, her swift elucidation of a realm dear to her heart evinced by Irene’s quill and ink. “I gladly will. We shall make an afternoon of it.” With cheeks warmed by glee, Ivy beckoned a waiter hither, and booked a kettle of tea, eyes then dancing towards Irene in query. “Help yourself. My family has had an open tab far before my birth.”

[burkcesq]

“Pardonnez-moi, je ne parle pas anglais.” There was certainly a risk in pretending such a thing, but Nicolas was more than willing to take it given the circumstances. Unsurprisingly, Sébastien had taken to annoying their new next door neighbours once more. He didn’t have the heart to chastise his son, for the old man was, for all intents and purposes a completement débile. Regardless, the Frenchman felt the need to remain civil, and so the four year old had been sent home early, to spend the rest of his night with their nanny and his sister. With a smile, Nicolas waved the old man back into his house and rolled his eyes the second he was no longer in view. A passerby caught his attention, and smiling still the young doctor set out to approach them. “Forgive me the intrusion, but do you happen to know the name of the man who lives in that house?” Removing a hand from the books tucked under his arm, he gestured to the building next to his own. “In my haste to settle in I seem to have forgotten my manners, I never asked his name.”

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The sun had risen far beyond the clouds by the time she had resolved herself into trekking into town. She had taken as parchment to water to the idea of a prolonged excursion, and thus weaved her way through various exurbs with little care of time and a surfeit of curiosity for the city her family had long been beholden to, but she herself a stranger in. Her pace grew leaden as she noted the approaching stranger, languid grin flourishing on the slope of her features as the man’s face grew into focus; a gentle entreaty leaching from the curve of his commissures. She was pleased to oblige, tucking her satchel beneath an askew elbow, before glancing upward to the house the Frenchman called to attention. 

“I’m afraid I do not know,” Candid words were expressed apologetically upon her bottom lip. Ivy then looked once more, her head canting to the side. “Ah. See here, I take that back – surely this is the Bishop family. One would recognize the family insignia miles away. Have you just moved?”

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