#prohibitionself

[edwardfitzgerald]

Nuisances | self-para

The open door had let in a fly that buzzed around his shop in lazy circles, teasing Edward by swooping past his ears every couple of seconds. The result was that the hangover headache he was trying to appease with coffee pounded against his head even more forcefully until Edward couldn't bear it. He rolled up the newspaper sitting on the counter and began chasing the pest, waving the rolled up paper around over his head and letting out a cuss word every time he missed. He was so engrossed in this hunt that the door opening and a young lady stepping inside didn't register until he caught sight of the side of her face and her dark hair as she turned to look through the shelves. Edward immediately forgot the fly.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He set his jaw, ready to deal with this other pest  only to realize when she turned and gave him an alarmed look that it wasn't her.

It wasn't Bianca.

 Had he really forgotten her face already? Months ago he would have excused himself and gone out to the back to sob like a child at the thought, overwhelmed with his loss all over again. But now  he only felt rage, the now-familiar anger building up in his chest and threatening to burn the world, and him with it. He was beginning to think he wouldn't mind if it did anymore. It could burn him and and burn the world and burn the store and maybe even burn Bianca and he wouldn't be able to bring himself to care.

“I apologize, m’am.” He looked to the floor and gruffly excused himself. “I mistook you for someone else. Please… feel free to look around.”

He turned away and went back to his desk, where the pounding in his head was now loud enough to distract him from the buzzing fly for the rest of the morning.

[danteesposito]

The Day Job

A puff of smoke escaped Dante's mouth. The man had many habits, and smoking was the least of them. Besides, it really helped to have something to do while waiting for "customers" to inevitably seek him out for one thing or another, although he never did ask if Eiji appreciated him hot-boxing the backroom of the apothecary. Not that Dante cared for his opinion on the matter. 

He took another drag and exhaled through his nose. His days were numbered anyway, he thought, what was the point of fussing about anything? Dante chuckled to himself and shook his head, pacing around the room and listening to the clock tick down the seconds the minutes the hours. Sometimes he really thought it was mocking him.

[maxwellburgh]

Through the Looking Glass // Self

In that moment, opening his eyes was the hardest thing he had ever done. Not that he had much to draw on for comparison, but still.

Maxwell knew this moment of vital. Somehow, he just knew it. It would be difficult to explain to others later on, but in his head, he felt literally on the edge. Before him was a road, not easy or close, but there and ready to be taken. With it there was a promise and there was a chance. Behind him, there was a pit. Dark and bottomless; he would fall forever and there would be no way back out. And he was standing on the verge, if Max took even one step backward, down he would go, swallowed whole. But if he stepped forward, he would be safe. 

And though the answer would seem so simple after the fact; if only he could just let other people know how easy it would have been to simply lean backwards and let the blackness come. He knew the road ahead would bring a struggle, and he knew he wouldn't be ready for it. It would be long and hard and he was already so tired.... 

But he had struggled. Max had fought hard and long. He stood there in the darkness and fought himself until he was mentally exhausted. Until finally, slowly, he took a small tentative step forward. 

                                       ...............................

Maxwell opened his eyes and sat up, running his fingers through his hair. He looked around, noting his surroundings in a haze. The parlor room; he had fallen asleep thinking. Again. Max sighed and stood up, stretching, hoping no one had seen him. It was only mid afternoon, after all. What kind of a person fell asleep during the day other than women expecting and the elderly? He sighed. He may not have been able to remember much from before, but he was pretty damn certain that he had not been one to mill around in his own head this much. 

[elizacapone]

Ungodly Hour || Self-Para

With her screams echoing against her bedroom walls, Eliza once again woke up out of breath with swollen, tear-soaked eyes. Sobbing loudly, she looked around her room at the familiar walls, the lights she’d left on casting odd shadows around her. She wasn’t in the dark, musty basement awaiting whatever horror her captors had in line for her next. She was in the manor. She was safe.

As she slipped out from under the covers of her bed, the only sounds in the house seemed to be the sobs she couldn’t seem to quell.  Grabbing her robe from off its hook, she wrapped it around her, wiping her tears on the sleeves as they rolled down her cheeks. The clock at her bedside read two seventeen, but the girl knew well enough that she wasn’t going to be able to coax herself back to sleep anytime soon.

Peering out from her door she could see lights on down the hall, but the others staying in the house had taken to trying their best to ignore Eliza’s wails in the night. She didn’t blame them, as her nightmares showed no signs of ending anytime soon, she only wished she could ignore them like everyone else seemed to.

Closing the bedroom door, she turned and walked to her vanity, her hands shaking as she slid open the top drawer. As she sat down in front of it, she pulled a photograph of Lucian and Laura from the drawer, her fingers tracing over each of her parents as she stared at it. “I need you here,” she whispered, as tears continued to flood her vision. “Daddy, why’d you have to leave me.” Her voice broke, and she pushed the picture to the side before resting her head on the vanity.

Eliza Capone wasn’t vivacious, she wasn’t brazen, charming, or bubbly. She was weak, disheartened, scared, and broken. Eliza Capone was empty, unstable, and unsure of exactly how long she could keep trying to carry herself through day after day.  

[mina-zhang]

Rebellion | Self

Mina was always better working alone. Unless, people proved themselves to her, and this was rare. And when people tried to work with her, she rebelled. Even working for her Uncle Cho was a miniature rebellion - she tended to argue with her employer over little things. 

Two years ago, she lived in San Francisco with her mother and father. And they wanted her to work as a waitress at their restaurant. The idea repulsed her; it was below her. And her only option was to escape. Her uncle may have been wary of being her guardian; but that was only until she reached adulthood. 

An adult. At last she could be free. But freedom came with a price, and that was being a clerk at The Silk Trade. 

[derricksligo-barber-blog]

Waste of Cigarettes || Self

Derrick Sligo understood war. He understood tactics. He understood the offensive and defensive stances adopted according to the situation at hand. He understood what it meant to be still, what it meant to attack, how to follow orders, when to bark, when to bite, when to sit silent and listen to what the Boss had to say. It was all second nature to him. Derrick did not, however, understand what Daisy Miller had to do with any of that.

Kidnapping Eliza Capone was understandable. She was the daughter of the enemy. She was the perfect hostage tactically. She would benefit them dead or alive as a tool to control the next move of those damn Italians and gain some ground. Daisy Miller, on the other hand, was just an item of revenge. She had no value outside of letting the blokes release some pent up anger. She was just a dog to kick about. A doll to play with. In the end she was just a waste of energy which was a waste of time and time was money and money was cigarettes and Derrick Sligo was never one to waste cigarettes. But there he was, smoking like a chimney because damned Daisy Miller had to be watched by someone. It was a bother. She was bothersome simply in presence. She was wasting his cigarettes and suddenly he felt he understood revenge a bit more.

Unfortunately, what he wanted could not be achieved. Roughing her up would be one thing but if Connor McReary came back to bits of Daisy Miller on the walls and the ceiling with Derrick Sligo matching the new wallpaper perfectly...well he would lose more than his job. They were keeping her alive. The Capone girl too. Derrick knew if he blew up one he'd be so inclined to do so to the other and that would really be a waste of cigarettes.

[henrietta-wilfred]

In the Mirror and Ten Years Later | Self

When she looked into the mirror, she saw a woman. Yes, a woman with a bit more sense and style than the girl of ten years ago. Ten years ago, her hair was longer, her clothes still childish and frequently in dull shades of grey plaid, no less, and she was awkward. And time and hardship shaped her into an independent young lady of the 1920s. Henrietta didn't miss her outward appearance.

It was her dreams she longed for. Sixteen-year old Henrietta would go on for days to her brother and her mentor, Natasha, about the things she wanted to do and places she wanted to see when she left the god-forsaken town she reluctantly called home. She wanted to see Europe and learn the many languages, immerse herself in the history and food and culture. Actually, she wanted to travel to every corner of the world. Her muse was in travel, in constant movement. She was so ecstatic to leave for Montford, writing about her experiences in a leather bound journal and counting down days until she would depart.

For a time she did want to be a writer. But to learn everything that interested her, and to teach it to other curious souls... She found the perfect job. 

But with time came hardship, and not everything is as easy as it looks. Ten years later her hair was cut short, to keep the bangs from falling onto her face as she wrote down schedules and itineraries and plans for her students late into the night. Or even while she tried to study for her Master's. And in this time, one could say she even lost the motivation. She needed her muse. She needed to travel. But she couldn't leave Montford. Not for years to come. 

[evelyn-westwood]

Letter To Vance I || Self

Dinozzo,

I can't tell you how many times I read your letter. How many times I ran my fingers over the page, or smacked my hand over my lips, or giggled at the thought of you climbing pipe drains or using a rope ladder to find me. 

But mostly.... mostly more than anything I've cried. That sounds silly doesn't it? That I've cried over your letter more than the reason that I'm in this place? I'm a nut - a crazed loon that needed to be locked up. But I miss that little sliver of sanity that I had. 

You've been my rock, the one thing that keeps me level headed, grounded - even when I wasn't sure if anything was real anymore. I'm a mess, and I need to get better. I'm scared of myself, and the fact that my hands... my body is capable of doing things without asking me first, and I would never want you to have to witness that. No one should have to witness that. 

I miss you, Vance. So very much. 

Evelyn.

P.S.

I rather like the pudding here.... but I like your letters even more. Keep them coming.