#speakeasy lx

[ariadnew]

CTJL 2021, ROUND 7: PARIS

PARIS, FRANCE

These are the last CTJL Paris pictures you’ll see from me. Promise. Cross my heart, hope to die, et cetera et cetera.

Competition day might’ve been at the mercy of a dark and threatening sky, but the team’s trip to Paris wasn’t all misery! Both Agatha and Archie won their respective classes, and the sun even popped out during down time- a nice reward for Poquelin and Zee, who got to spend an afternoon relaxing in the Champs de Mars. Archie was happy to be back in Paris, a place which harbours fond memories of youth; Dot was happy to be in Paris for the first time, let alone at the side of one of her idols. Even Agatha was happy*! She managed to get away from the pair of them for a day.

Travelling with the same two people for several months on end isn’t great when one is an introvert.

(That’s why she’s missing in the last picture, FYI. She’s probably off raiding used-book stores in search of more beautifully bound early editions to add to her collection, or at the Louvre falling in love with the statue of Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss, or sitting incognito with a book at a bistro in Montparnasse simply enjoying some alone time. In case you were wondering.)

*Possibly? It’s Agatha. Can one really be sure?

- - - - -

Continuing on my quest to finish photo sets + subsequently delete folders + clean out my Tumblr drafts.

Yes yes yes, I do know the relevant event ended literally more than a year ago and you’ve forgotten about it and don’t care anyway. I swear I am sufficiently ashamed of myself. But not enough ashamed of myself to delete it all and forget about it!! My need for closure >>>>> my shame. Always.

[ariadnew]

CTJL 2021, ROUND 4: CREMA

CREMA, ITALY.

Where you can smell the sun and taste the light and the air is heavy with history. @ctjumpingleague

Believe everything they tell you about Italy. It has its own gravity. Like you can feel the weight of ancient stories and three-thousand summers as you walk.

On a bit of a project-finishing kick lately; hope nobody minds being bombarded with my productivity! It’s unlikely to happen again for a long time, hah.

[ariadnew]

CTJL, ROUND 9: SYDNEY

SYDNEY, NEW SOUTH WALES AUSTRALIA

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I did start writing a bit about Agatha & Co.’s adventures in the sunburned country but-

(isn’t there always a ‘but’?)

- the scene I was writing had them out of Sydney and in the bushland. Which was nice, actually: it’s the first time I’ve been able to write about these characters in my homeland, and knowing the setting innately enables a person to worry less about research and details and just let loose, write evocatively of scents and sounds and every manner of sensation experienced countless times over.

The problem with that, however, is that if you’ve ever tried to capture the essence of the Australian bush in The Sims, you’ll be acutely aware it’s... not readily done.

So TL;DR: I thought it’d be weird to pair this writing up with indoor competition shots, but couldn’t make the photos I needed. I’m disappointed, to be honest with you. It involved lurid sunsets and the smell of the bush in summer, Australian slang and the woes of flies and Agatha being hit on by a jackaroo who was probably (definitely) very, very sexy.

Oh well!

Anyway- the last entries of the 2021 season.  Thanks for a great year, @ctjumpingleague. <3 (and let’s all pretend the photos aren’t being squished into Tumblr and are displaying as I intended, okay? Okay.)

[ariadnew]

CTJL, ROUND 2: VENICE BEACH

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 8:40 AM

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It wasn’t that Archie hated Los Angeles. Hate was a terribly strong word. But it wasn’t his favourite place. It wasn’t even a favourite among his least favourite places. If you held a knife to his throat, he’d admit it probably ranked slightly above East London. But only because in East London, odds of someone actually holding a knife to your throat were pretty damn high.

To be fair, it had its merits. The weather was pleasant. The food- in the right places- was sensational. And… there were other attractions. Probably. Some would say Hollywood, but he wasn’t interested in celebrity glitz or gossip; some would say Sunset Boulevard or Rodeo Drive, but he was neither a shopper nor a night clubber. Others might say the theatre. The art, the culture, the music; all valid and acceptable.  

But others would say the beach, and they would be wrong.

Archie was inherently optimistic and struggled to utter a bad word about anything or anyone but as far he was concerned, the famous Californian coast everyone seemed to rave about was perfectly scoffable. Venice Beach- indeed, Santa Monica in general- was teeming with people and litter and discord; the sound of the waves crushed beneath the din of crowds, the air tasting used and saltless, the sand, dirty, pocked with footprints and discarded junk. Tourists stumble under cameras; teenagers wander in hordes like packs of hungry wolves. Nearby, street vendors hawk every kind of junk under the sun: cell phone accessories; bacon-wrapped hotdogs; knots of woodwork; blown and coloured glass; knock-off sunglasses; t-shirts; novelty hats; handmade jewellery, fluttering with feathers and gleaming copper in the sun. Each watches their surroundings with learned vigilance, the weight of impending crime pressing down heavily in the sunlight. Napkins smeared with fingerprints and exotic sauces bluster along the sidewalk. Everything is graffitied. Tags on street lights; quotes on trashcans; peace signs on hand rails; cartoons engaged in titillating acts carved into palm trees. Yes, the wide and majestic horizon spans one side of the view, but the other sides are grey and steel and noise and rush, and concrete, concrete, concrete.

How could one possibly laud that? A real beach was clean and crisp as ice cubes in a glass. The sea glittering and mermaidian; the sands silky with untrodden wispiness; sea birds gliding quietly in the shallows, the sky. He’d been to those places. Places where the sky tasted fresh and salted and endless. The desolate beaches wrapped around Australia, the heel of Italy’s boot, Greek islands unfound by throngs of heedless tourists. And the wild places back home; his home. Places frequented only by sail-hardened fishermen and stray sheep, bellowing with the sound of swell on rock on rough days or the empty silence of tidal pools on quiet ones; where the waters were so cold they tore the air from his lungs and the wind blasted sand, in millions of shattered shards, glassily into his calves. 

He draws a deep breath as the first rush of homesickness begins to stir, then pushes the thoughts from his mind. He is where he is and he is by choice. He could not go back. Would not, go back.

Not yet.

He turns his back to the sea in time to see Dorothy picking a cautious path through the crowd, a cup of watermelon in one hand and a hotdog overflowing with trimmings in the other. The city rises up behind her in a crammed and dizzying assembly of browns, windows, signage, haze. She smiles, one of innocent, unfettered joy, and extends the cup in his direction.

‘Watermelon?’

Archie smiles back. He makes a mental note to call his daughter later that night. He reaches for a wedge of melon, juice dripping across the pavement as he carries it to his mouth.

‘Don’t mind if I do.’

______________________________________

(Yeah, safely ignore any times I put on these posts. Normally I’m about details but these things mean about as much as political promises.)

[ariadnew]

What This Was Meant To Be For: ‘Beach’ prompt of Callixta’s (whose tag is not working) ‘Random Theme’ Challenge. What Normal Folks Did: Sun! Sand! Summer! Riding horses on the beach! Where My Brain Went: So what would happen if Vogue asked Agatha Foskett, moody heiress to the Foskett empire, for an interview-? Please view this in full size? I actually tried with this one for a change

[ariadnew]

I made this picture nearly three years ago for a challenge I didn’t enter; maybe you’ve seen it in a ‘cutting room floor’ post in my former album.

If this is your first time seeing this picture, I’m sorry.

If not, I’m sorry for that, too.

[ariadnew]

Speakeasy, on a Polaroid with a note, because I feel like Archie would be the kind of guy who keeps photos of all his horses and mementos from his career to look back on fondly on an idle afternoon, like the big, soft, starry-eyed and reminiscent teddy bear he is.

[ariadnew]

TELLURIDE GRAND PRIX

TELLURIDE, COLORADO 4:12 PM

The flight to Denver had been silent.

Mostly, due to the fact Agatha sat alone in business class. But it wouldn’t have made any difference if she’d been with them, she knew, because the drive out to Telluride had been the same. She, caught distracted between thoughts and emails; Dot, leaning against the window with her earbuds; Archie, disappeared into that special state of detachment he seemed to find more often lately, consumed with the kind of thinking which saw him smile and keep quiet when questioned.   Each of them, crammed in the truck’s cab. Silent, pensive.   Each one thinking how much they needed a win.

It wasn’t normal, this. The lauded Lowmax show jumping team, licking their wounds and shielding their faces from the glow of the glory of the other divisions. It wasn’t that Caleb and Yury didn’t run tight ships or that success was uncommon for them; it was that lack of success was uncommon for them. Agatha had shifted in her seat, her nerves agitated. For years now, her little team had upheld the principle of quality over quantity. They didn’t have twenty show jumping riders on their books nor fivefold horses under their guidance, but what they did have was enough to make Agatha’s critical heart glow dim with a soft and tender sort of pride. Gotica, Rabbit, Poquelin, Zee; collected from over the globe with the same diligence, cared for with the same attention to detail, and adored with the same admiration a connoisseur would have for a collection of priceless works. And- though she’d admit it only privately- her riders. Not herself so much, for there was little Agatha felt she’d accomplished to merit pride in herself, but the others. Quiet little Dot, who’d come so far while thinking she couldn’t, now schooling the stars of their future string and riding in open classes all over the nation. And Archie. Over-bloody-achieving Archie, who’d been an over-bloody-achiever all his life without really trying, “easing” back into the scene by turning heads on their young and promising stallion and riding the kind of rounds which were fast and neat and gentle, and otherwise delighted audiences everywhere they went. Even him. She was proud of him, too. And this was why this start-of-season slump had hit them hard. What were they doing differently? What had they changed? They couldn’t work it out, no matter the angle they looked at it, and without a tangible place to start they couldn’t begin a tangible process to fix things. Suddenly, they weren’t good enough, and they couldn’t make themselves so again. It seemed all they could do was keep attending shows, barely make back their expenses- if they were lucky- and return home, mumbling amongst each other about the role of chance in human lives and the random nature of the universe.  -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   - This very subject came up later in the stabling, when they were leaving for the evening. Dot and Agatha were gathered around Zee’s assigned box, waiting for Archie to finish up. ‘I’ve a good feeling,’ he was telling them. ‘You always have a “good feeling.”’ ‘This good feeling is particularly notable among good feelings.’ Agatha sighed, not feeling up to his humour. ‘It’d be nice if you’re right.’ ‘Dottie is optimistic too- aren’t you, Dottie?’ Dot, who’d been preoccupied with her phone until then, glanced up and nodded. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve caught this “good feeling” crap from him?’’ ‘... Uh-...’ ‘You speak as though it’s a disease,’ Archie matched her tone. ‘Optimism: a frightfully contagious and most fearsome infection.’ ‘It’s not a disease. It’s part of a larger and more dangerous condition they used to call lunacy.’ ‘From which I suffer acutely.’ ‘Mhm.’ She turned back to Dot. ‘Are your good feelings about you or about him?’ 'Um... Both?’ ‘You see? She overflows with confidence.’ Dot coloured further. Agatha shook her head. Archie let himself out of Zee's box and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ll see, Agatha Florence. It’ll all be alright in the end.’