#twistedfortune

[therapardalis]

[Starter for @twistedfortune (Holmes) if you like :) ]

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Cornwall, near Falmouth, late 19th Century ...

Oh, gods-dammit, not another one ... The thought wasn’t particularly charitable, and neither was it fair - regardless of whether she meant only another death or another local murder mystery.  If the first, the victim hadn’t likely intended to die, and of the second, the last one she’d been part of had happened around a hundred years before.

But it was still bloody irritating. Another wrinkle catching attention that she didn’t really need. Thera folded the newspaper over with a sharp little snap, resisting the urge to wipe the newsprint smudging her fingers on her dress.

One suspicious death went quietly to the local police. Two stirred them up like a blue hornets’ nest. Three ... all similar? That was going to put a lot of people in her way.

[vuulpecula]

      Sleeves pushed up to her elbows, exposing fully the nimble fingers that held up her skirts. Frayed hems narrowly missing the puddles of mud and rainwater that she danced around. A twisting twirling creature weaving her way between horses and men alike. Creating her own stream against a current of bodies that pressed in the opposite direction. Above, church bells rang eerily through the morning mist. She glanced up at the high towers of the cathedral and the gargoyles that stood guard. Monsterous creatures, through beautiful. Perhaps one day she would have the courage to climb the steep staircase inside the holy place to look upon their faces. Would Saint Peter himself damn her for breaking the locks? Her heart ached at the thought, for it reminded her of her beloved Saint Petersburg. 

      Her gaze was still high above on the spires and stones as she continued on her way. Eager to sneak within the cool, dry place and listen within the hallowed halls. Had she paid more attention to the stairs and the others that walked upon them, she perhaps would not have collided completely with the stranger. “Ya proshu proshcheniya,” she stammered before amending in the too light tones of French. Each word escaping from her mouth like butterflies caught on the wind. “I am tremendously apologetic, sir, please forgive me!”  

@twistedfortune​​ ❤’d for a STARTER.

[timefought]

   @twistedfortune / x

      CHURCHES WERE PLACES OF IMMENSE CONFLICT to charlie. they were often places of fear, of persecution and pain. sometimes, just sometimes, they could be peaceful. safe. this one was a pretty, quiet sort of place, and she had not found its rector to be unpleasant. there were so few places of rest or silence for her these days.

   as she was walking back towards the door, a voice became audible ------ not discernible, at such a distance and with echo, her hearing loss made a significant impact. she could not tell who it was, until she entered the main body of the chapel. a sort of anxiety swallowed her, knowing she had unknowingly trespassed on a private moment, but unsure how to exit without simply making it worse. that indecision, however, already proved to do that.

            “ --------- no, sir, I wasn’t. Mr Travis lets my daughter play in the garden, I was just getting water. ” 

   in her hand, she held a metal canteen, which she vaguely gestured to. as she ever did, charlie seemed torn somewhere between flight and freeze. anxiety tinged her every interaction around this man. shifting uneasily from foot to foot, she settled on what she would do. a few hesitant steps forward were taken, before she stopped again.

         “ i’m sorry, are--- are you alright ?? only, generally, people praying on a tuesday morning tend to... you know, you’re either an american or something’s wrong. ”

[therapardalis]

"These bread puns are what the French call a real pain."

[myxcenterxstage]

okay, time to now spam-reblog some of @bonhcmme / @twistedfortune  ‘s old blog(s) for safekeeping here because IT’S SUCH QUALTY CONTENT.

It also reminds me that Pris is supposed to be trying to be a matchmaker between Madeleine & Mme. Du Beaumont (which she can’t go slack on now!) and I STILL HAVE TO CONTINUE THAT THREAD W/ GIGI AND CRIM!JEAN... I will. Eventually... even if it takes me all year XD

[motherwitch]

“To have a free will is like a curse.” Robert @ twistedfortune, I honestly have n o idea

German Period Drama Sentence Starters (Pt. 2)

“No.” Endora shakes her head, refusing to accept that answer. She smiles still, clearly not upset by it, but curious as to how one could come to such a conclusion. “To have a free will is to live. To go where you please and do what you like, and not be bound by anything. Doesn’t that sound marvelous?”

[fcrgedstrcngth]

@twistedfortune wanted an Anna Bates starter!

Anna paused as she walked past Lord Grantham’s desk for the second time in an hour - part of the continual crisscrossing of the  house that was so much a part of her day. “You know,” Anna twisted her hands together as she told Lord Grantham, “I don’t think I ever properly told you how much I appreciate... how firmly you stood by your convictions regarding Mr. Bates’ innocence while he was... away. It was nice, for both him and I, to know that he had more than one...” she couldn’t quite bring herself to say “friend”” to his lordship's face. “Such staunch defender, and I am very grateful for it, my lord.”

[intoxicatiing]

@twistedfortune​ ​, continued from ⚜

Just such a boldly thoughtless impulse had sparked his life and what followed had pruned it into its current shape. And just as regret had come instantly then, he froze the moment after. This time he knew to pray that the results wouldn’t hit home with such force. He could be forgiven for drawing these parallels in his mind; even the impetus was similar. Though time would tell whether the magnitude of mistake was also comparable at least it hadn’t been selfish in nature. The bread had been for his sister’s children; the kiss to her fingers was to comfort her.

She had just finished detailing some hardship— perhaps the story of the scars those hands wore. He couldn’t help noticing and in the end couldn’t help asking. He saw at once why she’d paused. It was.a terrible thing what had been done to her. Such nightmares were only slightly easier to share than to let go of; he still hadn’t mastered the latter.

His cheeks flushed under their tanned surface; his eyes sought refuge in his lap along with his hands in retreat. “Forgive me. It seemed only natural… but I should not have.” Not without asking; not at all.

“No, it….” It was reflex, to insist he need not apologize. Ruby pulled her hand back for a moment, eyes on the small scars, flexing her fingers and seeing how the light played across her skin before she willed herself to smile and reach back out for him. “It was many years ago. I’ve known almost nothing but comfort since.”

She’d been on the streets for a time, when she’d been a child. She could tell him that much. She had scrounged and fought for scraps, grateful for the days she found a discarded newspaper to protect her from the cold. Even then she left out plenty -- the desperation, the gaps in her memory, the things she did to survive -- or the scars that had come from before. From farm tools or scuffles with other children. Just enough for him to dispell the rumors around her. Ruby was not a disgraced noblewoman like many people thought, nor an actress trained for the stage but a simple Parisian girl, with fortune enough to have been brought in by a wealthy man

It was not an easy story to tell, but she was glad he’d asked about those, rather than the one on her face, or her neck. The scars on her hands were small, easily missed, and the skin soft, her childhood on the farm erased. It was for the best. “God has been kind to me. I am grateful for him —“ A lie. “And for you.” Truth. She still couldn’t tell if it was bitter or sweet to know. “I beg you not to worry for me. Promise you will try.”