#upper society

[pen-bee]

SONIC UNDERGROUND | Upper Society & Lower Slums

[zelqueenofspades]

Alphabetic Ballroom Cacophony

Averting gazes

Belated smiles

Cocktails with too much ice

Dancing through conversations

Everyone’s eyes track the fated

Forgiving but never forgetting

Giving getting and indebting

History repeats itself

Instinct of upbringing

Jumping to conclusions

Kaleidoscopes of expectations

Leaking thoughts behind tight lips

Marionettes of daughters

Never stop smiling

Ostracized in tulle

Passing from are to arm

Quickly spinning dipping dizzy

Ravens caw in the garden

Stagnant air fills flighty lungs

Touching the floor in a dip

Ulterior motives glide under gowns

Vixen gazes across dim bars

Waning candlelight

Xylophones and pianos and harps sing

You are but your name

Zest on your lips

-Z.B.

[king-luckram]

Tomorrow I associate with an individual of the upper echelons of society for 3 hours and pray to what ever god is available that I don’t fuck shit up. I don’t handle big wig executives well. Wish I didn’t have anxiety as bad as I do these days but shit happens. I’ve got a job to do and a project to complete. 

[lettersfromfallenlondon]

Spiraling Shadows

The world had fallen to void, darkness replacing the curious red glow of the cult candles. It was dreadfully complete, an ink spill upon the once vivid tapestry of the world now gone. He felt cold and pained, his head resting upon some slime licked stone and his mind unable to focus beyond immediate sensations.

Dark.

Cold.

Silence.

Gross.

His clothes remained - thank the powers that be - but the thought they might have been missing prior was a curious pondering. Was it that his senses were slowly picking themselves up from their embarrassing failings and were attempting to reprise their once venerable status as ‘information providers’? Perhaps it was just something he had considered and they were sluggishly providing a reply some time later. It mattered little.

Dark.

Chilling.

Noiseless.

Slimy.

He sat up, a hand on his head. It hurt a good deal and this only increased that issue, admittedly for just the moment. The very act of breathing was on the verge of crippling. Something was wrong.

Movement in the corner of his eye caused concern and he began to actively shake away the rigor mortis like symptoms from his body, grasping blindly in the hope of finding his blade or something useful as a weapon. He dared not speak. He dared not breathe. What roamed in such a place was no doubt blind but relied heavily upon its other senses. He refused to give it any assistance that he himself would not receive.

Only now did it occur to him that he was not certain if he was still in the mansion basement or not. If he had not moved, then at least he would be vindicated in his confusion. If the latter, however, he would need to learn why and how he had been displaced.

Another skittering across his eyesight brought another question to mind. How was he seeing any of this? It was total darkness and nothing gave even the slightest illumination. Why, then, was this exempted? His heart raced and he was put on edge. His forced civility and strength was beginning to peel at the edges, now very certain he was experiencing unbridled, very obvious fear.

A gloved hand covered his moth and a very high pitched whisper touched his ear.

“You look for things best left buried. Leave this foolish venture behind before it all falls down around you.”

He was then hit upside the head with a cudgel.

[lettersfromfallenlondon]

A Cold Night

My friend,

I have not quite set out for Spite yet though I find myself pondering my next move as if it might hold some semblance of middling importance. Perhaps so integral to my search that failing it might set me back months but not so drastic as to have me at incredible risk, yet I fear how I might handle such situation moving forward. In normal circumstances, I might find myself worrying a tad more than needed but it seems that with my lack of a soul, I have found such a process to be of little import. I do not worry so much as I bide my time. Perhaps this can be an advantage to use in the coming weeks. I am still numb to my loss but, indeed, it is showing its uses.

Despite how I am interpreting my feelings for this investigation, I have recently reaffirmed something I believe to be important without question. Amber Wolfe is my direct source to public acceptance. With Amber’s Angels still drawing funds and support, I can remain in the public’s good graces so if I handle this outing correctly, I will be able to repair ties to Upper Society rather thoroughly. However, I believe even now my ties to Amber Wolfe has become something more than mutual benefit. I will seek them out in my return to London. I believe it is time to enjoy their company once more.

It is rather cold tonight. Stoke the fire, friend. Stay warm.

Sincerely,

Groyard Mayatt