Creative Writing V and IC and IIB
Sep. 30th, 2005 09:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
laleiaMore Not Really Creative Writing
Notes: Dearbhail is based on 0016 of eLouai's etc. Dearbhail should have an accent on the i (similar to a French accent grave), but I don't know how to display that on livejournal).
She was but a child, fragile and delicate. Clad in black clothes, mourning clothes, in a style more suited to one older and cognizant of the meaning of death. Her wide-brimmed hat, so reminiscent of the Southern belles of the past, set off her dark blonde cascade of hair beautifully. Her face was still that of a child however, her hands clutched a bedraggled teddy bear, and her shoes were clad in the classic Mary Janes she had once adored. As a result of the odd contrast, she looked, as they say, like a little girl playing dress-up.
She stood on the side of the road, alone and pathetic. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and her lower lip trembled as car after car passed by. She seemed all too aware of the cemetery at her back and wanted nothing more than to go far, far away.
Finally, a car stopped, and a concerned woman stepped out. "Are you all alone, dear?" she asked.
The girl nodded.
"Where are you parents?" the woman asked, shocked.
"Momma's in heaven," the little girl began. "But Poppa says she's here, and he leaves me here every week to see her. But she's not here!" The girl screwed up her face, obviously about to cry.
The woman immediately stepped forward and enveloped the girl in a hug. "Of course," she said meaninglessly. "What's your name?" she asked.
"Dearbhail," the girl sniffed. "It's Ir- *sob* Ir- *sob* Irish," she cried.
"My name is Donna. How long does your Dad usually leave you here?" the woman asked.
"He picks me up for lunch," Dearbhail said after a long period of thought.
Donna frowned. It was long past noon. "Here," she said, "why don't you get in the car with me and we'll find a policeman, all right? I'm sure we'll be able to find your father." And a social worker, she added mentally.
"All right," Dearbhail wiped away the last of her tears and followed the woman to her car. While the woman was preoccupied with clearing a space for her to sit, however, her face twisted into a less-innocent smirk, and her eyes glinted sinisterly as she hissed, "I'm sure we will ..."
"Who decided we were to attack the Mayhem Mountains?" Lamya wanted to know, trying to sound firm as she interrogated Yessenia.
Yessenia was not intimidated in the slightest. Her eyes were far too innocent as she replied, "Why ex-Lady Charna decided it, of course. I thought she told you."
Lamya faltered in her offensive. There was a brief pause. "When ... when did she decide this?" she asked, slightly less confidently.
Yessenia half-smirked. "Last week, Dark Lady Lamya. You were there at the meeting, surely you remember."
Lamya most certainly did not remember. "Is there a record of this meeting?" she asked, mind racing.
Xiomara instantly produced the paperwork, with a suspiciously quick speed.
Lamya scanned over the transcript of the happenings of the meeting and frowned. "This is not what happened," she objected.
Yessenia smiled. "I'm sure you are mistaken, Dark Lady Lamya. Everyone else at the meeting will assure you that the attack was decided and planned."
And suddenly Lamya understood.
That night, when Rowan returned home, she was furious. Beside her one conversation with the Prince, in which she was promised a dance for the following night, she had not even gone near the Prince. Even most of the higher-ranking, eligible nobles were following that mystery girl around like, like, like ... oh, she was so mad she couldn't even think of an appropriate analogy!
And on the carriage ride home, Maman wouldn't stop lecturing her! She had almost convinced her mother that the Prince had initiated the dance invitation when her damnable sister interjected that she had heard it all, and that was not how it had happened. Her stupid sister hadn't even garnered any admirers of her own!
"Cinderella," she barked as soon as she entered the house. "Help me disrobe." She swept up the stairs in a fury, not even waiting to hear the tail end of Maman's lecture.
Cinderella was waiting in her room when she got there, and immediately began unbuttoning the long row of buttons down her back.
"Can you believe," Rowan ranted angrily, "that halfway through the ball, some upstart of a girl actually showed up and bewitched the entire male population! She wasn't even invited, just charmed her way in, I bet."
Cinderella hesitated on the button.
"What are you thinking, girl?" Rowan snapped. "Don't stop! I want to be in bed some time before cock crows, you know."
Cinderella immediately continued. "The invitation was issued to every girl in the kingdom," she reminded her stepsister.
"Well, I certainly didn't recognize her," Rowan sniffed. "And I know everyone of significant wealth. She must have been foreign." She hesitated for a moment, then admitted, "It is true that I didn't get a close look at her. She could have been invited legitimately.
"What happened to her?" Cinderella inquired politely as she moved to remove Rowan's corset.
"She danced with the Prince the entire night," Rowan said disgustedly. "And-" She stopped speaking, her attention caught by something in Cinderella's hair. She plucked it out and examined it. "Cinderella, what is this?" she asked sharply, holding out the small diamond that had been caught in Cinderella's bun. "You haven't been pilfering, have you?"
Cinderella shook her head hurriedly. "No, of course not. It's Wynne's. It came off of her nice gown, the one that she plans on wearing the last day." Of course Rowan knew that gown. She knew every gown her sister owned, and that one, while embroidered with several small gems at the hem, was certainly not the most tasteful. "I was planning on sewing it back on tomorrow night."
Rowan frowned. "Why was it in your hair?"
Cinderella was more relaxed now as she helped Rowan into her dressing-gown. "I stuck it in there when I went in to check on the broth, and I must have forgotten about it."
"Well, see that it doesn't happen again and that you sew it on soon," Rowan said vaguely, feeling the activities of the night affecting her as she succumbed to exhaustion. "Lord Riordan would love another reason to point out our poverty."
"Lord Riordan was there?" Cinderella asked, surprised.
"Yes," Rowan said irritably. "The perfectly horrible end to a horrible night. I'll sleep now. You can leave," she told Cinderella, who left the room quietly, no doubt to help Wynne now.
She needed her beauty sleep if she was to make the most of her dance with the Prince tomorrow night.
Notes: Dearbhail is based on 0016 of eLouai's etc. Dearbhail should have an accent on the i (similar to a French accent grave), but I don't know how to display that on livejournal).
She was but a child, fragile and delicate. Clad in black clothes, mourning clothes, in a style more suited to one older and cognizant of the meaning of death. Her wide-brimmed hat, so reminiscent of the Southern belles of the past, set off her dark blonde cascade of hair beautifully. Her face was still that of a child however, her hands clutched a bedraggled teddy bear, and her shoes were clad in the classic Mary Janes she had once adored. As a result of the odd contrast, she looked, as they say, like a little girl playing dress-up.
She stood on the side of the road, alone and pathetic. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and her lower lip trembled as car after car passed by. She seemed all too aware of the cemetery at her back and wanted nothing more than to go far, far away.
Finally, a car stopped, and a concerned woman stepped out. "Are you all alone, dear?" she asked.
The girl nodded.
"Where are you parents?" the woman asked, shocked.
"Momma's in heaven," the little girl began. "But Poppa says she's here, and he leaves me here every week to see her. But she's not here!" The girl screwed up her face, obviously about to cry.
The woman immediately stepped forward and enveloped the girl in a hug. "Of course," she said meaninglessly. "What's your name?" she asked.
"Dearbhail," the girl sniffed. "It's Ir- *sob* Ir- *sob* Irish," she cried.
"My name is Donna. How long does your Dad usually leave you here?" the woman asked.
"He picks me up for lunch," Dearbhail said after a long period of thought.
Donna frowned. It was long past noon. "Here," she said, "why don't you get in the car with me and we'll find a policeman, all right? I'm sure we'll be able to find your father." And a social worker, she added mentally.
"All right," Dearbhail wiped away the last of her tears and followed the woman to her car. While the woman was preoccupied with clearing a space for her to sit, however, her face twisted into a less-innocent smirk, and her eyes glinted sinisterly as she hissed, "I'm sure we will ..."
"Who decided we were to attack the Mayhem Mountains?" Lamya wanted to know, trying to sound firm as she interrogated Yessenia.
Yessenia was not intimidated in the slightest. Her eyes were far too innocent as she replied, "Why ex-Lady Charna decided it, of course. I thought she told you."
Lamya faltered in her offensive. There was a brief pause. "When ... when did she decide this?" she asked, slightly less confidently.
Yessenia half-smirked. "Last week, Dark Lady Lamya. You were there at the meeting, surely you remember."
Lamya most certainly did not remember. "Is there a record of this meeting?" she asked, mind racing.
Xiomara instantly produced the paperwork, with a suspiciously quick speed.
Lamya scanned over the transcript of the happenings of the meeting and frowned. "This is not what happened," she objected.
Yessenia smiled. "I'm sure you are mistaken, Dark Lady Lamya. Everyone else at the meeting will assure you that the attack was decided and planned."
And suddenly Lamya understood.
That night, when Rowan returned home, she was furious. Beside her one conversation with the Prince, in which she was promised a dance for the following night, she had not even gone near the Prince. Even most of the higher-ranking, eligible nobles were following that mystery girl around like, like, like ... oh, she was so mad she couldn't even think of an appropriate analogy!
And on the carriage ride home, Maman wouldn't stop lecturing her! She had almost convinced her mother that the Prince had initiated the dance invitation when her damnable sister interjected that she had heard it all, and that was not how it had happened. Her stupid sister hadn't even garnered any admirers of her own!
"Cinderella," she barked as soon as she entered the house. "Help me disrobe." She swept up the stairs in a fury, not even waiting to hear the tail end of Maman's lecture.
Cinderella was waiting in her room when she got there, and immediately began unbuttoning the long row of buttons down her back.
"Can you believe," Rowan ranted angrily, "that halfway through the ball, some upstart of a girl actually showed up and bewitched the entire male population! She wasn't even invited, just charmed her way in, I bet."
Cinderella hesitated on the button.
"What are you thinking, girl?" Rowan snapped. "Don't stop! I want to be in bed some time before cock crows, you know."
Cinderella immediately continued. "The invitation was issued to every girl in the kingdom," she reminded her stepsister.
"Well, I certainly didn't recognize her," Rowan sniffed. "And I know everyone of significant wealth. She must have been foreign." She hesitated for a moment, then admitted, "It is true that I didn't get a close look at her. She could have been invited legitimately.
"What happened to her?" Cinderella inquired politely as she moved to remove Rowan's corset.
"She danced with the Prince the entire night," Rowan said disgustedly. "And-" She stopped speaking, her attention caught by something in Cinderella's hair. She plucked it out and examined it. "Cinderella, what is this?" she asked sharply, holding out the small diamond that had been caught in Cinderella's bun. "You haven't been pilfering, have you?"
Cinderella shook her head hurriedly. "No, of course not. It's Wynne's. It came off of her nice gown, the one that she plans on wearing the last day." Of course Rowan knew that gown. She knew every gown her sister owned, and that one, while embroidered with several small gems at the hem, was certainly not the most tasteful. "I was planning on sewing it back on tomorrow night."
Rowan frowned. "Why was it in your hair?"
Cinderella was more relaxed now as she helped Rowan into her dressing-gown. "I stuck it in there when I went in to check on the broth, and I must have forgotten about it."
"Well, see that it doesn't happen again and that you sew it on soon," Rowan said vaguely, feeling the activities of the night affecting her as she succumbed to exhaustion. "Lord Riordan would love another reason to point out our poverty."
"Lord Riordan was there?" Cinderella asked, surprised.
"Yes," Rowan said irritably. "The perfectly horrible end to a horrible night. I'll sleep now. You can leave," she told Cinderella, who left the room quietly, no doubt to help Wynne now.
She needed her beauty sleep if she was to make the most of her dance with the Prince tomorrow night.
