Post by ophelia on Mar 4, 2010 0:24:41 GMT -5
{Faaaailllll posssstttttt. Hopefully my posts will get better as I go along. >.> Also, this takes place on Ophelia's Boat "The Witch's Kiss in case you couldn't tell. Which- obviously, you couldn't from the description. Because it makes no sense even though it was wicked fun to write. XD}
Sunlight filtered down from the low porthole into the study. It was a clean angular shaft of winter dawn that sliced the fatigue and resentment from Ophelia’s profile like cellulite and came to rest in a neat square beneath the clawed feet of her desk. She was asleep. Her head flung back, her shoulders slacked, her claws curled on her lap. The chair groaned as the weight of her exhaustion sagged bonelessly against the upholstery. An exhaustion heavy and liquid as the slow rise and fall of her chest and the amber bottle of liquor which lolled half-empty and dripping on the hearth rug.
The sensible interior of the baroque study was not quite sure what to make of this intrusion. If it had had a living brain, some sort of mechanism to aid and abet rumination besides the antique clock on the mantle, then it might have drawn its opinion from the archetype of past proprietors who had embossed their school of behavior, the current standard, into the essence of the space years past. These past proprietors- sourly immortalized in dark oils and massive frames along the far wall, would have voiced Unspeakable Outrage at such a vagrant display of surfeit libation (and in a young lady!) if they had voice enough to do so, mind enough to sound with, throat lips, and tongue respectively. (And they certainly would not have the audacity to nap among the infinitely important figures of the Spire Household or inside the room that housed them.) But as was, these proprietors were dead boring people in paintings who could not say anything, the carved molding was inanimate if stuffy and disapproving, and the room had lapsed into such piercing silence that the soft edges of cushions sharpened.
Nothing disturbed Ophelia. Every stray dust mote was regimented. Every gauzy gleam was pendulous and vitric. The light from the window had encapsulated her like a bell-jar.
Pressing matters, such as the audits fanned out on the desk top in front of her, and, admittedly, breakfast did not permeate the dreamy film of cognac or the brittle progression of sunrise. Facetted and onion white.
Suddenly....
Her stomach growled.....
She got up and went to make a sandwich.
Liverwurst and eel on rye. Lord Almighty she was hungover.
She lurched forward out of her chair and sprawled through the doorway into the galley.
The sensible interior of the baroque study was not quite sure what to make of this intrusion. If it had had a living brain, some sort of mechanism to aid and abet rumination besides the antique clock on the mantle, then it might have drawn its opinion from the archetype of past proprietors who had embossed their school of behavior, the current standard, into the essence of the space years past. These past proprietors- sourly immortalized in dark oils and massive frames along the far wall, would have voiced Unspeakable Outrage at such a vagrant display of surfeit libation (and in a young lady!) if they had voice enough to do so, mind enough to sound with, throat lips, and tongue respectively. (And they certainly would not have the audacity to nap among the infinitely important figures of the Spire Household or inside the room that housed them.) But as was, these proprietors were dead boring people in paintings who could not say anything, the carved molding was inanimate if stuffy and disapproving, and the room had lapsed into such piercing silence that the soft edges of cushions sharpened.
Nothing disturbed Ophelia. Every stray dust mote was regimented. Every gauzy gleam was pendulous and vitric. The light from the window had encapsulated her like a bell-jar.
Pressing matters, such as the audits fanned out on the desk top in front of her, and, admittedly, breakfast did not permeate the dreamy film of cognac or the brittle progression of sunrise. Facetted and onion white.
Suddenly....
Her stomach growled.....
She got up and went to make a sandwich.
Liverwurst and eel on rye. Lord Almighty she was hungover.
She lurched forward out of her chair and sprawled through the doorway into the galley.
I did post in shades of grey if anyone even remembers that lmao