Hey, can I make a suggestion? Can I switch Josephine? Because Chupa and I have two matches now. We'll each only be in love with each other's characters.
Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole. -Dean, Supernatural
"Ooh, Darling, you look wonderful." Josephine smiled as her mother came into her room, she had on her new blue gown with the matching slippers and tiara. She wanted to look her best tonight.
"Well, I hope so, I do not want to offend my partner," She smiled at herself in the looking glass, and fixed her hair. "Well, it's about time to get going. Pray for me."
"Remember to have your back straight at all times, and sweep into the room and command attention, because without it you will be nothing."
Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole. -Dean, Supernatural
I looked at myself in the floor length mirror as Bertha worked her magic. She was the house maid, and practically a mother to me. Already I looked dazzling; My gold earrings dangling. I wore a dress with such green silk it would strike envy in every girl's heart, and then there was my wavy hair tied up in a bun at the nape of my neck, perfection.
"Back straight, Miss. I'll not have a lazy master." She snapped and I straightened. I couldn't breath as it was, the corset she was tying was almost suffocating.
I forced out the words in little gasps as she tightened it farther."Of course, but perhaps you may be so kind as to loosen the strings a tad, dear Bertha." Unfortunately Bertha wasn't in the right state of mind and would not grant me the mercy.
"Alright, Miss, you're all done," I practically jumped from the pedestal I was on, but she helped me down. A knock then echoed on the door and we both turned. My father entered.
"My dear Sunny, Oh, how riveting you look. I owe you a big thank you Bertha." She nodded and I smiled at him as he continued,"Now I am completely assured that you will be guaranteed a future husband by the end of the night!" My smile dropped from my face and I remembered why I'd been dreading this ball for months. Of course he would expect nothing less.... I sighed.
Both Bertha and My father walked me to my carriage in the front of our mansion. The door was opened for me by another servant, and my dear friend. I wouldn't be going alone though. My father was my escort. It would be scandalous to go without, and I knew how much he hated scandal.
If I can impact one person, just one, with my writing before I die, then I've lived a great life
Hey Singer, I don't mean to post in the middle of things but when you say "free character" (Booker or Mitchell) does that mean I can take it? I thought it was full...
"Maurice? The blue coat, if you please." Rémi said, barely acknowledging the servant as he was helped into the coat.
Across the chamber from them, Charles was having a servant girl pick out a coat for him. Rémi questioned the action inwardly, but it quickly became clear to him that Charles already knew which one he wanted. He just wanted to flirt with the girl. He probably regards it as his last opportunity.
"So, this one?" Charles asked the girl. She giggled and blushed behind a hand, nodding. Rémi shook his head a little, She probably thinks she could have a future with him. Foolish girl.
Their fathers, the former Marquis of Lyon and the current Earl of Warwick, entered the room, looking from one boy to the other, "Aren't you two ready yet? We're supposed to be appearing soon."
Rémi laughed, "Oh, we are ready, father. But Charles believes it will be better if we arrived, how did you say?" He looked at Charles, "Fashionably late?"
Charles nodded, having stepped away from the now despondent looking servant girl the second his father had entered the room. The old man had frequently lectured him about flirting with the girls, and on this night of all nights, Greville the elder would not want his heir being caught up with girls other than his future bride.
The earl gave his son a disapproving look, "Well, I hope whatever time we arrive there is 'fashionably late' enough for you two. We're leaving now, I've had enough of your procrastination." He led the way down to the coaches - one for Rémi and the Marquis, another for Charles and the Earl.
It was probably an unnecessary display of wealth, but both fathers had decreed that they should make it clear that the Earl of Warwick should make his position on restoring his friend to power clear, even in such a small way as clearly separating the de Lyon and Greville families were separate. There were many among the peers who believed that it was good that France had been 'cut down to size', but Greville was a strong supporter of hereditary rule, and so to him, this France was a threat.
He had decided to live forever or die in the attempt. - Yossarian, Catch-22
Wide-eyed stupid.
If you're gonna rule the world, you've gotta get up early! - Joel S. Dickens
Standing still in front of the body length mirror that stood in the middle of her dressing room, Reyannah held her arms out to the sides to allow her keepers to properly string and tighten a corset around her breast.
Holding in her breathe so that she wouldn't ruin all of the hard work, Reyannah turned her head to look at the gown hanging next to her. Deep red in color, it had golden trimming, with matching golden jewelry and garnet gems. Her shoes were only the finest leather, dyed gold and embossed with even more garnets. If she did not look majestic this evening, her maids would have done something horribly wrong.
Exhaling loudly as her head maid, Mary, announced the job done, Rey carefully stepped off the stool she had been standing on and into the dress her maids now held in front of her. They pulled it up slowly, so as to not wrinkle or tear the delicate fabric. Soon, it was up to her chest, and she was putting her arms through the elbow length sleeves; then it was on.
Next she lifted her legs slightly, one by one, as the maids fit her shoes unto her hidden feet. Looking behind her, the gown she wore left at least a three foot train. Reyannah smiled; she had always loved long dresses.
Her maids ran their hands all over her face as they placed her jewelry in her ears and around her neck, then fitted her cheeks with makeup and her lips with bright red paint. In the mirror, Reyannah looked ready to go.
"You look wonderful, sweetheart." Her father said from in the doorway, garbed in a black tailed tuxedo; his top hat tucked neatly between his hand and waist. Rey smiled, walking slowly over to him.
"Is the carriage ready?" She asked, kissing her maids goodbye and thanking them, then wrapping her arm through his and walking through the large estate. He led her down the multitude of stairs she had walked every day since she had learned to do so, and then out the doors to the long, rocky drive she had ridden up and down so many times on her horses.
There awaited her carriage; the carriage that would bring change. She was to find a lover now, one that would take over her estate.
Anti-Peta.
"In Vabbi , I was ambushed by six of them! They wielded blunt wooden sticks and were hissing at me about overdue fines... Bandits? Oh, no. These were library envoys."
Sorry for interrupting, but I'm going to change my last name from Monroe to Marquese. I wasn't aware that someone else already had the name. Again sorry and her name is Sunday Rose Bellina Monstre` Marquese ... (Mon-stray and Mark-ease)
If I can impact one person, just one, with my writing before I die, then I've lived a great life
Yeah you can claim Booker. Someone's already claimed Mitchell.
Coey:
Coey sighed as she looked in teh floor length mirror. Her heart pounded as she looked at the daring biege dress that hung lovingly against her person. A long train fell behind her as hse walked.
"Coey, darling? Are you ready?" Her mother asked.
"Yes, ma'am." Her long tendrils of hair were wisped up in curls that dangled dangerously down her slim neck.
"Well, come now child. We must not be late." She groaned. Her mother was so blant.
"Yes ma'am." she murmered as they walked out the door, to greet their carriage.
The carriage ride so far had been dull and boring. Sunday's father hadn't said a word and kept his eyes fixed on the window, which occasionally had to be closed when passing through slum territory.
"Father do you have anything to say to me?" Maybe something like: My dear Sunny, I'm sorry I made you do this you don't have to. I'd love you even if you stayed unmarried.
"Hmm, what?" he asked coming out of his reverie and she repeated herself,"Why yes I do sweetheart. What was it? Hold on child give your old father a second to remember,"he furrowed his brow then met her gaze,"Yes, here we are. I want you to remember Sunny, that no matter how nice the man is, he must have a fortune to follow his name. Do you understand?" she sighed, but nodded and her father winked at her from under his too big top hat. If her father was this oblivious to her feelings she was frightened to see how other men would interpret her.
**Can it be a masquerade ball. That would be much more romantic and myterious, I think**
If I can impact one person, just one, with my writing before I die, then I've lived a great life
I tell the neophyte: Write a million words–the absolute best you can write, then throw it all away and bravely turn your back on what you have written. At that point, you’re ready to begin. — David Eddings
