kew gardens

Reunited, and it feels so good.

continues this storyline

Amelia let out a sigh, not of frustration, but of acceptance, and passed through the door that Tashir held open for her.

The diner was abuzz with activity. Some sort of muffled anxiety was going on towards the back, and people were fussing over someone lying prone on the ground. She immediately prickled, wanting to keep her distance, and while her companion went to see if he could be of assistance, she approached a seat at the counter next to her old mentor, Cornelius E. Rutherford, Jr., who was in the process of cleaning a generous serving of apple pie ala mode off his plate. He looked at her and blanched. Dropping his fork, he reached for his napkin and straightened his hairpiece, the motions of practiced ettiquette.

She was so tired suddenly, tired of Angels Fall and of this grand mission to save the community from who knows what. She had wanted to retreat from the world here, not get involved, and yet that seemed to be what was happening to her like it or not.

Reverting to his old habit of formal politeness, the professor started to get up from his seat, but she put her hand on his arm, indicating that the gesture wasn't necessary, and climbed up onto the stool next to his. Ever attentive at her post behind the counter, Doris placed a mug in front of Amelia and poured a fresh cup of dark coffee with a fluid gesture. It always impressed Amelia how Doris never seemed to spill a drop.

Amelia picked up her mug and toasted her old teacher, "Can't say I am happy to see you here, Professor, but I am happy to see you."

He returned the greeting with a smile and raised his mug to hers. "Likewise, my dear, likewise."
  • Current Mood
    rushed rushed
kew gardens

Dining out

continued from here tying in Ruth's new peeps...

Just as they finished ordering their meals, Dennis caught sight of Nimue and Ren in their booth. He watched the intimacy of the two women in fascination, not particularly discretely.

Marianne gave him a sharp look, "Dennis, don't stare; it's rude. How would you like it if people stared at you because you were a little bit different?"

He hung his head in shame, but mumbled, "What makes you think that they don't?"

"Are you having problems in school, Dennis?" she asked him in a concerned tone.

He looked up at her, "Nothing that I can't handle, Mom."

They both played with the straws in the water glasses that the busboy had brought over when they sat down. After a few minutes of silence, Dennis broke the tension, "So Ms. Holloway was out of school again today."

"That's the third day this month, isn't it?" queried Marianne. "I hope that things are okay with her." Dennis moaned. "I know that you find her a difficult teacher Dennis, but she is actually getting her students to read and to learn something. Teaching them how to write well; that is important, especially when it is time for you to go on to college."

"IF I decide to go on to college."

Marianne ignored the comment. "You need to have good writing skills to succeed in a competitive university setting, especially if you are going to an Ivy League school."

"Mom, you know that I don't want to go that far away. All of my friends are planning to go to school relatively close to Angels Fall."

"Dennis, you are a talented student and a talented athlete. If that combination can't get you into an Ivy, I don't know what will. But I will tell you one thing, as much as I love you and would love to keep you close, you are going to school as far away from Angels Fall as I can send you."

They were interrupted by the waiter serving their nan and raita.

Desmond

It was near twilight. Desmond rose and went to the door to the back of the shop, opening it just as Maddalena, arms laden with sandwiches from the small deli a couple of blocks away, reached the door.

"Thanks, Uncle," she said, smiling, and kissed him on the cheek.

Maddalena, called Maddie by nearly everyone but Desmond, was not precisely his niece. They were family, and, more importantly, comrades and friends, but the blood relation was quite a bit more distant than anyone would have guessed. Desmond had known once exactly how distant, but it no longer seemed important. Here and now, she was his niece, student, handyman, link to the world, and a treasure of warmth and kindness.

He watched her with the teenagers, offering them sandwiches, chips, cookies, shooing them toward the next small alcove to get themselves sodas or water from the small fridge, or coffee, tea, hot cocoa from the various pots and urns tucked away there, settling down on the floor at one end of the low, broad coffee table to tuck into her own sandwich and somehow also begin a conversation with the kids. She was much better at that sort of thing than he was; most people were slightly intimidated by Desmond in spite of themselves, and this particular group... He sighed slightly. All of them were gifted, to one degree or another, which was hardly surprising in Angels Fall. More surprising was that only one of them seemed to realize it, and all of them thought the slightly odd "vibe" they got from him was due to nothing more than his being their grandparents' age and owning a book shop filled with "occult" materials. He didn't particularly care to be social, but it would have made it easier to manage his tasks. Maddalena was an excellent intermediary, but he didn't like being so dependent on her.

A New Character: Desmond

Desmond sat behind the long, scarred wooden bar that served as the counter in his book shop. He watched out the window as the sunset stained the cobblestones of Cooper Street red-gold and sending veins of twilight coursing along the cracks. The lights in Asha's tea shop across the street were visible, and he could sense her moving about, working as she always did when the shop was quiet for a moment. The more or less usual group of misfit students from the high school sat on the sofas in one of the alcoves, drinking some of Asha's teas at this moment, aware that it was damn good tea and made them feel better, but unaware of precisely why.

He sighed and slid a marker between the pages of the book he held. He was used to reading, making notes, and observing all that went on in the shop at the same time; he'd done that and more at the same time for decades. But Angel's Fall was stirring in ways that could be felt even in the haven of the Fall's Leaves, and his various projects, some of them sitting on those sofas and trying to make shy, halting conversation with each other over books about philosophy and witchcraft were just a few of them.

He didn't know or care precisely what the children were speaking about. As a young man — he wasn't a man, precisely, but thought of himself as one despite that — he'd eavesdropped constantly, focused almost mindlessly on the skeins and tangles of the present in others' lives. He was still slightly ashamed of the fact that revelation rather than his own morals had persuaded him to stop. And so he chose to remind ignorant of the contents of the conversation happening thirty feet away, and concentrated instead on the broader sense he had of each students' direction and purpose.
  • Current Mood
    sleepy sleepy

(no subject)

On the second floor there was a surprisingly bright room, with a big bay window
and several smaller windows on the sides, looking out over the nearby forested
mountains. Prarie had ordered a number of large potted plants, rolled out a yoga
mat and several pillows she had bought in a market in Kosamui, the island in
Thailand she spent her 23rd and 24th years on. She sat on the mat, cross legged,
staring out the bay window. She smiled at Anna toddling through the patch of
fresh mint in Sookis garden , while Sookie held up a sprig to Annas inquisitive
nose. Anna beamed, her chubby legs jumping a bit off the ground in delight at
the intoxicating mint scent. Despite the fact that her little blue dress was soft and plainat due to many hand washes, it was still obviously an expensive dress, carefully desined and purchased somwhere refined.

She had her plan forming as she gazed. She knew Ezra would turn the store over
to her with little struggle except the guilt of family commitment. She knew the
lure of her financial offer would be impossible to resist. It was obvious Ezra
was not interested in being in Angels Fall for very long. The ony real hitch was
getting herself rooted before Lee found her. A store, a house, a garden...these
things were solid enough to grab hold of her, she hoped.Time was growing shorter than the sunlight hours in Angels Fall. Annas jawline was starting to form into the shape of Lees. It was just a matter of transferring the money from the bank on the hugely busy corner near the dank, stagnant river in the city that was fading away....
me ↔ Some will remember us...

(no subject)

Yes, here I am making a return with a new character who is nothing to do with the main plot, who you can find introducted in the proper way here...

--
She waits, that's what she does. What she does on the days when she doesn't open the parlor, what she does when there's nothing to do but wait. The watiers here know her, and she always sits in the same booth, the one with only one bench and two walls of window. She watches the Fall, it's people, go by like a river, and she waits, and what she is waiting for is not always clear. Sometimes, she doodles in a notebook, ideas for inking, random words, the same name over, over, over like a prayer. Sometimes, she reads, paperback novels, history books, gossip magazines in French and Spanish and Arabic. Today, she does nothing at all. She sits in her booth, and she stares out of the window opposite her, and she thinks that, in a million different places different from and yet exactly like this one, a million women who is alike and different, with their hair knotted back or spiked or brushed just-so are also sitting. She wonders if, by chance, any of them woke up that morning, and decided to put on the slashed apart Cure t-shirt that is wearing over a black bra, blue jeans. She wonders if any of these parallel women even own this t-shirt; how defining was that concert, back when she was young? How much did Robert Smith define her as who she was?

Nimue Dante Finch sips her ice water, the Indian glass edged in faded gilt, and she thinks about these things.

And she waits.
kew gardens

Mandatory Roll Call

On March 26th of this year, I posted a roll call of members who were:

1. still actively playing
2. actively reading (this is for all you watchers out there)
3. wanting to play, but just hasn't done anything yet
4. no longer actively playing, but is still reading this community...
5. other (please explain)

And we got a fair turn out of members replying, both old and new.

All characters whose owners did not answer the roll call were placed on a "not in active use" category, which has become much larger than we like to see. And rather than writing duplicate characters (case in point: Ruth's character Tashir the Librarian,) which not only gets redundant, but confusing as well, it was decided that players could chose to develop the characters not in active use, if they so liked, especially if the authors had not replied to the roll call.

This roll call is now mandatory. If you are no longer playing and you indicate that you would like your characters removed from play, that is fine; they will go into an archive (like Stanton Andrews, for example.) However, if we get no reply from the authors, then we have no other choice than, but to assume that you are no longer playing, and your characters will be placed in an collective pool that other people can use.

The cut off for this roll call is July 5, 2004.
  • Current Mood
    annoyed annoyed
kew gardens

Housekeeping

I wrote this in reply to a new community member who asked, and I thought that I would post it for all to see to make new members more comfortable about some of this stuff and well as to get older members to voice their feelings on this... because this community isn't just me. :)

I think that as far as writing your own characters into the Angels Fall community that it would be cool to start an independent storyline if you would like. The characters can have ties to some of the other characters, like your character could know Father Bill from the Church or could like to go down to Murphy's for a pint or go to the Diner every Saturday morning for breakfast, but you shouldn't feel obligated that you need to join in the main storyline that is going on.

I am concerned that the main storyline is SO dominating the community right now that it is a bit intimidating to new community members who want to jump in and start writing, and that is definitely NOT what the community is about. It just sort of turned out that the story has gone the way it has, and a lot of that had to do with us learning how to write with each other, but I think that the existing community members would all agree that having other storylines within the community is a really good thing. I myself have just thrown in two characters totally unrelated to the major plotline that you are welcome to tie into your characters if that would make you feel more rooted.

Looking forward to what you are going to write,

Mel
Frink

Prairie returns

[With our moderator's approval, I'm continuing the story of Prairie and Anna from way, way back.]

Prairie looked up from her reading and blinked to see that it was fully dark outside. Guiltily, she listened for Anna. The baby was breathing easily and steadily in her cot in the next room. She would wake up in ten or eleven minutes and howl with hunger, though. Prairie's own stomach was howling too. How long had she been reading? All afternoon, and then some.

Standing, Prairie looked out into the garden of 920 Flint Way. One day soon there would be curtains at this window, but for now she could see the young trees swaying a little in the breeze. Hesitating, she played with her moonstone ring. She'd been uneasy ever since she'd visited the shop with the blue velvet curtains this morning. Ezra the shopkeeper had seemed surprised to see her, and not in a good way. Evidently he had not expected her to come back to Angels Fall once she'd left.

Other things about the shop had changed too. Ezra no longer stocked either herbs or glamours; it seemed he had not had a human customer for years. But there had been a steady stream of ghosts, and he had rigged up a bell which chimed every time one entered. Prairie couldn't see them, of course, but she had enough sight to know that each one was agitated, disturbed, seeking comforting dreams, their auras discordant. Ezra's aura remained as inscrutable as ever, multicoloured, shifting, scintillating, far too complex for Prairie to get to grips with. Whatever the shopkeeper was, he wasn't the usual kind of person either.

Pushing her doubts aside, Prairie strode into the kitchen and switched the cooker on. There was barely enough time to heat Anna's supper, and Anna's needs came first. Prairie could ease her stomach and work out her doubts afterwards.