Title: Legacies of a Physician's Daughter
Description: R-rated, to be sure.
Description: R-rated, to be sure.
Laila - June 7, 2006 11:13 PM (GMT)
Hey there, dearest potential reader!
When I found my way back here two weeks ago, I did it because by concentrating on my life away from the internet I seemed to have lost my writing spirit. I hoped that spending some time at this place would reconnect me, reading your stories would inspire me, but in fact I did not necessarily expect it to work. I found fun in reading your works - but I was surprised to find new ideas settling in me as well. One of them I liked especially - the one I now decided on calling "Legacies of a physician's daughter". I admit that I'm not really in the old Fandom craze anymore, I still feel a certain 'connection' to the guys from the fellowship - but I am not really interested in writing stories about them as actors. The truth is, that this story is rather plot than character driven and so none of the guys are like they are in real life. None of them is an actor - Elijah even had to be made a brit, and well I never claimed I was good at interpreting their personalities - but this time I don't think I actually tried.
There is something else I want to adress before I can start: I know that my english these days is not quite up to my standart of a year ago, slackened by lack of use, and it is certainly not anywhere near the quality you native speakers can achieve. However, I do believe that I can get there again, so if my first chapters appear a little rough, don't feel bad about pointing that out to me!
So, I think I'm ready to start the usual preliminaries:
Rating:
Knowing me, I should go with an R-rating here, even though I have not planned any sex-scenes yet - but I bet they'll be there.
Copyright Issues:
As always I don't own any of the celebrities mentioned.
Especially I don't own the logos used on the banners (Parkside Hospital and Labour Students especially). Parts of the story will take place in Parkside Hospital, I hope that is not a copyright infringement, the same goes for the Labour Students party. Here I also use some of their recent campaigns and place the ideas in my characters heads - sorry to all those smart and engaging young people, who don't feel like politics are beneith them or boring and stupid and believe that the only way to change something is to do something. I know these are your ideas, and I hope the mentioning does not bother you.
One more thing, kind of related, but not a copyright issue. In order for this plot to work I'm kind of tweaking history a little. The Family Clairmont-Fleur never existed and they are certainly not associated with the Capetian Dynasty. The medieval King who plays a great part in this - Charles IV of France, though being the last of his Dynasty as my story tells - did have 3 wifes and did have male heirs, but they all died before reaching adulthood, and his daughters could not inherit the crown because an old law was reinstated - the Salic Law. Lol so yeah, basically Charles VI is a fictional character ;). If you are interested in the actual historic events check out Wikipedia, it'll tell yu everything in a neat package.
Character Banners: (in alphabetical order)
Last but not least, I want to thank Sarah McLachlan and Shawn Colvin for creating music that invokes - for me personally - the perfect atmosphere for writing.
When I found my way back here two weeks ago, I did it because by concentrating on my life away from the internet I seemed to have lost my writing spirit. I hoped that spending some time at this place would reconnect me, reading your stories would inspire me, but in fact I did not necessarily expect it to work. I found fun in reading your works - but I was surprised to find new ideas settling in me as well. One of them I liked especially - the one I now decided on calling "Legacies of a physician's daughter". I admit that I'm not really in the old Fandom craze anymore, I still feel a certain 'connection' to the guys from the fellowship - but I am not really interested in writing stories about them as actors. The truth is, that this story is rather plot than character driven and so none of the guys are like they are in real life. None of them is an actor - Elijah even had to be made a brit, and well I never claimed I was good at interpreting their personalities - but this time I don't think I actually tried.
There is something else I want to adress before I can start: I know that my english these days is not quite up to my standart of a year ago, slackened by lack of use, and it is certainly not anywhere near the quality you native speakers can achieve. However, I do believe that I can get there again, so if my first chapters appear a little rough, don't feel bad about pointing that out to me!
So, I think I'm ready to start the usual preliminaries:
Rating:
Knowing me, I should go with an R-rating here, even though I have not planned any sex-scenes yet - but I bet they'll be there.
Copyright Issues:
As always I don't own any of the celebrities mentioned.
Especially I don't own the logos used on the banners (Parkside Hospital and Labour Students especially). Parts of the story will take place in Parkside Hospital, I hope that is not a copyright infringement, the same goes for the Labour Students party. Here I also use some of their recent campaigns and place the ideas in my characters heads - sorry to all those smart and engaging young people, who don't feel like politics are beneith them or boring and stupid and believe that the only way to change something is to do something. I know these are your ideas, and I hope the mentioning does not bother you.
One more thing, kind of related, but not a copyright issue. In order for this plot to work I'm kind of tweaking history a little. The Family Clairmont-Fleur never existed and they are certainly not associated with the Capetian Dynasty. The medieval King who plays a great part in this - Charles IV of France, though being the last of his Dynasty as my story tells - did have 3 wifes and did have male heirs, but they all died before reaching adulthood, and his daughters could not inherit the crown because an old law was reinstated - the Salic Law. Lol so yeah, basically Charles VI is a fictional character ;). If you are interested in the actual historic events check out Wikipedia, it'll tell yu everything in a neat package.
Character Banners: (in alphabetical order)
Last but not least, I want to thank Sarah McLachlan and Shawn Colvin for creating music that invokes - for me personally - the perfect atmosphere for writing.
Laila - June 7, 2006 11:22 PM (GMT)
I.
The library light flickered unsteadily from a halogen lamp in desperate need of replacing. It was almost midnight and a bright, nearly full moon almost seemed to challenge the dwindling interior lighting like a smile – bold and brazen. After all, the mysteries of the universe had long before begun to loose ground to the inventions of men.
Rubbing her eyes in rapidly decreasing intervals, Sophie Night was beginning to loose her own battle against nature. Hours and hours of pouring through old newspaper archives, long lists of genealogical studies and lineage records had left her eyes and tongue dry, her stomach empty and her mind numb and sleepy. Just one more list, one more year worth of newspaper, one more hour, she kept telling herself. This course of action was in fact more successful than one, who does not know Sophie, would predict. The redhead was known for many things, not all flattering by a long shot, but if there was one thing even her worst enemy would attest her without a doubt in their mind, it would be Sophie Night’s determination.
Slowly but steadily her dossier was growing. Filled with notes, pictures, newspaper articles and a family tree that could be traced back into the 13th century, Sophie was amazed at how much there was to be found about the Clairmont-Fleur family. But she was also beginning to get worried: although the family had been one of the most influential forces in Europe for many hundred years, they had lost their fortune in the early 1920’s and had never been able to regain any status. As far as she had been able to find out the only Clairmont-Fleurs left were the old Sir William Clairmont-Fleur, an almost 90 year old patron, who had still seen a hint of the glorious days but was now bedridden and slowly succumbed by the steadily growing cancer in his bowels, and his two grandchildren, Anaïs and Orlando.
Orlando, the older one, went by the last name of Bloom, his father’s name – he was a talented, young neurologist in a local hospital, and with his 28 years of age had only just begun to pay back his student loan. His sister, Anaïs Clairmont-Fleur, 22 years old, was born after her mother and father got divorced and the former had reassumed her maiden name. She currently attended the University of Westminster in politics and international relations.
She had only been 3 years old, Sophie realized with a pang of sympathy, when her parents had died together in a car-crash - which was incidentally the one occasion in recent history that had brought the Clairmont-Fleurs back into the newspapers, and the public’s awareness – if also only for a day or two.
Sophie sighed, she had never turned down a job: there never had been a reason to. Her morals usually failed to extend to the rich and famous, but with this one it was a different case. Sir William Clairmont-Fleur had asked for a meeting, in a surprisingly formal manner considering the weakness of his voice. On his message he had not informed her about his reasons, but whatever his agenda – Sophie highly doubted that he would be able to afford her services.
Trying to shrug that thought off, Sophie engrossed herself in research again. Whatever the case was, one thing was for certain: She, Sophie Night, daughter of a single parent waitress, was a professional, and professionals come prepared, always.
It was when the sharp, lemony smell of detergent his her nostrils, fuelling the annoyance Sophie had begun to feel about the place, that she finally slapped the large file shut, and stretched her limbs. She told herself that another part of professionalism was being well rested before seeing a potential client, and decided that it was time to head home. She filed past the cleaning crew and headed to the front desk, where a middle-aged librarian snored softly in her chair. Sophie coughed loudly, and while the librarian began to stir, she scribbled a note about the broken lamp for the suggestions box.
Five minutes later she left the large Victorian building with two heavy tomes on old European dynasties and genealogy in her arms and her overflowing dossier stuffed in a messenger-bag.
The lopsided stairwell of the old apartment building creaked dangerously, but Sophie had stopped worrying about that years ago. This was her home and she loved the place, despite all its obvious flaws. It possessed all the characteristics she valued in a place to live: A good location, close to university and with that the library, close to nature (or as close as a public park can come to that), a dog-friendly landlord and a neighborhood, too engrossed in themselves to care.
A smile found its way onto her lips as she turned the lock to her apartment and Hamlet’s hysterically happy barks sounded from inside. She dropped her things immediately after opening the door, allowing the toy-poodle to jump into her arms and lick her hectically wherever he could reach. She apologized profoundly for letting him alone so long, and then as to make it up, grabbed his leash to take him to the park.
It was long after midnight by now, and the bright moon over-shone every star that might have been seen. The air smelled of traffic and rain, and Sophie realized that she was actually excited about finding out what the Clairmont-Fleurs could ask her to dig up.
On being asked about her job by family and friends even Sophie herself never truly knew how to describe what she did. Her degree was one in history but she had taken up a second part-time study in criminology.
She was a private investigator of sorts - broadly speaking, but she usually wasn’t hired to find criminals. Instead she researched into the history of old families, found ties, links, heirs – or discredited them.
It was this, which puzzled her about the Clairmont-Fleurs. There were barely any heirs left to carry on the bloodline, clans like theirs were so proud of, and besides – they did not inherit much more then the DNA of a once important family, anyway. Why care about the family tree now?
She tried to shrug it off as well, but was not quite ready to let go of the thought and deliver herself over to a good night’s sleep, however physically tired she felt. Her mind was still rather active, even more so after her midnights stroll and before she knew it she had converted her spacious bed into a part-time office. Sitting cross-legged in the center, she had scattered the contents of her dossier all around her in an organized mess. The longer she worked on this case, the more impressed she became. This was definitely the most elaborate family tree she had ever worked with.
Sophie had always had split emotions about her clients, she both resented them for their privileged status and reveled to some point in digging up discomforting news – but she had also always felt drawn to them, even though that motive lay much deeper under the surface.
It was not the money; that much she knew – she was smart, hard working and determined, someone like her could always make money. It wasn’t even the easier start they had in life, in fact, she was not sure she regarded that as a privilege at all. Those were not the things she envied.
It was nothing more or less then an indistinct feeling of having roots to look back on.
History had always fascinated her, but it was when she had first looked at old lineage records and family trees that she had found something to be truly passionate about. The thought of looking back on ancestors, who had lived in times she knew only from history books, had seen those world-changing events and, in case of her clients, often influenced them – had made her tremble with the weight of the past. She had never been able leave that obsession behind, she had never tried to and instead had made it her profession.
Sophie gasped, upon closer inspection of the tiny penmanship on the large copy of a sheet of paper entitled “Pedigree du Clairmont-Fleur” in old gilded letters. Her hand trembled, what she had learned was almost too much to believe, too much to take in. According to this document, Sophie took a few calming breaths, the now living Clairmont-Fleurs could claim a direct line to the Capetian Dynasty, who had reigned France for over 300 years. Sophie shivered, feeling more in touch with history then she ever had and not quite sure she was grasping all the implications. She put away the family tree and jumped off the bed, feeling less tired then ever. Hamlet had cocked his head curiously at sudden movement, but on realizing he would not be getting a special treat or pet, placed it back on his apricot paws.
Sophie’s fingers traced the book-covers in her shelf until she found what she was looking for: a book on French medieval history, she had to read up on, and immediately engrossed herself in it.
So far her research had posed no new insights, she had known more about the French kings then she had given herself credit for, but when she reached the chapter on Charles IV, also known as Charles IV the Fair, she stumbled over the few paragraphs, and squinted her eyes in surprise.
He had only been King for eight years, from 1322 to 1328, which in itself was not very surprising. The unexpected lay in his apparent lack of determination to produce a male heir, without whom the line ended and thus emptied the French throne for the succeeding Valois Dynasty. Sophie frowned; it did not seem to be a problem of fertility, since he had produced two daughters with his first wife Blanche de Bourgogne. But after that marriage had been dissolved in 1322 Charles IV had not married again, something that in his position was downright irresponsible towards his family, and seemed to hint to an attitude, not really fitting to a medieval king.
Sophie sighed, she knew she only did this to satisfy her curiosity, research so elaborate was quite unnecessary for a first consultation, but she began to have the feeling that this might just become the first job, in which the money she would get paid, might not matter too much.
to be continued...
The library light flickered unsteadily from a halogen lamp in desperate need of replacing. It was almost midnight and a bright, nearly full moon almost seemed to challenge the dwindling interior lighting like a smile – bold and brazen. After all, the mysteries of the universe had long before begun to loose ground to the inventions of men.
Rubbing her eyes in rapidly decreasing intervals, Sophie Night was beginning to loose her own battle against nature. Hours and hours of pouring through old newspaper archives, long lists of genealogical studies and lineage records had left her eyes and tongue dry, her stomach empty and her mind numb and sleepy. Just one more list, one more year worth of newspaper, one more hour, she kept telling herself. This course of action was in fact more successful than one, who does not know Sophie, would predict. The redhead was known for many things, not all flattering by a long shot, but if there was one thing even her worst enemy would attest her without a doubt in their mind, it would be Sophie Night’s determination.
Slowly but steadily her dossier was growing. Filled with notes, pictures, newspaper articles and a family tree that could be traced back into the 13th century, Sophie was amazed at how much there was to be found about the Clairmont-Fleur family. But she was also beginning to get worried: although the family had been one of the most influential forces in Europe for many hundred years, they had lost their fortune in the early 1920’s and had never been able to regain any status. As far as she had been able to find out the only Clairmont-Fleurs left were the old Sir William Clairmont-Fleur, an almost 90 year old patron, who had still seen a hint of the glorious days but was now bedridden and slowly succumbed by the steadily growing cancer in his bowels, and his two grandchildren, Anaïs and Orlando.
Orlando, the older one, went by the last name of Bloom, his father’s name – he was a talented, young neurologist in a local hospital, and with his 28 years of age had only just begun to pay back his student loan. His sister, Anaïs Clairmont-Fleur, 22 years old, was born after her mother and father got divorced and the former had reassumed her maiden name. She currently attended the University of Westminster in politics and international relations.
She had only been 3 years old, Sophie realized with a pang of sympathy, when her parents had died together in a car-crash - which was incidentally the one occasion in recent history that had brought the Clairmont-Fleurs back into the newspapers, and the public’s awareness – if also only for a day or two.
Sophie sighed, she had never turned down a job: there never had been a reason to. Her morals usually failed to extend to the rich and famous, but with this one it was a different case. Sir William Clairmont-Fleur had asked for a meeting, in a surprisingly formal manner considering the weakness of his voice. On his message he had not informed her about his reasons, but whatever his agenda – Sophie highly doubted that he would be able to afford her services.
Trying to shrug that thought off, Sophie engrossed herself in research again. Whatever the case was, one thing was for certain: She, Sophie Night, daughter of a single parent waitress, was a professional, and professionals come prepared, always.
It was when the sharp, lemony smell of detergent his her nostrils, fuelling the annoyance Sophie had begun to feel about the place, that she finally slapped the large file shut, and stretched her limbs. She told herself that another part of professionalism was being well rested before seeing a potential client, and decided that it was time to head home. She filed past the cleaning crew and headed to the front desk, where a middle-aged librarian snored softly in her chair. Sophie coughed loudly, and while the librarian began to stir, she scribbled a note about the broken lamp for the suggestions box.
Five minutes later she left the large Victorian building with two heavy tomes on old European dynasties and genealogy in her arms and her overflowing dossier stuffed in a messenger-bag.
The lopsided stairwell of the old apartment building creaked dangerously, but Sophie had stopped worrying about that years ago. This was her home and she loved the place, despite all its obvious flaws. It possessed all the characteristics she valued in a place to live: A good location, close to university and with that the library, close to nature (or as close as a public park can come to that), a dog-friendly landlord and a neighborhood, too engrossed in themselves to care.
A smile found its way onto her lips as she turned the lock to her apartment and Hamlet’s hysterically happy barks sounded from inside. She dropped her things immediately after opening the door, allowing the toy-poodle to jump into her arms and lick her hectically wherever he could reach. She apologized profoundly for letting him alone so long, and then as to make it up, grabbed his leash to take him to the park.
It was long after midnight by now, and the bright moon over-shone every star that might have been seen. The air smelled of traffic and rain, and Sophie realized that she was actually excited about finding out what the Clairmont-Fleurs could ask her to dig up.
On being asked about her job by family and friends even Sophie herself never truly knew how to describe what she did. Her degree was one in history but she had taken up a second part-time study in criminology.
She was a private investigator of sorts - broadly speaking, but she usually wasn’t hired to find criminals. Instead she researched into the history of old families, found ties, links, heirs – or discredited them.
It was this, which puzzled her about the Clairmont-Fleurs. There were barely any heirs left to carry on the bloodline, clans like theirs were so proud of, and besides – they did not inherit much more then the DNA of a once important family, anyway. Why care about the family tree now?
She tried to shrug it off as well, but was not quite ready to let go of the thought and deliver herself over to a good night’s sleep, however physically tired she felt. Her mind was still rather active, even more so after her midnights stroll and before she knew it she had converted her spacious bed into a part-time office. Sitting cross-legged in the center, she had scattered the contents of her dossier all around her in an organized mess. The longer she worked on this case, the more impressed she became. This was definitely the most elaborate family tree she had ever worked with.
Sophie had always had split emotions about her clients, she both resented them for their privileged status and reveled to some point in digging up discomforting news – but she had also always felt drawn to them, even though that motive lay much deeper under the surface.
It was not the money; that much she knew – she was smart, hard working and determined, someone like her could always make money. It wasn’t even the easier start they had in life, in fact, she was not sure she regarded that as a privilege at all. Those were not the things she envied.
It was nothing more or less then an indistinct feeling of having roots to look back on.
History had always fascinated her, but it was when she had first looked at old lineage records and family trees that she had found something to be truly passionate about. The thought of looking back on ancestors, who had lived in times she knew only from history books, had seen those world-changing events and, in case of her clients, often influenced them – had made her tremble with the weight of the past. She had never been able leave that obsession behind, she had never tried to and instead had made it her profession.
Sophie gasped, upon closer inspection of the tiny penmanship on the large copy of a sheet of paper entitled “Pedigree du Clairmont-Fleur” in old gilded letters. Her hand trembled, what she had learned was almost too much to believe, too much to take in. According to this document, Sophie took a few calming breaths, the now living Clairmont-Fleurs could claim a direct line to the Capetian Dynasty, who had reigned France for over 300 years. Sophie shivered, feeling more in touch with history then she ever had and not quite sure she was grasping all the implications. She put away the family tree and jumped off the bed, feeling less tired then ever. Hamlet had cocked his head curiously at sudden movement, but on realizing he would not be getting a special treat or pet, placed it back on his apricot paws.
Sophie’s fingers traced the book-covers in her shelf until she found what she was looking for: a book on French medieval history, she had to read up on, and immediately engrossed herself in it.
So far her research had posed no new insights, she had known more about the French kings then she had given herself credit for, but when she reached the chapter on Charles IV, also known as Charles IV the Fair, she stumbled over the few paragraphs, and squinted her eyes in surprise.
He had only been King for eight years, from 1322 to 1328, which in itself was not very surprising. The unexpected lay in his apparent lack of determination to produce a male heir, without whom the line ended and thus emptied the French throne for the succeeding Valois Dynasty. Sophie frowned; it did not seem to be a problem of fertility, since he had produced two daughters with his first wife Blanche de Bourgogne. But after that marriage had been dissolved in 1322 Charles IV had not married again, something that in his position was downright irresponsible towards his family, and seemed to hint to an attitude, not really fitting to a medieval king.
Sophie sighed, she knew she only did this to satisfy her curiosity, research so elaborate was quite unnecessary for a first consultation, but she began to have the feeling that this might just become the first job, in which the money she would get paid, might not matter too much.
to be continued...
Sammi - June 8, 2006 12:10 AM (GMT)
Hello Laila. :)
I was really excited when I saw your banner to know that we'd be getting a treat (yes, it may be considered a delecacy coming from you.) and then even more so, to see you'd posted this story.
First, I must say that your character banners are beautiful. I like how yours always give us slight insight into the story, without giving too much away, but still enticing.
As for the story, I am beyond intrigued. What a job this Sophie has, eh? To investigate family trees! And, now, she's stumbled upon something grand! Heirs to a royal line, that doesn't happen every day.
You've got yourself a keeper here, Laila! And, your English is suberb as ever. I know people who've grown up speaking it, and you write a million times better than they. I'm always amazed at how you manage to place these words together so that they flow this nicely. :heartbeat:
The dog was a nice addition, too. Adding a little more realism to the situation. ;)
Post more soon, hun.
:heartbeat:
Samma
I was really excited when I saw your banner to know that we'd be getting a treat (yes, it may be considered a delecacy coming from you.) and then even more so, to see you'd posted this story.
First, I must say that your character banners are beautiful. I like how yours always give us slight insight into the story, without giving too much away, but still enticing.
As for the story, I am beyond intrigued. What a job this Sophie has, eh? To investigate family trees! And, now, she's stumbled upon something grand! Heirs to a royal line, that doesn't happen every day.
You've got yourself a keeper here, Laila! And, your English is suberb as ever. I know people who've grown up speaking it, and you write a million times better than they. I'm always amazed at how you manage to place these words together so that they flow this nicely. :heartbeat:
The dog was a nice addition, too. Adding a little more realism to the situation. ;)
Post more soon, hun.
:heartbeat:
Samma
LijsSunshine06 - June 8, 2006 01:25 AM (GMT)
Hi Laila,
I saw the banner for this story a few days ago and I was immediately interested in it. And I'm really glad I found this story because I really liked this a lot. Sammi's right, I wonder what Sophie's job is and it is very interesting so far.
I can't wait to see more :)
Katie
I saw the banner for this story a few days ago and I was immediately interested in it. And I'm really glad I found this story because I really liked this a lot. Sammi's right, I wonder what Sophie's job is and it is very interesting so far.
I can't wait to see more :)
Katie
Airefeaiel - June 8, 2006 05:55 AM (GMT)
I've always admired your work from afar, and once again I'm left awestruck at how great a writer you are. How eloquent you are in your descriptions and portrayals. This first chapter was very intriguing, consider me a fan!
:heartbeat: Pat
:heartbeat: Pat
Ithil'Quessir - June 8, 2006 10:14 AM (GMT)
I have seen the announcement and I was curious about this fic, so when I saw it I immediately wanted to read it.
The first chapter has intrigued me, though it reminds me just a wee bit of the Da Vinci Code so far, with the genealogical studies and the importand bloodline and all... But it is after all only the first chapter, it can go millions of ways from here!
I wish you the best of luck in writing this and I assure you I will be a loyal reader!
Love, Moon :hug:
The first chapter has intrigued me, though it reminds me just a wee bit of the Da Vinci Code so far, with the genealogical studies and the importand bloodline and all... But it is after all only the first chapter, it can go millions of ways from here!
I wish you the best of luck in writing this and I assure you I will be a loyal reader!
Love, Moon :hug:
Laila - June 8, 2006 06:35 PM (GMT)
Hey there guys!
I can't believe it, one day and so many replies already. Thank you so much! I don't quite know how to say this, but it almost means more to me than ever - because I haven't written anything in so long, and I missed it and missed people commenting... I mist all of this, everything. Thank you so much for easing me in so sweetly.
Sammi,
*lol* thanks for you kind words on my english... I would be more than extatic if you are right and my hesitation and less flexibility with the language didn't show in the product. I'm not fully convinced, but working on it. :) and yeah I love Hamlet, I mean I am a proclaimed poodle fan but I think it gives the touhg girl a cutesy outlet. ;)
Katie,
hey there, well Sophies job - I guess I wanted to try something new. My typical characters are students, teachers, actors (lol obviously)... and well not much else. So why not make up a new profession alltogether... then again I bet there are people who do stuff like that, and I bet they also have a name - I just don't know it ;). But thanks for your words of encouragement!
Pat,
thanks so much. *dances around* I have a fan, yay. So far I am not so sure I actually portrayed my idea of Sophie - but i guess it will all fall into place. :)
Moon,
hey is that actually your name? *lol* But yeah I'm totally with you on the Da Vinci Code Issue. In fact I know that it played a part in inspiring that idea. Alongside Jeffrey Archer's Prodigal Daugher and many others. However the only similarity is that events from the past have an effect on the present, and someone tries to find those links to the past. It has nothing to do with religion and it's genre is very very far off from a thriller - I'm really not good with suspense ;).
So thank you and I hope I won't disappoint you with the way the plot is going to take!
love,
Laila
I can't believe it, one day and so many replies already. Thank you so much! I don't quite know how to say this, but it almost means more to me than ever - because I haven't written anything in so long, and I missed it and missed people commenting... I mist all of this, everything. Thank you so much for easing me in so sweetly.
Sammi,
*lol* thanks for you kind words on my english... I would be more than extatic if you are right and my hesitation and less flexibility with the language didn't show in the product. I'm not fully convinced, but working on it. :) and yeah I love Hamlet, I mean I am a proclaimed poodle fan but I think it gives the touhg girl a cutesy outlet. ;)
Katie,
hey there, well Sophies job - I guess I wanted to try something new. My typical characters are students, teachers, actors (lol obviously)... and well not much else. So why not make up a new profession alltogether... then again I bet there are people who do stuff like that, and I bet they also have a name - I just don't know it ;). But thanks for your words of encouragement!
Pat,
thanks so much. *dances around* I have a fan, yay. So far I am not so sure I actually portrayed my idea of Sophie - but i guess it will all fall into place. :)
Moon,
hey is that actually your name? *lol* But yeah I'm totally with you on the Da Vinci Code Issue. In fact I know that it played a part in inspiring that idea. Alongside Jeffrey Archer's Prodigal Daugher and many others. However the only similarity is that events from the past have an effect on the present, and someone tries to find those links to the past. It has nothing to do with religion and it's genre is very very far off from a thriller - I'm really not good with suspense ;).
So thank you and I hope I won't disappoint you with the way the plot is going to take!
love,
Laila
Bloomiecurse - June 8, 2006 08:29 PM (GMT)
Well... what can I say?
I was really happy to see you back here days ago... and I am honestly glad you decided that EWAC should be the place to come back and share your writings. And what writings! Your new fan fiction sounds extremely intriguing, your use of the language is superbe, as it has always been and the plot is more than promising.
I am sure that this will have lots of readers.
Keep it up, and as we say in Italian
Il primo amore non si scorda mai...
(something along the line of " The first love is hardly forgotten".
^_^
I was really happy to see you back here days ago... and I am honestly glad you decided that EWAC should be the place to come back and share your writings. And what writings! Your new fan fiction sounds extremely intriguing, your use of the language is superbe, as it has always been and the plot is more than promising.
I am sure that this will have lots of readers.
Keep it up, and as we say in Italian
Il primo amore non si scorda mai...
(something along the line of " The first love is hardly forgotten".
^_^
Mena - June 9, 2006 11:56 AM (GMT)
| QUOTE (Bloomiecurse @ Jun 8 2006, 10:29 PM) |
| Keep it up, and as we say in Italian Il primo amore non si scorda mai... ^_^ |
Ditto.
I gaped at this thread for a good minute before the realization sunk in... I mean, it's like seeing a celebrity walk into your favourite coffee shop!
I have always been a fan of you, Laila, and every new piece of yout writing gives me confirmation you deserve all the appreciaion I can muster. It's simply unique, but in your way to pick up and blend words, and with te topics you choose and approach.
I am so glad you're back!
Laila - June 10, 2006 06:02 PM (GMT)
Aww hey you two!
Ursi,
I have to admit I was nervous about you... *lol* I feel like I have been an ass about this place - more than once. But who knew my muse would hang out here, while I was turning my life upside down looking for the saucy little thing. And yeah, your right about the first love thing... :)
Thanks for your lovely comment, also.
*hugs*
and Mena,
you crazy, wonderful, strange girl. Why I call you that? well...
Ursi,
I have to admit I was nervous about you... *lol* I feel like I have been an ass about this place - more than once. But who knew my muse would hang out here, while I was turning my life upside down looking for the saucy little thing. And yeah, your right about the first love thing... :)
Thanks for your lovely comment, also.
*hugs*
and Mena,
you crazy, wonderful, strange girl. Why I call you that? well...
| QUOTE |
| I mean, it's like seeing a celebrity walk into your favourite coffee shop! |
Any other objections?
But since you speak of me as a celeb - I'm that kind of celeb that after a drug and alcohol rehab tries to make people believe again that she is actually rather nice. ;)
But yeah, you're crazy and I love you for it! Thank you so much!
so yeah - this was a great day, I think my muse does have a little bit of a bad conscience for hiding from me for so long, and now she thinks she can make it up by spoiling me. She's not so wrong, I must say. It's beautiful and sunny outside and I sat in a kind of lounge-chair in the garden, the laptop on my... well lap ;), and I managed to put the finishing touches to the next and write about half of the 3rd chapter. So - since I'm away on Sunday, I'll post it now. I hope you guys like it!
Laila - June 10, 2006 06:04 PM (GMT)
II.
Dr. Orlando Bloom woke up with a fright and jumped up from his chair. The beeper, he had not been aware of clutching in his hand, fell to the floor, where its vibration caused it to rotate noisily on its own axis in a perfect choreography to the steady beep. The young man, trying to clear the fog from his eyes and mind, steadied himself against the table he had been sleeping at, hunched over his arms. His vision did not clear before the pager ran out of life and remained silent on the linoleum floor. Picking it up, Orlando was overcome by a nauseating sensation of vertigo. He sat down again, supported his head, which seemed unusually heavy, with one hand and checked his message with the other.
"Go Home, Lando, you smell!" it read, and a confused and sleepy groan past the young man's lips, shortly followed by a strained "What the hell?"
A sonorous chuckle caused him to spin around and focus on a man, sitting at the head-nurse's computer and grinning his self-satisfied smirk. Orlando rolled his eyes and pretended to throw the pager at his friend. The movement loosened a somewhat greasy curl from his hairdo and fell into his face. The young man barely registered it.
"Bastard!" He commented lamely.
"I mean it, mate, you need a shower and a good-night's sleep!" Sean said, serious this time. "Don't get me wrong, nobody complains about you working extra, but after a 48-hour-shift I need you to rest, come on, get changed and I'll give you lift!"
Orlando, trying to rid himself from the numbness of his usually rather sharp mind, shook his head, screwing up his face in the process. He looked like a wet dog, shaking water out of his fur.
"I have a consultation… what time is it?" he said finally checking his watch, but Sean beat him to it.
"8 a.m.," he answered, "And Keppler took your consultation in case you wondered!"
Orlando sighed in relief, after a moment of panic of having overslept an appointment, and then nodded and mumbled a "'kay…", before trotting into the men's changing room without another word to Sean.
He still wasn't quite awake, even after sticking his head under the water tab, but he enjoyed the sensation of cool water dropping from his hair down his spine. Sean was right, he usually was. Over 15 years his senior, Sean was the head of the neurological wing, and Orlando considered him his mentor and friend.
He revived a bit while he stepped out of his white trousers and coat and into jeans and sweater. When he stepped back into the corridor Sean was waiting for him, already in his usual clothes, Orlando realized he had not noticed that before. He smiled wryly and followed his friend to his car. They didn't talk much, both were tired and the noisy hospital atmosphere did not invite conversation.
Leaning against the Mercedes, Orlando watched Sean unlocking his car, when he stopped and turned to him.
"How about I buy you a beer?" he asked into the blue, Orlando chuckled.
"Where do they serve beer at 8 am?" he asked, grinning, but not unwilling.
"I know a place…" Sean answered smiling, opened the front door and sat down behind the steering wheel.
The fresh air had felt so good around his face that Orlando was momentarily a little reluctant to enter the car, but he resisted the urge and followed Sean. The Mercedes still smelled like new leather.
Again they fell back into silence as Sean steered the car off the hospital parking lot, Orlando leaned back into the seat, not as sleepy as before, but still exhausted. He had not paid attention to the road, but it was only a few minutes later that Sean pulled over into another parking lot and stepped out of the car. Orlando followed him and joined him as he was just about to open the luggage boot. He grinned as the 'luggage' that came into sight turned out to be a semi-full beer crate of Nyewood Gold.
"I like the place!" He commented with a broad smile as Sean took out two bottles, handed one to Orlando and they sat down on the bonnet, facing the Themes, glowing golden in the rising sun. He was still busy taking in the scenery when Sean, staring straight ahead put his beer down next to him.
"I got engaged…" he said softly, and then chuckled, as if the though alone was absurd. Orlando's eyes widened.
"Congratulations, man!" He wasn't sure what to say. "When did you ask her?"
"Last weekend…"
Orlando took a sidelong glance at his friend; he did not seem overly excited.
"I had no idea you loved her that much…" he finally blurted out, regretting it immediately when Sean snorted and shrugged.
"Liz is a beautiful girl…" he finally said, but Orlando was not satisfied and his expression showed that. Sean looked momentarily annoyed.
"What do want to hear, Orlando, that I don't love her?!" His voice was harsh, but he checked himself and continued calmer: "You're right, I don't, not the way you think of it anyway. She is beautiful, she makes my life comfortable… don't look at me like that, wait till you're my age and the big 5-0 looms ahead and you're a fucking divorcee, who spends all this time at work…"
Silence fell again; both men took swigs from their bottles.
"You're a fuckin' dreamer, Orlando…"
Orlando smiled at that, realizing that it was probably true. He knew he had not always been that way, in Uni; he had thrived on his good looks, never staying long with any girl, and not choosing those who expected him to. But since his work and his ambition to save some money to open his own praxis, had pressed him into the semi-ascetic lifestyle, he was still getting used to, he had changed. It was more than that though, he decided, lately – even though he did feel the same urges as he had in his early twenties, he now barely ever even saw a woman, who made him think she would make the time and effort worthwhile.
"How's the old man?" Sean finally initiated another conversation.
"He's hanging in there…" Orlando answered, his brow furrowed with suppressed emotions. His grandfather was a sore subject on many levels.
"Le'me take you home…" the older man finally suggested when Orlando did not volunteer any more information, and Orlando nodded, he was tired and he couldn't help but feel annoyed and a little disappointed with Sean. He knew about his cynic side, but it seldom showed and it did not sit well on him.
When they arrived at the small detached house Orlando did not bother to ask his friend in, Sean had not expected him to. He waved and drove away while Orlando turned the key and entered. The smell of retirement home hit his nostrils; they had never been able to get rid of it. He sighed and dropped onto the couch, then smiled at seeing his little sister standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She looked sleepy and smiled back.
"Hey you!" Anaïs mumbled in her morning-voice.
"Hey yourself!" Orlando answered their traditional greeting and smiled tenderly. Her hair stuck in all directions, she still had her pyjamas on and a fading red pressure mark over her right cheek.
"I was just about to make breakfast for gram-pa and me, you want any or will you go straight to bed again?" She rubbed her piecing blue eyes and stretched her arms away from her in a loud yawn.
"Breakfast sounds lovely…"
Orlando stood in the doorway to the kitchen, as she had before, watching her cut up onions from a distance.
"How's that boyfriend of yours?" he asked in a blatantly obvious attempt to sound casual.
"Good." She answered shortly. Orlando wasn't sure weather her taciturnity was caused by the stinging onions, driving tears to her eyes, or a possible problem in their relationship. But he knew better than to press her. Anaïs would come to him when she needed to talk, and shrink back from him when she wasn't ready. With a sigh of relief she finished the onions and washed her hands under cold water, the burning in her eyes stopped immediately, and she continued to open a few eggs for omelettes.
"And how's politics?" he tried again. She turned around smiling.
"Like all the old strumpets of mystery – lonely and misunderstood." She grinned smugly at her big brother's chuckle.
"I should go check on him…" Orlando said after a while, and turned around, leaving his sister in the kitchen. It was only a few steps to his grandfather's room; they had transformed the former living room for him, when he was still able to walk around, but was getting too weak for the steps. He had always been a very healthy and strong man, forgoing temptations and priding himself in eating well and exercising. He had gotten 90 years old before his health caught up with him.
The door squeaked softly, when Orlando entered, his grandfather had already been propped up by a second pillow, undoubtedly Anaïs' doing.
He looked at his grandson sharply, and wished him a stiff good morning. Orlando returned the greeting and then quickly engrossed himself in checking the old man's pulse and the file, in which the nurse documented anything important.
"Sit down here for a while!" Sir William Clairmont-Fleur ordered formally, jotting his arm into the direction of a chair standing close by the bed. Orlando obeyed reluctantly.
"Have you thought about it?"
Orlando tried to hide a sigh of annoyance. It could not be any clearer to him which "it" his grandfather was referring to. Ever since his health had deteriorated that much he had been obsessed with his will, and there was one thing he did not seem willing to accept: The only male heir of their family, Orlando, would not carry on their name. He was named after his father, Charles Bloom, and the old man had been at him for months, trying to convince him to assume the name that he could rightfully claim – Clairmont-Fleur.
"Grandpa, I have told you, I won't have my name changed!" he ended up saying harsher than he had intended, "I like my name the way it is."
"Young man, it is not a breach of trust towards your father, god rest his soul, you know that, don't you? - Do you really want our family to die with me?" The once so strong voice of his grandfather, usually so formal and untouchable sounded weak and a little broken. A hint of pain glimmered in Orlando's eyes, as he realized he had never heard his grandfather saying anything that close to begging before, but when he saw the hard look in his eyes he got the impression he was being manipulated and annoyance took over again.
He was about to say something he might have regretted later, when Anaïs entered the room, smiling broadly and carrying a plate that smelled incredibly reviving to Orlando. She put it down on the device they had come up with to allow their grandfather to sit in bed while having breakfast and pulled open the curtains to let some sun in, and the windows for some fresh air.
Orlando sighed and seeing his chance he stiffly kissed his grandfather on the forehead, told him how tired he was and that he would head to bed, he even let himself promise to think about the issue again, before he could flee the room.
Anaïs followed shortly and sat down on the back of the sofa, one leg at each side of him and while he was eating his breakfast started to massage his shoulders gently.
"Why don't you just do it?" she finally asked softly. Orlando groaned, even though he could tell it had cost her some courage to ask him.
"Not you too! I like my damn name; I see no reason to change it!" He heard her sigh, but he knew he wasn't through, he might consider her wishes for privacy, but she seldom granted him the same courtesy, and he never complained.
"I'm just saying, you have no reason against it either, and it means so much to him, for crying out loud, you said yourself he won't be here for long… can't you just…" she broke off, stealing a bit from his omelette to cover up the silence that followed after her unfinished statement.
Orlando sighed, deep down he knew that it was the loss of his father that he had never truly overcome that put the issue completely out of question, but he was unable to put these impulses into rational sentences, or even thoughts - and wasn't sure he wanted to. It was different for Anaïs, he knew, she did not remember - he did. Flashes, not much more. He remembered his father come home in his white coat and the old fashioned leather case that held his utensils, he used to kiss his mother and scoop him up in both arms, whirling him through the air. That was before the divorce; afterwards he had never been quite as exuberant. When he was younger he had despised their mother, she had asked for a meeting, wanting him back and they had been in her car when it had crashed. As he had grown older he had learned to keep his feelings in check, even from himself – but secretly it gave him more joy than he would admit to, to be called Dr. Bloom, like his father had been.
There was nothing that could change his mind on the issue.
to be continued...
Dr. Orlando Bloom woke up with a fright and jumped up from his chair. The beeper, he had not been aware of clutching in his hand, fell to the floor, where its vibration caused it to rotate noisily on its own axis in a perfect choreography to the steady beep. The young man, trying to clear the fog from his eyes and mind, steadied himself against the table he had been sleeping at, hunched over his arms. His vision did not clear before the pager ran out of life and remained silent on the linoleum floor. Picking it up, Orlando was overcome by a nauseating sensation of vertigo. He sat down again, supported his head, which seemed unusually heavy, with one hand and checked his message with the other.
"Go Home, Lando, you smell!" it read, and a confused and sleepy groan past the young man's lips, shortly followed by a strained "What the hell?"
A sonorous chuckle caused him to spin around and focus on a man, sitting at the head-nurse's computer and grinning his self-satisfied smirk. Orlando rolled his eyes and pretended to throw the pager at his friend. The movement loosened a somewhat greasy curl from his hairdo and fell into his face. The young man barely registered it.
"Bastard!" He commented lamely.
"I mean it, mate, you need a shower and a good-night's sleep!" Sean said, serious this time. "Don't get me wrong, nobody complains about you working extra, but after a 48-hour-shift I need you to rest, come on, get changed and I'll give you lift!"
Orlando, trying to rid himself from the numbness of his usually rather sharp mind, shook his head, screwing up his face in the process. He looked like a wet dog, shaking water out of his fur.
"I have a consultation… what time is it?" he said finally checking his watch, but Sean beat him to it.
"8 a.m.," he answered, "And Keppler took your consultation in case you wondered!"
Orlando sighed in relief, after a moment of panic of having overslept an appointment, and then nodded and mumbled a "'kay…", before trotting into the men's changing room without another word to Sean.
He still wasn't quite awake, even after sticking his head under the water tab, but he enjoyed the sensation of cool water dropping from his hair down his spine. Sean was right, he usually was. Over 15 years his senior, Sean was the head of the neurological wing, and Orlando considered him his mentor and friend.
He revived a bit while he stepped out of his white trousers and coat and into jeans and sweater. When he stepped back into the corridor Sean was waiting for him, already in his usual clothes, Orlando realized he had not noticed that before. He smiled wryly and followed his friend to his car. They didn't talk much, both were tired and the noisy hospital atmosphere did not invite conversation.
Leaning against the Mercedes, Orlando watched Sean unlocking his car, when he stopped and turned to him.
"How about I buy you a beer?" he asked into the blue, Orlando chuckled.
"Where do they serve beer at 8 am?" he asked, grinning, but not unwilling.
"I know a place…" Sean answered smiling, opened the front door and sat down behind the steering wheel.
The fresh air had felt so good around his face that Orlando was momentarily a little reluctant to enter the car, but he resisted the urge and followed Sean. The Mercedes still smelled like new leather.
Again they fell back into silence as Sean steered the car off the hospital parking lot, Orlando leaned back into the seat, not as sleepy as before, but still exhausted. He had not paid attention to the road, but it was only a few minutes later that Sean pulled over into another parking lot and stepped out of the car. Orlando followed him and joined him as he was just about to open the luggage boot. He grinned as the 'luggage' that came into sight turned out to be a semi-full beer crate of Nyewood Gold.
"I like the place!" He commented with a broad smile as Sean took out two bottles, handed one to Orlando and they sat down on the bonnet, facing the Themes, glowing golden in the rising sun. He was still busy taking in the scenery when Sean, staring straight ahead put his beer down next to him.
"I got engaged…" he said softly, and then chuckled, as if the though alone was absurd. Orlando's eyes widened.
"Congratulations, man!" He wasn't sure what to say. "When did you ask her?"
"Last weekend…"
Orlando took a sidelong glance at his friend; he did not seem overly excited.
"I had no idea you loved her that much…" he finally blurted out, regretting it immediately when Sean snorted and shrugged.
"Liz is a beautiful girl…" he finally said, but Orlando was not satisfied and his expression showed that. Sean looked momentarily annoyed.
"What do want to hear, Orlando, that I don't love her?!" His voice was harsh, but he checked himself and continued calmer: "You're right, I don't, not the way you think of it anyway. She is beautiful, she makes my life comfortable… don't look at me like that, wait till you're my age and the big 5-0 looms ahead and you're a fucking divorcee, who spends all this time at work…"
Silence fell again; both men took swigs from their bottles.
"You're a fuckin' dreamer, Orlando…"
Orlando smiled at that, realizing that it was probably true. He knew he had not always been that way, in Uni; he had thrived on his good looks, never staying long with any girl, and not choosing those who expected him to. But since his work and his ambition to save some money to open his own praxis, had pressed him into the semi-ascetic lifestyle, he was still getting used to, he had changed. It was more than that though, he decided, lately – even though he did feel the same urges as he had in his early twenties, he now barely ever even saw a woman, who made him think she would make the time and effort worthwhile.
"How's the old man?" Sean finally initiated another conversation.
"He's hanging in there…" Orlando answered, his brow furrowed with suppressed emotions. His grandfather was a sore subject on many levels.
"Le'me take you home…" the older man finally suggested when Orlando did not volunteer any more information, and Orlando nodded, he was tired and he couldn't help but feel annoyed and a little disappointed with Sean. He knew about his cynic side, but it seldom showed and it did not sit well on him.
When they arrived at the small detached house Orlando did not bother to ask his friend in, Sean had not expected him to. He waved and drove away while Orlando turned the key and entered. The smell of retirement home hit his nostrils; they had never been able to get rid of it. He sighed and dropped onto the couch, then smiled at seeing his little sister standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She looked sleepy and smiled back.
"Hey you!" Anaïs mumbled in her morning-voice.
"Hey yourself!" Orlando answered their traditional greeting and smiled tenderly. Her hair stuck in all directions, she still had her pyjamas on and a fading red pressure mark over her right cheek.
"I was just about to make breakfast for gram-pa and me, you want any or will you go straight to bed again?" She rubbed her piecing blue eyes and stretched her arms away from her in a loud yawn.
"Breakfast sounds lovely…"
Orlando stood in the doorway to the kitchen, as she had before, watching her cut up onions from a distance.
"How's that boyfriend of yours?" he asked in a blatantly obvious attempt to sound casual.
"Good." She answered shortly. Orlando wasn't sure weather her taciturnity was caused by the stinging onions, driving tears to her eyes, or a possible problem in their relationship. But he knew better than to press her. Anaïs would come to him when she needed to talk, and shrink back from him when she wasn't ready. With a sigh of relief she finished the onions and washed her hands under cold water, the burning in her eyes stopped immediately, and she continued to open a few eggs for omelettes.
"And how's politics?" he tried again. She turned around smiling.
"Like all the old strumpets of mystery – lonely and misunderstood." She grinned smugly at her big brother's chuckle.
"I should go check on him…" Orlando said after a while, and turned around, leaving his sister in the kitchen. It was only a few steps to his grandfather's room; they had transformed the former living room for him, when he was still able to walk around, but was getting too weak for the steps. He had always been a very healthy and strong man, forgoing temptations and priding himself in eating well and exercising. He had gotten 90 years old before his health caught up with him.
The door squeaked softly, when Orlando entered, his grandfather had already been propped up by a second pillow, undoubtedly Anaïs' doing.
He looked at his grandson sharply, and wished him a stiff good morning. Orlando returned the greeting and then quickly engrossed himself in checking the old man's pulse and the file, in which the nurse documented anything important.
"Sit down here for a while!" Sir William Clairmont-Fleur ordered formally, jotting his arm into the direction of a chair standing close by the bed. Orlando obeyed reluctantly.
"Have you thought about it?"
Orlando tried to hide a sigh of annoyance. It could not be any clearer to him which "it" his grandfather was referring to. Ever since his health had deteriorated that much he had been obsessed with his will, and there was one thing he did not seem willing to accept: The only male heir of their family, Orlando, would not carry on their name. He was named after his father, Charles Bloom, and the old man had been at him for months, trying to convince him to assume the name that he could rightfully claim – Clairmont-Fleur.
"Grandpa, I have told you, I won't have my name changed!" he ended up saying harsher than he had intended, "I like my name the way it is."
"Young man, it is not a breach of trust towards your father, god rest his soul, you know that, don't you? - Do you really want our family to die with me?" The once so strong voice of his grandfather, usually so formal and untouchable sounded weak and a little broken. A hint of pain glimmered in Orlando's eyes, as he realized he had never heard his grandfather saying anything that close to begging before, but when he saw the hard look in his eyes he got the impression he was being manipulated and annoyance took over again.
He was about to say something he might have regretted later, when Anaïs entered the room, smiling broadly and carrying a plate that smelled incredibly reviving to Orlando. She put it down on the device they had come up with to allow their grandfather to sit in bed while having breakfast and pulled open the curtains to let some sun in, and the windows for some fresh air.
Orlando sighed and seeing his chance he stiffly kissed his grandfather on the forehead, told him how tired he was and that he would head to bed, he even let himself promise to think about the issue again, before he could flee the room.
Anaïs followed shortly and sat down on the back of the sofa, one leg at each side of him and while he was eating his breakfast started to massage his shoulders gently.
"Why don't you just do it?" she finally asked softly. Orlando groaned, even though he could tell it had cost her some courage to ask him.
"Not you too! I like my damn name; I see no reason to change it!" He heard her sigh, but he knew he wasn't through, he might consider her wishes for privacy, but she seldom granted him the same courtesy, and he never complained.
"I'm just saying, you have no reason against it either, and it means so much to him, for crying out loud, you said yourself he won't be here for long… can't you just…" she broke off, stealing a bit from his omelette to cover up the silence that followed after her unfinished statement.
Orlando sighed, deep down he knew that it was the loss of his father that he had never truly overcome that put the issue completely out of question, but he was unable to put these impulses into rational sentences, or even thoughts - and wasn't sure he wanted to. It was different for Anaïs, he knew, she did not remember - he did. Flashes, not much more. He remembered his father come home in his white coat and the old fashioned leather case that held his utensils, he used to kiss his mother and scoop him up in both arms, whirling him through the air. That was before the divorce; afterwards he had never been quite as exuberant. When he was younger he had despised their mother, she had asked for a meeting, wanting him back and they had been in her car when it had crashed. As he had grown older he had learned to keep his feelings in check, even from himself – but secretly it gave him more joy than he would admit to, to be called Dr. Bloom, like his father had been.
There was nothing that could change his mind on the issue.
to be continued...
Sammi - June 11, 2006 06:13 AM (GMT)
And more is unraveled. :)
Sidenote: I noticed only one thing grammatically incorrect:
Sidenote: I noticed only one thing grammatically incorrect:
| QUOTE |
| But since his work and his ambition to safe some money to open his own praxis... |
You save money, or keep it safe. Gosh, English is such a b*tch...
As for the chapter: brilliance. You're showing so much, especially of their psychology (which is beyond intriguing for me!). Like, the relationships are being introduced: the manipulative, dying grandfather, the workaholic grandson... and I guess Orlando wishes to have this only tie left to his father. That he wants to embody him somehow? I mean, a name is important, but to that person. It's a lot to ask someone, to change their name. I suppose you then have to take into account that they are the Clairmont-Fleurs... not common people, these siblings are.
I wonder if, in the end, Orlando will succumb to his gram-pa's wishes. If he'll find someone worthwhile. If he'll get past the death of his father. If he'll learn more about Anais's relationship. If this near-perfect girl for Dr Bloom will be Sophie (:yay: )... so many things here.
I can't believe we've only read two chapters of this. I'm seriously hooked! :meh:
But then again, look who's works I'm reading. :doh:
:heartbeat:
Samma
LijsSunshine06 - June 11, 2006 02:21 PM (GMT)
Sammi pretty much said everything I was going to say too lol.
Great job, I loved your portrayal of Orlando. :) I can't wait to see more :)
Katie
Great job, I loved your portrayal of Orlando. :) I can't wait to see more :)
Katie
Laila - June 12, 2006 07:26 PM (GMT)
Hey you guys,
wow - my first loyal readers. *hugs*
And yeah, I was never good at jumping right into action, so I need to built my story up a little before that.
I'm never really sure about my Bloom-portrayals - I mean I like him - in a manner of speaking, and I think he is progressing a lot as an actor, but I was never really a fan, I like Lij and Viggo :). So Bloomy seems easy to portray, his looks can go almost every way... but I'm never quite sure about him. :)
And thanks Sammi fotr pointing that out to me *lol* one of those mean trapfalls. I found another - I wrote divorce instead of divorcee. :meh:
The next chapter will come some time this week, I'm visiting my mother right now, so I'm kinda busy with family stuff, but as soon as I'm back tomorrow I'll engross myself in finishing No. III - promise!
love,
Laila
wow - my first loyal readers. *hugs*
And yeah, I was never good at jumping right into action, so I need to built my story up a little before that.
I'm never really sure about my Bloom-portrayals - I mean I like him - in a manner of speaking, and I think he is progressing a lot as an actor, but I was never really a fan, I like Lij and Viggo :). So Bloomy seems easy to portray, his looks can go almost every way... but I'm never quite sure about him. :)
And thanks Sammi fotr pointing that out to me *lol* one of those mean trapfalls. I found another - I wrote divorce instead of divorcee. :meh:
The next chapter will come some time this week, I'm visiting my mother right now, so I'm kinda busy with family stuff, but as soon as I'm back tomorrow I'll engross myself in finishing No. III - promise!
love,
Laila
Sammi - June 12, 2006 09:26 PM (GMT)
| QUOTE (Laila @ Jun 12 2006, 08:26 PM) |
| And thanks Sammi fotr pointing that out to me *lol* one of those mean trapfalls. I found another - I wrote divorce instead of divorcee. :meh: |
:meh: I figured you'd rather us point it out for future reference. I was lucky - born into probably the most difficult language, with our "melting pot" as we call it. Funny how many different cultural idioms are incorporated in this.
Can't wait for the next part! :bow:
:heartbeat:
Samma
Bloomiecurse - June 13, 2006 08:33 PM (GMT)
I don't think that Orlando will change his name, at least this is the sensation I have... but probably Laila will show things under a different perpsective and I'll be proved completely wrong.
:meh:
:meh:
Laila - June 15, 2006 04:32 PM (GMT)
*lol* well we'll see what he does...
But yeah, it's so weird for me writing this. It's probably the most plot driven story I have ever come up with. Usually I work better with characters - and well I admit I work well with sappy, steamy love stories. I did manage to work some love into the plot... but there's like so little room for the steam *laughs*. And I mean, don't get me wrong, I love porn - well written porn, but I don't like it if it's just there... you know to add porn. That's uninspiring. I like porn that tells a story, you know like a sex-scene that takes the reader further in the plot. In this story as far as I can overlook it now... *pouts* not much. At least not the really intense ones I like to write.
So yeah, Laila get over it, cause I love where this is going... but it is strange for me.
Oh and yeah - we won!!! Germany-Poland : 1:0. I watched it broadcasted on this huge screen yesterday and it was so exciting and great - lol and can you guys believe it's me talking about football (or soccer for some ignorants out there :neene:)?
Anyway that's why again I did not get to writing much, but I'm at it now and I guess it will be up sometime this weekend. :)
But yeah, it's so weird for me writing this. It's probably the most plot driven story I have ever come up with. Usually I work better with characters - and well I admit I work well with sappy, steamy love stories. I did manage to work some love into the plot... but there's like so little room for the steam *laughs*. And I mean, don't get me wrong, I love porn - well written porn, but I don't like it if it's just there... you know to add porn. That's uninspiring. I like porn that tells a story, you know like a sex-scene that takes the reader further in the plot. In this story as far as I can overlook it now... *pouts* not much. At least not the really intense ones I like to write.
So yeah, Laila get over it, cause I love where this is going... but it is strange for me.
Oh and yeah - we won!!! Germany-Poland : 1:0. I watched it broadcasted on this huge screen yesterday and it was so exciting and great - lol and can you guys believe it's me talking about football (or soccer for some ignorants out there :neene:)?
Anyway that's why again I did not get to writing much, but I'm at it now and I guess it will be up sometime this weekend. :)
Laila - June 16, 2006 07:02 PM (GMT)
*dances around in the thread* "I made it, I made it - I made it, I made it!" Yay!
pulpfiction :getdown: :yahoo
*clears throat* right. New chapter, everybody! Wow I'm so proud of my continuity, startecd it last friday and the 3rd chapter is up this friday. Two chapters per week would be a cool stint, don't you think? At least for now that I have so much time on my hands.
Thanks for everybody who is still reading this! I can't tell you how happy and grateful that makes me!
III.
As he finished his plate, Orlando was ready to head for his room, but wasn't sure his sister considered the conversation just as finished as his empty plate. She had not said anything in a while, had climbed down from the back of the sofa and sat down next to him cross-leggedly, her own plate on her lap. She looked somewhat sullen, Orlando decided, smiling inwardly. Lately he had begun to feel that he valued a sense of high-maintenance in women.
"I mean I would like us sharing a name…" She tried again, very sweetly and trying to overcome him from a different angle. Orlando grinned, a politician through and through, she had tried to make him feel guilty and now followed the mollifying sweetness she was so good at dispensing.
"Would a rose by any other same not smell as sweet?" he asked grinning in answer to her unasked question, and then broke out in his self-satisfied man-giggles, while taking a few girl-punches at his shoulder.
But Anaïs grinned as well, she knew that her bond to her brother was a lot stronger than the one most siblings enjoyed, and she did not often hesitate to test her boundaries. Orlando was more than a brother, he was like a single-parent and a best friend, he was advisor, listener and chief protector. But everybody comes to the point where they want to have a share of the leadership and begin to question their idol's judgment, and Anaïs was sure it would only strengthen their relationship.
The doorbell rang and Orlando grinned, "Saved by the bell!" he quipped, kissed her cheek and went upstairs to prepare for bed, leaving a grimacing sister to open the door.
"Yeah? How can I help you?" Anaïs asked somewhat suspicious. She had expected the post man or maybe a neighbour in need of something, instead a rather pretty young woman stood in from of her.
Anaïs estimated her age to be around her brother's, maybe slightly younger; she had obviously unnatural red hair and was clothed rather conservatively in a stylish fashion suit.
"Yes, hello, I have an appointment with Mr. Clairmont-Fleur!" Sophie answered with a slight smile at the younger woman – almost still a girl, she thought - who eyed her quizzically with those large sparkling blue eyes.
"Are you a lawyer?" She asked, unsure what to make of this morning visit and forgetting her manners in the process.
Sophie smiled broader, "No I'm not." She answered, and quickly raising her eyebrows in a friendly gesture added: "Thank god!" But she didn't volunteer any other information, which put Anaïs even more on edge. This woman was not only beautiful in that tough, intimidating, business-woman way, she was several inches taller than the younger woman, and Anaïs, who had nothing against tall men, usually - and unconsciously - felt a little threatened by and subsequently suspicious of women towering over her. She finally nodded uneasily, and stepped aside.
"Well, come in then, he is inside, are you sure he's awaiting you?" This was the closest she could bring herself to asking about her business, but Sophie just nodded, the polite smile sat rock-hard and unflinching on her face.
"Yes, of course, Mr. Clairmont-Fleur has asked for this meeting a few days ago." Sophie was aware that her secretive demeanour was putting the young woman off, and she was not comfortable with the situation. Not that she cared much about what was thought of her in general but she knew that later on in investigations she often relied on the information other family members could supply – and though this family seemed short of many things, family members seemed most obviously sparse. Sophie was sure she could not afford to alienate the young woman completely if she was to accept the job, on the other hand had the old man not informed her as to what level of privacy he wished her to employ, especially within the boundaries of the closest family.
Observing the rather stiff way the younger woman – who had not introduced herself – walked ahead, Sophie followed through a quite small but very tidy living area into a room that, undeniably, gave off a slight smell of retirement-home. For all she could tell it was not however caused by a lack of cleanliness.
Anaïs turned around to the foreigner as she opened the door and in turn tried to take in as much as she could about the way the woman approached her grandfather.
"Gram-pa, someone here to see you!" she stated in a rather uncommitted tone, and saw her grandfather sit up straighter and curve his lips in his characteristic polite and kind smile.
"It is a pleasure to meet you – Miss Night, I presume?" The old man's smile wrinkled his face into innumerable little folds and wrinkles. Sophie was sure he was the oldest man she had ever seen, but even though his body looked tired and ashen, his eyes still sparkled with intelligence and pride. She immediately felt drawn to him, to the aura of polite and unobtrusive power that still lingered.
"That's right, Sir," she answered, somehow feeling compelled to pay him respect, "and the pleasure is all mine!"
Anaïs eyed the two now with open suspicion, but lucky for her they did not notice.
"Can I bring you anything?" she asked, in an attempt to be included in the conversation they apparently were about to have, but with a gentle smile her grandfather shook his head.
"No thank you, pumpkin, we're fine, and I don't want to hold you up, don't you have a tube to catch?"
His words had been nothing short of utterly sweet, but Anaïs still felt rebuffed. She nodded and left the room. He had been right of course she did have to get ready for her morning-lecture, but she couldn't help but feeling like a naughty child that was sent of the room, when the grown-ups wished to have a serious conversation.
Inside Sophie sat down on a chair next to the bed, her legs curtly crossed beneath her knee-long skirt. She smiled at William Clairmont-Fleur expectantly.
"You are even more lovely then your voice suggested!" the old man complimented kindly, but Sophie could not detect a hint of lechery, which surprised her. She thanked him, smiling earnestly. She had always felt that it was not helpful to ask too many questions, in fact, she usually learned more by remaining quiet and leaving it up to the other person to fill the gap her silence created.
"Let me get straight to the point, then," he said before starting another attempt to sit up straighter – Sophie caught herself doing the same, however easy it was for her – and saw him smile at her knowingly. "I need you to find someone."
Anaïs stood in front of her dresser almost unaware of what she was picking out. Not that it mattered, most of her things fitted together, except for the handful of things she considered 'for special occasions' and usually tended to hang at the end of the rack, where the seldom used pieces disappeared to. She usually wore simple trousers, jeans or in summer light cotton pants and tops, which did not come off as too stylish or sexy. It was a clothing style she knew she had created for a specific effect, and did not necessarily represent all aspects of her taste. But as a woman with the ambition she had – she could not afford to leave anything up to chance. At the age of sixteen she had made a decision, she had prioritised the two things she was passionate about into a goal, an ambition, the thing she would pursue in life with all her might – and a hobby.
Literature was a hobby - her passion was politics.
So in a field that was still largely dominated by men, a woman did not only have to be twice as good as her male competitors, she had a lot more aspects to consider as well. Anaïs knew that good looks could go both ways, it was important to look both: approachable and highly competent, sweet and tough, and definitely not like someone to screw over. She had also learned early that while her good looks earned her the attention of men, it also had a quality to it that tended to cause people to underestimate her. Large, sparkling blue eyes, petite frame and innocent features – she couldn't help but feel they were all working against her. She was not ungrateful however, she had enough working for her to feel lucky as it was – she was a good speaker, was blessed with a sound and innovate mind, was stronger than she got credit for and she tended to be well liked – and, after all, the understated sophisticated look she wore quite well went a long way in overcoming the first impression, people usually got off her.
She ended up picking a dark green coloured, cashmere-imitating pullover, a white collar peeking out at the neckline, and very dark blue jeans. Her long, slightly curly hair was pulled up in a messy bun and ever so slight traces of make-up fished up a few blemishes on her chin.
The woman was still on her mind, what was she doing with her grandfather? Why had he asked for a meeting? What kind of business was she in? She wasn't sure what had caused it, but she knew she could be a suspicious person and did not trust people easily. Something in her often prevented her from seeing the best in people and eye them nervously, and Sophie Night was of now very high on her list.
Anaïs knew she had to hurry but she couldn't help herself, she had to know what was going on. Her first impulse was to go to her brother and she was already on her way to his room, when she checked herself. It was a selfish thought, no hint of light shone through the creak beneath his door, what probably meant that he had already drawn the heavy curtains close and might already be asleep, she knew he could fall asleep within minutes after a long shift, and how grouchy he would get when awoken. Rightly so, she thought. Her brother was no option, but he would probably be there when she got home in the evening and she promised herself to relate the events to him then, and he would know what to make of it – he always did.
Sighing she walked down the stairs when suddenly a sly smile sneaked its way into her face. If she could help it, this time she would not stand aside and wait for the information to drop into her lap – or rather being dropped there by Orlando. She was 21 years old, this she could handle herself. Downstairs she walked loudly to the front-door and opened and closed it noisily as well. Then quietly she stole her way back towards her grandfather's room, unfortunately the door was open however, apparently the woman had fetched him a drink from the kitchen.
"So after that, Charles never married – but according to the legend…" her grandfather was saying when he spotted her, she quickly covered her racing mind with a sweet smile – where had she heard that name before? He had not said 'Charles' in the usual English pronunciation instead he had used the French equivalent.
"… Pumpkin, I thought you had left already!" Her grandfather finished his open statement awkwardly but smiled.
"I was, when I thought of something I had forgotten!" She lied smiling the sweetest smile she could muster, "Do you remember that teacher, who was so fond of me in high-school? I wanted to get in touch with her for a possible recommendation she might write me, but I don't have her address. I thought you might have... can I check your address-book?"
Her grandfather looked puzzled for a moment and then nodded, "Of course you can…"
"Thanks!" she quipped, cutting him off and practically raced to get it out of his antique secretary before giving him enough time to over-think her statement and realize how unlikely it was that anyone needed a recommendation from her 8th grade social science teacher for a 21 year old girl about to achieve a bachelor's degree. But the lie had been reasonably well constructed, especially because Mrs. Cullum had been the one teacher her grandfather had had some contact with, had held in high esteem and would remember.
"I really have to hurry," she said loudly, leaving the room already, "I'll have it back to you tonight, ok?" Not waiting for an answer she shouldered her messenger-bag, shouted a short "See you tonight!", and left quickly to catch her bus - for real, this time.
pulpfiction :getdown: :yahoo
*clears throat* right. New chapter, everybody! Wow I'm so proud of my continuity, startecd it last friday and the 3rd chapter is up this friday. Two chapters per week would be a cool stint, don't you think? At least for now that I have so much time on my hands.
Thanks for everybody who is still reading this! I can't tell you how happy and grateful that makes me!
III.
As he finished his plate, Orlando was ready to head for his room, but wasn't sure his sister considered the conversation just as finished as his empty plate. She had not said anything in a while, had climbed down from the back of the sofa and sat down next to him cross-leggedly, her own plate on her lap. She looked somewhat sullen, Orlando decided, smiling inwardly. Lately he had begun to feel that he valued a sense of high-maintenance in women.
"I mean I would like us sharing a name…" She tried again, very sweetly and trying to overcome him from a different angle. Orlando grinned, a politician through and through, she had tried to make him feel guilty and now followed the mollifying sweetness she was so good at dispensing.
"Would a rose by any other same not smell as sweet?" he asked grinning in answer to her unasked question, and then broke out in his self-satisfied man-giggles, while taking a few girl-punches at his shoulder.
But Anaïs grinned as well, she knew that her bond to her brother was a lot stronger than the one most siblings enjoyed, and she did not often hesitate to test her boundaries. Orlando was more than a brother, he was like a single-parent and a best friend, he was advisor, listener and chief protector. But everybody comes to the point where they want to have a share of the leadership and begin to question their idol's judgment, and Anaïs was sure it would only strengthen their relationship.
The doorbell rang and Orlando grinned, "Saved by the bell!" he quipped, kissed her cheek and went upstairs to prepare for bed, leaving a grimacing sister to open the door.
"Yeah? How can I help you?" Anaïs asked somewhat suspicious. She had expected the post man or maybe a neighbour in need of something, instead a rather pretty young woman stood in from of her.
Anaïs estimated her age to be around her brother's, maybe slightly younger; she had obviously unnatural red hair and was clothed rather conservatively in a stylish fashion suit.
"Yes, hello, I have an appointment with Mr. Clairmont-Fleur!" Sophie answered with a slight smile at the younger woman – almost still a girl, she thought - who eyed her quizzically with those large sparkling blue eyes.
"Are you a lawyer?" She asked, unsure what to make of this morning visit and forgetting her manners in the process.
Sophie smiled broader, "No I'm not." She answered, and quickly raising her eyebrows in a friendly gesture added: "Thank god!" But she didn't volunteer any other information, which put Anaïs even more on edge. This woman was not only beautiful in that tough, intimidating, business-woman way, she was several inches taller than the younger woman, and Anaïs, who had nothing against tall men, usually - and unconsciously - felt a little threatened by and subsequently suspicious of women towering over her. She finally nodded uneasily, and stepped aside.
"Well, come in then, he is inside, are you sure he's awaiting you?" This was the closest she could bring herself to asking about her business, but Sophie just nodded, the polite smile sat rock-hard and unflinching on her face.
"Yes, of course, Mr. Clairmont-Fleur has asked for this meeting a few days ago." Sophie was aware that her secretive demeanour was putting the young woman off, and she was not comfortable with the situation. Not that she cared much about what was thought of her in general but she knew that later on in investigations she often relied on the information other family members could supply – and though this family seemed short of many things, family members seemed most obviously sparse. Sophie was sure she could not afford to alienate the young woman completely if she was to accept the job, on the other hand had the old man not informed her as to what level of privacy he wished her to employ, especially within the boundaries of the closest family.
Observing the rather stiff way the younger woman – who had not introduced herself – walked ahead, Sophie followed through a quite small but very tidy living area into a room that, undeniably, gave off a slight smell of retirement-home. For all she could tell it was not however caused by a lack of cleanliness.
Anaïs turned around to the foreigner as she opened the door and in turn tried to take in as much as she could about the way the woman approached her grandfather.
"Gram-pa, someone here to see you!" she stated in a rather uncommitted tone, and saw her grandfather sit up straighter and curve his lips in his characteristic polite and kind smile.
"It is a pleasure to meet you – Miss Night, I presume?" The old man's smile wrinkled his face into innumerable little folds and wrinkles. Sophie was sure he was the oldest man she had ever seen, but even though his body looked tired and ashen, his eyes still sparkled with intelligence and pride. She immediately felt drawn to him, to the aura of polite and unobtrusive power that still lingered.
"That's right, Sir," she answered, somehow feeling compelled to pay him respect, "and the pleasure is all mine!"
Anaïs eyed the two now with open suspicion, but lucky for her they did not notice.
"Can I bring you anything?" she asked, in an attempt to be included in the conversation they apparently were about to have, but with a gentle smile her grandfather shook his head.
"No thank you, pumpkin, we're fine, and I don't want to hold you up, don't you have a tube to catch?"
His words had been nothing short of utterly sweet, but Anaïs still felt rebuffed. She nodded and left the room. He had been right of course she did have to get ready for her morning-lecture, but she couldn't help but feeling like a naughty child that was sent of the room, when the grown-ups wished to have a serious conversation.
Inside Sophie sat down on a chair next to the bed, her legs curtly crossed beneath her knee-long skirt. She smiled at William Clairmont-Fleur expectantly.
"You are even more lovely then your voice suggested!" the old man complimented kindly, but Sophie could not detect a hint of lechery, which surprised her. She thanked him, smiling earnestly. She had always felt that it was not helpful to ask too many questions, in fact, she usually learned more by remaining quiet and leaving it up to the other person to fill the gap her silence created.
"Let me get straight to the point, then," he said before starting another attempt to sit up straighter – Sophie caught herself doing the same, however easy it was for her – and saw him smile at her knowingly. "I need you to find someone."
Anaïs stood in front of her dresser almost unaware of what she was picking out. Not that it mattered, most of her things fitted together, except for the handful of things she considered 'for special occasions' and usually tended to hang at the end of the rack, where the seldom used pieces disappeared to. She usually wore simple trousers, jeans or in summer light cotton pants and tops, which did not come off as too stylish or sexy. It was a clothing style she knew she had created for a specific effect, and did not necessarily represent all aspects of her taste. But as a woman with the ambition she had – she could not afford to leave anything up to chance. At the age of sixteen she had made a decision, she had prioritised the two things she was passionate about into a goal, an ambition, the thing she would pursue in life with all her might – and a hobby.
Literature was a hobby - her passion was politics.
So in a field that was still largely dominated by men, a woman did not only have to be twice as good as her male competitors, she had a lot more aspects to consider as well. Anaïs knew that good looks could go both ways, it was important to look both: approachable and highly competent, sweet and tough, and definitely not like someone to screw over. She had also learned early that while her good looks earned her the attention of men, it also had a quality to it that tended to cause people to underestimate her. Large, sparkling blue eyes, petite frame and innocent features – she couldn't help but feel they were all working against her. She was not ungrateful however, she had enough working for her to feel lucky as it was – she was a good speaker, was blessed with a sound and innovate mind, was stronger than she got credit for and she tended to be well liked – and, after all, the understated sophisticated look she wore quite well went a long way in overcoming the first impression, people usually got off her.
She ended up picking a dark green coloured, cashmere-imitating pullover, a white collar peeking out at the neckline, and very dark blue jeans. Her long, slightly curly hair was pulled up in a messy bun and ever so slight traces of make-up fished up a few blemishes on her chin.
The woman was still on her mind, what was she doing with her grandfather? Why had he asked for a meeting? What kind of business was she in? She wasn't sure what had caused it, but she knew she could be a suspicious person and did not trust people easily. Something in her often prevented her from seeing the best in people and eye them nervously, and Sophie Night was of now very high on her list.
Anaïs knew she had to hurry but she couldn't help herself, she had to know what was going on. Her first impulse was to go to her brother and she was already on her way to his room, when she checked herself. It was a selfish thought, no hint of light shone through the creak beneath his door, what probably meant that he had already drawn the heavy curtains close and might already be asleep, she knew he could fall asleep within minutes after a long shift, and how grouchy he would get when awoken. Rightly so, she thought. Her brother was no option, but he would probably be there when she got home in the evening and she promised herself to relate the events to him then, and he would know what to make of it – he always did.
Sighing she walked down the stairs when suddenly a sly smile sneaked its way into her face. If she could help it, this time she would not stand aside and wait for the information to drop into her lap – or rather being dropped there by Orlando. She was 21 years old, this she could handle herself. Downstairs she walked loudly to the front-door and opened and closed it noisily as well. Then quietly she stole her way back towards her grandfather's room, unfortunately the door was open however, apparently the woman had fetched him a drink from the kitchen.
"So after that, Charles never married – but according to the legend…" her grandfather was saying when he spotted her, she quickly covered her racing mind with a sweet smile – where had she heard that name before? He had not said 'Charles' in the usual English pronunciation instead he had used the French equivalent.
"… Pumpkin, I thought you had left already!" Her grandfather finished his open statement awkwardly but smiled.
"I was, when I thought of something I had forgotten!" She lied smiling the sweetest smile she could muster, "Do you remember that teacher, who was so fond of me in high-school? I wanted to get in touch with her for a possible recommendation she might write me, but I don't have her address. I thought you might have... can I check your address-book?"
Her grandfather looked puzzled for a moment and then nodded, "Of course you can…"
"Thanks!" she quipped, cutting him off and practically raced to get it out of his antique secretary before giving him enough time to over-think her statement and realize how unlikely it was that anyone needed a recommendation from her 8th grade social science teacher for a 21 year old girl about to achieve a bachelor's degree. But the lie had been reasonably well constructed, especially because Mrs. Cullum had been the one teacher her grandfather had had some contact with, had held in high esteem and would remember.
"I really have to hurry," she said loudly, leaving the room already, "I'll have it back to you tonight, ok?" Not waiting for an answer she shouldered her messenger-bag, shouted a short "See you tonight!", and left quickly to catch her bus - for real, this time.
Sammi - June 17, 2006 10:05 PM (GMT)
Interesting...
So our Annais is a nosy one. This could prove to be difficult. Hmm. Especially for Soph, who desperately will need Annais's help and input and all that.
On another note, I wonder what this whole thing with Charles is. Who was he? Why is Mr Clairemont-Fleur interested and so late in his life? I HAVE QUESTIONS!!! :wacko: Mehr.
I love how intriguing this is!
:heartbeat:
Samma
So our Annais is a nosy one. This could prove to be difficult. Hmm. Especially for Soph, who desperately will need Annais's help and input and all that.
On another note, I wonder what this whole thing with Charles is. Who was he? Why is Mr Clairemont-Fleur interested and so late in his life? I HAVE QUESTIONS!!! :wacko: Mehr.
I love how intriguing this is!
:heartbeat:
Samma
LijsSunshine06 - June 18, 2006 03:31 AM (GMT)
Damn lol once again Samma took the words out of my mouth and I'm not being lazy whatsoever lol.
I can't wait to see more, you know I love this story :bow:
Katie
I can't wait to see more, you know I love this story :bow:
Katie
Sammi - June 18, 2006 03:50 AM (GMT)
| QUOTE (LijsSunshine06 @ Jun 18 2006, 04:31 AM) |
| Damn lol once again Samma took the words out of my mouth and I'm not being lazy whatsoever lol. |
Haha! :P It just means you've got to be faster on the draw, matey. ;)
I'm going to be using English idioms for weeks now. I've just watched "Green Street" twice (or whatever else its called... "Hooligans"?) and my mum and I just finished watching "Dear Frankie". (I love this movie to death!) I refuse to watch GSH with her though. :mehr: No way in hell, mate.
Anywhoo... I think I'll be ending this now. :bye:
LijsSunshine06 - June 18, 2006 01:17 PM (GMT)
| QUOTE |
| Haha! It just means you've got to be faster on the draw, matey. I'm going to be using English idioms for weeks now. I've just watched "Green Street" twice (or whatever else its called... "Hooligans"?) and my mum and I just finished watching "Dear Frankie". (I love this movie to death!) I refuse to watch GSH with her though. :mehr: No way in hell, mate. |
Hahahahaha! You're funny Samma lol. Its called working full-time and about falling asleep when I get on lol.
I love DF, yet to see DSH....
Katie
Laila - June 19, 2006 04:42 PM (GMT)
| QUOTE (LijsSunshine06 @ Jun 18 2006, 03:31 AM) |
| Damn lol once again Samma took the words out of my mouth and I'm not being lazy whatsoever lol. |
*laughs* Oh well what can you do, our Sam is a quite remarkably eloquent young lady :-P!
But seriously guys, I have no idea what I'd do without you - cry and cry and cry probably. *lol* It's weird how motivated readers can make me - and how unmotivated a lack of them - but you make it all good. I luv you!
And yeah, patience my dears, everything will be revealed in due course.
:lalala:
But I guess I'll shift to posting once a week - give a few more people the chance to keep up with it I hope...
anyway, thanks so much for your comments,
love,
Laila
Ithil'Quessir - June 21, 2006 01:19 PM (GMT)
Okay I feel like a bum, like one of the worst people in the world! I promised you to be a loyal reader and then I forget to post... almost twice! But now I have a bit of spare time (waiting for my brother so we can catch the train and go to Amsterdam to a recital) so I'm going to review it a bit :)
I absolutely love the fact that Anaïs is suspicious of Sophie, and is trying any excuse to find out what they're talking about. The 'I need you to find someone' line made me really curious too, I mean who the heck would Mr. Clairmont-Fleur want to find on his deathbed? At first sight you'd think it would be some distant relative who would inherit some little thing, but the talk about Charles and everything makes me wonder what the hell you're up to, Laila :lalala:
Ah, the little pest (a.k.a. my brother) is here, so I got to go. I'll write a better review for your following chapters, I promise!
Love, Moon :hug:
I absolutely love the fact that Anaïs is suspicious of Sophie, and is trying any excuse to find out what they're talking about. The 'I need you to find someone' line made me really curious too, I mean who the heck would Mr. Clairmont-Fleur want to find on his deathbed? At first sight you'd think it would be some distant relative who would inherit some little thing, but the talk about Charles and everything makes me wonder what the hell you're up to, Laila :lalala:
Ah, the little pest (a.k.a. my brother) is here, so I got to go. I'll write a better review for your following chapters, I promise!
Love, Moon :hug:
Laila - June 21, 2006 09:47 PM (GMT)
hey there 'Moon',
Janou that's you, isn't it? Wow I only just found out - why didn't you say anything?
Thanks for the great review though, that was cute! And I hope you're having fun at the recital!
How have you been, though?
love,
Laila
Janou that's you, isn't it? Wow I only just found out - why didn't you say anything?
Thanks for the great review though, that was cute! And I hope you're having fun at the recital!
How have you been, though?
love,
Laila
Ithil'Quessir - June 22, 2006 09:35 AM (GMT)
LOL, jup, that's me Laila! I didn't say anything 'cause I wanted to see how long it'd take you to find out ;)
I've had a great time at the recital. Give me a marimba-concert and I shall stare at it until the end of time (it was kind of the guy's graduating thingy, and he was like... SO amazing! He played for like an hour and usually one piece takes ten minutes and is exhausting enough, he was like totally sweaty when I went to congratulate him!). But he did an amazing job and got a very very VERY high grade! I love musicians!
And me... I've been great! I've been like... getting back on my feet properly and succeeded in everything I wanted to succeed in this year... I'm going to study English (yay) and possibly spend a year in England (just haven't decided where exactly, though) and all... *le sigh*
We should get in touch again!!
Anyway, I hope to see an update soon, sweetie!
Much love, Moon/Janou :hug:
I've had a great time at the recital. Give me a marimba-concert and I shall stare at it until the end of time (it was kind of the guy's graduating thingy, and he was like... SO amazing! He played for like an hour and usually one piece takes ten minutes and is exhausting enough, he was like totally sweaty when I went to congratulate him!). But he did an amazing job and got a very very VERY high grade! I love musicians!
And me... I've been great! I've been like... getting back on my feet properly and succeeded in everything I wanted to succeed in this year... I'm going to study English (yay) and possibly spend a year in England (just haven't decided where exactly, though) and all... *le sigh*
We should get in touch again!!
Anyway, I hope to see an update soon, sweetie!
Much love, Moon/Janou :hug:
~Jewelz~ - June 24, 2006 03:44 AM (GMT)
Laila! Hullo :) So sorry it's taken me so long to get to reading this (I figured I had better, esp since I posted in the cameo call, hehe). I've only read the first chapter, but I'll catch up soon.
I must say though; so far it's great :) Sophie's job sounds facinating and she get's extra awsomeness points from me for having a dog named "Hamlet" Haha (or, perhaps you should get the points... whatever heh)
Anyway- back to reading!
I must say though; so far it's great :) Sophie's job sounds facinating and she get's extra awsomeness points from me for having a dog named "Hamlet" Haha (or, perhaps you should get the points... whatever heh)
Anyway- back to reading!
Laila - June 24, 2006 11:38 AM (GMT)
Hey there,
and a new reader, hey Jewelz! Well of course you don't have to read this in order to sign up for a cameo, but I am very very very happy you did! :) *hugs*
Here is the new chapter - because I won't have time tonight and tomorrow as I am celebrating my birthday yay!
IV.
Anaïs stumbled to a halt just in time to wrap her hand around the silver pole, on which she pulled herself into the bus that was about to drive off. Breathing heavy she plopped onto the nearest seat and immediately found her grandfather's address-book. Her breath flowed almost normally by the time her finger finally traced the last page of 'N'. "Night… Night…" she mumbled to herself, quite unaware of her surroundings, and really, squeezed into the last line in her grandfather's miniature writing was her name: "Night, S., Investigator, 0208 657 08631".
"Investigator?!" She said out loud, then blushed, looking around into faces with the expression of looking at a crazy person. Her mobile-phone lay conveniently in her bag as she shamelessly abused it to it to find a place to look at. She took it out when she quickly decided to punch in the number.
"You have reached the office of Sophie Night, we are unable to take your call, please leave your name and contact information and we will get back to you!"
Confused she put her phone away. If this wasn't the text-book definition for a dead end, what was? She sighed, and leaned back in her seat, what did her grandfather hire an investigator for? Investigator, investigator… she let the world rumble through her mind, but no association she came up with presented any clues either. Sighing in frustration she looked out of the window, the mist had already cleared from the streets, making way for a moody drizzle. He had mentioned someone called Charles, but that could be anyone – couldn't it? They could just as likely have been talking about the Prince of Wales as their next-door neighbour. Except, she suddenly remembered, he had not said Charles the way the prince or the neighbour were pronounced.
'So? I don't know a French Charles, either!' Her fingers drummed on her purse without apparent rhythm. It just didn't make sense. She knew that her grandfather spoke fluent French, just like both her and Orlando – he had taken them to France a couple of times when they were younger and had always imprinted in them how important their French classes were, and how essential it was to know more than one language. He had never talked about any other language then French, however, for obvious reasons. Their family used to be, hell, even their name was – but still, there was something she couldn't quite place…
"Hey luv!" a voice quipped behind her and a familiar bag landed on the seat next to her. She gasped startled and then turned around to smile at her boyfriend leaning over his bag to store his I-pod in what seemed the safest of the many pockets.
"Did I startle ya?" replacing the bag with his bottom Elijah sat down beside her and slung his arm between the seat and her back and leaned in to kiss her, "Sorry babe, didn't mean to!"
"Nah, I was just thinking…"
"'bout what?" he was still fumbling in his bag, not looking at her and she had the distinct impression he had asked out of routine.
"Nothing in particular!" His arm in her back became uncomfortable, it usually did, she squirmed a bit, but he did not take the hint. She thought it was the fact that they had the same height, if he was taller she would be able to snuggle into his armpit, like those other couples did, and that looked a lot more inviting and comfortable. Smiling, she gently disentangled his arm from her waist and slipped her hand into his. Again he leaned over to kiss her, longer this time.
"So how are you exam preps coming along?" casually she claimed back her hand, it had been starting to sweat, to brush a few renegade tendrils out of her face.
"Well, don't worry, piece o' cake!"
"You always say that…"
"And have I ever been wrong?" he cut her off, not annoyed exactly, but his large blue eyes sparkled at her challengingly.
Anaïs shrugged, "Guess not…" she surrendered, not wanting to get into the old discussion of whether or not a highly worked for straight A was preferable to a hardly worked for A- borderline B+. The provocation left his expression for a smile and Anaïs wondered what it was that had pleased him: Being right, or seeing her give in. It was an old story.
The bus came to halt and making their way to the large building of the university, Elijah took back her hand.
"I wish we had time to make out before class…" he said smiling both wistfully and with a mischievous grin on his face, then placed a kiss on her palm. She couldn't help but smile sigh herself.
"But we're late…" giggling she allowed him to guide her against the wall just behind the main entrance and kiss her, long and somewhat wetly lingering.
"So I was thinking tonight… any plans?"
"Err… I don't know, I really wanted to catch up on some studying – with all the meetings things are so crazy lately…" She felt herself sounding lame, and sighed. She couldn't even explain to herself what was happening but lately she felt a decreasing desire to spend every waking minute with Elijah. And then there was the investigator she was planning to investigate…
"Oh come on…" Elijah rolled his eyes, "You're the smartest girl I know – what do you need studying for?" Now it was her time to raise her eyebrows in annoyance, but a puppy-dog look of his made her smile conciliatorily.
"Look, I can offer you lunch, and after the meeting tomorrow!"
Sitting in class Anaïs couldn't help but find her thought stray. She was about to graduate – not that it meant much since she would go into a post-graduate study immediately, but it was something. She was 21; she was the national treasurer of the Labour Students; she had a lovely boyfriend – what exactly was it that she was complaining about? Shrugging she tried to engross herself in the lecture again, overall more then unsatisfied with the way the day was going.
***
He cell-phone buzzed as the vibrator sprung into action. Anaïs quickly retrieved it from her bag and checked her messages.
"Emergency meeting in the cafeteria, 1 pm," great, she sighed, that did not only cut short her lunch, but usually meant she would be late for her next class. Future politicians all had one thing nobody had to teach them: The desire to discuss everything at length, in excruciating detail and to fight about every little point made. Momentarily she felt bad, these meetings had meant everything to her last year, and now that she had a national post in the student organization of the labour party she tended to feel that some of those high emergency cases were petty and struggled to sympathize. Promising herself to pay more respect and attention to the needs the labour group at hand, she left for her next class, texting Elijah her answer to the always assumed R.S.V.P.
When she arrived at their usual table at the cafeteria, Elijah was already there, and smilingly tapped the seat next to him. She sat down where he had suggested and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. He usually did not encourage intimacy at what he called "official meetings" and she didn't mind.
"What's this about anyway?" she asked as slowly the seats began to fill, smiling and nodding at everyone in greeting.
Elijah, taking a quick look around, and loud enough so that everybody would hear answered "Now, wouldn't it be fairer if we waited until everybody is here, then I don't have to say everything twice!" he chuckled and have her waist a patronizing sqeeze, a few guys chuckled.
Anaïs mouth formed a thin, straight line and Elijah quickly disentangled himself from her stiff hips, turning his attention to the arriving friends.
He sat over their university group and she was elected his second, but after a year of comments like that one, people had stopped treating her like they used to. She was Elijah's girlfriend; they were the cute couple, those that fit so well. 'They are even the same height, and they have the same huge sparkling blue eyes!' She just couldn't hear it anymore.
When everybody seemed to be present Elijah stood up, smiling around. A wave of anger cursed through Anaïs' body, but she tried to control- and fight it down. There was no use in getting angry, not in front of everybody and in fact not in front of Elijah either. It wasn't as if she hadn't tried, but he never quite seemed to get, what it was that upset her so much.
"Right, first of all thank you guys for coming on such short notice," he started, "But it has come to my attention that we are still not completely clear on the planning of our participation on the open days the week after next."
A girl raised her hand, Anaïs barely knew more about her then her name and that she was in the first year. Smiling benignly Elijah nodded at her to speak.
"Why don't you we do what you did last year, when I came here I noticed the stand immediately!"
His smile was almost sickening, Anaïs caught herself thinking, wondering if it was jealousy she was feeling, the girl was pretty in that unassuming, innocent way.
"You're right of course, in essential that's what we will do!" he answered, "I just wondered whether anyone had come up with something new, to fresh things up a bit!"
She almost didn't, but Anaïs had given it some thought when he had asked them to at the last meeting and she raised her hand. He looked around, not noticing her, sitting only slightly out of his field of vision next to him.
"Right, nobody? Ok then I guess…"
"Uhh, Lij?" she asked somewhat annoyed, she could see some people smirking. "I had this thought!" Not waiting for him to allow her to talk she continued, "Since we still have a huge stock of pens and little note-books with our logo from that promo in January – why don't we give that away. Our stand is at the main entrance, most people pass there and most people will use a pen and notebook to jot down information, so every time they do so they have our logo in front of their eyes."
Most people nodded approvingly, but she could see a frown forming on Elijah's forehead. She knew then that her idea would not be included in the planning.
Anaïs was fighting angry tears when she came home, having recalled every incident in which Elijah had been disrespectful, on her bus-ride. The day had sucked, through and through. Elijah had humiliated her - again, had made her idea seem wasteful and childish and in the end all those nodding heads had nodded at him. She threw her messenger-bag into a corner of the entrance hall and stomped into the living room. Orlando didn't seem to be home, her pout deepened. Bad, bad day.
She heard a cough from her grandfather's room and decided to check on him, remembering that she had to return his address-book.
"Hey gram-pa!" she said softly and kissed his forehead, she wondered again at how easy it was to forget whatever was bugging her, at the sight of his old and sick body, lying on white sheets – barely any colour left in him. "How are you feeling today?"
He smiled, taking her hand.
"Good, good, the nurse made fish and chips!" they both chuckled at that.
"Here's your address-book, should I return it to your secretary?"
"No thank you darling, you can leave it here – did you reach your history teacher?"
Anaïs frowned, History?
"Social Studies you mean, and no not yet – answering machine!" she answered distractedly.
History… French history… Charles… the legend! And suddenly like puzzle-pieces everything fell into place. She slapped her forehead, startling her grandfather, and mumbling a few excuses, she practically ran to her room.
Bent over an old chest she fumbled through files and notebooks, until she finally found what she was looking for: A few sheets of lined paper in a plastic cover, "The Legend of the King and the Physician's Daughter" it read at the top in the neat penmanship of a teenager, "Essay by Anaïs Clairmont-Fleur".
and a new reader, hey Jewelz! Well of course you don't have to read this in order to sign up for a cameo, but I am very very very happy you did! :) *hugs*
Here is the new chapter - because I won't have time tonight and tomorrow as I am celebrating my birthday yay!
IV.
Anaïs stumbled to a halt just in time to wrap her hand around the silver pole, on which she pulled herself into the bus that was about to drive off. Breathing heavy she plopped onto the nearest seat and immediately found her grandfather's address-book. Her breath flowed almost normally by the time her finger finally traced the last page of 'N'. "Night… Night…" she mumbled to herself, quite unaware of her surroundings, and really, squeezed into the last line in her grandfather's miniature writing was her name: "Night, S., Investigator, 0208 657 08631".
"Investigator?!" She said out loud, then blushed, looking around into faces with the expression of looking at a crazy person. Her mobile-phone lay conveniently in her bag as she shamelessly abused it to it to find a place to look at. She took it out when she quickly decided to punch in the number.
"You have reached the office of Sophie Night, we are unable to take your call, please leave your name and contact information and we will get back to you!"
Confused she put her phone away. If this wasn't the text-book definition for a dead end, what was? She sighed, and leaned back in her seat, what did her grandfather hire an investigator for? Investigator, investigator… she let the world rumble through her mind, but no association she came up with presented any clues either. Sighing in frustration she looked out of the window, the mist had already cleared from the streets, making way for a moody drizzle. He had mentioned someone called Charles, but that could be anyone – couldn't it? They could just as likely have been talking about the Prince of Wales as their next-door neighbour. Except, she suddenly remembered, he had not said Charles the way the prince or the neighbour were pronounced.
'So? I don't know a French Charles, either!' Her fingers drummed on her purse without apparent rhythm. It just didn't make sense. She knew that her grandfather spoke fluent French, just like both her and Orlando – he had taken them to France a couple of times when they were younger and had always imprinted in them how important their French classes were, and how essential it was to know more than one language. He had never talked about any other language then French, however, for obvious reasons. Their family used to be, hell, even their name was – but still, there was something she couldn't quite place…
"Hey luv!" a voice quipped behind her and a familiar bag landed on the seat next to her. She gasped startled and then turned around to smile at her boyfriend leaning over his bag to store his I-pod in what seemed the safest of the many pockets.
"Did I startle ya?" replacing the bag with his bottom Elijah sat down beside her and slung his arm between the seat and her back and leaned in to kiss her, "Sorry babe, didn't mean to!"
"Nah, I was just thinking…"
"'bout what?" he was still fumbling in his bag, not looking at her and she had the distinct impression he had asked out of routine.
"Nothing in particular!" His arm in her back became uncomfortable, it usually did, she squirmed a bit, but he did not take the hint. She thought it was the fact that they had the same height, if he was taller she would be able to snuggle into his armpit, like those other couples did, and that looked a lot more inviting and comfortable. Smiling, she gently disentangled his arm from her waist and slipped her hand into his. Again he leaned over to kiss her, longer this time.
"So how are you exam preps coming along?" casually she claimed back her hand, it had been starting to sweat, to brush a few renegade tendrils out of her face.
"Well, don't worry, piece o' cake!"
"You always say that…"
"And have I ever been wrong?" he cut her off, not annoyed exactly, but his large blue eyes sparkled at her challengingly.
Anaïs shrugged, "Guess not…" she surrendered, not wanting to get into the old discussion of whether or not a highly worked for straight A was preferable to a hardly worked for A- borderline B+. The provocation left his expression for a smile and Anaïs wondered what it was that had pleased him: Being right, or seeing her give in. It was an old story.
The bus came to halt and making their way to the large building of the university, Elijah took back her hand.
"I wish we had time to make out before class…" he said smiling both wistfully and with a mischievous grin on his face, then placed a kiss on her palm. She couldn't help but smile sigh herself.
"But we're late…" giggling she allowed him to guide her against the wall just behind the main entrance and kiss her, long and somewhat wetly lingering.
"So I was thinking tonight… any plans?"
"Err… I don't know, I really wanted to catch up on some studying – with all the meetings things are so crazy lately…" She felt herself sounding lame, and sighed. She couldn't even explain to herself what was happening but lately she felt a decreasing desire to spend every waking minute with Elijah. And then there was the investigator she was planning to investigate…
"Oh come on…" Elijah rolled his eyes, "You're the smartest girl I know – what do you need studying for?" Now it was her time to raise her eyebrows in annoyance, but a puppy-dog look of his made her smile conciliatorily.
"Look, I can offer you lunch, and after the meeting tomorrow!"
Sitting in class Anaïs couldn't help but find her thought stray. She was about to graduate – not that it meant much since she would go into a post-graduate study immediately, but it was something. She was 21; she was the national treasurer of the Labour Students; she had a lovely boyfriend – what exactly was it that she was complaining about? Shrugging she tried to engross herself in the lecture again, overall more then unsatisfied with the way the day was going.
***
He cell-phone buzzed as the vibrator sprung into action. Anaïs quickly retrieved it from her bag and checked her messages.
"Emergency meeting in the cafeteria, 1 pm," great, she sighed, that did not only cut short her lunch, but usually meant she would be late for her next class. Future politicians all had one thing nobody had to teach them: The desire to discuss everything at length, in excruciating detail and to fight about every little point made. Momentarily she felt bad, these meetings had meant everything to her last year, and now that she had a national post in the student organization of the labour party she tended to feel that some of those high emergency cases were petty and struggled to sympathize. Promising herself to pay more respect and attention to the needs the labour group at hand, she left for her next class, texting Elijah her answer to the always assumed R.S.V.P.
When she arrived at their usual table at the cafeteria, Elijah was already there, and smilingly tapped the seat next to him. She sat down where he had suggested and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. He usually did not encourage intimacy at what he called "official meetings" and she didn't mind.
"What's this about anyway?" she asked as slowly the seats began to fill, smiling and nodding at everyone in greeting.
Elijah, taking a quick look around, and loud enough so that everybody would hear answered "Now, wouldn't it be fairer if we waited until everybody is here, then I don't have to say everything twice!" he chuckled and have her waist a patronizing sqeeze, a few guys chuckled.
Anaïs mouth formed a thin, straight line and Elijah quickly disentangled himself from her stiff hips, turning his attention to the arriving friends.
He sat over their university group and she was elected his second, but after a year of comments like that one, people had stopped treating her like they used to. She was Elijah's girlfriend; they were the cute couple, those that fit so well. 'They are even the same height, and they have the same huge sparkling blue eyes!' She just couldn't hear it anymore.
When everybody seemed to be present Elijah stood up, smiling around. A wave of anger cursed through Anaïs' body, but she tried to control- and fight it down. There was no use in getting angry, not in front of everybody and in fact not in front of Elijah either. It wasn't as if she hadn't tried, but he never quite seemed to get, what it was that upset her so much.
"Right, first of all thank you guys for coming on such short notice," he started, "But it has come to my attention that we are still not completely clear on the planning of our participation on the open days the week after next."
A girl raised her hand, Anaïs barely knew more about her then her name and that she was in the first year. Smiling benignly Elijah nodded at her to speak.
"Why don't you we do what you did last year, when I came here I noticed the stand immediately!"
His smile was almost sickening, Anaïs caught herself thinking, wondering if it was jealousy she was feeling, the girl was pretty in that unassuming, innocent way.
"You're right of course, in essential that's what we will do!" he answered, "I just wondered whether anyone had come up with something new, to fresh things up a bit!"
She almost didn't, but Anaïs had given it some thought when he had asked them to at the last meeting and she raised her hand. He looked around, not noticing her, sitting only slightly out of his field of vision next to him.
"Right, nobody? Ok then I guess…"
"Uhh, Lij?" she asked somewhat annoyed, she could see some people smirking. "I had this thought!" Not waiting for him to allow her to talk she continued, "Since we still have a huge stock of pens and little note-books with our logo from that promo in January – why don't we give that away. Our stand is at the main entrance, most people pass there and most people will use a pen and notebook to jot down information, so every time they do so they have our logo in front of their eyes."
Most people nodded approvingly, but she could see a frown forming on Elijah's forehead. She knew then that her idea would not be included in the planning.
Anaïs was fighting angry tears when she came home, having recalled every incident in which Elijah had been disrespectful, on her bus-ride. The day had sucked, through and through. Elijah had humiliated her - again, had made her idea seem wasteful and childish and in the end all those nodding heads had nodded at him. She threw her messenger-bag into a corner of the entrance hall and stomped into the living room. Orlando didn't seem to be home, her pout deepened. Bad, bad day.
She heard a cough from her grandfather's room and decided to check on him, remembering that she had to return his address-book.
"Hey gram-pa!" she said softly and kissed his forehead, she wondered again at how easy it was to forget whatever was bugging her, at the sight of his old and sick body, lying on white sheets – barely any colour left in him. "How are you feeling today?"
He smiled, taking her hand.
"Good, good, the nurse made fish and chips!" they both chuckled at that.
"Here's your address-book, should I return it to your secretary?"
"No thank you darling, you can leave it here – did you reach your history teacher?"
Anaïs frowned, History?
"Social Studies you mean, and no not yet – answering machine!" she answered distractedly.
History… French history… Charles… the legend! And suddenly like puzzle-pieces everything fell into place. She slapped her forehead, startling her grandfather, and mumbling a few excuses, she practically ran to her room.
Bent over an old chest she fumbled through files and notebooks, until she finally found what she was looking for: A few sheets of lined paper in a plastic cover, "The Legend of the King and the Physician's Daughter" it read at the top in the neat penmanship of a teenager, "Essay by Anaïs Clairmont-Fleur".
Ithil'Quessir - June 24, 2006 10:18 PM (GMT)
| QUOTE |
| "Hey luv!" a voice quipped behind her and a familiar bag landed on the seat next to her. She gasped startled and then turned around to smile at her boyfriend leaning over his bag to store his I-pod in what seemed the safest of the many pockets. "Did I startle ya?" replacing the bag with his bottom Elijah sat down beside her and slung his arm between the seat and her back and leaned in to kiss her, "Sorry babe, didn't mean to!" |
<_< disrespect all over. I hate it when guys do that!
| QUOTE |
| She couldn't even explain to herself what was happening but lately she felt a decreasing desire to spend every waking minute with Elijah. |
Well, with the way 'Lij treats her later in the chapter I can imagine! Grrr....
| QUOTE |
| Anaïs was fighting angry tears when she came home, having recalled every incident in which Elijah had been disrespectful, on her bus-ride. The day had sucked, through and through. Elijah had humiliated her - again, had made her idea seem wasteful and childish and in the end all those nodding heads had nodded at him. She threw her messenger-bag into a corner of the entrance hall and stomped into the living room. Orlando didn't seem to be home, her pout deepened. Bad, bad day. |
:box: Don't you dare treat Anaïs badly in any way or I'll have your (cute li'l) hiney! Evil 'Lij, you can't just treat Anaïs like that! We hates you!
| QUOTE |
| History… French history… Charles… the legend! And suddenly like puzzle-pieces everything fell into place. She slapped her forehead, startling her grandfather, and mumbling a few excuses, she practically ran to her room. Bent over an old chest she fumbled through files and notebooks, until she finally found what she was looking for: A few sheets of lined paper in a plastic cover, "The Legend of the King and the Physician's Daughter" it read at the top in a childish penmanship, "Essay by Anaïs Clairmont-Fleur". |
Ahh, so Anaïs is gathering a few clues. Older people often get confused, but one little slip can trigger a train of thought that leads you to extraordinary places!
Loved the update, babe, more soon?
Love, Moon :hug:
~Jewelz~ - June 25, 2006 12:22 AM (GMT)
Right then; I've caught up :)
The whole investigation is very curious, though I certainly have a theory about what's going on...hmmm...
Orlando I like (ironic, I know haha); his just seems like a decent guy, etc. Yes, yes, I like him very much. I'd like to know a bit more about Sophie though; where she's coming from (though you've sort of covered that a bit), and her personality too. She's certainly an interesting one...
Not quite sure what to think of Sean. He seems nice, but bitter... Hopefully something will turn him around; settling's such a waste... Course, I do have a veeeerrrrry far fetch theory about him as well, hehe... guess I'll just have to wait and see how very wrong I am *laughs*
Lijah is a big jerkface. Smack him and then dump him, lovely Anais. Her I like very much (in spite of the political thing, hehe). She's sweet, but has plenty up her sleeve (and apparently intends to get more heh. Pardon my...pathetic analogy haha...).
Anyway, lovely writing Laila :) And happy birthday!!
Tchao
The whole investigation is very curious, though I certainly have a theory about what's going on...hmmm...
Orlando I like (ironic, I know haha); his just seems like a decent guy, etc. Yes, yes, I like him very much. I'd like to know a bit more about Sophie though; where she's coming from (though you've sort of covered that a bit), and her personality too. She's certainly an interesting one...
Not quite sure what to think of Sean. He seems nice, but bitter... Hopefully something will turn him around; settling's such a waste... Course, I do have a veeeerrrrry far fetch theory about him as well, hehe... guess I'll just have to wait and see how very wrong I am *laughs*
Lijah is a big jerkface. Smack him and then dump him, lovely Anais. Her I like very much (in spite of the political thing, hehe). She's sweet, but has plenty up her sleeve (and apparently intends to get more heh. Pardon my...pathetic analogy haha...).
Anyway, lovely writing Laila :) And happy birthday!!
Tchao
Sammi - June 25, 2006 06:23 AM (GMT)
First - Happy Birthday, girlie!! ^_^ I hope your day's grand!!
And you succeed in making me hate a character immediately. Note to this Elijah: DIE! Just drop down and become dust, please. Thank you. Goodbye.
That may be a bit of repressed anger for some sh*t happening now, but just ignore that. It'll go away for almost a year come July 11th. Yess. *prays it comes sooner*
Sorry, that was an insight into my RL not everyone wanted. :blush: Really, I don't like this power-hungry boy who preys on pretty girls who look JUST like him. I mean, hello?? Anaïs, who is portrayed by the lovely Alexis Bledel, matched with a boy who looks much more like her brother than dear, workaholic Orlando ever could dream of. Sure, maybe he kisses good, but it looks like all he wants is your body, and he's jealous of your brain - bet it ticks Lij off that he's dating a girl smarter than himself. Mwahahaha!
Now, this essay. ...? Did she tap into an old family secret/history with her magical childhood creative genius? :huh: <-- Imagine that face with a cute smirk on it (note - cute). I wonder... Damn, I can't believe I'm leaving now, in the middle of this. You started it off at just the right key, Laila. Just at the beginning of where the clues take off.
More soon?
:heartbeat:
Samma
PS - is there a keyboard short cut for the ï, because I feel bad putting her name without the accent, and hate just copying her name from the manuscript. :blush: Love, your helplessly American reader...
And you succeed in making me hate a character immediately. Note to this Elijah: DIE! Just drop down and become dust, please. Thank you. Goodbye.
That may be a bit of repressed anger for some sh*t happening now, but just ignore that. It'll go away for almost a year come July 11th. Yess. *prays it comes sooner*
Sorry, that was an insight into my RL not everyone wanted. :blush: Really, I don't like this power-hungry boy who preys on pretty girls who look JUST like him. I mean, hello?? Anaïs, who is portrayed by the lovely Alexis Bledel, matched with a boy who looks much more like her brother than dear, workaholic Orlando ever could dream of. Sure, maybe he kisses good, but it looks like all he wants is your body, and he's jealous of your brain - bet it ticks Lij off that he's dating a girl smarter than himself. Mwahahaha!
Now, this essay. ...? Did she tap into an old family secret/history with her magical childhood creative genius? :huh: <-- Imagine that face with a cute smirk on it (note - cute). I wonder... Damn, I can't believe I'm leaving now, in the middle of this. You started it off at just the right key, Laila. Just at the beginning of where the clues take off.
More soon?
:heartbeat:
Samma
PS - is there a keyboard short cut for the ï, because I feel bad putting her name without the accent, and hate just copying her name from the manuscript. :blush: Love, your helplessly American reader...
Airefeaiel - June 25, 2006 08:40 AM (GMT)
I really should get here earlier, since Samma ALWAYS steals the words out of my mouth. <_< :laugh:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That's all I have because of the above above paragraph lol. Consider me the Phantom of your story, I read it but always manage to reply last. Haa, better late then never right?
I can't wait for more, especially now that you left us with such a hanging ending!!!
:heartbeat: Pat
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That's all I have because of the above above paragraph lol. Consider me the Phantom of your story, I read it but always manage to reply last. Haa, better late then never right?
I can't wait for more, especially now that you left us with such a hanging ending!!!
:heartbeat: Pat
Laila - June 25, 2006 10:08 AM (GMT)
Hey you guys!
Wow so many reader and such lovely replies, can't imagine a better birthday prezzie! :) Right I should say this I am not completely sound of mind at the moment because we have been drinking this really really fine sparkling wine (From the sponsor of the togo fan camp germany - my stepmother leads) - good stuff *lol* - until like 4 o'clock in the morning and i'm not sure if I'm still strunk or whether this is my hangover!
Anyway we had so much fun, best birthday ever... :)
But now I have to get all sobered up for my family... :no: but that's nice too! :yes:
Right, so you guys all hate Elijah? Wow, that was easy - I personally never had a boyfriend like this but my best friend did so he's a lot like that guy... and maybe I hate him too much and let too much of my hate flow into poor Lij. *lol* But we'll see... :-P
Wow so many reader and such lovely replies, can't imagine a better birthday prezzie! :) Right I should say this I am not completely sound of mind at the moment because we have been drinking this really really fine sparkling wine (From the sponsor of the togo fan camp germany - my stepmother leads) - good stuff *lol* - until like 4 o'clock in the morning and i'm not sure if I'm still strunk or whether this is my hangover!
Anyway we had so much fun, best birthday ever... :)
But now I have to get all sobered up for my family... :no: but that's nice too! :yes:
Right, so you guys all hate Elijah? Wow, that was easy - I personally never had a boyfriend like this but my best friend did so he's a lot like that guy... and maybe I hate him too much and let too much of my hate flow into poor Lij. *lol* But we'll see... :-P
| QUOTE |
| I'd like to know a bit more about Sophie though; |
All in due course :), there will be more about Sophie soon, I'm not sure yet maybe the next - and leave you on an evil cliffhanger about the essay, *lol* or the one after that...
| QUOTE |
| Her I like very much (in spite of the political thing, hehe). |
*laughs* aww what's wrong with that? I like that about her... But I guess I just know many people who are in student and youth political organizations... I was too for a year, but it's not for me. But she has some ties to the nice people I met there (like 10 percent are nice, most are self-obsessed assholes *laughs*) but yeah, one of my best friends was almost elected head of the young socialists in Cologne, I'm quite happy he's not though, or he's have even less time ;).
| QUOTE |
| PS - is there a keyboard short cut for the ï, because I feel bad putting her name without the accent, and hate just copying her name from the manuscript. |
Lol yeah, I hate that too and I don't know if there is a shortcut - I put in auto correct thingy on word *loL* - typical, to take a name that is so complicated... I just have these names I always use for ff's and I wanted at least one I have never used before and still like a lot... so there we go ;).
But you could call her Anni - Orlando sometimes does, he just didn't have te oportunity in the actual story ;) Or just go without the accent it doesn't bother me at all!
| QUOTE |
| Now, this essay. ...? Did she tap into an old family secret/history with her magical childhood creative genius? |
*giggles* uh... almost. Nah, it's just a story her grandpa told her often when she was younger but not for years - and now she doesn't really remember - what she does remember is having written the essay... so. Nothing magical ;).
| QUOTE |
| Consider me the Phantom of your story, |
*giggles imagining a billowing cape and facemask*
ok guys I gotta clean my room now and wake my brother cause we'll be having dinner soon :)
Thank you all for the good wishes and the lovely replies!
*hugs*
Laila
Ithil'Quessir - June 25, 2006 08:10 PM (GMT)
| QUOTE |
| PS - is there a keyboard short cut for the ï, because I feel bad putting her name without the accent, and hate just copying her name from the manuscript. :blush: Love, your helplessly American reader... |
If you press ALT+139 you get the ï. Or well, that's how I get it. Or by changing your keyboard settings so you can press the button for " and then use the letter you need... *don't know how to explain but the first one works*
For more shortcuts call 0900 - SHORTCUTS ;)
Much love, Moon :hug:
Laila - July 1, 2006 12:38 PM (GMT)
hey guys - here I am again with a new chapter! It's a little long, but I hope it is still no drag to read. Oh and I do realize that some parts of this is not really how a teenager would write something for a creative writing assignment - but I couldn't help myself.
And we have our first cameo here, it's for my darling Sammi - and it's actually more than a cameo *drumrolls* You are the infamous physicain's daughter :bow:
V.
The Legend of the King and the Physician's Daughter
Essay by Anaïs Clairmont-Fleur
In the land of France, years and years ago, there lived a King. One of many to be sure - but his story made him different. He was well loved by his people for his kindness and justice and even while he was living he was often referred to as Charles the Fair.
But King Charles was not happy, he longed for the simple life of a commoner and felt trapped in the walls of his castle and guarded by armies of servants, courtiers and soldiers.
The excitement of his position had faded somewhat ever since his first wife Blanche de Bourgogne had died on consumption, leaving him with her two daughters. He loved the girls dearly, but between his mother and their nurses there seemed no doubt that the care of two children – especially girls, was not something a King should spend his precious mind on.
He began spending less and less time within the confines of his castle, seeking instead the solitude of a forest or a river valley. He always disguised himself when he ran danger of meeting people, but he usually stayed clear of populated areas. For hours he could watch farmers go about their business, wondering if they were happy or wished for more or something different like he himself did.
His escapades did not go unnoticed by his family and courtiers, some – especially nourished by his younger brother – had started to spread rumours, doubting his mental health and soundness of mind, and before long he found himself politely reminded of his responsibilities. Once again he tried to embrace his role as King, but he grew sick as time passed.
The mysterious disease did not spread, it only seemed to affect the King, making him bedridden and pale, with dark blotches under his vivid dark eyes. He grew thin and silent as his illness progressed, seeing doctors, apothecaries and mysterious potion brewers pass like the seasons, announced with storm and splendour – but without leaving any permanent change.
They had begun to be an inevitable part of his new life, like the nurses and the overabundance of white linen sheets. When people spoke to him it was always in hushed voices, as if they could already see him dead. The only joy he had left were his daughters, they – unaware of the inhibitions others felt around the young King – were merry, laughed, sung and danced for him. But even that last pleasure was taken away from him when the last promising doctor had witness the scene disgustedly, sure that it drained on the King's meagre supply strength and life-force.
It was late in late spring when the news of a travelling physician reached the castle and immediately the royal family's most entrusted herald was sent to Marseille, where he was said to reside. And really, two weeks later the herald returned with an old man and a beautiful young woman.
The old man, with his long white hair and beard and the spark of intelligence in his clear blue eyes, was friendly and chatty. He spoke French with an unusual accent that the King was not quite able to place, but he enjoyed the company of someone who did not appear to feel like he was a lost cause. On the contrary, he hobbled around the room, joking and laughing his mad giggle, while trying his poultices and potions on him, never down-hearted or of low spirits when it did not seem to show an effect.
The woman, he had introduced as his daughter, Annie Mortimer, was quiet and kept in the background. It was not so much that she was shy, Charles decided, because when she could make herself useful she was always there, wrapping bandages around him, or bathing him in herbal extracts or whatever her father asked of her. She did this with the ease of experience and smiled a gentle, unassuming smile whenever he tried to talk to her. At first he had the impression that she did not talk much, but the longer he was around her – sometimes only her, he realize that she had not said a single word to him. "She doesn't speak your language well, your majesty," the old Mortimer had explained one day, "She understands every word we speak, but she's a little perfectionist, she is. Won't start talking until she knows she'll get it right, always the same with her…"
She was beautiful, stunningly beautiful, he thought, with her long wavy read hear, framing a petite, freckled face, and more and more he became aware of her small, gentle hands that had touched him so often. She had a way with her hands, Charles thought to himself, observation seemingly being to only source of information about the enigmatic woman. When she touched him, even intimately, treating him, she did it with a natural ease that made it easy to forget she was there at all – at least that was what it had been like in the beginning. He had begun to fall in love with her.
The Mortimers had been with the King for almost a month and his condition had barely improved. Summer was fast approaching and Charles noticed with pleasure how Annie had exchanged heavy draping dresses and scarves with lightly flowing garments that accentuated her beautiful body and subtle grace. He often wondered why he did not claim her as his courtesan, he could have – but pushed the thought away with excuses about his wasted health and the faint hope her treatments might help him more than the satisfaction of owning her body.
It was a beautiful day in June, when Annie started talking.
Her father had been plagued by a series of coughing spells for the last few days and had excused himself to his chamber while she staid with the King to treat him. His eyes followed her around, craving to fill his mind with her. She pointedly ignored his arousal bathing him in the sweet scent of linden blossoms, when she finally threw her hands up in frustration.
"This will never work!" she blurted out in perfect French – no not perfect Charles thought, she did have a fainter trace of the same accent her father spoke with, but it only heightened her appeal.
She blushed as she saw his eyes go wide in surprise.
"So you have decided to talk to me…" he stated smiling at her, with his sensual eyes gleaming with pleasure. She smiled back, unable not to respond. "But your faith in my health seems to dwindle, my beautiful…"
Her blush deepend, "No!" she protested, "No, but the treatment is wrong, you not need –" she faltered then corrected herself: "You don't need poultices and teas, your majesty!"
"In your opinion, what is it I need, my lady?" Charles was gently amused, and couldn't help but place a certain sensuous hint into his question.
Annie looked around, turning around on her own axis and making an all-encompassing gesture with her hands, "Air, Sun, the smell of fresh grass and the sound of birds singing their song. How can you live like this, always in this dark chamber with heavy curtains drawn over the windows and whispered voices and faces that never smile?"
She looked away, wondering if she had gone to far when she ended, but she needn't have worried. Charles looked at her like an apparition, an angel that had come to rescue him from this dark prison. He bit his lip, and that was all he could do to keep his eyes from overflowing.
"Take me outside!" He commanded almost roughly in an eager whisper.
As the warm days of summer waned, and wind and storm began to toss the landscape, the King had regained his strength. He had reassumed his obligations, without allowing them to consume the life he craved, taking long strolls through the countryside every day, Annie always at his side.
He had no doubt that she had saved his life, his soul, and loved her like he had never loved before. She was not a wife bargained for, she was not a courtier battling for his attention; she was Annie, graceful, quiet, beautiful Annie, with her green eyes that sparkled her love for him every time he met her gaze.
It had been on impulse when he had first asked her to become his queen, desperately trying to keep her from reassuming her journeys across countries with her father. But the more time passed the more he knew that he would never be happier with anybody then she would make him. His family urged him to get married again, to produce an heir, but none of the contestants compared to Annie and when he announced their engagement, it was with the utmost strength and authority he could muster as the King of France.
It had all been too beautiful to last, too fragile was the pipe dream they had erected, too filled with spikes of hatred the world around them. The royal family had sent out spies into all the lands, anything to cast doubt on her integrity, anything to burst the soap-bubble.
It was on the day before the wedding was planned, that an old woman was dragged into the castle. Annie ran up to her and hugged to her chest, "Mother," she cried out, "Mother oh how much have I missed you!" The sad eyes of the old woman however told a different story, and when a little girl of four, flaming red haired and freckled was brought in, a gasp of fright came to Annie's lips and tears filled her mossy green eyes.
"It's her daughter!" The spy spat out, "…bastard daughter of a whore!"
Annie's head flew around in panic, from the marks on her mother's hands where they had tortured her, to the little baby girl she had not seen in two years, to the man she loved… whose eyes turned slowly from disbelieve to fear – to disgust, and then went cold, like a blown-out candle.
A whole night she sat in her chamber, rocking her body to and fro, awaiting her fate. She did not nourish any hope that he would still marry her – too great had been the public humiliation, too deep the taboo. She had been 16 when the rich merchant her father had nursed back to health had put his grimy hands on her, had coaxed and threatened her into something she had not understood.
He had died the next day, a lethal dosage of thorn apple extract in his morning-medicine.
She did not fight when a soldier came the next morning and proceeded to drag her into the great hall. Charles sat on his throne – it was one of the few times she had seen him in all his splendour and attire, but his face was ashen and cold. She was pushed onto her knees, without fear in her eyes – but without any hope either.
"You have been accused of a serious crime, Annie Mortimer…" a herald read from a scroll, but she did not look at him, only at the man she loved. "Among the crimes you are charged with is Devil worship, murder and the practice of witchcraft!"
She winced at the speech, and shook her head sadly. It was not the first time she had been accused of that. It was the main reason why her father and herself never stayed long in a place. Sooner or later the potion brewer and his beautiful redhead gave a good target for blame. The greatest shock was still ahead of her however, she had not expected to get out of this alive, but she wanted to go knowing that she was innocent. She knew she wasn't when she saw a woman in the crowd, not much older than herself with her long blonde hair, poorly clad ever since her father and provider had died. It was the one incident in her past that she had wished she could have forgotten, but some things never go away.
Annie started crying as soon as the King spoke for the first time, his cold voice was both so familiar and so incredibly alien.
"You saved my life, witch" he started, "The King is not ungrateful, but doubt not: you will die. The chance you get is to confess – now, and I won't deliver you to the inquisition!"
Her sobs resounded in the hall, as she tried to make sense of 180 degree turn her life had taken in less than 24 hours. She could hear the crowd jeering; ever so often she could feel drops of spittle land on her skin. She knew she did not stand a chance in an inquisitional trial, even if she had been innocent, and she knew that the omission of the gruesome torture process was Charles' last gift to her.
When she lifted her head, she did so with dignity and a flash of respect hushed over the Kings face.
"Yes, I confess…" she said in a quite but strong voice and then threw herself before his feet. She was so close now he could hear her breathing and with a gesture he stopped the guards that had started to approach.
"I love you!" She whispered, and he did not manage to mask the pain he felt, "No, don't mourn me, I was not worthy of your love. I knew that you needed me, that I could have saved you, but I am not worthy of saving you!"
A chill of foreboding went icy-cold down the Kings spine.
"I will make it right, one day – my offspring will repay what I have failed to do, one day one of your descendents will love one of mine, and their love will make everything right, put everything to how it should rightfully have been, I promise you that!"
She broke into sobs again, when she was dragged from him, "You've gone mad…" he breathed hoarsely and quickly left the hall to mask his rising tears. She was burned on nightfall the following day, pleading never for herself but for the life of her only daughter.
King Charles never recovered from the screams of agony, the loss and the guilt. He took Annie's daughter in amongst his own, but just a few years later he had to send them away, to relatives in England, as his supremacy was questioned. He was killed by his successor and his line never truly recovered from the blow.
They still exist, sparse and unsure, carrying the tale of the King and the physician's daughter from generation to generation as a faint glimmer of hope and memory.
And we have our first cameo here, it's for my darling Sammi - and it's actually more than a cameo *drumrolls* You are the infamous physicain's daughter :bow:
V.
The Legend of the King and the Physician's Daughter
Essay by Anaïs Clairmont-Fleur
In the land of France, years and years ago, there lived a King. One of many to be sure - but his story made him different. He was well loved by his people for his kindness and justice and even while he was living he was often referred to as Charles the Fair.
But King Charles was not happy, he longed for the simple life of a commoner and felt trapped in the walls of his castle and guarded by armies of servants, courtiers and soldiers.
The excitement of his position had faded somewhat ever since his first wife Blanche de Bourgogne had died on consumption, leaving him with her two daughters. He loved the girls dearly, but between his mother and their nurses there seemed no doubt that the care of two children – especially girls, was not something a King should spend his precious mind on.
He began spending less and less time within the confines of his castle, seeking instead the solitude of a forest or a river valley. He always disguised himself when he ran danger of meeting people, but he usually stayed clear of populated areas. For hours he could watch farmers go about their business, wondering if they were happy or wished for more or something different like he himself did.
His escapades did not go unnoticed by his family and courtiers, some – especially nourished by his younger brother – had started to spread rumours, doubting his mental health and soundness of mind, and before long he found himself politely reminded of his responsibilities. Once again he tried to embrace his role as King, but he grew sick as time passed.
The mysterious disease did not spread, it only seemed to affect the King, making him bedridden and pale, with dark blotches under his vivid dark eyes. He grew thin and silent as his illness progressed, seeing doctors, apothecaries and mysterious potion brewers pass like the seasons, announced with storm and splendour – but without leaving any permanent change.
They had begun to be an inevitable part of his new life, like the nurses and the overabundance of white linen sheets. When people spoke to him it was always in hushed voices, as if they could already see him dead. The only joy he had left were his daughters, they – unaware of the inhibitions others felt around the young King – were merry, laughed, sung and danced for him. But even that last pleasure was taken away from him when the last promising doctor had witness the scene disgustedly, sure that it drained on the King's meagre supply strength and life-force.
It was late in late spring when the news of a travelling physician reached the castle and immediately the royal family's most entrusted herald was sent to Marseille, where he was said to reside. And really, two weeks later the herald returned with an old man and a beautiful young woman.
The old man, with his long white hair and beard and the spark of intelligence in his clear blue eyes, was friendly and chatty. He spoke French with an unusual accent that the King was not quite able to place, but he enjoyed the company of someone who did not appear to feel like he was a lost cause. On the contrary, he hobbled around the room, joking and laughing his mad giggle, while trying his poultices and potions on him, never down-hearted or of low spirits when it did not seem to show an effect.
The woman, he had introduced as his daughter, Annie Mortimer, was quiet and kept in the background. It was not so much that she was shy, Charles decided, because when she could make herself useful she was always there, wrapping bandages around him, or bathing him in herbal extracts or whatever her father asked of her. She did this with the ease of experience and smiled a gentle, unassuming smile whenever he tried to talk to her. At first he had the impression that she did not talk much, but the longer he was around her – sometimes only her, he realize that she had not said a single word to him. "She doesn't speak your language well, your majesty," the old Mortimer had explained one day, "She understands every word we speak, but she's a little perfectionist, she is. Won't start talking until she knows she'll get it right, always the same with her…"
She was beautiful, stunningly beautiful, he thought, with her long wavy read hear, framing a petite, freckled face, and more and more he became aware of her small, gentle hands that had touched him so often. She had a way with her hands, Charles thought to himself, observation seemingly being to only source of information about the enigmatic woman. When she touched him, even intimately, treating him, she did it with a natural ease that made it easy to forget she was there at all – at least that was what it had been like in the beginning. He had begun to fall in love with her.
The Mortimers had been with the King for almost a month and his condition had barely improved. Summer was fast approaching and Charles noticed with pleasure how Annie had exchanged heavy draping dresses and scarves with lightly flowing garments that accentuated her beautiful body and subtle grace. He often wondered why he did not claim her as his courtesan, he could have – but pushed the thought away with excuses about his wasted health and the faint hope her treatments might help him more than the satisfaction of owning her body.
It was a beautiful day in June, when Annie started talking.
Her father had been plagued by a series of coughing spells for the last few days and had excused himself to his chamber while she staid with the King to treat him. His eyes followed her around, craving to fill his mind with her. She pointedly ignored his arousal bathing him in the sweet scent of linden blossoms, when she finally threw her hands up in frustration.
"This will never work!" she blurted out in perfect French – no not perfect Charles thought, she did have a fainter trace of the same accent her father spoke with, but it only heightened her appeal.
She blushed as she saw his eyes go wide in surprise.
"So you have decided to talk to me…" he stated smiling at her, with his sensual eyes gleaming with pleasure. She smiled back, unable not to respond. "But your faith in my health seems to dwindle, my beautiful…"
Her blush deepend, "No!" she protested, "No, but the treatment is wrong, you not need –" she faltered then corrected herself: "You don't need poultices and teas, your majesty!"
"In your opinion, what is it I need, my lady?" Charles was gently amused, and couldn't help but place a certain sensuous hint into his question.
Annie looked around, turning around on her own axis and making an all-encompassing gesture with her hands, "Air, Sun, the smell of fresh grass and the sound of birds singing their song. How can you live like this, always in this dark chamber with heavy curtains drawn over the windows and whispered voices and faces that never smile?"
She looked away, wondering if she had gone to far when she ended, but she needn't have worried. Charles looked at her like an apparition, an angel that had come to rescue him from this dark prison. He bit his lip, and that was all he could do to keep his eyes from overflowing.
"Take me outside!" He commanded almost roughly in an eager whisper.
As the warm days of summer waned, and wind and storm began to toss the landscape, the King had regained his strength. He had reassumed his obligations, without allowing them to consume the life he craved, taking long strolls through the countryside every day, Annie always at his side.
He had no doubt that she had saved his life, his soul, and loved her like he had never loved before. She was not a wife bargained for, she was not a courtier battling for his attention; she was Annie, graceful, quiet, beautiful Annie, with her green eyes that sparkled her love for him every time he met her gaze.
It had been on impulse when he had first asked her to become his queen, desperately trying to keep her from reassuming her journeys across countries with her father. But the more time passed the more he knew that he would never be happier with anybody then she would make him. His family urged him to get married again, to produce an heir, but none of the contestants compared to Annie and when he announced their engagement, it was with the utmost strength and authority he could muster as the King of France.
It had all been too beautiful to last, too fragile was the pipe dream they had erected, too filled with spikes of hatred the world around them. The royal family had sent out spies into all the lands, anything to cast doubt on her integrity, anything to burst the soap-bubble.
It was on the day before the wedding was planned, that an old woman was dragged into the castle. Annie ran up to her and hugged to her chest, "Mother," she cried out, "Mother oh how much have I missed you!" The sad eyes of the old woman however told a different story, and when a little girl of four, flaming red haired and freckled was brought in, a gasp of fright came to Annie's lips and tears filled her mossy green eyes.
"It's her daughter!" The spy spat out, "…bastard daughter of a whore!"
Annie's head flew around in panic, from the marks on her mother's hands where they had tortured her, to the little baby girl she had not seen in two years, to the man she loved… whose eyes turned slowly from disbelieve to fear – to disgust, and then went cold, like a blown-out candle.
A whole night she sat in her chamber, rocking her body to and fro, awaiting her fate. She did not nourish any hope that he would still marry her – too great had been the public humiliation, too deep the taboo. She had been 16 when the rich merchant her father had nursed back to health had put his grimy hands on her, had coaxed and threatened her into something she had not understood.
He had died the next day, a lethal dosage of thorn apple extract in his morning-medicine.
She did not fight when a soldier came the next morning and proceeded to drag her into the great hall. Charles sat on his throne – it was one of the few times she had seen him in all his splendour and attire, but his face was ashen and cold. She was pushed onto her knees, without fear in her eyes – but without any hope either.
"You have been accused of a serious crime, Annie Mortimer…" a herald read from a scroll, but she did not look at him, only at the man she loved. "Among the crimes you are charged with is Devil worship, murder and the practice of witchcraft!"
She winced at the speech, and shook her head sadly. It was not the first time she had been accused of that. It was the main reason why her father and herself never stayed long in a place. Sooner or later the potion brewer and his beautiful redhead gave a good target for blame. The greatest shock was still ahead of her however, she had not expected to get out of this alive, but she wanted to go knowing that she was innocent. She knew she wasn't when she saw a woman in the crowd, not much older than herself with her long blonde hair, poorly clad ever since her father and provider had died. It was the one incident in her past that she had wished she could have forgotten, but some things never go away.
Annie started crying as soon as the King spoke for the first time, his cold voice was both so familiar and so incredibly alien.
"You saved my life, witch" he started, "The King is not ungrateful, but doubt not: you will die. The chance you get is to confess – now, and I won't deliver you to the inquisition!"
Her sobs resounded in the hall, as she tried to make sense of 180 degree turn her life had taken in less than 24 hours. She could hear the crowd jeering; ever so often she could feel drops of spittle land on her skin. She knew she did not stand a chance in an inquisitional trial, even if she had been innocent, and she knew that the omission of the gruesome torture process was Charles' last gift to her.
When she lifted her head, she did so with dignity and a flash of respect hushed over the Kings face.
"Yes, I confess…" she said in a quite but strong voice and then threw herself before his feet. She was so close now he could hear her breathing and with a gesture he stopped the guards that had started to approach.
"I love you!" She whispered, and he did not manage to mask the pain he felt, "No, don't mourn me, I was not worthy of your love. I knew that you needed me, that I could have saved you, but I am not worthy of saving you!"
A chill of foreboding went icy-cold down the Kings spine.
"I will make it right, one day – my offspring will repay what I have failed to do, one day one of your descendents will love one of mine, and their love will make everything right, put everything to how it should rightfully have been, I promise you that!"
She broke into sobs again, when she was dragged from him, "You've gone mad…" he breathed hoarsely and quickly left the hall to mask his rising tears. She was burned on nightfall the following day, pleading never for herself but for the life of her only daughter.
King Charles never recovered from the screams of agony, the loss and the guilt. He took Annie's daughter in amongst his own, but just a few years later he had to send them away, to relatives in England, as his supremacy was questioned. He was killed by his successor and his line never truly recovered from the blow.
They still exist, sparse and unsure, carrying the tale of the King and the physician's daughter from generation to generation as a faint glimmer of hope and memory.
~Jewelz~ - July 1, 2006 09:34 PM (GMT)
:eek: ...Wow.
In-effing-credible!! My gawd; that one chapter alone could have made up a story to bring me to tears. How horrible, how sad, how tragically romantic! Eeeaaagguuhhh!!...
Hehe... My goodness ; I absolutely loved this chapter. The story *sniffs* There just aren't words... Ha...
Mmmm especially since it provided me with plenty of new theories on what could happen in this lovely story ^_^ Yay!
Admittedly, the legend is not quite what I expected- a pleasant surprise. And now I can hardly wait to see if I'm right about a thing or too, hehehe....
Again, loved it! *weeps* So saaaaad, but so goooood! Haha :)
Tchao!
In-effing-credible!! My gawd; that one chapter alone could have made up a story to bring me to tears. How horrible, how sad, how tragically romantic! Eeeaaagguuhhh!!...
Hehe... My goodness ; I absolutely loved this chapter. The story *sniffs* There just aren't words... Ha...
Mmmm especially since it provided me with plenty of new theories on what could happen in this lovely story ^_^ Yay!
Admittedly, the legend is not quite what I expected- a pleasant surprise. And now I can hardly wait to see if I'm right about a thing or too, hehehe....
Again, loved it! *weeps* So saaaaad, but so goooood! Haha :)
Tchao!
Ithil'Quessir - July 2, 2006 09:00 AM (GMT)
Wow... Now that's an essay!
I loved it, I absolutely loved it! :bow:
It wasn't anything like I expected (secret love, son raised in secret...) but even better!
Laila, I bow to thee (again) :bow:
I hope to read more soon :)
Love, Moon :hug:
I loved it, I absolutely loved it! :bow:
It wasn't anything like I expected (secret love, son raised in secret...) but even better!
Laila, I bow to thee (again) :bow:
I hope to read more soon :)
Love, Moon :hug:
LijsSunshine06 - July 2, 2006 12:26 PM (GMT)
Wow that was amazing Laila, I loved the essay and poor Sammi lol...
Anyhoo I can't wait to see more of this, you're such a great writer :)
Katie
Anyhoo I can't wait to see more of this, you're such a great writer :)
Katie
Laila - July 2, 2006 09:02 PM (GMT)
| QUOTE (~Jewelz~ @ Jul 1 2006, 09:34 PM) |
| Mmmm especially since it provided me with plenty of new theories on what could happen in this lovely story ^_^ Yay! |
*muahah* I hope not too many right ones, cause even though I am not the best with the whole surprise ending thing - I really hope it's not going to get too boring in here ;)
On the other hand what is really weird is when you write with a solid plot in mind - especially one where you reveal things one by one, I get confused what I already revealed and what you actually don't know yet. *rolls eyes*
| QUOTE |
| It wasn't anything like I expected (secret love, son raised in secret...) but even better! |
*lol* That would have been cool too - but I'm way too much a fan tragic love and sacrifice not to go with this idea *lol*. I mean I love this legend so so so much... it was the first idea I had about this story but it's way to tragic to stand on its own, i couldn't go through with it. *lol* so - this is what happened.
So yeah, I'm already writing on the next chapter - well the one after that actually since that elusive friend inspiration kicked in yesterday about chapter 7... now I have to get started on 6. But I don't think this is the last you hear of Annie and Charles, as I said I love this part and I hated having to rush it like that! :)
Sammi - July 2, 2006 11:42 PM (GMT)
Wow. I am absolutely speechless. Honestly Laila, this was the perfect thing to come home to after a week in New Orleans. :hug: This sub-story was absolutely amazing! At the middle, my heart was crying, "Yess!! Happy, romantic ending!" but I really knew... legends are always tragic.
:bow:
This intricate story, the basis of the bigger intricate story... LOVE IT!!! Its so sad, though, that in that time, there was never time for an explanation... I mean, I'm sure Charles wouldn't have minded what that other slag did...
This seems vaguely cliche, but in a perfectly good way, that his duties held him to what his heart hated doing. :cry: Such a tragedy.
Now, Sophie is a Mortimer? Or Viggo? Hmm... since we know that Orlando and Anni are descendants from Charles... Aaghh! This story moves me.
I'll be patiently awaiting the new chapter.
:heartbeat:
Samma
PS
Pat - its not my fault you're a slow-poke. :P Haha
:bow:
This intricate story, the basis of the bigger intricate story... LOVE IT!!! Its so sad, though, that in that time, there was never time for an explanation... I mean, I'm sure Charles wouldn't have minded what that other slag did...
This seems vaguely cliche, but in a perfectly good way, that his duties held him to what his heart hated doing. :cry: Such a tragedy.
Now, Sophie is a Mortimer? Or Viggo? Hmm... since we know that Orlando and Anni are descendants from Charles... Aaghh! This story moves me.
I'll be patiently awaiting the new chapter.
:heartbeat:
Samma
PS
Pat - its not my fault you're a slow-poke. :P Haha