ls_cassius | Entries tagged with holidays

#1 is a Captain Lorel S. Cassius, a slight statured detective of ambiguously gendered appearance. They had debated long and hard all day about attending, wondering if they would have enough time or not to catch the dirigible, or if they would have to wait until tomorrow's. But after last year's party, they cannot help but risk even going for an hour. Besides, they spent quite a fair bit on their costume, and Peasberry has been waiting.

They sit a top her saddle, the gentle bay coloured mare, in their full suit of armour with its detailed blue cloak. But as they start trotting along the cobblestones, they adjust their stance and try bravely to try to assume the role they have tonight. The Lonely Knight. A role that they have assumed in their dreams far too many times for them to count, but one that is never a nightmare. Their costume is a full set of steel armour, ornately detailed and full plate. The plume on their helmet is of a large white feather, mixed with white peacock feathers.

They stop her by the river and dismount with only the sound of their armour rattling. Adjusting their visor, they silently wait.

#1: L**** Cassius,
#2: Commodore Creazil,
#3: Narciso,
#4: Lin-Sjian Yujao,
#5: Gabriel Flynn,
#6: Bel Falkenrath,
#7: Laura Riding,
#8: Becquerel Curie,
#9: that woman with the hair,
#10: Thomas Puz,
#11: Henrik Paulsen,
#12: Israel Salvador,
#13: Pear,
#14: Midnight Voyager,
#15: Honoria M. Harlowe,
#16: Bartholomaew,
#17: Tomas LeFroy,
#18: Nathan Attford,
#19: Eris Fnord,
#20: Scarlet Fenwick,
#21: Helen Demeter,
#22: Louis Plumb,
#23: Asclepius Unbound,
#24: Theodor Gylden

Current Music: You Know My Name -- Chris Cornell

Saturday. The day after their 'Neathversary.

Cassius managed to come out from under their blankets sometime before noon, but only now has felt their stomach rumble and gurgle for food. Somehow they also manage to get a pot of root vegetables, salt pork, and beef going on the stove, and somehow they manage to eat most of it. They sit with a glass of plum jerkum-a Christmas gift from home-and want to cry. But they can't even cry any more, they cry rarely now, & certainly not after wearing themself out with Narciso--Still they pull on a sweater from Mila and almost do.

They think fondly on Mila, an older woman who might as well be their mother. She likes to knit sweaters, and always seems to know just how to make them the most comfortable. This one that they wear now is a deep turquoise, but more grey than vivid. Not their favourite, but they have left the other on Ladybones Road drying. They don't plan to leave their shack today, let alone for only a sweater. And this one is warm, soft, and comforting just the same.

With just a nightshirt and a sweater on, and their hair mused, stiff from tears, and unwashed, Cassius probably looks either very pathetic or very ridiculous. In need of a bath, "in any case". They set the glass down on their trunk, curl-up in their wool afghan, and drift-off to sleep in their armchair.

Current Location: London

Thursday night was hard for Cassius. Going about normal business when their lover comes to them without his soul. It felt like--Well not quite that horrible, but it broke their heart to see him like that. He got his soul back but night's end, but it still scared Cassius. Even waking-up, sprawled and clinging to his chest, their ribs sore from laying on all the things in their suit pockets, didn't take all their fear away.

Because Cassius has been scared for almost their whole time in The 'Neath. Various questions and fears weighing on them. Anger, vengeance. Those too push at them. And grief. Questions such as "Am not a good enough detective to find the killer?", "How can I so want vengeance?", "Do I have what it takes?", "Am I strong enough to do what it takes?" Answers. They still haven't found the answers they seek. All they have is a name of a flower, a name of a man, and a possible location for said man. "Can I--Will I kill this man?", "How can I make him give me the answers?". "Will I become so stained with blood?". The dreams they have been having seem to foresee that their hands will be red.

Questions about friendship. Questions about starting roots. Questions about love. And so many questions about who they, themself are.

And The 'Neath cloys, clings, and suffocates them. Always dark. Dark even with gas light. And not just for its lack of sunshine. Creatures, secrets, people. Almost everything is so, so dark. And this too scares Cassius.

One year ago today, Cassius jumped off the dirigible and landed on Ladybones Road. One year without their answers, one year without going home. They knew the date was coming, but with the Office, they tried to busy themself into not remembering. But after they head to the High Castle on this Friday afternoon, it hits them. And all these crushing worries, fears, questions, and loneliness fall on them. It is all they can do to get out of their clothes-wrinkled from sleeping in, and smelling of Narciso- and into a nightshirt.

And Cassius flops into their bed.

December 21 1889

When December was still new I met Mr. Sacks in the street. I made a note of it previously, but as Christmas draws closer he has become more...active. I do not wish to know why he reeks of beef fat so, and with hope I will not find out. Unless it is because he is behaving like a winter bird? Not the migrating to Africa part, but the being fed suet bit. Does Mr. Sacks eat at feeders in the back of someone's garden? Then again trees are lacking, and I have not seen any small songbirds here.

I sent Parcels from the large bag Mr. Sacks carries to Asher, Jerry Cornelius, Narciso, Mr. Yanamari, Nathan Attford, and Lorrenna. I was not expecting to receive any in return, though my curiosity as to their contents was great. And so it was to my great surprise when I recieved not one, but four Parcels from others.

From Asher-who again I really wish you could have met-was a small piece of a porcelain mask. It had a very detailed painting of a dove on it. I have had an idea that if I can get it mounted onto a sturdier mask I might perhaps wear it to the next society event. I think masks are becoming in fashion, it would help to hide my identity some, and I am afraid I do not have much use for such a delicate shard besides.

From Narciso-who I find myself seeking company with-I received a strange little ball. It seems to be worn like it has been handled many times, and is covered in flecks of some sort. I really do not know -what- to do with the thing! So he asked that I consult this large book of ''Neath Customs' he has been flitting around with. It said it is customary to give small balls away to strangers. I am going to go against customs yet again it seems; for useless or not, it is a gift from a friend and is doing me no burden by holding onto. "Curious Customs from Under the Earth" had that I should grind the Dove Mask Shard into my tea of all things! Which goes to show how good this book's advice is. I shall pass on impaling my throat with bits of glass!

Mr. Attford-or was it 'Attwood'?-sent a small piece of white gold. It is very similar to the piece that was in what I sent Narciso actually. It is probably my favourite of the odd things from the Queer Parcels. It looks like it was part of a toy's wheel at one time and it glitters well in candlelight. The ridiculous book says that I should toss it into a fire-!-and inhale the fumes! I need to find out who wrote this d---able thing.

And lastly the mysterious Mr. Yanamari-who I have never actually met in person-sent me a large ring of stone. To me, it seems to be almost like a napkin ring...And I really know not what to do with it. I thumbed-though that book while Narciso was away from the room and it says that is is custom to throw stone rings into the szea(Zee?). I actually see some sense in this suggestion, as you know that my father was buried at sea. It is suposed to 'undo one of the world's mistakes and be blessed with the clarity of purpose'. If I ever come across' another ring of stone then I shall try this 'custom'.

And this diversion has helped ease some of the melancholy I have been feeling as of late. I am not hopefully for how I will fare with the upcoming holidays however. Even last year I had Uncle & Mila with me, and even Robin came to stay. This year I do not even have that, and as the days go by I remember so many things--

The page abruptly ends

Current Location: Spite, London

December 14 1889

I regret that I spent most of this day in my bed, but I really had no work that needed doing and I felt more like sleeping and reading when I finally did wake. Last evening I told I friend I was returning here, when I actually met up with a few... acquaintances from the university. I have had a lot of thoughts in my head lately, and I really do not know where to begin with sorting them out. I could start by laying them out here, but some I do not think are fit to be written down, even if there were few secrets in our marriage. I have dealt with too many stolen diaries and the like. I also really do not know how to begin with putting all of it into words.

But last evening I spend time with several Stoats--playing that custard game they are so fond of dragging me into. Admittedly I am not that hard to convince, but I try to make a show of declining. One would think by now that they would have caught-on to my simple strategies, but I still won again last night. Then again they may let me win in order to guarantee that I will be buying a round of drinks. I am not going to investigate this too much as it is beneficial to all involved! I have no idea what hour it was when I made it back here, but did manage to fumble my clothes into soak before I passed-out. In the least I did make it back to my own bed for a change. Custard is d---able to get out of most things.

I started reading of the few books I ordered awhile ago from 'The Surface'. I feel in an odd way that I an betraying my home by referring to everything under such a collective but detached term. What other word that can describe the rest of the word above, and yet remain recognisable? I still refuse to call this 'Fallen' London. It shall hopefully continue to remain simply 'London' every time I utter it. By now you must be tired of my protests of this topic, so I shall drop that train right now. I started reading "The Wrong Box", which I must admit I did not get very far into, but that I certainly have been enjoying so far. I shall blame my hangover than blame another cause for not being able to finish more than the first chapter. I have ordered a few for another person, but I honestly am confused as to what date I should deliver them? I am not of the type than cannot afford to give bought Christmas gifts, but I do not know who it would be proper to offer them to. There are few I can consider 'friends', but I hope as the next week unfolds I will have a better grasp as to who it would not be overly strange to receive from me.

I will close this entry out as I prepare to visit that ex-Forger. I am greatly worried over what state I will find him in.

Current Mood: thoughtful
Current Location: Spite, London