Peek-a-boo Otis!
Great photos, Pan. Thank you.
"It's imported marble. From France. Some...French guy made it, I guess."Smirks a little.
"I didn't really ask. It didn't seem that important."
Shrugs.
((third time's a charm...))She watched you disappear into your memories. Given her own long life she could appreciate how many you had to sift through, though her life was but a season in the long span of yours.
Your smile, that smile, stirs memories of her own. She can’t help but still love that you look at her like that, even as it saddens her for what age had finally stolen. From you both. There had never been a discussion, just a tacit understanding as she had pulled away from you that your relationship had turned. Her vanity insisting that your memories of their last time together was not with her as a crone.
“How did we survive in an age before telegraphy, caro?” she asks with a small shake of her head. You had not been the only one to worry, leaving her behind as you so often did to fight another crusade, with any word as to your safekeeping taking weeks to reach her if they even reached her at all.
Her gaze sweeps across the room to the large windows that looked out onto George Street, the sunlight streaming through them to beckon you outside, and she nods as her eyes find yours again.As if to prove a point she took a final sip of hers, the corners of her mouth curling behind her teacup before she set it down, empty. “Shall we?”
((That worked!))
He listened carefully, his gaze unfocused as he searched back in his memory. Though his life had been a long one, one aspect of the Gift he had been given, which aided in the unending passage of years, was a mind altered to endure the ravages of such longevity. So from the past he dredged up those memories, some two hundred and fifty-odd years on, and began to nod.“I recall hearing of it at the time, while I was away in Moldavia.” It was a time of high tension, as he recalled, with the Ottomans, Habsburgs and the Polish all testing the will of the Moldavians with their ceaseless provocations. He had been invited by there by the one of the ever-shifting voivodes of the region, but could not remember if it was Moise or Alexander, at the time.
Realising that he was deep in recollection, he lifted his eyes to yours and allowed his smile to return, the one which he reserved only ever for you. “It was a time of great turmoil, and with the constant political machinations, the parasites stirred from their tombs and sought to capitalise on the troubles. Then, I heard of the plague in Venice and all I could concern myself with was your safety.”
He laughed gently, an acknowledgement that your had skewed his priorities even then, though he regretted nothing. “Thank you, Veronica. I will ask my Archive to see what she might uncover.”
Glancing again at his tea, he leaves the cup unfinished and fixes you with a look, one corner of his mouth twitching with intent.
“It is a glorious day, and beneath the sun, happier matters should prevail. Might I walk you home, dear girl? Perhaps... past a tavern or two, where we might enjoy a drink or two worth the effort of the drinking?"
Marcos has started a new game with the following players:
Marcos
Pervy…but perky too *s*
Well you are pretty perky…in a good wayYes…I hope so
Thank you for your service. May you find peace and comfort.
i love to listen
UG says i'm a perv
~s~i have to bounce for now ... maybe see you later?
((~petpets~))Her heart twists to see that smile on your face, a smile that once upon a time had held so much more in it. But she takes a breath and buries the still sharp ache, focusing instead on the darker turn their conversation has taken.
“There was an outbreak in 1630, I think?” During one of your breaks. “I don’t know if you remember, it was so bad we lost almost a third of the City to it. Rumour at the time had it that it was innaturale.” She only slipped into Italian unintentionally when she got emotional. Plague, then as now, spared no one, and her gaze wavered at the memory of the loved ones who had been sent to Lazzaretto Vecchio for quaranta giorni only to never return.
“If your records hold any accounts of that plague you may find some clue as to what is currently afflicting the Cowgate.” Or even a remedy.
Laying still on my side of the bed gazing at the ceiling
Sending every bit of love and mojo up to you. You have been a good friend to me over the years.
returning, ordering a coffee at the bar
I’m happy to have a purpose…pirate captain, crew babysitter…provider of undisturbed boinking time *s*
had black swans in my yard
Takes a deep breath and sighs it out.
out