|
Post by Evangeline O'Cathasaigh on Aug 7, 2010 1:46:33 GMT -6
A question in the stead of another. At least the offered a substitution. Proported Angel asked the Darkness another question as she drank sweet things:
"Wot is it tha' ye dae with yerself fer a trade?"
|
|
|
Post by Jack Trades on Aug 11, 2010 22:30:21 GMT -6
The bottle left the shade under the brim and the voice rumbled slowly to reply. Each profession was listed with a pause as the darkness seemed to ponder the possibilities.
"All of them. Tonight I be a ferryman. Tomorrow I may be a soldier; or a doctor; or a sculptor; or I'll go fishing; or maybe the cold touch of Death will warm someone's bed." Another shrug was heralded by the rustle of oilskin. "It will depend on the weather."
The hulking frame shifted a little into a more visibly relaxed position before the voice rumbled on. "A tale and a question - since ye are settling intae retirement, what doe ye intend tae do with yer time? What does an angel desire for her life?"
|
|
|
Post by Evangeline O'Cathasaigh on Aug 14, 2010 13:59:00 GMT -6
"All of them. Tonight I be a ferryman. Tomorrow I may be a soldier; or a doctor; or a sculptor; or I'll go fishing; or maybe the cold touch of Death will warm someone's bed." Another shrug was heralded by the rustle of oilskin. "It will depend on the weather."
What he did for a trade should have been applied to his name, but it was the business of fools to live always on assumptions. Not that they weren't right, however. Some could be downright clever. Evangeline leaned back where she was considering every role he ever played. What hadn't he done yet. "When the season turns again,"she mused, "ye should add bein' Ceaser tae yer list o' things tae accomplish." A busy man never settled or was it that he settled for never negotiating his own inner being by being so busy? The questions were pondered because oft was it the same with her. She tucked a strand of hair behind the shell of the ear as she pushed herself up to find more of what it was she was drinking, for alas, the cup was empty.
When she touched the lintle post of the establishment again, she turned her head over her shoulder. Small smirk gave light to eyes that danced nearer the shade of gray in the black than their own color. As light fell out to shine on her face she said, "Gaein' tae put some o' m'self in tae Dublin, some o' it tae the Griffin, see wot comes o' the two. while ah'm at it, may gae tae Paris n' Milan. Write more, n' pass more writin about. Listen tae things worth listen tae."
She was also going to mourn her son while laughing at the bright painted mornings he saw from heaven, dance another jig on the grave of the dead bastard she'd been force to marry, and see if life could begin again.
|
|
|
Post by Jack Trades on Aug 18, 2010 21:28:48 GMT -6
Borad shoulders shook with mirth as a good-natured chuckle burbled from within his barrel chest. A scarred hand held the bottle and the waning amber liquid toward the light before lowering again. The hearty voice rumbled easily in a bemused fashion.
"Funny ye should mention bein' Ceasar. Though I've never received a Roman salute, I've already checked that off me list of things tae do. If'n I live, one day I might again."
The sentence was punctuated with a long pull of the bottle and a burning breath laden with the heady scent of whiskey blew over the bar. The voice rumbled again with the smallest morose tinge before melding back into a more cheerful tone. "So then, ye intend tae give tae two houses. What do ye wish tae see come of that? Also, since ye bring it up, would ye be needin' the services of a ferryman tae show ye Paris and Milan?"
|
|
|
Post by Evangeline O'Cathasaigh on Aug 21, 2010 10:40:37 GMT -6
"I wish tae collect Dublin's place better than it be now, tae wot it was some fourteen years before, better yet in a free nation. O' service tae the highest house tae help the lesser, which is Dublin, which is my own house." She tapped her fingers on the side of the mug before slipping head long in to a Dublin only she could visit in the mind. It was there that the rain fell in sheets thick, hard as slate rocks to smash the water out of a black courtyard pool. Voices echoed in the wayside and progress waited for completion. Here she sat in a splendor so strange even the slum areas seemed to hold a glitter. If rats in the alley or lost refuse was akin to fallen stars, than the slum burned brighter than all else. "It's been a long time, since it's meant somethin tae someone." The tone was so low it was indicative of ghosts only turned as the talk went to Milan and Paris. "If such a ferryman will allow me finish m'business, as he finishes his. I shall call 'pon ye thus, n' ye may ferry me tae each. We shan't gae alone, ah suspect m'betrothed will come forth. By then I may e'en be taken to wife again. Tis a strange thought, tae be twice a wife, once widowed yet content tae be sae widowed..while knowin God favors nay widow a long mistress." Even if she had been his mistress, Faolan's, for no less than five years..if not six. One man would beat her while the other would soothe. Beaten by the seventh day lord and master, soothed by the sin. It was a comedy of errors to be Irish. {{ End Thread }}
|
|