Within the Inn

[Janice Olivia Monroe]

Within the Inn
How goes it really?

Julian Monroe

The day had started long after the apprentice woke, and the picture would be of him bent over the table working in the dim light of the candle that had nearly burnt through. The sun was starting to filter through the window, and the cold air causing his breath to fog from is lips. However, he was set on seeing this formula through. It was a mixture of herbs, and the chemical reaction that came along with it. Yet, he gave everything code names to keep it all hidden, but he felt himself on the path to greatness. Claramae would be so pleased, at least once he perfected it. Janice had come in late to this very picture, and he had hardly noticed. It was not until he realized she was a bit heavy with the ale did he turn to face her, and help her to the bed. He felt horrible for not dancing with her, when in Spain they had lived upon the music rings, but his mind was everywhere all at once how could he concentrate on anything else Nothing was said to her as she came in, nothing as she spoke, and then when he made sure she was alright he went right back to his work without saying anything else. (d


Janice Viscreed

She had spun herself round in circles after the dances were through. Long, long circles as she walked the party grounds of emptying people, smoldering bonfire rings. Watched the wagon wheels roll off as her head did the same without a physical wheel. Poor thing, who seemed to be able to endure wine far better than the potent ale of the country distillery didn't quite remember how she sensibly walked toward the end or when she was in the bed, but an hour after sunrise she'd risen to the feeling of the feet stomping on her temples. Oowww she muttered Jesu never again...not enough to be drunk but enough to reminder of its dangers (but she couldn't recall, if she knew she'd beendrunk she would have simply died), she vowed to leave ales for extreme moderation, half pints! She cleaned her teeth with mint, ordered a tea, then poured water in the basin to wash her arm, neck, face, and run it through hair. Still of yet, no one said a word to the other. She'd half forgiven him in her headache, a self inflicted punishment. (d)

Julian Monroe

Julian in all his life had never been to where she was within the moment, but he had come close on the night of his birthday when Jean-Claude let him have nearly an entire bottle of wine. He had been sick for days after, but the headache never started. "I am not certain what is worse." He spoke in that snide voice of his where his tone was cold, and dry without any emotion at all to back the pull of his vocals, "That you are so green or that you smell like a barn." What a wonderful thing to say to your wife Julian, but by now was she used to his jests? Sitting back from his work he would rub his eyes for a moment before looking up at her. "Do you feel unwell? Should I leave you to your sickness?" She had to be like him, that when he felt unwell he wanted to be left alone. "Will no doubt be the last time you attend one of those stupid events." With that he turned back to the open books and small little glass vials of various liquids. (d

Janice Viscreed

"Good morning to you, too. Very witty, save it for the herbs, by all means don't strain yourself." She snip-snapped the words right back without missing a beat, rubbing her temples. Now she thought Is this what he feels when I talk too much and he wishes me to be quiet, if so I fathom. Dear Lord can't he shut up? Bright eyes brokered no want of his usual but would fire back if tested. Was it really the morning to do it. "Please, a tub and hot water for a bath," leaned in the doorway fixing herself to be as polite as she could to the maid just beyond the crack, "Also soap, with lavendar. Thank you." It was worth the extra coin to scrub away the smell of hay. Fingers pried forgotten leaf, throwing it down to the floor in annoyance. Tangles. Golden hair was in tangles so she began to strip from the dress she'd slept in (embarrassing!) to let it air by the window, living only in the sheer fabric of the slip underneath. Amazingly enough, Janice said nothing else. Oh dear (d)

Julian Monroe

In all his years of living with Aquitaine he knew hang overs. He knew them like the back of his hand, and had it been a particularly bad one, or he wished Jean-CLaude up he knew just the trick. Julian would rise in that moment to move to his bag, take out the little glass container that had Ada's signature on it. He kept them mostly because Jean-Claude could never find it, and then dropped a bit of the mixture inside her tea. In truth Julian really wasn't very good at this particular part of science, when the physician would have to relate to his patient so it was always best he did go with Claramae. Jean-Claude was the sort to have them undress for a physical exam, and dressing back the next day after spending a night in his sheets. Taking up the cup of tea he would close the distance between them and offer it to her. "Are you upset?" Whatever for, Julian! Jesus. (d


Janice Viscreed

Janice Viscreed had a hangover much to her deep chagrin, or more to the point Janice Monroe had a hangover. She dreamed of that, which was which and who. She saw Dowager Austrian Aunts with hanging jowls barking at her for being an unrepentent wife while she screamed she'd never be a deBrabant again, yet her name only told half a story. She was busy looking at the corner as fingers pried out tangles section by section. Turning her head over her shoulder she took the tea "Thank you, and yes." Abbreviated sentences were not a staple. Even the Janice pushed over the edge, clawing out his eyes was less an anomaly than the flat thing that woke up with a hangover. She sipped the tea, rubbing at her temple before sitting in one of the chairs. Where was that bath? She was good at slipping under the water for long periods of time. It was soothing (d)


Julian Monroe

"So...let me just get something straight. You are mad at me because I didn't stay with you last night to help chase the pigs, but here I am not upset at you for asking a Brother to have a talk with me?" Always his way of combat holding something over another's head. In his moment of 'kindness' shouldn't she share? "I was going to save this for when you were feeling better, but if you wish to have this conversation now, by all means. Have at it." Yes. this was what it was like when she went on for hours, though imagine happy giggles and...smiles. Gross! The maid would knock softly on the door before moving to place out her bath, and the other two in behind to fill the water that seemed to fill the entire room with steam. That would make her feel better wouldn't it? The lavender to calm her or him? Either way the scent was inviting. (d


Janice Viscreed

"They are coming in with the bath." Lo and behold there it was. A wonderful response to his question. Suspense built up like the pages of a good book as she took the tea over toward the tub when it was prepared. Was that lilac there too? Sweet heated scents coaxed the little one over toward the edge of the tub where she didn't linger long. Once prepared the way the Lord intended she submerged herself. Wait for it Monroe, tea half drank on the side table pulled near she slid under the surface of the water what seemed an aching long time. She could hold her breath that long yet expelled that much talking? Goodness. When she started to surface it was her eyes, like an angry water creature. If she came up she'd have to talk to him. Bother. Damn that, and needing air. "You weren't feeling well, I worry. I talked to a priest, who also happens to a healer." Then under again. (d)

Julian Monroe

Julian's cheeks turned pink as he turned to give her privacy. It wasn't right to watch her bathe! Was it? He wanted to. However, his back remained on her as his hands were folded there behind and went on with his meaning. "So it had nothing to do with my atheism? That you went to some fat hog of a man, instead of to the Masters who know a thousand times more of the medical world then him?" He in no way sounded angry with her, but his annoyance was there along with his sarcasm. "So now with Jean-Claude, My Wife, and this Brother I now have an entire support network that thinks I'm going to hell. Thanks, Janice. That really means a lot." He turned to face her there with eyes so very dry narrowing on her. (d

Janice Viscreed

He should. She was his wife and even if paying her a little privacy it was his under God to look at. It'd be nice to have his eyes like that again. He held her up, kissed her in front of the shop. Memories cherished in little jars topreserve them from the air he made bellowing bits of hard sarcasm to fray the pretty edges. She came up again, running the water through her hair. "He is a rational priest. He never judged you when he sat in our home, he wouldn't now. You are the one who is good at it. Jean-Claude thinks you're going to hell. I don't. I pray daily because hell is not some cloven foot beast dancing in seven circles. It's watching you wither away.Suffer. That's hell. Again, judging. Not that you'd think to ask. My prayers are my affair. I have no desire for anyone to 'convert' you. You're fine to me as you are. No wife once to see her husband suffer. I'd talk to a barbarian shaman if I thought it'd help. Don't like it? You don't have to." She glared. Now that she was talking again it was still rather short, non emotive unless you felt the obvious mini explosions lighting up the air around them even as she spoke in monotone. "I also do more than pray. I watch you sleep. Try to find things to moisten your eyes. My father was an apothecary. I grow a garden. I love you, I'm not going to let you hurt." She leaned back against the tub, lathering the bar of soap. "I'm upset because I wanted to laugh with you, smile, in public. Again. Stupid me, as usual yes for daring to think that the country might enliven you. Let alone for even..wishing..to not think in Latin or you in formulas, for one night again. Yet nevermind that, because I don't want it said I play the 'victim, poor lady' very well. Not now. Pssht. I drank..God." She rubbed at herself with the soap hard enough to force pink on her skin,and it did. Then she let it drift, working her fingers in her tangled hair again (d)


Julian Monroe

For the longest time he was quiet letting her lash at him until he felt his insides turn, and his chest ache with the realization that every logical reason she would be throwing this at him. He turned the information into equations trying his best to understand where all of this anger towards him came from? She knew how he was, she has known his heart all her life. "You mean you wanted me to be like him." It was the only reason he could think of, and had she forgot to tell him something about that certain..him? "You mean like Marius did with you. Took you out, parading you around, made you smile and laugh. He may have been arrogant, but he did love to make you laugh. He was a mild mannered man who was very good with giving the crowd everything they wanted" He spoke of the man like reading it off a map. "He loved to dance didn't he? Or was it so much that he just loved to make you happy, and you love to dance." That was it. It was like watching a man hexed in the moment reading from a book as to what answers came to him, his eyes were distant and glazed, "You just forgot that I'm not like that. That I hate to be embarrassed, that I suffered from it a lot as a child, and with all of those people who you now have worried about me because you can't keep my inner struggle silent looking at me in pity, I would have in fact been embarrassed." Was that the right word? "The only logical reason to this is that you are wanting me to change into something I'm not, into something you saw in someone else, and this is the reason you are upset?" He shook his head then snapping from his thoughts as to how he was going to explain to her his reasons. "Janice..I'm on the other side of a mountain right now. You on the other. We're working to get there right?" He would not have been ashamed to have had her there with him, but to be in the middle of a crowd acting so foolishly..gah it was like asking him to be nice! (d

Janice Viscreed

At the mention of him she rolled her eyes - Janice - rolled her eyes hard before laughing enough to pull the bones on his rib cage out. Was she poking at his heart or at the iconsequential ability for her own to ever be interpreted She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. Instead she laughed and threw the tea cup and little saucer at the distant wall until it shattered in to a million pieces. Left hand was worrying the scar again, nails digging at it. In fact she noticed in her right hand far more hair in her hand. Lovely. She was worrying out her hair! When she settled down again she just trembled. "I have tried to tell you for days now..days. His Aunt is at court, insisting on his behalf that I rejoin him. A letter came a month before we returned, talking of what God can not tear asunder and his errors. I've wanted to show it to you, and tell you as I told her. God bless her, long life but I am not coming to Austria. In fact, in no short terms, I'd snap my own neck before getting on a boat with anything named DeBrabant. I don't want him! I don't care....he paraded me about..he made me laugh, he made me smile and in that time..was I happy? Quite, quite! To..to do something..be something..other than either the virgin on a stage or a thing to lock behind a door. But you know what? He was no only arrogant, he lied.And do you know what happened on the day I told him to wait? He left..I fell on the steps..and I almost lost my sight. That is why I didn't emerge from the house for what, a week? Oh no. No. I rue that I could have been so stupid as to not see I was a pon in his climbing. He loved but not as much as he loved the prospect of recognition. In the end he was no better than anyone who looked at me like that. You know for once you are searching logic, and I ..I can't. If you are angry that I did not broach to tell you that sooner, you have every right to be." She got out of the tub. She couldn't enjoy it anymore so set to drying herself..putting the gown back on. " You are so ill, days you don't eat, you don't sleep. You become so lost..so dazed. yes, yes I was weak, I was speaking to Diarmuid and I broke. This isn't about me, Julian. Wanting you to be something you aren't. It's about me wanting to..keep you alive. I would rage atJean-Claude if he ever told me you were going to hell again. Dutiful Janice be damned. The only man who deserves my constant devotion is you. I just..thought..that maybe it would remind you of something nicer. Like lerida. Or Autumn leaves. When you kissed me in the square there and here. You. You not him.You're the man I wake up with. You're the man I have fought for and bled with, we have fought for one another. If anything is killing me, or about me, it's that I am boggling my mind to try and find my way up the mountain to that otherside. With you. Next to you. To carry you if I must. I am not losing you. Christ I am not trying to humiliate you. Jean-Claude isn't even helping. He won't speak to us! Be it worry or anger, I don't know which. Thank God for Claramae. I wish he would speak to us. I wish he would speak to her and she to him. Diarmuid is the only one that knows you are my husband. Not my lover, my husband. I told him to help me, so I can help save my husband. There is no world without you. " Like being punctured, and the contents spilling out. She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Is it wrong for a woman to want a dance with her husband, even if it i where no one can see? to laugh with him, to want his smile." (d)


Julian Monroe

Janice I..." he started to say, to interior her but when the cup went across the room he held his hands to shield his face. In that little moment his childhood came through when the gaps of an entire nations suffering was taken out on a poor farmers son. His lack of feeling, and his lack of respect came from his quiet nature where there had been a world of shame covered through his entire life. It hurt him more then any realized that Jean-Claude would not speak to him. Always had he been there, and offered him his gloved hand to lead him through the darkness. He needed him the most now, and somewhere along the road really felt as though he deserved this. It was hard for him to be so alone through this, but push away all the hands that reached for him. However, it was the hands now that held her hair between her fingers that broke his heart while cupping it so gently.

"Stop it," The words seemed as though at any moment he would watch her crumble beneath him, and in this he moved across the room to sweep her into his arms. He picked her up like a child with strength that almost seemed impossible, but In truth she was not a heavy woman. The action would bring her face to his, finding her then at his level, and her lips in perfect range. Julian would support her under her hips as her legs would be forced around his body, "I'm alright see?" he kissed her then like in Spain, like in the square and like he always would.

Janice Viscreed


Shame was a terrible thing to be visited on a child. The shame ridden child stood on the outskirts of lives lived by others thinking on how different it was to be inside of skin that crawled with unusual bits and pieces in the vein. In later life it could be a gift if seen in the right pair of eyes. Jean-Claude had been responsible for taking the shamed child from a poverty that would have killed him. A family barely clinging to life had given birth to Julian Munro where it was deAquitaine that formed Monroe from the farmer's dust. She knew what it was like to be shamed by something you couldn't understand, yet why was it life had given her so much shelter where he was beaten for what made him different? She saw the insides of human bodies in ink, memorized anything on the page, and for it she was given over to a convent where she was prayed over constantly. Almost like a dare they fed her more only to reap a spectacular harvest for the mind. Her soul had always been a ribbon waiting to be tied to someone. Her mind had always been hurt. Janice was as supple as a willow though, bending where she feared her Julian would break. His master pleaded with her not to do what she did now. Where was the Janice who pleaded with him to understand that her love for him wouldn't end or that she did not mean to hurt him? She was willingly making him ache. She understood that now. It wasn't that she loved him it was that she kept loving him regardless of what everyone in the little world of dark genius had to say. Part of it was her fault as much as his own fear and anger at Julian. How could Claramae be so willing to embrace him? Shame was a terrible thing to be visited on anyone; the power of companionship was that it had the ability to replace shame with acceptance, fear with peace, doubt with understanding. It could be done. They only had to be baptized by fire and ice first.


Her limbs moved absent of her will. Instinct was ingrained. His words paled in comparison to the meaning in his kiss as she ate the action meaning the same thing as his words. Hovering there around him, she let her arms tighten around his body as with her legs. How many times would he see this? How many times would he catch her pieces before they fell apart from worry? How many times could she keep holding him together when it was him near to falling apart? How much guilt, rage, worry, and pain could compete with the stark extreme of the genuine love, friendship, and humble adoration they had? Instead of throwing tea cups she often made him cups of tea. Instead of telling her to stop crying he often told her to stop reading until she'd go blind. "You are a part of me," she whispered, "and I am a part of you." It was hard to live outside of your own body. Her mouth kissed his jaw, over to his ear. Instead of words, her breathing filled the space where he heard instead.

It was a nightmare or a beautiful dream depending on opinion. To Janice it was a waking dream where the aspects of darkness or light were in genuine contrast. That's all. She'd grown used to extremes. She looked in to his eyes, caring nothing about the shattered tea cup or the liquid seeping in to the floorboards. He was given the kiss of cinnamon spiced wine, want, and the physical answer to a question he posed: Did she dream in metaphor?

Yes, she lived it, too.