Gilding the Lily.

Gilding the Lily.

Postby Varian » Wed Aug 22, 2007 12:49 am

"Constant dealings in the dark. It really is quite bothersome." The balding, older man said to his younger companion as the two of them stood just outside a large building, just off the street.

The building, itself, had a hollowness about it. It seemed lonely, in its emptiness, but far from old or dilapidated. Easily three stories and of sturdy, wood and iron construction, it was wholly questionable why the two might have sought to sell the place, at all.

"I have half a mind to be on my way!" The same man continued, defiantly. His shoulders lifted, as if he were just about to bolster another complaint. "I..."

"Pardon my tardiness, gentlemen." Another, quiet voice cooed from the shadows. The subtle sound of footfall in its accompaniment had brought the youthful Baron's lithe figure out of the darkness.

The louder, older of the pair at the entrance of the building laughed quietly, nervously, before speaking again. "Lord duMonde, please. Forgive an old man's mindless blather. I meant no disrespect!" He stumbled over his words as he descended the long, wide staircase and joined Varian at the walkway before it.

"Of course. I do not intend to keep you longer than necessary. Here." From beneath the excess of cape-cloth, Varian produced a small slip of paper with obvious scrawlings. He extended his gloved hand toward the older gent and offered a half-smile of assurance. "A promissory banknote. For a small amount more than that which we previously agreed. I appreciate your willingness to negotiate."

The elderly man quickly took the paper in hand, looked down at the writing upon it and smiled broadly. He nodded his head enthusiastically, before he managed to tear his attention away and focus again on the young Baron. "Most gracious, my lord! Most gracious! Morgan, let us leave the Baron to his other endeavors!" He shot the last bit of conversation back, over his thick shoulder, toward the younger man, still on the stoop.

"The keyring is in the mail slot." The last thing mentioned before the two other men scurried off, into the dark streets.

Behind them, Varian turned and made his way up the staircase and toward the door of the building he'd just purchased. His eyes scaled the entire face of the establishment and he spoke quietly, to himself. "Yes. This will do just fine."
I'm like a prisoner getting ready to talk. I feel the blood in my hands and the threat in your walk.
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Postby Varian » Wed Aug 22, 2007 1:39 am

The following morning, the area that surrounded the building was alive with activity. A large crew of craftsmen of all sorts were milling about, causing a commotion with their hollaring and hammering. A myriad of decor, including furniture and tapestries were torn from within the building, only to be replaced by the parade of new pieces, that constantly flooded through the doorway.

The street that passed immediately before the place had been meticulously quarantined off, to protect passers-by from falling debris and swinging implements of construction. A smaller, far more inconvenient passage had been provided for crowd and carriage to make their way through the city, otherwise.

It was a scene far too busy to quench curiosity with answers to questions. Instead, crowds gathered, though they were deterred from loitering as often as the crews could manage. Rumbling inquiry dominated speculative conversations, while they looked on.

It was clear that the project was not of small-scale and that this reconstruction would go long into the day, perhaps the week.
I'm like a prisoner getting ready to talk. I feel the blood in my hands and the threat in your walk.
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Postby Varian » Thu Aug 23, 2007 12:57 am

Another day had passed and with it, all of the obviousness of repair to the building disappeared as well. The street outside was cleared of its quarantine and the outer shell of the place was left just as immaculate as before the torrent of renovation took shape.

Within, the change was far more apparent. The first floor of the building was cleared of its original furnishings and fitted with seven elevated stages; four small and three large. A new bar, though smaller than that which had been in its stead, now made room for more tables and chairs, fixed meticulously throughout the parlor. Spiraling staircases ascended to the second floor, in three different locations, leading to only a handful of additional seats, as well as a multitude of rooms.

The outer doors remained locked, the beautiful, but empty place still restricted from the public. All that was offered to their curiosity was the newly hung sign, just above the elegant entryway. Across the swinging expanse of well-stained wood, calligraphically chiseled into the expertly stained surface, were the word "The Gilded Lily".
I'm like a prisoner getting ready to talk. I feel the blood in my hands and the threat in your walk.
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the longest night

Postby Wendy » Sun Sep 02, 2007 7:05 pm

The concept of time is lost between the hours of the sun. Somewhere in the middle of a starless night, Madame Cambree Swinton turned on her side and lost her thoughts to the image of a cut flower set in glass. Moonlight crept through the upstairs window and stole across the room to where the blossom hung its aging head. Water shimmered silver in the crystal vase. Deeply brooding were the petals, draping umbrella-like over the lily's lonesome shadow.

It was a flower she'd picked, memory wrote, from a carpet of red mimics that covered the ground in front of someone's house. It was a flower weaved into her long hair, prominent over an ear, until it was finally made to rest in this small vessel at her bedside. This happened on the same day she noticed that someone was finally putting thoughts into action - hosting a work crew in support of a fresh facade for a charming, three-story that seemed to need a tender touch.

Cambree's interest gathered as the week wore on. She found herself walking past the place a little more slowly, listening - though not conversing - as other passersby raised their own questions. Information was lacking as to who was affording the effort to bring this edifice its beauty. The wonder of it danced in her mind each day until the ruminations were replaced by routine tasks. They would chase away thoughts like those until a body settled quietly to bed.

It was another of those nights, only this time she knew whose hand lead the undertaking; and resting inches from her pillow was the downturned head of a flower playing his assistant - so quiet, so present that her her mind's activity was hushed. She watched it stay there for a spell, entranced by the cool caress of the moon over its somber petals.

In order to sleep, Cambree rolled on her back. It didn't work. She stared up. There was business going on inside the teahouse, but the mottled sounds were down the corridor and far enough away. She turned on her other side, putting the window and the obstinate lily behind her. Arms around a dense pillow, she tucked her chin and thought.

The building had a sign now. "The Gilded Lily" she'd read. "The Gilded Lily" people said. Her girls talked. Her clients shared their interest. While its secrecy was driven like a stake into the heart of Myrken Wood, there were little notions that gave her reason to believe she knew whose force was behind it. Like anyone else, she wondered what the place was for. It could be on its way to being anything. Competition for the teahouse was one concern; however, confidence in her girls was to lull that worry. Whatever it was, 'it' was obviously going to be a business.

Cambree looked behind her, a glance spared over her shoulder as an arm crinkled the pillow. The lily in her cup stood motionless, still wrapped up in the moon glow. She sighed at it, out of mere exhaustion, and sat up in bed.

Hands rubbing her face, she pulled in her knees and stayed there, thinking. Next, her actions had her on her feet, finding quill and paper. The lily glass shook when she closed the table's drawer; yet, a bottle of ink managed to fit her palm before it did. In a few steps, she was seated in the small room and writing, without the aide of reasonable light.

This effort was finished and abandoned while she dressed indulgently in some simple house dress and drowned it in her cloak. She tied back her hair, grabbed at the page and vacated her room, leaving an opened bottle of ink and an umade bed.
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Postby Wendy » Sun Sep 02, 2007 7:11 pm

The cloak was burdensome, but it hid Cambree Swinton well, as she briskly walked from her teahouse toward this endeavor of Varian's. The elusiveness of his dealings cocked her smile in place. On the way, she broke off another flower from that magnificent lawn's edge full of lilies. Her fingers twirled the stem as she carried it along with her short letter to the place where a sign hung in the shadow of an eave. Newly rennovated, The Gilded Lily stood prominent, handsome on its property. At the behest of a strong, red flower Cambree stepped on, uninvited.

She did not notice whether anyone could spy her there. They would see her only for a black, sacked figure hurrying up the walk and to the stairs of the closed establishment. On the dark, front step, the woman was quick to arrange her gifts. There she gently folded the page, suspecting the ink to be dry, setting it down in front of the locked door.

She then took off her ring. The small circle was meaningless, even to a silversmith, in its poor detail of a worn filigree; however, her letter suggested that this token of welcome would be for the purpose of borrowing. The brief note of hurried handwriting explained that Varian could keep this for luck and prosperity until his business was established in Myrken Wood; although, in her haste, the lady had put it in fewer words. An afterthought of a "C. Swinton" was assigned in sepia script to the plain stationery... and that was all there was.

A pallid ribbon from her hair was used to thread the ring. This satin string was then knotted to the flower before the Madame set the pair of items on top of her malformed letter.

The woman stepped back for a breath and had a look at the face of the building. In the dark it looked mysterious, but perhaps it was the mood of everything. A feeling of satisfaction ruled her blood as Cambree backed away, then turned herself around. The leg of her trip back to the teahouse was swaddled in the kind of gladness that accompanies compassion.

Now she could reenter the place where she slept and see that lily on her table knowing that it's presence could no longer haunt; however, her thumbtip would absently rub the bare indentation at the base of a finger on her right hand.
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Postby Varian » Mon Feb 25, 2008 3:13 am

Varian had returned the previous evening. Months since its purchase, the windows of the playhouse flickered with the light of candles, if only for the brief hours before the sun had risen and ushered life and noise back into the town of Myrken Wood.

Upon the doorstep, he had found a worn and weathered parchment whose perfume had been stolen by the cold and the wind of a season he had nearly missed in his absence.

The letter was taken up, studied a moment and then accompanied him through the doors of the place.

Quiet and cold, a haunting and uninviting lack of luster. Even though it had been so recently remodeled before his abrupt departure from the province, it served as a reminder that all things, even those brightly colored and bronzed, dulled with age and neglect.

Now, as he opened the letter and read aloud its regards, he examined the small ring and the ribbon upon which it had been so thoughtfully strung. A touch of a smile ended his solemnity.

As he slipped the jewelry about his throat and tucked it away beneath his pillowy collar, he stared thoughtfully into the shadows. Such gifts should not go without gratitude for so long.

The locks were drawn on the doors and the young baron duMonde retired to his chambers upon the second floor.
I'm like a prisoner getting ready to talk. I feel the blood in my hands and the threat in your walk.
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Postby Varian » Tue Feb 26, 2008 1:51 am

On the following morning, when the light of day had made itself known upon the streets of the town, the sign placed within the yard of playhouse was intricately refurbished.

It's rough surface had been scrubbed of debris and its inked letters stained bright once more. A young man, dressed in heavy clothes to combat the cold, placed the finishing touches on what would read;


THE GILDED LILY

The premiere playhouse of the province is now in search of staff members and performers of all disciplines. Dancers, actors, musicians; whatever your creed, there is a place here for you.


All interested parties shall apply by way of the office of Varian duMonde, proprietor.


As the boy finished his task, he took a step back and looked over the sign with some due scrutiny. Were it not for his scarf, the smile he afforded his effort would have been apparent.

He was prepared. His employer had informed him that the opening of this new place would bring about entertainment like none Myrken Wood and its neighboring counties had ever seen. The very idea made his heart race with anticipation.

He glanced once over his shoulder, toward the still empty walkway that ran just beyond the low gate of the yard, then quickly made his way up the staircase and inside, to warm himself with the fire of the hearth and the bite of the bourbon he had been promised.
I'm like a prisoner getting ready to talk. I feel the blood in my hands and the threat in your walk.
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Postby Sherazade » Tue Feb 26, 2008 9:02 am

With her cloaked gaurd as an ever present shadow a few steps behind her, Jinni was taking her morning constitutional before opening her doors. Her path this particular morning lead her past the Gilded Lilly, the sign's words bringing her to a stop....

Stepping closer she allowed her gaze to flow over it... took in every word. "Wonderful" she breahed out the word, watched frost form within the moisture of her breath. "we are going back to the shop now.. Everick... i have a letter to write." there was the taint of excitment to her voice, a sparkle of it within chocolate depths, and without waiting for agreement she was heading back the way she had come.
......................................................

Sometime later a young messanger would knock on the door, a scroll tucked within his grasp, a length of scarlet ribbon keeping it closed.
"For the proprieter of this place" He was slightly breathless having run all the way.. for he wasa told there was an extra coin in it, if he delivered the message and returned swiftly.... "The lady who sent me, said he needn't rush over replying." Giving a swift bow the lad once the message was taken would be turning upon his heel and running down the street.

In neatly flowing script, every letter precisely formed with no run off was the following message.

Monsieur duMonde, While We have not met, I find myself interested in making your aquaintance, for while I am no performer, I have been told few possess my skill with a needle. As your players will no doubt need costumes, a meeting to discuss the possibilty of myself providing them for a modest fee would benefit us both. You can find me at my place of business Stitch`n`Time or pick another place for our meeting to take place whenever you wish. Awaiting your reply

It was signed quite simply Lady Jinni Marie Darden... with only the slightest of flourishes.
Words of wisdom for life

Sleep i forget what that is *laughs*
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