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Pish (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} toph) wrote,@ 2008-11-01 14:14:00 |
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First day of NaNo! Exciting day! I was wholly unprepared this year, having nothing more than a general idea and not even a clue of an ending. So today I went especially slow, since I had to keep stopping to figure out where to go next. Posting what I have so far here- it's not very good, I'll be the first to admit, because I think I'm moving through things too quickly again. Or it might be boring, because for once there's no action or adventure to speak of. So I'll probably end up doing rewrites as I change the plot down the road anyway.
********************
“It’s here! Hurry, put that down, it’s here! Come on!”
Eva looked up from fiddling with the knobs of the luxurious wood radio, the static she was trying to avoid breaking through in her moment of distraction. “What? Oh! The newspaper! Is the announcement in it? Did you see it?” She quickly gathered her skirts to rise from the floor, leaving the radio playing as she rushed, following her sister, out of the room and down the long hall.
They found their mother just shutting the parlor doors, clicking a tarnished silver key in the lock, paper tucked under one arm. She laughed musically to see her girls so excited, but refused to give in to their demands to see the news till they had settled in to her private sitting room set far into the back of the house. Eva went straight to a lounge before large, arcing glass windows, a place familiar and full of great comfort, upon entering the room. Here she waited eagerly for her mother to sit upon the couch, open the paper with dramatic flair, and scan its columns.
A page turned, then another, deafening in the silence that followed. Eva watched her mother’s eyes go up and down each page, till they lit up when she found what she was looking for. A moment to read through it, and she looked up at her daughter, smiling her answer.
“Yes!” Eva couldn’t help but exclaim, clapping her hands together in her excitement, then greedily grasping for the paper to read the article herself.
On this day, the sixth of January, it said in faded-looking print, the Council of Brothers is pleased to announce the Eligible Ladies who will take up the Status of the Roses Grey. And her name fifth down, there in black and white, for none to deny. She scanned the others, found many she recognized, a few she rejoiced at, and a few she scoffed at; depending on how their families got on at the time.
The Ladies are to report to the Council’s Hall during the Afternoon of this day, the sixth, to acquire Fittings for their Uniform and Basic Instruction as to their Behavior at this time, the article finished up. This part she hardly noticed, dropping the paper back onto the couch to swoon onto the lounge with glee. “Vita wasn’t on there,” she noted cattily. “She’s going to be so jealous, mama!”
“Yes, I’m sure,” the elder woman absentmindedly demurred, unconcerned with the trials between girls. She rose regally from the couch, swaying as she walked to the door, and turned back before she exited. “Go and get yourself ready to go out, I’ll telephone your instructors to excuse you. Wear the dark blue, if you would, it looks lovely with your hair. Joie, you too, you must make an appearance for your chance in a few years.”
Both girls rose to obey. The younger, who had remained silently jealous throughout the exchange, followed Eva up the stairs to their room with only a single heavy sigh, and even deigned to help her sister button the sleek dark blue bodice as she changed. They quarreled over ribbons, sat in stony silence while they brushed and tied back their hair, and finally made up and went down the stairs arm in arm to meet their waiting mother at the door.
The rest of the day passed in a seeming blur for Eva – they arrived at the hall to find it swarming with other girls, all descending on each other with shrieks of delight and hugs all around, for those they actually liked as well as they pretended to, and those that they didn’t. Harried looking women attempted to wrangle them here and there for measurements and fittings, hard pressed to keep a giddy teenager in one place long enough to pin in the needed areas. Mothers harangued them, requesting that the necklines be lowered or the waist pinched in just a tiny bit tighter, despite protests that they were already as low as they could go and they’d not fit in a waist that was any smaller. It was an exhausting and unsatisfied venture for everyone involved, and not a soul was sad to see the last family out the door with promises of the finished garment being delivered on the morrow.
They would have, Eva knew, a large group of middle class women working on the outfits overnight to have the adjustments ready by morning. She also knew that she, as well as her mother, would not stand for anything wrong with the finished product, and it had better be perfect.
The morning came, and a courier delivered the dress as promised. Eva took it to her room in a rush, donning it an admiringly what she saw in the mirror. It was perfect, from the trim waist to the square neckline trimmed in dusky lace, baring the tops of her very modest assets; the long, elegant sleeves, and the full bustle lifting the skirt out with layers of crinoline underneath. Her shiny black boots, bought new for the occasion the day prior, buttoned up primly to where the skirt began below her knees, leaving nothing showing. Of course, she thought, there’s nothing to say I can’t pull it up a bit when I need to make an impression.
The entirety of the dress was in shades of grey. That part she found thoroughly boring, but had to admit that it made the final piece of the look – a satin ribbon the brightest blood red, tied at the tender flesh of her throat – draw the eyes, emphasized as it was. The loose ends of the ribbon trailed down into the frame created by her neckline, and she was pleased they brought further attention to her bust.
However Eva didn’t feel the colors did her hair any favors: her blond was ashy to begin with, and the grey only seemed to emphasize that. It upset her that she wasn’t given the privilege of time with the stylist, and couldn’t manage the intricate updos that were popular at the time. She resigned herself to tying it back in a low ponytail, and artfully curling the loose strands that fell about her face. After this she stepped back to admire the effect, and finding it passable, wrapped her shawl about her shoulders and went downstairs.
Calling a goodbye to her family, she swept out the door, summarily disappointed when passersby didn’t stop to stare at her in her new position. She had expected much more interest. She stepped daintily down the block to where the tram made its stop, and while she found a few curious looks from the other passengers as she boarded, she got little attention from them. She realized after a moment that the majority of those she was seeing were women and children, not the type to be interested in what she was selling.
Her luck didn’t change when she left the tram to walk the remaining blocks to her dance school, and she entered the building feeling disappointed at the lack of attention. Before heading to change, she walked through the grand theatre that always made her feel so much better, and hopped up to sit on the edge of the stage and look out over the seats.
Eva didn’t notice the workers behind her, lowering scenery to be changed out and hanging lights, but they paid no attention to her either, after seeing she wasn’t going to get in their way. Except for one, on the catwalk above her head, who saw her uniform and could not stop staring.
It wasn’t until he fumbled the gel frame he was holding, the tin clattering on the grate of the catwalk, that she looked up, meeting his eyes in one electric moment. She saw brilliant blue set in a young face, with a sweet mouth: but in that second, he disappeared backwards, and she was left gaping upwards.
A quick glance at her watch got her on her feet and running off to the changing room, however, unsettled by the reaction a mere glance of those eyes had set off in her. She had never seen them before – no surprise, really, considering how she studiously avoided notice of the stagehands. They were lower class, hardly someone fit for her to be associating with. But those eyes would haunt her.
Those eyes followed her that day, all through her practice. They watched her rise on her pointe shoes, tottering around in a wooden box on the floor for reasons unknown to them. They watched her stretch, elongating her body, hardly anything obscured from view in the small costumes needed for dancers to move uninhibited. They watched the airy skirt of the costume flair outwards as she twirled, practicing the technique of always turning her face to the same direction, despite the turning body, to avoid dizziness. They saw more in that day than they had noticed ever before, despite having worked backstage for over a year. That rose uniform was all that was needed to get his attention, and now that it was fixed, it wasn’t going anywhere.
Eva almost thought she could feel those eyes on her. It wasn’t until the day was over, and she was changed and safely out the door, that she relaxed. She wasn’t sure how she felt about those eyes.
Certainly she didn’t want eyes off of her, because she found great pleasure that evening attending a party set up specifically for the introduction of the Roses to society. She, along with the nine others, reveled in the attentions they received even immediately upon entering the grand hall where the party was being hosted.
Everywhere she turned, she saw the eyes of men tracing the line of her waist, zeroing in on a tiny bit of skin showing above her boots if her skirt lifted while she danced, aching for a peek down her bodice if she bent over. She noticed, and she encouraged. She flirted outrageously, perhaps curtseying a little lower than necessary and bending forward more than needed to offer an optimum view, or brushing a little closer, carelessly, against the front of a man’s pants. Some she recognized as friends of her brother, in whose expressions she read saw her as no longer the baby sister, but a desirable woman in her own right. Even in some men the age of her father she saw the lines of desire traced, though both she and they knew it was one they could no longer fulfill. That didn’t stop her from obliging them with dances and coquettish conversation, coy gestures making them feel almost young again.
********************
1786 / 50000 words. 4% done!
********************
“It’s here! Hurry, put that down, it’s here! Come on!”
Eva looked up from fiddling with the knobs of the luxurious wood radio, the static she was trying to avoid breaking through in her moment of distraction. “What? Oh! The newspaper! Is the announcement in it? Did you see it?” She quickly gathered her skirts to rise from the floor, leaving the radio playing as she rushed, following her sister, out of the room and down the long hall.
They found their mother just shutting the parlor doors, clicking a tarnished silver key in the lock, paper tucked under one arm. She laughed musically to see her girls so excited, but refused to give in to their demands to see the news till they had settled in to her private sitting room set far into the back of the house. Eva went straight to a lounge before large, arcing glass windows, a place familiar and full of great comfort, upon entering the room. Here she waited eagerly for her mother to sit upon the couch, open the paper with dramatic flair, and scan its columns.
A page turned, then another, deafening in the silence that followed. Eva watched her mother’s eyes go up and down each page, till they lit up when she found what she was looking for. A moment to read through it, and she looked up at her daughter, smiling her answer.
“Yes!” Eva couldn’t help but exclaim, clapping her hands together in her excitement, then greedily grasping for the paper to read the article herself.
On this day, the sixth of January, it said in faded-looking print, the Council of Brothers is pleased to announce the Eligible Ladies who will take up the Status of the Roses Grey. And her name fifth down, there in black and white, for none to deny. She scanned the others, found many she recognized, a few she rejoiced at, and a few she scoffed at; depending on how their families got on at the time.
The Ladies are to report to the Council’s Hall during the Afternoon of this day, the sixth, to acquire Fittings for their Uniform and Basic Instruction as to their Behavior at this time, the article finished up. This part she hardly noticed, dropping the paper back onto the couch to swoon onto the lounge with glee. “Vita wasn’t on there,” she noted cattily. “She’s going to be so jealous, mama!”
“Yes, I’m sure,” the elder woman absentmindedly demurred, unconcerned with the trials between girls. She rose regally from the couch, swaying as she walked to the door, and turned back before she exited. “Go and get yourself ready to go out, I’ll telephone your instructors to excuse you. Wear the dark blue, if you would, it looks lovely with your hair. Joie, you too, you must make an appearance for your chance in a few years.”
Both girls rose to obey. The younger, who had remained silently jealous throughout the exchange, followed Eva up the stairs to their room with only a single heavy sigh, and even deigned to help her sister button the sleek dark blue bodice as she changed. They quarreled over ribbons, sat in stony silence while they brushed and tied back their hair, and finally made up and went down the stairs arm in arm to meet their waiting mother at the door.
The rest of the day passed in a seeming blur for Eva – they arrived at the hall to find it swarming with other girls, all descending on each other with shrieks of delight and hugs all around, for those they actually liked as well as they pretended to, and those that they didn’t. Harried looking women attempted to wrangle them here and there for measurements and fittings, hard pressed to keep a giddy teenager in one place long enough to pin in the needed areas. Mothers harangued them, requesting that the necklines be lowered or the waist pinched in just a tiny bit tighter, despite protests that they were already as low as they could go and they’d not fit in a waist that was any smaller. It was an exhausting and unsatisfied venture for everyone involved, and not a soul was sad to see the last family out the door with promises of the finished garment being delivered on the morrow.
They would have, Eva knew, a large group of middle class women working on the outfits overnight to have the adjustments ready by morning. She also knew that she, as well as her mother, would not stand for anything wrong with the finished product, and it had better be perfect.
The morning came, and a courier delivered the dress as promised. Eva took it to her room in a rush, donning it an admiringly what she saw in the mirror. It was perfect, from the trim waist to the square neckline trimmed in dusky lace, baring the tops of her very modest assets; the long, elegant sleeves, and the full bustle lifting the skirt out with layers of crinoline underneath. Her shiny black boots, bought new for the occasion the day prior, buttoned up primly to where the skirt began below her knees, leaving nothing showing. Of course, she thought, there’s nothing to say I can’t pull it up a bit when I need to make an impression.
The entirety of the dress was in shades of grey. That part she found thoroughly boring, but had to admit that it made the final piece of the look – a satin ribbon the brightest blood red, tied at the tender flesh of her throat – draw the eyes, emphasized as it was. The loose ends of the ribbon trailed down into the frame created by her neckline, and she was pleased they brought further attention to her bust.
However Eva didn’t feel the colors did her hair any favors: her blond was ashy to begin with, and the grey only seemed to emphasize that. It upset her that she wasn’t given the privilege of time with the stylist, and couldn’t manage the intricate updos that were popular at the time. She resigned herself to tying it back in a low ponytail, and artfully curling the loose strands that fell about her face. After this she stepped back to admire the effect, and finding it passable, wrapped her shawl about her shoulders and went downstairs.
Calling a goodbye to her family, she swept out the door, summarily disappointed when passersby didn’t stop to stare at her in her new position. She had expected much more interest. She stepped daintily down the block to where the tram made its stop, and while she found a few curious looks from the other passengers as she boarded, she got little attention from them. She realized after a moment that the majority of those she was seeing were women and children, not the type to be interested in what she was selling.
Her luck didn’t change when she left the tram to walk the remaining blocks to her dance school, and she entered the building feeling disappointed at the lack of attention. Before heading to change, she walked through the grand theatre that always made her feel so much better, and hopped up to sit on the edge of the stage and look out over the seats.
Eva didn’t notice the workers behind her, lowering scenery to be changed out and hanging lights, but they paid no attention to her either, after seeing she wasn’t going to get in their way. Except for one, on the catwalk above her head, who saw her uniform and could not stop staring.
It wasn’t until he fumbled the gel frame he was holding, the tin clattering on the grate of the catwalk, that she looked up, meeting his eyes in one electric moment. She saw brilliant blue set in a young face, with a sweet mouth: but in that second, he disappeared backwards, and she was left gaping upwards.
A quick glance at her watch got her on her feet and running off to the changing room, however, unsettled by the reaction a mere glance of those eyes had set off in her. She had never seen them before – no surprise, really, considering how she studiously avoided notice of the stagehands. They were lower class, hardly someone fit for her to be associating with. But those eyes would haunt her.
Those eyes followed her that day, all through her practice. They watched her rise on her pointe shoes, tottering around in a wooden box on the floor for reasons unknown to them. They watched her stretch, elongating her body, hardly anything obscured from view in the small costumes needed for dancers to move uninhibited. They watched the airy skirt of the costume flair outwards as she twirled, practicing the technique of always turning her face to the same direction, despite the turning body, to avoid dizziness. They saw more in that day than they had noticed ever before, despite having worked backstage for over a year. That rose uniform was all that was needed to get his attention, and now that it was fixed, it wasn’t going anywhere.
Eva almost thought she could feel those eyes on her. It wasn’t until the day was over, and she was changed and safely out the door, that she relaxed. She wasn’t sure how she felt about those eyes.
Certainly she didn’t want eyes off of her, because she found great pleasure that evening attending a party set up specifically for the introduction of the Roses to society. She, along with the nine others, reveled in the attentions they received even immediately upon entering the grand hall where the party was being hosted.
Everywhere she turned, she saw the eyes of men tracing the line of her waist, zeroing in on a tiny bit of skin showing above her boots if her skirt lifted while she danced, aching for a peek down her bodice if she bent over. She noticed, and she encouraged. She flirted outrageously, perhaps curtseying a little lower than necessary and bending forward more than needed to offer an optimum view, or brushing a little closer, carelessly, against the front of a man’s pants. Some she recognized as friends of her brother, in whose expressions she read saw her as no longer the baby sister, but a desirable woman in her own right. Even in some men the age of her father she saw the lines of desire traced, though both she and they knew it was one they could no longer fulfill. That didn’t stop her from obliging them with dances and coquettish conversation, coy gestures making them feel almost young again.
********************
