Welcome to Gaia! ::

Those who have the great (mis)fortune of being allowed to enter Alva's room would immediately notice how utterly stark and almost completely unfurnished it is. In the middle of the room is a small, round table that is just large enough to serve a conversationary snack for two on, with two unimpressionable wooden chairs at it. Sometimes there are miscellaneous bits of cloth around this sitting area with a well-organized sewing kit sitting on the table. There is a typical bed in the far right corner, adjacent to a single window on the back wall. Right next to it is a wooden nightstand with a small clock; it is also where Alva places her hairpins before going to sleep.

Sitting against the right wall is a simple wooden bureau- someone caught looking inside would probably be castrated for invading her privacy so directly. All that's really in there, though, are a small arrangement of very simple homemade dresses and a pair of corsets that seem to not have been worn in weeks. Folded carefully into one corner out of the way of more prying eyes is a traditional dress from Norway that's only worn on certain occasions. A bullwhip intended to subdue the less friendly of Moreau's projects is also in there, but it looks like has never been taken out once since it was unpacked.

At the back wall to the left is a small desk with a few pens and an ink bottle on it, along with a small book that probably contains records of Runcible's progress. Leaning in the corner is a very old-looking cello; closer inspection of it would show visible dents in the fingerboard where one's fingers are commonly placed to get the correct notes. There's also various chips and nicks in the wood that come with an ancient secondhand instrument.

The wall on the left has doors leading to the bathroom and kitchen, respectively. Neither of them have much furnishing about them besides the essentials.

Reserved- about myself, I suppose.

Extra reserve for yet-to-be-determined purposes.

Dance of the dour
MUX RP, 4/25/06

It's a rather cool night on the island. The breeze is crisp, and the moon hangs high in the sky - it's almost midnight, most likely. Alphonse creeps out of his home, quietly closing the door behind him and making his way towards the boarding house. Since it's this late, no one is bound to see him -- and he wanted to see if he could catch Alva while she was still awake. He disappears into the building, taking slow, careful steps down the hallway until he approachs the door he's looking for, cautiously sidling up to it and extending his arm to knock.

Alva had just finished making practical alterations to one of her dresses at this point in time. She is considering retiring for the night, but it's pleasantly cool and she's also feeling a rare bout of insomnia. The window is open to allow the room to aerate a bit- a quick glance outside is performed just in time to notice something or someone approaching the boarding house. Soon afterward, faint footsteps are heard that stop just outside her door. Before the man can knock. the door is already opened to reveal a disgruntled-looking Alva, dress unbuttoned partway in order to enjoy the cool air while it lasts.

"Is there any reason why you're creeping around the boarding house so late at night, Alphonse?"

Alphonse doesn't even expect for the door to open, and he continues to make the knocking motion as usual -- and winds up rapping his knuckles against the sternum of Alva's chest. It takes at least two or three knocks before he realizes what he's doing, making a little startled noise and immediately pulling his hand behind his back. His face turns a lovely shade of pink, and the corners of his mouth tug into an awkward smile.

"No reason in particular. I felt like going for a walk, is all - it's a lovely night, isn't it? The moon illuminates everything." Let's be a good boy and ignore that partially unbuttoned dress, shall we?

Alva compulsively brushes her chest with one hand after the man realizes what he's doing, and, also feeling a stray hair brushing against her cheek, yanks it out and lets it float to the floor.

Needless to say, she's not charmed by Alphonse's explanation. "Yes," she sighs, "it's a lovely night. But you had no need to walk all the way up here and tell me about it; I can see it well enough from where I am." The hand that yanked out the hair flutters irritably.

Alphonse almost shrinks away from the woman. Even though he's much taller than she is, she's still quite imposing to him! "Well, you know. When someone sees something beautiful, they're compelled to share..." Yes, Alphonse. That's a very good excuse! He shrugs his shoulders, smoothing down the front of his shirt with a forced scowl.

"Anyways," he snaps, shoving his hands into his pockets, "I wanted to visit you. I was feeling quite restless and wanted to do something, you know -- something social, something fun. I'd considered surgery but that is not very social at all." He tries to force himself into the doorway before Alva slams it in his face or something equally obnoxious. He would expect no less from that woman.

Alva sighs loudly, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "First you say that you were 'just going for a walk', and now you spin a yarn about how you wanted to visit me. Dammit, man, which one is it? I'm not appreciating your flimsiness."

Surprisingly, she backs up and lets Alphonse into the room- there's a newly altered dress draped over one of her uncomfortable-looking chairs, and spools of thread and needles and the like sitting neatly at a table. Not bothering to make the man feel welcome, she continues: "And what is it that you would possibly want to do with a woman that you clearly dislike, and enjoy doing it?" Oh, Alva. You have no idea, do you?

"Would it kill you if I said that I changed my mind?" Alphonse groans, almost wanting to step back in embarassment. But instead, he presses on into the room until he pulls a hand from his pocket to push the door shut behind him. That dress looks awfully... well, dress-like. The collar seems a little low, but he wouldn't know for sure unless he saw Alva wearing the thing.

"I wanted to... dance," the man says weakly, wanting to shrink into the floor as Alva continues to mow him down with questions. "I kind of assumed that you'd want to dance, you know, and that you might enjoy it."

Another sigh. "No... I suppose not." She smirks slightly, thoroughly pleased that she is making this man uncomfortable. That's what he gets for coming to take a walk and/or visit her in the middle of the ******** night. If he tries it again, she might just have to react with mild violence in order to get him straightened out on when it's sensible to knock on a woman's door.

Alva looks at the man as if he had just asked her to strip down naked, tie herself to a boulder, and throw the boulder off of a cliff. "Dance? Man, have you gone mad? I do not prance around a room looking ridiculous to music, especially not in the middle of the night."

"Oh, honestly," Alphonse groans, rolling his eyes. "Do you hate everything that's remotely fun?" He puts his hands on his hips, straightening up and puffing out his chest. He wanted to try making himself look as manly as possibly, especially after all that Alva's been cutting him down for.

"Have you even tried dancing before?" Moreau asks, approaching the smaller woman. He attempts to put his hand on her hip, the other trying to hold her free hand. "I unfortunately don't have any music, I would have invited you to my abode to listen to the gramophone while doing this -- but why not try to learn? Dancing is very graceful."

Alphonse's little attempt at looking manly raised little more than an eyebrow in the woman before him. "Oh, I like plenty of things that are fun," she replies somewhat huffily. "Dancing just isn't one of them. I think it's ridicu- what do you think you're doing now, man?!"

Alva jerks backwards before the man can actually touch her, looking much like a tarantula reared up on its back legs. "Even if I were enough of a lunatic to want to learn something so ridiculous, I wouldn't want to learn it from you," she says in a thouroughly venemous tone.

Alphonse winces, and although clearly hurt from what Alva spat at him, he continues to overstay his welcome at Alva's flat. "You don't even know what I'm trying to teach you!" He cries out, face turning red. "When someone offers to teach you something, it's generally polite to try and oblige them! Must you always be so callous, woman?"

He approaches her again, intent on trying to grab her until he's either successful or has her cornered, whichever comes first - and with the way she jerks back, this might be easier than he'd anticipated. "Just try it!" Moreau pleads, taking a large step forward and reaching for her waist again.

"I know very well what you're trying to teach me, Alphonse," Alva responds, brow furrowed slightly in irritation. "You're trying to teach me how to 'properly' prance around a room with someone else, all the while looking like a complete and utter buffoon. I'll have none of it." Dammit, what is this man thinking?!

The woman is too busy working up another acidic response to his pleading and becomes clearly more pissed off when one of his large hands hits home on her waist. Letting her cropwhip drop to the floor in order to free both hands, she starts to try to push the offending hand off of her.

Wow, he actually managed to disarm her -- to an extent, anyways. As the whip clatters to the floor, he sticks out a leg to kick it aside so that Alva won't be able to pick it back up again. It clatters over nearby the chair, and despite Alva's attempt at pushing him, Alphonse manages to put a hand on her waist. And, hell, he wraps his arm around her waist to ensure that she won't try escaping or squirming out of his grasp.

"Now, take my hand and follow my lead," he commands through his teeth, offering his free hand to her and hoping this won't land him a hard punch in the chest. He pulls her closer, or as close as he can get her to despite her violent resistance. But hey, that damn whip is gone -- that's one advantage he has over her now, aside from his own size. "Waltzing takes a good amount of coordination. I've seen how deliberate you are when you walk, I think you'd be good at it," he adds, hoping this doesn't get him grieviously wounded.

Well, that was a move she immediately regretted. Alva curses under her breath as the larger man kicks her whip out of reach, thoroughly angry at herself for being so stupid. She's still much angrier at the man who has trapped her, however. How dare he touch her like that?

Compliments and encouragement will get this man nowhere- if he thinks that it will, then he's clearly more idiotic than Alva originally thought. She makes no move to hit him or puch him away just yet, instead keeping her feet planted firmly on the ground. "You will get your vile hands off of me," she hisses, "or I will tear them off."

"If you do that," Alphonse grumbles, "then I will no longer be able to perform surgery. If I recall, that was one of the reasons you came here, correct?" He tries to move her over to the side, stepping along with her in a very clumsy, forced waltz. Whether or not she cooperates is unknown, and if she did, Alphonse would prove to be a very graceful dancer. However, every movement is strained, and requires more force than flow and is making life very difficult for him.

"So tell me," he begins, "what do you find fun? There has to be something you don't hate with childish stubbornness. Honestly, I have had classmates growing up who were more open to doing new things than you. Why must your corset laces be so tight?"

"That is true, so I suppose I'll have to spare your hands for now," Alva replies dejectedly. She begrudgingly moves with him, if only so she doesn't lose her footing and end up on the floor with a twisted ankle. A tinge of color creeps into her dour face as she mentally grumbles about how stupid this is.

"Just because I dislike one thing that's completely ridiculous doesn't mean that I dislike everything," she says coolly. "I enjoy plenty of things. When I was a girl I would often go ice skating, for one, and in these days I enjoy reading and playing music with other people if given the opportunity."

"And as for my corset laces being tight, that's because it's proper."

At least she's cooperating, to a degree. "See, you're doing good at this," Alphonse encourages her with a coo, "it's not stupid at all. You just need a little practice, but you're not bad at all." He continues to lead her around the room to imaginary music, until they both wander dangerously close to that chair.

"Ah, ice skating," Alphonse parrots, trying as hard as he can to imagine Alva doing this - and above all, imagine her having fun. It's difficult for him to think of such things. "I still must invite you over to see me play the piano," he reminds her. "So I can actually see you having fun. I honestly cannot imagine you doing anything without wearing that awful look on your face like someone just handed you a dead rodent."

Alva only rolls her eyes at the encouragement, not saying anything in response. She is too busy thinking things like "this is completely ridiculous" and "I am going to kill this vile man someday" to really say anything.

She can almost hear the gears turning in the man's head during his moment of thought. How amusing. "Perhaps I'll oblige that offer," she says, "as long as you aren't expecting me to dance to whatever you're playing." With a slow shake of her head, she adds, "Well, maybe I wouldn't wear this look so much if you were slightly more appealing than a dead rodent."

At this point they are very close to that chair, and Alva decides to take action. With a swift movement of her arm she hits him in the sternum of his chest with the heel of her hand, completely intent on knocking him down so she can escape.

Alphonse doesn't even bother coming up with a witty retort or anything like that, he's instead focusing on holding fast to Alva's waist and steering the woman around the room. However, this is quickly foiled when Alva throws out her hand, shoving him in the chest. Alphonse loses his footing, stumbling back, back, back... and then he falls. He falls quite clumsily, landing harshly in the nearby chair with an unceremonious 'thud' and a squawked out cry of surprise.

...and fortunately, or perhaps UNfortunately, he brings Alva down with him, having forgotten to loosen the grip around her hips. He shifts uncomfortably with her on top of him, his face now a rosy shade of red as he stares up at her with shocked, pathetic blue eyes.

For one brief moment, a malicious smirk plays on Alva's lips as the man before her stumbles. But it's obviously wiped off of her milky face as she's brought down with him. A small, sharp vocalization of astonishment escapes her before she crashes down on top of Alphonse and most of the air is knocked from her lungs.

...Well, this is truly an interesting situation. There is a tall, clearly awkward-feeling man fidgeting around underneath her, which does little for her skirt- the fall had already hiked enough to not only make it obvious that her feet have been bare, but her ankles and a small bit of her calves are also exposed. As she retrieves the air that had escaped her, she observes, "My, but you do blush easily, Alphonse."

"You hit me," Alphonse whines indignantly, putting his free hand on the armrest of the chair. He briefly averts his eyes, looking down at the floor. "No, I don't!" He says, quickly snapping back to look at her. His eyes wander a bit down, towards her waist where his other hand was, and further down to her exposed legs. He gasps a little, swallowing hard and forcing himself to look Alva in the face again.

"Stupid woman," Moreau hisses, "what makes you think you have the right to hit a man? If I wasn't pinned to this chair by you, I would show you what would happen if you hit a man!" He squirms a little bit in vain, only getting himself more tangled with the damned harlot.

"A brilliant observation, doctor," the woman replies with a murmuring chuckle. "And yes, you do. Oh, future days will be interesting..." she adds ambiguously.

Alva looks at him cooly as he has his little rant, and then shifts so she can be at least somewhat comfortable. "Well, it was the only way I could think of to stop you forcing me to do something so ridiculous," she says with a frown. Then, moving her face uncomfortably close to his and touching his face with her fingertips, she adds in a lowered voice, "If you still believe that you can intimidate me simply because you are a man and I am a woman, you are sadly mistaken and I pity you for still being full of such ideas."

"Interesting in what way?" Alphonse says, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. He tries to squirm away from her, scooting back in the chair and trying to sit up more comfortably - but with the awkward position he's in now, and Alva sitting right on top of him as if he were part of the chair, it's rather hard.

"You could have tried tripping me," he helpfully suggests, "it's a much more womanly thing to do." He recoils as Alva draws nearer, looking away and tilting his head to the side. Bad touch! Bad touch! "Know your place, woman," the man grumbles, trying hard not to look her in the eye. Alva is scary!

"Why, if I told you, I fear that things might quickly become /less/ interesting. We will see when the time comes," Alva smirks, sounding much like a cat playing with its food before killing and eating it. The woman makes no move to help the poor man feel more comfortable.

"I doubt I could have tripped you effectively. Since I wear a skirt, it would have been difficult to get in a tripping position, and then I'd have to risk my shoeless feet being crushed. And I do know how much you'd hate it if I were injured," she retorts. "And as for womanly, well..." She moves in slowly and brushes a light kiss on his nose. "I don't do womanly things very often."

Alphonse grunts dejectedly, angling his head to the side but still looking at the woman above him. "Why are you even still on top of me?" He asks, sitting up slowly, "I thought that you would get up, because I am so vile a man that you wouldn't want anything to do with me."

"You had plenty of opportunities to trip me," Moreau points out, taking his hand off the armrest to jab a finger at Alva, "but instead, you had to--" Well. Alphonse freezes like a deer in headlights, tensing up and looking at the woman with wide eyes. "Confound it, woman!" Moreau cries, "first you're hitting me, now you're kissing me?" Poor Alphonse. All of those mixed signals...

The smirk becomes wider as Alphonse interrogates the woman. "That is a good question," she muses. "Perhaps I don't find you as vile as I think I do. After all, you didn't know I hate dancing, and I doubt you'd go out of your way simply to come to my room with malicious intent... now, I must ask, why would you want anything to do with me, if I'm as vile a woman as you say?"

Alva chuckles again at the poor man's shock. "I cannot lie and say that you are a completely unattractive man," she quips. Boy, it is so much fun to make this man feel awkward and uncomfortable. He's as ungainly as a man less than half his age!

"It's impolite to hurt a woman," Alphonse notes, "why would I come to your flat with malicious intent?" His hand balls into a fist, and he sets it down on the armrest again. "I thought I could help you," he mumbles in response to Alva's question, "you know. Teach you to enjoy womanly things. It's never fun to learn these things on your own."

Moreau squirms, and if possible, he goes another shade of red. Did she just imply that he was attractive? He's stuck between a rock and a hard place in more ways than one, and he quickly looks away yet again. "Really," Moreau gulps. He wasn't sure if he liked where this was going.

"First you threaten me, and then you say that hurting a woman is impolite... how many more mixed messages are you going to feed me?" Alva asks bemusedly. "And I have no idea; that's why I said it's something I wouldn't expect." She frowns exaggeratedly at his explanation. "How do you expect to teach me of womanly things when you are clearly not a woman?"

...Wow, did Alphonse just turn redder? He is far beyond 'tomato' now, and it doesn't seem entirely impossible that he would progress in hue and reach 'eggplant' before long. In any case, the smirk takes on a tone that could be easily interpreted as something other than concentrated spite. Alva runs her fingertips over the man's sideburns, and responds, "Yes, really."

"Only because you hit me first!" Alphonse blurts. "Hitting a woman without provocation is an awful and wretched thing to do." He quietly mulls over something for a little bit, then opens his mouth to speak again. "I know more about being a woman than you do," he says insultingly, "that is a very sad thing. I know how to cook and I know how to dance, and it is a damned shame that you do not do these things and refuse to learn when the opportunity is offered."

Yeah, Alphonse is just going to keep this up until he's blue in the face, most likely. He groans as Alva brushes her fingertips along his sideburns, blinking suddenly and freezing completely still. "Wh... why do you say that?" He chokes out.

"Well, of course it is," Alva responds, sounding as if Alphonse had just stated that the sky is blue. "Hitting anyone without provocation is rather wretched, I should say." Fortunately, this is a woman not so easily insulted. "You make too many groundless assumptions, Alphonse," she retorts with a slight bitterness in her voice. "I know plenty about being a woman, and I never stated that I would refuse the opportunity to learn to cook. It would be nice to know how to make food that's more than tolerable, for once."

The woman doesn't answer his question, as she is too busy grinning inwardly at a discovery she had just made. "You like this..." she starts, teasing the man's sideburns again, "don't you?"

"If you hit someone with a good reason for it, it's not that bad," Alphonse says with a sage nod, "like if someone called your mother a whore. You would hit them. You hit me with little provocation, especially since what I was doing was in your own best interest." And yet right now, he could easily hit her back. He had considered the thought, he had a free hand after all. He looks at his hand, then at Alva, then back at his hand and at Alva again. But no, that would be an awful thing for him to do.

"What are you doing?" Alphonse asks stupidly, making a little whine as Alva continues to play with his sideburns.

Alva gets very close to saying that if someone called her mother a whore, she wouldn't mind it one bit because it might be true, but stops herself before an awkward conversation can commence. "I may have hit you with little provocation, but the only thing that was truly on my mind was to make you stop cavorting me about the room, since you seemed so bent on doing it regardless of whether I would permit it." She mentally notes that the man had stopped squiming. Hmmmmm.

As for Alphonse's stupid question, she responds, "What do you think I'm doing?" while tickling her fingers down the sides of his neck. It should be amusing to see whether he'd try to sputter out a response.

Alphonse pauses. Yeah, even he has to admit that Alva was right, given how stubborn the man is, it comes as no surprise that it might take an act of violence to get him to knock it off. "You could have asked nicely or something," he says hotly.

"I-I don't know, why else would I ask?" He stammers, narrowing his eyes and puffing out his chest like a disgruntled bird. He lets out a sigh as Alva tickles his neck, clearing his throat once he catches himself doing this. However, his body language and half-lidded eyes shows that he's enjoying the attention quite a bit. "Just what are you getting at, anyway?" Poor, clueless Al.

There's the chuckle again. "I doubt that asking /you/ nicely would have any effect once you have your mind set on something," she muses.

Oh boy, this body language is easier to read than a children's primer, and the stammering isn't helping his attempt at a defense against it. She tries the nape of his neck, answering his question with one of her own: "You don't have much experience with women, do you?"

"I've had female patients before," Alphonse shoots back, crinkling his nose and frowning. "Of course I've had experience with women. What makes you think otherwise? I know their anatomy better than they do!" And then, Alva makes the mistake of touching the back of his neck. He lets out a small yelp of approval, clinging to the armrests of the chair and trying to force himself not to arch his back or lean towards her. He can feel his heart beating in his ears.

"Because of how easy it is to make you react," Alva replies silkily. She wonders idly what the man might be thinking right now, as she often does. "Is that so? I might have to inquire your knowlege someday," the woman ponders as she continues to tickle the man's neck, using only the very tips of her fingernails. Hmmm, what should she try next? This is certainly fun.

Damn. She's got him there. He tries to tilt his head away from her to avoid looking at her again, but his eyes always wander up to her face. "Mnh..." Alphonse groans as Alva continues to tease the back of his neck. Stupid woman. He wonders if he should try to reciprocate her actions, or just sit there. After her last little stunt, he's afraid of getting smacked if he does so much as touch her. He's really not in the place to try leading around someone who's sitting in his lap! "Perhaps so. I am fairly certain now is absolutely not the time..."

"I'm starting to think that you have no experience at all, Alphonse," she quips, fingers creeping under his shirt so she can work at his shoulders. It's obvious that he is tempted to return the touch, and she would seriously like it, but it's best if he figures these things out for himself- but it never hurts to drop a hint: "Oh, you never know where and when you might learn something."

"I'm very experienced," says the petulant doctor, "I have lots of experience. I've worked for a very long time, understand." Poor Alphonse doesn't quite get what Alva means by 'experience.' He folds his arms like a defiant child, sitting back and letting Alva play with him some more. He looks at her distrustfully, angling his head to the side like a bird at her hint. "You're not going to hit me again, are you?"

"Whatever you say, doctor," smirks the sultry Norsewoman. How utterly clueless can one man get? It's adorably charming that he doesn't pick up on some of these things. And it only gets better when the man cocks his head like some little bird. The woman responds by resting her fingertips on his shoulders, surveying him like a spider looming over something that had just stuck in her web. "Oh, I won't hit you. Where did you get that inane idea?"

"You hit me before," Alphonse remarks. He takes in a deep breath, and hesitantly rests a hand on her shoulder. He has a particularly light grip, all things considered -- it's a lot more careful than how he was holding her earlier. "You're not going to hit me?" Moreau peeps, asking for reassurance as he shyly looks up at her. Fluttering his eyelashes, he then looks at his hand with utmost curiosity. "Well," he says, gulping, "now what?"

"I hit you before for good reason," Alva sighs, clear as mud. And wow, look out, we've got a real alpha male coming through! Marvel at his complete awkwardness and total lack of experience! "Why are you so afraid of a woman hitting you?" she responds satirically with a faint, curt smile. Well, at least the man worked up the nerve to actually touch her, and that's as much of a start as any. Regardless, it's insanely difficult to hold back that gigantic sigh that threatens to well up as the man more or less asks for bloody instructions. "You do think too much, Alphonse," she quips, then leans over to bite his neck.

"It's demoralizing," Alphonse says bitterly, "that's why I don't want to be hit by a woman. Do you know how insulting that is?" He squawks indignantly when Alva bites him and breathes through his teeth, eyes widening with surprise as he suddenly throws his other arm around her waist. "A-A man can benefit from thinking too much, you know," he stammers awkwardly. He's almost compelled to ask if she's honestly trying to seduce him, or just putting on a show for him for the sake of being a tease - it's hard for him to tell for sure. All he an do is stare dumbly at her.

For a brief, shining moment, Alva believes that the arm going back around her waist meant that he is going to actually do something instead of just sitting there. It's rather unfortunate that this hope crumbles quickly- all he managed to do was press her body closer against him for a split second.

She quickly unbuttons his shirt long enough to expose the man's chest, and (seeing as she stopped the biting for a while and was now merely resting her head on his shoulder) the woman quickly notices the scars with muted interest. Now, those must have an interesting story behind them, but right now they're merely a target. She starts by slowly tracing a finger down either collarbone, and then drags her fingernails over the deeply grooved flesh.

"For a harlot, you're not so terrible after all," Moreau comments, melting under her touch and making a happy-sounding sigh as her fingers trace down his scars. Well, that just about confirms it, and Alphonse lets Alva have her way with him for now.

This is certainly going to elevate into something much more scandalous before the night is over... he'll just yell at her about it in the morning after he's done enjoying himself.

Late night delivery

It had to be at least some early hour in the morning -- after midnight, but long before the sun came up. Anyone awake at this hour clearly had to either be insane or an insomniac. Thus, it was the perfect hour for Alphonse to creep out of his house and pay a visit to the boarding house once more, although his intent for this visit was far different than his usual reasons for visiting Alva.

Clutched in one hand is an object, and in the other is a large ring of keys -- one for each room of the boarding house. He stealthily comes to her door and carefully unlocks it, peeking in to make sure she wasn't awake. That would spoil the surprise, and Alphonse would have none of that. Slowly stepping in, the man carefully tip-toes across the dark room before coming over to the nightstand by the bed.

Seeing Alva like this was a rather unusual sight to Alphonse. He was always used to seeing her poised like a snake ready to strike at any moment, taut and alert with predatory finesse. Here, she was anything but that -- but even the worst beasts are like that when at rest. With the gift he had for her still wrapped tightly in his hand, he put the keys in his pocket and reached over to gently pull the sheet up over Alva's shoulder. Once that was done, he quickly withdrew his hand -- an instinctive reaction more than anything, as he feared that Alva would stir and wake up, and perhaps castrate him for visiting her this late at night.

He froze for a while, tense, until he was certain that Alva wasn't going to awaken. Biting his lip, he opens his hand and quietly sets down the gift on Alva's nightstand. When the woman wakes up later this morning, she will find this in front of the clock and hairpins:



And before Alva has a chance to react (if she wakes up), Alphonse leaves, locking the door behind him and hurrying to his home to get some sleep for himself.

Somewhere in the span of time that you took for your morning walk, someone has paid you an anonymous visit. You comes home to find a note folded up and tucked beneath the crack of your door:



The handwriting doesn't seem to belong to anyone you know, not even Alphonse's from when you were corresponding with him prior to arrival on the island. Judging by how the ink smudges in some parts, it seems to have been written by a left-handed person.

September 3rd, 1889



A lot of time had passed and many encounters had been had with various people and things over the months: some pleasant, many not so much. The animals are progressing into beasts, winter is on its to make room for summer (a thought that never feels right in Alva's mind), clothing has been altered, and developments have been written down. There is really just one thing that the Norsewoman has been neglecting all too much: her old, slightly delapidated cello.

It's admittedly not the best instrument played on its own, but practicing it is a nice way to relax- and Alva feels that she could use some relaxation. The summer heat and humidity had warped it more out of tune than it had ever been, and a good bit of time is spent setting the instrument right again. After a while, though, deep grainy notes start to creep under the woman's door and out her slightly open window.

She is a bit out of practice, but it still sounds somewhat nice for an instrument meant as accompaniment for something else, and probably a welcome change from the droning insects and occasional inhuman cries from the laboratory across the compound.