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 Posted: Wed May 04, 2011 12:51 pm
Index
Is on the way soon.
1. Sign (solo): In which Anne's daily life is interrupted.
2. One Step Forward, Ten Steps Back (solo): In which Anne starts a new life...
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Posted: Fri May 06, 2011 3:06 pm
Sign
In which Anne's daily routine is interrupted in an unpleasant way. The morning seemed almost unnaturally quiet as Annelise wound her way through the halls of servant's quarters in Laurent Manor. Though the disastrous riots had ceased, the tension that accompanied them hadn't fully dissipated yet, leaving a peculiar tang in the air that wasn't quite fear, nor was it the blind rage from before. Anne just wanted a long, pleasant stretch of peace and quiet, even if it was a fool's dream.
Her footsteps seemed louder than usual as she passed the massive kitchen that heated a large part of the crumbling manor, each step cracking the silence like thunder. Soft murmurs wafted through the open door in low, hushed tones that stopped as she neared the entrance. Anne wondered if she'd merely passed a delicate conversation or if the silence was directed at her personally. Merely shaking her head, the small blonde continued without a word, ignoring the less-than-covert glances she received as she passed by.
The familiar route led to a small side entrance that opened to a now listless and uncared for garden. Wild ivy, woven in a haphazard curtain, hung over the upper half of the doorway and claimed most of the outside wall, obscuring any view inside the manor as Anne ducked beneath the foliage. A large woven basket sat patiently in front of the doorway, unassuming as every other basket she'd taken day in and day out, full to the brim of wadded and dingy clothing. It was, perhaps, the one good thing about the riots – there was never a shortage of laundry needing to be done as people desperately tried to hide their involvement the next day. Whatever else, the extra pence she garnered from the additional labor brought Anne another step towards her goal of breaking free of servanthood and the memories that refused to fade.
Tugging on the warped door one final time to ensure it remained shut, Anne balanced the basket on her hip as she passed through the halls once more, no longer caring if anyone heard. The brief chorus of warbling birdsong was almost completely smothered, and the world seemed to close in around her, as if her air supply had been cut off along with the the bright melody. The moment passed soon enough, but Anne was still breathless as she carefully searched the folds of cloth and plucked a scrap of paper from a pocket of a soiled garment. The pungent scent was strong enough to make her nose wrinkle in disgust, eyes watering from the stench of harsh smoke and gods only knew what else. The soft jingle of coins helped to ease her distaste until she realized that the scrap of parchment had something – she assumed it was supposed to be letters or a message – hastily scrawled in what she severely hoped was ink. One didn't need to be a genius to understand the main point of the message: easily the largest image was the symbol that marked a residence as infected with the plague.
“Fools,” she muttered with a slight shake of her head. Though Anne tried to convince herself it was nothing, that it was merely someone trying to stir up trouble or some sort of rebellion against the household, she couldn't shake the tendril of fear that wrapped around the base of her spine. It had been nearly several months since the outbreak that had claimed so many servants had broken out and there hadn't been any sort of relapse since then. Everyone was extremely careful to the point it bordered on paranoia. The fact that it had been slipped into the basket, however...was it a threat, or some sort of warning? Anne's chest constricted as she considered the idea, worrying her bottom lip as the possibilities spread before her like the first rays of dawn breaking through a nighttime storm.
The voices in the kitchen fell silent once again as she neared the entrance, but Anne found she didn't have the motivation to care as she set the basket aside and swiftly approached the massive stone hearth. The fire crackled in a manic dance as she tossed the scrap into its center and watched as the flames greedily consumed the parchment. Only after she had seen with her own eyes that the incriminating symbols had become little more than ash did Anne turn away and try to focus on what should have been a normal day. Every gaze was on her as she reached for the basket, purposely ignoring the others as she retreated to a small alcove connected to the kitchen where a large, dented tin basin awaited. Unceremoniously, she dumped the contents into the basin and started the long process of gathering buckets of water, heating them at the edge of the kitchen's hearth. No longer covert, the stares of the others burned into the back of her mind as hushed whispers rose in heated debate. Whenever Anne would look at one of the others, their gaze was quickly turned elsewhere, enticing the fear into claiming her once again. Anne tried to hide her shaking hands by drying them on her apron, but even she had to wonder if she was trying to fool the other servants, or herself. It wouldn't take long for everyone to know that Anne had been hiding something – had burned it for all to see, like some perverse declaration.
'Who's the fool now?' she thought bitterly, drenched in sweat as the last bucket was added and shaves of lye added to the basin. Retrieving a large paddle from the corner of the room, she stirred the contents, folding them in on themselves and wishing she could scrub the paper's taint off of herself, as well. If there were any other surprises, she refused to be the one to find them.
It had taken nearly all the long months since the plague had hit the household for the others to trust Anne again, to not consider her touched or the cause of some curse. It was amazing how quickly one could turn against another over the unknown – a discovery that left a vile taste in Anne's mouth as she remembered long nights keeping a vigil in a dark room, the sickly sweat smell of sweat and death so overwhelming she had all but drowned in it. It made no sense, to her or anyone else, why she had escaped the plague while keeping watch over her brother, the one who had spilled the blood of a tainted beggar and brought chaos to their world. After so much death, she had little time to wonder herself, but as she watched some of the dirt rise up from the dirty clothes, Anne suddenly found she had too much time to wonder.
“Anne?” The small, terse voice of a kitchen drudge broke her thoughts, large dark eyes peering at her from a distance. “Do...do you need help?” It was too difficult to tell if the offer was genuine or merely a way to discover what she had burned, and Anne found she was too tired of the drama and politics within servant ranks to truly care.
“No, Marie, thank you,” she said with a soft smile. Shaking her head, Anne turned her attention back to work, refusing to answer the world just outside the room. The dagger she had taken to carrying since someone had tried to throw it away weighed heavily under her skirts. Though the scabbard she had snitched was too large for the elegant blade, it helped to disperse the putrid scent.
“Conner,” she whispered, her hand resting on the pommel of the dagger and taking comfort in the feel of it, solid beneath her skirt. More than ever, she wished her older brother was alive and well, was with her now. Perhaps he would have been able to make sense of it, or simply have been able to wave the foolishness of others aside. As it was, Anne was merely left to wonder.
Anne really hated being left in the dark.
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Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2011 8:08 pm
One Step Forward, Ten Steps Back
In which Annelise finds herself starting a new life sooner than expected. Life was a peculiar thing on a good thing, Anne decided, and a vexing disaster on others. Today fell somewhere between the two, though the petite blonde fully expected it would fall even further before the sun had even set. Some perverse part of her hoped it would, that something might go as expected.
“So? Are you in or not?” The portly man in gaudy patchwork eyed her expectantly as he folded his arms over his chest. Clearly, he believed his time was better spent elsewhere, and Annelise couldn't blame him in the slightest. How many people would normally give a bedraggled young woman on her own any mind unless they thought they could get something from her? At least she could count on the blessing that she hadn't been mugged yet, but that was probably due to the fact that she had nothing to steal more than anything.
“Yes, thank you,” she managed with a small smile. “Rent is on the fifth of each month, is it not?” Shifting her weight, Anne leaned forward to look into the small room once again and felt her heart sink a little further. In truth, she hadn't expected much on such short notice, but the sheer amount of scrubbing that would be needed to make the place livable was daunting, especially since water was something she had in abundance. Uncertainty swept over the ex-servant as sunlight struggled to break through the layers of soot on the window, little more than an opening with thin oiled paper. But it was hers, and that was what mattered.
“Aye, and don't be late about it.” The incense maker's high forehead shone with a sheen of sweat as he nodded, his presence even more daunting by the difference in height between them. At least he'd not leered at her until his eyes bugged; Anne had had more than her share of that in the past week as she struggled to find shelter from the world falling down around them.
“Of course,” she agreed thinly as the shopkeep pressed a heavy metal key into her small palm, leaving a streak of tinted oil where his hand had been. Resisting the urge to wipe her hand on her skirt, Annelise merely nodded and watched as her new landlord left, swaying on her feet as she looked out at the city streets below. Though it was only a second-story lodging, the pressure behind her temples was strong enough to affect her vision; everything she saw seemed to violently pulse in a jerky dance. Closing her eyes, Anne gripped the door frame and took a deep breath, steadying herself as she concentrated on the myriad scents from below. After several moments, she pulled the door closed behind her and sank to the tiny bed tucked in a corner of the room. A cloud of dust exploded from the quilt with the motion, burning her nostrils as she covered her face with her hands.
Freedom. It was nothing like she expected it to be, and the finality of the single word thrilled and terrified her at the same time.
“This can't be happening,” She muttered as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Of course, simply saying so didn't make it true, but it was nice to dream. But fool's dreams were dangerous, as she'd learned in the past few days. Life changing, but dangerous.
”I'm grateful for your years of service, Annelise, but we find it in our best interest to release you from your services under Lord Laurent.” The memory rang in her mind with painful clarity, the revelation a painful slap in the face. ”We will, of course, compensate you for your services past and unfulfilled, but in return we ask that you be gone within the fortnight. Surely that is enough time, yes?” An empty smile from the steward, while there had been some sympathetic glances from others. Most, however, had simply been glad for her dismissal, invoking the hand motions to ward off the plague and evil alike. All because she hadn't been able to let go, because fear still ate at the hearts of everyone in the manner. Because she was surely a witch for not having caught the plague along with her brother and not dying a slow, miserable death.
All because she hadn't released her brother's dagger, hadn't watched in burn or tossed it into the ocean (never mind there was none accessible) to never be seen again. Instead, she'd clung to it, treasured it. Even now she could feel the rusty steel beneath her modest petticoat, the putrid scent muffled by fabric and worn leather alike. At least she'd been allowed to keep the oversized scabbard she'd snitched months ago in hopes of placating the complaints.
“This is madness,” she uttered with a sigh. “I can't just sit here and...and do nothing.” A flicker of determination flared and sputtered as her stomach rumbled in protest. Startled, Annelise looked down and placed a hand over it, unable to recall the last time she'd eaten more than a scrap of whatever someone could spare (she certainly wasn't deluded enough to think she'd pass for a thief, and resorting to that would require more desperation than she felt). Nothing came to mind, the days a blur of struggle and disbelief.
'I've made it this far on my own; I can keep going forward.' She rose to her feet as she mentally repeated the mantra, pausing long enough to ensure the dagger was still safely strapped and easy to reach. Whether or not it had helped bring this situation sooner than she'd expected, Anne had no other means of protecting herself, and the dark alleys of Roserock were by no means free of equally dark pursuits. With luck, the rust of the blade would become a benefit, though she sincerely hoped she'd never have to use it.
“First things first,” she decided as she opened the door, no longer caring if someone was offended by her cleaning her hands on her skirt. Food first, and then soap. Lots and lots of soap...and maybe a miracle.
Freedom, it seemed, came at a peculiar price.
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