This is a sensory feast: the colors of the cabin in the light Ana's introduced (and I love the Pearl revelling in her finery -- marvelous touch!), Ana the pirate queen, Jack dripping wet in his breeches; the scents filling the air (including pomegranate -- both one of my personal favorites, and so appropriate for this scene); the sensations across the skin -- Jack in the ocean, silky and salty and coming clean, the plush invitation of the pillows and rugs...mmmm.
Dear old Cat. Perfect description of an aged martriarch of a feline. I love how unimpressed by Ana's efforts she is.
Your backstory to this is wonderful. If there were ever anything that could snap Jack out of dwelling on those sorts of dark thoughts, this would be it. All kidding aside though, it's fitting that death gets checked with this kind of celebration of life.
Possibly my favorite section of this: Those newly-made specters perched the heaviest on your shoulders, Anamaria knew. Still so used to life they couldn’t stop their frantic gibbering at the living. That first night they never let you sleep. You could see their eyes in the darkness, accusing. Why should you have life and they not? They worked their claws into your soul and ripped. Awesome. Just awesome.
Virgo! *tackle hugs* How wonderful to hear from you! My muses always do a little Morris dance when they see you've commented. By the way, meet the new muse: The Mushy Plushy Romance Muse. She's joined the Zombie Parody Muse, the Maniacal Comedy Muse, the Sadistical Whirlybird Muse, and the Muse of Art in my Rogue's Gallery. I wonder if this counts as a mental illness?
"a sensory feast"--Oh yes, that is what I wanted it to be--for the characters and the readers. In a way I wanted this story to be excessive, over-the-top, almost too much. And BTW you're welcome for silky, salty, shimmering, shirtless Jack. Donations can be made by Paypal. :D
I'm afraid Cat has no aesthetic appreciation. She's a pure hedonist, but couldn't care less about ambiance or mood. Anamaria is going to be on her shit-list for summarily removing her from her cozy spot. *g*
I'm glad you enjoyed the backstory--the Sadistical Whirlybird Muse gets its fingers in everyone's pie. This is Jack and Anamaria a little farther down life's road than I've usually written them, readier to seize what shining moments are within reach, less willing to ransom the present to the past or the future. And yes, the celebration of life is exactly what this is.
Those specters in the dark (which btw, I'm thrilled you liked) are going to get short shrift this night!
I hope the Muse will consent to continue, but that will be writing terra incognita for me. Donations may be made by Paypal. *smirk*
I do thank you so much for the feedback. It's the highlight of my day! Oh, and tomorrow is my birthday, no matter what lies I've told the Internet, and I shall be shopping for some "White Collar". Here's hoping it's easily available up here.
This is a sensory feast: the colors of the cabin in the light Ana's introduced (and I love the Pearl revelling in her finery -- marvelous touch!), Ana the pirate queen, Jack dripping wet in his breeches; the scents filling the air (including pomegranate -- both one of my personal favorites, and so appropriate for this scene); the sensations across the skin -- Jack in the ocean, silky and salty and coming clean, the plush invitation of the pillows and rugs...mmmm.
Dear old Cat. Perfect description of an aged martriarch of a feline. I love how unimpressed by Ana's efforts she is.
Your backstory to this is wonderful. If there were ever anything that could snap Jack out of dwelling on those sorts of dark thoughts, this would be it. All kidding aside though, it's fitting that death gets checked with this kind of celebration of life.
Possibly my favorite section of this: Those newly-made specters perched the heaviest on your shoulders, Anamaria knew. Still so used to life they couldn’t stop their frantic gibbering at the living. That first night they never let you sleep. You could see their eyes in the darkness, accusing. Why should you have life and they not? They worked their claws into your soul and ripped. Awesome. Just awesome.
**hopes for that TBC**
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"a sensory feast"--Oh yes, that is what I wanted it to be--for the characters and the readers. In a way I wanted this story to be excessive, over-the-top, almost too much. And BTW you're welcome for silky, salty, shimmering, shirtless Jack. Donations can be made by Paypal. :D
I'm afraid Cat has no aesthetic appreciation. She's a pure hedonist, but couldn't care less about ambiance or mood. Anamaria is going to be on her shit-list for summarily removing her from her cozy spot. *g*
I'm glad you enjoyed the backstory--the Sadistical Whirlybird Muse gets its fingers in everyone's pie. This is Jack and Anamaria a little farther down life's road than I've usually written them, readier to seize what shining moments are within reach, less willing to ransom the present to the past or the future. And yes, the celebration of life is exactly what this is.
Those specters in the dark (which btw, I'm thrilled you liked) are going to get short shrift this night!
I hope the Muse will consent to continue, but that will be writing terra incognita for me. Donations may be made by Paypal. *smirk*
I do thank you so much for the feedback. It's the highlight of my day! Oh, and tomorrow is my birthday, no matter what lies I've told the Internet, and I shall be shopping for some "White Collar". Here's hoping it's easily available up here.
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