wandering free, wish I could be part of your world
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Part of Your World
Rating: G
Challenge: FOTD: prink, Strawberry Shortcake #10: part of your world, Blueberry Cheesecake #24: field day
Toppings/Extras: fresh peaches, fresh blueberries, fresh pineapple, whipped cream
Wordcount: 758
Summary: “I want to be where the people are: I want to see, want to see them dancing.”
Notes: Wow, two days in a row! Rosalind hasn't had enough love lately. Prink: to dress or arrange oneself for show; to primp. Peaches: People love to be with you because you have such natural charm, Gemini. Blueberries: We seek to find peace of mind in the word, the formula, the ritual. The hope is illusion. Pineapple: Just party and play/ Let the lights hypnotise my brain/ Just dance like it’s my last chance to be alive.-‘P.L.U.R.’ by Blood on the Dance Floor.
Nobody ever taught Rosalind how to put make-up on: she taught herself. It didn’t look that good, but that hardly mattered. It wasn’t as though anyone would ever see it.
At least, that was the idea. She hadn’t expected her brother to wander in as she messed with the glass phials and bottles and painted china pots spread across the vanity table in front of her, the polished wooden boxes that had all been unclasped and opened up wide. Not that she really minded. She glanced up at him with a wan smile and dipped her finger into another pot of cream.
Edward didn’t say anything, just ambled across the room and sat down on the cushioned stool she was sitting on, perching on one edge as she shuffled to make room for him.
He watched her in the mirror as she left four shiny streaks of white across her cheek with her fingers. Carefully, she began rubbing the cream into her skin in small circles, working fast before it set and cracked.
“Could you brush my hair?” the thirteen-year-old asked. Her crutches were resting against the lip of the vanity table.
“All right,” Edward said, and picked up the brush. He stroked his fingers over the soft bristles before turning it towards her limp, slippery hair and starting to run it through. Her hair didn’t really get knotty but brushing seemed to be what people did, so she wanted to as well.
Rosalind put her mother’s make-up on with painstaking care. She could hear the music from downstairs-the harpsichord going like always, the clinking and clattering and chattering.
She picked up a pear-shaped diamond earring and held it next to her face.
“You’re not missing anything interesting,” Edward said abruptly. Rosalind paused and then very carefully put the earring back down.
“You would say that,” she replied. She smoothed down the air-blue chiffon of her dress and left a streak of powder on it. “You’re allowed to go if you want to. I’m meant to be in bed right now.”
“Well,” Edward said carefully, “you’re not very well.”
“I’m fine.” She turned to face him, mottled green eyes surrounded by painted lashes. “How do I look?”
Her brother studied her a moment.
“You look lovely.” His calm, even way of speaking faltered slightly as she grasped the edge of the table and heaved herself up to her feet. “What-what are you doing?”
“There’s a party downstairs.”
Her leg was already wobbling. After gazing at her in that disquieting way of his for a moment-disquieting to almost anyone but her-Edward rose to his own feet and moved to her side, offering her his arm. She took it, flashing him a grateful smile.
“When I get better, do you think I’ll be a good dancer?”
Edward tweaked a few strands of hair from her shoulder and moved it behind her back, seeming to concentrate on the task with more intensity than was really required for it.
“Of course,” he murmured.
He helped her walk, one painful step at a time, out of their mother’s vanity chamber and across the hall, through a corridor and out to the main upstairs hallway. An ornately carved staircase looped down to the entrance hall and the siblings watched several servants scurry by far beneath them, weighed down with plates and trays of every food and drink imaginable. One maid hurried by with a tray of glazed tarts that looked more like jewellery than cuisine, shining crimsons and rich blues.
Rosalind leaned on the banister and smiled. The oceanic sound of conversation washed up the stairs towards them.
She liked to imagine being down there. Talking to people, moving around freely, wafting like she sometimes saw ladies do. Twinkling. Shining. She didn’t really have friends. Her gaze dropped to her hand on the sleeve of her brother’s jacket. Pale, too thin, clawlike. Maybe she should paint her nails.
Her throat hurt.
Edward was never very strong so he didn’t exactly carry her, but she was aware that she went from being at the banister to being curled up on her bed without too much effort on her part. She tucked her chin towards her chest and closed her arms over. A petticoat of her dress had come loose at the waist and was pouring like a lacy waterfall over the edge of the bed. Suddenly she was exhausted, too exhausted to even shiver.
“When you’re better,” her brother said quietly.
“You’re too serious, Teddy,” Rosalind croaked with a crooked smile.
Title: Part of Your World
Rating: G
Challenge: FOTD: prink, Strawberry Shortcake #10: part of your world, Blueberry Cheesecake #24: field day
Toppings/Extras: fresh peaches, fresh blueberries, fresh pineapple, whipped cream
Wordcount: 758
Summary: “I want to be where the people are: I want to see, want to see them dancing.”
Notes: Wow, two days in a row! Rosalind hasn't had enough love lately. Prink: to dress or arrange oneself for show; to primp. Peaches: People love to be with you because you have such natural charm, Gemini. Blueberries: We seek to find peace of mind in the word, the formula, the ritual. The hope is illusion. Pineapple: Just party and play/ Let the lights hypnotise my brain/ Just dance like it’s my last chance to be alive.-‘P.L.U.R.’ by Blood on the Dance Floor.
Nobody ever taught Rosalind how to put make-up on: she taught herself. It didn’t look that good, but that hardly mattered. It wasn’t as though anyone would ever see it.
At least, that was the idea. She hadn’t expected her brother to wander in as she messed with the glass phials and bottles and painted china pots spread across the vanity table in front of her, the polished wooden boxes that had all been unclasped and opened up wide. Not that she really minded. She glanced up at him with a wan smile and dipped her finger into another pot of cream.
Edward didn’t say anything, just ambled across the room and sat down on the cushioned stool she was sitting on, perching on one edge as she shuffled to make room for him.
He watched her in the mirror as she left four shiny streaks of white across her cheek with her fingers. Carefully, she began rubbing the cream into her skin in small circles, working fast before it set and cracked.
“Could you brush my hair?” the thirteen-year-old asked. Her crutches were resting against the lip of the vanity table.
“All right,” Edward said, and picked up the brush. He stroked his fingers over the soft bristles before turning it towards her limp, slippery hair and starting to run it through. Her hair didn’t really get knotty but brushing seemed to be what people did, so she wanted to as well.
Rosalind put her mother’s make-up on with painstaking care. She could hear the music from downstairs-the harpsichord going like always, the clinking and clattering and chattering.
She picked up a pear-shaped diamond earring and held it next to her face.
“You’re not missing anything interesting,” Edward said abruptly. Rosalind paused and then very carefully put the earring back down.
“You would say that,” she replied. She smoothed down the air-blue chiffon of her dress and left a streak of powder on it. “You’re allowed to go if you want to. I’m meant to be in bed right now.”
“Well,” Edward said carefully, “you’re not very well.”
“I’m fine.” She turned to face him, mottled green eyes surrounded by painted lashes. “How do I look?”
Her brother studied her a moment.
“You look lovely.” His calm, even way of speaking faltered slightly as she grasped the edge of the table and heaved herself up to her feet. “What-what are you doing?”
“There’s a party downstairs.”
Her leg was already wobbling. After gazing at her in that disquieting way of his for a moment-disquieting to almost anyone but her-Edward rose to his own feet and moved to her side, offering her his arm. She took it, flashing him a grateful smile.
“When I get better, do you think I’ll be a good dancer?”
Edward tweaked a few strands of hair from her shoulder and moved it behind her back, seeming to concentrate on the task with more intensity than was really required for it.
“Of course,” he murmured.
He helped her walk, one painful step at a time, out of their mother’s vanity chamber and across the hall, through a corridor and out to the main upstairs hallway. An ornately carved staircase looped down to the entrance hall and the siblings watched several servants scurry by far beneath them, weighed down with plates and trays of every food and drink imaginable. One maid hurried by with a tray of glazed tarts that looked more like jewellery than cuisine, shining crimsons and rich blues.
Rosalind leaned on the banister and smiled. The oceanic sound of conversation washed up the stairs towards them.
She liked to imagine being down there. Talking to people, moving around freely, wafting like she sometimes saw ladies do. Twinkling. Shining. She didn’t really have friends. Her gaze dropped to her hand on the sleeve of her brother’s jacket. Pale, too thin, clawlike. Maybe she should paint her nails.
Her throat hurt.
Edward was never very strong so he didn’t exactly carry her, but she was aware that she went from being at the banister to being curled up on her bed without too much effort on her part. She tucked her chin towards her chest and closed her arms over. A petticoat of her dress had come loose at the waist and was pouring like a lacy waterfall over the edge of the bed. Suddenly she was exhausted, too exhausted to even shiver.
“When you’re better,” her brother said quietly.
“You’re too serious, Teddy,” Rosalind croaked with a crooked smile.