Video[Henry's apartment is dimly lit, the afternoon sun kept mostly at bay by curtains and blinds, but there's enough light to see by, and more importantly, enough light to film by. A small boy is at the front door, calling through it in a raised voice ( Read more... )

In all of my years, I've never paused to pray for my father's soul. My first thought when he died was of how much more freedom I had to travel with the specter of his wrath gone from my life. Does that make me an uncharitable son? An irreverent subject of the king ( Read more... )

Voice PostHere was a royal fellowship of death ... Something to say to the crowd, Father? No ( Read more... )

Perhaps you should stop complaining about the officers of the law and be grateful. They are discharging their duties in the interest of order and public safety.

I haven't been writing a great deal lately. Neither have I particularly felt like turning my hand to romance novels of any kind when the City continually impedes progress by threatening the well-being of those I care about. Last night, a little bit past midnight, I sat down with pen and paper, intending to outline the first few chapters of a new ( Read more... )

Most people recall that my father was Henry VIII, if they happen to recognize my name. They rarely recall that my mother was Elizabeth Blount, Maid of Honor to the rightful queen, Catherine of Aragon. Her affair with the king had lasted for two years when I was born. Shortly thereafter, my father's attentions shifted to Mary Boleyn, and three ( Read more... )

We didn't have snack cakes in sixteenth century England. Thank God we had no idea what we were missing. My father would have executed half the bakers in the country before someone contrived an acceptable substitute.

[OOC: If tap water additives make him sick, what are artificial ingredients and preservatives going to do to his system?]

Voice Post

I seem to have a guest. Perhaps the City took your mention of a family reunion as inspiration, Detective.

[Pause.]Do you mind ( Read more... )

Voice Post

[Snap of cardstock against fingers as Henry riffles through the stack left on his desk.]

Let's see. Undead United: I don't particularly care for the term, but I suppose it's appropriate.

The Jesus League? That's a little crass.

Testoster--no.

My Family Is Trying to Kill Me: four hundred years too late, but yes, my father was.

I ( Read more... )