"Nigel Overstreet has offered you a tiny sip of Hesperidean Cider. Splendid!"
[Short sad drabble for n_overstreet for the surprise of offering Lorrie Hesperidean Cider! An AU in if Lorel had come back. Screenshots on {{Tumblr}}.]
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Nigel Overstreet has offered you a tiny sip of Hesperidean Cider. Splendid!
You took a sip of the Hesperidean Cider Nigel Overstreet (Nigel Overstreet in Fallen London) gave you. It tasted of the Garden and the time before men.
You now have 1 - A Meagre Aftertaste x A Taste of the Garden
A Taste of the Garden 1 - A Meagre Aftertaste The taste still lingers. The smell of earth and grass when you sleep. What will it bring?
@LS_Cassius Accept at your leisure, Ellis. And there is plenty more where that came from!
- Nigel Overstreet (@N_Overstreet) December 10, 2015
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Cassius sits, no longer Lorel, no longer as pavonine as before. Everything aches in this dreadful, damp place, but it is only flesh & bone. Sinews & organs held onto her slight frame. The invitation surprised her, a welcome surprise of many that weren't. This silly fop, this client that took off before his ridiculous quest's completion, she never expected to see him again. She frowns slightly as she lifts the glass. Before…before she would have been adverse to drinking the fabled Hesperidean Cider. Even though the claims of it were most likely false, immortality was nothing to risk. She'd seen paths it could lead to, where bodies would be hard-pressed to any longer be called human. Rotting corpses, exposed skeletons, only their spirit continuing to animate them. She wouldn't really call it "living". Before she considered that no kind of life for herself, but now she may as well be. Her own will being what continues her on, the duty she still had to complete. Murdering Scathewick was going to be marvellous. And that pledge, and that wish is what animates her own broken body. At least it isn't Venderbight's screecher wards.
It took awhile to process he was referring to her as "Ellis", the name processing over-and-over in her head. She hadn't heard it in so long, and the ridiculousness brings amusement which flickers in her eyes. With a smile resting on the edge of the glass, she inhales--it smells more of orchards in sunshine than any sort of alcohol. Memories of a home she can never return to again until she is truly, truly dead. Her only ever home. It is nice sitting here, and now all this time later she knows the why of Red Honey, the physical thirst to feel memories such as this home smelling cider. Before the nostalgia can turn to regrets she shoots the drink back. Letting all feeling go to the experience.
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Nigel Overstreet has offered you a tiny sip of Hesperidean Cider. Splendid!
You took a sip of the Hesperidean Cider Nigel Overstreet (Nigel Overstreet in Fallen London) gave you. It tasted of the Garden and the time before men.
You now have 1 - A Meagre Aftertaste x A Taste of the Garden
A Taste of the Garden 1 - A Meagre Aftertaste The taste still lingers. The smell of earth and grass when you sleep. What will it bring?
@LS_Cassius Accept at your leisure, Ellis. And there is plenty more where that came from!
- Nigel Overstreet (@N_Overstreet) December 10, 2015
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Cassius sits, no longer Lorel, no longer as pavonine as before. Everything aches in this dreadful, damp place, but it is only flesh & bone. Sinews & organs held onto her slight frame. The invitation surprised her, a welcome surprise of many that weren't. This silly fop, this client that took off before his ridiculous quest's completion, she never expected to see him again. She frowns slightly as she lifts the glass. Before…before she would have been adverse to drinking the fabled Hesperidean Cider. Even though the claims of it were most likely false, immortality was nothing to risk. She'd seen paths it could lead to, where bodies would be hard-pressed to any longer be called human. Rotting corpses, exposed skeletons, only their spirit continuing to animate them. She wouldn't really call it "living". Before she considered that no kind of life for herself, but now she may as well be. Her own will being what continues her on, the duty she still had to complete. Murdering Scathewick was going to be marvellous. And that pledge, and that wish is what animates her own broken body. At least it isn't Venderbight's screecher wards.
It took awhile to process he was referring to her as "Ellis", the name processing over-and-over in her head. She hadn't heard it in so long, and the ridiculousness brings amusement which flickers in her eyes. With a smile resting on the edge of the glass, she inhales--it smells more of orchards in sunshine than any sort of alcohol. Memories of a home she can never return to again until she is truly, truly dead. Her only ever home. It is nice sitting here, and now all this time later she knows the why of Red Honey, the physical thirst to feel memories such as this home smelling cider. Before the nostalgia can turn to regrets she shoots the drink back. Letting all feeling go to the experience.