In a chair by the observation window, Fuchsia is sitting cross-legged, reading a book and occasionally sipping a glass of juice.

She's not usually one for mornings, but today is one of those rare days the Lady is up early. It had just better not happen again.

If there are any lingering effects from being bitten by his horse the other day, Quinn doesn't show them; oh, sure, there's probably still a monster bruise involved, but it's well out of sight. Not like he's the sort to wear a T-shirt, after all ( Read more... )

Fuchsia is sitting near the fire, awkwardly curled up in a chair. She's forgone her usual corsetted gowns and is wearing her favourite old crimson red dress and crown.

A book of fairytales and a glass of elderberry wine rounds out the scene.

It's spring.

This means that there's plenty of time to do what Fuchsia loves best - walking in the woods.

If you listen carefully, you can hear her counting...

Mark comes down from upstairs, still in the black-and-trenchcoat from the day before, sunglasses perched on the top of his head. Over his shoulder is a bag, looking rather clunky. Walking over to Bar, he deposits a list on her. "Hey, Bar? Can I have the stuff on this list, please and thank you?" He recieves everything in a rather large duffle bag, ( Read more... )

In an out of the way corner of the bar, Fuchsia is pacing.

Ok, perhaps throwing a mild fit would be more descriptive. But it's a quiet fit and any talking she's doing is to herself.

She's not crazy, honest. Just dramatic.

At a table, Fuchsia is scribbling in her notebook. She's trying to think of the perfect story before she decides to advertise for people to let her tell it to their children. She had briefly considered the story of the Lion, the Lamb, the Horse and the Wolf, but that is too sacred ( Read more... )

Entomologist with a baby in the bar.

Grissom is reading a forensic journal to her, and Georgia is enthralled.

Fuchsia is worried. She's dead and has no way to pay her tab. She's fairly certain Gormenghast had money, but it's not like she ever needed any. The only thing she has of any value with heris the necklace Dr. Prune gave her and there's no way she's giving that up. Never ( Read more... )

Cywyllog enters the bar in her seemingly perpetual - these days - foul mood. She settles at the bar and orders a glass of wine.

Hanild is curled up on a couch by the fire, reading a book. Her dinner is sitting on a nearby table, along with a glass of ale.

Our third princess (mostly) is Fuchsia. She's outside, corsetted gown and all and ( Read more... )