Lurk, lurk.

Actually, he's brought his ship up to the surface of the lake to-day, and is playing organ in the salon while to one side he can look through the wall-wide picture window.

All in all, he's set up the salon very nicely for a meeting. The table is covered with a rich, dark blue cloth that hides the fish bones under its glass top, and there are long sea-tallow candles set up and dripping picturesquely.

And now he waits, dark-eyed and hard-faced, for his guest.

Everything is prepared for whoever comes; Nemo himself is playing the organ.

The table in his Nautilus is covered with a soft purple cloth made from seaweed fibres; there is a coral candlestick, and the candle that burns is made from fat he's taken and shaped from some underwater animal.

He sits at one of the driftwood chairs, both of which are beautifully carved. He is waiting, very patiently.

I have discovered a creature more beautiful than any I have ever seen. She is of the sea; but from where else would she come? She is called Leviathan.

Nemo is kneeling in the water that laps over the sides of the viewing platform on the Nautilus. His hands search the water for something, though one cannot be sure what.

He is not an old man or a young one--at this point in time, he seems like himself at thirty-five. He has killed several thousands of sailors. He does not regret it.

Sometimes, though, the demons do find him.

I would like to see That Boy again.

[This entry is very hesitant, with nothing crossed out because he Doesn't, but with long pauses where the ink changes because of the time he took to write ( Read more... )

There are many bad people in this place ( Read more... )