I realised yesterday that I worry more about the company bank account than I do my own, despite it having considerably more money in it. I suspect I've got something slightly wrong there, but I can't put my finger on what exactly. For today no link back to what's being continued, but I think you'll remember the characters anyway. I need to actually go back and sort out everything they all did, get it properly written down, and then continue their story, but for now let's just re-meet some of them.
Dignity Fitzroy Street ran alongside Fitzroy Square Garden, a beautifully maintained green space at the edge of the West End and within casual strolling distance of Regent's Park. The garden was private, owned jointly by certain houses on Fitzroy Street and the perpendicular Grafton Street, so discrete iron railings bordered it to keep unwanted visitors out. Inside the garden was laid out like a park in miniature, narrow paths leading through lawns and bushes, and wooden benches set to catch the afternoon sun. Lord Ernest Derby walked along one such path enjoying the smell of spring flowers; a pleasant change from the smoky London streets where horse dung still added savour to the air. At a junction he took the left-hand path and anyone who had been watching him would have been astonished to see him seem to fade away into thin air, leaving nothing behind but the citrus scent of his favourite aftershave. Lord Derby however was entirely unsurprised as two steps took him abruptly from Fitzroy Square Garden and the soft drone of busy insects into a spacious room laid out like a gentleman's study. The floorboard were polished and a red-and-white rug laid out between two armchairs in front of an empty fireplace. Bookcases lined one wall, one filled with books and the other having a few empty shelves still. A long bench was opposite the bookcases, set with glassware and burners, the tools of the trade of a Magician. The space where the Magician's bag would be set was empty, and the coatstand at the end of the bench was also denuded. There was a harsh scent of old tobacco that mingled with fresh coffee, but no matter where he looked there was no sign of the appealing, rich liquid. "Ernest," said a voice behind him, and he stepped forward without looking back. "How the devil do you manage to get here before me?" "Lord Campion," said Ernest. "Just good luck, I expect. Have you taken up the study of the magical arts?" Lord Campion, a bullish man with a red face and a short, bushy brown moustache, walked past Lord Derby with an unreadable expression on his face. "Not personally," he said. "You're not the only person invited to these rooms, you know, Derby." "Of course," said Ernest with a smile. "I should be astonished -- though greatly honoured -- if I were." "Quite. Well, I'm busy, and you're busy, so let me get to the point. Carcosa." Lord Derby looked above the fireplace. Two paintings hung there, both of men who looked utterly unlike Lord Campion. The plaques underneath them read Dignity and Pride. "They say Dignity died trying to find Carcosa," he said at last. "And... is the home of the King in Yellow really such a good place to search for?" "From what I hear," said Lord Campion, "you're not going to be given a choice." "I see," said Lord Derby. He turned at last. "That coffee smells excellent, milord, is there any available? And perhaps over coffee you can appraise me of the King's new fancy?"
3 comments:
I realised yesterday that I worry more about the company bank account than I do my own, despite it having considerably more money in it. I suspect I've got something slightly wrong there, but I can't put my finger on what exactly.
For today no link back to what's being continued, but I think you'll remember the characters anyway. I need to actually go back and sort out everything they all did, get it properly written down, and then continue their story, but for now let's just re-meet some of them.
Dignity
Fitzroy Street ran alongside Fitzroy Square Garden, a beautifully maintained green space at the edge of the West End and within casual strolling distance of Regent's Park. The garden was private, owned jointly by certain houses on Fitzroy Street and the perpendicular Grafton Street, so discrete iron railings bordered it to keep unwanted visitors out. Inside the garden was laid out like a park in miniature, narrow paths leading through lawns and bushes, and wooden benches set to catch the afternoon sun. Lord Ernest Derby walked along one such path enjoying the smell of spring flowers; a pleasant change from the smoky London streets where horse dung still added savour to the air. At a junction he took the left-hand path and anyone who had been watching him would have been astonished to see him seem to fade away into thin air, leaving nothing behind but the citrus scent of his favourite aftershave.
Lord Derby however was entirely unsurprised as two steps took him abruptly from Fitzroy Square Garden and the soft drone of busy insects into a spacious room laid out like a gentleman's study. The floorboard were polished and a red-and-white rug laid out between two armchairs in front of an empty fireplace. Bookcases lined one wall, one filled with books and the other having a few empty shelves still. A long bench was opposite the bookcases, set with glassware and burners, the tools of the trade of a Magician. The space where the Magician's bag would be set was empty, and the coatstand at the end of the bench was also denuded. There was a harsh scent of old tobacco that mingled with fresh coffee, but no matter where he looked there was no sign of the appealing, rich liquid.
"Ernest," said a voice behind him, and he stepped forward without looking back. "How the devil do you manage to get here before me?"
"Lord Campion," said Ernest. "Just good luck, I expect. Have you taken up the study of the magical arts?"
Lord Campion, a bullish man with a red face and a short, bushy brown moustache, walked past Lord Derby with an unreadable expression on his face.
"Not personally," he said. "You're not the only person invited to these rooms, you know, Derby."
"Of course," said Ernest with a smile. "I should be astonished -- though greatly honoured -- if I were."
"Quite. Well, I'm busy, and you're busy, so let me get to the point. Carcosa."
Lord Derby looked above the fireplace. Two paintings hung there, both of men who looked utterly unlike Lord Campion. The plaques underneath them read Dignity and Pride.
"They say Dignity died trying to find Carcosa," he said at last. "And... is the home of the King in Yellow really such a good place to search for?"
"From what I hear," said Lord Campion, "you're not going to be given a choice."
"I see," said Lord Derby. He turned at last. "That coffee smells excellent, milord, is there any available? And perhaps over coffee you can appraise me of the King's new fancy?"
Deep
Idealistic
Growing
Needs no
Introduction
True and kind, no
Yen to cry.
Greg - I feel as though there's some sort of morality at play here? Hard to say for sure though :P
Derby! Woo hoo :D
This serves as a nice reintroduction to Lord Derby, and sounds like the start of another adventure that I shall look forward to reading :)
Morganna - really like the flow of this acrostic, particularly the final two lines.
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