OOC NOTE: Originally I posted this over at my mun journal, niankhsekhmet HERE. I am reposting it here because Fanny interacts with far more muses here and the fact I use this LJ more than my mun journal. (Hey, this one is a permanent account! What do you expect?)
So to be completely redundant to some of you, it works like this; Give me some lyrics (JUST A COUPLE LINES, PLEASE) and I will write for you something about one of your characters and one of mine. I know many of you have many characters, and if my muses have not interacted with yours for a while, just mention something to help jog my memory!
And ALTERNATIVELY for … people who don’t or who have not RP’ed with me or my muses, pick some lyrics, and I shall find a muse to respond with a few paragraphs…or something. Trust me, I have a few in addition to the ones above.
The short list of my muses are fannyfae, nomanselizabeth, faery_ring. sheldonsandscia, sekhmet_mrytamn and a few others I am not telling but a few of you know already. 😉
One last thing; I know that I interact with several people who have more than one muse. To those muns, you can post more than once, so have that muse comment and one of mine will pop in and write a scene with them. 😉
Fanny Fae 
Caroline, mon petit chere
For the child, for the night
For the heart I once had
I believe and foresee
Everything I could ever be
Re: Caroline, mon petit chere
The embers in the fireplace of the library of the Chateau de Rochefort were dying. It had been a long night. Even though earlier my nerves had been rubbed threadbare and raw, trying to reason with a man I barely knew, one whose life was so inextricably entwined with mine, I now sat on the floor next to his chair, my hand and my head resting on his lap as he stroked my hair. His fingers would entwine with long strands and he seemed to relish the texture appreciatively.There was a soft rumble in his chest as was heard to sniffle again, and as I wiped my eyes of the tears I had shed partly of frustration, and partly of joy at his return.
It was a return that for any other young woman it would have been impossible, but my life is not like that of most young women. Being born the daughter of the Comte de Rochefort, a man who had been dead my entire life, now returned to life by my Sidhe mother who loved him so. I sometimes wonder if she had loved him more in fact than she loved me, who was a product of their shared life together. That is not to say that my mother was not a good mother or that she was any less loving or doting upon me as her daughter. No, that is definitely not the case. I have little cause for complaint and surely my childhood was filled with man indulgences along with any hardships I must have suffered, but she did raise me alone and within that. No doubt there were times when her desire to bring him back from the Land of the Dead to be with her again overshadowed everything else and even t hough she was incredibly popular in the Courts of France and in our Sidhe home of the Fortunate Island, no one, not even my Godfather, Hsu, could come close to holding her affections with such a devotion. Now, after four centuries, he had returned. I knew instantly when I saw him to be my father and we immediately embraced, but there was always a small wedge between us. Perhaps it was that he never got to see me as an infant or a child, but now to return like some man from a foreign land a great distance away to look into the eyes of a grown woman; a woman whose personality had already been formed and her likes and dislikes in place. Of course I knew most of his, Mama talked of him almost every day; so much so that I felt as if I already knew him. That in itself held me at a distinct disadvantage, for he did not know me.
“You must understand, mon petit chere, that I am only trying to protect you. You do not know how men can be.”
I nodded and pulled my head up from his lap and looked at him, my eyes still wet in the firelight. He looked very tired in that moment. “I know how he is with me, Papa,” I said catching his hand in mine and squeezing it, “he is a warrior, a good man. And he is not afraid to speak with you and set your mind at ease!”
My father snorted looking at another lock of hair entwined in his fingers, “You are well-born, Madamoiselle de Rochefort. There are men who when finding a beautiful young woman with a fortune can be quite convincing.”
“Stelios is wealthy himself, Papa,” I reasoned, “I think though, you are afraid of something else.” my words spilled out and I pulled the silk handkerchief to my face and blew gently, dabbing my eyes once more in the dim light.
Papa’s eyebrows shot up, especially the one over his one remaining eye that was not covered by a patch, “I am not afraid of…that Spartan.”
(cont’d)
Re: Caroline, mon petit chere
I pulled myself up onto my knees and wrapped my arms about my father’s neck, looking him in the eye.” Non, Papa. You are not afraid of ‘that Spartan’,” I said imitating his tone, “but you are afraid of losing me….to him and so soon after just coming home yourself.” When he began to protest I placed my fingers over my father’s lips, hushing him, his eye got slightly larger. “You have nothing to fear, Papa. I love you. You’re my Papa. No one could ever replace you in my heart. But I am a woman now. And as a woman, I want to see him. Please allow me to.”
“You are a woman that I never knew as a child,” he said sadly.
“I am still your child – and Mama’s and always will be,” I said kissing his furrowed brow, “and if I can say I carry any one thing about you and Maman it is the love that you have given and held for each other for so long.” I looked him in the eye now, “and no one will ever hold my heart that does not equal the example that you and Maman both showed to me. I promise I shall never accept anything less.”
And for you mon enchantreusse
However cold the wind and rain
I’ll be there to ease up your pain
However cruel the mirrors of sin
Remember, beauty is found within
Re: And for you mon enchantreusse
Never was there a more bitterly cold nor darker day than the one on which Sebastien died. We may have not been snowbound, or the sun blotted from the sky, but within my own inner world, it was as if the sun itself had gone out.
If you have ever prepared the body of a loved one for burial after they have died, particularly if they have died a violent and bloody death, make no mistake, it is a very difficult task indeed. All the while you are removing their garments, sponging off the body, annouinting and redressing the body and then redressing them, you cry. Why can the flesh not be coaxed yet alive again by reverent and attentive touch such as it is when you were once alone with them in the most intimate of spaces? Are you not alone again now? Why can they not merely be sleeping only to awaken, bleary-eyed as if it were all a bad dream? Why can the killing wound not be simply stitched closed again, a kiss breathed into the mouth cause them to live once more? Why do cries of anguish and grief and prayers and entreaties toward Heaven or Hell go unheeded? Why is love never enough to bring back the loved one to life? Were our sins against either so dire that no one will heed to us?
When we laid him to rest within the family crypts that lie deep, deep beneath the Chateau de Rochefort, he was near his mother, his father and sister and other ancestors that he had recounted to me. And now, the last Comte de Rochefort would be lain to rest. For nearly a month I did not speak to anyone, not servant, not anyone at either the Court of Louis or at home on the Fortunate Island. Letters came and went unanswered. I was left alone on the edge of madness. My ladies at the Court of the Fortunate Island, fearlyng that I would never be the same came at last on the night of the new moon following Sebastien’s death. One of them brought news of a vision that they had seen, that the Comte de Rochefort, my consort was not among the dead, for he still lingered. Perhaps he could be brought forth again if a way was found.
I did not know for certain, but at that moment I nodded took their tidings and again parted the veil between the living and the dead.
Your turn, CIA man
Temporary pain, eternal shame
To take part in this devil`s chess game
Spit on me, let go, get rid of me
And try to survive your stupidity
Meryt, oh Meryt? Heh. Got a present for ya.
Shoot to thrill, play to kill
I got my gun at the ready, gonna fire at will
Yeah
I’m like evil, I get under your skin
Just like a bomb that’s ready to blow
‘Cause I’m illegal, I got everything
Re: Meryt, oh Meryt? Heh. Got a present for ya.
OOC: I almost used the same song on her. LMAI!
Re: Meryt, oh Meryt? Heh. Got a present for ya.
ooc – Great minds. Do indeed. Think alike.
Hey, I just found a subject for sixwordstories! *g*
Re: Meryt, oh Meryt? Heh. Got a present for ya.
OOC: OOO that is a very good one.
Senora de Rochefort? Buenos Dias
Ben, the two of us need look no more
We both found what we were looking for
With a friend to call my own
I`ll never be alone
Re: Senora de Rochefort? Buenos Dias
Faelyn pressed her back against the wall, beads of sweat had almost instantly begun to form along her upper lip, her breathing was laboured and her body trembled in ways that few things could ever cause her to. Dark memories it brought up, being with those creatures in that jail cell in Port Royal, her clothes had been shredded into rags, and she had been terrorized by them. They had known her fear, they had smelled it and exploited it. But this small, all too similar creature that Raphael held in his hands did not seem at all interested in reaching out to grab her.
“K…keep it away from me!” she said, her voice alluding to her fear.
“Oh, Senora de Rochefort!” Raphael stroked the offending creature that crawled over his fingers, he nuzzled it like a beloved pet or even a friend, “this one is so small, he would never harm you. See?” He held it closer to her causing Faelyn to screach almost involuntarily, shrinking back even more against the wall.
“Give him time, Raphael! They are all alike,” Faelyn spat.
Raphael looked genuinely hurt, but he nodded and placed his little friend aside. The small rat scurried off somewhere and Raphael did not sem too concerned. “Do you think that I would hurt you, Senora?” he asked offering Madame de Rochefort his hand.
She took it and looked around, her eyes darting to insure no more rats lay in wait, “Non. Non of course not,” she said. “I am sure a man suh as you would not take bites out of defenseless women or steal their food while they are starving in a dark, damp gaol cell either!”
Raphael shook his head, and bade her to sit next to him, “No, Senora, I would never do such to a woman such as you. But that little one, he is a little brother to me…”
Faelyn just stared at him. This man, this one whom she had met and considered somewhat as a friend, that he not only harboured but he held these gnawing creatures as kin – it was almost too much to bear. She was about to dash from the room, to fly and get away from this place, when Raphael’s hand clamed over her wrist.
“Wait, Senora de Rochefort, “he said, “there is something you need to know about me.”
Re: Senora de Rochefort? Buenos Dias
I must admit, Senora; much to my shame I did not think about where we were when I told you. Perhaps another place, full of sun and out of cramped spaces dark shadows would have been better place for my confession?
ooc-(that was sooo good! Thank you!)
Any of mine with any of yours…
Looking for something we can rely on
There’s got to be something better out there
Love and compassion, their day is coming
All else are castles built in the air
And I wonder when we are ever gonna change it
Living under the fear till nothing else remains
All the children say…
We don’t need another hero.
We don’t need to know the way home.
Re: Any of mine with any of yours…
War was coming. It was Hsu, Cody Jean, and a few Immortals, including myself and others closest to us, Immortals of various kinds against the Watchers. Make no mistake, I had done my part and I was willing to gamble. How could any of us afford not to?
Cody Jean had, after months of practice learned the twisting arc and parry that I had tried to teach her with her sword. She was leading with the blade now, turning and blocking me in a stance that she had spent the time to master, she forced me, her assailant, a little off balance and I edged back a step. “Excellent,” Cody, I said wiping the sweat from my brow against my upper arm. The girl flashed me a brilliant smile, but she was wise enough not to relax her stance in spite of the praise. She had learned indeed. As if to prove her point but without being certain who of us had the advantage, she pushed afresh at me. Steel clashed upon steel, the sound echoing through out the exercise room. I pushed back, this time the arch and parry was mine, with the last being something that I am certain I learned from Sebastien. With a sweeping motion of my foot, knocked Cody’s leg’s out from under her to cause her to land on her rump. Her blade flew from her handjust out of her reach. Now the advantage was clearly mine, my blade pointed directly at the hollow of her throat. I could see, out of the corner of my eye, Hsu observing us.
“Know when to stop, and let your oponent telegraph their next move before you end up telegraphing yours,” I said. Rocking back on my heels, I moved the blade from it’s threatening position and offered her my hand, “The time is coming, Cody.” She took my hand and let me pull her up. I glanced back at Hsu who gave an almost imperceptible nod. “The time has come, I should say, when we start preparing for the next part of what is inevitably going to come.”
The problem was the girl did not know that she held the best, greatest hopes for all of we who considered themselves one kind of Immortal or another. Cody had seen the Watchers for what they were, she knew the inside as well as the outside. Of course, she had no idea what was going on, and if anyone were to tell ehr she was a hero, she would have laughed and denied it, or even more, deferred to either Andy or even more to Hsu. Well, it was true. The reason why the storm clouds of war were gathering was because she and I knew that we had but two choices; follow this man, this brutal warlord who was a trusted friend – or leave ourselves to the Watchers.
There was no doubt in my mind which one Cody and I would choose.
Re: Any of mine with any of yours…
Awww! I love this! And Cody is preening!
Thank you!
For Frances
How I wish you could see the potential
The potential of you and me
It’s like a book elegantly bound
But in a language that you can’t read
Re: For Frances
“I don’t understand.” James said haltingly, fingering the finely tooled spine of the book I had placed in his hands.
“That is because, mon ami,” I said smiling, “you are not Sidhe, so you were never taught. This is an old language, the language that was used long before the time that your first King drew his sword from the stone. But do not worry. Where we are going, you will learn.”
James could not hide the look of genuine amusement on his face. He knew his literature, but he was not too indulgent in what he would deem to be ‘faery stories’. “You cannot mean to tell me, Frances that you believe the legends are true after all?”
It was that smile that had always been the reward for me within our friendship. James Norrington could always be very serious. Sometimes he was so much so that it made him awkward in spite of his external façade of dignity and control. On those moments when a smile could be coaxed from his lips, it could rival sunlight on Caribbean seas. The sunlight broke through now into my cabin and streamed through the windows, the dust motes were lambent in the light. I placed a hand over the page of the book, and closed the distance between us. “You don’t mean to tell me that a man of the sea such as yourself does not believe at least a little bit in stories, Admiral,” I said, “I would have definitely have thought otherwise.”
“Where are we going, Frances?” James asked, his fingertips edged near mine, yes touching at last. His eyes were sharp, intense. I felt my heart tighten in my ribcage at his touch and his question. I could not avoid telling him. So few men I had let in this close, and so few I chose to know for who they truly were. James Norrington was a good man, in spite of his well-concealed self-doubts. He had been a friend, confidant and companion. He needed to know – even if he could never comprehend exactly what it was he was looking at.
“Now it is my turn to spirit you away to somewhere. Yours was Venice. Mine……” I hesitated and looked into those curious ice-blue eyes, I clutched the lapel of his dark blue officer’s coat, “We are going to my homeland,” I said as simply as if we were going to be sailing to the next adjoining island in the Caribe, “I want you to see it, just once. Then you may tell me if you no longer believe in Faery stories.”
“What are you saying, Frances?”
“I am saying that I can never undo vows I have made in the past, James. But of the men I have known – you are one who has made me consider the possibility. For just that brief shining moment, let us forget that you are an Admiral in his Majesty’s Navy and I am a widow.”
James’ gaze did not shift away from me, but he pulled the book away from both of our grasp and laid it aside. His touch upon my jaw was gentle as he slowly, gracefully tilted my chin upward. He stopped just short of my lips, his voice almost a whisper. “I have wanted to forget,” he said, “but I thought it would be impertinent and overreaching, and unseemly.”
“James…”
“Yes?”
“Be quiet.”
OOC: She really wanted to take this way further than she did, but…wow, we could so do an entire RP on this one alone I think! She really wanted to answer James first (believe it or not!) and I think it is because she does value him so much as a friend and he is one of the few with whom she truly *can* see the potential…and it is at once frustrating and enticing that she thinks he is aware of it, too.
OOC
Oh, this is so beautiful. As always, I’m in awe of your talent with the written word. This arrived in my e-mail inbox this morning and definitely got the day off to a good start.
You articulated James’ feelings regarding Fanny perfectly. And yes, this is something that is wholly RP-worthy, a situation that would fit fairly well into the world James lives in, with its Kraakens and sea goddesses. 🙂
Re: OOC
Thank you! *hugs* I will say that I am more in awe of your talent, my friend! I am so very glad you liked it! I was nervous! 🙂
I have to confess, it was sort of Frances’ thought of making this semi-canon with James. I was very, VERY unhappy with the way that POTC killed him off And so Frances has always siad that she would have bargained with Calypso or any powers that be in all of ‘The Seven Realms of Existence’, in order to keep James from Davy Jones’ locker. He was more destined to my mind, very much like King Arthur went to Avalon with the Three Queens, to go to the Fortunate Island. This place when I created it sort of corresponds to the more Celtic / Druidic idea of Avalon or Tolkein’s Undying Lands. She definitely thinks that James deserved that sort of fate much more because (and she actually said this in my head,btw) “His very last act upon Earth was ever one of selflessness.” It’s the things like that which make her admire him so much. But we wanted to make it to where it could either be before or after his very untimely and certainly unwanted end – or in some otherwhere in which it never happened at all.
And yes, Please. Let’s do this as a RP.
Madame, perhaps one of your muses might assist me?
Walk the dark path
Sleep with angels
Call the past for help
Touch me with your love
And reveal to me my true name
I need to read… goes to get coffee
“Broke another promise
And I broke another heart
But I ain’t too young to realize
That I ain’t too old to try
Try to get back to the start
And it’s another red light nightmare
Another red light street
And I ain’t too old to hurry
‘Cause I ain’t too old to die
But I sure am hard to beat”
-“Ride On_ – AC/DC
Any with… Curt >>
((Man, I don’t think we’ve actually RPed together yet, BUT. These are fun 😀 I might have to put this in my journal too. …Not that many people read it XD))
Never act my age
You can tell by the lines in my smile
That I have been around for a while
So, insecurities
Are about as useful as trying
To put the pin back in the grenade
Re: Any with… Curt >>
((you would be surprised who would read what if you pointed them in the right direction *whistles pseudo-innocently*))
Re: Any with… Curt >>
((You mean something LIKEA DIS?))
Re: Any with… Curt >>
Curt Wild was a legend. As a musician, a singer, a bard, I used to fantasize about the mere possibility of actually working with him on any sort of project.I had listened to his records for forever, and now I was getting the chance of a lifetime, my manager had spoken with Curt Wild’s management and a tentative project with the two of us was being negotiated.
Now as I made my way backstage through the throngs of people toward the dressing room, I felt the rising tide of nervousness as Iain, my manager, blithered endlessly in with that slow British accent that screamed of his upbringing in Milton Keynes. The only good thing about him being with me is that the sheer rock-manager persona kept at bay those who got too close. There were always the groupies, the backstage letches, and roadies checking out mini skirts, cleavage and the general packaging of all those assembled. There were the rack-jobbers and the bullshitters that were part and parcel of the whole scene. Sex, drugs, rock and roll, and the most ironic part is that of all three activities, I’d only ever really done the rock and roll part. In the background the opening act was just taking stage and the energy backstage shifted into the same sort of excitement you feel when the safety bar lowers across your lap on a roller coaster ride.
In a cordoned off area, Iain led me past the security and bouncers that stood watch. Apparently one noticed me on sight and flashed me a smile. They were waiting, we were told, It would be at least forty five minutes of time that we would have before Curt and his band took the stage. I don’t know what it was. But across the room was one of the most fragile yet magical human beings that I had ever seen. He had that aura around him, as if he knew who he was. Where I come from it’s a sort of Faery glamour. I sort of laughed inwardly at the analogy, a real life Faery Princess meets a Fairy Prince of rock and roll. Of course, the only happy ever afters either of us could hope for would be calculted by the A&R and distribution big shots in the end. I was about to turn to Iain when Curt’s and my eyes met. It was a look of recognition on both our parts, I think. He excused himself from the two people he was talking to and made his way to where Iain and I were chatting with Curt’s manager. Everyone else but we two seemed to disappear.
“You must be Caroline.” he said, extending a hand, “thanks for coming.”
I took his hand and flashed him a smile, “Hi, Curt,” I said, hoping to hell that my voice didn’t crack. That would be a hell of a thing to have happen with someone you wanted to do a duet with. Still, the insecurities were held at bay just by the sheer ease between us.
“You know, I listened to that demo of that Kate Bush cover, “Pull Out the Pin”you did on your last album,” he pulled me away from the others, we seemed to disappear in our own world, I bet we could do a wicked awesome one if we dirtied it up a bit.”
“Ya think?”
“Yeah, ” he nodded, “I do.”
Re: Any with… Curt >>
((Different journal, because I’m too lazy to sign out, but oh man, awesome! How interesting a musical collaboration would that be? I love this :D))
Re: Any with… Curt >>
Oh, good! I am glad you liked it! Caroline and Curt would have a good time with that. Maybe it is a RP we need to do. Please bear in mind, I haven’t even seen Velvet Underground yet, but I am actually wanting to find it so that I can. Your muse seems to have inpired it. 🙂
Re: Any with… Curt >>
((Hehehe, that’s all right, you did it just fine. And it’s actually Velvet Goldmine (although Velvet Underground is an uhh-some band, so it’s allowed either way
Re: Any with… Curt >>
This is what happens when I write when I am tired! *g* Velvet Goldmine, and honestly I knew that I just was having an airhead moment! I am sure I can find the movie. I just love how you have portrayed Curt and the relationships he is in. I have read a bit of slash, mostly I think it is really self-serving to the writers of it. I do not get this impression with your portrayals and there is so much there and you explore it tastefully without just doing it for the titilation factor. So yes, any fic that we can write with Caroline and Curt would be interesting since she is a musician as well. Right now she is on tour in the Bahamas and then later will be going to Greece with her…umm….’the object of her affections!’ Yes that’s it! 😉
Re: Any with… Curt >>
((ROFL it’s okay! People do weird things when they’re tired. I was sleepy when I wrote a roleplay tag once, and the muse was talking about somebody I’d never heard of before and the sentences made absolutely no sense XD It was hilarious! But, yeah, sleep-depped brains are strange, heeeee. Awww, also, you are making me do the blush dance, thank you! Slash is just so awkward to write, I’m glad someone thinks I’m doing it right! Buahahaha, ‘object of her affections’ works! But yeah, that sounds like a great idea XD Where I take Curt from, he… ain’t exactly doing much, hehehe.))
I could stay awake just to hear you breathing
Watch you smile while you are sleeping
While youre far away dreaming
I could spend my life in this sweet surrender
I could stay lost in this moment forever
Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure
I traced a line with my forefinger over his forehead, down over closed, sleeping eyes. Downward I traced carefully over his cheekbones, over sensuous parted lips. The heat of his breath was an odd comfort. So beauteous and seeming so innocent, and yet this boy man was a deadly adversary to his enemies – and to mine.
The last shards of red-orange light tinged with amethyst cut across the wide expanse of sky. As the orb of light sunk behind the mountains, I felt him begin to stir at last. Dark still sleep-filled eyes opened slowly until a smile tugged slowly at the corner of his lips. He stared into my eyes for several moments before he actually spoke. I was never quite sure if he was finally adjusting to his newfound state of wakefulness into the night.
“You know what I love?” he said, his voice still low and gritty from slumber.
“What?” I asked, planting a kiss on his chest.
“Waking up finding that you are still here, awake and watching over me.”
I smiled, clasped his hand in mine and took his forefinger, kissing the tip of it and then licking the digit gingerly, “You could show me your appreciation, you know,” I teased him. He was flesh, bone, soul, awake and no longer among the sleeping undead. David would seek him out soon – he would seek both of us out soon, I knew. As if reading my thoughts, Dwayne carefully pulled me up toward him and with one deft move rolled me beneath him. Slowly, deliciously and without hesitation he sunk down; his body pressed warmly tagainst mine from waist to foot. I let out a soft moan, relinquishing some control to him, but not too much, wrapping my arms around Dwayne’s neck and shoulders. He kissed me once again, breathing life, reneweing the reasons why we had come together this way, the length of him pressing against my sex. Slowly we began moving together, measured breathing becoming ragged once more. We had not asked permission, but neither of us would flinch from begging permission if only to see more moments like these.
An all knowing smile that pretty much explained that he was definitely happy with the words his beloved had just spoke.
I love that you can read my thoughts in the way that you do, Frances. You take my breath away with everything you do.