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Happy birthday to me. [Aug. 20th, 2010|11:39 pm]
Sonorous Herald

There is a special brand of loneliness that you can pick up as you go. It comes with having a lasting belief in something. Preferably something that everyone else has given up on.
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Peregrine [Jan. 16th, 2007|11:36 pm]
Sonorous Herald
My name is Peregrin. That's the name they gave me. I will never know what the name my mother gave because I never knew my mother. My other unknown is my birthday. I grew up being told that was a blessing and with no specific day to be harnessed to, I could choose everyday, if I wanted to. It was estimated that I was roughly 24, but again, with just appearing on their doorstep one night with no memory of anything previous to my arriving there, it was decided to check my teeth and guesstimate approximately. They had discerned I must be around 5 years old when they gained me. They had taken me to the Well-maker after a week or two, to see if my memory could be found. He told them that it would return naturally or never at all. It never did rear it's head. Looking back on what effect that had on my view of the world, I can say that it caused a distance between me and it. Don't make the mistake of thinking I am cold. I'm just more prone to watching than joining in. After 10 years of caring for me, they were suddenly gone. They took a trip without me for one weekend and they never returned. No-one else appeared either. I waited for 2 weeks and nothing. I came to the conclusion that if I stayed there I would die so I had to move on. Packing things that I instinctively felt I would need and setting off into the wyld that surrounded my former home. The next few years; I counted at least three winters; I roamed. No schooling or fixed abode. Blewing into a town for a short while then again moving on before anyone got too close or before the authorities restrained me. I met literally thousands of people. Helped plant many a garden or fixed a gutter here and there, to make my way. Of course, there were individuals I liked more than others. that's only natural. However, the moment I felt a pang for the company of any one person it was twinned with agoraphobia. This travelling, remaining rootless, suited me. Perhaps They had known this about me when they named me Peregrine.
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Names for characters: [Sep. 26th, 2006|03:09 pm]
Sonorous Herald

Feel free to suggest some too, along with what you like about the name and what type of character it would fit.





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Beginnings of a Tale of Seduction. Needs major reworking. [Sep. 21st, 2006|07:47 am]
Sonorous Herald
Doctor Dean's office was very lavish, prime location and a little too warm. Hannah loosened the laces of her dusky blue velvet outter corset and slid material from her pale blue summerdress between her bare thighs before crossing her legs in an attempt to cool down. Sitting in the patient's chair waiting for the good doctor to finish his call in the medical room next door, was making her uncomfortable. She was trying not to eaves drop but her curiosity was getting the better of her and she didn't like that fact. In an effort to distract herself, she picked up the photo frame on the doctor's cherry wood desk and surveyed the group photo it held. The frame was a silver coloured metal with a deco design based on Rennie Macintosh's parallel lines and rose motif and it had mild tarnishing on the edges close to the picture glass. A small hallmark confirmed it was silver after all, and original from the date stamp. The photograph inside was of eight men, who looked to vary in age from 20 to 35 and one woman, who seemed to be roughly 25 but with the eyes of a much older spirit. All eight men were wearing doctors' operating gowns over their suits and holding fluted glasses of champagne. Wide grins on their faces as they stood four-a-side of the woman. She wore all black, a sleek fitted italian suit, sporting a fairly severely fringed haircut. Something out of the gothbilly style and pitch black. She was smiling smugly, a part of the group yet aloof from it somehow. Hannah noticed that each of the men wore a pin made of a small peacock feather on their person. A brotherhood of some sort? They seemed joyous enough, it was most likely some graduation or awards presentation memory. Distracting herself had obviously been successful as she wasn't aware of the Doctor's return intil he placed a hand on her shoulder and took the photo from hannah's hands. He returned it to its spot and walked over to his side of the desk. Touching the frame briefly, he looked down and asked, "How are things at your club, Hannah?" Thankful that he was not offended by her prying, she sighed with relief and tucked a loose tendril of her amber hair behind her ear, before replying with, "Great. The alternative music scene here has really embraced my taking over Bloodpool and seem really keen on the tattoo shop i opened up in the basement." "Good, good. So you are finding a vent for your artistic and creative mind?" "Well, to some extent, but is that important?" Hannah looked up at Doctor Dean with concern and question. "Yes indeed hannah, it's paramount to give into certain whims and needs... for your own sanity." He smiled knowingly and sat down. "How can I help you this afternoon little one?" Hannah always felt warm and regressed into a childish mode when he called her that. He was now 40 and always very fatherly towards her. He stood at six foot two and shaved his dark hair very short. He obviously worked out and on occasion Hannah had caught a glimpse of tattoos on his arms. That latter fact was possibly the reason she had elected to employ him as her doctor in the first place. Her hobby of tattooing featured greatly in her life and his interest in them made her feel he was a kindred spirit. In a mildly giddy way, Hannah explained that she had missed two periods and was worried that the her diet was to blame. The Doctor checked her pulse by placing his fingertips to her neck, just below her jaw and timed it with his fob watch. Ascertaining her blood pressure was also in order, he asked her to move into the medical room. He wanted to check there was no internal reason, cyst or scarring etc. She complied to his wishes and alighted the bench chair after removing her underpants. Doctor Dean turned from the sideboard having prepared a tray of sterile instruments. Placing the tray onto a steel sidetable to the left of his chair, he slid into his seat and gently lifted Hannah's ankles up into padded foot stirrups. "Now, I need you to relax so you won't contract and make it difficult for Me, and we don't like to make things difficult for old Doctor Dean, do we, little one?" He jokes with her. Hannah lays back and relaxes well enough, she thought. "Come now little one, I can barely place the speculum inside let alone open it." "I'm sorry, i am as relaxed as i can get, i promise." "Well, Doctor Dean's going to have to give you a local to find out whats wrong, is that ok with you? Or are you scared of needles?" Again a rhetorical question with a smile. "I suppose its fine." Hannah smiles back, knowing that they both have a tolerance for needles. She wondered to herself if he enjoyed pain as she did. A small stinging sensation occurs and she feels nothing after three seconds. He asks her if there is any feeling where he is touching and as there was not she confirms the anaesthetic had worked. Five minutes passed and Doctor Dean remains silent while he worked. Hannah looked down onto his shaved head and giggles to herself that he looks like a skinhead turned respectable. He raises his head just enough to note the expression on her face and she catches a glint bounce off his lips and chin, as if they were both moist. He quickly darts back down out of her view and Hannah's heart almost leaps out of her throat. 'Oh my god, oh my god' she thinks over and over again. Doctor Dean appears again with a stern look on his face. No sign of the moisture she had seen moments before. She felt shocked; doubt; used.... but arroused. What had just happened? Was he taking advantage of her? Why was she not repulsed by this. She pulled her knees together and slid from the bench to the floor. She reached for her panties and hand bag on a chair behind the curtain from her croached position and clasped them to her chest. Not wanting to rise or face him or leave. Feeling was returning to her vaginal area and she could sense moisture there. Panting, confused and somewhat frightened, she remained huddled til, he touched her back. She shuddered and came. Surprised and blushing, she bit her lower lip and closed her eyes. Doctor Dean leaned down and firmly gripping her arms from behind he hoisted her up. "Feel free to tidy yourself up, littleone, and if i don't see you again i will understand" He brushed her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck, grazing his teeth against her skin. He turns and leaves the room, closing the door to the adjoining office behind him. He did not look back. Hannah goes into some automatic mode and grasps tissues to clean and dry herself then puts her briefs back on. She stands alone there for two more minutes, figuring out how she felt about this. A thousand thoughts, contradicting each other.

She must have switched to complete auto-pilkot as she found herself at home. An apartment over the club with a view of the sea in front and a view of the forest and castle ruins on the hill behind. She bathed and sat in a satin dressing gown, with her hair in a towel and her kneess folded up to her chin. The sofa she was sitting on was cold comfort and she sat in silence. The noise of the djs setting up in the club below crashing into the sound of the white horses dying on the shingle of the beach. Life moving on about her yet finding herself stagnant, motionless, lost. The telephone rings. She reaches over and picks up the handset. Extending the antenae to full length she clicks on the green anser button. "Uhu?". is all she utters. There is twenty seconds of nothing and then Doctor Dean, in a low and soft voice, starts to speak. "little one... I want you to be completely honest with Me.... do you understand that?", "Uhu", " are you repelled by what happened today?", he waits for an answer. Hannah replies "No." and pinches herself to check its really her talking on the phone. "Good, good. I'm going to invite you to something special, little one. I want _you_ to attend a gathering for Me. Will you do as I ask?" "Yes Doctor." She can't believe that she's agreeing to his wishes. "Then, My little one, on wednesday next week, the 21st of June, at 10 pm i want you to go to the following address. Wear something appropriate for a good girl at Bloodpool.", "A good girl, Doctor?", "Yes. Your corset, skirt and heels will do fine. Much like your usual dress for fetish night at Bloodpool." "Yes, i understand Doctor", "Good little one." He relays the address to her. "I look forward to seeing you." With that he hangs up. Hannah, replaces the handset then cox it so it rests without touching the receiver cradle. She wanted no disturbance. She wanted the excitement that was building inside her to come to fruition. To explore this new dark casam she'd discovered within herself. She played the scene over in her head. The smell of the room, the feeling of helplessness, how she had enjoyed something she should have been terrified of. And now, the knot in her stomache that grew with her excitement and yearning for that release again. Should she slip into the dark water and explore this further? What could she loose in finding out? She'd never shied away from new things before, hell knows her life was all about hedonism and indulgence. She had just never thought of herself as submitting before. She had always gotten a buzz from controling what happened around her in the past. Playing at being the Dominatrix in the club and at the tattoo parlour, enjoying that but not really applying it to her real life wants. It was an image. This, however, was all new. The need to be helpless and used had filled the void that Mistress Hannah could not. Scratching at her back door, which was reached by open iron stairs from the ground floor and the forest behind the building, alerted her to the need to let Rufus back in. Rufus was and irish wolf hound and alsation cross. About 3 years old and loyal but free. He bounced his way in through the now open door and jumped up onto Hannah's bed. Rufus was right. It was time for bed. She had clients coming in from Germany tomorrow, for tattoo work booked at a distant convention she'd attended. A steady hand would be better for her reputation. She closed and locked the back door, then curled up on the bed holding Rufus close and breathi9ng in the forest scents he had bought with him. She slipped, into a sleep with no dreams, just peace. Something she'd not felt for a while.
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Two Halves [Sep. 14th, 2006|01:02 am]
Sonorous Herald
Both the German man and the Russian woman sat on the park bench. He turned his face towards her slowly and only slightly and asked her if she knew where he could catch a bus to the town centre. She fertively opened her handbag and looked for the timetable and bus route that had been provided. As she opened a purse to pull the pamphlet out, he noticed a photo behind the see-through wallet sectional. He noticed it was of a young boy, who beamed the smile that only 8 year old boys can, for the camera. In itself, this personal momento was not unusual to see within a person's purse or wallet. What was unusual was that it had been torn in half and one half was missing. A small realisation crept over him and he smiled at her as she passed him the loaded timetable. She looked up into his face for the first time and looked quizzically at him. No doubt she did not speak German as he himself could not speak Russian. He thought for a moment about the Cold War and the on again-off again relationship the leaders of their two countries had had over the two recent wars. How absurd it was that they, two insecure agent recruits, would be worlds apart yet be identical. She continued to look concerned as he grinned to himself. He motioned with his hand, one moment. She nodded and waited. he draw out his own wallet and revealed the photo of his deceased wife. This photo had suffered the same fate as her's. She took a moment then understood. She then took her turn at gesticulating the tearing of the photos in half. He nodded, still smiling quietly. She returned a smile and sighed what seemed to be in relief. She must have been very new to this game. He motioned again, if he might be allowed to look closer at her photo. She took it from it's mini shrine and handed it to him. He placed his photo next to her's and chuckled again at how he still owned the right -hand side of his photo and she owned only the left-hand side of her's. 'How apt', he thought. She tried to inquire about the women in the photo and he motioned that she was deceased. She nodded slowly and with sympathy. He remembered his wife and her radiant smile and golden hair, and how they had married in secret because of profession. How his Superiors had found out and come for her and bullied him into taking an assignment of great importance. He would have gladly taken the job without their tactics, and resented their doubt of him. And then he remembered how he found her executed in their new and sparcely furnished home, when he returned from the charge in failure. He felt ashamed. How could he ever make it up to her. He couldn't.
Sensing he was daydreaming he came back to the present quickly. He pointed to the boy and his female counterpart lowered her head. He took a warm and comforing hold of her nearest hand. He understood. Her people were holding he child as collateral. He knew how she felt. His Masters had done much the same with his wife. He raised her head gently with his finger under her chin and retrieved a handkerchief from his breast pocket to dab her tears. What a medley of emotions this one moment bought. Happiness in finding like in another but sadness combined in their parallel situations. She thanked him and then they both returned to sitting and facing forward like stiff dummies. He rose to leave and she caught his sleeve. He looked down and followed her eyes as she stood to face him. He searched for some idea of what she wanted and then felt her hand on his as she urged it upward and open-palmed between them. She delicately and deliberately placed her half photo into his hand and closed his fingertips over it. His mouth dropped open for a second and he recipricated with his half photo. She took it meaningfully. This was not just a simple gesture of commonality and reaching out to comfort another tortured soul. No. This was her entrusting him to keep her son safe and follow through with this charge; their assignment. A rush went through his as he realised that she had faith in him. Someone trusted him to succeed. This would be the way he could make amends. He would not fail this gracious lady. He caught her eye and thanked her for the photo and all it really meant before he turned away and walked in the direction of the designated bus stop. He did not look back. He knew she was watching and would turn to go herself as he passed out of view along the path where it bends. He was soaring. Filled with a hope and a courage that had hidden itself for so long. He will not fail, this time.

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An Instant of Future Present. [Aug. 23rd, 2006|08:40 am]
Sonorous Herald
Have you ever been in a café listening to your companions chattng about life and love in a childish manner. You don't think yourself better; you just don't feel like contributing. So you look around wistfully and your gaze falls upon a fair face looking in from the street on to the scene inside and behind you. The face strikes you as amazingly beautiful. No falseness about it; clear, fresh and young. They cast their gaze about the story unfolding without really centering on any one person. You find your own reflection in the window pane and super-impose it upon their's. In that split second before they notice you, smile and scurry on, you can see a face made of yours and their's. Did you imagine it to be what your child could look like, once grown, should you and that one stranger become one?
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Great Tale - Introductions [Aug. 21st, 2006|04:58 pm]
Sonorous Herald
The fire in the library was starting to peiter out and so too the light it gave was fading. Julius leaned forward in his leather armchair and looked deep in thought. Perhaps to subconsciously get closer to the ebbing flames and their warmth. The room was encased by walls of shelves carrying a heavy load of mostly leatherbound books. The kind of library containing classics and rarities that would have had the Alexandrian Library jealous, if it had still stood. Julius had collected a vast majority of the jewels here, not to mention the artifacts dotted about nestled in relevant backlit coves created by the corners and low vaulted ceiling. His long blonde hair fell loose about his shoulders and the natural wave around his ears and brow caught momentary glow from the fire in front of him. The look of a young man of 30, his forehead was furrowed, as he solved a puzzle in his mind. Not even the sound of Ophelia humming to herself as she sauntered around the library shelves, caressing the spines of each book at shoulder height as she passed it with her slim and fine fingertips, stirred him from his quarry. She moved whistfully along every shelf she came upon, like a cat follows the line of buildings as it travels through the night. Never really looking at the great names in embossed gold that she was touching. She was humming a song that had been written for her once upon a time, by some lover in the distant past. He was now long forgotten along with the words to the melody. To say that she was flighty would be cruel. She was more intelligent than that, but sometimes self-absorbed would be accurate. Also blonde and blue-eyed like Julius, she had all the stature and grace of a fine sculpture that could be found in many a great man's inner sanctum. She had chosen to wear something from the 17th century and so it was empire line and soft and showed her slim but curved shape to it's best. One thing she did know was how to dress and she revelled in it. Her hair was tucked up into rolling locks behind the crown of her head with pins embellished with peridot, to match her pale green gown. She was, however, barefoot, so secretly she was sliding her feet over the very smooth and varnished wooden floor and enjoying it. Now and then, when reaching the end of a bookcase and as she swung around it to continue along it's opposite side, she would glance at Julius and visualise him in different costumes. An array of outfits from times goneby. She did like, that he too dressed well and was looking daper in a German uniform from WW1. Though his hair would not have been in-keeping with the trend of the time, it suited him so well. But then all uniforms suited Julius, he had the frame for it. Finally she reached the last book on the last shelf, pressed upon the last all of the library walls and leaned against the first of the two door cavity that lead to the gallery corridor beyond, where paintings of the greatest men and women of history were hanging in respectfully guilded and trimmed frames. Lest they forget that anything is possible. The door itself was open and the second door, one metre further back was visable. Ophelia's gaze happened to fall down to the floor and into the recess of the door portal, where it fell upon Dante, a younger man than Julius appeared. The age of 21 or so, if it were guessed. He stood facing and pressed aginst the first door, his cheek touching the cool veneer. He had been surveying the library from this point. Julius, deeply engrossed in some conundrum while Ophelia drifted about, dreaming of romance. Dante was slight in build, dark of hair and eyes. Nothing like the two we have already met. He gives the air of cautious and whiley. Quite dashing all the same. Chisled looks with something resembling fire that glowed from his more olive complexion. He had a more Spanish appearance and wore what looked like highway man's garb. He slid his fingers over to the edge of the door where Ophelia, herself, the very image of spring youth at 16, smiled and kissed their tips, before she span slowly around and away into the open space before her, where the Thulean Sun Wheel was marquetried into the solid and glistening floor. Swirling like a dervish, face raised to the one skylight in the ceiling directly above the the centre of the wheel below. Dante drew his fingers back and licked them where they had been kissed and smoothly used the shadows in the room to bring himself to the map table where he flicked at a quill that Olaf was using to mark an area on an antique map of Greenland.
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