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Post by blythe on Aug 10, 2009 15:58:57 GMT -5
"Every blue bonnet, dogonit smells nice... Even the bumbling bumblebee slows down to match the speed of this tiny half an acre of paradise," [/b] she sang softly to the bluebells before her. Natalya was always especially cheerful on days when she could help in the gardens. It was almost a privilege because gardening wasn't what she was hired before, but even her supervisor couldn't dispute the fact that she had a knack for speaking to plant life which allowed her a free pass every few days or so to work out in the open air. It didn't bother her that the sun was beating down on her back. Her hair had been pulled up in the standard bun, so there was no curtain of curls keeping the heat locked again against her neck. Besides, there was a cool breeze blowing through the leaves every few minutes that flowed over her with a forgiving breath of air. The bluebells seemed very pleased to see her. No flower could deny that it was always nice to be her favorite, and for the past year, the hanging faerie lights had stolen her heart. The forget-me-nots that had been-- ironically, of course-- forgotten always seemed a little lackluster, but she was sure that they would bounce back just like the roses and tulips and foxgloves had. "Hello, darlings. How many of you have nasty little weeds clogging up your roots? Auntie Tali's here to whisk them away for you," came the pleasant, child-like voice from her body. One always expected the owner to be about eight years younger even with the slightly heavy Spanish accent, but then again, one used to mistake her for a ten-year-old boy, so a voice of younger conjecture wasn't too disbelieving. Her hand moved to run over the ground for something to dig with, wrapping it around the handle of the spade when she managed to feel out its location. After flicking a small worm to the other side of a flower, she moved to dig the point under the stem of a weed before setting it down to grab and pull. … and pull. … and pull. It took her about five hard tugs to land on her butt with a weed raised victoriously over her head. It was fun too, despite what some might think. A small thrill of success ran through her body at thinking she not only pulled something out from the roots by herself but she did so in order to help her darling little bluebells thrive. One couldn’t have the faeries getting lost in the dark because their lanterns had shriveled and died. No, siree. Natalya never interfered with their doings, feeling that aiding and abetting was a nicer crime to commit. [/color][/sup][/blockquote] [/b][/color] finished! RPING WITH !?: the craaazy hatter WORD COUNT !?: 459 words NOTES !?: i'm gonna die. x.x LYRICS !?: "careless whisper" -- seether CREDIT TO!?: me. blythe. (:[/sup][/ul] |
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Post by The Hatterdasher on Aug 10, 2009 18:08:47 GMT -5
It was said that one could get lost in the gardens of Florence. It wasn’t hard to get lost; the hedges were so tall that even the tallest of adults couldn’t see over them. The smaller you were, the harder it was to navigate. Of course, most students didn’t know this until they tried their hand at it themselves. That was why she was stuck in the middle area of the garden.
The ‘she’ was a girl of ten. She often went by the name of Anastasia, or Anya, because Anastasia was just too long. Her ashy blonde hair was in French braids, to get it out of her face. Her bright blue eyes had a confused look about them, her eyebrows pulled together as she stared into the middle distance. She was trying to remember which way she had turned to get where she was. Once she figured that out, she could make the opposite turn to get out. As she was thinking, she twirled her parasol above her head, which sheltered her from the unforgiving sun. She would overheat if she stayed out in the sun to long. Her other hand was clutching the paw of a very worn-out looking stuffed bear. His golden fur was stained brown in some places, and was nonexistent in others. He was missing one button eye, and the other one seemed ready to snap any moment, leaving him blind for the rest of his poor stuffed animal life. But, even with all his injuries, he stayed diligently by his owner’s side.
“Well, Mr. Flops… It looks like you’ve got us lost again.” What was she insinuating?! The bear had done nothing of the sort, not now, or any time before. She was the one who had been running about, skipping and jumping and causing a hullabaloo when she knew better. The bear stayed silent though, letting her mull over her directions. Anya was certain she had gone right, then left, during her last two turns. So she went onto a path and turned left, then right, and found herself in a familiar area. Good, she was doing well. She was starting to gain more confidence in her abilities. Soon, she was turning quicker than a racehorse, certain that she would wind up at the school in no time. But soon, she found herself lost again. Maybe she should’ve taken a left instead of a right?
It was then that Anastasia heard a voice in another part of the garden. Another person! Maybe they could help her find the way out! She ran to the voice, thinking it was one of the girls in the school until she came up behind the person. It was then that she realized it was a gypsy girl. Anya paused to stare in silence. She had been told gypsies may steal her, so she wanted to run away and yell that there was a gypsy in the garden. But she didn’t. Instead, she continued to stare. She didn’t look like she would steal her away in the dead of night. Besides, it was midday! So Anya cautiously went up behind the girl, standing at a distance as she pulled a weed out of the garden. Was she supposed to do that? She thought the groundskeeper kept the flowerbeds clean. Maybe she needed to weed for a spell or some medicine. Or maybe she was going to eat it for dinner! Anya wrinkled her nose at the thought of weed soup. Poor girl.
“Are you supposed to be here?” Anya asked, her high soprano cutting the quiet like a serrated knife. It wasn’t a pleasant surprise. “Because if you’re not, then I’m gonna tell on you. And the headmistress is really mean when she wants to be. But if you’re not allowed to be here, I guess that it’s fine anyway.” She said it as if she had already come to the conclusion that she wasn’t supposed to be there. “Why are you pulling weeds? Are you gonna use them for a spell? Or medicine? Or are you going to eat it? That sounds icky.”
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Post by blythe on Aug 11, 2009 19:22:43 GMT -5
 People were always, always coming across Natalya at some point. With a school crawling with children and teachers, each of them would manage to see her once during their stay at Florence's Academy. Usually, her face was quickly forgotten again in a sea of other maids cleaning up after their messes, but sometimes-- many times-- she would manage to stay with them. Either in disgust or in a sense that she, perhaps, could be a kindred spirit.
If someone was desperate, they could usually find her as a sympathetic listener who really couldn't and wouldn't use the information against them. If someone was more than desperate, she'd help dispose of evidence of late night escapades.
Some of the younger children found her less likely than others to reprimand them for roughhousing, instead offering variations on their games to keep them from getting old and worn out. Others who were beginning to admit that their stuffed animals were more than worn out trusted her to mend them up again without destroying the integrity of the animal or trying to add un-instertname-like qualities.
Of course, most of those trusts were developed after more than one rocky road. Whether it came in the beginning or the middle or the end, it didn't matter. She was the help, and a sense of distaste for her should naturally be held. To make matters worse, she was a gypsy too. The poor horror stories children were fed made even the Devil seem more a friend than her and her family.
“Are you supposed to be here?” came a young voice, and Natalya pegged it between the ages of ten and thirteen-- or sixteen if she were to include people like herself who had perpetually young voices. There was no jump in surprise; her head did not snap in the direction of the owner. Her ears had picked up on the small pitter patter of steps heading her way. People always made a lot of noise, especially if they weren't meaning too, and even more so if they were trying to be silent. Compared to the sound of deer hooves against the padded grass in the forest, the little girl had sounded like an elephant barreling towards a bazaar.
So, instead of pretending she was surprised by the little girl, Natalya moved to pull out another weed threatening the survival of her darling bluebells and daffodils. Her question wasn't a silly one in some minds, she considered. With the maid uniform the young woman had don for her job, she looked as if she should be dusting something, not getting dirty within the gardens. Perhaps the new arrival thought she was doing something odd and weird and should be reported for suspicious behavior. Oh, well. That didn't bother her in the slightest.
“Because if you’re not, then I’m gonna tell on you. And the headmistress is really mean when she wants to be. But if you’re not allowed to be here, I guess that it’s fine anyway.” This time, Natalya cocked her head up to finally examine the face threatening to turn her in to her own employer. The age estimation seemed about right, though her higher guesses seemed a bit off. The parasol happened to be angled so that when she glanced up, the sun was shielded, making the younger girl's blonde hair less of a blinding light. The makings of an aristocrat, that's what her face had that Natalya's didn't.
"That's not very nice," she replied lightly, studying the weed in her hand before setting it down by the other. "Have I done anything to disturb you, Miss?" the question was tacked on at the end, though it bothered Natalya slightly to even indirectly scold someone on their manners. Though, it sounded more like simple and curious questions and statements on her part rather than anything that would come out of a sterner personage.
“Why are you pulling weeds? Are you gonna use them for a spell? Or medicine? Or are you going to eat it? That sounds icky.”
A faint smile passed over Natalya's lips. "When I was really little, I tried to eat a weed once. It tasted absolutely horrid, if you can imagine. I do not suggest eating any. And no, some weeds are good for medicines, but these are just bothersome buggers going to make these pretty bluebells die if someone doesn't pull them. Since I wasn't being much helping cleaning the school, my boss sent me out here so that I could have fun in the sun and tend to the gardens on the gardener's day off." Her answer was honest and serious. There had been no temptation to say that it was none of the little girl's business or that she should run along and go inside. Instead, her interest shifted from the mute flowers to the inquisitive person before her.
"Aren't you hot? It's dreadfully so hot here and much cooler inside. I could get you some water, if you'd like."
 [/b][/color] finished! RPING WITH !?: the craaazy hatter WORD COUNT !?: 833 words NOTES !?: iwhat a little brat, anya. (; LYRICS !?: "careless whisper" -- seether CREDIT TO!?: me. blythe. (:[/sup][/ul] |
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Post by The Hatterdasher on Aug 13, 2009 12:55:45 GMT -5
  Anya watched the girl carefully, twirling her parasol above her head delicately as she did. She was very pretty, for a gypsy. The younger girl couldn’t help but be a little jealous of her. She had very pretty hair and skin. They were all a variation of brown, of course, but it made no difference to her. They were very pretty shades of brown. She cocked her head to the side as the girl turned around, as if she could get a better look that way instead of being completely vertical. She had a very pretty face too. Anya listened to her speak before her eyes got wide and her mouth turned into a round little ‘o’.
“I’m sorry! I’m so very sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound mean!” She was only being curious. She held Mr. Flops tightly under her arm as she looked down at her shoes, upset that she had sounded mean. She didn’t want to be mean, she really didn’t. She gently pulled at one of her braids as she spoke again, feeling very sorry indeed. “No, you weren’t disturbing me, Miss Gypsy. I was just being curious, that’s all.” She hoped she wouldn’t take any offence to ‘Miss Gypsy’, she hadn’t thought of anything else to call her.
Anya brightened a little bit as she mentioned eating a weed once. “I ate a bug when I was little! It was crunchy, but it tasted very bitter!” She had spit it out afterword and washed out her mouth with some juice. She resolved never to eat anything other than food after that. “Willow bark is good for headaches.” She offered, remembering her Father had told her that. He told her a lot of random information he picked up here and there. She had an epiphany as the girl mentioned her boss. Oh, so she worked at the school! She heard of gypsies getting jobs there, but she hadn’t really thought of it much. Now she realized that the girl must be one of the few who had the privilege to work at Florence’s. She had been so rude to her too! She wanted to make up for it, but she didn’t have anything to give her. Maybe if she got inside, she could give her a chocolate from her chocolate box. She’d give her the coconut ones, because she didn’t like them very much.
“No, I don’t need any water, but thank you for your kind offer.” She proceeded to sit on the ground next to the girl, inviting herself to chat with her. “My name’s Anastasia DiCamillo. You can call me Anya or Anna, though. Lots of people do that.” She sat with facing the flowerbed, her legs outstretched and apart, so there was a dip in her skirt. She sat Mr. Flops in her lap, patting his head as he tilted to one side. She moved her legs together and clicked her feet together, looking up at the sky from under her parasol. She looked back to the girl, questions forming in her head. “Do you read fortunes like the very old gypsy I heard about? Who is Mother Sophie anyway? Is she special? Can she put curses on people? Can you put curses on people? If you can, I want you to turn Mr. Wilkes into a toad. He’s weird.” She stressed ‘weird’ very seriously, because she thought he was a very scary and strange man. She had heard things about him, whispers over her head when people thought she wasn’t paying attention. A lot of the girls liked him though, but she always thought his smile seemed really cheesy and fake.
She liked gypsies more then him.
 Post Length: 617 words.
Notes: I hope Anya made up for being a brat. XD
For: Blyyythe~!
Lyrics: ‘Seven Years’, Norah Jones
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Post by blythe on Aug 13, 2009 16:36:04 GMT -5
There was really no reason for Anya to be jealous of Natalya, so would the gypsy girl reply instantly if she had access to people's thoughts. The fair, light features of her face were certainly sought after by all, no? The standard of beauty didn't fluctuate too far, and it was a blessing to be gifted with a beauty that would grow into something more than admirable when she got older. Letting her eyes glance over the little girl's visage, it... became apparent to her that the words spoken to her next were genuine. Even the ducking of the head and the subtle pulling of her childhood toy closer to her body was enough to stoke a small burn of guilt within Natalya's stomach. Running a hand over her smoothed out hair, her hands fidgeted before her mouth could find the right sound to laugh.
“I’m sorry! I’m so very sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound mean! No, you weren’t disturbing me, Miss Gypsy. I was just being curious, that’s all.”
"Oh dear, don't you mind me. I suppose I was taking it the wrong way," she replied slowly, looking a bit sheepish herself at the assurance that there had been no subtle, child-like opinion of disapproval. It always took her a second to realise that even if there had been prejudice, that it came from the child's parents and wasn't a natural thing for which she should be punished. Many people told all sorts of scary stories about gypsy kidnappings like the American settlers in ancient years past would about the Native Americans. And though there were gypsies who engaged in terrible behavior like kidnapping and murder, it must be said a large proportion of those crimes were done by recognised, respected Englishmen and women. "It must be the heat. I think being hot and sticky and uncomfortable makes everyone a little less nice, don't you think?"
“I ate a bug when I was little! It was crunchy, but it tasted very bitter!” A sense of camaraderie was beginning to form as the younger girl offered her own trials that came from being a curious soul who thought that perhaps weeds and bugs wouldn't taste that bad. A smile formed again over the lips of Natalya, widening at the ending of the thrilling tale and parting to offer another bout of laughter. Nodding in empathy, the gypsy girl crinkled her nose and added on, "Oh, some bugs are worse than others too. I woke up once to find a centipede in my mouth," -- She shuddered in recollection before continuing. -- "after that, I would never sleep with my mouth open or try another bug again. Once you have a very nasty one, the curiosity isn't so bad anymore."
At the mentioning of plant-based medicines-- rather than bacteria or mold-- the blonde haired girl offered her own bit of knowledge, extending, metaphorically, some hand of friendship for most people always attempted to relate or display they understood what was being said by saying whatever little things they knew of the topic. Taking the statement with another nod like last time, she decided against answering verbally. There were really not stories that could be told that weren't much more boring than the one before. Willow bark wasn't something she utilized often, and so she assumed that her acquaintance was correct and would have to have someone look it up in a book for her.
“My name’s Anastasia DiCamillo. You can call me Anya or Anna, though. Lots of people do that.” Little, perhaps was the wrong adjective to use. Natalya couldn't have more than seven years on her which made herself closer to a little girl than an adult. As she moved to sit, Natalya tried to recall if she ever had a stuffed animal that she'd carry through the forest, getting muddied during the rain and colored yellow from being dragged in the grass. After a moment or two of pensive thought, the conclusion was reached that she had not but would probably have wished for a straw doll to call her own.
The wind picked up, forcing the bluebells and their friends to dance to the right, their petals fluttering like skirts being thrown about by the wind's insistent hands. Really, when the wind wanted things to pick up, move, dance, she was more than willing to blow until even the houses pull up their feet and twirl away. And so, Natalya took a moment of pause to see who was willing to bow to her will and let their arms snake and wriggle. A bee bumbled by her nose haphazardly, unable to fight the current but desperately grabbing onto a lose piece of hair near her face to keep from crashing into something like a wall. The tiny buzz of distress reminded her to reply, though, and so she looked back to the girl.
"It's very, very, lovely to meet you. I love meeting new people, and you happen to be the cutest person I've met all day. And and and and and, I couldn't possibly call you 'Anya,' Miss Dicamillo. Society wouldn't like it at all," came the reply breathlessly from a still smiling face. She had to tell the same thing to many people, firmly committing herself to do right and add the proper prefix. Or, well, sometimes she would let people choose the prefix they wanted. "I could call you Princess Dicamillo, or Mistress Dicamillo, or the Grand Lady Anastasia Dicamillo, but I'm afraid I'd get in trouble if I just called you by your first name or a nickname so short."
“Do you read fortunes like the very old gypsy I heard about? Who is Mother Sophie anyway? Is she special? Can she put curses on people? Can you put curses on people? If you can, I want you to turn Mr. Wilkes into a toad. He’s weird.” The next questions came in a barraging wave, and Natalya moved to answer them quickly in the same fashion. Oh, wait. Mr. Wilkes? He was one of the male teachers, if she could recall. Asian features, and she'd assumed he was Korean from the one glance she ever got of him. He was weird? Really. He seemed rather like the people Natalya found to be kindred spirits. People like her who could be melodramatic about some things, flapping her hands in emotion. But, maybe he did something that she disliked.
Hesitating, Natalya said, "I can read fortunes. Sometimes I dream them too. Mother Sophie is the most amazing person I've ever met. She's completely special in so many ways that I can't even list them. Hmm, what about Mr. Wilkes do you think is weird? I might have to talk to him just to see if I think he's weird too. Though, I promise I wouldn't mention your name."
[/b][/color] finished, bby. RPING WITH !?: the mad hatter WORD COUNT !?: 1139 words NOTES !?: er, well then. she did. LYRICS !?: "careless whisper" -- seether CREDIT TO!?: me. blythe. (:[/sup][/ul] |
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