more Cecily, and I'll drink to that!
Dec. 11th, 2004 08:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stoney321and to the door shutting on the first try, and to me singing all of my Christmas Carols (earlier post if you are just joining me) to Sue while pissed on fiiiine champagne... Party today, brought many bottles of champagne and turned out I was the only one drinking. Huh. Do you know how delicious champagne is when mixed with Peach Schnapps? De-lish-us. And Sue is a saint for not hanging up while I sang "Spikey Baby" in my best Harmony voice.
Didn't I say something about Cecily? Oh. Right. Little background: Victorians loved to tell ghost stories on Christmas. Just sayin'. Previous parts are in my memories, as I am too schnockered to work out the combo of cut-paste and search.
~~~~
December the Twentieth, or as I now refer to it, my Seventh Day of Utter Torment
Haven't I always gone to church? Do I not always give to the many that are less fortunate that I? When Beatrice continues to select such hideous colours for her complexion, do I not always lead her to a more suitable choice? It simply wouldn't do for me to be seen with such a pasty bowl of whey. What great ill have I done to warrant such a run of bad tidings? Upholding my family's honour by not accepting the hand of an ill-fitted and poor suitor? And this is the thanks I get.
The butcher sent his boy to gather all of the "flock" as Father referred to them (really, three bowls-ful? Tsk, tsk, Father. What did happen at that house?) and a sense of peace and calm more fitting to the season befell our home. Mother and I stayed up late into the night decorating the tree, preparing the menu for the Christmas dinner, and discussing my prospects amongst the available suitors.
This morning, I woke to my mother crying. Father raised his voice to her and told her to "accept, accept! Dear God, Woman, take the bloody gift!" While they are attractive as they swim about on the Thames, swans are not so lovely when perched on your credenza. They are like goats with wings. Seven! They "mate for life" as Father muttered to me, re-filling his glass with what smells suspiciously like sherry, and less like Wassail. Whenever the stable boys tried to grab one, another would fly at their faces, honking and kicking until I feared we would have to shoot them and damn the windows. Albert had the idea of throwing blankets over them and gathering them up.
The card came back from the butcher that he was "filled with glee" at our current run of events. Whatever could that mean? Sherry is quite good when mixed with a bit of ground clove. Adding cider is quite useless at this point.
My Eighth Day in Hell
The birds have stopped coming! Do not take my exclamation as joy however, more shock and horror at the new crime commited to my person. When the door was flung open today, a bloody COW came in! It was quickly followed by eight young ladies who stunk of dung, carrying stools and pails. It should not come as a shock that they sat themselves down in our receiving room and proceeded to extract milk from said beast.
Miss Maggie locked herself in her room and hasn't come out but to yell at us in her native Gaelic. It made me miss the sound of the birds.
Heaven forgive me, but I raised my voice to Father. I railed at him, "how can you let this continue? I shall be laughed out of all society! My invitations for the remaining balls of the season have been requested returned! Father, Father PLEASE make him stop. Have him arrested! Have him thrown out of town! Something. Please, Father. If you don't... I shall march down there myself and... slap his face!"
At this he jumped up and grabbed me. He had a most unsettled look in his eye and screamed at me "to leave it alone." He rocked and ran his hand through his hair then looked at me with a peculiar glint in his eye. I was most frightened. "Yes. Perhaps I should let her go and speak to them..." I knew in my very marrow that I would do no such thing, and truth be told, I was very frightened of Father. Mother has locked herself in her sewing room, and hasn't come out all day.
The butcher is beside himself. If I sit down to steak for dinner, I think I shall be sick.
~TBC~
Didn't I say something about Cecily? Oh. Right. Little background: Victorians loved to tell ghost stories on Christmas. Just sayin'. Previous parts are in my memories, as I am too schnockered to work out the combo of cut-paste and search.
~~~~
December the Twentieth, or as I now refer to it, my Seventh Day of Utter Torment
Haven't I always gone to church? Do I not always give to the many that are less fortunate that I? When Beatrice continues to select such hideous colours for her complexion, do I not always lead her to a more suitable choice? It simply wouldn't do for me to be seen with such a pasty bowl of whey. What great ill have I done to warrant such a run of bad tidings? Upholding my family's honour by not accepting the hand of an ill-fitted and poor suitor? And this is the thanks I get.
The butcher sent his boy to gather all of the "flock" as Father referred to them (really, three bowls-ful? Tsk, tsk, Father. What did happen at that house?) and a sense of peace and calm more fitting to the season befell our home. Mother and I stayed up late into the night decorating the tree, preparing the menu for the Christmas dinner, and discussing my prospects amongst the available suitors.
This morning, I woke to my mother crying. Father raised his voice to her and told her to "accept, accept! Dear God, Woman, take the bloody gift!" While they are attractive as they swim about on the Thames, swans are not so lovely when perched on your credenza. They are like goats with wings. Seven! They "mate for life" as Father muttered to me, re-filling his glass with what smells suspiciously like sherry, and less like Wassail. Whenever the stable boys tried to grab one, another would fly at their faces, honking and kicking until I feared we would have to shoot them and damn the windows. Albert had the idea of throwing blankets over them and gathering them up.
The card came back from the butcher that he was "filled with glee" at our current run of events. Whatever could that mean? Sherry is quite good when mixed with a bit of ground clove. Adding cider is quite useless at this point.
My Eighth Day in Hell
The birds have stopped coming! Do not take my exclamation as joy however, more shock and horror at the new crime commited to my person. When the door was flung open today, a bloody COW came in! It was quickly followed by eight young ladies who stunk of dung, carrying stools and pails. It should not come as a shock that they sat themselves down in our receiving room and proceeded to extract milk from said beast.
Miss Maggie locked herself in her room and hasn't come out but to yell at us in her native Gaelic. It made me miss the sound of the birds.
Heaven forgive me, but I raised my voice to Father. I railed at him, "how can you let this continue? I shall be laughed out of all society! My invitations for the remaining balls of the season have been requested returned! Father, Father PLEASE make him stop. Have him arrested! Have him thrown out of town! Something. Please, Father. If you don't... I shall march down there myself and... slap his face!"
At this he jumped up and grabbed me. He had a most unsettled look in his eye and screamed at me "to leave it alone." He rocked and ran his hand through his hair then looked at me with a peculiar glint in his eye. I was most frightened. "Yes. Perhaps I should let her go and speak to them..." I knew in my very marrow that I would do no such thing, and truth be told, I was very frightened of Father. Mother has locked herself in her sewing room, and hasn't come out all day.
The butcher is beside himself. If I sit down to steak for dinner, I think I shall be sick.
~TBC~
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-12-11 06:54 pm (UTC)I. Can't. Wait.
:;cackles with glee::
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:06 pm (UTC)*hugs you*
You ain't see NOTHING yet.
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:09 pm (UTC)::drapes self over fic:: See?
::hugs you back::
Like I said, can't wait.
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:13 pm (UTC)I love that you think it's good. Know what else is good? Champagne and Chambord. This is my lushiest post to date. But I'm filled with looooove! (And alcohol)
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:15 pm (UTC)I loves that drink, I do. You're pretty awesome too!
Oops, sorry. Finished your drink. :;peers with the sincerity of the rather quickly inebriated::
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:18 pm (UTC)*fills your glass and snaps fingers for more champagne*
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:23 pm (UTC)::pulls a baked brie with almonds out of bag::
What? Never know when there's gonna be an impromptu party.
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:25 pm (UTC)Can i say how delish-ous is the baked brie?? Made finger sandwiches with a lobster/shrimp spread and cucumber. They were WEE!! And you should know by now that I love all things wee...
*need to sit on sofa as things are listing to the right*
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:30 pm (UTC)::stuffs mouth full of brie:: Yeh ii ish gud.
::hands you wok, which I was wearing as a hat:: Sorry it's not the cast iron one. It gave me a headache.
"Loook at meeee I'm Spiiiiike that's weeeee..."
Damn. ::chugs drink::
Go sit on the sofa and be comfy. Or just lean to the left.
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:02 pm (UTC)Sherry is quite good when mixed with a bit of ground clove. Adding cider is quite useless at this point.
Ain't that the truth.
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:08 pm (UTC)'bout to finish my second bottle and that should make me ashamed, but I'm having too much fun hitting the backspace key to fix all of the wonky letters that are in about EVERY word.
Your CD package went out today.
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:12 pm (UTC)And don't be ashamed! I'm rum-tastic for the second night in row. Captain Morgan's Jamaican (snarf! Kendra as Bob Marley)Private Stock + Welche's Orange Pineapple Apple juice + apricot brandy = yum. Very fruity. Very tipsy.
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:15 pm (UTC)i was so happy to make those CDs fer ya. Love you, you know.
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:22 pm (UTC)And I love you too!!!exclamtionpoint!! Thank you so much for my pending package. Be on the look out for a Big Splashy Wanky Post(TM goes to Sue on that) when it arrives.
I went out looking for cards to pen yous guy's fics in... but it was a bust. I'm going hunting again tomorrow. Is it that hard for card manufacturers to make a classically tasteful card?!? Obvioulsly.
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:26 pm (UTC)dude, things are leaning to the side. need to lay down and get my feet rubbed. shit, I just drooled at that...
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:33 pm (UTC)Hee... drool...
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:14 pm (UTC)glad you had
champagnefun today. Sue said she was going to try to get you to sing her the songs, so I'm glad it worked out.re: feedback on my drafts -- always welcome, never owed.
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-11 07:15 pm (UTC)By the time Christmas rolls around Cecily and her entire family will be residents of Bedlam! Tee Hee! This gets more enjoyable each chapter!
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:18 pm (UTC)Can I say how happy I am about my icon? you are just the best, and thanks for sticking around. More tomorrow! Meanwhile, have a drink and sing my carols from the earlier post. Time for laughing and twinkling lights!
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Date: 2004-12-11 07:27 pm (UTC)Julia, snerking away in udder appreciation
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Date: 2004-12-12 06:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-11 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-12 06:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-11 09:56 pm (UTC)Funny words: credenza; Wassail
Your singing of the Harmony, and the dreidel, and the Kendra...beyond words. You can sing me to giggles any time.
(Lookee! My new Oklahoma icon! It's Caza and blonde!me - by
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Date: 2004-12-11 09:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-12 06:35 am (UTC)I will sing wonky carols to you as long as you let me!
Again, with the icon love...
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Date: 2004-12-12 06:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-12 06:41 am (UTC)And carol prompts:
Spuffy to "O Holy Night"
Spangel to "What Child Is This?" Hah! Get? Childe? Funn-eee.
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Date: 2004-12-12 06:38 am (UTC)How I wish I could drink alcohol, it sounds soooo good when you describe it. Can your sisters who get migraines drink? I can't (*whine*)..
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Date: 2004-12-12 07:55 am (UTC)Believe me, the visit will be worth the wait. (To me, at least. We shall see what the readers think.)
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Date: 2004-12-12 01:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-12 01:46 pm (UTC)Wheeeeee!